Preface

SUPPOSING that Truth is a woman--what then? Is there not ground for suspecting that
all philosophers, in so far as they hae !een dogmatists, hae failed to understand
women--that the terri!le seriousness and clumsy importunity with which they hae
usually paid their addresses to Truth, hae !een uns"illed and unseemly methods for
winning a woman? #ertainly she has neer allowed herself to !e won$ and at present
eery "ind of dogma stands with sad and discouraged mien--I%, indeed, it stands at all&
%or there are scoffers who maintain that it has fallen, that all dogma lies on the ground--
nay more, that it is at its last gasp' (ut to spea" seriously, there are good grounds for
hoping that all dogmati)ing in philosophy, whateer solemn, whateer conclusie and
decided airs it has assumed, may hae !een only a no!le puerilism and tyronism$ and
pro!a!ly the time is at hand when it will !e once and again understood *+,T has
actually sufficed for the !asis of such imposing and a!solute philosophical edifices as the
dogmatists hae hitherto reared- perhaps some popular superstition of immemorial time
.such as the soul-superstition, which, in the form of su!/ect- and ego-superstition, has not
yet ceased doing mischief0- perhaps some play upon words, a deception on the part of
grammar, or an audacious generali)ation of ery restricted, ery personal, ery human--
all-too-human facts' The philosophy of the dogmatists, it is to !e hoped, was only a
promise for thousands of years afterwards, as was astrology in still earlier times, in the
serice of which pro!a!ly more la!our, gold, acuteness, and patience hae !een spent
than on any actual science hitherto- we owe to it, and to its 1super- terrestrial1 pretensions
in ,sia and 2gypt, the grand style of architecture' It seems that in order to inscri!e
themseles upon the heart of humanity with eerlasting claims, all great things hae first
to wander a!out the earth as enormous and awe- inspiring caricatures- dogmatic
philosophy has !een a caricature of this "ind--for instance, the 3edanta doctrine in ,sia,
and Platonism in 2urope' 4et us not !e ungrateful to it, although it must certainly !e
confessed that the worst, the most tiresome, and the most dangerous of errors hitherto has
!een a dogmatist error--namely, Plato5s inention of Pure Spirit and the Good in Itself'
(ut now when it has !een surmounted, when 2urope, rid of this nightmare, can again
draw !reath freely and at least en/oy a healthier--sleep, we, *+OS2 6UT7 IS
*,82%U4N2SS ITS24%, are the heirs of all the strength which the struggle against this
error has fostered' It amounted to the ery inersion of truth, and the denial of the
P29SP2#TI32--the fundamental condition--of life, to spea" of Spirit and the Good as
Plato spo"e of them$ indeed one might as", as a physician- 1+ow did such a malady
attac" that finest product of anti:uity, Plato? +ad the wic"ed Socrates really corrupted
him? *as Socrates after all a corrupter of youths, and desered his hemloc"?1 (ut the
struggle against Plato, or--to spea" plainer, and for the 1people1--the struggle against the
ecclesiastical oppression of millenniums of #hristianity .%O9 #+9ISITI,NIT7 IS
P4,TONIS; %O9 T+2 1P2OP4210, produced in 2urope a magnificent tension of soul,
such as had not e<isted anywhere preiously$ with such a tensely strained !ow one can
now aim at the furthest goals' ,s a matter of fact, the 2uropean feels this tension as a
state of distress, and twice attempts hae !een made in grand style to un!end the !ow-
once !y means of =esuitism, and the second time !y means of democratic enlightenment--
which, with the aid of li!erty of the press and newspaper-reading, might, in fact, !ring it
a!out that the spirit would not so easily find itself in 1distress1& .The Germans inented
gunpowder-all credit to them& !ut they again made things s:uare--they inented printing'0
(ut we, who are neither =esuits, nor democrats, nor een sufficiently Germans, we
GOO6 2U9OP2,NS, and free, 3297 free spirits--we hae it still, all the distress of
spirit and all the tension of its !ow& ,nd perhaps also the arrow, the duty, and, who
"nows? T+2 GO,4 TO ,I; ,T' ' ' '
Sils ;aria Upper 2ngadine, =UN2, >??@'
>' The *ill to Truth, which is to tempt us to many a ha)ardous enterprise, the famous
Truthfulness of which all philosophers hae hitherto spo"en with respect, what :uestions
has this *ill to Truth not laid !efore us& *hat strange, perple<ing, :uestiona!le
:uestions& It is already a long story$ yet it seems as if it were hardly commenced' Is it any
wonder if we at last grow distrustful, lose patience, and turn impatiently away? That this
Sphin< teaches us at last to as" :uestions ourseles? *+O is it really that puts :uestions
to us here? *+,T really is this 1*ill to Truth1 in us? In fact we made a long halt at the
:uestion as to the origin of this *ill--until at last we came to an a!solute standstill !efore
a yet more fundamental :uestion' *e in:uired a!out the 3,4U2 of this *ill' Granted
that we want the truth- *+7 NOT 9,T+29 untruth? ,nd uncertainty? 2en ignorance?
The pro!lem of the alue of truth presented itself !efore us--or was it we who presented
ourseles !efore the pro!lem? *hich of us is the Oedipus here? *hich the Sphin<? It
would seem to !e a rende)ous of :uestions and notes of interrogation' ,nd could it !e
!elieed that it at last seems to us as if the pro!lem had neer !een propounded !efore, as
if we were the first to discern it, get a sight of it, and 9IS8 9,ISING it? %or there is ris"
in raising it, perhaps there is no greater ris"'
A' 1+O* #OU46 anything originate out of its opposite? %or e<ample, truth out of error?
or the *ill to Truth out of the will to deception? or the generous deed out of selfishness?
or the pure sun-!right ision of the wise man out of coetousness? Such genesis is
impossi!le$ whoeer dreams of it is a fool, nay, worse than a fool$ things of the highest
alue must hae a different origin, an origin of T+2I9 own--in this transitory, seductie,
illusory, paltry world, in this turmoil of delusion and cupidity, they cannot hae their
source' (ut rather in the lap of (eing, in the intransitory, in the concealed God, in the
5Thing-in-itself-- T+292 must !e their source, and nowhere else&1--This mode of
reasoning discloses the typical pre/udice !y which metaphysicians of all times can !e
recogni)ed, this mode of aluation is at the !ac" of all their logical procedure$ through
this 1!elief1 of theirs, they e<ert themseles for their 1"nowledge,1 for something that is
in the end solemnly christened 1the Truth'1 The fundamental !elief of metaphysicians is
T+2 (24I2% IN ,NTIT+2S2S O% 3,4U2S' It neer occurred een to the wariest of
them to dou!t here on the ery threshold .where dou!t, howeer, was most necessary0$
though they had made a solemn ow, 162 O;NI(US 6U(IT,N6U;'1 %or it may !e
dou!ted, firstly, whether antitheses e<ist at all$ and secondly, whether the popular
aluations and antitheses of alue upon which metaphysicians hae set their seal, are not
perhaps merely superficial estimates, merely proisional perspecties, !esides !eing
pro!a!ly made from some corner, perhaps from !elow--1frog perspecties,1 as it were, to
!orrow an e<pression current among painters' In spite of all the alue which may !elong
to the true, the positie, and the unselfish, it might !e possi!le that a higher and more
fundamental alue for life generally should !e assigned to pretence, to the will to
delusion, to selfishness, and cupidity' It might een !e possi!le that *+,T constitutes
the alue of those good and respected things, consists precisely in their !eing insidiously
related, "notted, and crocheted to these eil and apparently opposed things--perhaps een
in !eing essentially identical with them' Perhaps& (ut who wishes to concern himself
with such dangerous 1Perhapses1& %or that inestigation one must await the adent of a
new order of philosophers, such as will hae other tastes and inclinations, the reerse of
those hitherto prealent--philosophers of the dangerous 1Perhaps1 in eery sense of the
term' ,nd to spea" in all seriousness, I see such new philosophers !eginning to appear'
B' +aing "ept a sharp eye on philosophers, and haing read !etween their lines long
enough, I now say to myself that the greater part of conscious thin"ing must !e counted
among the Instinctie functions, and it is so een in the case of philosophical thin"ing$
one has here to learn anew, as one learned anew a!out heredity and 1innateness'1 ,s little
as the act of !irth comes into consideration in the whole process and procedure of
heredity, /ust as little is 1!eing-conscious1 OPPOS26 to the instinctie in any decisie
sense$ the greater part of the conscious thin"ing of a philosopher is secretly influenced !y
his instincts, and forced into definite channels' ,nd !ehind all logic and its seeming
soereignty of moement, there are aluations, or to spea" more plainly, physiological
demands, for the maintenance of a definite mode of life %or e<ample, that the certain is
worth more than the uncertain, that illusion is less alua!le than 1truth1 such aluations,
in spite of their regulatie importance for US, might notwithstanding !e only superficial
aluations, special "inds of maiserie, such as may !e necessary for the maintenance of
!eings such as ourseles' Supposing, in effect, that man is not /ust the 1measure of
things'1
C' The falseness of an opinion is not for us any o!/ection to it- it is here, perhaps, that our
new language sounds most strangely' The :uestion is, how far an opinion is life-
furthering, life- presering, species-presering, perhaps species-rearing, and we are
fundamentally inclined to maintain that the falsest opinions .to which the synthetic
/udgments a priori !elong0, are the most indispensa!le to us, that without a recognition of
logical fictions, without a comparison of reality with the purely I;,GIN26 world of the
a!solute and immuta!le, without a constant counterfeiting of the world !y means of
num!ers, man could not lie--that the renunciation of false opinions would !e a
renunciation of life, a negation of life' TO 92#OGNIS2 UNT9UT+ ,S , #ON6ITION
O% 4I%2$ that is certainly to impugn the traditional ideas of alue in a dangerous manner,
and a philosophy which entures to do so, has there!y alone placed itself !eyond good
and eil'
@' That which causes philosophers to !e regarded half- distrustfully and half-moc"ingly,
is not the oft-repeated discoery how innocent they are--how often and easily they ma"e
mista"es and lose their way, in short, how childish and childli"e they are,--!ut that there
is not enough honest dealing with them, whereas they all raise a loud and irtuous outcry
when the pro!lem of truthfulness is een hinted at in the remotest manner' They all pose
as though their real opinions had !een discoered and attained through the self-eoling
of a cold, pure, diinely indifferent dialectic .in contrast to all sorts of mystics, who,
fairer and foolisher, tal" of 1inspiration10, whereas, in fact, a pre/udiced proposition, idea,
or 1suggestion,1 which is generally their heart5s desire a!stracted and refined, is defended
!y them with arguments sought out after the eent' They are all adocates who do not
wish to !e regarded as such, generally astute defenders, also, of their pre/udices, which
they du! 1truths,1-- and 3297 far from haing the conscience which !raely admits this
to itself, ery far from haing the good taste of the courage which goes so far as to let this
!e understood, perhaps to warn friend or foe, or in cheerful confidence and self-ridicule'
The spectacle of the Tartuffery of old 8ant, e:ually stiff and decent, with which he
entices us into the dialectic !y-ways that lead .more correctly mislead0 to his 1categorical
imperatie1-- ma"es us fastidious ones smile, we who find no small amusement in spying
out the su!tle tric"s of old moralists and ethical preachers' Or, still more so, the hocus-
pocus in mathematical form, !y means of which Spino)a has, as it were, clad his
philosophy in mail and mas"--in fact, the 1loe of +IS wisdom,1 to translate the term
fairly and s:uarely--in order there!y to stri"e terror at once into the heart of the assailant
who should dare to cast a glance on that ininci!le maiden, that Pallas ,thene---how
much of personal timidity and ulnera!ility does this mas:uerade of a sic"ly recluse
!etray&
D' It has gradually !ecome clear to me what eery great philosophy up till now has
consisted of--namely, the confession of its originator, and a species of inoluntary and
unconscious auto-!iography$ and moreoer that the moral .or immoral0 purpose in eery
philosophy has constituted the true ital germ out of which the entire plant has always
grown' Indeed, to understand how the a!strusest metaphysical assertions of a philosopher
hae !een arried at, it is always well .and wise0 to first as" oneself- 1*hat morality do
they .or does he0 aim at?1 ,ccordingly, I do not !eliee that an 1impulse to "nowledge1 is
the father of philosophy$ !ut that another impulse, here as elsewhere, has only made use
of "nowledge .and mista"en "nowledge&0 as an instrument' (ut whoeer considers the
fundamental impulses of man with a iew to determining how far they may hae here
acted as INSPI9ING G2NII .or as demons and co!olds0, will find that they hae all
practiced philosophy at one time or another, and that each one of them would hae !een
only too glad to loo" upon itself as the ultimate end of e<istence and the legitimate
4O96 oer all the other impulses' %or eery impulse is imperious, and as SU#+,
attempts to philosophi)e' To !e sure, in the case of scholars, in the case of really scientific
men, it may !e otherwise--1!etter,1 if you will$ there there may really !e such a thing as
an 1impulse to "nowledge,1 some "ind of small, independent cloc"-wor", which, when
well wound up, wor"s away industriously to that end, *IT+OUT the rest of the scholarly
impulses ta"ing any material part therein' The actual 1interests1 of the scholar, therefore,
are generally in :uite another direction--in the family, perhaps, or in money-ma"ing, or in
politics$ it is, in fact, almost indifferent at what point of research his little machine is
placed, and whether the hopeful young wor"er !ecomes a good philologist, a mushroom
specialist, or a chemist$ he is not #+,9,#T29IS26 !y !ecoming this or that' In the
philosopher, on the contrary, there is a!solutely nothing impersonal$ and a!oe all, his
morality furnishes a decided and decisie testimony as to *+O +2 IS,--that is to say, in
what order the deepest impulses of his nature stand to each other'
E' +ow malicious philosophers can !e& I "now of nothing more stinging than the /o"e
2picurus too" the li!erty of ma"ing on Plato and the Platonists$ he called them
6ionysio"ola"es' In its original sense, and on the face of it, the word signifies 1%latterers
of 6ionysius1--conse:uently, tyrants5 accessories and lic"-spittles$ !esides this, howeer,
it is as much as to say, 1They are all ,#TO9S, there is nothing genuine a!out them1 .for
6ionysio"ola< was a popular name for an actor0' ,nd the latter is really the malignant
reproach that 2picurus cast upon Plato- he was annoyed !y the grandiose manner, the
mise en scene style of which Plato and his scholars were masters--of which 2picurus was
not a master& +e, the old school-teacher of Samos, who sat concealed in his little garden
at ,thens, and wrote three hundred !oo"s, perhaps out of rage and am!itious eny of
Plato, who "nows& Greece too" a hundred years to find out who the garden-god 2picurus
really was' 6id she eer find out?
?' There is a point in eery philosophy at which the 1coniction1 of the philosopher
appears on the scene$ or, to put it in the words of an ancient mystery-
,dentait asinus, Pulcher et fortissimus'
F' 7ou desire to 4I32 1according to Nature1? Oh, you no!le Stoics, what fraud of words&
Imagine to yourseles a !eing li"e Nature, !oundlessly e<traagant, !oundlessly
indifferent, without purpose or consideration, without pity or /ustice, at once fruitful and
!arren and uncertain- imagine to yourseles IN6I%%292N#2 as a power--how #OU46
you lie in accordance with such indifference? To lie--is not that /ust endeaouring to !e
otherwise than this Nature? Is not liing aluing, preferring, !eing un/ust, !eing limited,
endeaouring to !e different? ,nd granted that your imperatie, 1liing according to
Nature,1 means actually the same as 1liing according to life1--how could you do
6I%%292NT47? *hy should you ma"e a principle out of what you yourseles are, and
must !e? In reality, howeer, it is :uite otherwise with you- while you pretend to read
with rapture the canon of your law in Nature, you want something :uite the contrary, you
e<traordinary stage-players and self-deluders& In your pride you wish to dictate your
morals and ideals to Nature, to Nature herself, and to incorporate them therein$ you insist
that it shall !e Nature 1according to the Stoa,1 and would li"e eerything to !e made after
your own image, as a ast, eternal glorification and generalism of Stoicism& *ith all your
loe for truth, you hae forced yourseles so long, so persistently, and with such hypnotic
rigidity to see Nature %,4S247, that is to say, Stoically, that you are no longer a!le to
see it otherwise-- and to crown all, some unfathoma!le superciliousness gies you the
(edlamite hope that (2#,US2 you are a!le to tyranni)e oer yourseles--Stoicism is
self-tyranny--Nature will also allow herself to !e tyranni)ed oer- is not the Stoic a P,9T
of Nature? ' ' ' (ut this is an old and eerlasting story- what happened in old times with
the Stoics still happens today, as soon as eer a philosophy !egins to !eliee in itself' It
always creates the world in its own image$ it cannot do otherwise$ philosophy is this
tyrannical impulse itself, the most spiritual *ill to Power, the will to 1creation of the
world,1 the will to the causa prima'
>G' The eagerness and su!tlety, I should een say craftiness, with which the pro!lem of
1the real and the apparent world1 is dealt with at present throughout 2urope, furnishes
food for thought and attention$ and he who hears only a 1*ill to Truth1 in the
!ac"ground, and nothing else, cannot certainly !oast of the sharpest ears' In rare and
isolated cases, it may really hae happened that such a *ill to Truth--a certain
e<traagant and adenturous pluc", a metaphysician5s am!ition of the forlorn hope--has
participated therein- that which in the end always prefers a handful of 1certainty1 to a
whole cartload of !eautiful possi!ilities$ there may een !e puritanical fanatics of
conscience, who prefer to put their last trust in a sure nothing, rather than in an uncertain
something' (ut that is Nihilism, and the sign of a despairing, mortally wearied soul,
notwithstanding the courageous !earing such a irtue may display' It seems, howeer, to
!e otherwise with stronger and lielier thin"ers who are still eager for life' In that they
side ,G,INST appearance, and spea" superciliously of 1perspectie,1 in that they ran"
the credi!ility of their own !odies a!out as low as the credi!ility of the ocular eidence
that 1the earth stands still,1 and thus, apparently, allowing with complacency their
securest possession to escape .for what does one at present !eliee in more firmly than in
one5s !ody?0,--who "nows if they are not really trying to win !ac" something which was
formerly an een securer possession, something of the old domain of the faith of former
times, perhaps the 1immortal soul,1 perhaps 1the old God,1 in short, ideas !y which they
could lie !etter, that is to say, more igorously and more /oyously, than !y 1modern
ideas1? There is 6IST9UST of these modern ideas in this mode of loo"ing at things, a
dis!elief in all that has !een constructed yesterday and today$ there is perhaps some slight
admi<ture of satiety and scorn, which can no longer endure the (9I#-,-(9,# of ideas
of the most aried origin, such as so-called Positiism at present throws on the mar"et$ a
disgust of the more refined taste at the illage-fair motleyness and patchiness of all these
reality-philosophasters, in whom there is nothing either new or true, e<cept this
motleyness' Therein it seems to me that we should agree with those s"eptical anti-realists
and "nowledge-microscopists of the present day$ their instinct, which repels them from
;O629N reality, is unrefuted ' ' ' what do their retrograde !y-paths concern us& The
main thing a!out them is NOT that they wish to go 1!ac",1 !ut that they wish to get
,*,7 therefrom' , little ;O92 strength, swing, courage, and artistic power, and they
would !e O%%--and not !ac"&
>>' It seems to me that there is eerywhere an attempt at present to diert attention from
the actual influence which 8ant e<ercised on German philosophy, and especially to
ignore prudently the alue which he set upon himself' 8ant was first and foremost proud
of his Ta!le of #ategories$ with it in his hand he said- 1This is the most difficult thing that
could eer !e underta"en on !ehalf of metaphysics'1 4et us only understand this 1could
!e1& +e was proud of haing 6IS#O32926 a new faculty in man, the faculty of
synthetic /udgment a priori' Granting that he deceied himself in this matter$ the
deelopment and rapid flourishing of German philosophy depended neertheless on his
pride, and on the eager rialry of the younger generation to discoer if possi!le
something--at all eents 1new faculties1--of which to !e still prouder&--(ut let us reflect
for a moment--it is high time to do so' 1+ow are synthetic /udgments a priori
POSSI(42?1 8ant as"s himself--and what is really his answer? 1(7 ;2,NS O% ,
;2,NS .faculty01--!ut unfortunately not in fie words, !ut so circumstantially,
imposingly, and with such display of German profundity and er!al flourishes, that one
altogether loses sight of the comical niaiserie allemande inoled in such an answer'
People were !eside themseles with delight oer this new faculty, and the /u!ilation
reached its clima< when 8ant further discoered a moral faculty in man--for at that time
Germans were still moral, not yet da!!ling in the 1Politics of hard fact'1 Then came the
honeymoon of German philosophy' ,ll the young theologians of the Tu!ingen institution
went immediately into the groes--all see"ing for 1faculties'1 ,nd what did they not
find--in that innocent, rich, and still youthful period of the German spirit, to which
9omanticism, the malicious fairy, piped and sang, when one could not yet distinguish
!etween 1finding1 and 1inenting1& ,!oe all a faculty for the 1transcendental1$
Schelling christened it, intellectual intuition, and there!y gratified the most earnest
longings of the naturally pious-inclined Germans' One can do no greater wrong to the
whole of this e<u!erant and eccentric moement .which was really youthfulness,
notwithstanding that it disguised itself so !oldly, in hoary and senile conceptions0, than to
ta"e it seriously, or een treat it with moral indignation' 2nough, howeer--the world
grew older, and the dream anished' , time came when people ru!!ed their foreheads,
and they still ru! them today' People had !een dreaming, and first and foremost--old
8ant' 1(y means of a means .faculty01--he had said, or at least meant to say' (ut, is that--
an answer? ,n e<planation? Or is it not rather merely a repetition of the :uestion? +ow
does opium induce sleep? 1(y means of a means .faculty0, 1namely the irtus dormitia,
replies the doctor in ;oliere,
Quia est in eo virtus dormitiva,
Cujus est natura sensus assoupire.
(ut such replies !elong to the realm of comedy, and it is high time to replace the 8antian
:uestion, 1+ow are synthetic /udgments a P9IO9I possi!le?1 !y another :uestion, 1*hy
is !elief in such /udgments necessary?1--in effect, it is high time that we should
understand that such /udgments must !e !elieed to !e true, for the sa"e of the
preseration of creatures li"e ourseles$ though they still might naturally !e false
/udgments& Or, more plainly spo"en, and roughly and readily--synthetic /udgments a
priori should not 1!e possi!le1 at all$ we hae no right to them$ in our mouths they are
nothing !ut false /udgments' Only, of course, the !elief in their truth is necessary, as
plausi!le !elief and ocular eidence !elonging to the perspectie iew of life' ,nd
finally, to call to mind the enormous influence which 1German philosophy1--I hope you
understand its right to inerted commas .goosefeet0?--has e<ercised throughout the whole
of 2urope, there is no dou!t that a certain 3I9TUS 6O9;ITI3, had a share in it$ than"s
to German philosophy, it was a delight to the no!le idlers, the irtuous, the mystics, the
artiste, the three-fourths #hristians, and the political o!scurantists of all nations, to find
an antidote to the still oerwhelming sensualism which oerflowed from the last century
into this, in short--1sensus assoupire'1 ' ' '
>A' ,s regards materialistic atomism, it is one of the !est- refuted theories that hae !een
adanced, and in 2urope there is now perhaps no one in the learned world so unscholarly
as to attach serious signification to it, e<cept for conenient eeryday use .as an
a!!reiation of the means of e<pression0-- than"s chiefly to the Pole (oscoich- he and
the Pole #opernicus hae hitherto !een the greatest and most successful opponents of
ocular eidence' %or while #opernicus has persuaded us to !eliee, contrary to all the
senses, that the earth does NOT stand fast, (oscoich has taught us to a!/ure the !elief in
the last thing that 1stood fast1 of the earth--the !elief in 1su!stance,1 in 1matter,1 in the
earth-residuum, and particle- atom- it is the greatest triumph oer the senses that has
hitherto !een gained on earth' One must, howeer, go still further, and also declare war,
relentless war to the "nife, against the 1atomistic re:uirements1 which still lead a
dangerous after-life in places where no one suspects them, li"e the more cele!rated
1metaphysical re:uirements1- one must also a!oe all gie the finishing stro"e to that
other and more portentous atomism which #hristianity has taught !est and longest, the
SOU4- ,TO;IS;' 4et it !e permitted to designate !y this e<pression the !elief which
regards the soul as something indestructi!le, eternal, indiisi!le, as a monad, as an
atomon- this !elief ought to !e e<pelled from science& (etween ourseles, it is not at all
necessary to get rid of 1the soul1 there!y, and thus renounce one of the oldest and most
enerated hypotheses--as happens fre:uently to the clumsiness of naturalists, who can
hardly touch on the soul without immediately losing it' (ut the way is open for new
acceptations and refinements of the soul-hypothesis$ and such conceptions as 1mortal
soul,1 and 1soul of su!/ectie multiplicity,1 and 1soul as social structure of the instincts
and passions,1 want henceforth to hae legitimate rights in science' In that the N2*
psychologist is a!out to put an end to the superstitions which hae hitherto flourished
with almost tropical lu<uriance around the idea of the soul, he is really, as it were,
thrusting himself into a new desert and a new distrust--it is possi!le that the older
psychologists had a merrier and more comforta!le time of it$ eentually, howeer, he
finds that precisely there!y he is also condemned to IN32NT--and, who "nows? perhaps
to 6IS#O329 the new'
>B' Psychologists should !ethin" themseles !efore putting down the instinct of self-
preseration as the cardinal instinct of an organic !eing' , liing thing see"s a!oe all to
6IS#+,9G2 its strength--life itself is *I44 TO PO*29$ self-preseration is only one
of the indirect and most fre:uent 92SU4TS thereof' In short, here, as eerywhere else,
let us !eware of SUP29%4UOUS teleological principles&--one of which is the instinct of
self- preseration .we owe it to Spino)a5s inconsistency0' It is thus, in effect, that method
ordains, which must !e essentially economy of principles'
>C' It is perhaps /ust dawning on fie or si< minds that natural philosophy is only a
world-e<position and world-arrangement .according to us, if I may say so&0 and NOT a
world-e<planation$ !ut in so far as it is !ased on !elief in the senses, it is regarded as
more, and for a long time to come must !e regarded as more--namely, as an e<planation'
It has eyes and fingers of its own, it has ocular eidence and palpa!leness of its own- this
operates fascinatingly, persuasiely, and #ON3IN#ING47 upon an age with
fundamentally ple!eian tastes--in fact, it follows instinctiely the canon of truth of eternal
popular sensualism' *hat is clear, what is 1e<plained1? Only that which can !e seen and
felt--one must pursue eery pro!lem thus far' O!ersely, howeer, the charm of the
Platonic mode of thought, which was an ,9ISTO#9,TI# mode, consisted precisely in
92SIST,N#2 to o!ious sense-eidence--perhaps among men who en/oyed een
stronger and more fastidious senses than our contemporaries, !ut who "new how to find a
higher triumph in remaining masters of them- and this !y means of pale, cold, grey
conceptional networ"s which they threw oer the motley whirl of the senses--the mo! of
the senses, as Plato said' In this oercoming of the world, and interpreting of the world in
the manner of Plato, there was an 2N=O7;2NT different from that which the physicists
of today offer us--and li"ewise the 6arwinists and anti-teleologists among the
physiological wor"ers, with their principle of the 1smallest possi!le effort,1 and the
greatest possi!le !lunder' 1*here there is nothing more to see or to grasp, there is also
nothing more for men to do1--that is certainly an imperatie different from the Platonic
one, !ut it may notwithstanding !e the right imperatie for a hardy, la!orious race of
machinists and !ridge- !uilders of the future, who hae nothing !ut 9OUG+ wor" to
perform'
>@' To study physiology with a clear conscience, one must insist on the fact that the
sense-organs are not phenomena in the sense of the idealistic philosophy$ as such they
certainly could not !e causes& Sensualism, therefore, at least as regulatie hypothesis, if
not as heuristic principle' *hat? ,nd others say een that the e<ternal world is the wor"
of our organs? (ut then our !ody, as a part of this e<ternal world, would !e the wor" of
our organs& (ut then our organs themseles would !e the wor" of our organs& It seems to
me that this is a complete 926U#TIO ,6 ,(SU96U;, if the conception #,US, SUI
is something fundamentally a!surd' #onse:uently, the e<ternal world is NOT the wor" of
our organs--?
>D' There are still harmless self-o!serers who !eliee that there are 1immediate
certainties1$ for instance, 1I thin",1 or as the superstition of Schopenhauer puts it, 1I will1$
as though cognition here got hold of its o!/ect purely and simply as 1the thing in itself,1
without any falsification ta"ing place either on the part of the su!/ect or the o!/ect' I
would repeat it, howeer, a hundred times, that 1immediate certainty,1 as well as
1a!solute "nowledge1 and the 1thing in itself,1 inole a #ONT9,6I#TIO IN
,6=2#TO$ we really ought to free ourseles from the misleading significance of words&
The people on their part may thin" that cognition is "nowing all a!out things, !ut the
philosopher must say to himself- 1*hen I analy)e the process that is e<pressed in the
sentence, 5I thin",5 I find a whole series of daring assertions, the argumentatie proof of
which would !e difficult, perhaps impossi!le- for instance, that it is HIH who thin", that
there must necessarily !e something that thin"s, that thin"ing is an actiity and operation
on the part of a !eing who is thought of as a cause, that there is an 5ego,5 and finally, that
it is already determined what is to !e designated !y thin"ing--that I 8NO* what thin"ing
is' %or if I had not already decided within myself what it is, !y what standard could I
determine whether that which is /ust happening is not perhaps 5willing5 or 5feeling5? In
short, the assertion 5I thin",5 assumes that I #O;P,92 my state at the present moment
with other states of myself which I "now, in order to determine what it is$ on account of
this retrospectie connection with further 5"nowledge,5 it has, at any rate, no immediate
certainty for me'1--In place of the 1immediate certainty1 in which the people may !eliee
in the special case, the philosopher thus finds a series of metaphysical :uestions
presented to him, erita!le conscience :uestions of the intellect, to wit- 1*hence did I get
the notion of 5thin"ing5? *hy do I !eliee in cause and effect? *hat gies me the right to
spea" of an 5ego,5 and een of an 5ego5 as cause, and finally of an 5ego5 as cause of
thought?1 +e who entures to answer these metaphysical :uestions at once !y an appeal
to a sort of INTUITI32 perception, li"e the person who says, 1I thin", and "now that
this, at least, is true, actual, and certain1--will encounter a smile and two notes of
interrogation in a philosopher nowadays' 1Sir,1 the philosopher will perhaps gie him to
understand, 1it is impro!a!le that you are not mista"en, !ut why should it !e the truth?1
>E' *ith regard to the superstitions of logicians, I shall neer tire of emphasi)ing a small,
terse fact, which is unwillingly recogni)ed !y these credulous minds--namely, that a
thought comes when 1it1 wishes, and not when 1I1 wish$ so that it is a P29329SION of
the facts of the case to say that the su!/ect 1I1 is the condition of the predicate 1thin"'1
ON2 thin"s$ !ut that this 1one1 is precisely the famous old 1ego,1 is, to put it mildly, only
a supposition, an assertion, and assuredly not an 1immediate certainty'1 ,fter all, one has
een gone too far with this 1one thin"s1--een the 1one1 contains an INT29P92T,TION
of the process, and does not !elong to the process itself' One infers here according to the
usual grammatical formula--1To thin" is an actiity$ eery actiity re:uires an agency
that is actie$ conse:uently1 ' ' ' It was pretty much on the same lines that the older
atomism sought, !esides the operating 1power,1 the material particle wherein it resides
and out of which it operates--the atom' ;ore rigorous minds, howeer, learnt at last to
get along without this 1earth-residuum,1 and perhaps some day we shall accustom
ourseles, een from the logician5s point of iew, to get along without the little 1one1 .to
which the worthy old 1ego1 has refined itself0'
>?' It is certainly not the least charm of a theory that it is refuta!le$ it is precisely there!y
that it attracts the more su!tle minds' It seems that the hundred-times-refuted theory of
the 1free will1 owes its persistence to this charm alone$ some one is always appearing
who feels himself strong enough to refute it'
>F' Philosophers are accustomed to spea" of the will as though it were the !est-"nown
thing in the world$ indeed, Schopenhauer has gien us to understand that the will alone is
really "nown to us, a!solutely and completely "nown, without deduction or addition' (ut
it again and again seems to me that in this case Schopenhauer also only did what
philosophers are in the ha!it of doing-he seems to hae adopted a POPU4,9
P92=U6I#2 and e<aggerated it' *illing-seems to me to !e a!oe all something
#O;P4I#,T26, something that is a unity only in name--and it is precisely in a name
that popular pre/udice lur"s, which has got the mastery oer the inade:uate precautions of
philosophers in all ages' So let us for once !e more cautious, let us !e 1unphilosophical1-
let us say that in all willing there is firstly a plurality of sensations, namely, the sensation
of the condition 1,*,7 %9O; *+I#+ we go,1 the sensation of the condition
1TO*,96S *+I#+ we go,1 the sensation of this 1%9O;1 and 1TO*,96S1 itself,
and then !esides, an accompanying muscular sensation, which, een without our putting
in motion 1arms and legs,1 commences its action !y force of ha!it, directly we 1will1
anything' Therefore, /ust as sensations .and indeed many "inds of sensations0 are to !e
recogni)ed as ingredients of the will, so, in the second place, thin"ing is also to !e
recogni)ed$ in eery act of the will there is a ruling thought$--and let us not imagine it
possi!le to seer this thought from the 1willing,1 as if the will would then remain oer& In
the third place, the will is not only a comple< of sensation and thin"ing, !ut it is a!oe all
an 2;OTION, and in fact the emotion of the command' That which is termed 1freedom
of the will1 is essentially the emotion of supremacy in respect to him who must o!ey- 1I
am free, 5he5 must o!ey1--this consciousness is inherent in eery will$ and e:ually so the
straining of the attention, the straight loo" which fi<es itself e<clusiely on one thing, the
unconditional /udgment that 1this and nothing else is necessary now,1 the inward
certainty that o!edience will !e rendered--and whateer else pertains to the position of
the commander' , man who *I44S commands something within himself which renders
o!edience, or which he !eliees renders o!edience' (ut now let us notice what is the
strangest thing a!out the will,--this affair so e<tremely comple<, for which the people
hae only one name' Inasmuch as in the gien circumstances we are at the same time the
commanding ,N6 the o!eying parties, and as the o!eying party we "now the sensations
of constraint, impulsion, pressure, resistance, and motion, which usually commence
immediately after the act of will$ inasmuch as, on the other hand, we are accustomed to
disregard this duality, and to deceie ourseles a!out it !y means of the synthetic term
1I1- a whole series of erroneous conclusions, and conse:uently of false /udgments a!out
the will itself, has !ecome attached to the act of willing--to such a degree that he who
wills !eliees firmly that willing SU%%I#2S for action' Since in the ma/ority of cases
there has only !een e<ercise of will when the effect of the command--conse:uently
o!edience, and therefore action--was to !e 2IP2#T26, the ,PP2,9,N#2 has
translated itself into the sentiment, as if there were a N2#2SSIT7 O% 2%%2#T$ in a
word, he who wills !eliees with a fair amount of certainty that will and action are
somehow one$ he ascri!es the success, the carrying out of the willing, to the will itself,
and there!y en/oys an increase of the sensation of power which accompanies all success'
1%reedom of *ill1--that is the e<pression for the comple< state of delight of the person
e<ercising olition, who commands and at the same time identifies himself with the
e<ecutor of the order-- who, as such, en/oys also the triumph oer o!stacles, !ut thin"s
within himself that it was really his own will that oercame them' In this way the person
e<ercising olition adds the feelings of delight of his successful e<ecutie instruments,
the useful 1underwills1 or under-souls--indeed, our !ody is !ut a social structure
composed of many souls--to his feelings of delight as commander' 452%%2T #52ST ;OI'
what happens here is what happens in eery well-constructed and happy commonwealth,
namely, that the goerning class identifies itself with the successes of the commonwealth'
In all willing it is a!solutely a :uestion of commanding and o!eying, on the !asis, as
already said, of a social structure composed of many 1souls1, on which account a
philosopher should claim the right to include willing- as-such within the sphere of
morals--regarded as the doctrine of the relations of supremacy under which the
phenomenon of 1life1 manifests itself'
AG' That the separate philosophical ideas are not anything optional or autonomously
eoling, !ut grow up in connection and relationship with each other, that, howeer
suddenly and ar!itrarily they seem to appear in the history of thought, they neertheless
!elong /ust as much to a system as the collectie mem!ers of the fauna of a #ontinent--is
!etrayed in the end !y the circumstance- how unfailingly the most dierse philosophers
always fill in again a definite fundamental scheme of POSSI(42 philosophies' Under an
inisi!le spell, they always reole once more in the same or!it, howeer independent of
each other they may feel themseles with their critical or systematic wills, something
within them leads them, something impels them in definite order the one after the other--
to wit, the innate methodology and relationship of their ideas' Their thin"ing is, in fact,
far less a discoery than a re-recogni)ing, a remem!ering, a return and a home-coming to
a far-off, ancient common-household of the soul, out of which those ideas formerly grew-
philosophi)ing is so far a "ind of ataism of the highest order' The wonderful family
resem!lance of all Indian, Gree", and German philosophi)ing is easily enough e<plained'
In fact, where there is affinity of language, owing to the common philosophy of
grammar--I mean owing to the unconscious domination and guidance of similar
grammatical functions--it cannot !ut !e that eerything is prepared at the outset for a
similar deelopment and succession of philosophical systems, /ust as the way seems
!arred against certain other possi!ilities of world- interpretation' It is highly pro!a!le that
philosophers within the domain of the Ural-,ltaic languages .where the conception of the
su!/ect is least deeloped0 loo" otherwise 1into the world,1 and will !e found on paths of
thought different from those of the Indo-Germans and ;ussulmans, the spell of certain
grammatical functions is ultimately also the spell of P+7SIO4OGI#,4 aluations and
racial conditions'--So much !y way of re/ecting 4oc"e5s superficiality with regard to the
origin of ideas'
A>' The #,US, SUI is the !est self-contradiction that has yet !een conceied, it is a sort
of logical iolation and unnaturalness$ !ut the e<traagant pride of man has managed to
entangle itself profoundly and frightfully with this ery folly' The desire for 1freedom of
will1 in the superlatie, metaphysical sense, such as still holds sway, unfortunately, in the
minds of the half-educated, the desire to !ear the entire and ultimate responsi!ility for
one5s actions oneself, and to a!sole God, the world, ancestors, chance, and society
therefrom, inoles nothing less than to !e precisely this #,US, SUI, and, with more
than ;unchausen daring, to pull oneself up into e<istence !y the hair, out of the slough of
nothingness' If any one should find out in this manner the crass stupidity of the cele!rated
conception of 1free will1 and put it out of his head altogether, I !eg of him to carry his
1enlightenment1 a step further, and also put out of his head the contrary of this monstrous
conception of 1free will1- I mean 1non-free will,1 which is tantamount to a misuse of
cause and effect' One should not wrongly ;,T29I,4IS2 1cause1 and 1effect,1 as the
natural philosophers do .and whoeer li"e them naturali)e in thin"ing at present0,
according to the preailing mechanical doltishness which ma"es the cause press and push
until it 1effects1 its end$ one should use 1cause1 and 1effect1 only as pure
#ON#2PTIONS, that is to say, as conentional fictions for the purpose of designation
and mutual understanding,--NOT for e<planation' In 1!eing-in-itself1 there is nothing of
1casual- connection,1 of 1necessity,1 or of 1psychological non-freedom1$ there the effect
does NOT follow the cause, there 1law1 does not o!tain' It is *2 alone who hae deised
cause, se:uence, reciprocity, relatiity, constraint, num!er, law, freedom, motie, and
purpose$ and when we interpret and intermi< this sym!ol-world, as 1!eing-in-itself,1 with
things, we act once more as we hae always acted--;7T+O4OGI#,447' The 1non-free
will1 is mythology$ in real life it is only a :uestion of ST9ONG and *2,8 wills'--It is
almost always a symptom of what is lac"ing in himself, when a thin"er, in eery 1causal-
connection1 and 1psychological necessity,1 manifests something of compulsion,
indigence, o!se:uiousness, oppression, and non-freedom$ it is suspicious to hae such
feelings--the person !etrays himself' ,nd in general, if I hae o!sered correctly, the
1non-freedom of the will1 is regarded as a pro!lem from two entirely opposite
standpoints, !ut always in a profoundly P29SON,4 manner- some will not gie up their
1responsi!ility,1 their !elief in T+2;S2432S, the personal right to T+2I9 merits, at
any price .the ain races !elong to this class0$ others on the contrary, do not wish to !e
answera!le for anything, or !lamed for anything, and owing to an inward self-contempt,
see" to G2T OUT O% T+2 (USIN2SS, no matter how' The latter, when they write
!oo"s, are in the ha!it at present of ta"ing the side of criminals$ a sort of socialistic
sympathy is their faourite disguise' ,nd as a matter of fact, the fatalism of the wea"-
willed em!ellishes itself surprisingly when it can pose as 1la religion de la souffrance
humaine1$ that is ITS 1good taste'1
AA' 4et me !e pardoned, as an old philologist who cannot desist from the mischief of
putting his finger on !ad modes of interpretation, !ut 1Nature5s conformity to law,1 of
which you physicists tal" so proudly, as though--why, it e<ists only owing to your
interpretation and !ad 1philology'1 It is no matter of fact, no 1te<t,1 !ut rather /ust a
naiely humanitarian ad/ustment and perersion of meaning, with which you ma"e
a!undant concessions to the democratic instincts of the modern soul& 12erywhere
e:uality !efore the law--Nature is not different in that respect, nor !etter than we1- a fine
instance of secret motie, in which the ulgar antagonism to eerything priileged and
autocratic--li"ewise a second and more refined atheism--is once more disguised' 1Ni
dieu, ni maitre1--that, also, is what you want$ and therefore 1#heers for natural law&1-- is
it not so? (ut, as has !een said, that is interpretation, not te<t$ and some!ody might come
along, who, with opposite intentions and modes of interpretation, could read out of the
same 1Nature,1 and with regard to the same phenomena, /ust the tyrannically
inconsiderate and relentless enforcement of the claims of power--an interpreter who
should so place the une<ceptionalness and unconditionalness of all 1*ill to Power1
!efore your eyes, that almost eery word, and the word 1tyranny1 itself, would eentually
seem unsuita!le, or li"e a wea"ening and softening metaphor--as !eing too human$ and
who should, neertheless, end !y asserting the same a!out this world as you do, namely,
that it has a 1necessary1 and 1calcula!le1 course, NOT, howeer, !ecause laws o!tain in
it, !ut !ecause they are a!solutely 4,#8ING, and eery power effects its ultimate
conse:uences eery moment' Granted that this also is only interpretation--and you will !e
eager enough to ma"e this o!/ection?--well, so much the !etter'
AB' ,ll psychology hitherto has run aground on moral pre/udices and timidities, it has not
dared to launch out into the depths' In so far as it is allowa!le to recogni)e in that which
has hitherto !een written, eidence of that which has hitherto !een "ept silent, it seems as
if no!ody had yet har!oured the notion of psychology as the ;orphology and
62324OP;2NT-6O#T9IN2 O% T+2 *I44 TO PO*29, as I conceie of it' The
power of moral pre/udices has penetrated deeply into the most intellectual world, the
world apparently most indifferent and unpre/udiced, and has o!iously operated in an
in/urious, o!structie, !linding, and distorting manner' , proper physio-psychology has to
contend with unconscious antagonism in the heart of the inestigator, it has 1the heart1
against it een a doctrine of the reciprocal conditionalness of the 1good1 and the 1!ad1
impulses, causes .as refined immorality0 distress and aersion in a still strong and manly
conscience--still more so, a doctrine of the deriation of all good impulses from !ad ones'
If, howeer, a person should regard een the emotions of hatred, eny, coetousness, and
imperiousness as life-conditioning emotions, as factors which must !e present,
fundamentally and essentially, in the general economy of life .which must, therefore, !e
further deeloped if life is to !e further deeloped0, he will suffer from such a iew of
things as from sea-sic"ness' ,nd yet this hypothesis is far from !eing the strangest and
most painful in this immense and almost new domain of dangerous "nowledge, and there
are in fact a hundred good reasons why eery one should "eep away from it who #,N do
so& On the other hand, if one has once drifted hither with one5s !ar", well& ery good&
now let us set our teeth firmly& let us open our eyes and "eep our hand fast on the helm&
*e sail away right O329 morality, we crush out, we destroy perhaps the remains of our
own morality !y daring to ma"e our oyage thither--!ut what do *2 matter' Neer yet
did a P9O%OUN629 world of insight reeal itself to daring traelers and adenturers,
and the psychologist who thus 1ma"es a sacrifice1--it is not the sacrifi)io dell5 intelletto,
on the contrary&--will at least !e entitled to demand in return that psychology shall once
more !e recogni)ed as the :ueen of the sciences, for whose serice and e:uipment the
other sciences e<ist' %or psychology is once more the path to the fundamental pro!lems'
AC' O sancta simplicitiatas& In what strange simplification and falsification man lies&
One can neer cease wondering when once one has got eyes for !eholding this marel&
+ow we hae made eerything around us clear and free and easy and simple& how we
hae !een a!le to gie our senses a passport to eerything superficial, our thoughts a
godli"e desire for wanton pran"s and wrong inferences&--how from the !eginning, we
hae contried to retain our ignorance in order to en/oy an almost inconceia!le freedom,
thoughtlessness, imprudence, heartiness, and gaiety--in order to en/oy life& ,nd only on
this solidified, graniteli"e foundation of ignorance could "nowledge rear itself hitherto,
the will to "nowledge on the foundation of a far more powerful will, the will to
ignorance, to the uncertain, to the untrue& Not as its opposite, !ut--as its refinement& It is
to !e hoped, indeed, that 4,NGU,G2, here as elsewhere, will not get oer its
aw"wardness, and that it will continue to tal" of opposites where there are only degrees
and many refinements of gradation$ it is e:ually to !e hoped that the incarnated Tartuffery
of morals, which now !elongs to our uncon:uera!le 1flesh and !lood,1 will turn the
words round in the mouths of us discerning ones' +ere and there we understand it, and
laugh at the way in which precisely the !est "nowledge see"s most to retain us in this
SI;P4I%I26, thoroughly artificial, suita!ly imagined, and suita!ly falsified world- at the
way in which, whether it will or not, it loes error, !ecause, as liing itself, it loes life&
A@' ,fter such a cheerful commencement, a serious word would fain !e heard$ it appeals
to the most serious minds' Ta"e care, ye philosophers and friends of "nowledge, and
!eware of martyrdom& Of suffering 1for the truth5s sa"e1& een in your own defense& It
spoils all the innocence and fine neutrality of your conscience$ it ma"es you headstrong
against o!/ections and red rags$ it stupefies, animali)es, and !rutali)es, when in the
struggle with danger, slander, suspicion, e<pulsion, and een worse conse:uences of
enmity, ye hae at last to play your last card as protectors of truth upon earth--as though
1the Truth1 were such an innocent and incompetent creature as to re:uire protectors& and
you of all people, ye "nights of the sorrowful countenance, ;essrs 4oafers and #o!we!-
spinners of the spirit& %inally, ye "now sufficiently well that it cannot !e of any
conse:uence if 72 /ust carry your point$ ye "now that hitherto no philosopher has carried
his point, and that there might !e a more lauda!le truthfulness in eery little interrogatie
mar" which you place after your special words and faourite doctrines .and occasionally
after yourseles0 than in all the solemn pantomime and trumping games !efore accusers
and law-courts& 9ather go out of the way& %lee into concealment& ,nd hae your mas"s
and your ruses, that ye may !e mista"en for what you are, or somewhat feared& ,nd pray,
don5t forget the garden, the garden with golden trellis-wor"& ,nd hae people around you
who are as a garden--or as music on the waters at eentide, when already the day
!ecomes a memory' #hoose the GOO6 solitude, the free, wanton, lightsome solitude,
which also gies you the right still to remain good in any sense whatsoeer& +ow
poisonous, how crafty, how !ad, does eery long war ma"e one, which cannot !e waged
openly !y means of force& +ow P29SON,4 does a long fear ma"e one, a long watching
of enemies, of possi!le enemies& These pariahs of society, these long-pursued, !adly-
persecuted ones--also the compulsory recluses, the Spino)as or Giordano (runos--always
!ecome in the end, een under the most intellectual mas:uerade, and perhaps without
!eing themseles aware of it, refined engeance-see"ers and poison-(rewers ./ust lay
!are the foundation of Spino)a5s ethics and theology&0, not to spea" of the stupidity of
moral indignation, which is the unfailing sign in a philosopher that the sense of
philosophical humour has left him' The martyrdom of the philosopher, his 1sacrifice for
the sa"e of truth,1 forces into the light whateer of the agitator and actor lur"s in him$ and
if one has hitherto contemplated him only with artistic curiosity, with regard to many a
philosopher it is easy to understand the dangerous desire to see him also in his
deterioration .deteriorated into a 1martyr,1 into a stage-and- tri!une-!awler0' Only, that it
is necessary with such a desire to !e clear *+,T spectacle one will see in any case--
merely a satyric play, merely an epilogue farce, merely the continued proof that the long,
real tragedy IS ,T ,N 2N6, supposing that eery philosophy has !een a long tragedy in
its origin'
AD' 2ery select man stries instinctiely for a citadel and a priacy, where he is %922
from the crowd, the many, the ma/ority-- where he may forget 1men who are the rule,1 as
their e<ception$-- e<clusie only of the case in which he is pushed straight to such men !y
a still stronger instinct, as a discerner in the great and e<ceptional sense' *hoeer, in
intercourse with men, does not occasionally glisten in all the green and grey colours of
distress, owing to disgust, satiety, sympathy, gloominess, and solitariness, is assuredly not
a man of eleated tastes$ supposing, howeer, that he does not oluntarily ta"e all this
!urden and disgust upon himself, that he persistently aoids it, and remains, as I said,
:uietly and proudly hidden in his citadel, one thing is then certain- he was not made, he
was not predestined for "nowledge' %or as such, he would one day hae to say to himself-
1The deil ta"e my good taste& !ut 5the rule5 is more interesting than the e<ception--than
myself, the e<ception&1 ,nd he would go 6O*N, and a!oe all, he would go 1inside'1
The long and serious study of the ,329,G2 man--and conse:uently much disguise,
self-oercoming, familiarity, and !ad intercourse .all intercourse is !ad intercourse e<cept
with one5s e:uals0---that constitutes a necessary part of the life-history of eery
philosopher$ perhaps the most disagreea!le, odious, and disappointing part' If he is
fortunate, howeer, as a faourite child of "nowledge should !e, he will meet with
suita!le au<iliaries who will shorten and lighten his tas"$ I mean so- called cynics, those
who simply recogni)e the animal, the commonplace and 1the rule1 in themseles, and at
the same time hae so much spirituality and tic"lishness as to ma"e them tal" of
themseles and their li"e (2%O92 *ITN2SS2S--sometimes they wallow, een in
!oo"s, as on their own dung-hill' #ynicism is the only form in which !ase souls approach
what is called honesty$ and the higher man must open his ears to all the coarser or finer
cynicism, and congratulate himself when the clown !ecomes shameless right !efore him,
or the scientific satyr spea"s out' There are een cases where enchantment mi<es with the
disgust-- namely, where !y a frea" of nature, genius is !ound to some such indiscreet
!illy-goat and ape, as in the case of the ,!!e Galiani, the profoundest, acutest, and
perhaps also filthiest man of his century--he was far profounder than 3oltaire, and
conse:uently also, a good deal more silent' It happens more fre:uently, as has !een
hinted, that a scientific head is placed on an ape5s !ody, a fine e<ceptional understanding
in a !ase soul, an occurrence !y no means rare, especially among doctors and moral
physiologists' ,nd wheneer anyone spea"s without !itterness, or rather :uite innocently,
of man as a !elly with two re:uirements, and a head with one$ wheneer any one sees,
see"s, and *,NTS to see only hunger, se<ual instinct, and anity as the real and only
moties of human actions$ in short, when any one spea"s 1!adly1--and not een 1ill1--of
man, then ought the loer of "nowledge to hear"en attentiely and diligently$ he ought, in
general, to hae an open ear whereer there is tal" without indignation' %or the indignant
man, and he who perpetually tears and lacerates himself with his own teeth .or, in place
of himself, the world, God, or society0, may indeed, morally spea"ing, stand higher than
the laughing and self- satisfied satyr, !ut in eery other sense he is the more ordinary,
more indifferent, and less instructie case' ,nd no one is such a 4I,9 as the indignant
man'
AE' It is difficult to !e understood, especially when one thin"s and lies gangasrotogati
J%ootnote- 4i"e the rier Ganges- presto'K among those only who thin" and lie
otherwise--namely, "urmagati J%ootnote- 4i"e the tortoise- lento'K, or at !est 1frogli"e,1
mandei"agati J%ootnote- 4i"e the frog- staccato'K .I do eerything to !e 1difficultly
understood1 myself&0--and one should !e heartily grateful for the good will to some
refinement of interpretation' ,s regards 1the good friends,1 howeer, who are always too
easy-going, and thin" that as friends they hae a right to ease, one does well at the ery
first to grant them a play-ground and romping-place for misunderstanding--one can thus
laugh still$ or get rid of them altogether, these good friends-- and laugh then also&
A?' *hat is most difficult to render from one language into another is the T2;PO of its
style, which has its !asis in the character of the race, or to spea" more physiologically, in
the aerage T2;PO of the assimilation of its nutriment' There are honestly meant
translations, which, as inoluntary ulgari)ations, are almost falsifications of the original,
merely !ecause its liely and merry T2;PO .which oerleaps and o!iates all dangers in
word and e<pression0 could not also !e rendered' , German is almost incapacitated for
P92STO in his language$ conse:uently also, as may !e reasona!ly inferred, for many of
the most delightful and daring NU,N#2S of free, free-spirited thought' ,nd /ust as the
!uffoon and satyr are foreign to him in !ody and conscience, so ,ristophanes and
Petronius are untranslata!le for him' 2erything ponderous, iscous, and pompously
clumsy, all long-winded and wearying species of style, are deeloped in profuse ariety
among Germans--pardon me for stating the fact that een Goethe5s prose, in its mi<ture of
stiffness and elegance, is no e<ception, as a reflection of the 1good old time1 to which it
!elongs, and as an e<pression of German taste at a time when there was still a 1German
taste,1 which was a rococo-taste in mori!us et arti!us' 4essing is an e<ception, owing to
his histrionic nature, which understood much, and was ersed in many things$ he who
was not the translator of (ayle to no purpose, who too" refuge willingly in the shadow of
6iderot and 3oltaire, and still more willingly among the 9oman comedy-writers--4essing
loed also free-spiritism in the T2;PO, and flight out of Germany' (ut how could the
German language, een in the prose of 4essing, imitate the T2;PO of ;achiaelli, who
in his 1Principe1 ma"es us !reathe the dry, fine air of %lorence, and cannot help
presenting the most serious eents in a !oisterous allegrissimo, perhaps not without a
malicious artistic sense of the contrast he entures to present--long, heay, difficult,
dangerous thoughts, and a T2;PO of the gallop, and of the !est, wantonest humour?
