Reading Help Beyond good and evil
both, of course, to the scholar and to the old maid, one concedes `
` respectability, as if by way of indemnification--in these cases `
` one emphasizes the respectability--and yet, in the compulsion of `
` this concession, one has the same admixture of vexation. Let us `
` examine more closely: what is the scientific man? Firstly, a `
` commonplace type of man, with commonplace virtues: that is to `
` say, a non-ruling, non-authoritative, and non-self-sufficient `
` type of man; he possesses industry, patient adaptableness to rank `
` and file, equability and moderation in capacity and requirement; `
` he has the instinct for people like himself, and for that which `
` they require--for instance: the portion of independence and green `
` meadow without which there is no rest from labour, the claim to `
` honour and consideration (which first and foremost presupposes `
` recognition and recognisability), the sunshine of a good name, `
` the perpetual ratification of his value and usefulness, with `
` which the inward DISTRUST which lies at the bottom of the heart `
` of all dependent men and gregarious animals, has again and again `
` to be overcome. The learned man, as is appropriate, has also `
` maladies and faults of an ignoble kind: he is full of petty envy, `
` and has a lynx-eye for the weak points in those natures to whose `
` elevations he cannot attain. He is confiding, yet only as one who `
` lets himself go, but does not FLOW; and precisely before the man `
` of the great current he stands all the colder and more reserved-- `
` his eye is then like a smooth and irresponsive lake, which is no `
` longer moved by rapture or sympathy. The worst and most dangerous `
` thing of which a scholar is capable results from the instinct of `
` mediocrity of his type, from the Jesuitism of mediocrity, which `
` labours instinctively for the destruction of the exceptional man, `
` and endeavours to break--or still better, to relax--every bent `
` bow To relax, of course, with consideration, and naturally with `
` an indulgent hand--to RELAX with confiding sympathy that is the `
` real art of Jesuitism, which has always understood how to `
` introduce itself as the religion of sympathy. `
` `
` 207. However gratefully one may welcome the OBJECTIVE spirit--and `
` who has not been sick to death of all subjectivity and its `
` confounded IPSISIMOSITY!--in the end, however, one must learn `
` caution even with regard to one's gratitude, and put a stop to `
` the exaggeration with which the unselfing and depersonalizing of `
` the spirit has recently been celebrated, as if it were the goal `
` in itself, as if it were salvation 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 "disinterested knowledge" The objective man, who no longer `
` curses and scolds like the pessimist, the IDEAL man of learning `
` in whom the scientific instinct blossoms forth fully after a `
` thousand complete and partial failures, is assuredly one of the `
` most costly instruments that exist, but his place is in the hand `
` of one who is more powerful He is only an instrument, we may say, `
` he is a MIRROR--he is no "purpose in himself" The objective man `
` is in truth a mirror accustomed to prostration before everything `
` that wants to be known, with such desires only as knowing or `
` "reflecting" implies--he waits until something comes, and then `
` expands himself sensitively, so that even the light footsteps and `
` gliding-past of spiritual beings may not be lost on his surface `
` and film Whatever "personality" he still possesses seems to him `
` accidental, arbitrary, or still oftener, disturbing, so much has `
` he come to regard himself as the passage and reflection of `
` outside forms and events He calls up the recollection of `
` "himself" with an effort, and not infrequently wrongly, he `
` readily confounds himself with other persons, he makes mistakes `
` with regard to his own needs, and here only is he unrefined and `
` negligent Perhaps he is troubled about the health, or the `
` pettiness and confined atmosphere of wife and friend, or the lack `
` of companions and society--indeed, he sets himself to reflect on `
` his suffering, but in vain! His thoughts already rove away to the `
` MORE GENERAL case, and tomorrow he knows as little as he knew `
` yesterday how to help himself He does not now take himself `
` seriously and devote time to himself he is serene, NOT from lack `
` of trouble, but from lack of capacity for grasping and dealing `
` with HIS trouble The habitual complaisance with respect to all `
` objects and experiences, the radiant and impartial hospitality `
` with which he receives everything that comes his way, his habit `
` of inconsiderate good-nature, of dangerous indifference as to Yea `
` and Nay: alas! there are enough of cases in which he has to atone `
` for these virtues of his!--and as man generally, he becomes far `
` too easily the CAPUT MORTUUM of such virtues. Should one wish `
` love or hatred from him--I mean love and hatred as God, woman, `