%inally, who would enture on a German translation of Petronius, who, more than any
great musician hitherto, was a master of P92STO in inention, ideas, and words? *hat
matter in the end a!out the swamps of the sic", eil world, or of the 1ancient world,1
when li"e him, one has the feet of a wind, the rush, the !reath, the emancipating scorn of
a wind, which ma"es eerything healthy, !y ma"ing eerything 9UN& ,nd with regard to
,ristophanes--that transfiguring, complementary genius, for whose sa"e one P,96ONS
all +ellenism for haing e<isted, proided one has understood in its full profundity ,44
that there re:uires pardon and transfiguration$ there is nothing that has caused me to
meditate more on P4,TO5S secrecy and sphin<-li"e nature, than the happily presered
petit fait that under the pillow of his death-!ed there was found no 1(i!le,1 nor anything
2gyptian, Pythagorean, or Platonic--!ut a !oo" of ,ristophanes' +ow could een Plato
hae endured life--a Gree" life which he repudiated--without an ,ristophanes&
AF' It is the !usiness of the ery few to !e independent$ it is a priilege of the strong' ,nd
whoeer attempts it, een with the !est right, !ut without !eing O(4IG26 to do so,
proes that he is pro!a!ly not only strong, !ut also daring !eyond measure' +e enters into
a la!yrinth, he multiplies a thousandfold the dangers which life in itself already !rings
with it$ not the least of which is that no one can see how and where he loses his way,
!ecomes isolated, and is torn piecemeal !y some minotaur of conscience' Supposing such
a one comes to grief, it is so far from the comprehension of men that they neither feel it,
nor sympathi)e with it' ,nd he cannot any longer go !ac"& +e cannot een go !ac" again
to the sympathy of men&
BG' Our deepest insights must--and should--appear as follies, and under certain
circumstances as crimes, when they come unauthori)edly to the ears of those who are not
disposed and predestined for them' The e<oteric and the esoteric, as they were formerly
distinguished !y philosophers--among the Indians, as among the Gree"s, Persians, and
;ussulmans, in short, whereer people !elieed in gradations of ran" and NOT in
e:uality and e:ual rights--are not so much in contradistinction to one another in respect to
the e<oteric class, standing without, and iewing, estimating, measuring, and /udging
from the outside, and not from the inside$ the more essential distinction is that the class in
:uestion iews things from !elow upwards--while the esoteric class iews things %9O;
,(O32 6O*N*,96S' There are heights of the soul from which tragedy itself no
longer appears to operate tragically$ and if all the woe in the world were ta"en together,
who would dare to decide whether the sight of it would N2#2SS,9I47 seduce and
constrain to sympathy, and thus to a dou!ling of the woe? ' ' ' That which seres the
higher class of men for nourishment or refreshment, must !e almost poison to an entirely
different and lower order of human !eings' The irtues of the common man would
perhaps mean ice and wea"ness in a philosopher$ it might !e possi!le for a highly
deeloped man, supposing him to degenerate and go to ruin, to ac:uire :ualities there!y
alone, for the sa"e of which he would hae to !e honoured as a saint in the lower world
into which he had sun"' There are !oo"s which hae an inerse alue for the soul and the
health according as the inferior soul and the lower itality, or the higher and more
powerful, ma"e use of them' In the former case they are dangerous, distur!ing, unsettling
!oo"s, in the latter case they are herald-calls which summon the !raest to T+2I9
!raery' (oo"s for the general reader are always ill-smelling !oo"s, the odour of paltry
people clings to them' *here the populace eat and drin", and een where they reerence,
it is accustomed to stin"' One should not go into churches if one wishes to !reathe PU92
air'
B>' In our youthful years we still enerate and despise without the art of NU,N#2,
which is the !est gain of life, and we hae rightly to do hard penance for haing fallen
upon men and things with 7ea and Nay' 2erything is so arranged that the worst of all
tastes, T+2 T,ST2 %O9 T+2 UN#ON6ITION,4, is cruelly !efooled and a!used, until
a man learns to introduce a little art into his sentiments, and prefers to try conclusions
with the artificial, as do the real artists of life' The angry and reerent spirit peculiar to
youth appears to allow itself no peace, until it has suita!ly falsified men and things, to !e
a!le to ent its passion upon them- youth in itself een, is something falsifying and
deceptie' 4ater on, when the young soul, tortured !y continual disillusions, finally turns
suspiciously against itself--still ardent and saage een in its suspicion and remorse of
conscience- how it up!raids itself, how impatiently it tears itself, how it reenges itself
for its long self-!linding, as though it had !een a oluntary !lindness& In this transition
one punishes oneself !y distrust of one5s sentiments$ one tortures one5s enthusiasm with
dou!t, one feels een the good conscience to !e a danger, as if it were the self-
concealment and lassitude of a more refined uprightness$ and a!oe all, one espouses
upon principle the cause ,G,INST 1youth'1--, decade later, and one comprehends that
all this was also still--youth&
BA' Throughout the longest period of human history--one calls it the prehistoric period--
the alue or non-alue of an action was inferred from its #ONS2LU2N#2S$ the action
in itself was not ta"en into consideration, any more than its origin$ !ut pretty much as in
#hina at present, where the distinction or disgrace of a child redounds to its parents, the
retro-operating power of success or failure was what induced men to thin" well or ill of
an action' 4et us call this period the P92-;O9,4 period of man"ind$ the imperatie,
18now thyself&1 was then still un"nown' --In the last ten thousand years, on the other
hand, on certain large portions of the earth, one has gradually got so far, that one no
longer lets the conse:uences of an action, !ut its origin, decide with regard to its worth- a
great achieement as a whole, an important refinement of ision and of criterion, the
unconscious effect of the supremacy of aristocratic alues and of the !elief in 1origin,1
the mar" of a period which may !e designated in the narrower sense as the ;O9,4 one-
the first attempt at self-"nowledge is there!y made' Instead of the conse:uences, the
origin--what an inersion of perspectie& ,nd assuredly an inersion effected only after
long struggle and waering& To !e sure, an ominous new superstition, a peculiar
narrowness of interpretation, attained supremacy precisely there!y- the origin of an action
was interpreted in the most definite sense possi!le, as origin out of an INT2NTION$
people were agreed in the !elief that the alue of an action lay in the alue of its
intention' The intention as the sole origin and antecedent history of an action- under the
influence of this pre/udice moral praise and !lame hae !een !estowed, and men hae
/udged and een philosophi)ed almost up to the present day'--Is it not possi!le, howeer,
that the necessity may now hae arisen of again ma"ing up our minds with regard to the
reersing and fundamental shifting of alues, owing to a new self-consciousness and
acuteness in man--is it not possi!le that we may !e standing on the threshold of a period
which to !egin with, would !e distinguished negatiely as U4T9,-;O9,4- nowadays
when, at least among us immoralists, the suspicion arises that the decisie alue of an
action lies precisely in that which is NOT INT2NTION,4, and that all its
intentionalness, all that is seen, sensi!le, or 1sensed1 in it, !elongs to its surface or s"in--
which, li"e eery s"in, !etrays something, !ut #ON#2,4S still more? In short, we
!eliee that the intention is only a sign or symptom, which first re:uires an e<planation--
a sign, moreoer, which has too many interpretations, and conse:uently hardly any
meaning in itself alone- that morality, in the sense in which it has !een understood
hitherto, as intention-morality, has !een a pre/udice, perhaps a prematureness or
preliminariness, pro!a!ly something of the same ran" as astrology and alchemy, !ut in
any case something which must !e surmounted' The surmounting of morality, in a certain
sense een the self-mounting of morality-- let that !e the name for the long-secret la!our
which has !een resered for the most refined, the most upright, and also the most wic"ed
consciences of today, as the liing touchstones of the soul'
BB' It cannot !e helped- the sentiment of surrender, of sacrifice for one5s neigh!our, and
all self-renunciation-morality, must !e mercilessly called to account, and !rought to
/udgment$ /ust as the aesthetics of 1disinterested contemplation,1 under which the
emasculation of art nowadays see"s insidiously enough to create itself a good conscience'
There is far too much witchery and sugar in the sentiments 1for others1 and 1NOT for
myself,1 for one not needing to !e dou!ly distrustful here, and for one as"ing promptly-
1,re they not perhaps--62#2PTIONS?1--That they P42,S2-- him who has them, and
him who en/oys their fruit, and also the mere spectator--that is still no argument in their
%,3OU9, !ut /ust calls for caution' 4et us therefore !e cautious&
BC' ,t whateer standpoint of philosophy one may place oneself nowadays, seen from
eery position, the 299ON2OUSN2SS of the world in which we thin" we lie is the
surest and most certain thing our eyes can light upon- we find proof after proof thereof,
which would fain allure us into surmises concerning a deceptie principle in the 1nature
of things'1 +e, howeer, who ma"es thin"ing itself, and conse:uently 1the spirit,1
responsi!le for the falseness of the world--an honoura!le e<it, which eery conscious or
unconscious adocatus dei aails himself of--he who regards this world, including space,
time, form, and moement, as falsely 626U#26, would hae at least good reason in the
end to !ecome distrustful also of all thin"ing$ has it not hitherto !een playing upon us the
worst of scury tric"s? and what guarantee would it gie that it would not continue to do
what it has always !een doing? In all seriousness, the innocence of thin"ers has
something touching and respect-inspiring in it, which een nowadays permits them to
wait upon consciousness with the re:uest that it will gie them +ON2ST answers- for
e<ample, whether it !e 1real1 or not, and why it "eeps the outer world so resolutely at a
distance, and other :uestions of the same description' The !elief in 1immediate
certainties1 is a ;O9,4 N,I32T2 which does honour to us philosophers$ !ut--we hae
now to cease !eing 1;29247 moral1 men& ,part from morality, such !elief is a folly
which does little honour to us& If in middle-class life an eer- ready distrust is regarded as
the sign of a 1!ad character,1 and conse:uently as an imprudence, here among us, !eyond
the middle- class world and its 7eas and Nays, what should preent our !eing imprudent
and saying- the philosopher has at length a 9IG+T to 1!ad character,1 as the !eing who
has hitherto !een most !efooled on earth--he is now under O(4IG,TION to
distrustfulness, to the wic"edest s:uinting out of eery a!yss of suspicion'--%orgie me
the /o"e of this gloomy grimace and turn of e<pression$ for I myself hae long ago
learned to thin" and estimate differently with regard to deceiing and !eing deceied, and
I "eep at least a couple of po"es in the ri!s ready for the !lind rage with which
philosophers struggle against !eing deceied' *hy NOT? It is nothing more than a moral
pre/udice that truth is worth more than sem!lance$ it is, in fact, the worst proed
supposition in the world' So much must !e conceded- there could hae !een no life at all
e<cept upon the !asis of perspectie estimates and sem!lances$ and if, with the irtuous
enthusiasm and stupidity of many philosophers, one wished to do away altogether with
the 1seeming world1--well, granted that 7OU could do that,--at least nothing of your
1truth1 would there!y remain& Indeed, what is it that forces us in general to the
supposition that there is an essential opposition of 1true1 and 1false1? Is it not enough to
suppose degrees of seemingness, and as it were lighter and dar"er shades and tones of
sem!lance--different aleurs, as the painters say? *hy might not the world *+I#+
#ON#29NS US--!e a fiction? ,nd to any one who suggested- 1(ut to a fiction !elongs
an originator?1--might it not !e !luntly replied- *+7? ;ay not this 1!elong1 also !elong
to the fiction? Is it not at length permitted to !e a little ironical towards the su!/ect, /ust as
towards the predicate and o!/ect? ;ight not the philosopher eleate himself a!oe faith
in grammar? ,ll respect to goernesses, !ut is it not time that philosophy should
renounce goerness-faith?
B@' O 3oltaire& O humanity& O idiocy& There is something tic"lish in 1the truth,1 and in
the S2,9#+ for the truth$ and if man goes a!out it too humanely--1il ne cherche le rai
:ue pour faire le !ien1--I wager he finds nothing&
BD' Supposing that nothing else is 1gien1 as real !ut our world of desires and passions,
that we cannot sin" or rise to any other 1reality1 !ut /ust that of our impulses--for
thin"ing is only a relation of these impulses to one another---are we not permitted to
ma"e the attempt and to as" the :uestion whether this which is 1gien1 does not
SU%%I#2, !y means of our counterparts, for the understanding een of the so-called
mechanical .or 1material10 world? I do not mean as an illusion, a 1sem!lance,1 a
1representation1 .in the (er"eleyan and Schopenhauerian sense0, !ut as possessing the
same degree of reality as our emotions themseles--as a more primitie form of the world
of emotions, in which eerything still lies loc"ed in a mighty unity, which afterwards
!ranches off and deelops itself in organic processes .naturally also, refines and
de!ilitates0--as a "ind of instinctie life in which all organic functions, including self-
regulation, assimilation, nutrition, secretion, and change of matter, are still synthetically
united with one another--as a P9I;,97 %O9; of life?--In the end, it is not only
permitted to ma"e this attempt, it is commanded !y the conscience of 4OGI#,4
;2T+O6' Not to assume seeral "inds of causality, so long as the attempt to get along
with a single one has not !een pushed to its furthest e<tent .to a!surdity, if I may !e
allowed to say so0- that is a morality of method which one may not repudiate nowadays--
it follows 1from its definition,1 as mathematicians say' The :uestion is ultimately whether
we really recogni)e the will as OP29,TING, whether we !eliee in the causality of the
will$ if we do so--and fundamentally our !elief IN T+IS is /ust our !elief in causality
itself--we ;UST ma"e the attempt to posit hypothetically the causality of the will as the
only causality' 1*ill1 can naturally only operate on 1will1--and not on 1matter1 .not on
1neres,1 for instance0- in short, the hypothesis must !e ha)arded, whether will does not
operate on will whereer 1effects1 are recogni)ed--and whether all mechanical action,
inasmuch as a power operates therein, is not /ust the power of will, the effect of will'
Granted, finally, that we succeeded in e<plaining our entire instinctie life as the
deelopment and ramification of one fundamental form of will--namely, the *ill to
Power, as my thesis puts it$ granted that all organic functions could !e traced !ac" to this
*ill to Power, and that the solution of the pro!lem of generation and nutrition--it is one
pro!lem-- could also !e found therein- one would thus hae ac:uired the right to define
,44 actie force une:uiocally as *I44 TO PO*29' The world seen from within, the
world defined and designated according to its 1intelligi!le character1--it would simply !e
1*ill to Power,1 and nothing else'
BE' 1*hat? 6oes not that mean in popular language- God is disproed, !ut not the
deil?1--On the contrary& On the contrary, my friends& ,nd who the deil also compels
you to spea" popularly&
B?' ,s happened finally in all the enlightenment of modern times with the %rench
9eolution .that terri!le farce, :uite superfluous when /udged close at hand, into which,
howeer, the no!le and isionary spectators of all 2urope hae interpreted from a
distance their own indignation and enthusiasm so long and passionately, UNTI4 T+2
T2IT +,S 6IS,PP2,926 UN629 T+2 INT29P92T,TION0, so a no!le posterity
might once more misunderstand the whole of the past, and perhaps only there!y ma"e
ITS aspect endura!le'--Or rather, has not this already happened? +ae not we ourseles
!een--that 1no!le posterity1? ,nd, in so far as we now comprehend this, is it not--there!y
already past?
BF' No!ody will ery readily regard a doctrine as true merely !ecause it ma"es people
happy or irtuous--e<cepting, perhaps, the amia!le 1Idealists,1 who are enthusiastic a!out
the good, true, and !eautiful, and let all "inds of motley, coarse, and good-natured
desira!ilities swim a!out promiscuously in their pond' +appiness and irtue are no
arguments' It is willingly forgotten, howeer, een on the part of thoughtful minds, that to
ma"e unhappy and to ma"e !ad are /ust as little counter- arguments' , thing could !e
T9U2, although it were in the highest degree in/urious and dangerous$ indeed, the
fundamental constitution of e<istence might !e such that one succum!ed !y a full
"nowledge of it--so that the strength of a mind might !e measured !y the amount of
1truth1 it could endure--or to spea" more plainly, !y the e<tent to which it 92LUI926
truth attenuated, eiled, sweetened, damped, and falsified' (ut there is no dou!t that for
the discoery of certain PO9TIONS of truth the wic"ed and unfortunate are more
faoura!ly situated and hae a greater li"elihood of success$ not to spea" of the wic"ed
who are happy--a species a!out whom moralists are silent' Perhaps seerity and craft are
more faoura!le conditions for the deelopment of strong, independent spirits and
philosophers than the gentle, refined, yielding good-nature, and ha!it of ta"ing things
easily, which are pri)ed, and rightly pri)ed in a learned man' Presupposing always, to
!egin with, that the term 1philosopher1 !e not confined to the philosopher who writes
!oo"s, or een introduces +IS philosophy into !oo"s&--Stendhal furnishes a last feature
of the portrait of the free-spirited philosopher, which for the sa"e of German taste I will
not omit to underline--for it is OPPOS26 to German taste' 1Pour etre !on philosophe,1
says this last great psychologist, 1il faut etre sec, clair, sans illusion' Un !an:uier, :ui a
fait fortune, a une partie du caractere re:uis pour faire des decouertes en philosophie,
c5est-a-dire pour oir clair dans ce :ui est'1
CG' 2erything that is profound loes the mas"- the profoundest things hae a hatred een
of figure and li"eness' Should not the #ONT9,97 only !e the right disguise for the
shame of a God to go a!out in? , :uestion worth as"ing&--it would !e strange if some
mystic has not already entured on the same "ind of thing' There are proceedings of such
a delicate nature that it is well to oerwhelm them with coarseness and ma"e them
unrecogni)a!le$ there are actions of loe and of an e<traagant magnanimity after which
nothing can !e wiser than to ta"e a stic" and thrash the witness soundly- one there!y
o!scures his recollection' ;any a one is a!le to o!scure and a!use his own memory, in
order at least to hae engeance on this sole party in the secret- shame is inentie' They
are not the worst things of which one is most ashamed- there is not only deceit !ehind a
mas"--there is so much goodness in craft' I could imagine that a man with something
costly and fragile to conceal, would roll through life clumsily and rotundly li"e an old,
green, heaily-hooped wine-cas"- the refinement of his shame re:uiring it to !e so' ,
man who has depths in his shame meets his destiny and his delicate decisions upon paths
which few eer reach, and with regard to the e<istence of which his nearest and most
intimate friends may !e ignorant$ his mortal danger conceals itself from their eyes, and
e:ually so his regained security' Such a hidden nature, which instinctiely employs
speech for silence and concealment, and is ine<hausti!le in easion of communication,
62SI92S and insists that a mas" of himself shall occupy his place in the hearts and
heads of his friends$ and supposing he does not desire it, his eyes will some day !e
opened to the fact that there is neertheless a mas" of him there--and that it is well to !e
so' 2ery profound spirit needs a mas"$ nay, more, around eery profound spirit there
continually grows a mas", owing to the constantly false, that is to say, SUP29%I#I,4
interpretation of eery word he utters, eery step he ta"es, eery sign of life he manifests'
C>' One must su!/ect oneself to one5s own tests that one is destined for independence and
command, and do so at the right time' One must not aoid one5s tests, although they
constitute perhaps the most dangerous game one can play, and are in the end tests made
only !efore ourseles and !efore no other /udge' Not to cleae to any person, !e it een
the dearest--eery person is a prison and also a recess' Not to cleae to a fatherland, !e it
een the most suffering and necessitous--it is een less difficult to detach one5s heart from
a ictorious fatherland' Not to cleae to a sympathy, !e it een for higher men, into
whose peculiar torture and helplessness chance has gien us an insight' Not to cleae to a
science, though it tempt one with the most alua!le discoeries, apparently specially
resered for us' Not to cleae to one5s own li!eration, to the oluptuous distance and
remoteness of the !ird, which always flies further aloft in order always to see more under
it--the danger of the flier' Not to cleae to our own irtues, nor !ecome as a whole a
ictim to any of our specialties, to our 1hospitality1 for instance, which is the danger of
dangers for highly deeloped and wealthy souls, who deal prodigally, almost indifferently
with themseles, and push the irtue of li!erality so far that it !ecomes a ice' One must
"now how TO #ONS2932 ON2S24%--the !est test of independence'
CA' , new order of philosophers is appearing$ I shall enture to !apti)e them !y a name
not without danger' ,s far as I understand them, as far as they allow themseles to !e
understood--for it is their nature to *IS+ to remain something of a pu))le--these
philosophers of the future might rightly, perhaps also wrongly, claim to !e designated as
1tempters'1 This name itself is after all only an attempt, or, if it !e preferred, a temptation'
CB' *ill they !e new friends of 1truth,1 these coming philosophers? 3ery pro!a!ly, for all
philosophers hitherto hae loed their truths' (ut assuredly they will not !e dogmatists' It
must !e contrary to their pride, and also contrary to their taste, that their truth should still
!e truth for eery one--that which has hitherto !een the secret wish and ultimate purpose
of all dogmatic efforts' 1;y opinion is ;7 opinion- another person has not easily a right
to it1--such a philosopher of the future will say, perhaps' One must renounce the !ad taste
of wishing to agree with many people' 1Good1 is no longer good when one5s neigh!our
ta"es it into his mouth' ,nd how could there !e a 1common good1& The e<pression
contradicts itself$ that which can !e common is always of small alue' In the end things
must !e as they are and hae always !een--the great things remain for the great, the
a!ysses for the profound, the delicacies and thrills for the refined, and, to sum up shortly,
eerything rare for the rare'
CC' Need I say e<pressly after all this that they will !e free, 3297 free spirits, these
philosophers of the future--as certainly also they will not !e merely free spirits, !ut
something more, higher, greater, and fundamentally different, which does not wish to !e
misunderstood and mista"en? (ut while I say this, I feel under O(4IG,TION almost as
much to them as to ourseles .we free spirits who are their heralds and forerunners0, to
sweep away from ourseles altogether a stupid old pre/udice and misunderstanding,
which, li"e a fog, has too long made the conception of 1free spirit1 o!scure' In eery
country of 2urope, and the same in ,merica, there is at present something which ma"es
an a!use of this name a ery narrow, prepossessed, enchained class of spirits, who desire
almost the opposite of what our intentions and instincts prompt--not to mention that in
respect to the N2* philosophers who are appearing, they must still more !e closed
windows and !olted doors' (riefly and regretta!ly, they !elong to the 42324429S,
these wrongly named 1free spirits1--as gli!-tongued and scri!e-fingered slaes of the
democratic taste and its 1modern ideas1 all of them men without solitude, without
personal solitude, !lunt honest fellows to whom neither courage nor honoura!le conduct
ought to !e denied, only, they are not free, and are ludicrously superficial, especially in
their innate partiality for seeing the cause of almost ,44 human misery and failure in the
old forms in which society has hitherto e<isted--a notion which happily inerts the truth
entirely& *hat they would fain attain with all their strength, is the uniersal, green-
meadow happiness of the herd, together with security, safety, comfort, and alleiation of
life for eery one, their two most fre:uently chanted songs and doctrines are called
12:uality of 9ights1 and 1Sympathy with ,ll Sufferers1--and suffering itself is loo"ed
upon !y them as something which must !e 6ON2 ,*,7 *IT+' *e opposite ones,
howeer, who hae opened our eye and conscience to the :uestion how and where the
plant 1man1 has hitherto grown most igorously, !eliee that this has always ta"en place
under the opposite conditions, that for this end the dangerousness of his situation had to
!e increased enormously, his inentie faculty and dissem!ling power .his 1spirit10 had to
deelop into su!tlety and daring under long oppression and compulsion, and his *ill to
4ife had to !e increased to the unconditioned *ill to Power--we !eliee that seerity,
iolence, slaery, danger in the street and in the heart, secrecy, stoicism, tempter5s art and
deilry of eery "ind,--that eerything wic"ed, terri!le, tyrannical, predatory, and
serpentine in man, seres as well for the eleation of the human species as its opposite--
we do not een say enough when we only say T+IS ;U#+, and in any case we find
ourseles here, !oth with our speech and our silence, at the OT+29 e<treme of all
modern ideology and gregarious desira!ility, as their anti-podes perhaps? *hat wonder
that we 1free spirits1 are not e<actly the most communicatie spirits? that we do not wish
to !etray in eery respect *+,T a spirit can free itself from, and *+292 perhaps it will
then !e drien? ,nd as to the import of the dangerous formula, 1(eyond Good and 2il,1
with which we at least aoid confusion, we ,92 something else than 1li!res-penseurs,1
1li!en pensatori1 1free-thin"ers,1 and whateer these honest adocates of 1modern ideas1
li"e to call themseles' +aing !een at home, or at least guests, in many realms of the
spirit, haing escaped again and again from the gloomy, agreea!le noo"s in which
preferences and pre/udices, youth, origin, the accident of men and !oo"s, or een the
weariness of trael seemed to confine us, full of malice against the seductions of
dependency which he concealed in honours, money, positions, or e<altation of the senses,
grateful een for distress and the icissitudes of illness, !ecause they always free us from
some rule, and its 1pre/udice,1 grateful to the God, deil, sheep, and worm in us,
in:uisitie to a fault, inestigators to the point of cruelty, with unhesitating fingers for the
intangi!le, with teeth and stomachs for the most indigesti!le, ready for any !usiness that
re:uires sagacity and acute senses, ready for eery adenture, owing to an e<cess of 1free
will1, with anterior and posterior souls, into the ultimate intentions of which it is difficult
to pry, with foregrounds and !ac"grounds to the end of which no foot may run, hidden
ones under the mantles of light, appropriators, although we resem!le heirs and
spendthrifts, arrangers and collectors from morning till night, misers of our wealth and
our full-crammed drawers, economical in learning and forgetting, inentie in scheming,
sometimes proud of ta!les of categories, sometimes pedants, sometimes night-owls of
wor" een in full day, yea, if necessary, een scarecrows--and it is necessary nowadays,
that is to say, inasmuch as we are the !orn, sworn, /ealous friends of SO4ITU62, of our
own profoundest midnight and midday solitude--such "ind of men are we, we free spirits&
,nd perhaps ye are also something of the same "ind, ye coming ones? ye N2*
philosophers?
C@' The human soul and its limits, the range of man5s inner e<periences hitherto attained,
the heights, depths, and distances of these e<periences, the entire history of the soul UP
TO T+2 P92S2NT TI;2, and its still une<hausted possi!ilities- this is the preordained
hunting-domain for a !orn psychologist and loer of a 1!ig hunt1' (ut how often must he
say despairingly to himself- 1, single indiidual& alas, only a single indiidual& and this
great forest, this irgin forest&1 So he would li"e to hae some hundreds of hunting
assistants, and fine trained hounds, that he could send into the history of the human soul,
to drie +IS game together' In ain- again and again he e<periences, profoundly and
!itterly, how difficult it is to find assistants and dogs for all the things that directly e<cite
his curiosity' The eil of sending scholars into new and dangerous hunting- domains,
where courage, sagacity, and su!tlety in eery sense are re:uired, is that they are no
longer sericea!le /ust when the 1(IG hunt,1 and also the great danger commences,--it is
precisely then that they lose their "een eye and nose' In order, for instance, to diine and
determine what sort of history the pro!lem of 8NO*426G2 ,N6 #ONS#I2N#2 has
hitherto had in the souls of homines religiosi, a person would perhaps himself hae to
possess as profound, as !ruised, as immense an e<perience as the intellectual conscience
of Pascal$ and then he would still re:uire that wide-spread heaen of clear, wic"ed
spirituality, which, from a!oe, would !e a!le to oersee, arrange, and effectiely
formuli)e this mass of dangerous and painful e<periences'--(ut who could do me this
serice& ,nd who would hae time to wait for such serants&--they eidently appear too
rarely, they are so impro!a!le at all times& 2entually one must do eerything ON2S24%
in order to "now something$ which means that one has ;U#+ to do&--(ut a curiosity
li"e mine is once for all the most agreea!le of ices--pardon me& I mean to say that the
loe of truth has its reward in heaen, and already upon earth'
CD' %aith, such as early #hristianity desired, and not infre:uently achieed in the midst of
a s"eptical and southernly free-spirited world, which had centuries of struggle !etween
philosophical schools !ehind it and in it, counting !esides the education in tolerance
which the Imperium 9omanum gae--this faith is NOT that sincere, austere slae-faith !y
which perhaps a 4uther or a #romwell, or some other northern !ar!arian of the spirit
remained attached to his God and #hristianity, it is much rather the faith of Pascal, which
resem!les in a terri!le manner a continuous suicide of reason--a tough, long-lied, worm-
li"e reason, which is not to !e slain at once and with a single !low' The #hristian faith
from the !eginning, is sacrifice the sacrifice of all freedom, all pride, all self-confidence
of spirit, it is at the same time su!/ection, self-derision, and self-mutilation' There is
cruelty and religious Phoenicianism in this faith, which is adapted to a tender, many-
sided, and ery fastidious conscience, it ta"es for granted that the su!/ection of the spirit
is indescri!a!ly P,IN%U4, that all the past and all the ha!its of such a spirit resist the
a!surdissimum, in the form of which 1faith1 comes to it' ;odern men, with their
o!tuseness as regards all #hristian nomenclature, hae no longer the sense for the terri!ly
superlatie conception which was implied to an anti:ue taste !y the parado< of the
formula, 1God on the #ross1' +itherto there had neer and nowhere !een such !oldness
in inersion, nor anything at once so dreadful, :uestioning, and :uestiona!le as this
formula- it promised a transaluation of all ancient alues--It was the Orient, the
P9O%OUN6 Orient, it was the Oriental slae who thus too" reenge on 9ome and its
no!le, light-minded toleration, on the 9oman 1#atholicism1 of non-faith, and it was
always not the faith, !ut the freedom from the faith, the half-stoical and smiling
indifference to the seriousness of the faith, which made the slaes indignant at their
masters and reolt against them' 12nlightenment1 causes reolt, for the slae desires the
unconditioned, he understands nothing !ut the tyrannous, een in morals, he loes as he
hates, without NU,N#2, to the ery depths, to the point of pain, to the point of
sic"ness--his many +I662N sufferings ma"e him reolt against the no!le taste which
seems to 62N7 suffering' The s"epticism with regard to suffering, fundamentally only
an attitude of aristocratic morality, was not the least of the causes, also, of the last great
slae-insurrection which !egan with the %rench 9eolution'
CE' *hereer the religious neurosis has appeared on the earth so far, we find it connected
with three dangerous prescriptions as to regimen- solitude, fasting, and se<ual
a!stinence--!ut without its !eing possi!le to determine with certainty which is cause and
which is effect, or I% any relation at all of cause and effect e<ists there' This latter dou!t
is /ustified !y the fact that one of the most regular symptoms among saage as well as
among ciili)ed peoples is the most sudden and e<cessie sensuality, which then with
e:ual suddenness transforms into penitential paro<ysms, world-renunciation, and will-
renunciation, !oth symptoms perhaps e<plaina!le as disguised epilepsy? (ut nowhere is
it ;O92 o!ligatory to put aside e<planations around no other type has there grown such
a mass of a!surdity and superstition, no other type seems to hae !een more interesting to
men and een to philosophers--perhaps it is time to !ecome /ust a little indifferent here,
to learn caution, or, !etter still, to loo" ,*,7, TO GO ,*,7--7et in the !ac"ground of
the most recent philosophy, that of Schopenhauer, we find almost as the pro!lem in itself,
this terri!le note of interrogation of the religious crisis and awa"ening' +ow is the
negation of will POSSI(42? how is the saint possi!le?--that seems to hae !een the ery
:uestion with which Schopenhauer made a start and !ecame a philosopher' ,nd thus it
was a genuine Schopenhauerian conse:uence, that his most coninced adherent .perhaps
also his last, as far as Germany is concerned0, namely, 9ichard *agner, should !ring his
own life- wor" to an end /ust here, and should finally put that terri!le and eternal type
upon the stage as 8undry, type ecu, and as it loed and lied, at the ery time that the
mad-doctors in almost all 2uropean countries had an opportunity to study the type close
at hand, whereer the religious neurosis--or as I call it, 1the religious mood1--made its
latest epidemical out!rea" and display as the 1Salation ,rmy1--If it !e a :uestion,
howeer, as to what has !een so e<tremely interesting to men of all sorts in all ages, and
een to philosophers, in the whole phenomenon of the saint, it is undou!tedly the
appearance of the miraculous therein--namely, the immediate SU##2SSION O%
OPPOSIT2S, of states of the soul regarded as morally antithetical- it was !elieed here to
!e self-eident that a 1!ad man1 was all at once turned into a 1saint,1 a good man' The
hitherto e<isting psychology was wrec"ed at this point, is it not possi!le it may hae
happened principally !ecause psychology had placed itself under the dominion of morals,
!ecause it (24I2326 in oppositions of moral alues, and saw, read, and
INT29P92T26 these oppositions into the te<t and facts of the case? *hat? 1;iracle1
only an error of interpretation? , lac" of philology?
C?' It seems that the 4atin races are far more deeply attached to their #atholicism than we
Northerners are to #hristianity generally, and that conse:uently un!elief in #atholic
countries means something :uite different from what it does among Protestants--namely,
a sort of reolt against the spirit of the race, while with us it is rather a return to the spirit
.or non- spirit0 of the race'
*e Northerners undou!tedly derie our origin from !ar!arous races, een as regards our
talents for religion--we hae POO9 talents for it' One may ma"e an e<ception in the case
of the #elts, who hae theretofore furnished also the !est soil for #hristian infection in
the North- the #hristian ideal !lossomed forth in %rance as much as eer the pale sun of
the north would allow it' +ow strangely pious for our taste are still these later %rench
s"eptics, wheneer there is any #eltic !lood in their origin& +ow #atholic, how un-
German does ,uguste #omte5s Sociology seem to us, with the 9oman logic of its
instincts& +ow =esuitical, that amia!le and shrewd cicerone of Port 9oyal, Sainte-(eue,
in spite of all his hostility to =esuits& ,nd een 2rnest 9enan- how inaccessi!le to us
Northerners does the language of such a 9enan appear, in whom eery instant the merest
touch of religious thrill throws his refined oluptuous and comforta!ly couching soul off
its !alance& 4et us repeat after him these fine sentences--and what wic"edness and
haughtiness is immediately aroused !y way of answer in our pro!a!ly less !eautiful !ut
harder souls, that is to say, in our more German souls&--16ISONS 6ON# +,96I;2NT
LU2 4, 924IGION 2ST UN P9O6UIT 62 45+O;;2 NO9;,4, LU2 45+O;;2
2ST 42 P4US 6,NS 42 39,I LU,NT I4 2ST 42 P4US 924IGI2UI 2T 42 P4US
,SSU92 65UN2 62STIN22 IN%INI2' ' ' ' #52ST LU,N6 I4 2ST (ON LU5I4 32UT
LU2 4, 3I9TU #O992SPON62 , UN O9629 2T29N,4, #52ST LU,N6 I4
#ONT2;P42 42S #+OS2S 65UN2 ;,NI292 62SINT292SS22 LU5I4 T9OU32
4, ;O9T 923O4T,NT2 2T ,(SU962' #O;;2NT N2 P,S SUPPOS29 LU2
#52ST 6,NS #2S ;O;2NTS-4,, LU2 45+O;;2 3OIT 42 ;I2UI?1 ' ' ' These
sentences are so e<tremely ,NTIPO6,4 to my ears and ha!its of thought, that in my
first impulse of rage on finding them, I wrote on the margin, 14, NI,IS29I2
924IGI2US2 P,9 2I#2442N#2&1--until in my later rage I een too" a fancy to them,
these sentences with their truth a!solutely inerted& It is so nice and such a distinction to
hae one5s own antipodes&
CF' That which is so astonishing in the religious life of the ancient Gree"s is the
irrestraina!le stream of G9,TITU62 which it pours forth--it is a ery superior "ind of
man who ta"es SU#+ an attitude towards nature and life'--4ater on, when the populace
got the upper hand in Greece, %2,9 !ecame rampant also in religion$ and #hristianity
was preparing itself'
@G' The passion for God- there are churlish, honest-hearted, and importunate "inds of it,
li"e that of 4uther--the whole of Protestantism lac"s the southern 624I#,T2MM,' There
is an Oriental e<altation of the mind in it, li"e that of an undeseredly faoured or
eleated slae, as in the case of St' ,ugustine, for instance, who lac"s in an offensie
manner, all no!ility in !earing and desires' There is a feminine tenderness and sensuality
in it, which modestly and unconsciously longs for a UNIO ;7STI#, 2T P+7SI#,, as
in the case of ;adame de Guyon' In many cases it appears, curiously enough, as the
disguise of a girl5s or youth5s pu!erty$ here and there een as the hysteria of an old maid,
also as her last am!ition' The #hurch has fre:uently canoni)ed the woman in such a case'
@>' The mightiest men hae hitherto always !owed reerently !efore the saint, as the
enigma of self-su!/ugation and utter oluntary priation--why did they thus !ow? They
diined in him-- and as it were !ehind the :uestiona!leness of his frail and wretched
appearance--the superior force which wished to test itself !y such a su!/ugation$ the
strength of will, in which they recogni)ed their own strength and loe of power, and
"new how to honour it- they honoured something in themseles when they honoured the
saint' In addition to this, the contemplation of the saint suggested to them a suspicion-
such an enormity of self- negation and anti-naturalness will not hae !een coeted for
nothing--they hae said, in:uiringly' There is perhaps a reason for it, some ery great
danger, a!out which the ascetic might wish to !e more accurately informed through his
secret interlocutors and isitors? In a word, the mighty ones of the world learned to hae
a new fear !efore him, they diined a new power, a strange, still uncon:uered enemy---it
was the 1*ill to Power1 which o!liged them to halt !efore the saint' They had to :uestion
him'
@A' In the =ewish 1Old Testament,1 the !oo" of diine /ustice, there are men, things, and
sayings on such an immense scale, that Gree" and Indian literature has nothing to
compare with it' One stands with fear and reerence !efore those stupendous remains of
what man was formerly, and one has sad thoughts a!out old ,sia and its little out-pushed
peninsula 2urope, which would li"e, !y all means, to figure !efore ,sia as the 1Progress
of ;an"ind'1 To !e sure, he who is himself only a slender, tame house-animal, and
"nows only the wants of a house-animal .li"e our cultured people of today, including the
#hristians of 1cultured1 #hristianity0, need neither !e ama)ed nor een sad amid those
ruins--the taste for the Old Testament is a touchstone with respect to 1great1 and 1small1-
perhaps he will find that the New Testament, the !oo" of grace, still appeals more to his
heart .there is much of the odour of the genuine, tender, stupid !eadsman and petty soul
in it0' To hae !ound up this New Testament .a "ind of 9O#O#O of taste in eery
respect0 along with the Old Testament into one !oo", as the 1(i!le,1 as 1The (oo" in
Itself,1 is perhaps the greatest audacity and 1sin against the Spirit1 which literary 2urope
has upon its conscience'
@B' *hy ,theism nowadays? 1The father1 in God is thoroughly refuted$ e:ually so 1the
/udge,1 1the rewarder'1 ,lso his 1free will1- he does not hear--and een if he did, he
would not "now how to help' The worst is that he seems incapa!le of communicating
himself clearly$ is he uncertain?--This is what I hae made out .!y :uestioning and
listening at a ariety of conersations0 to !e the cause of the decline of 2uropean theism$
it appears to me that though the religious instinct is in igorous growth,--it re/ects the
theistic satisfaction with profound distrust'
@C' *hat does all modern philosophy mainly do? Since 6escartes-- and indeed more in
defiance of him than on the !asis of his procedure--an ,TT2NT,T has !een made on the
part of all philosophers on the old conception of the soul, under the guise of a criticism of
the su!/ect and predicate conception--that is to say, an ,TT2NT,T on the fundamental
presupposition of #hristian doctrine' ;odern philosophy, as epistemological s"epticism,
is secretly or openly ,NTI-#+9ISTI,N, although .for "eener ears, !e it said0 !y no
means anti-religious' %ormerly, in effect, one !elieed in 1the soul1 as one !elieed in
grammar and the grammatical su!/ect- one said, 1I1 is the condition, 1thin"1 is the
predicate and is conditioned--to thin" is an actiity for which one ;UST suppose a
su!/ect as cause' The attempt was then made, with marelous tenacity and su!tlety, to see
if one could not get out of this net,--to see if the opposite was not perhaps true- 1thin"1
the condition, and 1I1 the conditioned$ 1I,1 therefore, only a synthesis which has !een
;,62 !y thin"ing itself' 8,NT really wished to proe that, starting from the su!/ect,
the su!/ect could not !e proed--nor the o!/ect either- the possi!ility of an ,PP,92NT
2IIST2N#2 of the su!/ect, and therefore of 1the soul,1 may not always hae !een
strange to him,--the thought which once had an immense power on earth as the 3edanta
philosophy'
@@' There is a great ladder of religious cruelty, with many rounds$ !ut three of these are
the most important' Once on a time men sacrificed human !eings to their God, and
perhaps /ust those they loed the !est--to this category !elong the firstling sacrifices of all
primitie religions, and also the sacrifice of the 2mperor Ti!erius in the ;ithra-Grotto on
the Island of #apri, that most terri!le of all 9oman anachronisms' Then, during the moral
epoch of man"ind, they sacrificed to their God the strongest instincts they possessed,
their 1nature1$ T+IS festal /oy shines in the cruel glances of ascetics and 1anti-natural1
fanatics' %inally, what still remained to !e sacrificed? *as it not necessary in the end for
men to sacrifice eerything comforting, holy, healing, all hope, all faith in hidden
harmonies, in future !lessedness and /ustice? *as it not necessary to sacrifice God
himself, and out of cruelty to themseles to worship stone, stupidity, graity, fate,
nothingness? To sacrifice God for nothingness--this parado<ical mystery of the ultimate
cruelty has !een resered for the rising generation$ we all "now something thereof
already'
@D' *hoeer, li"e myself, prompted !y some enigmatical desire, has long endeaoured to
go to the !ottom of the :uestion of pessimism and free it from the half-#hristian, half-
German narrowness and stupidity in which it has finally presented itself to this century,
namely, in the form of Schopenhauer5s philosophy$ whoeer, with an ,siatic and super-
,siatic eye, has actually loo"ed inside, and into the most world-renouncing of all
possi!le modes of thought--!eyond good and eil, and no longer li"e (uddha and
Schopenhauer, under the dominion and delusion of morality,--whoeer has done this, has
perhaps /ust there!y, without really desiring it, opened his eyes to !ehold the opposite
ideal- the ideal of the most world-approing, e<u!erant, and iacious man, who has not
only learnt to compromise and arrange with that which was and is, !ut wishes to hae it
again ,S IT *,S ,N6 IS, for all eternity, insatia!ly calling out de capo, not only to
himself, !ut to the whole piece and play$ and not only the play, !ut actually to him who
re:uires the play--and ma"es it necessary$ !ecause he always re:uires himself anew--and
ma"es himself necessary'--*hat? ,nd this would not !e--circulus itiosus deus?
@E' The distance, and as it were the space around man, grows with the strength of his
intellectual ision and insight- his world !ecomes profounder$ new stars, new enigmas,
and notions are eer coming into iew' Perhaps eerything on which the intellectual eye
has e<ercised its acuteness and profundity has /ust !een an occasion for its e<ercise,
something of a game, something for children and childish minds' Perhaps the most
solemn conceptions that hae caused the most fighting and suffering, the conceptions
1God1 and 1sin,1 will one day seem to us of no more importance than a child5s plaything
or a child5s pain seems to an old man$-- and perhaps another plaything and another pain
will then !e necessary once more for 1the old man1--always childish enough, an eternal
child&
@?' +as it !een o!sered to what e<tent outward idleness, or semi-idleness, is necessary
to a real religious life .ali"e for its faourite microscopic la!our of self-e<amination, and
for its soft placidity called 1prayer,1 the state of perpetual readiness for the 1coming of
God10, I mean the idleness with a good conscience, the idleness of olden times and of
!lood, to which the aristocratic sentiment that wor" is 6IS+ONOU9ING--that it
ulgari)es !ody and soul--is not :uite unfamiliar? ,nd that conse:uently the modern,
noisy, time-engrossing, conceited, foolishly proud la!oriousness educates and prepares
for 1un!elief1 more than anything else? ,mong these, for instance, who are at present
liing apart from religion in Germany, I find 1free-thin"ers1 of diersified species and
origin, !ut a!oe all a ma/ority of those in whom la!oriousness from generation to
generation has dissoled the religious instincts$ so that they no longer "now what purpose
religions sere, and only note their e<istence in the world with a "ind of dull
astonishment' They feel themseles already fully occupied, these good people, !e it !y
their !usiness or !y their pleasures, not to mention the 1%atherland,1 and the newspapers,
and their 1family duties1$ it seems that they hae no time whateer left for religion$ and
a!oe all, it is not o!ious to them whether it is a :uestion of a new !usiness or a new
pleasure--for it is impossi!le, they say to themseles, that people should go to church
merely to spoil their tempers' They are !y no means enemies of religious customs$ should
certain circumstances, State affairs perhaps, re:uire their participation in such customs,
they do what is re:uired, as so many things are done--with a patient and unassuming
seriousness, and without much curiosity or discomfort$--they lie too much apart and
outside to feel een the necessity for a %O9 or ,G,INST in such matters' ,mong those
indifferent persons may !e rec"oned nowadays the ma/ority of German Protestants of the
middle classes, especially in the great la!orious centres of trade and commerce$ also the
ma/ority of la!orious scholars, and the entire Uniersity personnel .with the e<ception of
the theologians, whose e<istence and possi!ility there always gies psychologists new
and more su!tle pu))les to sole0' On the part of pious, or merely church-going people,
there is seldom any idea of +O* ;U#+ good-will, one might say ar!itrary will, is now
necessary for a German scholar to ta"e the pro!lem of religion seriously$ his whole
profession .and as I hae said, his whole wor"manli"e la!oriousness, to which he is
compelled !y his modern conscience0 inclines him to a lofty and almost charita!le
serenity as regards religion, with which is occasionally mingled a slight disdain for the
1uncleanliness1 of spirit which he ta"es for granted whereer any one still professes to
!elong to the #hurch' It is only with the help of history .NOT through his own personal
e<perience, therefore0 that the scholar succeeds in !ringing himself to a respectful
seriousness, and to a certain timid deference in presence of religions$ !ut een when his
sentiments hae reached the stage of gratitude towards them, he has not personally
adanced one step nearer to that which still maintains itself as #hurch or as piety$
perhaps een the contrary' The practical indifference to religious matters in the midst of
which he has !een !orn and !rought up, usually su!limates itself in his case into
circumspection and cleanliness, which shuns contact with religious men and things$ and it
may !e /ust the depth of his tolerance and humanity which prompts him to aoid the
delicate trou!le which tolerance itself !rings with it'--2ery age has its own diine type
of naiete, for the discoery of which other ages may eny it- and how much naiete--
adora!le, childli"e, and !oundlessly foolish naiete is inoled in this !elief of the
scholar in his superiority, in the good conscience of his tolerance, in the unsuspecting,
simple certainty with which his instinct treats the religious man as a lower and less
alua!le type, !eyond, !efore, and ,(O32 which he himself has deeloped--he, the little
arrogant dwarf and mo!-man, the sedulously alert, head-and-hand drudge of 1ideas,1 of
1modern ideas1&
@F' *hoeer has seen deeply into the world has dou!tless diined what wisdom there is
in the fact that men are superficial' It is their preseratie instinct which teaches them to
!e flighty, lightsome, and false' +ere and there one finds a passionate and e<aggerated
adoration of 1pure forms1 in philosophers as well as in artists- it is not to !e dou!ted that
whoeer has N226 of the cult of the superficial to that e<tent, has at one time or another
made an unluc"y die (2N2,T+ it' Perhaps there is een an order of ran" with respect
to those !urnt children, the !orn artists who find the en/oyment of life only in trying to
%,4SI%7 its image .as if ta"ing wearisome reenge on it0, one might guess to what
degree life has disgusted them, !y the e<tent to which they wish to see its image falsified,
attenuated, ultrified, and deified,--one might rec"on the homines religiosi among the
artists, as their +IG+2ST ran"' It is the profound, suspicious fear of an incura!le
pessimism which compels whole centuries to fasten their teeth into a religious
interpretation of e<istence- the fear of the instinct which diines that truth might !e
attained TOO soon, !efore man has !ecome strong enough, hard enough, artist enough' ' '
' Piety, the 14ife in God,1 regarded in this light, would appear as the most ela!orate and
ultimate product of the %2,9 of truth, as artist-adoration and artist- into<ication in
presence of the most logical of all falsifications, as the will to the inersion of truth, to
untruth at any price' Perhaps there has hitherto !een no more effectie means of
!eautifying man than piety, !y means of it man can !ecome so artful, so superficial, so
iridescent, and so good, that his appearance no longer offends'
DG' To loe man"ind %O9 GO65S S,82--this has so far !een the no!lest and remotest
sentiment to which man"ind has attained' That loe to man"ind, without any redeeming
intention in the !ac"ground, is only an ,66ITION,4 folly and !rutishness, that the
inclination to this loe has first to get its proportion, its delicacy, its gram of salt and
sprin"ling of am!ergris from a higher inclination--whoeer first perceied and
1e<perienced1 this, howeer his tongue may hae stammered as it attempted to e<press
such a delicate matter, let him for all time !e holy and respected, as the man who has so
far flown highest and gone astray in the finest fashion&
D>' The philosopher, as *2 free spirits understand him--as the man of the greatest
responsi!ility, who has the conscience for the general deelopment of man"ind,--will use
religion for his disciplining and educating wor", /ust as he will use the contemporary
political and economic conditions' The selecting and disciplining influence--destructie,
as well as creatie and fashioning--which can !e e<ercised !y means of religion is
manifold and aried, according to the sort of people placed under its spell and protection'
%or those who are strong and independent, destined and trained to command, in whom
the /udgment and s"ill of a ruling race is incorporated, religion is an additional means for
oercoming resistance in the e<ercise of authority--as a !ond which !inds rulers and
su!/ects in common, !etraying and surrendering to the former the conscience of the latter,
their inmost heart, which would fain escape o!edience' ,nd in the case of the uni:ue
natures of no!le origin, if !y irtue of superior spirituality they should incline to a more
retired and contemplatie life, resering to themseles only the more refined forms of
goernment .oer chosen disciples or mem!ers of an order0, religion itself may !e used
as a means for o!taining peace from the noise and trou!le of managing G9OSS29
affairs, and for securing immunity from the UN,3OI6,(42 filth of all political
agitation' The (rahmins, for instance, understood this fact' *ith the help of a religious
organi)ation, they secured to themseles the power of nominating "ings for the people,
while their sentiments prompted them to "eep apart and outside, as men with a higher and
super-regal mission' ,t the same time religion gies inducement and opportunity to some
of the su!/ects to :ualify themseles for future ruling and commanding the slowly
ascending ran"s and classes, in which, through fortunate marriage customs, olitional
power and delight in self-control are on the increase' To them religion offers sufficient
incenties and temptations to aspire to higher intellectuality, and to e<perience the
sentiments of authoritatie self-control, of silence, and of solitude' ,sceticism and
Puritanism are almost indispensa!le means of educating and enno!ling a race which
see"s to rise a!oe its hereditary !aseness and wor" itself upwards to future supremacy'
,nd finally, to ordinary men, to the ma/ority of the people, who e<ist for serice and
general utility, and are only so far entitled to e<ist, religion gies inalua!le
contentedness with their lot and condition, peace of heart, enno!lement of o!edience,
additional social happiness and sympathy, with something of transfiguration and
em!ellishment, something of /ustification of all the commonplaceness, all the meanness,
all the semi-animal poerty of their souls' 9eligion, together with the religious
significance of life, sheds sunshine oer such perpetually harassed men, and ma"es een
their own aspect endura!le to them, it operates upon them as the 2picurean philosophy
usually operates upon sufferers of a higher order, in a refreshing and refining manner,
almost TU9NING suffering TO ,##OUNT, and in the end een hallowing and
indicating it' There is perhaps nothing so admira!le in #hristianity and (uddhism as
their art of teaching een the lowest to eleate themseles !y piety to a seemingly higher
order of things, and there!y to retain their satisfaction with the actual world in which they
find it difficult enough to lie--this ery difficulty !eing necessary'
DA' To !e sure--to ma"e also the !ad counter-rec"oning against such religions, and to
!ring to light their secret dangers--the cost is always e<cessie and terri!le when
religions do NOT operate as an educational and disciplinary medium in the hands of the
philosopher, !ut rule oluntarily and P,9,;OUNT47, when they wish to !e the final
end, and not a means along with other means' ,mong men, as among all other animals,
there is a surplus of defectie, diseased, degenerating, infirm, and necessarily suffering
indiiduals$ the successful cases, among men also, are always the e<ception$ and in iew
of the fact that man is T+2 ,NI;,4 NOT 72T P9OP2947 ,6,PT26 TO +IS
2N3I9ON;2NT, the rare e<ception' (ut worse still' The higher the type a man
represents, the greater is the impro!a!ility that he will SU##226$ the accidental, the law
of irrationality in the general constitution of man"ind, manifests itself most terri!ly in its
destructie effect on the higher orders of men, the conditions of whose lies are delicate,
dierse, and difficult to determine' *hat, then, is the attitude of the two greatest religions
a!oe-mentioned to the SU9P4US of failures in life? They endeaour to presere and
"eep alie whateer can !e presered$ in fact, as the religions %O9 SU%%2929S, they
ta"e the part of these upon principle$ they are always in faour of those who suffer from
life as from a disease, and they would fain treat eery other e<perience of life as false and
impossi!le' +oweer highly we may esteem this indulgent and preseratie care
.inasmuch as in applying to others, it has applied, and applies also to the highest and
usually the most suffering type of man0, the hitherto P,9,;OUNT religions--to gie a
general appreciation of them--are among the principal causes which hae "ept the type of
1man1 upon a lower leel--they hae presered too much T+,T *+I#+ S+OU46
+,32 P29IS+26' One has to than" them for inalua!le serices$ and who is
sufficiently rich in gratitude not to feel poor at the contemplation of all that the 1spiritual
men1 of #hristianity hae done for 2urope hitherto& (ut when they had gien comfort to
the sufferers, courage to the oppressed and despairing, a staff and support to the helpless,
and when they had allured from society into conents and spiritual penitentiaries the
!ro"en-hearted and distracted- what else had they to do in order to wor" systematically in
that fashion, and with a good conscience, for the preseration of all the sic" and
suffering, which means, in deed and in truth, to wor" for the 62T29IO9,TION O% T+2
2U9OP2,N 9,#2? To 92329S2 all estimates of alue--T+,T is what they had to do&
,nd to shatter the strong, to spoil great hopes, to cast suspicion on the delight in !eauty,
to !rea" down eerything autonomous, manly, con:uering, and imperious--all instincts
which are natural to the highest and most successful type of 1man1-- into uncertainty,
distress of conscience, and self-destruction$ forsooth, to inert all loe of the earthly and
of supremacy oer the earth, into hatred of the earth and earthly things--T+,T is the tas"
the #hurch imposed on itself, and was o!liged to impose, until, according to its standard
of alue, 1unworldliness,1 1unsensuousness,1 and 1higher man1 fused into one sentiment'
If one could o!sere the strangely painful, e:ually coarse and refined comedy of
2uropean #hristianity with the derisie and impartial eye of an 2picurean god, I should
thin" one would neer cease marelling and laughing$ does it not actually seem that some
single will has ruled oer 2urope for eighteen centuries in order to ma"e a SU(4I;2
,(O9TION of man? +e, howeer, who, with opposite re:uirements .no longer
2picurean0 and with some diine hammer in his hand, could approach this almost
oluntary degeneration and stunting of man"ind, as e<emplified in the 2uropean
#hristian .Pascal, for instance0, would he not hae to cry aloud with rage, pity, and
horror- 1Oh, you !unglers, presumptuous pitiful !unglers, what hae you done& *as that
a wor" for your hands? +ow you hae hac"ed and !otched my finest stone& *hat hae
you presumed to do&1--I should say that #hristianity has hitherto !een the most
portentous of presumptions' ;en, not great enough, nor hard enough, to !e entitled as
artists to ta"e part in fashioning ;,N$ men, not sufficiently strong and far-sighted to
,44O*, with su!lime self- constraint, the o!ious law of the thousandfold failures and
perishings to preail$ men, not sufficiently no!le to see the radically different grades of
ran" and interals of ran" that separate man from man---SU#+ men, with their 1e:uality
!efore God,1 hae hitherto swayed the destiny of 2urope$ until at last a dwarfed, almost
ludicrous species has !een produced, a gregarious animal, something o!liging, sic"ly,
mediocre, the 2uropean of the present day'
DB' +e who is thouroughly a teacher ta"es all things seriously only in relation to his
pupils--een himself'
DC' 18nowledge for its own sa"e1 -- that is the last snare laid !y morality- we are there!y
completely entangled in morals once more'
D@' The charm of "nowledge would !e small, were it not so much shame has to !e
oercome on the way to it'
D@,' *e are most dishonoura!le towards our God- he is not P29;ITT26 to sin'
DD' The tendency of a person to degrade himself, to allow himself to !e ro!!ed, deceied,
and e<ploited might !e the diffidence of a God among men'
DE' 4oe to one only is a !ar!arity, for it is e<ercised at the e<pense of all others' 4oe to
God also&
D?' 1I did that,1 says my memory' 1I could not hae done that,1 says my pride, and
remains ine<ora!le' 2entually--the memory yields'
DF' One has regarded life carelessly, if one has failed to see the hand that--"ills with
leniency'
EG' If a man has character, he has also his typical e<perience, which always recurs'
E>' T+2 S,G2 ,S ,ST9ONO;29'--So long as thou feelest the stars as an 1a!oe
thee,1 thou lac"est the eye of the discerning one'
EA' It is not the strength, !ut the duration of great sentiments that ma"es those high
among man"ind'
EB' +e who attains his ideal, precisely there!y surpasses it'
EB,' ;any a peacoc" hides his tail from eery eye--and calls it his pride'
EC' , man of genius is un!eara!le, unless he possess at least two things !esides- gratitude
and purity'
E@' The degree and nature of a person5s gender e<tends to the highest altitudes of their
spirit'
ED' Under peaceful conditions the militant man attac"s himself'
EE' *ith his principles a man see"s either to tyrrani)e, or /ustify, or honour, or reproach,
or conceal his ha!its- two men with the same principles pro!a!ly see" fundamentally
different ends therewith'
E?' +e who despises himself, does still esteem himself as a despiser'
EF' , soul which "nows that it is loed, !ut does not itself loe, !etrays its sediment- its
dregs come up'
?G' , thing that is e<plained ceases to concern us--*hat did the God mean who gae the
adice, 18now thyself&1 6id it perhaps imply 1#ease to !e concerned a!out thyself&
!ecome o!/ectie&1-- ,nd Socrates?--,nd the 1scientific man1?
?>' It is terri!le to die of thirst at sea' Is it necessary that you should so salt your truth that
it will no longer--:uench the thirst?
?A' 1Sympathy for all1--would !e harshness and tyranny for T+22, my good neigh!our'
?B' INSTIN#T--*hen the house is on fire one forgets een the dinner--7es, !ut one
recoers it from among the ashes'
?C' *oman learns how to hate in proportion as she--forgets how to charm'
?@' The same emotions are in man and woman, !ut in different T2;PO- therefore man
and woman neer cease to misunderstand one another'
?D' In the !ac"ground of all their personal anity, women themseles hae still their
impersonal scorn--for 1woman1'
?E' %2TT2926 +2,9T, %922 SPI9IT--*hen one firmly fetters one5s heart and "eeps it
prisoner, one can allow one5s spirit many li!erties- I said this once !efore' (ut people do
not !eliee it when I say so, unless they "now it already'
??' One !egins to distrust ery cleer persons when they !ecome em!arrassed'
?F' 6readful e<periences raise the :uestion whether he who e<periences them is not
something dreadful also'
FG' +eay, melancholy men turn lighter, and come temporarily to their surface, precisely
!y that which ma"es others heay--!y hatred and loe'
F>' So cold, so icy, that one !urns one5s finger at the touch of him& 2ery hand that lays
hold of him shrin"s !ac"&--,nd for that ery reason many thin" him red-hot'
FA' *ho has not, at one time or another--sacrificed himself for the sa"e of his good
name?
FB' In affa!ility there is no hatred of men, !ut precisely on that account a great deal too
much contempt of men'
FC' The maturity of man--that means, to hae reac:uired the seriousness that one had as a
child at play'
F@' To !e ashamed of one5s immorality is a step on the ladder at the end of which one is
ashamed also of one5s morality'
FD' One should part from life as Ulysses parted from Nausicaa-- !lessing it more than in
loe with it'
FE' *hat? , great man? I always see merely the play-actor of his own ideal'
F?' *hen we train our conscience, it imminently "isses us, !y !iting'
FF' T+2 6IS,PPOINT26 ON2 SP2,8S--1I listened for reer!erations and I heard
only praise1'
>GG' *e all feign to ourseles that we are simpler than we are- we there!y rela< ourseles
away from our fellows'
>G>' Today a discerning one might easily wish to regard himself as the animali)ation of
God'
>GA' 6iscoering reciprocal loe should really disenchant the loer with regard to the
!eloed' 1*hat& She is modest enough to loe een you? Or stupid enough? Or--or---1
>GB' T+2 6,NG29 IN +,PPIN2SS'--12erything now turns out !est for me, I now
loe eery fate---who would li"e to !e my fate?1
>GC' Not their loe of humanity, !ut the impotence of their loe, preents the #hristians
of today--!urning us'
>G@' The pia fraus is still more repugnant to the taste .the 1piety10 of the free spirit .the
1pious man of "nowledge10 than the impia fraus' +ence the profound lac" of /udgment, in
comparison with the #hurch, characteristic of the type 1free spirit1--as ITS non-freedom'
>GD' (y means of music the ery passions en/oy themseles'
>GE' , sign of strong character, when once the resolution has !een ta"en, to shut the ear
een to the !est counter-arguments' Occasionally, therefore, a will to stupidity'
>G?' There is no such thing as moral phenomena, !ut only a moral interpretation of
phenomena'
>GF' The criminal is often enough not e:ual to his deed- he e<tenuates and maligns it'
>>G' The adocates of a criminal are seldom artists enough to turn the !eautiful
terri!leness of the deed to the adantage of the doer'
>>>' Our anity is most difficult to wound /ust when our pride has !een wounded'
>>A' To him who feels himself preordained to contemplation and not to !elief, all
!elieers are too noisy and o!trusie$ he guards against them'
>>B' 17ou want to prepossess him in your faour? Then you must !e em!arrassed !efore
him'1
>>C' The immense e<pectation with regard to se<ual loe, and the coyness in this
e<pectation, spoils all the perspecties of women at the outset'
>>@' *here there is neither loe nor hatred in the game, woman5s play is mediocre'
>>D' The great epochs of our life are at the points when we gain courage to re!apti)e our
!adness as the !est in us'
>>E' The will to oercome an emotion, is ultimately only the will of another, or of seeral
other, emotions'
>>?' There is an innocence of admiration- it is possessed !y him to whom it has not yet
occurred that he himself may !e admired some day'
>>F' Our loathing of dirt may !e so great as to preent our cleaning
ourseles--1/ustifying1 ourseles'
>AG' Sensuality often forces the growth of loe too much, so that its root remains wea",
and is easily torn up'
>A>' It is a curious thing that God learned Gree" when he wished to turn author--and that
he did not learn it !etter'
>AA' To re/oice on account of praise is in many cases merely politeness of heart--and the
ery opposite of anity of spirit'
>AB' 2en concu!inage has !een corrupted--!y marriage'
>AC' +e who e<ults at the sta"e, does not triumph oer pain, !ut !ecause of the fact that
he does not feel pain where he e<pected it' , para!le'
>A@' *hen we hae to change an opinion a!out any one, we charge heaily to his account
the inconenience he there!y causes us'
>AD' , nation is a detour of nature to arrie at si< or seen great men'--7es, and then to
get round them'
>AE' In the eyes of all true women science is hostile to the sense of shame' They feel as if
one wished to peep under their s"in with it--or worse still& under their dress and finery'
>A?' The more a!stract the truth you wish to teach, the more must you allure the senses to
it'
>AF' The deil has the most e<tensie perspecties for God$ on that account he "eeps so
far away from him---the deil, in effect, as the oldest friend of "nowledge'
>BG' *hat a person IS !egins to !etray itself when his talent decreases,--when he ceases
to show what he #,N do' Talent is also an adornment$ an adornment is also a
concealment'
>B>' The se<es deceie themseles a!out each other- the reason is that in reality they
honour and loe only themseles .or their own ideal, to e<press it more agreea!ly0' Thus
man wishes woman to !e peacea!le- !ut in fact woman is 2SS2NTI,447 unpeacea!le,
li"e the cat, howeer well she may hae assumed the peacea!le demeanour'
>BA' One is punished !est for one5s irtues'
>BB' +e who cannot find the way to +IS ideal, lies more friolously and shamelessly
than the man without an ideal'
>BC' %rom the senses originate all trustworthiness, all good conscience, all eidence of
truth'
>B@' Pharisaism is not a deterioration of the good man$ a considera!le part of it is rather
an essential condition of !eing good'
>BD' The one see"s an accoucheur for his thoughts, the other see"s some one whom he
can assist- a good conersation thus originates'
>BE' In intercourse with scholars and artists one readily ma"es mista"es of opposite
"inds- in a remar"a!le scholar one not infre:uently finds a mediocre man$ and often, een
in a mediocre artist, one finds a ery remar"a!le man'
>B?' *e do the same when awa"e as when dreaming- we only inent and imagine him
with whom we hae intercourse--and forget it immediately'
>BF' In reenge and in loe woman is more !ar!arous than man'
>CG' ,63I#2 ,S , 9I6642'--1If the !and is not to !rea", !ite it first--secure to ma"e&1
>C>' The !elly is the reason why man does not so readily ta"e himself for a God'
>CA' The chastest utterance I eer heard- 16ans le erita!le amour c5est I l5ame :ui
eneloppe le corps'1
>CB' Our anity would li"e what we do !est to pass precisely for what is most difficult to
us'--#oncerning the origin of many systems of morals'
>CC' *hen a woman has scholarly inclinations there is generally something wrong with
her se<ual nature' (arrenness itself conduces to a certain irility of taste$ man, indeed, if I
may say so, is 1the !arren animal'1
>C@' #omparing man and woman generally, one may say that woman would not hae the
genius for adornment, if she had not the instinct for the S2#ON6,97 role'
>CD' +e who fights with monsters should !e careful lest he there!y !ecome a monster'
,nd if thou ga)e long into an a!yss, the a!yss will also ga)e into thee'
>CE' %rom old %lorentine noels--moreoer, from life- (uona femmina e mala femmina
uol !astone'--Sacchetti, No' ?D'
>C?' To seduce their neigh!our to a faoura!le opinion, and afterwards to !eliee
implicitly in this opinion of their neigh!our--who can do this con/uring tric" so well as
women?
>CF' That which an age considers eil is usually an unseasona!le echo of what was
formerly considered good--the ataism of an old ideal'
>@G' ,round the hero eerything !ecomes a tragedy$ around the demigod eerything
!ecomes a satyr-play$ and around God eerything !ecomes--what? perhaps a 1world1?
>@>' It is not enough to possess a talent- one must also hae your permission to possess
it$--eh, my friends?
>@A' 1*here there is the tree of "nowledge, there is always Paradise1- so say the most
ancient and the most modern serpents'
>@B' *hat is done out of loe always ta"es place !eyond good and eil'
>@C' O!/ection, easion, /oyous distrust, and loe of irony are signs of health$ eerything
a!solute !elongs to pathology'
>@@' The sense of the tragic increases and declines with sensuousness'
>@D' Insanity in indiiduals is something rare--!ut in groups, parties, nations, and epochs
it is the rule'
>@E' The thought of suicide is a great consolation- !y means of it one gets successfully
through many a !ad night'
>@?' Not only our reason, !ut also our conscience, truc"les to our strongest impulse--the
tyrant in us'
>@F' One ;UST repay good and ill$ !ut why /ust to the person who did us good or ill?
>DG' One no longer loes one5s "nowledge sufficiently after one has communicated it'
>D>' Poets act shamelessly towards their e<periences- they e<ploit them'
>DA' 1Our fellow-creature is not our neigh!our, !ut our neigh!our5s neigh!our1---so
thin"s eery nation'
>DB' 4oe !rings to light the no!le and hidden :ualities of a loer--his rare and
e<ceptional traits- it is thus lia!le to !e deceptie as to his normal character'
>DC' =esus said to his =ews- 1The law was for serants$--loe God as I loe him, as his
Son& *hat hae we Sons of God to do with morals&1
>D@' IN SIG+T O% 23297 P,9T7'--, shepherd has always need of a !ell-wether--or he
has himself to !e a wether occasionally'
>DD' One may indeed lie with the mouth$ !ut with the accompanying grimace one
neertheless tells the truth'
>DE' To igorous men intimacy is a matter of shame--and something precious'
>D?' #hristianity gae 2ros poison to drin"$ he did not die of it, certainly, !ut degenerated
to 3ice'
>DF' To tal" much a!out oneself may also !e a means of concealing oneself'
>EG' In praise there is more o!trusieness than in !lame'
>E>' Pity has an almost ludicrous effect on a man of "nowledge, li"e tender hands on a
#yclops'
>EA' One occasionally em!races some one or other, out of loe to man"ind .!ecause one
cannot em!race all0$ !ut this is what one must neer confess to the indiidual'
>EB' One does not hate as long as one disesteems, !ut only when one esteems e:ual or
superior'
>EC' 7e Utilitarians--ye, too, loe the UTI42 only as a 32+I#42 for your inclinations,--
ye, too, really find the noise of its wheels insupporta!le&
>E@' One loes ultimately one5s desires, not the thing desired'
>ED' The anity of others is only counter to our taste when it is counter to our anity'
>EE' *ith regard to what 1truthfulness1 is, perhaps no!ody has eer !een sufficiently
truthful'
>E?' One does not !eliee in the follies of cleer men- what a forfeiture of the rights of
man&
>EF' The conse:uences of our actions sei)e us !y the foreloc", ery indifferent to the fact
that we hae meanwhile 1reformed'1
>?G' There is an innocence in lying which is the sign of good faith in a cause'
>?>' It is inhuman to !less when one is !eing cursed'
>?A' The familiarity of superiors em!itters one, !ecause it may not !e returned'
>?B' 1I am affected, not !ecause you hae deceied me, !ut !ecause I can no longer
!eliee in you'1
>?C' There is a haughtiness of "indness which has the appearance of wic"edness'
>?@' 1I disli"e him'1--*hy?--1I am not a match for him'1--6id any one eer answer so?
>?D' The moral sentiment in 2urope at present is perhaps as su!tle, !elated, dierse,
sensitie, and refined, as the 1Science of ;orals1 !elonging thereto is recent, initial,
aw"ward, and coarse-fingered---an interesting contrast, which sometimes !ecomes
incarnate and o!ious in the ery person of a moralist' Indeed, the e<pression, 1Science
of ;orals1 is, in respect to what is designated there!y, far too presumptuous and counter
to GOO6 taste,--which is always a foretaste of more modest e<pressions' One ought to
aow with the utmost fairness *+,T is still necessary here for a long time, *+,T is
alone proper for the present- namely, the collection of material, the comprehensie surey
and classification of an immense domain of delicate sentiments of worth, and distinctions
of worth, which lie, grow, propagate, and perish--and perhaps attempts to gie a clear
idea of the recurring and more common forms of these liing crystalli)ations--as
preparation for a T+2O97 O% T7P2S of morality' To !e sure, people hae not hitherto
!een so modest' ,ll the philosophers, with a pedantic and ridiculous seriousness,
demanded of themseles something ery much higher, more pretentious, and
ceremonious, when they concerned themseles with morality as a science- they wanted to
GI32 , (,SI# to morality-- and eery philosopher hitherto has !elieed that he has
gien it a !asis$ morality itself, howeer, has !een regarded as something 1gien'1 +ow
far from their aw"ward pride was the seemingly insignificant pro!lem--left in dust and
decay--of a description of forms of morality, notwithstanding that the finest hands and
senses could hardly !e fine enough for it& It was precisely owing to moral philosophers5
"nowing the moral facts imperfectly, in an ar!itrary epitome, or an accidental
a!ridgement--perhaps as the morality of their enironment, their position, their church,
their Meitgeist, their climate and )one--it was precisely !ecause they were !adly
instructed with regard to nations, eras, and past ages, and were !y no means eager to
"now a!out these matters, that they did not een come in sight of the real pro!lems of
morals--pro!lems which only disclose themseles !y a comparison of ;,N7 "inds of
morality' In eery 1Science of ;orals1 hitherto, strange as it may sound, the pro!lem of
morality itself has !een O;ITT26- there has !een no suspicion that there was anything
pro!lematic there& That which philosophers called 1giing a !asis to morality,1 and
endeaoured to reali)e, has, when seen in a right light, proed merely a learned form of
good %,IT+ in preailing morality, a new means of its 2IP92SSION, conse:uently /ust
a matter-of-fact within the sphere of a definite morality, yea, in its ultimate motie, a sort
of denial that it is 4,*%U4 for this morality to !e called in :uestion--and in any case the
reerse of the testing, analy)ing, dou!ting, and iisecting of this ery faith' +ear, for
instance, with what innocence--almost worthy of honour--Schopenhauer represents his
own tas", and draw your conclusions concerning the scientificness of a 1Science1 whose
latest master still tal"s in the strain of children and old wies- 1The principle,1 he says
.page >BD of the Grundpro!leme der 2thi"0, J%ootnote- Pages @C-@@ of Schopenhauer5s
(asis of ;orality, translated !y ,rthur (' (ulloc", ;',' .>FGB0'K 1the a<iom a!out the
purport of which all moralists are P9,#TI#,447 agreed- neminem laede, immo omnes
:uantum potes /ua--is 92,447 the proposition which all moral teachers strie to
esta!lish, ' ' ' the 92,4 !asis of ethics which has !een sought, li"e the philosopher5s
stone, for centuries'1--The difficulty of esta!lishing the proposition referred to may
indeed !e great--it is well "nown that Schopenhauer also was unsuccessful in his efforts$
and whoeer has thoroughly reali)ed how a!surdly false and sentimental this proposition
is, in a world whose essence is *ill to Power, may !e reminded that Schopenhauer,
although a pessimist, ,#TU,447--played the flute ' ' ' daily after dinner- one may read
a!out the matter in his !iography' , :uestion !y the way- a pessimist, a repudiator of God
and of the world, who ;,82S , +,4T at morality--who assents to morality, and plays
the flute to laede-neminem morals, what? Is that really--a pessimist?
>?E' ,part from the alue of such assertions as 1there is a categorical imperatie in us,1
one can always as"- *hat does such an assertion indicate a!out him who ma"es it? There
are systems of morals which are meant to /ustify their author in the eyes of other people$
other systems of morals are meant to tran:uili)e him, and ma"e him self-satisfied$ with
other systems he wants to crucify and hum!le himself, with others he wishes to ta"e
reenge, with others to conceal himself, with others to glorify himself and gae
superiority and distinction,--this system of morals helps its author to forget, that system
ma"es him, or something of him, forgotten, many a moralist would li"e to e<ercise power
and creatie ar!itrariness oer man"ind, many another, perhaps, 8ant especially, gies us
to understand !y his morals that 1what is estima!le in me, is that I "now how to o!ey--
and with you it S+,44 not !e otherwise than with me&1 In short, systems of morals are
only a SIGN-4,NGU,G2 O% T+2 2;OTIONS'
>??' In contrast to laisser-aller, eery system of morals is a sort of tyranny against
1nature1 and also against 1reason1, that is, howeer, no o!/ection, unless one should again
decree !y some system of morals, that all "inds of tyranny and unreasona!leness are
unlawful *hat is essential and inalua!le in eery system of morals, is that it is a long
constraint' In order to understand Stoicism, or Port 9oyal, or Puritanism, one should
remem!er the constraint under which eery language has attained to strength and
freedom--the metrical constraint, the tyranny of rhyme and rhythm' +ow much trou!le
hae the poets and orators of eery nation gien themseles&--not e<cepting some of the
prose writers of today, in whose ear dwells an ine<ora!le conscientiousness-- 1for the
sa"e of a folly,1 as utilitarian !unglers say, and there!y deem themseles wise--1from
su!mission to ar!itrary laws,1 as the anarchists say, and there!y fancy themseles 1free,1
een free-spirited' The singular fact remains, howeer, that eerything of the nature of
freedom, elegance, !oldness, dance, and masterly certainty, which e<ists or has e<isted,
whether it !e in thought itself, or in administration, or in spea"ing and persuading, in art
/ust as in conduct, has only deeloped !y means of the tyranny of such ar!itrary law, and
in all seriousness, it is not at all impro!a!le that precisely this is 1nature1 and 1natural1--
and not laisser-aller& 2ery artist "nows how different from the state of letting himself go,
is his 1most natural1 condition, the free arranging, locating, disposing, and constructing in
the moments of 1inspiration1--and how strictly and delicately he then o!eys a thousand
laws, which, !y their ery rigidness and precision, defy all formulation !y means of ideas
.een the most sta!le idea has, in comparison therewith, something floating, manifold,
and am!iguous in it0' The essential thing 1in heaen and in earth1 is, apparently .to repeat
it once more0, that there should !e long O(26I2N#2 in the same direction, there there!y
results, and has always resulted in the long run, something which has made life worth
liing$ for instance, irtue, art, music, dancing, reason, spirituality-- anything whateer
that is transfiguring, refined, foolish, or diine' The long !ondage of the spirit, the
distrustful constraint in the communica!ility of ideas, the discipline which the thin"er
imposed on himself to thin" in accordance with the rules of a church or a court, or
conforma!le to ,ristotelian premises, the persistent spiritual will to interpret eerything
that happened according to a #hristian scheme, and in eery occurrence to rediscoer and
/ustify the #hristian God---all this iolence, ar!itrariness, seerity, dreadfulness, and
unreasona!leness, has proed itself the disciplinary means where!y the 2uropean spirit
has attained its strength, its remorseless curiosity and su!tle mo!ility$ granted also that
much irrecoera!le strength and spirit had to !e stifled, suffocated, and spoilt in the
process .for here, as eerywhere, 1nature1 shows herself as she is, in all her e<traagant
and IN6I%%292NT magnificence, which is shoc"ing, !ut neertheless no!le0' That for
centuries 2uropean thin"ers only thought in order to proe something-nowadays, on the
contrary, we are suspicious of eery thin"er who 1wishes to proe something1--that it was
always settled !eforehand what *,S TO (2 the result of their strictest thin"ing, as it was
perhaps in the ,siatic astrology of former times, or as it is still at the present day in the
innocent, #hristian-moral e<planation of immediate personal eents 1for the glory of
God,1 or 1for the good of the soul1---this tyranny, this ar!itrariness, this seere and
magnificent stupidity, has 26U#,T26 the spirit$ slaery, !oth in the coarser and the
finer sense, is apparently an indispensa!le means een of spiritual education and
discipline' One may loo" at eery system of morals in this light- it is 1nature1 therein
which teaches to hate the laisser-aller, the too great freedom, and implants the need for
limited hori)ons, for immediate duties--it teaches the N,99O*ING O%
P29SP2#TI32S, and thus, in a certain sense, that stupidity is a condition of life and
deelopment' 1Thou must o!ey some one, and for a long time$ OT+29*IS2 thou wilt
come to grief, and lose all respect for thyself1--this seems to me to !e the moral
imperatie of nature, which is certainly neither 1categorical,1 as old 8ant wished
.conse:uently the 1otherwise10, nor does it address itself to the indiidual .what does
nature care for the indiidual&0, !ut to nations, races, ages, and ran"s$ a!oe all, howeer,
to the animal 1man1 generally, to ;,N8IN6'
>?F' Industrious races find it a great hardship to !e idle- it was a master stro"e of
2NG4IS+ instinct to hallow and !egloom Sunday to such an e<tent that the 2nglishman
unconsciously han"ers for his wee"--and wor"-day again---as a "ind of cleerly deised,
cleerly intercalated %,ST, such as is also fre:uently found in the ancient world
.although, as is appropriate in southern nations, not precisely with respect to wor"0' ;any
"inds of fasts are necessary$ and whereer powerful influences and ha!its preail,
legislators hae to see that intercalary days are appointed, on which such impulses are
fettered, and learn to hunger anew' 3iewed from a higher standpoint, whole generations
and epochs, when they show themseles infected with any moral fanaticism, seem li"e
those intercalated periods of restraint and fasting, during which an impulse learns to
hum!le and su!mit itself--at the same time also to PU9I%7 and S+,9P2N itself$ certain
philosophical sects li"ewise admit of a similar interpretation .for instance, the Stoa, in the
midst of +ellenic culture, with the atmosphere ran" and oercharged with ,phrodisiacal
odours0'--+ere also is a hint for the e<planation of the parado<, why it was precisely in
the most #hristian period of 2uropean history, and in general only under the pressure of
#hristian sentiments, that the se<ual impulse su!limated into loe .amour-passion0'
>FG' There is something in the morality of Plato which does not really !elong to Plato,
!ut which only appears in his philosophy, one might say, in spite of him- namely,
Socratism, for which he himself was too no!le' 1No one desires to in/ure himself, hence
all eil is done unwittingly' The eil man inflicts in/ury on himself$ he would not do so,
howeer, if he "new that eil is eil' The eil man, therefore, is only eil through error$ if
one free him from error one will necessarily ma"e him--good'1--This mode of reasoning
saours of the POPU4,#2, who perceie only the unpleasant conse:uences of eil-
doing, and practically /udge that 1it is STUPI6 to do wrong1$ while they accept 1good1 as
identical with 1useful and pleasant,1 without further thought' ,s regards eery system of
utilitarianism, one may at once assume that it has the same origin, and follow the scent-
one will seldom err'-- Plato did all he could to interpret something refined and no!le into
the tenets of his teacher, and a!oe all to interpret himself into them--he, the most daring
of all interpreters, who lifted the entire Socrates out of the street, as a popular theme and
song, to e<hi!it him in endless and impossi!le modifications --namely, in all his own
disguises and multiplicities' In /est, and in +omeric language as well, what is the Platonic
Socrates, if not-- JGree" words inserted here'K
>F>' The old theological pro!lem of 1%aith1 and 18nowledge,1 or more plainly, of
instinct and reason--the :uestion whether, in respect to the aluation of things, instinct
deseres more authority than rationality, which wants to appreciate and act according to
moties, according to a 1*hy,1 that is to say, in conformity to purpose and utility--it is
always the old moral pro!lem that first appeared in the person of Socrates, and had
diided men5s minds long !efore #hristianity' Socrates himself, following, of course, the
taste of his talent--that of a surpassing dialectician--too" first the side of reason$ and, in
fact, what did he do all his life !ut laugh at the aw"ward incapacity of the no!le
,thenians, who were men of instinct, li"e all no!le men, and could neer gie
satisfactory answers concerning the moties of their actions? In the end, howeer, though
silently and secretly, he laughed also at himself- with his finer conscience and
introspection, he found in himself the same difficulty and incapacity' 1(ut why1--he said
to himself-- 1should one on that account separate oneself from the instincts& One must set
them right, and the reason ,4SO--one must follow the instincts, !ut at the same time
persuade the reason to support them with good arguments'1 This was the real
%,4S2N2SS of that great and mysterious ironist$ he !rought his conscience up to the
point that he was satisfied with a "ind of self-outwitting- in fact, he perceied the
irrationality in the moral /udgment'-- Plato, more innocent in such matters, and without
the craftiness of the ple!eian, wished to proe to himself, at the e<penditure of all his
strength--the greatest strength a philosopher had eer e<pended--that reason and instinct
lead spontaneously to one goal, to the good, to 1God1$ and since Plato, all theologians
and philosophers hae followed the same path--which means that in matters of morality,
instinct .or as #hristians call it, 1%aith,1 or as I call it, 1the herd10 has hitherto triumphed'
Unless one should ma"e an e<ception in the case of 6escartes, the father of rationalism
.and conse:uently the grandfather of the 9eolution0, who recogni)ed only the authority
of reason- !ut reason is only a tool, and 6escartes was superficial'
>FA' *hoeer has followed the history of a single science, finds in its deelopment a clue
to the understanding of the oldest and commonest processes of all 1"nowledge and
cogni)ance1- there, as here, the premature hypotheses, the fictions, the good stupid will to
1!elief,1 and the lac" of distrust and patience are first deeloped--our senses learn late,
and neer learn completely, to !e su!tle, relia!le, and cautious organs of "nowledge' Our
eyes find it easier on a gien occasion to produce a picture already often produced, than
to sei)e upon the diergence and noelty of an impression- the latter re:uires more force,
more 1morality'1 It is difficult and painful for the ear to listen to anything new$ we hear
strange music !adly' *hen we hear another language spo"en, we inoluntarily attempt to
form the sounds into words with which we are more familiar and conersant--it was thus,
for e<ample, that the Germans modified the spo"en word ,9#U(,4IST, into
,9;(9UST .cross-!ow0' Our senses are also hostile and aerse to the new$ and
generally, een in the 1simplest1 processes of sensation, the emotions 6O;IN,T2--such
as fear, loe, hatred, and the passie emotion of indolence'--,s little as a reader
nowadays reads all the single words .not to spea" of sylla!les0 of a page --he rather ta"es
a!out fie out of eery twenty words at random, and 1guesses1 the pro!a!ly appropriate
sense to them--/ust as little do we see a tree correctly and completely in respect to its
leaes, !ranches, colour, and shape$ we find it so much easier to fancy the chance of a
tree' 2en in the midst of the most remar"a!le e<periences, we still do /ust the same$ we
fa!ricate the greater part of the e<perience, and can hardly !e made to contemplate any
eent, 2I#2PT as 1inentors1 thereof' ,ll this goes to proe that from our fundamental
nature and from remote ages we hae !een--,##USTO;26 TO 47ING' Or, to e<press
it more politely and hypocritically, in short, more pleasantly--one is much more of an
artist than one is aware of'--In an animated conersation, I often see the face of the
person with whom I am spea"ing so clearly and sharply defined !efore me, according to
the thought he e<presses, or which I !eliee to !e eo"ed in his mind, that the degree of
distinctness far e<ceeds the ST92NGT+ of my isual faculty--the delicacy of the play of
the muscles and of the e<pression of the eyes ;UST therefore !e imagined !y me'
Pro!a!ly the person put on :uite a different e<pression, or none at all'
>FB' Luid:uid luce fuit, tene!ris agit- !ut also contrariwise' *hat we e<perience in
dreams, proided we e<perience it often, pertains at last /ust as much to the general
!elongings of our soul as anything 1actually1 e<perienced$ !y irtue thereof we are richer
or poorer, we hae a re:uirement more or less, and finally, in !road daylight, and een in
the !rightest moments of our wa"ing life, we are ruled to some e<tent !y the nature of our
dreams' Supposing that someone has often flown in his dreams, and that at last, as soon
as he dreams, he is conscious of the power and art of flying as his priilege and his
peculiarly enia!le happiness$ such a person, who !eliees that on the slightest impulse,
he can actuali)e all sorts of cures and angles, who "nows the sensation of a certain
diine leity, an 1upwards1 without effort or constraint, a 1downwards1 without
descending or lowering--without T9OU(42&--how could the man with such dream-
e<periences and dream-ha!its fail to find 1happiness1 differently coloured and defined,
een in his wa"ing hours& +ow could he fail--to long 6I%%292NT47 for happiness?
1%light,1 such as is descri!ed !y poets, must, when compared with his own 1flying,1 !e
far too earthly, muscular, iolent, far too 1trou!lesome1 for him'
>FC' The difference among men does not manifest itself only in the difference of their
lists of desira!le things--in their regarding different good things as worth striing for, and
!eing disagreed as to the greater or less alue, the order of ran", of the commonly
recogni)ed desira!le things---it manifests itself much more in what they regard as
actually +,3ING and POSS2SSING a desira!le thing' ,s regards a woman, for
instance, the control oer her !ody and her se<ual gratification seres as an amply
sufficient sign of ownership and possession to the more modest man$ another with a more
suspicious and am!itious thirst for possession, sees the 1:uestiona!leness,1 the mere
apparentness of such ownership, and wishes to hae finer tests in order to "now
especially whether the woman not only gies herself to him, !ut also gies up for his sa"e
what she has or would li"e to hae-- only T+2N does he loo" upon her as 1possessed'1 ,
third, howeer, has not een here got to the limit of his distrust and his desire for
possession- he as"s himself whether the woman, when she gies up eerything for him,
does not perhaps do so for a phantom of him$ he wishes first to !e thoroughly, indeed,
profoundly well "nown$ in order to !e loed at all he entures to let himself !e found out'
Only then does he feel the !eloed one fully in his possession, when she no longer
deceies herself a!out him, when she loes him /ust as much for the sa"e of his deilry
and concealed insatia!ility, as for his goodness, patience, and spirituality' One man would
li"e to possess a nation, and he finds all the higher arts of #agliostro and #atalina suita!le
for his purpose' ,nother, with a more refined thirst for possession, says to himself- 1One
may not deceie where one desires to possess1--he is irritated and impatient at the idea
that a mas" of him should rule in the hearts of the people- 1I must, therefore, ;,82
myself "nown, and first of all learn to "now myself&1 ,mong helpful and charita!le
people, one almost always finds the aw"ward craftiness which first gets up suita!ly him
who has to !e helped, as though, for instance, he should 1merit1 help, see" /ust T+2I9
help, and would show himself deeply grateful, attached, and su!serient to them for all
help' *ith these conceits, they ta"e control of the needy as a property, /ust as in general
they are charita!le and helpful out of a desire for property' One finds them /ealous when
they are crossed or forestalled in their charity' Parents inoluntarily ma"e something li"e
themseles out of their children--they call that 1education1$ no mother dou!ts at the
!ottom of her heart that the child she has !orne is there!y her property, no father hesitates
a!out his right to +IS O*N ideas and notions of worth' Indeed, in former times fathers
deemed it right to use their discretion concerning the life or death of the newly !orn .as
among the ancient Germans0' ,nd li"e the father, so also do the teacher, the class, the
priest, and the prince still see in eery new indiidual an uno!/ectiona!le opportunity for
a new possession' The conse:uence is ' ' '
>F@' The =ews--a people 1!orn for slaery,1 as Tacitus and the whole ancient world say of
them$ 1the chosen people among the nations,1 as they themseles say and !eliee--the
=ews performed the miracle of the inersion of aluations, !y means of which life on
earth o!tained a new and dangerous charm for a couple of millenniums' Their prophets
fused into one the e<pressions 1rich,1 1godless,1 1wic"ed,1 1iolent,1 1sensual,1 and for
the first time coined the word 1world1 as a term of reproach' In this inersion of
aluations .in which is also included the use of the word 1poor1 as synonymous with
1saint1 and 1friend10 the significance of the =ewish people is to !e found$ it is with T+2;
that the S4,32-INSU992#TION IN ;O9,4S commences'
>FD' It is to !e IN%29926 that there are countless dar" !odies near the sun--such as we
shall neer see' ,mong ourseles, this is an allegory$ and the psychologist of morals
reads the whole star-writing merely as an allegorical and sym!olic language in which
much may !e une<pressed'
>FE' The !east of prey and the man of prey .for instance, #aesar (orgia0 are
fundamentally misunderstood, 1nature1 is misunderstood, so long as one see"s a
1mor!idness1 in the constitution of these healthiest of all tropical monsters and growths,
or een an innate 1hell1 in them--as almost all moralists hae done hitherto' 6oes it not
seem that there is a hatred of the irgin forest and of the tropics among moralists? ,nd
that the 1tropical man1 must !e discredited at all costs, whether as disease and
deterioration of man"ind, or as his own hell and self-torture? ,nd why? In faour of the
1temperate )ones1? In faour of the temperate men? The 1moral1? The mediocre?--This
for the chapter- 1;orals as Timidity'1
>F?' ,ll the systems of morals which address themseles with a iew to their
1happiness,1 as it is called--what else are they !ut suggestions for !ehaiour adapted to
the degree of 6,NG29 from themseles in which the indiiduals lie$ recipes for their
passions, their good and !ad propensities, insofar as such hae the *ill to Power and
would li"e to play the master$ small and great e<pediencies and ela!orations, permeated
with the musty odour of old family medicines and old-wife wisdom$ all of them
grotes:ue and a!surd in their form--!ecause they address themseles to 1all,1 !ecause
they generali)e where generali)ation is not authori)ed$ all of them spea"ing
unconditionally, and ta"ing themseles unconditionally$ all of them flaoured not merely
with one grain of salt, !ut rather endura!le only, and sometimes een seductie, when
they are oer-spiced and !egin to smell dangerously, especially of 1the other world'1 That
is all of little alue when estimated intellectually, and is far from !eing 1science,1 much
less 1wisdom1$ !ut, repeated once more, and three times repeated, it is e<pediency,
e<pediency, e<pediency, mi<ed with stupidity, stupidity, stupidity--whether it !e the
indifference and statues:ue coldness towards the heated folly of the emotions, which the
Stoics adised and fostered$ or the no- more-laughing and no-more-weeping of Spino)a,
the destruction of the emotions !y their analysis and iisection, which he recommended
so naiely$ or the lowering of the emotions to an innocent mean at which they may !e
satisfied, the ,ristotelianism of morals$ or een morality as the en/oyment of the
emotions in a oluntary attenuation and spirituali)ation !y the sym!olism of art, perhaps
as music, or as loe of God, and of man"ind for God5s sa"e--for in religion the passions
are once more enfranchised, proided that ' ' ' $ or, finally, een the complaisant and
wanton surrender to the emotions, as has !een taught !y +afis and Goethe, the !old
letting-go of the reins, the spiritual and corporeal licentia morum in the e<ceptional cases
of wise old codgers and drun"ards, with whom it 1no longer has much danger'1 --This
also for the chapter- 1;orals as Timidity'1
>FF' Inasmuch as in all ages, as long as man"ind has e<isted, there hae also !een human
herds .family alliances, communities, tri!es, peoples, states, churches0, and always a
great num!er who o!ey in proportion to the small num!er who command--in iew,
therefore, of the fact that o!edience has !een most practiced and fostered among man"ind
hitherto, one may reasona!ly suppose that, generally spea"ing, the need thereof is now
innate in eery one, as a "ind of %O9;,4 #ONS#I2N#2 which gies the command
1Thou shalt unconditionally do something, unconditionally refrain from something1, in
short, 1Thou shalt1' This need tries to satisfy itself and to fill its form with a content,
according to its strength, impatience, and eagerness, it at once sei)es as an omniorous
appetite with little selection, and accepts whateer is shouted into its ear !y all sorts of
commanders--parents, teachers, laws, class pre/udices, or pu!lic opinion' The
e<traordinary limitation of human deelopment, the hesitation, protractedness, fre:uent
retrogression, and turning thereof, is attri!uta!le to the fact that the herd-instinct of
o!edience is transmitted !est, and at the cost of the art of command' If one imagine this
instinct increasing to its greatest e<tent, commanders and independent indiiduals will
finally !e lac"ing altogether, or they will suffer inwardly from a !ad conscience, and will
hae to impose a deception on themseles in the first place in order to !e a!le to
command /ust as if they also were only o!eying' This condition of things actually e<ists
in 2urope at present--I call it the moral hypocrisy of the commanding class' They "now
no other way of protecting themseles from their !ad conscience than !y playing the role
of e<ecutors of older and higher orders .of predecessors, of the constitution, of /ustice, of
the law, or of God himself0, or they een /ustify themseles !y ma<ims from the current
opinions of the herd, as 1first serants of their people,1 or 1instruments of the pu!lic
weal1' On the other hand, the gregarious 2uropean man nowadays assumes an air as if he
were the only "ind of man that is allowa!le, he glorifies his :ualities, such as pu!lic
spirit, "indness, deference, industry, temperance, modesty, indulgence, sympathy, !y
irtue of which he is gentle, endura!le, and useful to the herd, as the peculiarly human
irtues' In cases, howeer, where it is !elieed that the leader and !ell-wether cannot !e
dispensed with, attempt after attempt is made nowadays to replace commanders !y the
summing together of cleer gregarious men all representatie constitutions, for e<ample,
are of this origin' In spite of all, what a !lessing, what a delierance from a weight
!ecoming unendura!le, is the appearance of an a!solute ruler for these gregarious
2uropeans--of this fact the effect of the appearance of Napoleon was the last great proof
the history of the influence of Napoleon is almost the history of the higher happiness to
which the entire century has attained in its worthiest indiiduals and periods'
AGG' The man of an age of dissolution which mi<es the races with one another, who has
the inheritance of a diersified descent in his !ody--that is to say, contrary, and often not
only contrary, instincts and standards of alue, which struggle with one another and are
seldom at peace--such a man of late culture and !ro"en lights, will, on an aerage, !e a
wea" man' +is fundamental desire is that the war which is IN +I; should come to an
end$ happiness appears to him in the character of a soothing medicine and mode of
thought .for instance, 2picurean or #hristian0$ it is a!oe all things the happiness of
repose, of undistur!edness, of repletion, of final unity--it is the 1Sa!!ath of Sa!!aths,1 to
use the e<pression of the holy rhetorician, St' ,ugustine, who was himself such a man'--
Should, howeer, the contrariety and conflict in such natures operate as an
,66ITION,4 incentie and stimulus to life--and if, on the other hand, in addition to
their powerful and irreconcila!le instincts, they hae also inherited and indoctrinated into
them a proper mastery and su!tlety for carrying on the conflict with themseles .that is to
say, the faculty of self-control and self-deception0, there then arise those marelously
incomprehensi!le and ine<plica!le !eings, those enigmatical men, predestined for
con:uering and circumenting others, the finest e<amples of which are ,lci!iades and
#aesar .with whom I should li"e to associate the %I9ST of 2uropeans according to my
taste, the +ohenstaufen, %rederic" the Second0, and among artists, perhaps 4eonardo da
3inci' They appear precisely in the same periods when that wea"er type, with its longing
for repose, comes to the front$ the two types are complementary to each other, and spring
from the same causes'
AG>' ,s long as the utility which determines moral estimates is only gregarious utility, as
long as the preseration of the community is only "ept in iew, and the immoral is sought
precisely and e<clusiely in what seems dangerous to the maintenance of the community,
there can !e no 1morality of loe to one5s neigh!our'1 Granted een that there is already a
little constant e<ercise of consideration, sympathy, fairness, gentleness, and mutual
assistance, granted that een in this condition of society all those instincts are already
actie which are latterly distinguished !y honoura!le names as 1irtues,1 and eentually
almost coincide with the conception 1morality1- in that period they do not as yet !elong
to the domain of moral aluations--they are still U4T9,-;O9,4' , sympathetic action,
for instance, is neither called good nor !ad, moral nor immoral, in the !est period of the
9omans$ and should it !e praised, a sort of resentful disdain is compati!le with this
praise, een at the !est, directly the sympathetic action is compared with one which
contri!utes to the welfare of the whole, to the 92S PU(4I#,' ,fter all, 1loe to our
neigh!our1 is always a secondary matter, partly conentional and ar!itrarily manifested
in relation to our %2,9 O% OU9 N2IG+(OU9' ,fter the fa!ric of society seems on the
whole esta!lished and secured against e<ternal dangers, it is this fear of our neigh!our
which again creates new perspecties of moral aluation' #ertain strong and dangerous
instincts, such as the loe of enterprise, foolhardiness, reengefulness, astuteness,
rapacity, and loe of power, which up till then had not only to !e honoured from the point
of iew of general utility--under other names, of course, than those here gien--!ut had to
!e fostered and cultiated .!ecause they were perpetually re:uired in the common danger
against the common enemies0, are now felt in their dangerousness to !e dou!ly strong--
when the outlets for them are lac"ing--and are gradually !randed as immoral and gien
oer to calumny' The contrary instincts and inclinations now attain to moral honour, the
gregarious instinct gradually draws its conclusions' +ow much or how little
dangerousness to the community or to e:uality is contained in an opinion, a condition, an
emotion, a disposition, or an endowment-- that is now the moral perspectie, here again
fear is the mother of morals' It is !y the loftiest and strongest instincts, when they !rea"
out passionately and carry the indiidual far a!oe and !eyond the aerage, and the low
leel of the gregarious conscience, that the self-reliance of the community is destroyed,
its !elief in itself, its !ac"!one, as it were, !rea"s, conse:uently these ery instincts will
!e most !randed and defamed' The lofty independent spirituality, the will to stand alone,
and een the cogent reason, are felt to !e dangers, eerything that eleates the indiidual
a!oe the herd, and is a source of fear to the neigh!our, is henceforth called 23I4, the
tolerant, unassuming, self-adapting, self-e:uali)ing disposition, the ;26IO#9IT7 of
desires, attains to moral distinction and honour' %inally, under ery peaceful
circumstances, there is always less opportunity and necessity for training the feelings to
seerity and rigour, and now eery form of seerity, een in /ustice, !egins to distur! the
conscience, a lofty and rigorous no!leness and self-responsi!ility almost offends, and
awa"ens distrust, 1the lam!,1 and still more 1the sheep,1 wins respect' There is a point of
diseased mellowness and effeminacy in the history of society, at which society itself ta"es
the part of him who in/ures it, the part of the #9I;IN,4, and does so, in fact, seriously
and honestly' To punish, appears to it to !e somehow unfair--it is certain that the idea of
1punishment1 and 1the o!ligation to punish1 are then painful and alarming to people' 1Is
it not sufficient if the criminal !e rendered +,9;42SS? *hy should we still punish?
Punishment itself is terri!le&1--with these :uestions gregarious morality, the morality of
fear, draws its ultimate conclusion' If one could at all do away with danger, the cause of
fear, one would hae done away with this morality at the same time, it would no longer
!e necessary, it *OU46 NOT #ONSI629 ITS24% any longer necessary&--*hoeer
e<amines the conscience of the present-day 2uropean, will always elicit the same
imperatie from its thousand moral folds and hidden recesses, the imperatie of the
timidity of the herd 1we wish that some time or other there may !e NOT+ING ;O92
TO %2,9&1 Some time or other--the will and the way T+292TO is nowadays called
1progress1 all oer 2urope'
AGA' 4et us at once say again what we hae already said a hundred times, for people5s
ears nowadays are unwilling to hear such truths--OU9 truths' *e "now well enough how
offensie it sounds when any one plainly, and without metaphor, counts man among the
animals, !ut it will !e accounted to us almost a #9I;2, that it is precisely in respect to
men of 1modern ideas1 that we hae constantly applied the terms 1herd,1 1herd-instincts,1
and such li"e e<pressions' *hat aail is it? *e cannot do otherwise, for it is precisely
here that our new insight is' *e hae found that in all the principal moral /udgments,
2urope has !ecome unanimous, including li"ewise the countries where 2uropean
influence preails in 2urope people eidently 8NO* what Socrates thought he did not
"now, and what the famous serpent of old once promised to teach--they 1"now1 today
what is good and eil' It must then sound hard and !e distasteful to the ear, when we
always insist that that which here thin"s it "nows, that which here glorifies itself with
praise and !lame, and calls itself good, is the instinct of the herding human animal, the
instinct which has come and is eer coming more and more to the front, to preponderance
and supremacy oer other instincts, according to the increasing physiological
appro<imation and resem!lance of which it is the symptom' ;O9,4IT7 IN 2U9OP2
,T P92S2NT IS +296ING-,NI;,4 ;O9,4IT7, and therefore, as we understand
the matter, only one "ind of human morality, !eside which, !efore which, and after which
many other moralities, and a!oe all +IG+29 moralities, are or should !e possi!le'
,gainst such a 1possi!ility,1 against such a 1should !e,1 howeer, this morality defends
itself with all its strength, it says o!stinately and ine<ora!ly 1I am morality itself and
nothing else is morality&1 Indeed, with the help of a religion which has humoured and
flattered the su!limest desires of the herding-animal, things hae reached such a point
that we always find a more isi!le e<pression of this morality een in political and social
arrangements- the 62;O#9,TI# moement is the inheritance of the #hristian
moement' That its T2;PO, howeer, is much too slow and sleepy for the more
impatient ones, for those who are sic" and distracted !y the herding-instinct, is indicated
!y the increasingly furious howling, and always less disguised teeth- gnashing of the
anarchist dogs, who are now roing through the highways of 2uropean culture'
,pparently in opposition to the peacefully industrious democrats and 9eolution-
ideologues, and still more so to the aw"ward philosophasters and fraternity- isionaries
who call themseles Socialists and want a 1free society,1 those are really at one with them
all in their thorough and instinctie hostility to eery form of society other than that of
the ,UTONO;OUS herd .to the e<tent een of repudiating the notions 1master1 and
1serant1--ni dieu ni maitre, says a socialist formula0$ at one in their tenacious opposition
to eery special claim, eery special right and priilege .this means ultimately opposition
to 23297 right, for when all are e:ual, no one needs 1rights1 any longer0$ at one in their
distrust of punitie /ustice .as though it were a iolation of the wea", unfair to the
N2#2SS,97 conse:uences of all former society0$ !ut e:ually at one in their religion of
sympathy, in their compassion for all that feels, lies, and suffers .down to the ery
animals, up een to 1God1--the e<traagance of 1sympathy for God1 !elongs to a
democratic age0$ altogether at one in the cry and impatience of their sympathy, in their
deadly hatred of suffering generally, in their almost feminine incapacity for witnessing it
or ,44O*ING it$ at one in their inoluntary !eglooming and heart-softening, under the
spell of which 2urope seems to !e threatened with a new (uddhism$ at one in their !elief
in the morality of ;UTU,4 sympathy, as though it were morality in itself, the clima<,
the ,TT,IN26 clima< of man"ind, the sole hope of the future, the consolation of the
present, the great discharge from all the o!ligations of the past$ altogether at one in their
!elief in the community as the 624I32929, in the herd, and therefore in 1themseles'1
AGB' *e, who hold a different !elief--we, who regard the democratic moement, not only
as a degenerating form of political organi)ation, !ut as e:uialent to a degenerating, a
waning type of man, as inoling his mediocrising and depreciation- where hae *2 to
fi< our hopes? In N2* P+I4OSOP+29S--there is no other alternatie- in minds strong
and original enough to initiate opposite estimates of alue, to transalue and inert
1eternal aluations1$ in forerunners, in men of the future, who in the present shall fi< the
constraints and fasten the "nots which will compel millenniums to ta"e N2* paths' To
teach man the future of humanity as his *I44, as depending on human will, and to ma"e
preparation for ast ha)ardous enterprises and collectie attempts in rearing and
educating, in order there!y to put an end to the frightful rule of folly and chance which
has hitherto gone !y the name of 1history1 .the folly of the 1greatest num!er1 is only its
last form0--for that purpose a new type of philosopher and commander will some time or
other !e needed, at the ery idea of which eerything that has e<isted in the way of
occult, terri!le, and !eneolent !eings might loo" pale and dwarfed' The image of such
leaders hoers !efore OU9 eyes---is it lawful for me to say it aloud, ye free spirits? The
conditions which one would partly hae to create and partly utili)e for their genesis$ the
presumptie methods and tests !y irtue of which a soul should grow up to such an
eleation and power as to feel a #ONST9,INT to these tas"s$ a transaluation of alues,
under the new pressure and hammer of which a conscience should !e steeled and a heart
transformed into !rass, so as to !ear the weight of such responsi!ility$ and on the other
hand the necessity for such leaders, the dreadful danger that they might !e lac"ing, or
miscarry and degenerate---these are OU9 real an<ieties and glooms, ye "now it well, ye
free spirits& these are the heay distant thoughts and storms which sweep across the
heaen of OU9 life' There are few pains so grieous as to hae seen, diined, or
e<perienced how an e<ceptional man has missed his way and deteriorated$ !ut he who
has the rare eye for the uniersal danger of 1man1 himself 62T29IO9,TING, he who
li"e us has recogni)ed the e<traordinary fortuitousness which has hitherto played its game
in respect to the future of man"ind--a game in which neither the hand, nor een a 1finger
of God1 has participated&--he who diines the fate that is hidden under the idiotic
unwariness and !lind confidence of 1modern ideas,1 and still more under the whole of
#hristo-2uropean morality-suffers from an anguish with which no other is to !e
compared' +e sees at a glance all that could still (2 ;,62 OUT O% ;,N through a
faoura!le accumulation and augmentation of human powers and arrangements$ he
"nows with all the "nowledge of his coniction how une<hausted man still is for the
greatest possi!ilities, and how often in the past the type man has stood in presence of
mysterious decisions and new paths---he "nows still !etter from his painfulest
recollections on what wretched o!stacles promising deelopments of the highest ran"
hae hitherto usually gone to pieces, !ro"en down, sun", and !ecome contempti!le' The
UNI329S,4 62G2N29,#7 O% ;,N8IN6 to the leel of the 1man of the future1--as
ideali)ed !y the socialistic fools and shallow-pates--this degeneracy and dwarfing of man
to an a!solutely gregarious animal .or as they call it, to a man of 1free society10, this
!rutali)ing of man into a pigmy with e:ual rights and claims, is undou!tedly POSSI(42&
+e who has thought out this possi!ility to its ultimate conclusion "nows ,NOT+29
loathing un"nown to the rest of man"ind--and perhaps also a new ;ISSION&
AGC' ,t the ris" that morali)ing may also reeal itself here as that which it has always
!een--namely, resolutely ;ONT929 S2S P4,I2S, according to (al)ac--I would
enture to protest against an improper and in/urious alteration of ran", which :uite
unnoticed, and as if with the !est conscience, threatens nowadays to esta!lish itself in the
relations of science and philosophy' I mean to say that one must hae the right out of
one5s own 2IP29I2N#2--e<perience, as it seems to me, always implies unfortunate
e<perience?--to treat of such an important :uestion of ran", so as not to spea" of colour
li"e the !lind, or ,G,INST science li"e women and artists .1,h& this dreadful science&1
sigh their instinct and their shame, 1it always %IN6S T+INGS OUT&10' The declaration
of independence of the scientific man, his emancipation from philosophy, is one of the
su!tler after-effects of democratic organi)ation and disorgani)ation- the self- glorification
and self-conceitedness of the learned man is now eerywhere in full !loom, and in its
!est springtime--which does not mean to imply that in this case self-praise smells sweet'
+ere also the instinct of the populace cries, 1%reedom from all masters&1 and after science
has, with the happiest results, resisted theology, whose 1hand-maid1 it had !een too long,
it now proposes in its wantonness and indiscretion to lay down laws for philosophy, and
in its turn to play the 1master1--what am I saying& to play the P+I4OSOP+29 on its own
account' ;y memory-- the memory of a scientific man, if you please&--teems with the
naietes of insolence which I hae heard a!out philosophy and philosophers from young
naturalists and old physicians .not to mention the most cultured and most conceited of all
learned men, the philologists and schoolmasters, who are !oth the one and the other !y
profession0' On one occasion it was the specialist and the =ac" +orner who instinctiely
stood on the defensie against all synthetic tas"s and capa!ilities$ at another time it was
the industrious wor"er who had got a scent of OTIU; and refined lu<uriousness in the
internal economy of the philosopher, and felt himself aggrieed and !elittled there!y' On
another occasion it was the colour-!lindness of the utilitarian, who sees nothing in
philosophy !ut a series of 92%UT26 systems, and an e<traagant e<penditure which
1does no!ody any good1' ,t another time the fear of disguised mysticism and of the
!oundary-ad/ustment of "nowledge !ecame conspicuous, at another time the disregard of
indiidual philosophers, which had inoluntarily e<tended to disregard of philosophy
generally' In fine, I found most fre:uently, !ehind the proud disdain of philosophy in
young scholars, the eil after-effect of some particular philosopher, to whom on the
whole o!edience had !een foresworn, without, howeer, the spell of his scornful
estimates of other philosophers haing !een got rid of--the result !eing a general ill-will
to all philosophy' .Such seems to me, for instance, the after-effect of Schopenhauer on the
most modern Germany- !y his unintelligent rage against +egel, he has succeeded in
seering the whole of the last generation of Germans from its connection with German
culture, which culture, all things considered, has !een an eleation and a diining
refinement of the +ISTO9I#,4 S2NS2, !ut precisely at this point Schopenhauer
himself was poor, irreceptie, and un-German to the e<tent of ingeniousness'0 On the
whole, spea"ing generally, it may /ust hae !een the humanness, all-too-humanness of
the modern philosophers themseles, in short, their contempti!leness, which has in/ured
most radically the reerence for philosophy and opened the doors to the instinct of the
populace' 4et it !ut !e ac"nowledged to what an e<tent our modern world dierges from
the whole style of the world of +eraclitus, Plato, 2mpedocles, and whateer else all the
royal and magnificent anchorites of the spirit were called, and with what /ustice an honest
man of science ;,7 feel himself of a !etter family and origin, in iew of such
representaties of philosophy, who, owing to the fashion of the present day, are /ust as
much aloft as they are down !elow--in Germany, for instance, the two lions of (erlin, the
anarchist 2ugen 6uhring and the amalgamist 2duard on +artmann' It is especially the
sight of those hotch-potch philosophers, who call themseles 1realists,1 or 1positiists,1
which is calculated to implant a dangerous distrust in the soul of a young and am!itious
scholar those philosophers, at the !est, are themseles !ut scholars and specialists, that is
ery eident& ,ll of them are persons who hae !een an:uished and (9OUG+T (,#8
,G,IN under the dominion of science, who at one time or another claimed more from
themseles, without haing a right to the 1more1 and its responsi!ility--and who now,
credita!ly, rancorously, and indictiely, represent in word and deed, 6IS(24I2% in the
master-tas" and supremacy of philosophy ,fter all, how could it !e otherwise? Science
flourishes nowadays and has the good conscience clearly isi!le on its countenance,
while that to which the entire modern philosophy has gradually sun", the remnant of
philosophy of the present day, e<cites distrust and displeasure, if not scorn and pity
Philosophy reduced to a 1theory of "nowledge,1 no more in fact than a diffident science
of epochs and doctrine of for!earance a philosophy that neer een gets !eyond the
threshold, and rigorously 62NI2S itself the right to enter--that is philosophy in its last
throes, an end, an agony, something that awa"ens pity' +ow could such a philosophy--
9U42&
AG@' The dangers that !eset the eolution of the philosopher are, in fact, so manifold
nowadays, that one might dou!t whether this fruit could still come to maturity' The e<tent
and towering structure of the sciences hae increased enormously, and therewith also the
pro!a!ility that the philosopher will grow tired een as a learner, or will attach himself
somewhere and 1speciali)e1 so that he will no longer attain to his eleation, that is to say,
to his superspection, his circumspection, and his 62SP2#TION' Or he gets aloft too late,
when the !est of his maturity and strength is past, or when he is impaired, coarsened, and
deteriorated, so that his iew, his general estimate of things, is no longer of much
importance' It is perhaps /ust the refinement of his intellectual conscience that ma"es him
hesitate and linger on the way, he dreads the temptation to !ecome a dilettante, a
millepede, a milleantenna, he "nows too well that as a discerner, one who has lost his
self-respect no longer commands, no longer 42,6S, unless he should aspire to !ecome a
great play-actor, a philosophical #agliostro and spiritual rat- catcher--in short, a
misleader' This is in the last instance a :uestion of taste, if it has not really !een a
:uestion of conscience' To dou!le once more the philosopher5s difficulties, there is also
the fact that he demands from himself a erdict, a 7ea or Nay, not concerning science, !ut
concerning life and the worth of life--he learns unwillingly to !eliee that it is his right
and een his duty to o!tain this erdict, and he has to see" his way to the right and the
!elief only through the most e<tensie .perhaps distur!ing and destroying0 e<periences,
often hesitating, dou!ting, and dum!founded' In fact, the philosopher has long !een
mista"en and confused !y the multitude, either with the scientific man and ideal scholar,
or with the religiously eleated, desensuali)ed, deseculari)ed isionary and God-
into<icated man$ and een yet when one hears any!ody praised, !ecause he lies
1wisely,1 or 1as a philosopher,1 it hardly means anything more than 1prudently and
apart'1 *isdom- that seems to the populace to !e a "ind of flight, a means and artifice for
withdrawing successfully from a !ad game$ !ut the G2NUIN2 philosopher--does it not
seem so to US, my friends?--lies 1unphilosophically1 and 1unwisely,1 a!oe all,
I;P9U62NT47, and feels the o!ligation and !urden of a hundred attempts and
temptations of life--he ris"s +I;S24% constantly, he plays T+IS !ad game'
AGD' In relation to the genius, that is to say, a !eing who either 2NG2N629S or
P9O6U#2S--!oth words understood in their fullest sense--the man of learning, the
scientific aerage man, has always something of the old maid a!out him$ for, li"e her, he
is not conersant with the two principal functions of man' To !oth, of course, to the
scholar and to the old maid, one concedes respecta!ility, as if !y way of indemnification--
in these cases one emphasi)es the respecta!ility--and yet, in the compulsion of this
concession, one has the same admi<ture of e<ation' 4et us e<amine more closely- what
is the scientific man? %irstly, a commonplace type of man, with commonplace irtues-
that is to say, a non-ruling, non-authoritatie, and non-self-sufficient type of man$ he
possesses industry, patient adapta!leness to ran" and file, e:ua!ility and moderation in
capacity and re:uirement$ he has the instinct for people li"e himself, and for that which
they re:uire--for instance- the portion of independence and green meadow without which
there is no rest from la!our, the claim to honour and consideration .which first and
foremost presupposes recognition and recognisa!ility0, the sunshine of a good name, the
perpetual ratification of his alue and usefulness, with which the inward 6IST9UST
which lies at the !ottom of the heart of all dependent men and gregarious animals, has
again and again to !e oercome' The learned man, as is appropriate, has also maladies
and faults of an igno!le "ind- he is full of petty eny, and has a lyn<-eye for the wea"
points in those natures to whose eleations he cannot attain' +e is confiding, yet only as
one who lets himself go, !ut does not %4O*$ and precisely !efore the man of the great
current he stands all the colder and more resered-- his eye is then li"e a smooth and
irresponsie la"e, which is no longer moed !y rapture or sympathy' The worst and most
dangerous thing of which a scholar is capa!le results from the instinct of mediocrity of
his type, from the =esuitism of mediocrity, which la!ours instinctiely for the destruction
of the e<ceptional man, and endeaours to !rea"--or still !etter, to rela<--eery !ent !ow
To rela<, of course, with consideration, and naturally with an indulgent hand--to 924,I
with confiding sympathy that is the real art of =esuitism, which has always understood
how to introduce itself as the religion of sympathy'
AGE' +oweer gratefully one may welcome the O(=2#TI32 spirit--and who has not
!een sic" to death of all su!/ectiity and its confounded IPSISI;OSIT7&--in the end,
howeer, one must learn caution een with regard to one5s gratitude, and put a stop to the
e<aggeration with which the unselfing and depersonali)ing of the spirit has recently !een
cele!rated, as if it were the goal in itself, as if it were salation and glorification--as is
especially accustomed to happen in the pessimist school, which has also in its turn good
reasons for paying the highest honours to 1disinterested "nowledge1 The o!/ectie man,
who no longer curses and scolds li"e the pessimist, the I62,4 man of learning in whom
the scientific instinct !lossoms forth fully after a thousand complete and partial failures,
is assuredly one of the most costly instruments that e<ist, !ut his place is in the hand of
one who is more powerful +e is only an instrument, we may say, he is a ;I99O9--he is
no 1purpose in himself1 The o!/ectie man is in truth a mirror accustomed to prostration
!efore eerything that wants to !e "nown, with such desires only as "nowing or
1reflecting1 implies--he waits until something comes, and then e<pands himself
sensitiely, so that een the light footsteps and gliding-past of spiritual !eings may not !e
lost on his surface and film *hateer 1personality1 he still possesses seems to him
accidental, ar!itrary, or still oftener, distur!ing, so much has he come to regard himself as
the passage and reflection of outside forms and eents +e calls up the recollection of
1himself1 with an effort, and not infre:uently wrongly, he readily confounds himself with
other persons, he ma"es mista"es with regard to his own needs, and here only is he
unrefined and negligent Perhaps he is trou!led a!out the health, or the pettiness and
confined atmosphere of wife and friend, or the lac" of companions and society--indeed,
he sets himself to reflect on his suffering, !ut in ain& +is thoughts already roe away to
the ;O92 G2N29,4 case, and tomorrow he "nows as little as he "new yesterday how
to help himself +e does not now ta"e himself seriously and deote time to himself he is
serene, NOT from lac" of trou!le, !ut from lac" of capacity for grasping and dealing with
+IS trou!le The ha!itual complaisance with respect to all o!/ects and e<periences, the
radiant and impartial hospitality with which he receies eerything that comes his way,
his ha!it of inconsiderate good-nature, of dangerous indifference as to 7ea and Nay- alas&
there are enough of cases in which he has to atone for these irtues of his&--and as man
generally, he !ecomes far too easily the #,PUT ;O9TUU; of such irtues' Should one
wish loe or hatred from him--I mean loe and hatred as God, woman, and animal
understand them--he will do what he can, and furnish what he can' (ut one must not !e
surprised if it should not !e much--if he should show himself /ust at this point to !e false,
fragile, :uestiona!le, and deteriorated' +is loe is constrained, his hatred is artificial, and
rather UNN TOU9 62 %O9#2, a slight ostentation and e<aggeration' +e is only genuine
so far as he can !e o!/ectie$ only in his serene totality is he still 1nature1 and 1natural'1
+is mirroring and eternally self-polishing soul no longer "nows how to affirm, no longer
how to deny$ he does not command$ neither does he destroy' 1=2 N2 ;2P9IS2
P92SLU2 9I2N1-- he says, with 4ei!ni)- let us not oerloo" nor underalue the
P92SLU2& Neither is he a model man$ he does not go in adance of any one, nor after,
either$ he places himself generally too far off to hae any reason for espousing the cause
of either good or eil' If he has !een so long confounded with the P+I4OSOP+29, with
the #aesarian trainer and dictator of ciili)ation, he has had far too much honour, and
what is more essential in him has !een oerloo"ed--he is an instrument, something of a
slae, though certainly the su!limest sort of slae, !ut nothing in himself--P92SLU2
9I2N& The o!/ectie man is an instrument, a costly, easily in/ured, easily tarnished
measuring instrument and mirroring apparatus, which is to !e ta"en care of and
respected$ !ut he is no goal, not outgoing nor upgoing, no complementary man in whom
the 92ST of e<istence /ustifies itself, no termination-- and still less a commencement, an
engendering, or primary cause, nothing hardy, powerful, self-centred, that wants to !e
master$ !ut rather only a soft, inflated, delicate, moa!le potter5s- form, that must wait for
some "ind of content and frame to 1shape1 itself thereto--for the most part a man without
frame and content, a 1selfless1 man' #onse:uently, also, nothing for women, IN
P,92NT+2SI'
AG?' *hen a philosopher nowadays ma"es "nown that he is not a s"eptic--I hope that has
!een gathered from the foregoing description of the o!/ectie spirit?--people all hear it
impatiently$ they regard him on that account with some apprehension, they would li"e to
as" so many, many :uestions ' ' ' indeed among timid hearers, of whom there are now so
many, he is henceforth said to !e dangerous' *ith his repudiation of s"epticism, it seems
to them as if they heard some eil- threatening sound in the distance, as if a new "ind of
e<plosie were !eing tried somewhere, a dynamite of the spirit, perhaps a newly
discoered 9ussian NI+I4IN2, a pessimism (ON,2 3O4UNT,TIS, that not only
denies, means denial, !ut-dreadful thought& P9,#TIS2S denial' ,gainst this "ind of
1good-will1--a will to the erita!le, actual negation of life--there is, as is generally
ac"nowledged nowadays, no !etter soporific and sedatie than s"epticism, the mild,
pleasing, lulling poppy of s"epticism$ and +amlet himself is now prescri!ed !y the
doctors of the day as an antidote to the 1spirit,1 and its underground noises' 1,re not our
ears already full of !ad sounds?1 say the s"eptics, as loers of repose, and almost as a
"ind of safety police$ 1this su!terranean Nay is terri!le& (e still, ye pessimistic moles&1
The s"eptic, in effect, that delicate creature, is far too easily frightened$ his conscience is
schooled so as to start at eery Nay, and een at that sharp, decided 7ea, and feels
something li"e a !ite there!y' 7ea& and Nay&--they seem to him opposed to morality$ he
loes, on the contrary, to ma"e a festial to his irtue !y a no!le aloofness, while perhaps
he says with ;ontaigne- 1*hat do I "now?1 Or with Socrates- 1I "now that I "now
nothing'1 Or- 1+ere I do not trust myself, no door is open to me'1 Or- 12en if the door
were open, why should I enter immediately?1 Or- 1*hat is the use of any hasty
hypotheses? It might :uite well !e in good taste to ma"e no hypotheses at all' ,re you
a!solutely o!liged to straighten at once what is croo"ed? to stuff eery hole with some
"ind of oa"um? Is there not time enough for that? +as not the time leisure? Oh, ye
demons, can ye not at all *,IT? The uncertain also has its charms, the Sphin<, too, is a
#irce, and #irce, too, was a philosopher'1--Thus does a s"eptic console himself$ and in
truth he needs some consolation' %or s"epticism is the most spiritual e<pression of a
certain many-sided physiological temperament, which in ordinary language is called
nerous de!ility and sic"liness$ it arises wheneer races or classes which hae !een long
separated, decisiely and suddenly !lend with one another' In the new generation, which
has inherited as it were different standards and aluations in its !lood, eerything is
dis:uiet, derangement, dou!t, and tentatieness$ the !est powers operate restrictiely, the
ery irtues preent each other growing and !ecoming strong, e:uili!rium, !allast, and
perpendicular sta!ility are lac"ing in !ody and soul' That, howeer, which is most
diseased and degenerated in such nondescripts is the *I44$ they are no longer familiar
with independence of decision, or the courageous feeling of pleasure in willing--they are
dou!tful of the 1freedom of the will1 een in their dreams Our present-day 2urope, the
scene of a senseless, precipitate attempt at a radical !lending of classes, and
#ONS2LU2NT47 of races, is therefore s"eptical in all its heights and depths,
sometimes e<hi!iting the mo!ile s"epticism which springs impatiently and wantonly
from !ranch to !ranch, sometimes with gloomy aspect, li"e a cloud oer-charged with
interrogatie signs--and often sic" unto death of its will& Paralysis of will, where do we
not find this cripple sitting nowadays& ,nd yet how !edec"ed oftentimes5 +ow
seductiely ornamented& There are the finest gala dresses and disguises for this disease,
and that, for instance, most of what places itself nowadays in the show-cases as
1o!/ectieness,1 1the scientific spirit,1 145,9T POU9 45,9T,1 and 1pure oluntary
"nowledge,1 is only dec"ed-out s"epticism and paralysis of will--I am ready to answer
for this diagnosis of the 2uropean disease--The disease of the will is diffused une:ually
oer 2urope, it is worst and most aried where ciili)ation has longest preailed, it
decreases according as 1the !ar!arian1 still--or again--asserts his claims under the loose
drapery of *estern culture It is therefore in the %rance of today, as can !e readily
disclosed and comprehended, that the will is most infirm, and %rance, which has always
had a masterly aptitude for conerting een the portentous crises of its spirit into
something charming and seductie, now manifests emphatically its intellectual
ascendancy oer 2urope, !y !eing the school and e<hi!ition of all the charms of
s"epticism The power to will and to persist, moreoer, in a resolution, is already
somewhat stronger in Germany, and again in the North of Germany it is stronger than in
#entral Germany, it is considera!ly stronger in 2ngland, Spain, and #orsica, associated
with phlegm in the former and with hard s"ulls in the latter--not to mention Italy, which is
too young yet to "now what it wants, and must first show whether it can e<ercise will, !ut
it is strongest and most surprising of all in that immense middle empire where 2urope as
it were flows !ac" to ,sia--namely, in 9ussia There the power to will has !een long
stored up and accumulated, there the will--uncertain whether to !e negatie or
affirmatie--waits threateningly to !e discharged .to !orrow their pet phrase from our
physicists0 Perhaps not only Indian wars and complications in ,sia would !e necessary to
free 2urope from its greatest danger, !ut also internal su!ersion, the shattering of the
empire into small states, and a!oe all the introduction of parliamentary im!ecility,
together with the o!ligation of eery one to read his newspaper at !rea"fast I do not say
this as one who desires it, in my heart I should rather prefer the contrary--I mean such an
increase in the threatening attitude of 9ussia, that 2urope would hae to ma"e up its mind
to !ecome e:ually threatening--namely, TO ,#LUI92 ON2 *I44, !y means of a new
caste to rule oer the #ontinent, a persistent, dreadful will of its own, that can set its aims
thousands of years ahead$ so that the long spun-out comedy of its petty-statism, and its
dynastic as well as its democratic many-willed-ness, might finally !e !rought to a close'
The time for petty politics is past$ the ne<t century will !ring the struggle for the
dominion of the world--the #O;PU4SION to great politics'
AGF' ,s to how far the new warli"e age on which we 2uropeans hae eidently entered
may perhaps faour the growth of another and stronger "ind of s"epticism, I should li"e
to e<press myself preliminarily merely !y a para!le, which the loers of German history
will already understand' That unscrupulous enthusiast for !ig, handsome grenadiers .who,
as 8ing of Prussia, !rought into !eing a military and s"eptical genius--and therewith, in
reality, the new and now triumphantly emerged type of German0, the pro!lematic, cra)y
father of %rederic" the Great, had on one point the ery "nac" and luc"y grasp of the
genius- he "new what was then lac"ing in Germany, the want of which was a hundred
times more alarming and serious than any lac" of culture and social form--his ill-will to
the young %rederic" resulted from the an<iety of a profound instinct' ;2N *292
4,#8ING$ and he suspected, to his !itterest regret, that his own son was not man
enough' There, howeer, he deceied himself$ !ut who would not hae deceied himself
in his place? +e saw his son lapsed to atheism, to the 2SP9IT, to the pleasant friolity of
cleer %renchmen--he saw in the !ac"ground the great !loodsuc"er, the spider
s"epticism$ he suspected the incura!le wretchedness of a heart no longer hard enough
either for eil or good, and of a !ro"en will that no longer commands, is no longer ,(42
to command' ;eanwhile, howeer, there grew up in his son that new "ind of harder and
more dangerous s"epticism--who "nows TO *+,T 2IT2NT it was encouraged /ust !y
his father5s hatred and the icy melancholy of a will condemned to solitude?--the
s"epticism of daring manliness, which is closely related to the genius for war and
con:uest, and made its first entrance into Germany in the person of the great %rederic"'
This s"epticism despises and neertheless grasps$ it undermines and ta"es possession$ it
does not !eliee, !ut it does not there!y lose itself$ it gies the spirit a dangerous li!erty,
!ut it "eeps strict guard oer the heart' It is the G29;,N form of s"epticism, which, as a
continued %redericianism, risen to the highest spirituality, has "ept 2urope for a
considera!le time under the dominion of the German spirit and its critical and historical
distrust Owing to the insupera!ly strong and tough masculine character of the great
German philologists and historical critics .who, rightly estimated, were also all of them
artists of destruction and dissolution0, a N2* conception of the German spirit gradually
esta!lished itself--in spite of all 9omanticism in music and philosophy--in which the
leaning towards masculine s"epticism was decidedly prominent whether, for instance, as
fearlessness of ga)e, as courage and sternness of the dissecting hand, or as resolute will to
dangerous oyages of discoery, to spirituali)ed North Pole e<peditions under !arren and
dangerous s"ies' There may !e good grounds for it when warm-!looded and superficial
humanitarians cross themseles !efore this spirit, #2T 2SP9IT %,T,4IST2,
I9ONILU2, ;2P+ISTOP+24ILU2, as ;ichelet calls it, not without a shudder' (ut if
one would reali)e how characteristic is this fear of the 1man1 in the German spirit which
awa"ened 2urope out of its 1dogmatic slum!er,1 let us call to mind the former conception
which had to !e oercome !y this new one--and that it is not so ery long ago that a
masculini)ed woman could dare, with un!ridled presumption, to recommend the
Germans to the interest of 2urope as gentle, goodhearted, wea"-willed, and poetical
fools' %inally, let us only understand profoundly enough Napoleon5s astonishment when
he saw Goethe it reeals what had !een regarded for centuries as the 1German spirit1
13OI4, UN +O;;2&1--that was as much as to say 1(ut this is a ;,N& ,nd I only
e<pected to see a German&1
Supposing, then, that in the picture of the philosophers of the future, some trait suggests
the :uestion whether they must not perhaps !e s"eptics in the last-mentioned sense,
something in them would only !e designated there!y--and not they themseles' *ith
e:ual right they might call themseles critics, and assuredly they will !e men of
e<periments' (y the name with which I entured to !apti)e them, I hae already
e<pressly emphasi)ed their attempting and their loe of attempting is this !ecause, as
critics in !ody and soul, they will loe to ma"e use of e<periments in a new, and perhaps
wider and more dangerous sense? In their passion for "nowledge, will they hae to go
further in daring and painful attempts than the sensitie and pampered taste of a
democratic century can approe of?--There is no dou!t these coming ones will !e least
a!le to dispense with the serious and not unscrupulous :ualities which distinguish the
critic from the s"eptic I mean the certainty as to standards of worth, the conscious
employment of a unity of method, the wary courage, the standing-alone, and the capacity
for self-responsi!ility, indeed, they will aow among themseles a 624IG+T in denial
and dissection, and a certain considerate cruelty, which "nows how to handle the "nife
surely and deftly, een when the heart !leeds They will !e ST29N29 .and perhaps not
always towards themseles only0 than humane people may desire, they will not deal with
the 1truth1 in order that it may 1please1 them, or 1eleate1 and 1inspire1 them--they will
rather hae little faith in 1T9UT+1 !ringing with it such reels for the feelings' They will
smile, those rigourous spirits, when any one says in their presence 1That thought eleates
me, why should it not !e true?1 or 1That wor" enchants me, why should it not !e
!eautiful?1 or 1That artist enlarges me, why should he not !e great?1 Perhaps they will
not only hae a smile, !ut a genuine disgust for all that is thus rapturous, idealistic,
feminine, and hermaphroditic, and if any one could loo" into their inmost hearts, he
would not easily find therein the intention to reconcile 1#hristian sentiments1 with
1anti:ue taste,1 or een with 1modern parliamentarism1 .the "ind of reconciliation
necessarily found een among philosophers in our ery uncertain and conse:uently ery
conciliatory century0' #ritical discipline, and eery ha!it that conduces to purity and
rigour in intellectual matters, will not only !e demanded from themseles !y these
philosophers of the future, they may een ma"e a display thereof as their special
adornment-- neertheless they will not want to !e called critics on that account' It will
seem to them no small indignity to philosophy to hae it decreed, as is so welcome
nowadays, that 1philosophy itself is criticism and critical science--and nothing else
whateer&1 Though this estimate of philosophy may en/oy the approal of all the
Positiists of %rance and Germany .and possi!ly it een flattered the heart and taste of
8,NT- let us call to mind the titles of his principal wor"s0, our new philosophers will
say, notwithstanding, that critics are instruments of the philosopher, and /ust on that
account, as instruments, they are far from !eing philosophers themseles& 2en the great
#hinaman of 8onigs!erg was only a great critic'
A>>' I insist upon it that people finally cease confounding philosophical wor"ers, and in
general scientific men, with philosophers--that precisely here one should strictly gie
1each his own,1 and not gie those far too much, these far too little' It may !e necessary
for the education of the real philosopher that he himself should hae once stood upon all
those steps upon which his serants, the scientific wor"ers of philosophy, remain
standing, and ;UST remain standing he himself must perhaps hae !een critic, and
dogmatist, and historian, and !esides, poet, and collector, and traeler, and riddle-reader,
and moralist, and seer, and 1free spirit,1 and almost eerything, in order to traerse the
whole range of human alues and estimations, and that he may (2 ,(42 with a ariety
of eyes and consciences to loo" from a height to any distance, from a depth up to any
height, from a noo" into any e<panse' (ut all these are only preliminary conditions for
his tas"$ this tas" itself demands something else--it re:uires him TO #92,T2 3,4U2S'
The philosophical wor"ers, after the e<cellent pattern of 8ant and +egel, hae to fi< and
formali)e some great e<isting !ody of aluations--that is to say, former
62T29;IN,TIONS O% 3,4U2, creations of alue, which hae !ecome prealent, and
are for a time called 1truths1--whether in the domain of the 4OGI#,4, the PO4ITI#,4
.moral0, or the ,9TISTI#' It is for these inestigators to ma"e whateer has happened
and !een esteemed hitherto, conspicuous, conceia!le, intelligi!le, and managea!le, to
shorten eerything long, een 1time1 itself, and to SU(=UG,T2 the entire past- an
immense and wonderful tas", in the carrying out of which all refined pride, all tenacious
will, can surely find satisfaction' T+2 92,4 P+I4OSOP+29S, +O*2329, ,92
#O;;,N629S ,N6 4,*-GI329S$ they say- 1Thus S+,44 it !e&1 They determine
first the *hither and the *hy of man"ind, and there!y set aside the preious la!our of all
philosophical wor"ers, and all su!/ugators of the past--they grasp at the future with a
creatie hand, and whateer is and was, !ecomes for them there!y a means, an
instrument, and a hammer' Their 1"nowing1 is #92,TING, their creating is a law-giing,
their will to truth is--*I44 TO PO*29' --,re there at present such philosophers? +ae
there eer !een such philosophers? ;UST there not !e such philosophers some day? ' ' '
A>A' It is always more o!ious to me that the philosopher, as a man IN6ISP2NS,(42
for the morrow and the day after the morrow, has eer found himself, and +,S (22N
O(4IG26 to find himself, in contradiction to the day in which he lies$ his enemy has
always !een the ideal of his day' +itherto all those e<traordinary furtherers of humanity
whom one calls philosophers--who rarely regarded themseles as loers of wisdom, !ut
rather as disagreea!le fools and dangerous interrogators--hae found their mission, their
hard, inoluntary, imperatie mission .in the end, howeer, the greatness of their
mission0, in !eing the !ad conscience of their age' In putting the iisector5s "nife to the
!reast of the ery 3I9TU2S O% T+2I9 ,G2, they hae !etrayed their own secret$ it has
!een for the sa"e of a N2* greatness of man, a new untrodden path to his
aggrandi)ement' They hae always disclosed how much hypocrisy, indolence, self-
indulgence, and self-neglect, how much falsehood was concealed under the most
enerated types of contemporary morality, how much irtue was OUT4I326, they hae
always said 1*e must remoe hence to where 7OU are least at home1 In the face of a
world of 1modern ideas,1 which would li"e to confine eery one in a corner, in a
1specialty,1 a philosopher, if there could !e philosophers nowadays, would !e compelled
to place the greatness of man, the conception of 1greatness,1 precisely in his
comprehensieness and multifariousness, in his all-roundness, he would een determine
worth and ran" according to the amount and ariety of that which a man could !ear and
ta"e upon himself, according to the 2IT2NT to which a man could stretch his
responsi!ility Nowadays the taste and irtue of the age wea"en and attenuate the will,
nothing is so adapted to the spirit of the age as wea"ness of will conse:uently, in the ideal
of the philosopher, strength of will, sternness, and capacity for prolonged resolution, must
specially !e included in the conception of 1greatness1, with as good a right as the
opposite doctrine, with its ideal of a silly, renouncing, hum!le, selfless humanity, was
suited to an opposite age--such as the si<teenth century, which suffered from its
accumulated energy of will, and from the wildest torrents and floods of selfishness In the
time of Socrates, among men only of worn-out instincts, old conseratie ,thenians who
let themseles go--1for the sa"e of happiness,1 as they said, for the sa"e of pleasure, as
their conduct indicated--and who had continually on their lips the old pompous words to
which they had long forfeited the right !y the life they led, I9ON7 was perhaps
necessary for greatness of soul, the wic"ed Socratic assurance of the old physician and
ple!eian, who cut ruthlessly into his own flesh, as into the flesh and heart of the 1no!le,1
with a loo" that said plainly enough 16o not dissem!le !efore me& here--we are e:ual&1
,t present, on the contrary, when throughout 2urope the herding- animal alone attains to
honours, and dispenses honours, when 1e:uality of right1 can too readily !e transformed
into e:uality in wrong--I mean to say into general war against eerything rare, strange,
and priileged, against the higher man, the higher soul, the higher duty, the higher
responsi!ility, the creatie plenipotence and lordliness--at present it !elongs to the
conception of 1greatness1 to !e no!le, to wish to !e apart, to !e capa!le of !eing
different, to stand alone, to hae to lie !y personal initiatie, and the philosopher will
!etray something of his own ideal when he asserts 1+e shall !e the greatest who can !e
the most solitary, the most concealed, the most diergent, the man !eyond good and eil,
the master of his irtues, and of super-a!undance of will$ precisely this shall !e called
G92,TN2SS- as diersified as can !e entire, as ample as can !e full'1 ,nd to as" once
more the :uestion- Is greatness POSSI(42-- nowadays?
A>B' It is difficult to learn what a philosopher is, !ecause it cannot !e taught- one must
1"now1 it !y e<perience--or one should hae the pride NOT to "now it' The fact that at
present people all tal" of things of which they #,NNOT hae any e<perience, is true
more especially and unfortunately as concerns the philosopher and philosophical
matters---the ery few "now them, are permitted to "now them, and all popular ideas
a!out them are false' Thus, for instance, the truly philosophical com!ination of a !old,
e<u!erant spirituality which runs at presto pace, and a dialectic rigour and necessity
which ma"es no false step, is un"nown to most thin"ers and scholars from their own
e<perience, and therefore, should any one spea" of it in their presence, it is incredi!le to
them' They conceie of eery necessity as trou!lesome, as a painful compulsory
o!edience and state of constraint$ thin"ing itself is regarded !y them as something slow
and hesitating, almost as a trou!le, and often enough as 1worthy of the S*2,T of the
no!le1--!ut not at all as something easy and diine, closely related to dancing and
e<u!erance& 1To thin"1 and to ta"e a matter 1seriously,1 1arduously1--that is one and the
same thing to them$ such only has !een their 1e<perience'1-- ,rtists hae here perhaps a
finer intuition$ they who "now only too well that precisely when they no longer do
anything 1ar!itrarily,1 and eerything of necessity, their feeling of freedom, of su!tlety, of
power, of creatiely fi<ing, disposing, and shaping, reaches its clima<--in short, that
necessity and 1freedom of will1 are then the same thing with them' There is, in fine, a
gradation of ran" in psychical states, to which the gradation of ran" in the pro!lems
corresponds$ and the highest pro!lems repel ruthlessly eery one who entures too near
them, without !eing predestined for their solution !y the loftiness and power of his
spirituality' Of what use is it for nim!le, eeryday intellects, or clumsy, honest mechanics
and empiricists to press, in their ple!eian am!ition, close to such pro!lems, and as it were
into this 1holy of holies1--as so often happens nowadays& (ut coarse feet must neer
tread upon such carpets- this is proided for in the primary law of things$ the doors
remain closed to those intruders, though they may dash and !rea" their heads thereon'
People hae always to !e !orn to a high station, or, more definitely, they hae to !e
(926 for it- a person has only a right to philosophy--ta"ing the word in its higher
significance--in irtue of his descent$ the ancestors, the 1!lood,1 decide here also' ;any
generations must hae prepared the way for the coming of the philosopher$ each of his
irtues must hae !een separately ac:uired, nurtured, transmitted, and em!odied$ not
only the !old, easy, delicate course and current of his thoughts, !ut a!oe all the
readiness for great responsi!ilities, the ma/esty of ruling glance and contemning loo", the
feeling of separation from the multitude with their duties and irtues, the "indly
patronage and defense of whateer is misunderstood and calumniated, !e it God or deil,
the delight and practice of supreme /ustice, the art of commanding, the
amplitude of will, the lingering eye which rarely admires, rarely loo"s up, rarely
loes' ' ' '
A>C' OU9 3irtues?--It is pro!a!le that we, too, hae still our irtues, althoughnaturally
they are not those sincere and massie irtues on account of which we hold our
grandfathers in esteem and also at a little distance from us' *e 2uropeans of the day after
tomorrow, we firstlings of the twentieth century--with all our dangerous curiosity, our
multifariousness and art of disguising, our mellow and seemingly sweetened cruelty in
sense and spirit--we shall presuma!ly, I% we must hae irtues, hae those only which
hae come to agreement with our most secret and heartfelt inclinations, with our most
ardent re:uirements- well, then, let us loo" for them in our la!yrinths&--where, as we
"now, so many things lose themseles, so many things get :uite lost& ,nd is there
anything finer than to S2,9#+ for one5s own irtues? Is it not almost to (24I232 in
one5s own irtues? (ut this 1!elieing in one5s own irtues1--is it not practically the same
as what was formerly called one5s 1good conscience,1 that long, respecta!le pigtail of an
idea, which our grandfathers used to hang !ehind their heads, and often enough also
!ehind their understandings? It seems, therefore, that howeer little we may imagine
ourseles to !e old-fashioned and grandfatherly respecta!le in other respects, in one thing
we are neertheless the worthy grandchildren of our grandfathers, we last 2uropeans with
good consciences- we also still wear their pigtail'--,h& if you only "new how soon, so
ery soon--it will !e different&
A>@' ,s in the stellar firmament there are sometimes two suns which determine the path
of one planet, and in certain cases suns of different colours shine around a single planet,
now with red light, now with green, and then simultaneously illumine and flood it with
motley colours- so we modern men, owing to the complicated mechanism of our
1firmament,1 are determined !y 6I%%292NT moralities$ our actions shine alternately in
different colours, and are seldom une:uiocal--and there are often cases, also, in which
our actions are ;OT427-#O4OU926'
A>D' To loe one5s enemies? I thin" that has !een well learnt- it ta"es place thousands of
times at present on a large and small scale$ indeed, at times the higher and su!limer thing
ta"es place---we learn to 62SPIS2 when we loe, and precisely when we loe !est$ all of
it, howeer, unconsciously, without noise, without ostentation, with the shame and
secrecy of goodness, which for!ids the utterance of the pompous word and the formula of
irtue' ;orality as attitude--is opposed to our taste nowadays' This is ,4SO an adance,
as it was an adance in our fathers that religion as an attitude finally !ecame opposed to
their taste, including the enmity and 3oltairean !itterness against religion .and all that
formerly !elonged to freethin"er- pantomime0' It is the music in our conscience, the
dance in our spirit, to which Puritan litanies, moral sermons, and goody- goodness won5t
chime'
A>E' 4et us !e careful in dealing with those who attach great importance to !eing credited
with moral tact and su!tlety in moral discernment& They neer forgie us if they hae
once made a mista"e (2%O92 us .or een with 92G,96 to us0--they ineita!ly
!ecome our instinctie calumniators and detractors, een when they still remain our
1friends'1--(lessed are the forgetful- for they 1get the !etter1 een of their !lunders'
A>?' The psychologists of %rance--and where else are there still psychologists
nowadays?--hae neer yet e<hausted their !itter and manifold en/oyment of the !etise
!ourgeoise, /ust as though ' ' ' in short, they !etray something there!y' %lau!ert, for
instance, the honest citi)en of 9ouen, neither saw, heard, nor tasted anything else in the
end$ it was his mode of self-torment and refined cruelty' ,s this is growing wearisome, I
would now recommend for a change something else for a pleasure--namely, the
unconscious astuteness with which good, fat, honest mediocrity always !ehaes towards
loftier spirits and the tas"s they hae to perform, the su!tle, !ar!ed, =esuitical astuteness,
which is a thousand times su!tler than the taste and understanding of the middle-class in
its !est moments--su!tler een than the understanding of its ictims---a repeated proof
that 1instinct1 is the most intelligent of all "inds of intelligence which hae hitherto !een
discoered' In short, you psychologists, study the philosophy of the 1rule1 in its struggle
with the 1e<ception1- there you hae a spectacle fit for Gods and godli"e malignity& Or,
in plainer words, practise iisection on 1good people,1 on the 1homo !onae oluntatis,1
ON 7OU9S2432S&
A>F' The practice of /udging and condemning morally, is the faourite reenge of the
intellectually shallow on those who are less so, it is also a "ind of indemnity for their
!eing !adly endowed !y nature, and finally, it is an opportunity for ac:uiring spirit and
(2#O;ING su!tle--malice spiritualises' They are glad in their inmost heart that there is
a standard according to which those who are oer-endowed with intellectual goods and
priileges, are e:ual to them, they contend for the 1e:uality of all !efore God,1 and
almost N226 the !elief in God for this purpose' It is among them that the most powerful
antagonists of atheism are found' If any one were to say to them 1, lofty spirituality is
!eyond all comparison with the honesty and respecta!ility of a merely moral man1--it
would ma"e them furious, I shall ta"e care not to say so' I would rather flatter them with
my theory that lofty spirituality itself e<ists only as the ultimate product of moral
:ualities, that it is a synthesis of all :ualities attri!uted to the 1merely moral1 man, after
they hae !een ac:uired singly through long training and practice, perhaps during a
whole series of generations, that lofty spirituality is precisely the spiritualising of /ustice,
and the !eneficent seerity which "nows that it is authori)ed to maintain G9,6,TIONS
O% 9,N8 in the world, een among things--and not only among men'
AAG' Now that the praise of the 1disinterested person1 is so popular one must--pro!a!ly
not without some danger--get an idea of *+,T people actually ta"e an interest in, and
what are the things generally which fundamentally and profoundly concern ordinary
men--including the cultured, een the learned, and perhaps philosophers also, if
appearances do not deceie' The fact there!y !ecomes o!ious that the greater part of
what interests and charms higher natures, and more refined and fastidious tastes, seems
a!solutely 1uninteresting1 to the aerage man--if, notwithstanding, he perceie deotion
to these interests, he calls it desinteresse, and wonders how it is possi!le to act
1disinterestedly'1 There hae !een philosophers who could gie this popular astonishment
a seductie and mystical, other-worldly e<pression .perhaps !ecause they did not "now
the higher nature !y e<perience?0, instead of stating the na"ed and candidly reasona!le
truth that 1disinterested1 action is ery interesting and 1interested1 action, proided that' '
' 1,nd loe?1--*hat& 2en an action for loe5s sa"e shall !e 1unegoistic1? (ut you
fools--& 1,nd the praise of the self- sacrificer?1--(ut whoeer has really offered sacrifice
"nows that he wanted and o!tained something for it--perhaps something from himself for
something from himself$ that he relin:uished here in order to hae more there, perhaps in
general to !e more, or een feel himself 1more'1 (ut this is a realm of :uestions and
answers in which a more fastidious spirit does not li"e to stay- for here truth has to stifle
her yawns so much when she is o!liged to answer' ,nd after all, truth is a woman$ one
must not use force with her'
AA>' 1It sometimes happens,1 said a moralistic pedant and trifle- retailer, 1that I honour
and respect an unselfish man- not, howeer, !ecause he is unselfish, !ut !ecause I thin"
he has a right to !e useful to another man at his own e<pense' In short, the :uestion is
always who +2 is, and who T+2 OT+29 is' %or instance, in a person created and
destined for command, self- denial and modest retirement, instead of !eing irtues, would
!e the waste of irtues- so it seems to me' 2ery system of unegoistic morality which
ta"es itself unconditionally and appeals to eery one, not only sins against good taste, !ut
is also an incentie to sins of omission, an ,66ITION,4 seduction under the mas" of
philanthropy--and precisely a seduction and in/ury to the higher, rarer, and more
priileged types of men' ;oral systems must !e compelled first of all to !ow !efore the
G9,6,TIONS O% 9,N8$ their presumption must !e drien home to their conscience--
until they thoroughly understand at last that it is I;;O9,4 to say that 5what is right for
one is proper for another'51--So said my moralistic pedant and !onhomme' 6id he perhaps
desere to !e laughed at when he thus e<horted systems of morals to practise morality?
(ut one should not !e too much in the right if one wishes to hae the laughers on ON25S
O*N side$ a grain of wrong pertains een to good taste'
AAA' *hereer sympathy .fellow-suffering0 is preached nowadays-- and, if I gather
rightly, no other religion is any longer preached--let the psychologist hae his ears open
through all the anity, through all the noise which is natural to these preachers .as to all
preachers0, he will hear a hoarse, groaning, genuine note of S24%-#ONT2;PT' It
!elongs to the oershadowing and uglifying of 2urope, which has !een on the increase
for a century .the first symptoms of which are already specified documentarily in a
thoughtful letter of Galiani to ;adame d52pinay0--I% IT IS NOT 92,447 T+2 #,US2
T+292O%& The man of 1modern ideas,1 the conceited ape, is e<cessiely dissatisfied
with himself-this is perfectly certain' +e suffers, and his anity wants him only 1to suffer
with his fellows'1
AAB' The hy!rid 2uropean--a tolera!ly ugly ple!eian, ta"en all in all--a!solutely re:uires
a costume- he needs history as a storeroom of costumes' To !e sure, he notices that none
of the costumes fit him properly--he changes and changes' 4et us loo" at the nineteenth
century with respect to these hasty preferences and changes in its mas:uerades of style,
and also with respect to its moments of desperation on account of 1nothing suiting1 us' It
is in ain to get ourseles up as romantic, or classical, or #hristian, or %lorentine, or
!arocco, or 1national,1 in mori!us et arti!us- it does not 1clothe us1& (ut the 1spirit,1
especially the 1historical spirit,1 profits een !y this desperation- once and again a new
sample of the past or of the foreign is tested, put on, ta"en off, pac"ed up, and a!oe all
studied--we are the first studious age in puncto of 1costumes,1 I mean as concerns morals,
articles of !elief, artistic tastes, and religions$ we are prepared as no other age has eer
!een for a carnial in the grand style, for the most spiritual festial--laughter and
arrogance, for the transcendental height of supreme folly and ,ristophanic ridicule of the
world' Perhaps we are still discoering the domain of our inention /ust here, the domain
where een we can still !e original, pro!a!ly as parodists of the world5s history and as
God5s ;erry-,ndrews,--perhaps, though nothing else of the present hae a future, our
laughter itself may hae a future&
AAC' The historical sense .or the capacity for diining :uic"ly the order of ran" of the
aluations according to which a people, a community, or an indiidual has lied, the
1diining instinct1 for the relationships of these aluations, for the relation of the
authority of the aluations to the authority of the operating forces0,--this historical sense,
which we 2uropeans claim as our specialty, has come to us in the train of the enchanting
and mad semi-!ar!arity into which 2urope has !een plunged !y the democratic mingling
of classes and races--it is only the nineteenth century that has recogni)ed this faculty as
its si<th sense' Owing to this mingling, the past of eery form and mode of life, and of
cultures which were formerly closely contiguous and superimposed on one another, flows
forth into us 1modern souls1$ our instincts now run !ac" in all directions, we ourseles
are a "ind of chaos- in the end, as we hae said, the spirit perceies its adantage therein'
(y means of our semi-!ar!arity in !ody and in desire, we hae secret access eerywhere,
such as a no!le age neer had$ we hae access a!oe all to the la!yrinth of imperfect
ciili)ations, and to eery form of semi-!ar!arity that has at any time e<isted on earth$
and in so far as the most considera!le part of human ciili)ation hitherto has /ust !een
semi-!ar!arity, the 1historical sense1 implies almost the sense and instinct for eerything,
the taste and tongue for eerything- where!y it immediately proes itself to !e an
IGNO(42 sense' %or instance, we en/oy +omer once more- it is perhaps our happiest
ac:uisition that we "now how to appreciate +omer, whom men of distinguished culture
.as the %rench of the seenteenth century, li"e Saint- 2remond, who reproached him for
his 2SP9IT 3,ST2, and een 3oltaire, the last echo of the century0 cannot and could not
so easily appropriate--whom they scarcely permitted themseles to en/oy' The ery
decided 7ea and Nay of their palate, their promptly ready disgust, their hesitating
reluctance with regard to eerything strange, their horror of the !ad taste een of liely
curiosity, and in general the aerseness of eery distinguished and self-sufficing culture
to aow a new desire, a dissatisfaction with its own condition, or an admiration of what is
strange- all this determines and disposes them unfaoura!ly een towards the !est things
of the world which are not their property or could not !ecome their prey--and no faculty
is more unintelligi!le to such men than /ust this historical sense, with its truc"ling,
ple!eian curiosity' The case is not different with Sha"espeare, that marelous Spanish-
;oorish-Sa<on synthesis of taste, oer whom an ancient ,thenian of the circle of
2schylus would hae half-"illed himself with laughter or irritation- !ut we--accept
precisely this wild motleyness, this medley of the most delicate, the most coarse, and the
most artificial, with a secret confidence and cordiality$ we en/oy it as a refinement of art
resered e<pressly for us, and allow ourseles to !e as little distur!ed !y the repulsie
fumes and the pro<imity of the 2nglish populace in which Sha"espeare5s art and taste
lies, as perhaps on the #hia/a of Naples, where, with all our senses awa"e, we go our
way, enchanted and oluntarily, in spite of the drain-odour of the lower :uarters of the
town' That as men of the 1historical sense1 we hae our irtues, is not to !e disputed---
we are unpretentious, unselfish, modest, !rae, ha!ituated to self-control and self-
renunciation, ery grateful, ery patient, ery complaisant--!ut with all this we are
perhaps not ery 1tasteful'1 4et us finally confess it, that what is most difficult for us men
of the 1historical sense1 to grasp, feel, taste, and loe, what finds us fundamentally
pre/udiced and almost hostile, is precisely the perfection and ultimate maturity in eery
culture and art, the essentially no!le in wor"s and men, their moment of smooth sea and
halcyon self-sufficiency, the goldenness and coldness which all things show that hae
perfected themseles' Perhaps our great irtue of the historical sense is in necessary
contrast to GOO6 taste, at least to the ery !ad taste$ and we can only eo"e in ourseles
imperfectly, hesitatingly, and with compulsion the small, short, and happy godsends and
glorifications of human life as they shine here and there- those moments and marelous
e<periences when a great power has oluntarily come to a halt !efore the !oundless and
infinite,--when a super-a!undance of refined delight has !een en/oyed !y a sudden
chec"ing and petrifying, !y standing firmly and planting oneself fi<edly on still trem!ling
ground' P9OPO9TION,T2N2SS is strange to us, let us confess it to ourseles$ our
itching is really the itching for the infinite, the immeasura!le' 4i"e the rider on his
forward panting horse, we let the reins fall !efore the infinite, we modern men, we semi-
!ar!arians--and are only in OU9 highest !liss when we--,92 IN ;OST 6,NG29'
AA@' *hether it !e hedonism, pessimism, utilitarianism, or eudaemonism, all those modes
of thin"ing which measure the worth of things according to P42,SU92 and P,IN, that
is, according to accompanying circumstances and secondary considerations, are plausi!le
modes of thought and naietes, which eery one conscious of #92,TI32 powers and an
artist5s conscience will loo" down upon with scorn, though not without sympathy'
Sympathy for you&--to !e sure, that is not sympathy as you understand it- it is not
sympathy for social 1distress,1 for 1society1 with its sic" and misfortuned, for the
hereditarily icious and defectie who lie on the ground around us$ still less is it
sympathy for the grum!ling, e<ed, reolutionary slae-classes who strie after power--
they call it 1freedom'1 OU9 sympathy is a loftier and further-sighted sympathy---we see
how ;,N dwarfs himself, how 7OU dwarf him& and there are moments when we iew
7OU9 sympathy with an indescri!a!le anguish, when we resist it,--when we regard your
seriousness as more dangerous than any "ind of leity' 7ou want, if possi!le--and there is
not a more foolish 1if possi!le1 --TO 6O ,*,7 *IT+ SU%%29ING$ and we?--it really
seems that *2 would rather hae it increased and made worse than it has eer !een&
*ell-!eing, as you understand it--is certainly not a goal$ it seems to us an 2N6$ a
condition which at once renders man ludicrous and contempti!le--and ma"es his
destruction 62SI9,(42& The discipline of suffering, of G92,T suffering--"now ye not
that it is only T+IS discipline that has produced all the eleations of humanity hitherto?
The tension of soul in misfortune which communicates to it its energy, its shuddering in
iew of rac" and ruin, its inentieness and !raery in undergoing, enduring, interpreting,
and e<ploiting misfortune, and whateer depth, mystery, disguise, spirit, artifice, or
greatness has !een !estowed upon the soul--has it not !een !estowed through suffering,
through the discipline of great suffering? In man #92,TU92 and #92,TO9 are united-
in man there is not only matter, shred, e<cess, clay, mire, folly, chaos$ !ut there is also the
creator, the sculptor, the hardness of the hammer, the diinity of the spectator, and the
seenth day--do ye understand this contrast? ,nd that 7OU9 sympathy for the 1creature
in man1 applies to that which has to !e fashioned, !ruised, forged, stretched, roasted,
annealed, refined--to that which must necessarily SU%%29, and IS ;2,NT to suffer?
,nd our sympathy--do ye not understand what our 92329S2 sympathy applies to, when
it resists your sympathy as the worst of all pampering and eneration?--So it is sympathy
,G,INST sympathy&--(ut to repeat it once more, there are higher pro!lems than the
pro!lems of pleasure and pain and sympathy$ and all systems of philosophy which deal
only with these are naietes'
AAD' *2 I;;O9,4ISTS'-This world with which *2 are concerned, in which we hae
to fear and loe, this almost inisi!le, inaudi!le world of delicate command and delicate
o!edience, a world of 1almost1 in eery respect, captious, insidious, sharp, and tender--
yes, it is well protected from clumsy spectators and familiar curiosity& *e are woen into
a strong net and garment of duties, and #,NNOT disengage ourseles--precisely here,
we are 1men of duty,1 een we& Occasionally, it is true, we dance in our 1chains1 and
!etwi<t our 1swords1$ it is none the less true that more often we gnash our teeth under the
circumstances, and are impatient at the secret hardship of our lot' (ut do what we will,
fools and appearances say of us- 1These are men *IT+OUT duty,1-- we hae always
fools and appearances against us&
AAE' +onesty, granting that it is the irtue of which we cannot rid ourseles, we free
spirits--well, we will la!our at it with all our perersity and loe, and not tire of
1perfecting1 ourseles in OU9 irtue, which alone remains- may its glance some day
oerspread li"e a gilded, !lue, moc"ing twilight this aging ciili)ation with its dull
gloomy seriousness& ,nd if, neertheless, our honesty should one day grow weary, and
sigh, and stretch its lim!s, and find us too hard, and would fain hae it pleasanter, easier,
and gentler, li"e an agreea!le ice, let us remain +,96, we latest Stoics, and let us send
to its help whateer deilry we hae in us---our disgust at the clumsy and undefined, our
1NITI;U9 IN 32TITU;,1 our loe of adenture, our sharpened and fastidious
curiosity, our most su!tle, disguised, intellectual *ill to Power and uniersal con:uest,
which ram!les and roes aidiously around all the realms of the future--let us go with all
our 1deils1 to the help of our 1God1& It is pro!a!le that people will misunderstand and
mista"e us on that account- what does it matter& They will say- 1Their 5honesty5--that is
their deilry, and nothing else&1 *hat does it matter& ,nd een if they were right--hae
not all Gods hitherto !een such sanctified, re-!apti)ed deils? ,nd after all, what do we
"now of ourseles? ,nd what the spirit that leads us wants TO (2 #,4426? .It is a
:uestion of names'0 ,nd how many spirits we har!our? Our honesty, we free spirits--let
us !e careful lest it !ecome our anity, our ornament and ostentation, our limitation, our
stupidity& 2ery irtue inclines to stupidity, eery stupidity to irtue$ 1stupid to the point
of sanctity,1 they say in 9ussia,-- let us !e careful lest out of pure honesty we eentually
!ecome saints and !ores& Is not life a hundred times too short for us-- to !ore ourseles?
One would hae to !eliee in eternal life in order to ' ' '
AA?' I hope to !e forgien for discoering that all moral philosophy hitherto has !een
tedious and has !elonged to the soporific appliances--and that 1irtue,1 in my opinion,
has !een ;O92 in/ured !y the T26IOUSN2SS of its adocates than !y anything else$ at
the same time, howeer, I would not wish to oerloo" their general usefulness' It is
desira!le that as few people as possi!le should reflect upon morals, and conse:uently it is
ery desira!le that morals should not some day !ecome interesting& (ut let us not !e
afraid& Things still remain today as they hae always !een- I see no one in 2urope who
has .or 6IS#4OS2S0 an idea of the fact that philosophi)ing concerning morals might !e
conducted in a dangerous, captious, and ensnaring manner--that #,4,;IT7 might !e
inoled therein' O!sere, for e<ample, the indefatiga!le, ineita!le 2nglish utilitarians-
how ponderously and respecta!ly they stal" on, stal" along .a +omeric metaphor
e<presses it !etter0 in the footsteps of (entham, /ust as he had already stal"ed in the
footsteps of the respecta!le +eletius& .no, he was not a dangerous man, +eletius, #2
S2N,T2U9 PO#O#U9,NT2, to use an e<pression of Galiani0' No new thought,
nothing of the nature of a finer turning or !etter e<pression of an old thought, not een a
proper history of what has !een preiously thought on the su!/ect- an I;POSSI(42
literature, ta"ing it all in all, unless one "nows how to leaen it with some mischief' In
effect, the old 2nglish ice called #,NT, which is ;O9,4 T,9TU%%IS;, has
insinuated itself also into these moralists .whom one must certainly read with an eye to
their moties if one ;UST read them0, concealed this time under the new form of the
scientific spirit$ moreoer, there is not a!sent from them a secret struggle with the pangs
of conscience, from which a race of former Puritans must naturally suffer, in all their
scientific tin"ering with morals' .Is not a moralist the opposite of a Puritan? That is to
say, as a thin"er who regards morality as :uestiona!le, as worthy of interrogation, in
short, as a pro!lem? Is morali)ing not-immoral?0 In the end, they all want 2nglish
morality to !e recogni)ed as authoritatie, inasmuch as man"ind, or the 1general utility,1
or 1the happiness of the greatest num!er,1--no& the happiness of 2NG4,N6, will !e !est
sered there!y' They would li"e, !y all means, to conince themseles that the striing
after 2nglish happiness, I mean after #O;%O9T and %,S+ION .and in the highest
instance, a seat in Parliament0, is at the same time the true path of irtue$ in fact, that in
so far as there has !een irtue in the world hitherto, it has /ust consisted in such striing'
Not one of those ponderous, conscience-stric"en herding-animals .who underta"e to
adocate the cause of egoism as conducie to the general welfare0 wants to hae any
"nowledge or in"ling of the facts that the 1general welfare1 is no ideal, no goal, no notion
that can !e at all grasped, !ut is only a nostrum,--that what is fair to one ;,7 NOT at all
!e fair to another, that the re:uirement of one morality for all is really a detriment to
higher men, in short, that there is a 6ISTIN#TION O% 9,N8 !etween man and man,
and conse:uently !etween morality and morality' They are an unassuming and
fundamentally mediocre species of men, these utilitarian 2nglishmen, and, as already
remar"ed, in so far as they are tedious, one cannot thin" highly enough of their utility'
One ought een to 2N#OU9,G2 them, as has !een partially attempted in the following
rhymes---
Hail, ye worthies, barrow-wheeling,
"Longer--better," aye revealing,
Stiffer aye in head and nee!
"nenraptured, never jesting,
#edio$re everlasting,
S,NS G2NI2 2T S,NS 2SP9IT&
AAF' In these later ages, which may !e proud of their humanity, there still remains so
much fear, so much SUP29STITION of the fear, of the 1cruel wild !east,1 the mastering
of which constitutes the ery pride of these humaner ages--that een o!ious truths, as if
!y the agreement of centuries, hae long remained unuttered, !ecause they hae the
appearance of helping the finally slain wild !east !ac" to life again' I perhaps ris"
something when I allow such a truth to escape$ let others capture it again and gie it so
much 1mil" of pious sentiment1 J%OOTNOT2- ,n e<pression from Schiller5s *illiam
Tell, ,ct I3, Scene B'K to drin", that it will lie down :uiet and forgotten, in its old
corner'--One ought to learn anew a!out cruelty, and open one5s eyes$ one ought at last to
learn impatience, in order that such immodest gross errors--as, for instance, hae !een
fostered !y ancient and modern philosophers with regard to tragedy--may no longer
wander a!out irtuously and !oldly' ,lmost eerything that we call 1higher culture1 is
!ased upon the spiritualising and intensifying of #9U24T7--this is my thesis$ the 1wild
!east1 has not !een slain at all, it lies, it flourishes, it has only !een-- transfigured' That
which constitutes the painful delight of tragedy is cruelty$ that which operates agreea!ly
in so-called tragic sympathy, and at the !asis een of eerything su!lime, up to the
highest and most delicate thrills of metaphysics, o!tains its sweetness solely from the
intermingled ingredient of cruelty' *hat the 9oman en/oys in the arena, the #hristian in
the ecstasies of the cross, the Spaniard at the sight of the faggot and sta"e, or of the !ull-
fight, the present-day =apanese who presses his way to the tragedy, the wor"man of the
Parisian su!ur!s who has a homesic"ness for !loody reolutions, the *agnerienne who,
with unhinged will, 1undergoes1 the performance of 1Tristan and Isolde1--what all these
en/oy, and strie with mysterious ardour to drin" in, is the philtre of the great #irce
1cruelty'1 +ere, to !e sure, we must put aside entirely the !lundering psychology of
former times, which could only teach with regard to cruelty that it originated at the sight
of the suffering of OT+29S- there is an a!undant, super-a!undant en/oyment een in
one5s own suffering, in causing one5s own suffering--and whereer man has allowed
himself to !e persuaded to self-denial in the 924IGIOUS sense, or to self-mutilation, as
among the Phoenicians and ascetics, or in general, to desensualisation, decarnalisation,
and contrition, to Puritanical repentance-spasms, to iisection of conscience and to
Pascal- li"e S,#9I%IMI, 62445 INT2442TO, he is secretly allured and impelled
forwards !y his cruelty, !y the dangerous thrill of cruelty TO*,96S +I;S24%'--
%inally, let us consider that een the see"er of "nowledge operates as an artist and
glorifier of cruelty, in that he compels his spirit to perceie ,G,INST its own
inclination, and often enough against the wishes of his heart---he forces it to say Nay,
where he would li"e to affirm, loe, and adore$ indeed, eery instance of ta"ing a thing
profoundly and fundamentally, is a iolation, an intentional in/uring of the fundamental
will of the spirit, which instinctiely aims at appearance and superficiality,--een in eery
desire for "nowledge there is a drop of cruelty'
ABG' Perhaps what I hae said here a!out a 1fundamental will of the spirit1 may not !e
understood without further details$ I may !e allowed a word of e<planation'--That
imperious something which is popularly called 1the spirit,1 wishes to !e master internally
and e<ternally, and to feel itself master$ it has the will of a multiplicity for a simplicity, a
!inding, taming, imperious, and essentially ruling will' Its re:uirements and capacities
here, are the same as those assigned !y physiologists to eerything that lies, grows, and
multiplies' The power of the spirit to appropriate foreign elements reeals itself in a
strong tendency to assimilate the new to the old, to simplify the manifold, to oerloo" or
repudiate the a!solutely contradictory$ /ust as it ar!itrarily re-underlines, ma"es
prominent, and falsifies for itself certain traits and lines in the foreign elements, in eery
portion of the 1outside world'1 Its o!/ect there!y is the incorporation of new
1e<periences,1 the assortment of new things in the old arrangements--in short, growth$ or
more properly, the %224ING of growth, the feeling of increased power--is its o!/ect' This
same will has at its serice an apparently opposed impulse of the spirit, a suddenly
adopted preference of ignorance, of ar!itrary shutting out, a closing of windows, an inner
denial of this or that, a prohi!ition to approach, a sort of defensie attitude against much
that is "nowa!le, a contentment with o!scurity, with the shutting-in hori)on, an
acceptance and approal of ignorance- as that which is all necessary according to the
degree of its appropriating power, its 1digestie power,1 to spea" figuratiely .and in fact
1the spirit1 resem!les a stomach more than anything else0' +ere also !elong an occasional
propensity of the spirit to let itself !e deceied .perhaps with a waggish suspicion that it
is NOT so and so, !ut is only allowed to pass as such0, a delight in uncertainty and
am!iguity, an e<ulting en/oyment of ar!itrary, out-of-the-way narrowness and mystery, of
the too-near, of the foreground, of the magnified, the diminished, the misshapen, the
!eautified--an en/oyment of the ar!itrariness of all these manifestations of power' %inally,
in this connection, there is the not unscrupulous readiness of the spirit to deceie other
spirits and dissem!le !efore them-- the constant pressing and straining of a creating,
shaping, changea!le power- the spirit en/oys therein its craftiness and its ariety of
disguises, it en/oys also its feeling of security therein--it is precisely !y its Protean arts
that it is !est protected and concealed&--#OUNT29 TO this propensity for appearance,
for simplification, for a disguise, for a cloa", in short, for an outside--for eery outside is
a cloa"--there operates the su!lime tendency of the man of "nowledge, which ta"es, and
INSISTS on ta"ing things profoundly, ariously, and thoroughly$ as a "ind of cruelty of
the intellectual conscience and taste, which eery courageous thin"er will ac"nowledge in
himself, proided, as it ought to !e, that he has sharpened and hardened his eye
sufficiently long for introspection, and is accustomed to seere discipline and een seere
words' +e will say- 1There is something cruel in the tendency of my spirit1- let the
irtuous and amia!le try to conince him that it is not so& In fact, it would sound nicer, if,
instead of our cruelty, perhaps our 1e<traagant honesty1 were tal"ed a!out, whispered
a!out, and glorified--we free, 3297 free spirits--and some day perhaps SU#+ will
actually !e our--posthumous glory& ;eanwhile-- for there is plenty of time until then--we
should !e least inclined to dec" ourseles out in such florid and fringed moral er!iage$
our whole former wor" has /ust made us sic" of this taste and its sprightly e<u!erance'
They are !eautiful, glistening, /ingling, festie words- honesty, loe of truth, loe of
wisdom, sacrifice for "nowledge, heroism of the truthful-- there is something in them that
ma"es one5s heart swell with pride' (ut we anchorites and marmots hae long ago
persuaded ourseles in all the secrecy of an anchorite5s conscience, that this worthy
parade of er!iage also !elongs to the old false adornment, frippery, and gold-dust of
unconscious human anity, and that een under such flattering colour and repainting, the
terri!le original te<t +O;O N,TU9, must again !e recogni)ed' In effect, to translate
man !ac" again into nature$ to master the many ain and isionary interpretations and
su!ordinate meanings which hae hitherto !een scratched and dau!ed oer the eternal
original te<t, +O;O N,TU9,$ to !ring it a!out that man shall henceforth stand !efore
man as he now, hardened !y the discipline of science, stands !efore the OT+29 forms of
nature, with fearless Oedipus-eyes, and stopped Ulysses-ears, deaf to the enticements of
old metaphysical !ird-catchers, who hae piped to him far too long- 1Thou art more& thou
art higher& thou hast a different origin&1--this may !e a strange and foolish tas", !ut that it
is a T,S8, who can deny& *hy did we choose it, this foolish tas"? Or, to put the :uestion
differently- 1*hy "nowledge at all?1 2ery one will as" us a!out this' ,nd thus pressed,
we, who hae as"ed ourseles the :uestion a hundred times, hae not found and cannot
find any !etter answer' ' ' '
AB>' 4earning alters us, it does what all nourishment does that does not merely
1consere1--as the physiologist "nows' (ut at the !ottom of our souls, :uite 1down
!elow,1 there is certainly something unteacha!le, a granite of spiritual fate, of
predetermined decision and answer to predetermined, chosen :uestions' In each cardinal
pro!lem there spea"s an unchangea!le 1I am this1$ a thin"er cannot learn anew a!out
man and woman, for instance, !ut can only learn fully--he can only follow to the end
what is 1fi<ed1 a!out them in himself' Occasionally we find certain solutions of pro!lems
which ma"e strong !eliefs for us$ perhaps they are henceforth called 1conictions'1 4ater
on--one sees in them only footsteps to self-"nowledge, guide-posts to the pro!lem which
we ourseles ,92--or more correctly to the great stupidity which we em!ody, our
spiritual fate, the UNT2,#+,(42 in us, :uite 1down !elow'1--In iew of this li!eral
compliment which I hae /ust paid myself, permission will perhaps !e more readily
allowed me to utter some truths a!out 1woman as she is,1 proided that it is "nown at the
outset how literally they are merely--;7 truths'
ABA' *oman wishes to !e independent, and therefore she !egins to enlighten men a!out
1woman as she is1--T+IS is one of the worst deelopments of the general UG4I%7ING
of 2urope' %or what must these clumsy attempts of feminine scientificality and self-
e<posure !ring to light& *oman has so much cause for shame$ in woman there is so much
pedantry, superficiality, schoolmasterliness, petty presumption, un!ridledness, and
indiscretion concealed--study only woman5s !ehaiour towards children&--which has
really !een !est restrained and dominated hitherto !y the %2,9 of man' ,las, if eer the
1eternally tedious in woman1--she has plenty of it&--is allowed to enture forth& if she
!egins radically and on principle to unlearn her wisdom and art-of charming, of playing,
of frightening away sorrow, of alleiating and ta"ing easily$ if she forgets her delicate
aptitude for agreea!le desires& %emale oices are already raised, which, !y Saint
,ristophanes& ma"e one afraid---with medical e<plicitness it is stated in a threatening
manner what woman first and last 92LUI92S from man' Is it not in the ery worst taste
that woman thus sets herself up to !e scientific? 2nlightenment hitherto has fortunately
!een men5s affair, men5s gift-we remained therewith 1among ourseles1$ and in the end, in
iew of all that women write a!out 1woman,1 we may well hae considera!le dou!t as to
whether woman really 62SI92S enlightenment a!out herself--and #,N desire it' If
woman does not there!y see" a new O9N,;2NT for herself--I !eliee ornamentation
!elongs to the eternally feminine?--why, then, she wishes to ma"e herself feared- perhaps
she there!y wishes to get the mastery' (ut she does not want truth--what does woman
care for truth? %rom the ery first, nothing is more foreign, more repugnant, or more
hostile to woman than truth--her great art is falsehood, her chief concern is appearance
and !eauty' 4et us confess it, we men- we honour and loe this ery art and this ery
instinct in woman- we who hae the hard tas", and for our recreation gladly see" the
company of !eings under whose hands, glances, and delicate follies, our seriousness, our
graity, and profundity appear almost li"e follies to us' %inally, I as" the :uestion- 6id a
woman herself eer ac"nowledge profundity in a woman5s mind, or /ustice in a woman5s
heart? ,nd is it not true that on the whole 1woman1 has hitherto !een most despised !y
woman herself, and not at all !y us?--*e men desire that woman should not continue to
compromise herself !y enlightening us$ /ust as it was man5s care and the consideration for
woman, when the church decreed- mulier taceat in ecclesia' It was to the !enefit of
woman when Napoleon gae the too elo:uent ;adame de Stael to understand- mulier
taceat in politicis&--and in my opinion, he is a true friend of woman who calls out to
women today- mulier taceat de mulierel'
ABB' It !etrays corruption of the instincts--apart from the fact that it !etrays !ad taste--
when a woman refers to ;adame 9oland, or ;adame de Stael, or ;onsieur George
Sand, as though something were proed there!y in faour of 1woman as she is'1 ,mong
men, these are the three comical women as they are--nothing more&--and /ust the !est
inoluntary counter-arguments against feminine emancipation and autonomy'
ABC' Stupidity in the "itchen$ woman as coo"$ the terri!le thoughtlessness with which the
feeding of the family and the master of the house is managed& *oman does not
understand what food means, and she insists on !eing coo"& If woman had !een a
thin"ing creature, she should certainly, as coo" for thousands of years, hae discoered
the most important physiological facts, and should li"ewise hae got possession of the
healing art& Through !ad female coo"s--through the entire lac" of reason in the "itchen--
the deelopment of man"ind has !een longest retarded and most interfered with- een
today matters are ery little !etter' , word to +igh School girls'
AB@' There are turns and casts of fancy, there are sentences, little handfuls of words, in
which a whole culture, a whole society suddenly crystallises itself' ,mong these is the
incidental remar" of ;adame de 4am!ert to her son- 1;ON ,;I, N2 3OUS
P29;2TT2M =,;,IS LU2 62S %O4I2S, LUI 3OUS %29ONT G9,N6 P4,ISI91--
the motherliest and wisest remar", !y the way, that was eer addressed to a son'
ABD' I hae no dou!t that eery no!le woman will oppose what 6ante and Goethe
!elieed a!out woman--the former when he sang, 1244, GU,96,3, SUSO, 26 IO IN
42I,1 and the latter when he interpreted it, 1the eternally feminine draws us ,4O%T1$ for
T+IS is /ust what she !eliees of the eternally masculine'
ABE'
S232N ,POP+T+2G;S %O9 *O;2N
+ow the longest ennui flees, *hen a man comes to our "nees&
,ge, alas& and science staid, %urnish een wea" irtue aid'
Som!re gar! and silence meet- 6ress for eery dame--discreet'
*hom I than" when in my !liss? God&--and my good tailoress&
7oung, a flower-dec"ed caern home$ Old, a dragon thence doth roam'
No!le title, leg that5s fine, ;an as well- Oh, were +2 mine&
Speech in !rief and sense in mass--Slippery for the /enny-ass&
ABE,' *oman has hitherto !een treated !y men li"e !irds, which, losing their way, hae
come down among them from an eleation- as something delicate, fragile, wild, strange,
sweet, and animating- -!ut as something also which must !e cooped up to preent it
flying away'
AB?' To !e mista"en in the fundamental pro!lem of 1man and woman,1 to deny here the
profoundest antagonism and the necessity for an eternally hostile tension, to dream here
perhaps of e:ual rights, e:ual training, e:ual claims and o!ligations- that is a T7PI#,4
sign of shallow-mindedness$ and a thin"er who has proed himself shallow at this
dangerous spot--shallow in instinct&--may generally !e regarded as suspicious, nay more,
as !etrayed, as discoered$ he will pro!a!ly proe too 1short1 for all fundamental
:uestions of life, future as well as present, and will !e una!le to descend into ,N7 of the
depths' On the other hand, a man who has depth of spirit as well as of desires, and has
also the depth of !eneolence which is capa!le of seerity and harshness, and easily
confounded with them, can only thin" of woman as O9I2NT,4S do- he must conceie
of her as a possession, as confina!le property, as a !eing predestined for serice and
accomplishing her mission therein--he must ta"e his stand in this matter upon the
immense rationality of ,sia, upon the superiority of the instinct of ,sia, as the Gree"s did
formerly$ those !est heirs and scholars of ,sia--who, as is well "nown, with their
IN#92,SING culture and amplitude of power, from +omer to the time of Pericles,
!ecame gradually ST9I#T29 towards woman, in short, more Oriental' +O* necessary,
+O* logical, een +O* humanely desira!le this was, let us consider for ourseles&
ABF' The wea"er se< has in no preious age !een treated with so much respect !y men as
at present--this !elongs to the tendency and fundamental taste of democracy, in the same
way as disrespectfulness to old age--what wonder is it that a!use should !e immediately
made of this respect? They want more, they learn to ma"e claims, the tri!ute of respect is
at last felt to !e well-nigh galling$ rialry for rights, indeed actual strife itself, would !e
preferred- in a word, woman is losing modesty' ,nd let us immediately add that she is
also losing taste' She is unlearning to %2,9 man- !ut the woman who 1unlearns to fear1
sacrifices her most womanly instincts' That woman should enture forward when the
fear-inspiring :uality in man--or more definitely, the ;,N in man--is no longer either
desired or fully deeloped, is reasona!le enough and also intelligi!le enough$ what is
more difficult to understand is that precisely there!y-- woman deteriorates' This is what
is happening nowadays- let us not deceie ourseles a!out it& *hereer the industrial
spirit has triumphed oer the military and aristocratic spirit, woman stries for the
economic and legal independence of a cler"- 1woman as cler"ess1 is inscri!ed on the
portal of the modern society which is in course of formation' *hile she thus appropriates
new rights, aspires to !e 1master,1 and inscri!es 1progress1 of woman on her flags and
!anners, the ery opposite realises itself with terri!le o!iousness- *O;,N
92T9OG9,62S' Since the %rench 9eolution the influence of woman in 2urope has
62#4IN26 in proportion as she has increased her rights and claims$ and the
1emancipation of woman,1 insofar as it is desired and demanded !y women themseles
.and not only !y masculine shallow-pates0, thus proes to !e a remar"a!le symptom of
the increased wea"ening and deadening of the most womanly instincts' There is
STUPI6IT7 in this moement, an almost masculine stupidity, of which a well-reared
woman--who is always a sensi!le woman--might !e heartily ashamed' To lose the
intuition as to the ground upon which she can most surely achiee ictory$ to neglect
e<ercise in the use of her proper weapons$ to let-herself-go !efore man, perhaps een 1to
the !oo",1 where formerly she "ept herself in control and in refined, artful humility$ to
neutrali)e with her irtuous audacity man5s faith in a 32I426, fundamentally different
ideal in woman, something eternally, necessarily feminine$ to emphatically and
lo:uaciously dissuade man from the idea that woman must !e presered, cared for,
protected, and indulged, li"e some delicate, strangely wild, and often pleasant domestic
animal$ the clumsy and indignant collection of eerything of the nature of seritude and
!ondage which the position of woman in the hitherto e<isting order of society has
entailed and still entails .as though slaery were a counter- argument, and not rather a
condition of eery higher culture, of eery eleation of culture0---what does all this
!eto"en, if not a disintegration of womanly instincts, a defeminising? #ertainly, there are
enough of idiotic friends and corrupters of woman among the learned asses of the
masculine se<, who adise woman to defemini)e herself in this manner, and to imitate all
the stupidities from which 1man1 in 2urope, 2uropean 1manliness,1 suffers,--who would
li"e to lower woman to 1general culture,1 indeed een to newspaper reading and
meddling with politics' +ere and there they wish een to ma"e women into free spirits
and literary wor"ers- as though a woman without piety would not !e something perfectly
o!no<ious or ludicrous to a profound and godless man$--almost eerywhere her neres
are !eing ruined !y the most mor!id and dangerous "ind of music .our latest German
music0, and she is daily !eing made more hysterical and more incapa!le of fulfilling her
first and last function, that of !earing ro!ust children' They wish to 1cultiate1 her in
general still more, and intend, as they say, to ma"e the 1wea"er se<1 ST9ONG !y
culture- as if history did not teach in the most emphatic manner that the 1cultiating1 of
man"ind and his wea"ening--that is to say, the wea"ening, dissipating, and languishing of
his %O9#2 O% *I44--hae always "ept pace with one another, and that the most
powerful and influential women in the world .and lastly, the mother of Napoleon0 had
/ust to than" their force of will--and not their schoolmasters--for their power and
ascendancy oer men' That which inspires respect in woman, and often enough fear also,
is her N,TU92, which is more 1natural1 than that of man, her genuine, carniora-li"e,
cunning fle<i!ility, her tiger-claws !eneath the gloe, her N,I32T2 in egoism, her
untraina!leness and innate wildness, the incomprehensi!leness, e<tent, and deiation of
her desires and irtues' That which, in spite of fear, e<cites one5s sympathy for the
dangerous and !eautiful cat, 1woman,1 is that she seems more afflicted, more ulnera!le,
more necessitous of loe, and more condemned to disillusionment than any other
creature' %ear and sympathy it is with these feelings that man has hitherto stood in the
presence of woman, always with one foot already in tragedy, which rends while it
delights--*hat? ,nd all that is now to !e at an end? ,nd the 6IS2N#+,NT;2NT of
woman is in progress? The tediousness of woman is slowly eoling? Oh 2urope&
2urope& *e "now the horned animal which was always most attractie to thee, from
which danger is eer again threatening thee& Thy old fa!le might once more !ecome
1history1--an immense stupidity might once again oermaster thee and carry thee away&
,nd no God concealed !eneath it--no& only an 1idea,1 a 1modern idea1&
ACG' I +2,96, once again for the first time, 9ichard *agner5s oerture to the
;astersinger- it is a piece of magnificent, gorgeous, heay, latter-day art, which has the
pride to presuppose two centuries of music as still liing, in order that it may !e
understood---it is an honour to Germans that such a pride did not miscalculate& *hat
flaours and forces, what seasons and climes do we not find mingled in it& It impresses us
at one time as ancient, at another time as foreign, !itter, and too modern, it is as ar!itrary
as it is pompously traditional, it is not infre:uently roguish, still oftener rough and
coarse--it has fire and courage, and at the same time the loose, dun- coloured s"in of
fruits which ripen too late' It flows !road and full- and suddenly there is a moment of
ine<plica!le hesitation, li"e a gap that opens !etween cause and effect, an oppression that
ma"es us dream, almost a nightmare$ !ut already it !roadens and widens anew, the old
stream of delight-the most manifold delight,--of old and new happiness$ including
2SP2#I,447 the /oy of the artist in himself, which he refuses to conceal, his astonished,
happy cogni)ance of his mastery of the e<pedients here employed, the new, newly
ac:uired, imperfectly tested e<pedients of art which he apparently !etrays to us' ,ll in all,
howeer, no !eauty, no South, nothing of the delicate southern clearness of the s"y,
nothing of grace, no dance, hardly a will to logic$ a certain clumsiness een, which is also
emphasi)ed, as though the artist wished to say to us- 1It is part of my intention1$ a
cum!ersome drapery, something ar!itrarily !ar!aric and ceremonious, a flirring of
learned and enera!le conceits and witticisms$ something German in the !est and worst
sense of the word, something in the German style, manifold, formless, and ine<hausti!le$
a certain German potency and super-plenitude of soul, which is not afraid to hide itself
under the 9,%%IN2;2NTS of decadence--which, perhaps, feels itself most at ease
there$ a real, genuine to"en of the German soul, which is at the same time young and
aged, too ripe and yet still too rich in futurity' This "ind of music e<presses !est what I
thin" of the Germans- they !elong to the day !efore yesterday and the day after
tomorrow-- T+27 +,32 ,S 72T NO TO6,7'
AC>' *e 1good 2uropeans,1 we also hae hours when we allow ourseles a warm-hearted
patriotism, a plunge and relapse into old loes and narrow iews--I hae /ust gien an
e<ample of it-- hours of national e<citement, of patriotic anguish, and all other sorts of
old-fashioned floods of sentiment' 6uller spirits may perhaps only get done with what
confines its operations in us to hours and plays itself out in hours--in a considera!le time-
some in half a year, others in half a lifetime, according to the speed and strength with
which they digest and 1change their material'1 Indeed, I could thin" of sluggish,
hesitating races, which een in our rapidly moing 2urope, would re:uire half a century
ere they could surmount such ataistic attac"s of patriotism and soil-attachment, and
return once more to reason, that is to say, to 1good 2uropeanism'1 ,nd while digressing
on this possi!ility, I happen to !ecome an ear-witness of a conersation !etween two old
patriots--they were eidently !oth hard of hearing and conse:uently spo"e all the louder'
1+2 has as much, and "nows as much, philosophy as a peasant or a corps-student,1 said
the one-- 1he is still innocent' (ut what does that matter nowadays& It is the age of the
masses- they lie on their !elly !efore eerything that is massie' ,nd so also in politicis'
, statesman who rears up for them a new Tower of (a!el, some monstrosity of empire
and power, they call 5great5--what does it matter that we more prudent and conseratie
ones do not meanwhile gie up the old !elief that it is only the great thought that gies
greatness to an action or affair' Supposing a statesman were to !ring his people into the
position of !eing o!liged henceforth to practise 5high politics,5 for which they were !y
nature !adly endowed and prepared, so that they would hae to sacrifice their old and
relia!le irtues, out of loe to a new and dou!tful mediocrity$-- supposing a statesman
were to condemn his people generally to 5practise politics,5 when they hae hitherto had
something !etter to do and thin" a!out, and when in the depths of their souls they hae
!een una!le to free themseles from a prudent loathing of the restlessness, emptiness, and
noisy wranglings of the essentially politics-practising nations$--supposing such a
statesman were to stimulate the slum!ering passions and aidities of his people, were to
ma"e a stigma out of their former diffidence and delight in aloofness, an offence out of
their e<oticism and hidden permanency, were to depreciate their most radical procliities,
su!ert their consciences, ma"e their minds narrow, and their tastes 5national5--what& a
statesman who should do all this, which his people would hae to do penance for
throughout their whole future, if they had a future, such a statesman would !e G92,T,
would he?1--1Undou!tedly&1 replied the other old patriot ehemently, 1otherwise he
#OU46 NOT hae done it& It was mad perhaps to wish such a thing& (ut perhaps
eerything great has !een /ust as mad at its commencement&1-- 1;isuse of words&1 cried
his interlocutor, contradictorily-- 1strong& strong& Strong and mad& NOT great&1--The old
men had o!iously !ecome heated as they thus shouted their 1truths1 in each other5s
faces, !ut I, in my happiness and apartness, considered how soon a stronger one may
!ecome master of the strong, and also that there is a compensation for the intellectual
superficialising of a nation--namely, in the deepening of another'
ACA' *hether we call it 1ciili)ation,1 or 1humanising,1 or 1progress,1 which now
distinguishes the 2uropean, whether we call it simply, without praise or !lame, !y the
political formula the 62;O#9,TI# moement in 2urope--!ehind all the moral and
political foregrounds pointed to !y such formulas, an immense P+7SIO4OGI#,4
P9O#2SS goes on, which is eer e<tending the process of the assimilation of 2uropeans,
their increasing detachment from the conditions under which, climatically and
hereditarily, united races originate, their increasing independence of eery definite
milieu, that for centuries would fain inscri!e itself with e:ual demands on soul and
!ody,--that is to say, the slow emergence of an essentially SUP29-N,TION,4 and
nomadic species of man, who possesses, physiologically spea"ing, a ma<imum of the art
and power of adaptation as his typical distinction' This process of the 23O43ING
2U9OP2,N, which can !e retarded in its T2;PO !y great relapses, !ut will perhaps
/ust gain and grow there!y in ehemence and depth--the still-raging storm and stress of
1national sentiment1 pertains to it, and also the anarchism which is appearing at present--
this process will pro!a!ly arrie at results on which its naie propagators and panegyrists,
the apostles of 1modern ideas,1 would least care to rec"on' The same new conditions
under which on an aerage a leelling and mediocrising of man will ta"e place--a useful,
industrious, ariously sericea!le, and cleer gregarious man--are in the highest degree
suita!le to gie rise to e<ceptional men of the most dangerous and attractie :ualities'
%or, while the capacity for adaptation, which is eery day trying changing conditions, and
!egins a new wor" with eery generation, almost with eery decade, ma"es the
PO*29%U4N2SS of the type impossi!le$ while the collectie impression of such future
2uropeans will pro!a!ly !e that of numerous, tal"atie, wea"-willed, and ery handy
wor"men who 92LUI92 a master, a commander, as they re:uire their daily !read$ while,
therefore, the democratising of 2urope will tend to the production of a type prepared for
S4,3297 in the most su!tle sense of the term- the ST9ONG man will necessarily in
indiidual and e<ceptional cases, !ecome stronger and richer than he has perhaps eer
!een !efore--owing to the unpre/udicedness of his schooling, owing to the immense
ariety of practice, art, and disguise' I meant to say that the democratising of 2urope is at
the same time an inoluntary arrangement for the rearing of T79,NTS--ta"ing the word
in all its meanings, een in its most spiritual sense'
ACB' I hear with pleasure that our sun is moing rapidly towards the constellation
+ercules- and I hope that the men on this earth will do li"e the sun' ,nd we foremost, we
good 2uropeans&
ACC' There was a time when it was customary to call Germans 1deep1 !y way of
distinction$ !ut now that the most successful type of new Germanism is coetous of :uite
other honours, and perhaps misses 1smartness1 in all that has depth, it is almost
opportune and patriotic to dou!t whether we did not formerly deceie ourseles with that
commendation- in short, whether German depth is not at !ottom something different and
worse--and something from which, than" God, we are on the point of successfully
ridding ourseles' 4et us try, then, to relearn with regard to German depth$ the only thing
necessary for the purpose is a little iisection of the German soul'--The German soul is
a!oe all manifold, aried in its source, aggregated and super- imposed, rather than
actually !uilt- this is owing to its origin' , German who would em!olden himself to
assert- 1Two souls, alas, dwell in my !reast,1 would ma"e a !ad guess at the truth, or,
more correctly, he would come far short of the truth a!out the num!er of souls' ,s a
people made up of the most e<traordinary mi<ing and mingling of races, perhaps een
with a preponderance of the pre-,ryan element as the 1people of the centre1 in eery
sense of the term, the Germans are more intangi!le, more ample, more contradictory,
more un"nown, more incalcula!le, more surprising, and een more terrifying than other
peoples are to themseles---they escape 62%INITION, and are there!y alone the despair
of the %rench' It IS characteristic of the Germans that the :uestion- 1*hat is German?1
neer dies out among them' 8ot)e!ue certainly "new his Germans well enough- 1*e are
"nown,1 they cried /u!ilantly to him--!ut Sand also thought he "new them' =ean Paul
"new what he was doing when he declared himself incensed at %ichte5s lying !ut patriotic
flatteries and e<aggerations,--!ut it is pro!a!le that Goethe thought differently a!out
Germans from =ean Paul, een though he ac"nowledged him to !e right with regard to
%ichte' It is a :uestion what Goethe really thought a!out the Germans?--(ut a!out many
things around him he neer spo"e e<plicitly, and all his life he "new how to "eep an
astute silence--pro!a!ly he had good reason for it' It is certain that it was not the 1*ars of
Independence1 that made him loo" up more /oyfully, any more than it was the %rench
9eolution,--the eent on account of which he 92#ONST9U#T26 his 1%aust,1 and
indeed the whole pro!lem of 1man,1 was the appearance of Napoleon' There are words of
Goethe in which he condemns with impatient seerity, as from a foreign land, that which
Germans ta"e a pride in, he once defined the famous German turn of mind as 1Indulgence
towards its own and others5 wea"nesses'1 *as he wrong? it is characteristic of Germans
that one is seldom entirely wrong a!out them' The German soul has passages and
galleries in it, there are caes, hiding- places, and dungeons therein, its disorder has much
of the charm of the mysterious, the German is well ac:uainted with the !ypaths to chaos'
,nd as eerything loes its sym!ol, so the German loes the clouds and all that is
o!scure, eoling, crepuscular, damp, and shrouded, it seems to him that eerything
uncertain, undeeloped, self-displacing, and growing is 1deep1' The German himself does
not 2IIST, he is (2#O;ING, he is 1deeloping himself1' 16eelopment1 is therefore
the essentially German discoery and hit in the great domain of philosophical formulas,--
a ruling idea, which, together with German !eer and German music, is la!ouring to
Germanise all 2urope' %oreigners are astonished and attracted !y the riddles which the
conflicting nature at the !asis of the German soul propounds to them .riddles which
+egel systematised and 9ichard *agner has in the end set to music0' 1Good-natured and
spiteful1--such a /u<taposition, preposterous in the case of eery other people, is
unfortunately only too often /ustified in Germany one has only to lie for a while among
Swa!ians to "now this& The clumsiness of the German scholar and his social
distastefulness agree alarmingly well with his physical rope-dancing and nim!le
!oldness, of which all the Gods hae learnt to !e afraid' If any one wishes to see the
1German soul1 demonstrated ad oculos, let him only loo" at German taste, at German arts
and manners what !oorish indifference to 1taste1& +ow the no!lest and the commonest
stand there in /u<taposition& +ow disorderly and how rich is the whole constitution of this
soul& The German 69,GS at his soul, he drags at eerything he e<periences' +e digests
his eents !adly$ he neer gets 1done1 with them$ and German depth is often only a
difficult, hesitating 1digestion'1 ,nd /ust as all chronic inalids, all dyspeptics li"e what
is conenient, so the German loes 1fran"ness1 and 1honesty1$ it is so #ON32NI2NT to
!e fran" and honest&--This confidingness, this complaisance, this showing-the-cards of
German +ON2ST7, is pro!a!ly the most dangerous and most successful disguise which
the German is up to nowadays- it is his proper ;ephistophelean art$ with this he can 1still
achiee much1& The German lets himself go, and there!y ga)es with faithful, !lue, empty
German eyes--and other countries immediately confound him with his dressing-gown&--I
meant to say that, let 1German depth1 !e what it will--among ourseles alone we perhaps
ta"e the li!erty to laugh at it--we shall do well to continue henceforth to honour its
appearance and good name, and not !arter away too cheaply our old reputation as a
people of depth for Prussian 1smartness,1 and (erlin wit and sand' It is wise for a people
to pose, and 42T itself !e regarded, as profound, clumsy, good-natured, honest, and
foolish- it might een !e--profound to do so& %inally, we should do honour to our name--
we are not called the 1TIUS#+2 3O481 .deceptie people0 for nothing' ' ' '
AC@' The 1good old1 time is past, it sang itself out in ;o)art-- how happy are *2 that his
9O#O#O still spea"s to us, that his 1good company,1 his tender enthusiasm, his childish
delight in the #hinese and its flourishes, his courtesy of heart, his longing for the elegant,
the amorous, the tripping, the tearful, and his !elief in the South, can still appeal to
SO;2T+ING 42%T in us& ,h, some time or other it will !e oer with it&--!ut who can
dou!t that it will !e oer still sooner with the intelligence and taste for (eethoen& %or he
was only the last echo of a !rea" and transition in style, and NOT, li"e ;o)art, the last
echo of a great 2uropean taste which had e<isted for centuries' (eethoen is the
intermediate eent !etween an old mellow soul that is constantly !rea"ing down, and a
future oer-young soul that is always #O;ING$ there is spread oer his music the
twilight of eternal loss and eternal e<traagant hope,--the same light in which 2urope was
!athed when it dreamed with 9ousseau, when it danced round the Tree of 4i!erty of the
9eolution, and finally almost fell down in adoration !efore Napoleon' (ut how rapidly
does T+IS ery sentiment now pale, how difficult nowadays is een the
,PP92+2NSION of this sentiment, how strangely does the language of 9ousseau,
Schiller, Shelley, and (yron sound to our ear, in whom #O442#TI3247 the same fate
of 2urope was a!le to SP2,8, which "new how to SING in (eethoen&--*hateer
German music came afterwards, !elongs to 9omanticism, that is to say, to a moement
which, historically considered, was still shorter, more fleeting, and more superficial than
that great interlude, the transition of 2urope from 9ousseau to Napoleon, and to the rise
of democracy' *e!er--!ut what do *2 care nowadays for 1%reischut)1 and 1O!eron1& Or
;arschner5s 1+ans +eiling1 and 13ampyre1& Or een *agner5s 1Tannhauser1& That is
e<tinct, although not yet forgotten music' This whole music of 9omanticism, !esides,
was not no!le enough, was not musical enough, to maintain its position anywhere !ut in
the theatre and !efore the masses$ from the !eginning it was second-rate music, which
was little thought of !y genuine musicians' It was different with %eli< ;endelssohn, that
halcyon master, who, on account of his lighter, purer, happier soul, :uic"ly ac:uired
admiration, and was e:ually :uic"ly forgotten- as the !eautiful 2PISO62 of German
music' (ut with regard to 9o!ert Schumann, who too" things seriously, and has !een
ta"en seriously from the first--he was the last that founded a school,--do we not now
regard it as a satisfaction, a relief, a delierance, that this ery 9omanticism of
Schumann5s has !een surmounted? Schumann, fleeing into the 1Sa<on Swit)erland1 of
his soul, with a half *erther-li"e, half =ean-Paul-li"e nature .assuredly not li"e
(eethoen& assuredly not li"e (yron&0--his ;,N%926 music is a mista"e and a
misunderstanding to the e<tent of in/ustice$ Schumann, with his taste, which was
fundamentally a P2TT7 taste .that is to say, a dangerous propensity--dou!ly dangerous
among Germans--for :uiet lyricism and into<ication of the feelings0, going constantly
apart, timidly withdrawing and retiring, a no!le wea"ling who reelled in nothing !ut
anonymous /oy and sorrow, from the !eginning a sort of girl and NO4I ;2 T,NG292--
this Schumann was already merely a G29;,N eent in music, and no longer a
2uropean eent, as (eethoen had !een, as in a still greater degree ;o)art had !een$ with
Schumann German music was threatened with its greatest danger, that of 4OSING T+2
3OI#2 %O9 T+2 SOU4 O% 2U9OP2 and sin"ing into a merely national affair'
ACD' *hat a torture are !oo"s written in German to a reader who has a T+I96 ear& +ow
indignantly he stands !eside the slowly turning swamp of sounds without tune and
rhythms without dance, which Germans call a 1!oo"1& ,nd een the German who
92,6S !oo"s& +ow la)ily, how reluctantly, how !adly he reads& +ow many Germans
"now, and consider it o!ligatory to "now, that there is ,9T in eery good sentence--art
which must !e diined, if the sentence is to !e understood& If there is a misunderstanding
a!out its T2;PO, for instance, the sentence itself is misunderstood& That one must not !e
dou!tful a!out the rhythm-determining sylla!les, that one should feel the !rea"ing of the
too-rigid symmetry as intentional and as a charm, that one should lend a fine and patient
ear to eery ST,##,TO and eery 9U(,TO, that one should diine the sense in the
se:uence of the owels and diphthongs, and how delicately and richly they can !e tinted
and retinted in the order of their arrangement--who among !oo"-reading Germans is
complaisant enough to recogni)e such duties and re:uirements, and to listen to so much
art and intention in language? ,fter all, one /ust 1has no ear for it1$ and so the most
mar"ed contrasts of style are not heard, and the most delicate artistry is as it were
SLU,N62926 on the deaf'--These were my thoughts when I noticed how clumsily and
unintuitiely two masters in the art of prose- writing hae !een confounded- one, whose
words drop down hesitatingly and coldly, as from the roof of a damp cae--he counts on
their dull sound and echo$ and another who manipulates his language li"e a fle<i!le
sword, and from his arm down into his toes feels the dangerous !liss of the :uiering,
oer-sharp !lade, which wishes to !ite, hiss, and cut'
ACE' +ow little the German style has to do with harmony and with the ear, is shown !y
the fact that precisely our good musicians themseles write !adly' The German does not
read aloud, he does not read for the ear, !ut only with his eyes$ he has put his ears away
in the drawer for the time' In anti:uity when a man read-- which was seldom enough--he
read something to himself, and in a loud oice$ they were surprised when any one read
silently, and sought secretly the reason of it' In a loud oice- that is to say, with all the
swellings, inflections, and ariations of "ey and changes of T2;PO, in which the ancient
PU(4I# world too" delight' The laws of the written style were then the same as those of
the spo"en style$ and these laws depended partly on the surprising deelopment and
refined re:uirements of the ear and laryn<$ partly on the strength, endurance, and power
of the ancient lungs' In the ancient sense, a period is a!oe all a physiological whole,
inasmuch as it is comprised in one !reath' Such periods as occur in 6emosthenes and
#icero, swelling twice and sin"ing twice, and all in one !reath, were pleasures to the men
of ,NTILUIT7, who "new !y their own schooling how to appreciate the irtue therein,
the rareness and the difficulty in the delierance of such a period$--*2 hae really no
right to the (IG period, we modern men, who are short of !reath in eery sense& Those
ancients, indeed, were all of them dilettanti in spea"ing, conse:uently connoisseurs,
conse:uently critics--they thus !rought their orators to the highest pitch$ in the same
manner as in the last century, when all Italian ladies and gentlemen "new how to sing, the
irtuosoship of song .and with it also the art of melody0 reached its eleation' In
Germany, howeer .until :uite recently when a "ind of platform elo:uence !egan shyly
and aw"wardly enough to flutter its young wings0, there was properly spea"ing only one
"ind of pu!lic and ,PP9OII;,T247 artistical discourse--that deliered from the
pulpit' The preacher was the only one in Germany who "new the weight of a sylla!le or a
word, in what manner a sentence stri"es, springs, rushes, flows, and comes to a close$ he
alone had a conscience in his ears, often enough a !ad conscience- for reasons are not
lac"ing why proficiency in oratory should !e especially seldom attained !y a German, or
almost always too late' The masterpiece of German prose is therefore with good reason
the masterpiece of its greatest preacher- the (I(42 has hitherto !een the !est German
!oo"' #ompared with 4uther5s (i!le, almost eerything else is merely 1literature1--
something which has not grown in Germany, and therefore has not ta"en and does not
ta"e root in German hearts, as the (i!le has done'
AC?' There are two "inds of geniuses- one which a!oe all engenders and see"s to
engender, and another which willingly lets itself !e fructified and !rings forth' ,nd
similarly, among the gifted nations, there are those on whom the woman5s pro!lem of
pregnancy has deoled, and the secret tas" of forming, maturing, and perfecting--the
Gree"s, for instance, were a nation of this "ind, and so are the %rench$ and others which
hae to fructify and !ecome the cause of new modes of life--li"e the =ews, the 9omans,
and, in all modesty !e it as"ed- li"e the Germans?-- nations tortured and enraptured !y
un"nown feers and irresisti!ly forced out of themseles, amorous and longing for
foreign races .for such as 1let themseles !e fructified10, and withal imperious, li"e
eerything conscious of !eing full of generatie force, and conse:uently empowered 1!y
the grace of God'1 These two "inds of geniuses see" each other li"e man and woman$ !ut
they also misunderstand each other--li"e man and woman'
ACF' 2ery nation has its own 1Tartuffery,1 and calls that its irtue'--One does not "now--
cannot "now, the !est that is in one'
A@G' *hat 2urope owes to the =ews?--;any things, good and !ad, and a!oe all one
thing of the nature !oth of the !est and the worst- the grand style in morality, the
fearfulness and ma/esty of infinite demands, of infinite significations, the whole
9omanticism and su!limity of moral :uestiona!leness--and conse:uently /ust the most
attractie, ensnaring, and e<:uisite element in those iridescences and allurements to life,
in the aftersheen of which the s"y of our 2uropean culture, its eening s"y, now glows--
perhaps glows out' %or this, we artists among the spectators and philosophers, are--
grateful to the =ews'
A@>' It must !e ta"en into the !argain, if arious clouds and distur!ances--in short, slight
attac"s of stupidity--pass oer the spirit of a people that suffers and *,NTS to suffer
from national nerous feer and political am!ition- for instance, among present-day
Germans there is alternately the anti-%rench folly, the anti-Semitic folly, the anti-Polish
folly, the #hristian-romantic folly, the *agnerian folly, the Teutonic folly, the Prussian
folly ./ust loo" at those poor historians, the Sy!els and Treitsch"es, and their closely
!andaged heads0, and whateer else these little o!scurations of the German spirit and
conscience may !e called' ;ay it !e forgien me that I, too, when on a short daring
so/ourn on ery infected ground, did not remain wholly e<empt from the disease, !ut li"e
eery one else, !egan to entertain thoughts a!out matters which did not concern me--the
first symptom of political infection' ,!out the =ews, for instance, listen to the
following---I hae neer yet met a German who was faoura!ly inclined to the =ews$ and
howeer decided the repudiation of actual anti-Semitism may !e on the part of all prudent
and political men, this prudence and policy is not perhaps directed against the nature of
the sentiment itself, !ut only against its dangerous e<cess, and especially against the
distasteful and infamous e<pression of this e<cess of sentiment$ --on this point we must
not deceie ourseles' That Germany has amply SU%%I#I2NT =ews, that the German
stomach, the German !lood, has difficulty .and will long hae difficulty0 in disposing
only of this :uantity of 1=ew1--as the Italian, the %renchman, and the 2nglishman hae
done !y means of a stronger digestion---that is the unmista"a!le declaration and language
of a general instinct, to which one must listen and according to which one must act' 14et
no more =ews come in& ,nd shut the doors, especially towards the 2ast .also towards
,ustria0&1--thus commands the instinct of a people whose nature is still fee!le and
uncertain, so that it could !e easily wiped out, easily e<tinguished, !y a stronger race' The
=ews, howeer, are !eyond all dou!t the strongest, toughest, and purest race at present
liing in 2urope, they "now how to succeed een under the worst conditions .in fact
!etter than under faoura!le ones0, !y means of irtues of some sort, which one would
li"e nowadays to la!el as ices--owing a!oe all to a resolute faith which does not need
to !e ashamed !efore 1modern ideas1, they alter only, *+2N they do alter, in the same
way that the 9ussian 2mpire ma"es its con:uest--as an empire that has plenty of time and
is not of yesterday--namely, according to the principle, 1as slowly as possi!le1& , thin"er
who has the future of 2urope at heart, will, in all his perspecties concerning the future,
calculate upon the =ews, as he will calculate upon the 9ussians, as a!oe all the surest
and li"eliest factors in the great play and !attle of forces' That which is at present called a
1nation1 in 2urope, and is really rather a 92S %,#T, than N,T, .indeed, sometimes
confusingly similar to a 92S %I#T, 2T PI#T,0, is in eery case something eoling,
young, easily displaced, and not yet a race, much less such a race ,292 P292NNUS, as
the =ews are such 1nations1 should most carefully aoid all hotheaded rialry and
hostility& It is certain that the =ews, if they desired--or if they were drien to it, as the
anti-Semites seem to wish--#OU46 now hae the ascendancy, nay, literally the
supremacy, oer 2urope, that they are NOT wor"ing and planning for that end is e:ually
certain' ;eanwhile, they rather wish and desire, een somewhat importunely, to !e
insor!ed and a!sor!ed !y 2urope, they long to !e finally settled, authori)ed, and
respected somewhere, and wish to put an end to the nomadic life, to the 1wandering
=ew1,--and one should certainly ta"e account of this impulse and tendency, and ;,82
,63,N#2S to it .it possi!ly !eto"ens a mitigation of the =ewish instincts0 for which
purpose it would perhaps !e useful and fair to !anish the anti-Semitic !awlers out of the
country' One should ma"e adances with all prudence, and with selection, pretty much as
the 2nglish no!ility do It stands to reason that the more powerful and strongly mar"ed
types of new Germanism could enter into relation with the =ews with the least hesitation,
for instance, the no!leman officer from the Prussian !order it would !e interesting in
many ways to see whether the genius for money and patience .and especially some
intellect and intellectuality--sadly lac"ing in the place referred to0 could not in addition
!e anne<ed and trained to the hereditary art of commanding and o!eying--for !oth of
which the country in :uestion has now a classic reputation (ut here it is e<pedient to
!rea" off my festal discourse and my sprightly Teutonomania for I hae already reached
my S29IOUS TOPI#, the 12uropean pro!lem,1 as I understand it, the rearing of a new
ruling caste for 2urope'
A@A' They are not a philosophical race--the 2nglish- (acon represents an ,TT,#8 on the
philosophical spirit generally, +o!!es, +ume, and 4oc"e, an a!asement, and a
depreciation of the idea of a 1philosopher1 for more than a century' It was ,G,INST
+ume that 8ant uprose and raised himself$ it was 4oc"e of whom Schelling 9IG+T47
said, 1=2 ;2P9IS2 4O#821$ in the struggle against the 2nglish mechanical
stultification of the world, +egel and Schopenhauer .along with Goethe0 were of one
accord$ the two hostile !rother-geniuses in philosophy, who pushed in different directions
towards the opposite poles of German thought, and there!y wronged each other as only
!rothers will do'--*hat is lac"ing in 2ngland, and has always !een lac"ing, that half-
actor and rhetorician "new well enough, the a!surd muddle-head, #arlyle, who sought to
conceal under passionate grimaces what he "new a!out himself- namely, what was
4,#8ING in #arlyle--real PO*29 of intellect, real 62PT+ of intellectual perception,
in short, philosophy' It is characteristic of such an unphilosophical race to hold on firmly
to #hristianity--they N226 its discipline for 1morali)ing1 and humani)ing' The
2nglishman, more gloomy, sensual, headstrong, and !rutal than the German--is for that
ery reason, as the !aser of the two, also the most pious- he has all the ;O92 N226 of
#hristianity' To finer nostrils, this 2nglish #hristianity itself has still a characteristic
2nglish taint of spleen and alcoholic e<cess, for which, owing to good reasons, it is used
as an antidote--the finer poison to neutrali)e the coarser- a finer form of poisoning is in
fact a step in adance with coarse-mannered people, a step towards spirituali)ation' The
2nglish coarseness and rustic demureness is still most satisfactorily disguised !y
#hristian pantomime, and !y praying and psalm-singing .or, more correctly, it is there!y
e<plained and differently e<pressed0$ and for the herd of drun"ards and ra"es who
formerly learned moral grunting under the influence of ;ethodism .and more recently as
the 1Salation ,rmy10, a penitential fit may really !e the relatiely highest manifestation
of 1humanity1 to which they can !e eleated- so much may reasona!ly !e admitted' That,
howeer, which offends een in the humanest 2nglishman is his lac" of music, to spea"
figuratiely .and also literally0- he has neither rhythm nor dance in the moements of his
soul and !ody$ indeed, not een the desire for rhythm and dance, for 1music'1 4isten to
him spea"ing$ loo" at the most !eautiful 2nglishwoman *,48ING--in no country on
earth are there more !eautiful does and swans$ finally, listen to them singing& (ut I as"
too much ' ' '
A@B' There are truths which are !est recogni)ed !y mediocre minds, !ecause they are !est
adapted for them, there are truths which only possess charms and seductie power for
mediocre spirits---one is pushed to this pro!a!ly unpleasant conclusion, now that the
influence of respecta!le !ut mediocre 2nglishmen--I may mention 6arwin, =ohn Stuart
;ill, and +er!ert Spencer--!egins to gain the ascendancy in the middle-class region of
2uropean taste' Indeed, who could dou!t that it is a useful thing for SU#+ minds to hae
the ascendancy for a time? It would !e an error to consider the highly deeloped and
independently soaring minds as specially :ualified for determining and collecting many
little common facts, and deducing conclusions from them$ as e<ceptions, they are rather
from the first in no ery faoura!le position towards those who are 1the rules'1 ,fter all,
they hae more to do than merely to perceie---in effect, they hae to (2 something new,
they hae to SIGNI%7 something new, they hae to 92P92S2NT new alues& The gulf
!etween "nowledge and capacity is perhaps greater, and also more mysterious, than one
thin"s- the capa!le man in the grand style, the creator, will possi!ly hae to !e an
ignorant person$--while on the other hand, for scientific discoeries li"e those of 6arwin,
a certain narrowness, aridity, and industrious carefulness .in short, something 2nglish0
may not !e unfaoura!le for arriing at them'--%inally, let it not !e forgotten that the
2nglish, with their profound mediocrity, !rought a!out once !efore a general depression
of 2uropean intelligence'
*hat is called 1modern ideas,1 or 1the ideas of the eighteenth century,1 or 1%rench
ideas1--that, conse:uently, against which the G29;,N mind rose up with profound
disgust--is of 2nglish origin, there is no dou!t a!out it' The %rench were only the apes
and actors of these ideas, their !est soldiers, and li"ewise, alas& their first and profoundest
3I#TI;S$ for owing to the dia!olical ,nglomania of 1modern ideas,1 the ,;2
%9,N#,IS has in the end !ecome so thin and emaciated, that at present one recalls its
si<teenth and seenteenth centuries, its profound, passionate strength, its inentie
e<cellency, almost with dis!elief' One must, howeer, maintain this erdict of historical
/ustice in a determined manner, and defend it against present pre/udices and appearances-
the 2uropean NO(42SS2--of sentiment, taste, and manners, ta"ing the word in eery
high sense--is the wor" and inention of %9,N#2$ the 2uropean igno!leness, the
ple!eianism of modern ideas--is 2NG4,N65S wor" and inention'
A@C' 2en at present %rance is still the seat of the most intellectual and refined culture of
2urope, it is still the high school of taste$ !ut one must "now how to find this 1%rance of
taste'1 +e who !elongs to it "eeps himself well concealed---they may !e a small num!er
in whom it lies and is em!odied, !esides perhaps !eing men who do not stand upon the
strongest legs, in part fatalists, hypochondriacs, inalids, in part persons oer- indulged,
oer-refined, such as hae the ,;(ITION to conceal themseles'
They hae all something in common- they "eep their ears closed in presence of the
delirious folly and noisy spouting of the democratic (OU9G2OIS' In fact, a !esotted and
!rutali)ed %rance at present sprawls in the foreground--it recently cele!rated a erita!le
orgy of !ad taste, and at the same time of self- admiration, at the funeral of 3ictor +ugo'
There is also something else common to them- a predilection to resist intellectual
Germani)ing--and a still greater ina!ility to do so& In this %rance of intellect, which is
also a %rance of pessimism, Schopenhauer has perhaps !ecome more at home, and more
indigenous than he has eer !een in Germany$ not to spea" of +einrich +eine, who has
long ago !een re-incarnated in the more refined and fastidious lyrists of Paris$ or of
+egel, who at present, in the form of Taine--the %I9ST of liing historians--e<ercises an
almost tyrannical influence' ,s regards 9ichard *agner, howeer, the more %rench music
learns to adapt itself to the actual needs of the ,;2 ;O629N2, the more will it
1*agnerite1$ one can safely predict that !eforehand,--it is already ta"ing place
sufficiently& There are, howeer, three things which the %rench can still !oast of with
pride as their heritage and possession, and as indeli!le to"ens of their ancient intellectual
superiority in 2urope, in spite of all oluntary or inoluntary Germani)ing and
ulgari)ing of taste' %I9ST47, the capacity for artistic emotion, for deotion to 1form,1
for which the e<pression, 45,9T POU9 45,9T, along with numerous others, has !een
inented---such capacity has not !een lac"ing in %rance for three centuries$ and owing to
its reerence for the 1small num!er,1 it has again and again made a sort of cham!er music
of literature possi!le, which is sought for in ain elsewhere in 2urope'--The S2#ON6
thing where!y the %rench can lay claim to a superiority oer 2urope is their ancient,
many-sided, ;O9,4ISTI# culture, owing to which one finds on an aerage, een in the
petty 9O;,N#I29S of the newspapers and chance (OU423,96I29S 62 P,9IS, a
psychological sensitieness and curiosity, of which, for e<ample, one has no conception
.to say nothing of the thing itself&0 in Germany' The Germans lac" a couple of centuries
of the moralistic wor" re:uisite thereto, which, as we hae said, %rance has not grudged-
those who call the Germans 1naie1 on that account gie them commendation for a
defect' .,s the opposite of the German ine<perience and innocence IN 3O4UPT,T2
PS7#+O4OGI#,, which is not too remotely associated with the tediousness of German
intercourse,--and as the most successful e<pression of genuine %rench curiosity and
inentie talent in this domain of delicate thrills, +enri (eyle may !e noted$ that
remar"a!le anticipatory and forerunning man, who, with a Napoleonic T2;PO, traersed
+IS 2urope, in fact, seeral centuries of the 2uropean soul, as a sureyor and discoerer
thereof---it has re:uired two generations to O329T,82 him one way or other, to diine
long afterwards some of the riddles that perple<ed and enraptured him--this strange
2picurean and man of interrogation, the last great psychologist of %rance0'--There is yet a
T+I96 claim to superiority- in the %rench character there is a successful half-way
synthesis of the North and South, which ma"es them comprehend many things, and
en/oins upon them other things, which an 2nglishman can neer comprehend' Their
temperament, turned alternately to and from the South, in which from time to time the
Proencal and 4igurian !lood froths oer, preseres them from the dreadful, northern
grey-in-grey, from sunless conceptual-spectrism and from poerty of !lood--our
G29;,N infirmity of taste, for the e<cessie prealence of which at the present
moment, !lood and iron, that is to say 1high politics,1 has with great resolution !een
prescri!ed .according to a dangerous healing art, which !ids me wait and wait, !ut not
yet hope0'--There is also still in %rance a pre-understanding and ready welcome for those
rarer and rarely gratified men, who are too comprehensie to find satisfaction in any "ind
of fatherlandism, and "now how to loe the South when in the North and the North when
in the South--the !orn ;idlanders, the 1good 2uropeans'1 %or them (IM2T has made
music, this latest genius, who has seen a new !eauty and seduction,--who has discoered
a piece of the SOUT+ IN ;USI#'
A@@' I hold that many precautions should !e ta"en against German music' Suppose a
person loes the South as I loe it--as a great school of recoery for the most spiritual and
the most sensuous ills, as a !oundless solar profusion and effulgence which o5erspreads a
soereign e<istence !elieing in itself--well, such a person will learn to !e somewhat on
his guard against German music, !ecause, in in/uring his taste anew, it will also in/ure his
health anew' Such a Southerner, a Southerner not !y origin !ut !y (24I2%, if he should
dream of the future of music, must also dream of it !eing freed from the influence of the
North$ and must hae in his ears the prelude to a deeper, mightier, and perhaps more
pererse and mysterious music, a super-German music, which does not fade, pale, and die
away, as all German music does, at the sight of the !lue, wanton sea and the
;editerranean clearness of s"y--a super-2uropean music, which holds its own een in
presence of the !rown sunsets of the desert, whose soul is a"in to the palm-tree, and can
!e at home and can roam with !ig, !eautiful, lonely !easts of prey ' ' ' I could imagine a
music of which the rarest charm would !e that it "new nothing more of good and eil$
only that here and there perhaps some sailor5s home-sic"ness, some golden shadows and
tender wea"nesses might sweep lightly oer it$ an art which, from the far distance, would
see the colours of a sin"ing and almost incomprehensi!le ;O9,4 world fleeing towards
it, and would !e hospita!le enough and profound enough to receie such !elated
fugities'
A@D' Owing to the mor!id estrangement which the nationality-cra)e has induced and still
induces among the nations of 2urope, owing also to the short-sighted and hasty-handed
politicians, who with the help of this cra)e, are at present in power, and do not suspect to
what e<tent the disintegrating policy they pursue must necessarily !e only an interlude
policy--owing to all this and much else that is altogether unmentiona!le at present, the
most unmista"a!le signs that 2U9OP2 *IS+2S TO (2 ON2, are now oerloo"ed, or
ar!itrarily and falsely misinterpreted' *ith all the more profound and large-minded men
of this century, the real general tendency of the mysterious la!our of their souls was to
prepare the way for that new S7NT+2SIS, and tentatiely to anticipate the 2uropean of
the future$ only in their simulations, or in their wea"er moments, in old age perhaps, did
they !elong to the 1fatherlands1--they only rested from themseles when they !ecame
1patriots'1 I thin" of such men as Napoleon, Goethe, (eethoen, Stendhal, +einrich
+eine, Schopenhauer- it must not !e ta"en amiss if I also count 9ichard *agner among
them, a!out whom one must not let oneself !e deceied !y his own misunderstandings
.geniuses li"e him hae seldom the right to understand themseles0, still less, of course,
!y the unseemly noise with which he is now resisted and opposed in %rance- the fact
remains, neertheless, that 9ichard *agner and the 4,T29 %92N#+ 9O;,NTI#IS;
of the forties, are most closely and intimately related to one another' They are a"in,
fundamentally a"in, in all the heights and depths of their re:uirements$ it is 2urope, the
ON2 2urope, whose soul presses urgently and longingly, outwards and upwards, in their
multifarious and !oisterous art--whither? into a new light? towards a new sun? (ut who
would attempt to e<press accurately what all these masters of new modes of speech could
not e<press distinctly? It is certain that the same storm and stress tormented them, that
they SOUG+T in the same manner, these last great see"ers& ,ll of them steeped in
literature to their eyes and ears--the first artists of uniersal literary culture--for the most
part een themseles writers, poets, intermediaries and !lenders of the arts and the senses
.*agner, as musician is rec"oned among painters, as poet among musicians, as artist
generally among actors0$ all of them fanatics for 2IP92SSION 1at any cost1--I specially
mention 6elacroi<, the nearest related to *agner$ all of them great discoerers in the
realm of the su!lime, also of the loathsome and dreadful, still greater discoerers in
effect, in display, in the art of the show-shop$ all of them talented far !eyond their genius,
out and out 3I9TUOSI, with mysterious accesses to all that seduces, allures, constrains,
and upsets$ !orn enemies of logic and of the straight line, han"ering after the strange, the
e<otic, the monstrous, the croo"ed, and the self-contradictory$ as men, Tantaluses of the
will, ple!eian parenus, who "new themseles to !e incapa!le of a no!le T2;PO or of a
42NTO in life and action-- thin" of (al)ac, for instance,--unrestrained wor"ers, almost
destroying themseles !y wor"$ antinomians and re!els in manners, am!itious and
insatia!le, without e:uili!rium and en/oyment$ all of them finally shattering and sin"ing
down at the #hristian cross .and with right and reason, for who of them would hae !een
sufficiently profound and sufficiently original for an ,NTI- #+9ISTI,N philosophy?0$--
on the whole, a !oldly daring, splendidly oer!earing, high-flying, and aloft-up-dragging
class of higher men, who had first to teach their century-and it is the century of the
;,SS2S--the conception 1higher man'1 ' ' ' 4et the German friends of 9ichard *agner
adise together as to whether there is anything purely German in the *agnerian art, or
whether its distinction does not consist precisely in coming from SUP29- G29;,N
sources and impulses- in which connection it may not !e underrated how indispensa!le
Paris was to the deelopment of his type, which the strength of his instincts made him
long to isit at the most decisie time--and how the whole style of his proceedings, of his
self-apostolate, could only perfect itself in sight of the %rench socialistic original' On a
more su!tle comparison it will perhaps !e found, to the honour of 9ichard *agner5s
German nature, that he has acted in eerything with more strength, daring, seerity, and
eleation than a nineteenth- century %renchman could hae done--owing to the
circumstance that we Germans are as yet nearer to !ar!arism than the %rench$-- perhaps
een the most remar"a!le creation of 9ichard *agner is not only at present, !ut for eer
inaccessi!le, incomprehensi!le, and inimita!le to the whole latter-day 4atin race- the
figure of Siegfried, that 3297 %922 man, who is pro!a!ly far too free, too hard, too
cheerful, too healthy, too ,NTI-#,T+O4I# for the taste of old and mellow ciili)ed
nations' +e may een hae !een a sin against 9omanticism, this anti-4atin Siegfried-
well, *agner atoned amply for this sin in his old sad days, when--anticipating a taste
which has meanwhile passed into politics--he !egan, with the religious ehemence
peculiar to him, to preach, at least, T+2 *,7 TO 9O;2, if not to wal" therein'--That
these last words may not !e misunderstood, I will call to my aid a few powerful rhymes,
which will een !etray to less delicate ears what I mean --what I mean #OUNT29 TO
the 1last *agner1 and his Parsifal music---
--Is this our mode?--%rom German heart came this e<ed ululating? %rom German !ody,
this self-lacerating? Is ours this priestly hand-dilation, This incense-fuming e<altation? Is
ours this faltering, falling, sham!ling, This :uite uncertain ding-dong- dangling? This sly
nun-ogling, ,e-hour-!ell ringing, This wholly false enraptured heaen-o5erspringing?--Is
this our mode?--Thin" well&--ye still wait for admission--%or what ye hear is 9O;2--
9O;25S %,IT+ (7 INTUITION&
A@E' 23297 eleation of the type 1man,1 has hitherto !een the wor" of an aristocratic
society and so it will always !e--a society !elieing in a long scale of gradations of ran"
and differences of worth among human !eings, and re:uiring slaery in some form or
other' *ithout the P,T+OS O% 6IST,N#2, such as grows out of the incarnated
difference of classes, out of the constant out-loo"ing and down-loo"ing of the ruling caste
on su!ordinates and instruments, and out of their e:ually constant practice of o!eying and
commanding, of "eeping down and "eeping at a distance--that other more mysterious
pathos could neer hae arisen, the longing for an eer new widening of distance within
the soul itself, the formation of eer higher, rarer, further, more e<tended, more
comprehensie states, in short, /ust the eleation of the type 1man,1 the continued 1self-
surmounting of man,1 to use a moral formula in a supermoral sense' To !e sure, one must
not resign oneself to any humanitarian illusions a!out the history of the origin of an
aristocratic society .that is to say, of the preliminary condition for the eleation of the
type 1man10- the truth is hard' 4et us ac"nowledge unpre/udicedly how eery higher
ciili)ation hitherto has O9IGIN,T26& ;en with a still natural nature, !ar!arians in
eery terri!le sense of the word, men of prey, still in possession of un!ro"en strength of
will and desire for power, threw themseles upon wea"er, more moral, more peaceful
races .perhaps trading or cattle-rearing communities0, or upon old mellow ciili)ations in
which the final ital force was flic"ering out in !rilliant firewor"s of wit and depraity'
,t the commencement, the no!le caste was always the !ar!arian caste- their superiority
did not consist first of all in their physical, !ut in their psychical power--they were more
#O;P42T2 men .which at eery point also implies the same as 1more complete
!easts10'
A@?' #orruption--as the indication that anarchy threatens to !rea" out among the instincts,
and that the foundation of the emotions, called 1life,1 is conulsed--is something radically
different according to the organi)ation in which it manifests itself' *hen, for instance, an
aristocracy li"e that of %rance at the !eginning of the 9eolution, flung away its
priileges with su!lime disgust and sacrificed itself to an e<cess of its moral sentiments,
it was corruption---it was really only the closing act of the corruption which had e<isted
for centuries, !y irtue of which that aristocracy had a!dicated step !y step its lordly
prerogaties and lowered itself to a %UN#TION of royalty .in the end een to its
decoration and parade-dress0' The essential thing, howeer, in a good and healthy
aristocracy is that it should not regard itself as a function either of the "ingship or the
commonwealth, !ut as the SIGNI%I#,N#2 and highest /ustification thereof--that it
should therefore accept with a good conscience the sacrifice of a legion of indiiduals,
who, %O9 ITS S,82, must !e suppressed and reduced to imperfect men, to slaes and
instruments' Its fundamental !elief must !e precisely that society is NOT allowed to e<ist
for its own sa"e, !ut only as a foundation and scaffolding, !y means of which a select
class of !eings may !e a!le to eleate themseles to their higher duties, and in general to
a higher 2IIST2N#2- li"e those sun- see"ing clim!ing plants in =aa--they are called
Sipo ;atador,-- which encircle an oa" so long and so often with their arms, until at last,
high a!oe it, !ut supported !y it, they can unfold their tops in the open light, and e<hi!it
their happiness'
A@F' To refrain mutually from in/ury, from iolence, from e<ploitation, and put one5s will
on a par with that of others- this may result in a certain rough sense in good conduct
among indiiduals when the necessary conditions are gien .namely, the actual similarity
of the indiiduals in amount of force and degree of worth, and their co-relation within
one organi)ation0' ,s soon, howeer, as one wished to ta"e this principle more generally,
and if possi!le een as the %UN6,;2NT,4 P9IN#IP42 O% SO#I2T7, it would
immediately disclose what it really is--namely, a *ill to the 62NI,4 of life, a principle
of dissolution and decay' +ere one must thin" profoundly to the ery !asis and resist all
sentimental wea"ness- life itself is 2SS2NTI,447 appropriation, in/ury, con:uest of the
strange and wea", suppression, seerity, o!trusion of peculiar forms, incorporation, and at
the least, putting it mildest, e<ploitation$--!ut why should one for eer use precisely these
words on which for ages a disparaging purpose has !een stamped? 2en the organi)ation
within which, as was preiously supposed, the indiiduals treat each other as e:ual--it
ta"es place in eery healthy aristocracy--must itself, if it !e a liing and not a dying
organi)ation, do all that towards other !odies, which the indiiduals within it refrain from
doing to each other it will hae to !e the incarnated *ill to Power, it will endeaour to
grow, to gain ground, attract to itself and ac:uire ascendancy-- not owing to any morality
or immorality, !ut !ecause it 4I32S, and !ecause life IS precisely *ill to Power' On no
point, howeer, is the ordinary consciousness of 2uropeans more unwilling to !e
corrected than on this matter, people now rae eerywhere, een under the guise of
science, a!out coming conditions of society in which 1the e<ploiting character1 is to !e
a!sent--that sounds to my ears as if they promised to inent a mode of life which should
refrain from all organic functions' 12<ploitation1 does not !elong to a depraed, or
imperfect and primitie society it !elongs to the nature of the liing !eing as a primary
organic function, it is a conse:uence of the intrinsic *ill to Power, which is precisely the
*ill to 4ife--Granting that as a theory this is a noelty--as a reality it is the
%UN6,;2NT,4 %,#T of all history let us !e so far honest towards ourseles&
ADG' In a tour through the many finer and coarser moralities which hae hitherto
preailed or still preail on the earth, I found certain traits recurring regularly together,
and connected with one another, until finally two primary types reealed themseles to
me, and a radical distinction was !rought to light' There is ;,ST29-;O9,4IT7 and
S4,32-;O9,4IT7,--I would at once add, howeer, that in all higher and mi<ed
ciili)ations, there are also attempts at the reconciliation of the two moralities, !ut one
finds still oftener the confusion and mutual misunderstanding of them, indeed sometimes
their close /u<taposition--een in the same man, within one soul' The distinctions of
moral alues hae either originated in a ruling caste, pleasantly conscious of !eing
different from the ruled--or among the ruled class, the slaes and dependents of all sorts'
In the first case, when it is the rulers who determine the conception 1good,1 it is the
e<alted, proud disposition which is regarded as the distinguishing feature, and that which
determines the order of ran"' The no!le type of man separates from himself the !eings in
whom the opposite of this e<alted, proud disposition displays itself he despises them' 4et
it at once !e noted that in this first "ind of morality the antithesis 1good1 and 1!ad1 means
practically the same as 1no!le1 and 1despica!le1,--the antithesis 1good1 and 123I41 is of
a different origin' The cowardly, the timid, the insignificant, and those thin"ing merely of
narrow utility are despised$ moreoer, also, the distrustful, with their constrained glances,
the self- a!asing, the dog-li"e "ind of men who let themseles !e a!used, the mendicant
flatterers, and a!oe all the liars---it is a fundamental !elief of all aristocrats that the
common people are untruthful' 1*e truthful ones1--the no!ility in ancient Greece called
themseles' It is o!ious that eerywhere the designations of moral alue were at first
applied to ;2N$ and were only deriatiely and at a later period applied to ,#TIONS$ it
is a gross mista"e, therefore, when historians of morals start with :uestions li"e, 1*hy
hae sympathetic actions !een praised?1 The no!le type of man regards +I;S24% as a
determiner of alues$ he does not re:uire to !e approed of$ he passes the /udgment-
1*hat is in/urious to me is in/urious in itself$1 he "nows that it is he himself only who
confers honour on things$ he is a #92,TO9 O% 3,4U2S' +e honours whateer he
recogni)es in himself- such morality e:uals self-glorification' In the foreground there is
the feeling of plenitude, of power, which see"s to oerflow, the happiness of high tension,
the consciousness of a wealth which would fain gie and !estow---the no!le man also
helps the unfortunate, !ut not--or scarcely--out of pity, !ut rather from an impulse
generated !y the super-a!undance of power' The no!le man honours in himself the
powerful one, him also who has power oer himself, who "nows how to spea" and how
to "eep silence, who ta"es pleasure in su!/ecting himself to seerity and hardness, and
has reerence for all that is seere and hard' 1*otan placed a hard heart in my !reast,1
says an old Scandinaian Saga- it is thus rightly e<pressed from the soul of a proud
3i"ing' Such a type of man is een proud of not !eing made for sympathy$ the hero of the
Saga therefore adds warningly- 1+e who has not a hard heart when young, will neer
hae one'1 The no!le and !rae who thin" thus are the furthest remoed from the
morality which sees precisely in sympathy, or in acting for the good of others, or in
62SINT292SS2;2NT, the characteristic of the moral$ faith in oneself, pride in oneself,
a radical enmity and irony towards 1selflessness,1 !elong as definitely to no!le morality,
as do a careless scorn and precaution in presence of sympathy and the 1warm heart'1--It is
the powerful who 8NO* how to honour, it is their art, their domain for inention' The
profound reerence for age and for tradition--all law rests on this dou!le reerence,-- the
!elief and pre/udice in faour of ancestors and unfaoura!le to newcomers, is typical in
the morality of the powerful$ and if, reersely, men of 1modern ideas1 !eliee almost
instinctiely in 1progress1 and the 1future,1 and are more and more lac"ing in respect for
old age, the igno!le origin of these 1ideas1 has complacently !etrayed itself there!y' ,
morality of the ruling class, howeer, is more especially foreign and irritating to present-
day taste in the sternness of its principle that one has duties only to one5s e:uals$ that one
may act towards !eings of a lower ran", towards all that is foreign, /ust as seems good to
one, or 1as the heart desires,1 and in any case 1!eyond good and eil1- it is here that
sympathy and similar sentiments can hae a place' The a!ility and o!ligation to e<ercise
prolonged gratitude and prolonged reenge--!oth only within the circle of e:uals,--
artfulness in retaliation, 9,%%IN2;2NT of the idea in friendship, a certain necessity to
hae enemies .as outlets for the emotions of eny, :uarrelsomeness, arrogance--in fact, in
order to !e a good %9I2N60- all these are typical characteristics of the no!le morality,
which, as has !een pointed out, is not the morality of 1modern ideas,1 and is therefore at
present difficult to reali)e, and also to unearth and disclose'--It is otherwise with the
second type of morality, S4,32-;O9,4IT7' Supposing that the a!used, the oppressed,
the suffering, the unemancipated, the weary, and those uncertain of themseles should
morali)e, what will !e the common element in their moral estimates? Pro!a!ly a
pessimistic suspicion with regard to the entire situation of man will find e<pression,
perhaps a condemnation of man, together with his situation' The slae has an
unfaoura!le eye for the irtues of the powerful$ he has a s"epticism and distrust, a
92%IN2;2NT of distrust of eerything 1good1 that is there honoured--he would fain
persuade himself that the ery happiness there is not genuine' On the other hand, T+OS2
:ualities which sere to alleiate the e<istence of sufferers are !rought into prominence
and flooded with light$ it is here that sympathy, the "ind, helping hand, the warm heart,
patience, diligence, humility, and friendliness attain to honour$ for here these are the most
useful :ualities, and almost the only means of supporting the !urden of e<istence' Slae-
morality is essentially the morality of utility' +ere is the seat of the origin of the famous
antithesis 1good1 and 1eil1---power and dangerousness are assumed to reside in the eil,
a certain dreadfulness, su!tlety, and strength, which do not admit of !eing despised'
,ccording to slae-morality, therefore, the 1eil1 man arouses fear$ according to master-
morality, it is precisely the 1good1 man who arouses fear and see"s to arouse it, while the
!ad man is regarded as the despica!le !eing' The contrast attains its ma<imum when, in
accordance with the logical conse:uences of slae-morality, a shade of depreciation--it
may !e slight and well-intentioned--at last attaches itself to the 1good1 man of this
morality$ !ecause, according to the serile mode of thought, the good man must in any
case !e the S,%2 man- he is good-natured, easily deceied, perhaps a little stupid, un
!onhomme' 2erywhere that slae- morality gains the ascendancy, language shows a
tendency to appro<imate the significations of the words 1good1 and 1stupid'1- -, last
fundamental difference- the desire for %9226O;, the instinct for happiness and the
refinements of the feeling of li!erty !elong as necessarily to slae-morals and morality, as
artifice and enthusiasm in reerence and deotion are the regular symptoms of an
aristocratic mode of thin"ing and estimating'-- +ence we can understand without further
detail why loe ,S , P,SSION--it is our 2uropean specialty--must a!solutely !e of
no!le origin$ as is well "nown, its inention is due to the Proencal poet-caaliers, those
!rilliant, ingenious men of the 1gai sa!er,1 to whom 2urope owes so much, and almost
owes itself'
AD>' 3anity is one of the things which are perhaps most difficult for a no!le man to
understand- he will !e tempted to deny it, where another "ind of man thin"s he sees it
self-eidently' The pro!lem for him is to represent to his mind !eings who see" to arouse
a good opinion of themseles which they themseles do not possess--and conse:uently
also do not 1desere,1--and who yet (24I232 in this good opinion afterwards' This
seems to him on the one hand such !ad taste and so self-disrespectful, and on the other
hand so grotes:uely unreasona!le, that he would li"e to consider anity an e<ception, and
is dou!tful a!out it in most cases when it is spo"en of' +e will say, for instance- 1I may
!e mista"en a!out my alue, and on the other hand may neertheless demand that my
alue should !e ac"nowledged !y others precisely as I rate it---that, howeer, is not
anity .!ut self-conceit, or, in most cases, that which is called 5humility,5 and also
5modesty50'1 Or he will een say- 1%or many reasons I can delight in the good opinion of
others, perhaps !ecause I loe and honour them, and re/oice in all their /oys, perhaps also
!ecause their good opinion endorses and strengthens my !elief in my own good opinion,
perhaps !ecause the good opinion of others, een in cases where I do not share it, is
useful to me, or gies promise of usefulness---all this, howeer, is not anity'1 The man
of no!le character must first !ring it home forci!ly to his mind, especially with the aid of
history, that, from time immemorial, in all social strata in any way dependent, the
ordinary man *,S only that which he P,SS26 %O9---not !eing at all accustomed to fi<
alues, he did not assign een to himself any other alue than that which his master
assigned to him .it is the peculiar 9IG+T O% ;,ST29S to create alues0' It may !e
loo"ed upon as the result of an e<traordinary ataism, that the ordinary man, een at
present, is still always *,ITING for an opinion a!out himself, and then instinctiely
su!mitting himself to it$ yet !y no means only to a 1good1 opinion, !ut also to a !ad and
un/ust one .thin", for instance, of the greater part of the self- appreciations and self-
depreciations which !elieing women learn from their confessors, and which in general
the !elieing #hristian learns from his #hurch0' In fact, conforma!ly to the slow rise of
the democratic social order .and its cause, the !lending of the !lood of masters and
slaes0, the originally no!le and rare impulse of the masters to assign a alue to
themseles and to 1thin" well1 of themseles, will now !e more and more encouraged
and e<tended$ !ut it has at all times an older, ampler, and more radically ingrained
propensity opposed to it--and in the phenomenon of 1anity1 this older propensity
oermasters the younger' The ain person re/oices oer 23297 good opinion which he
hears a!out himself .:uite apart from the point of iew of its usefulness, and e:ually
regardless of its truth or falsehood0, /ust as he suffers from eery !ad opinion- for he
su!/ects himself to !oth, he feels himself su!/ected to !oth, !y that oldest instinct of
su!/ection which !rea"s forth in him'--It is 1the slae1 in the ain man5s !lood, the
remains of the slae5s craftiness--and how much of the 1slae1 is still left in woman, for
instance&--which see"s to S26U#2 to good opinions of itself$ it is the slae, too, who
immediately afterwards falls prostrate himself !efore these opinions, as though he had
not called them forth'--,nd to repeat it again- anity is an ataism'
ADA' , SP2#I2S originates, and a type !ecomes esta!lished and strong in the long
struggle with essentially constant UN%,3OU9,(42 conditions' On the other hand, it is
"nown !y the e<perience of !reeders that species which receie super-a!undant
nourishment, and in general a surplus of protection and care, immediately tend in the
most mar"ed way to deelop ariations, and are fertile in prodigies and monstrosities
.also in monstrous ices0' Now loo" at an aristocratic commonwealth, say an ancient
Gree" polis, or 3enice, as a oluntary or inoluntary contriance for the purpose of
92,9ING human !eings$ there are there men !eside one another, thrown upon their own
resources, who want to ma"e their species preail, chiefly !ecause they ;UST preail, or
else run the terri!le danger of !eing e<terminated' The faour, the super-a!undance, the
protection are there lac"ing under which ariations are fostered$ the species needs itself
as species, as something which, precisely !y irtue of its hardness, its uniformity, and
simplicity of structure, can in general preail and ma"e itself permanent in constant
struggle with its neigh!ours, or with re!ellious or re!ellion-threatening assals' The most
aried e<perience teaches it what are the :ualities to which it principally owes the fact
that it still e<ists, in spite of all Gods and men, and has hitherto !een ictorious- these
:ualities it calls irtues, and these irtues alone it deelops to maturity' It does so with
seerity, indeed it desires seerity$ eery aristocratic morality is intolerant in the
education of youth, in the control of women, in the marriage customs, in the relations of
old and young, in the penal laws .which hae an eye only for the degenerating0- it counts
intolerance itself among the irtues, under the name of 1/ustice'1 , type with few, !ut
ery mar"ed features, a species of seere, warli"e, wisely silent, resered, and reticent
men .and as such, with the most delicate sensi!ility for the charm and nuances of society0
is thus esta!lished, unaffected !y the icissitudes of generations$ the constant struggle
with uniform UN%,3OU9,(42 conditions is, as already remar"ed, the cause of a type
!ecoming sta!le and hard' %inally, howeer, a happy state of things results, the enormous
tension is rela<ed$ there are perhaps no more enemies among the neigh!ouring peoples,
and the means of life, een of the en/oyment of life, are present in supera!undance' *ith
one stro"e the !ond and constraint of the old discipline seers- it is no longer regarded as
necessary, as a condition of e<istence--if it would continue, it can only do so as a form of
4UIU97, as an archai)ing T,ST2' 3ariations, whether they !e deiations .into the
higher, finer, and rarer0, or deteriorations and monstrosities, appear suddenly on the scene
in the greatest e<u!erance and splendour$ the indiidual dares to !e indiidual and detach
himself' ,t this turning-point of history there manifest themseles, side !y side, and often
mi<ed and entangled together, a magnificent, manifold, irgin-forest-li"e up-growth and
up-striing, a "ind of T9OPI#,4 T2;PO in the rialry of growth, and an e<traordinary
decay and self- destruction, owing to the saagely opposing and seemingly e<ploding
egoisms, which strie with one another 1for sun and light,1 and can no longer assign any
limit, restraint, or for!earance for themseles !y means of the hitherto e<isting morality'
It was this morality itself which piled up the strength so enormously, which !ent the !ow
in so threatening a manner---it is now 1out of date,1 it is getting 1out of date'1 The
dangerous and dis:uieting point has !een reached when the greater, more manifold, more
comprehensie life IS 4I326 (27ON6 the old morality$ the 1indiidual1 stands out,
and is o!liged to hae recourse to his own law-giing, his own arts and artifices for self-
preseration, self-eleation, and self-delierance' Nothing !ut new 1*hys,1 nothing !ut
new 1+ows,1 no common formulas any longer, misunderstanding and disregard in league
with each other, decay, deterioration, and the loftiest desires frightfully entangled, the
genius of the race oerflowing from all the cornucopias of good and !ad, a portentous
simultaneousness of Spring and ,utumn, full of new charms and mysteries peculiar to the
fresh, still ine<hausted, still unwearied corruption' 6anger is again present, the mother of
morality, great danger$ this time shifted into the indiidual, into the neigh!our and friend,
into the street, into their own child, into their own heart, into all the most personal and
secret recesses of their desires and olitions' *hat will the moral philosophers who
appear at this time hae to preach? They discoer, these sharp onloo"ers and loafers, that
the end is :uic"ly approaching, that eerything around them decays and produces decay,
that nothing will endure until the day after tomorrow, e<cept one species of man, the
incura!ly ;26IO#92' The mediocre alone hae a prospect of continuing and
propagating themseles--they will !e the men of the future, the sole suriors$ 1!e li"e
them& !ecome mediocre&1 is now the only morality which has still a significance, which
still o!tains a hearing'--(ut it is difficult to preach this morality of mediocrity& it can
neer aow what it is and what it desires& it has to tal" of moderation and dignity and
duty and !rotherly loe--it will hae difficulty IN #ON#2,4ING ITS I9ON7&
ADB' There is an INSTIN#T %O9 9,N8, which more than anything else is already the
sign of a +IG+ ran"$ there is a 624IG+T in the NU,N#2S of reerence which leads
one to infer no!le origin and ha!its' The refinement, goodness, and loftiness of a soul are
put to a perilous test when something passes !y that is of the highest ran", !ut is not yet
protected !y the awe of authority from o!trusie touches and inciilities- something that
goes its way li"e a liing touchstone, undistinguished, undiscoered, and tentatie,
perhaps oluntarily eiled and disguised' +e whose tas" and practice it is to inestigate
souls, will aail himself of many arieties of this ery art to determine the ultimate alue
of a soul, the unaltera!le, innate order of ran" to which it !elongs- he will test it !y its
INSTIN#T %O9 923292N#2' 6I%%292N#2 2NG2N692 +,IN2- the ulgarity of
many a nature spurts up suddenly li"e dirty water, when any holy essel, any /ewel from
closed shrines, any !oo" !earing the mar"s of great destiny, is !rought !efore it$ while on
the other hand, there is an inoluntary silence, a hesitation of the eye, a cessation of all
gestures, !y which it is indicated that a soul %224S the nearness of what is worthiest of
respect' The way in which, on the whole, the reerence for the (I(42 has hitherto !een
maintained in 2urope, is perhaps the !est e<ample of discipline and refinement of
manners which 2urope owes to #hristianity- !oo"s of such profoundness and supreme
significance re:uire for their protection an e<ternal tyranny of authority, in order to
ac:uire the P29IO6 of thousands of years which is necessary to e<haust and unriddle
them' ;uch has !een achieed when the sentiment has !een at last instilled into the
masses .the shallow-pates and the !oo!ies of eery "ind0 that they are not allowed to
touch eerything, that there are holy e<periences !efore which they must ta"e off their
shoes and "eep away the unclean hand--it is almost their highest adance towards
humanity' On the contrary, in the so-called cultured classes, the !elieers in 1modern
ideas,1 nothing is perhaps so repulsie as their lac" of shame, the easy insolence of eye
and hand with which they touch, taste, and finger eerything$ and it is possi!le that een
yet there is more 924,TI32 no!ility of taste, and more tact for reerence among the
people, among the lower classes of the people, especially among peasants, than among
the newspaper-reading 62;I;ON62 of intellect, the cultured class'
ADC' It cannot !e effaced from a man5s soul what his ancestors hae prefera!ly and most
constantly done- whether they were perhaps diligent economi)ers attached to a des" and a
cash-!o<, modest and citi)en-li"e in their desires, modest also in their irtues$ or whether
they were accustomed to commanding from morning till night, fond of rude pleasures and
pro!a!ly of still ruder duties and responsi!ilities$ or whether, finally, at one time or
another, they hae sacrificed old priileges of !irth and possession, in order to lie
wholly for their faith--for their 1God,1--as men of an ine<ora!le and sensitie conscience,
which !lushes at eery compromise' It is :uite impossi!le for a man NOT to hae the
:ualities and predilections of his parents and ancestors in his constitution, whateer
appearances may suggest to the contrary' This is the pro!lem of race' Granted that one
"nows something of the parents, it is admissi!le to draw a conclusion a!out the child- any
"ind of offensie incontinence, any "ind of sordid eny, or of clumsy self-aunting--the
three things which together hae constituted the genuine ple!eian type in all times--such
must pass oer to the child, as surely as !ad !lood$ and with the help of the !est
education and culture one will only succeed in 62#2I3ING with regard to such
heredity'--,nd what else does education and culture try to do nowadays& In our ery
democratic, or rather, ery ple!eian age, 1education1 and 1culture1 ;UST !e essentially
the art of deceiing--deceiing with regard to origin, with regard to the inherited
ple!eianism in !ody and soul' ,n educator who nowadays preached truthfulness a!oe
eerything else, and called out constantly to his pupils- 1(e true& (e natural& Show
yourseles as you are&1--een such a irtuous and sincere ass would learn in a short time
to hae recourse to the %U9#, of +orace, N,TU9,; 2IP244292- with what results?
1Ple!eianism1 USLU2 92#U992T' J%OOTNOT2- +orace5s 12pistles,1 I' <' AC'K
AD@' ,t the ris" of displeasing innocent ears, I su!mit that egoism !elongs to the essence
of a no!le soul, I mean the unaltera!le !elief that to a !eing such as 1we,1 other !eings
must naturally !e in su!/ection, and hae to sacrifice themseles' The no!le soul accepts
the fact of his egoism without :uestion, and also without consciousness of harshness,
constraint, or ar!itrariness therein, !ut rather as something that may hae its !asis in the
primary law of things---if he sought a designation for it he would say- 1It is /ustice itself'1
+e ac"nowledges under certain circumstances, which made him hesitate at first, that
there are other e:ually priileged ones$ as soon as he has settled this :uestion of ran", he
moes among those e:uals and e:ually priileged ones with the same assurance, as
regards modesty and delicate respect, which he en/oys in intercourse with himself--in
accordance with an innate heaenly mechanism which all the stars understand' It is an
,66ITION,4 instance of his egoism, this artfulness and self-limitation in intercourse
with his e:uals--eery star is a similar egoist$ he honours +I;S24% in them, and in the
rights which he concedes to them, he has no dou!t that the e<change of honours and
rights, as the 2SS2N#2 of all intercourse, !elongs also to the natural condition of things'
The no!le soul gies as he ta"es, prompted !y the passionate and sensitie instinct of
re:uital, which is at the root of his nature' The notion of 1faour1 has, INT29 P,92S,
neither significance nor good repute$ there may !e a su!lime way of letting gifts as it
were light upon one from a!oe, and of drin"ing them thirstily li"e dew-drops$ !ut for
those arts and displays the no!le soul has no aptitude' +is egoism hinders him here- in
general, he loo"s 1aloft1 unwillingly--he loo"s either %O9*,96, hori)ontally and
deli!erately, or downwards--+2 8NO*S T+,T +2 IS ON , +2IG+T'
ADD' 1One can only truly esteem him who does not 4OO8 OUT %O9 himself'1--Goethe
to 9ath Schlosser'
ADE' The #hinese hae a proer! which mothers een teach their children- 1SI,O-SIN1
.1;,82 T+7 +2,9T S;,4410' This is the essentially fundamental tendency in latter-
day ciili)ations' I hae no dou!t that an ancient Gree", also, would first of all remar" the
self-dwarfing in us 2uropeans of today--in this respect alone we should immediately !e
1distasteful1 to him'
AD?' *hat, after all, is igno!leness?--*ords are ocal sym!ols for ideas$ ideas, howeer,
are more or less definite mental sym!ols for fre:uently returning and concurring
sensations, for groups of sensations' It is not sufficient to use the same words in order to
understand one another- we must also employ the same words for the same "ind of
internal e<periences, we must in the end hae e<periences IN #O;;ON' On this
account the people of one nation understand one another !etter than those !elonging to
different nations, een when they use the same language$ or rather, when people hae
lied long together under similar conditions .of climate, soil, danger, re:uirement, toil0
there O9IGIN,T2S therefrom an entity that 1understands itself1--namely, a nation' In all
souls a li"e num!er of fre:uently recurring e<periences hae gained the upper hand oer
those occurring more rarely- a!out these matters people understand one another rapidly
and always more rapidly--the history of language is the history of a process of
a!!reiation$ on the !asis of this :uic" comprehension people always unite closer and
closer' The greater the danger, the greater is the need of agreeing :uic"ly and readily
a!out what is necessary$ not to misunderstand one another in danger--that is what cannot
at all !e dispensed with in intercourse' ,lso in all loes and friendships one has the
e<perience that nothing of the "ind continues when the discoery has !een made that in
using the same words, one of the two parties has feelings, thoughts, intuitions, wishes, or
fears different from those of the other' .The fear of the 1eternal misunderstanding1- that is
the good genius which so often "eeps persons of different se<es from too hasty
attachments, to which sense and heart prompt them--and NOT some Schopenhauerian
1genius of the species1&0 *hicheer groups of sensations within a soul awa"en most
readily, !egin to spea", and gie the word of command--these decide as to the general
order of ran" of its alues, and determine ultimately its list of desira!le things' , man5s
estimates of alue !etray something of the ST9U#TU92 of his soul, and wherein it sees
its conditions of life, its intrinsic needs' Supposing now that necessity has from all time
drawn together only such men as could e<press similar re:uirements and similar
e<periences !y similar sym!ols, it results on the whole that the easy
#O;;UNI#,(I4IT7 of need, which implies ultimately the undergoing only of aerage
and #O;;ON e<periences, must hae !een the most potent of all the forces which hae
hitherto operated upon man"ind' The more similar, the more ordinary people, hae
always had and are still haing the adantage$ the more select, more refined, more
uni:ue, and difficultly comprehensi!le, are lia!le to stand alone$ they succum! to
accidents in their isolation, and seldom propagate themseles' One must appeal to
immense opposing forces, in order to thwart this natural, all-too-natural P9OG92SSUS
IN SI;I42, the eolution of man to the similar, the ordinary, the aerage, the gregarious
--to the IGNO(42&--
ADF' The more a psychologist--a !orn, an unaoida!le psychologist and soul-diiner--
turns his attention to the more select cases and indiiduals, the greater is his danger of
!eing suffocated !y sympathy- he N226S sternness and cheerfulness more than any
other man' %or the corruption, the ruination of higher men, of the more unusually
constituted souls, is in fact, the rule- it is dreadful to hae such a rule always !efore one5s
eyes' The manifold torment of the psychologist who has discoered this ruination, who
discoers once, and then discoers ,4;OST repeatedly throughout all history, this
uniersal inner 1desperateness1 of higher men, this eternal 1too late&1 in eery sense--may
perhaps one day !e the cause of his turning with !itterness against his own lot, and of his
ma"ing an attempt at self-destruction--of his 1going to ruin1 himself' One may perceie
in almost eery psychologist a tell-tale inclination for delightful intercourse with
commonplace and well-ordered men$ the fact is there!y disclosed that he always re:uires
healing, that he needs a sort of flight and forgetfulness, away from what his insight and
incisieness--from what his 1!usiness1--has laid upon his conscience' The fear of his
memory is peculiar to him' +e is easily silenced !y the /udgment of others$ he hears with
unmoed countenance how people honour, admire, loe, and glorify, where he has
P29#2I326--or he een conceals his silence !y e<pressly assenting to some plausi!le
opinion' Perhaps the parado< of his situation !ecomes so dreadful that, precisely where
he has learnt G92,T S7;P,T+7, together with great #ONT2;PT, the multitude, the
educated, and the isionaries, hae on their part learnt great reerence--reerence for
1great men1 and marelous animals, for the sa"e of whom one !lesses and honours the
fatherland, the earth, the dignity of man"ind, and one5s own self, to whom one points the
young, and in iew of whom one educates them' ,nd who "nows !ut in all great
instances hitherto /ust the same happened- that the multitude worshipped a God, and that
the 1God1 was only a poor sacrificial animal& SU##2SS has always !een the greatest
liar--and the 1wor"1 itself is a success$ the great statesman, the con:ueror, the discoerer,
are disguised in their creations until they are unrecogni)a!le$ the 1wor"1 of the artist, of
the philosopher, only inents him who has created it, is 92PUT26 to hae created it$ the
1great men,1 as they are reerenced, are poor little fictions composed afterwards$ in the
world of historical alues spurious coinage P923,I4S' Those great poets, for e<ample,
such as (yron, ;usset, Poe, 4eopardi, 8leist, Gogol .I do not enture to mention much
greater names, !ut I hae them in my mind0, as they now appear, and were perhaps
o!liged to !e- men of the moment, enthusiastic, sensuous, and childish, light- minded and
impulsie in their trust and distrust$ with souls in which usually some flaw has to !e
concealed$ often ta"ing reenge with their wor"s for an internal defilement, often see"ing
forgetfulness in their soaring from a too true memory, often lost in the mud and almost in
loe with it, until they !ecome li"e the *ill-o5-the-*isps around the swamps, and
P92T2N6 TO (2 stars--the people then call them idealists,--often struggling with
protracted disgust, with an eer-reappearing phantom of dis!elief, which ma"es them
cold, and o!liges them to languish for G4O9I, and deour 1faith as it is1 out of the
hands of into<icated adulators---what a TO9;2NT these great artists are and the so-
called higher men in general, to him who has once found them out& It is thus conceia!le
that it is /ust from woman--who is clairoyant in the world of suffering, and also
unfortunately eager to help and sae to an e<tent far !eyond her powers--that T+27 hae
learnt so readily those out!rea"s of !oundless deoted S7;P,T+7, which the multitude,
a!oe all the reerent multitude, do not understand, and oerwhelm with prying and self-
gratifying interpretations' This sympathi)ing inaria!ly deceies itself as to its power$
woman would li"e to !eliee that loe can do 23297T+ING--it is the SUP29STITION
peculiar to her' ,las, he who "nows the heart finds out how poor, helpless, pretentious,
and !lundering een the !est and deepest loe is--he finds that it rather 62ST9O7S than
saes&--It is possi!le that under the holy fa!le and traesty of the life of =esus there is
hidden one of the most painful cases of the martyrdom of 8NO*426G2 ,(OUT
4O32- the martyrdom of the most innocent and most craing heart, that neer had
enough of any human loe, that 62;,N626 loe, that demanded ine<ora!ly and
frantically to !e loed and nothing else, with terri!le out!ursts against those who refused
him their loe$ the story of a poor soul insatiated and insatia!le in loe, that had to inent
hell to send thither those who *OU46 NOT loe him--and that at last, enlightened a!out
human loe, had to inent a God who is entire loe, entire #,P,#IT7 for loe--who
ta"es pity on human loe, !ecause it is so paltry, so ignorant& +e who has such
sentiments, he who has such 8NO*426G2 a!out loe--S228S for death&--(ut why
should one deal with such painful matters? Proided, of course, that one is not o!liged to
do so'
AEG' The intellectual haughtiness and loathing of eery man who has suffered deeply--it
almost determines the order of ran" +O* deeply men can suffer--the chilling certainty,
with which he is thoroughly im!ued and coloured, that !y irtue of his suffering he
8NO*S ;O92 than the shrewdest and wisest can eer "now, that he has !een familiar
with, and 1at home1 in, many distant, dreadful worlds of which 17OU "now nothing1&--
this silent intellectual haughtiness of the sufferer, this pride of the elect of "nowledge, of
the 1initiated,1 of the almost sacrificed, finds all forms of disguise necessary to protect
itself from contact with officious and sympathi)ing hands, and in general from all that is
not its e:ual in suffering' Profound suffering ma"es no!le- it separates'--One of the most
refined forms of disguise is 2picurism, along with a certain ostentatious !oldness of taste,
which ta"es suffering lightly, and puts itself on the defensie against all that is sorrowful
and profound' They are 1gay men1 who ma"e use of gaiety, !ecause they are
misunderstood on account of it--they *IS+ to !e misunderstood' There are 1scientific
minds1 who ma"e use of science, !ecause it gies a gay appearance, and !ecause
scientificness leads to the conclusion that a person is superficial--they *IS+ to mislead
to a false conclusion' There are free insolent minds which would fain conceal and deny
that they are !ro"en, proud, incura!le hearts .the cynicism of +amlet--the case of
Galiani0$ and occasionally folly itself is the mas" of an unfortunate O329- ,SSU926
"nowledge'--%rom which it follows that it is the part of a more refined humanity to hae
reerence 1for the mas",1 and not to ma"e use of psychology and curiosity in the wrong
place'
AE>' That which separates two men most profoundly is a different sense and grade of
purity' *hat does it matter a!out all their honesty and reciprocal usefulness, what does it
matter a!out all their mutual good-will- the fact still remains--they 1cannot smell each
other&1 The highest instinct for purity places him who is affected with it in the most
e<traordinary and dangerous isolation, as a saint- for it is /ust holiness--the highest
spirituali)ation of the instinct in :uestion' ,ny "ind of cogni)ance of an indescri!a!le
e<cess in the /oy of the !ath, any "ind of ardour or thirst which perpetually impels the
soul out of night into the morning, and out of gloom, out of 1affliction1 into clearness,
!rightness, depth, and refinement---/ust as much as such a tendency 6ISTINGUIS+2S--it
is a no!le tendency--it also S2P,9,T2S'--The pity of the saint is pity for the %I4T+ of
the human, all-too-human' ,nd there are grades and heights where pity itself is regarded
!y him as impurity, as filth'
AEA' Signs of no!ility- neer to thin" of lowering our duties to the ran" of duties for
eery!ody$ to !e unwilling to renounce or to share our responsi!ilities$ to count our
prerogaties, and the e<ercise of them, among our 6UTI2S'
AEB' , man who stries after great things, loo"s upon eery one whom he encounters on
his way either as a means of adance, or a delay and hindrance--or as a temporary
resting-place' +is peculiar lofty (OUNT7 to his fellow-men is only possi!le when he
attains his eleation and dominates' Impatience, and the consciousness of !eing always
condemned to comedy up to that time--for een strife is a comedy, and conceals the end,
as eery means does--spoil all intercourse for him$ this "ind of man is ac:uainted with
solitude, and what is most poisonous in it'
AEC' T+2 P9O(42; O% T+OS2 *+O *,IT'--+appy chances are necessary, and
many incalcula!le elements, in order that a higher man in whom the solution of a
pro!lem is dormant, may yet ta"e action, or 1!rea" forth,1 as one might say--at the right
moment' On an aerage it 6O2S NOT happen$ and in all corners of the earth there are
waiting ones sitting who hardly "now to what e<tent they are waiting, and still less that
they wait in ain' Occasionally, too, the wa"ing call comes too late--the chance which
gies 1permission1 to ta"e action--when their !est youth, and strength for action hae
!een used up in sitting still$ and how many a one, /ust as he 1sprang up,1 has found with
horror that his lim!s are !enum!ed and his spirits are now too heay& 1It is too late,1 he
has said to himself--and has !ecome self-distrustful and henceforth for eer useless'--In
the domain of genius, may not the 19aphael without hands1 .ta"ing the e<pression in its
widest sense0 perhaps not !e the e<ception, !ut the rule?--Perhaps genius is !y no means
so rare- !ut rather the fie hundred +,N6S which it re:uires in order to tyranni)e oer
the JG9228 INS29T26 +292K, 1the right time1--in order to ta"e chance !y the
foreloc"&
AE@' +e who does not *IS+ to see the height of a man, loo"s all the more sharply at
what is low in him, and in the foreground-- and there!y !etrays himself'
AED' In all "inds of in/ury and loss the lower and coarser soul is !etter off than the no!ler
soul- the dangers of the latter must !e greater, the pro!a!ility that it will come to grief
and perish is in fact immense, considering the multiplicity of the conditions of its
e<istence'--In a li)ard a finger grows again which has !een lost$ not so in man'--
AEE' It is too !ad& ,lways the old story& *hen a man has finished !uilding his house, he
finds that he has learnt unawares something which he OUG+T a!solutely to hae "nown
!efore he-- !egan to !uild' The eternal, fatal 1Too late&1 The melancholia of eerything
#O;P42T26&--
AE?'--*anderer, who art thou? I see thee follow thy path without scorn, without loe,
with unfathoma!le eyes, wet and sad as a plummet which has returned to the light
insatiated out of eery depth--what did it see" down there?--with a !osom that neer
sighs, with lips that conceal their loathing, with a hand which only slowly grasps- who art
thou? what hast thou done? 9est thee here- this place has hospitality for eery one--
refresh thyself& ,nd whoeer thou art, what is it that now pleases thee? *hat will sere to
refresh thee? Only name it, whateer I hae I offer thee& 1To refresh me? To refresh me?
Oh, thou prying one, what sayest thou& (ut gie me, I pray thee---1 *hat? what? Spea"
out& 1,nother mas"& , second mas"&1
AEF' ;en of profound sadness !etray themseles when they are happy- they hae a mode
of sei)ing upon happiness as though they would cho"e and strangle it, out of /ealousy--
ah, they "now only too well that it will flee from them&
A?G' 1(ad& (ad& *hat? 6oes he not--go !ac"?1 7es& (ut you misunderstand him when
you complain a!out it' +e goes !ac" li"e eery one who is a!out to ma"e a great spring'
A?>'--1*ill people !eliee it of me? (ut I insist that they !eliee it of me- I hae always
thought ery unsatisfactorily of myself and a!out myself, only in ery rare cases, only
compulsorily, always without delight in 5the su!/ect,5 ready to digress from 5myself,5 and
always without faith in the result, owing to an uncon:uera!le distrust of the
POSSI(I4IT7 of self- "nowledge, which has led me so far as to feel a #ONT9,6I#TIO
IN ,6=2#TO een in the idea of 5direct "nowledge5 which theorists allow themseles---
this matter of fact is almost the most certain thing I "now a!out myself' There must !e a
sort of repugnance in me to (24I232 anything definite a!out myself'--Is there perhaps
some enigma therein? Pro!a!ly$ !ut fortunately nothing for my own teeth'--Perhaps it
!etrays the species to which I !elong?--!ut not to myself, as is sufficiently agreea!le to
me'1
A?A'--1(ut what has happened to you?1--1I do not "now,1 he said, hesitatingly$ 1perhaps
the +arpies hae flown oer my ta!le'1--It sometimes happens nowadays that a gentle,
so!er, retiring man !ecomes suddenly mad, !rea"s the plates, upsets the ta!le, shrie"s,
raes, and shoc"s eery!ody--and finally withdraws, ashamed, and raging at himself--
whither? for what purpose? To famish apart? To suffocate with his memories?--To him
who has the desires of a lofty and dainty soul, and only seldom finds his ta!le laid and his
food prepared, the danger will always !e great--nowadays, howeer, it is e<traordinarily
so' Thrown into the midst of a noisy and ple!eian age, with which he does not li"e to eat
out of the same dish, he may readily perish of hunger and thirst--or, should he
neertheless finally 1fall to,1 of sudden nausea'--*e hae pro!a!ly all sat at ta!les to
which we did not !elong$ and precisely the most spiritual of us, who are most difficult to
nourish, "now the dangerous 67SP2PSI, which originates from a sudden insight and
disillusionment a!out our food and our messmates--the ,%T29-6INN29 N,US2,'
A?B' If one wishes to praise at all, it is a delicate and at the same time a no!le self-control,
to praise only where one 6O2S NOT agree--otherwise in fact one would praise oneself,
which is contrary to good taste---a self-control, to !e sure, which offers e<cellent
opportunity and proocation to constant ;ISUN629ST,N6ING' To !e a!le to allow
oneself this erita!le lu<ury of taste and morality, one must not lie among intellectual
im!eciles, !ut rather among men whose misunderstandings and mista"es amuse !y their
refinement--or one will hae to pay dearly for it&--1+e praises me, T+292%O92 he
ac"nowledges me to !e right1--this asinine method of inference spoils half of the life of
us recluses, for it !rings the asses into our neigh!ourhood and friendship'
A?C' To lie in a ast and proud tran:uility$ always !eyond ' ' ' To hae, or not to hae,
one5s emotions, one5s %or and ,gainst, according to choice$ to lower oneself to them for
hours$ to S2,T oneself on them as upon horses, and often as upon asses---for one must
"now how to ma"e use of their stupidity as well as of their fire' To consere one5s three
hundred foregrounds$ also one5s !lac" spectacles- for there are circumstances when
no!ody must loo" into our eyes, still less into our 1moties'1 ,nd to choose for company
that roguish and cheerful ice, politeness' ,nd to remain master of one5s four irtues,
courage, insight, sympathy, and solitude' %or solitude is a irtue with us, as a su!lime
!ent and !ias to purity, which diines that in the contact of man and man--1in society1--it
must !e unaoida!ly impure' ,ll society ma"es one somehow, somewhere, or
sometime--1commonplace'1
A?@' The greatest eents and thoughts--the greatest thoughts, howeer, are the greatest
eents--are longest in !eing comprehended- the generations which are contemporary with
them do not 2IP29I2N#2 such eents--they lie past them' Something happens there as
in the realm of stars' The light of the furthest stars is longest in reaching man$ and !efore
it has arried man 62NI2S--that there are stars there' 1+ow many centuries does a mind
re:uire to !e understood?1--that is also a standard, one also ma"es a gradation of ran"
and an eti:uette therewith, such as is necessary for mind and for star'
A?D' 1+ere is the prospect free, the mind e<alted'1 J%OOTNOT2- Goethe5s 1%aust,1 Part
II, ,ct 3' The words of 6r' ;arianus'K-- (ut there is a reerse "ind of man, who is also
upon a height, and has also a free prospect--!ut loo"s 6O*N*,96S'
A?E' *hat is no!le? *hat does the word 1no!le1 still mean for us nowadays? +ow does
the no!le man !etray himself, how is he recogni)ed under this heay oercast s"y of the
commencing ple!eianism, !y which eerything is rendered opa:ue and leaden?-- It is not
his actions which esta!lish his claim--actions are always am!iguous, always inscruta!le$
neither is it his 1wor"s'1 One finds nowadays among artists and scholars plenty of those
who !etray !y their wor"s that a profound longing for no!leness impels them$ !ut this
ery N226 of no!leness is radically different from the needs of the no!le soul itself, and
is in fact the elo:uent and dangerous sign of the lac" thereof' It is not the wor"s, !ut the
(24I2% which is here decisie and determines the order of ran"--to employ once more
an old religious formula with a new and deeper meaning--it is some fundamental
certainty which a no!le soul has a!out itself, something which is not to !e sought, is not
to !e found, and perhaps, also, is not to !e lost'--T+2 NO(42 SOU4 +,S
923292N#2 %O9 ITS24%'--
A??' There are men who are unaoida!ly intellectual, let them turn and twist themseles
as they will, and hold their hands !efore their treacherous eyes--as though the hand were
not a !etrayer$ it always comes out at last that they hae something which they hide--
namely, intellect' One of the su!tlest means of deceiing, at least as long as possi!le, and
of successfully representing oneself to !e stupider than one really is--which in eeryday
life is often as desira!le as an um!rella,--is called 2NT+USI,S;, including what
!elongs to it, for instance, irtue' %or as Galiani said, who was o!liged to "now it-
329TU 2ST 2NT+OUSI,S;2'
A?F' In the writings of a recluse one always hears something of the echo of the
wilderness, something of the murmuring tones and timid igilance of solitude$ in his
strongest words, een in his cry itself, there sounds a new and more dangerous "ind of
silence, of concealment' +e who has sat day and night, from year5s end to year5s end,
alone with his soul in familiar discord and discourse, he who has !ecome a cae-!ear, or
a treasure- see"er, or a treasure-guardian and dragon in his cae--it may !e a la!yrinth,
!ut can also !e a gold-mine--his ideas themseles eentually ac:uire a twilight-colour of
their own, and an odour, as much of the depth as of the mould, something
uncommunicatie and repulsie, which !lows chilly upon eery passer!y' The recluse
does not !eliee that a philosopher--supposing that a philosopher has always in the first
place !een a recluse--eer e<pressed his actual and ultimate opinions in !oo"s- are not
!oo"s written precisely to hide what is in us?--indeed, he will dou!t whether a
philosopher #,N hae 1ultimate and actual1 opinions at all$ whether !ehind eery cae
in him there is not, and must necessarily !e, a still deeper cae- an ampler, stranger, richer
world !eyond the surface, an a!yss !ehind eery !ottom, !eneath eery 1foundation'1
2ery philosophy is a foreground philosophy--this is a recluse5s erdict- 1There is
something ar!itrary in the fact that the P+I4OSOP+29 came to a stand here, too" a
retrospect, and loo"ed around$ that he +292 laid his spade aside and did not dig any
deeper--there is also something suspicious in it'1 2ery philosophy also #ON#2,4S a
philosophy$ eery opinion is also a 4U98ING-P4,#2, eery word is also a ;,S8'
AFG' 2ery deep thin"er is more afraid of !eing understood than of !eing misunderstood'
The latter perhaps wounds his anity$ !ut the former wounds his heart, his sympathy,
which always says- 1,h, why would you also hae as hard a time of it as I hae?1
AF>' ;an, a #O;P42I, mendacious, artful, and inscruta!le animal, uncanny to the other
animals !y his artifice and sagacity, rather than !y his strength, has inented the good
conscience in order finally to en/oy his soul as something SI;P42$ and the whole of
morality is a long, audacious falsification, !y irtue of which generally en/oyment at the
sight of the soul !ecomes possi!le' %rom this point of iew there is perhaps much more in
the conception of 1art1 than is generally !elieed'
AFA' , philosopher- that is a man who constantly e<periences, sees, hears, suspects,
hopes, and dreams e<traordinary things$ who is struc" !y his own thoughts as if they
came from the outside, from a!oe and !elow, as a species of eents and lightning-
flashes P2#U4I,9 TO +I;$ who is perhaps himself a storm pregnant with new
lightnings$ a portentous man, around whom there is always rum!ling and mum!ling and
gaping and something uncanny going on' , philosopher- alas, a !eing who often runs
away from himself, is often afraid of himself--!ut whose curiosity always ma"es him
1come to himself1 again'
AFB' , man who says- 1I li"e that, I ta"e it for my own, and mean to guard and protect it
from eery one1$ a man who can conduct a case, carry out a resolution, remain true to an
opinion, "eep hold of a woman, punish and oerthrow insolence$ a man who has his
indignation and his sword, and to whom the wea", the suffering, the oppressed, and een
the animals willingly su!mit and naturally !elong$ in short, a man who is a ;,ST29 !y
nature-- when such a man has sympathy, well& T+,T sympathy has alue& (ut of what
account is the sympathy of those who suffer& Or of those een who preach sympathy&
There is nowadays, throughout almost the whole of 2urope, a sic"ly irrita!ility and
sensitieness towards pain, and also a repulsie irrestraina!leness in complaining, an
effemini)ing, which, with the aid of religion and philosophical nonsense, see"s to dec"
itself out as something superior--there is a regular cult of suffering' The
UN;,N4IN2SS of that which is called 1sympathy1 !y such groups of isionaries, is
always, I !eliee, the first thing that stri"es the eye'--One must resolutely and radically
ta!oo this latest form of !ad taste$ and finally I wish people to put the good amulet, 1G,I
S,(291 .1gay science,1 in ordinary language0, on heart and nec", as a protection against
it'
AFC' T+2 O47;PI,N 3I#2'--6espite the philosopher who, as a genuine 2nglishman,
tried to !ring laughter into !ad repute in all thin"ing minds--14aughing is a !ad infirmity
of human nature, which eery thin"ing mind will strie to oercome1 .+o!!es0,--I would
een allow myself to ran" philosophers according to the :uality of their laughing--up to
those who are capa!le of GO462N laughter' ,nd supposing that Gods also philosophi)e,
which I am strongly inclined to !eliee, owing to many reasons--I hae no dou!t that
they also "now how to laugh there!y in an oerman-li"e and new fashion--and at the
e<pense of all serious things& Gods are fond of ridicule- it seems that they cannot refrain
from laughter een in holy matters'
AF@' The genius of the heart, as that great mysterious one possesses it, the tempter-god
and !orn rat-catcher of consciences, whose oice can descend into the nether-world of
eery soul, who neither spea"s a word nor casts a glance in which there may not !e some
motie or touch of allurement, to whose perfection it pertains that he "nows how to
appear,--not as he is, !ut in a guise which acts as an ,66ITION,4 constraint on his
followers to press eer closer to him, to follow him more cordially and thoroughly$--the
genius of the heart, which imposes silence and attention on eerything loud and self-
conceited, which smoothes rough souls and ma"es them taste a new longing--to lie placid
as a mirror, that the deep heaens may !e reflected in them$--the genius of the heart,
which teaches the clumsy and too hasty hand to hesitate, and to grasp more delicately$
which scents the hidden and forgotten treasure, the drop of goodness and sweet
spirituality under thic" dar" ice, and is a diining- rod for eery grain of gold, long !uried
and imprisoned in mud and sand$ the genius of the heart, from contact with which eery
one goes away richer$ not faoured or surprised, not as though gratified and oppressed !y
the good things of others$ !ut richer in himself, newer than !efore, !ro"en up, !lown
upon, and sounded !y a thawing wind$ more uncertain, perhaps, more delicate, more
fragile, more !ruised, !ut full of hopes which as yet lac" names, full of a new will and
current, full of a new ill-will and counter-current ' ' ' !ut what am I doing, my friends? Of
whom am I tal"ing to you? +ae I forgotten myself so far that I hae not een told you
his name? Unless it !e that you hae already diined of your own accord who this
:uestiona!le God and spirit is, that wishes to !e P9,IS26 in such a manner? %or, as it
happens to eery one who from childhood onward has always !een on his legs, and in
foreign lands, I hae also encountered on my path many strange and dangerous spirits$
a!oe all, howeer, and again and again, the one of whom I hae /ust spo"en- in fact, no
less a personage than the God 6ION7SUS, the great e:uiocator and tempter, to whom,
as you "now, I once offered in all secrecy and reerence my first-fruits--the last, as it
seems to me, who has offered a S,#9I%I#2 to him, for I hae found no one who could
understand what I was then doing' In the meantime, howeer, I hae learned much, far
too much, a!out the philosophy of this God, and, as I said, from mouth to mouth--I, the
last disciple and initiate of the God 6ionysus- and perhaps I might at last !egin to gie
you, my friends, as far as I am allowed, a little taste of this philosophy? In a hushed
oice, as is !ut seemly- for it has to do with much that is secret, new, strange, wonderful,
and uncanny' The ery fact that 6ionysus is a philosopher, and that therefore Gods also
philosophi)e, seems to me a noelty which is not unensnaring, and might perhaps arouse
suspicion precisely among philosophers$--among you, my friends, there is less to !e said
against it, e<cept that it comes too late and not at the right time$ for, as it has !een
disclosed to me, you are loth nowadays to !eliee in God and gods' It may happen, too,
that in the fran"ness of my story I must go further than is agreea!le to the strict usages of
your ears? #ertainly the God in :uestion went further, ery much further, in such
dialogues, and was always many paces ahead of me ' ' ' Indeed, if it were allowed, I
should hae to gie him, according to human usage, fine ceremonious tides of lustre and
merit, I should hae to e<tol his courage as inestigator and discoerer, his fearless
honesty, truthfulness, and loe of wisdom' (ut such a God does not "now what to do with
all that respecta!le trumpery and pomp' 18eep that,1 he would say, 1for thyself and those
li"e thee, and whoeer else re:uire it& I--hae no reason to coer my na"edness&1 One
suspects that this "ind of diinity and philosopher perhaps lac"s shame?--+e once said-
1Under certain circumstances I loe man"ind1--and referred there!y to ,riadne, who was
present$ 1in my opinion man is an agreea!le, !rae, inentie animal, that has not his
e:ual upon earth, he ma"es his way een through all la!yrinths' I li"e man, and often
thin" how I can still further adance him, and ma"e him stronger, more eil, and more
profound'1--1Stronger, more eil, and more profound?1 I as"ed in horror' 17es,1 he said
again, 1stronger, more eil, and more profound$ also more !eautiful1--and there!y the
tempter-god smiled with his halcyon smile, as though he had /ust paid some charming
compliment' One here sees at once that it is not only shame that this diinity lac"s$--and
in general there are good grounds for supposing that in some things the Gods could all of
them come to us men for instruction' *e men are--more human'--
AFD' ,las& what are you, after all, my written and painted thoughts& Not long ago you
were so ariegated, young and malicious, so full of thorns and secret spices, that you
made me snee)e and laugh--and now? 7ou hae already doffed your noelty, and some of
you, I fear, are ready to !ecome truths, so immortal do they loo", so pathetically honest,
so tedious& ,nd was it eer otherwise? *hat then do we write and paint, we mandarins
with #hinese !rush, we immortalisers of things which 42N6 themseles to writing, what
are we alone capa!le of painting? ,las, only that which is /ust a!out to fade and !egins to
lose its odour& ,las, only e<hausted and departing storms and !elated yellow sentiments&
,las, only !irds strayed and fatigued !y flight, which now let themseles !e captured
with the hand--with OU9 hand& *e immortali)e what cannot lie and fly much longer,
things only which are e<hausted and mellow& ,nd it is only for your ,%T29NOON, you,
my written and painted thoughts, for which alone I hae colours, many colours, perhaps,
many ariegated softenings, and fifty yellows and !rowns and greens and reds$-- !ut
no!ody will diine there!y how ye loo"ed in your morning, you sudden spar"s and
marels of my solitude, you, my old, !eloed-- 23I4 thoughts&
>'
;I66,7 of 4ife& Oh, season of delight&
;y summer5s par"&
Uneaseful /oy to loo", to lur", to har"N
I peer for friends, am ready day and night,N
*here linger ye, my friends? The time is right&
A'
Is not the glacier5s grey today for you
9ose-garlanded?
The !roo"let see"s you, wind, cloud, with longing thread
,nd thrust themseles yet higher to the !lue,
To spy for you from farthest eagle5s iew
B'
;y ta!le was spread out for you on highN
*ho dwelleth so
Star-near, so near the grisly pit !elow?N
;y realmNwhat realm hath wider !oundary?
;y honeyNwho hath sipped its fragrancy?
C'
%riends, ye are there& *oe me,Nyet I am not
+e whom ye see"?
7e stare and stopN!etter your wrath could spea"&
I am not I? +and, gait, face, changed? ,nd what
I am, to you my friends, now am I not?
@'
,m I an other? Strange am I to ;e?
7et from ;e sprung?
, wrestler, !y himself too oft self-wrung?
+indering too oft my own self5s potency,
*ounded and hampered !y self-ictory?
D'
I sought where-so the wind !lows "eenest' There
I learned to dwell
*here no man dwells, on lonesome ice-lorn fell,
,nd unlearned ;an and God and curse and prayer?
(ecame a ghost haunting the glaciers !are?
E'
7e, my old friends& 4oo"& 7e turn pale, filled o5er
*ith loe and fear&
Go& 7et not in wrath' 7e could ne5er lie here'
+ere in the farthest realm of ice and scaur,
, huntsman must one !e, li"e chamois soar'
?'
,n eil huntsman was I? See how taut
;y !ow was !ent&
Strongest was he !y whom such !olt were sentN
*oe now& That arrow is with peril fraught,
Perilous as none'N+ae yon safe home ye sought&
F'
7e go& Thou didst endure enough, oh, heart$N
Strong was thy hope$
Unto new friends thy portals widely ope,
4et old ones !e' (id memory depart&
*ast thou young then, nowN!etter young thou art&
>G'
*hat lin"ed us once together, one hope5s tieN
.*ho now doth con
Those lines, now fading, 4oe once wrote thereon?0N
Is li"e a parchment, which the hand is shy
To touchNli"e crac"ling leaes, all seared, all dry'
>>'
Oh& %riends no more& They areNwhat name for those?N
%riends5 phantom-flight
8noc"ing at my heart5s window-pane at night,
Ga)ing on me, that spea"s 1*e were1 and goes,N
Oh, withered words, once fragrant as the rose&
>A'
Pinings of youth that might not understand&
%or which I pined,
*hich I deemed changed with me, "in of my "ind-
(ut they grew old, and thus were doomed and !anned-
None !ut new "ith are natie of my land&
>B'
;idday of life& ;y second youth5s delight&
;y summer5s par"&
Unrestful /oy to long, to lur", to har"&
I peer for friends&Nam ready day and night,
%or my new friends' #ome& #ome& The time is right&
>C'
This song is done,Nthe sweet sad cry of rue
Sang out its end$
, wi)ard wrought it, he the timely friend,
The midday-friend,Nno, do not as" me who$
,t midday 5twas, when one !ecame as two'
>@'
*e "eep our %east of %easts, sure of our !ourne,
Our aims self-same-
The Guest of Guests, friend Marathustra, came&
The world now laughs, the grisly eil was torn,
,nd 4ight and 6ar" were one that wedding-morn'