` and animal understand them--he will do what he can, and furnish `
` what he can. But one must not be surprised if it should not be `
` much--if he should show himself just at this point to be false, `
` fragile, questionable, and deteriorated. His love is constrained, `
` his hatred is artificial, and rather UNN TOUR DE FORCE, a slight `
` ostentation and exaggeration. He is only genuine so far as he can `
` be objective; only in his serene totality is he still "nature" `
` and "natural." His mirroring and eternally self-polishing soul no `
` longer knows how to affirm, no longer how to deny; he does not `
` command; neither does he destroy. "JE NE MEPRISE PRESQUE RIEN"-- `
` he says, with Leibniz: let us not overlook nor undervalue the `
` PRESQUE! Neither is he a model man; he does not go in advance of `
` any one, nor after, either; he places himself generally too far `
` off to have any reason for espousing the cause of either good or `
` evil. If he has been so long confounded with the PHILOSOPHER, `
` with the Caesarian trainer and dictator of civilization, he has `
` had far too much honour, and what is more essential in him has `
` been overlooked--he is an instrument, something of a slave, `
` though certainly the sublimest sort of slave, but nothing in `
` himself--PRESQUE RIEN! The objective man is an instrument, a `
` costly, easily injured, easily tarnished measuring instrument and `
` mirroring apparatus, which is to be taken care of and respected; `
` but he is no goal, not outgoing nor upgoing, no complementary man `
` in whom the REST of existence justifies itself, no termination-- `
` and still less a commencement, an engendering, or primary cause, `
` nothing hardy, powerful, self-centred, that wants to be master; `
` but rather only a soft, inflated, delicate, movable potter's- `
` form, that must wait for some kind of content and frame to `
` "shape" itself thereto--for the most part a man without frame and `
` content, a "selfless" man. Consequently, also, nothing for women, `
` IN PARENTHESI. `
` `
` 208. When a philosopher nowadays makes known that he is not a `
` skeptic--I hope that has been gathered from the foregoing `
` description of the objective spirit?--people all hear it `
` impatiently; they regard him on that account with some `
` apprehension, they would like to ask so many, many questions . . . `
` indeed among timid hearers, of whom there are now so many, he is `
` henceforth said to be dangerous. With his repudiation of `
` skepticism, it seems to them as if they heard some evil- `
` threatening sound in the distance, as if a new kind of explosive `
` were being tried somewhere, a dynamite of the spirit, perhaps a `
` newly discovered Russian NIHILINE, a pessimism BONAE VOLUNTATIS, `
` that not only denies, means denial, but-dreadful thought! `
` PRACTISES denial. Against this kind of "good-will"--a will to the `
` veritable, actual negation of life--there is, as is generally `
` acknowledged nowadays, no better soporific and sedative than `
` skepticism, the mild, pleasing, lulling poppy of skepticism; and `
` Hamlet himself is now prescribed by the doctors of the day as an `
` antidote to the "spirit," and its underground noises. "Are not `
` our ears already full of bad sounds?" say the skeptics, as lovers `
` of repose, and almost as a kind of safety police; "this `
` subterranean Nay is terrible! Be still, ye pessimistic moles!" `
` The skeptic, in effect, that delicate creature, is far too easily `
` frightened; his conscience is schooled so as to start at every `
` Nay, and even at that sharp, decided Yea, and feels something `
` like a bite thereby. Yea! and Nay!--they seem to him opposed to `
` morality; he loves, on the contrary, to make a festival to his `
` virtue by a noble aloofness, while perhaps he says with `
` Montaigne: "What do I know?" Or with Socrates: "I know that I `
` know nothing." Or: "Here I do not trust myself, no door is open `
` to me." Or: "Even if the door were open, why should I enter `
` immediately?" Or: "What is the use of any hasty hypotheses? It `
` might quite well be in good taste to make no hypotheses at all. `
` Are you absolutely obliged to straighten at once what is crooked? `
` to stuff every hole with some kind of oakum? Is there not time `
` enough for that? Has not the time leisure? Oh, ye demons, can ye `
` not at all WAIT? The uncertain also has its charms, the Sphinx, `
` too, is a Circe, and Circe, too, was a philosopher."--Thus does a `
` skeptic console himself; and in truth he needs some consolation. `
` For skepticism is the most spiritual expression of a certain `
` many-sided physiological temperament, which in ordinary language `
` is called nervous debility and sickliness; it arises whenever `
` races or classes which have been long separated, decisively and `
` suddenly blend with one another. In the new generation, which has `
` inherited as it were different standards and valuations in its `
` blood, everything is disquiet, derangement, doubt, and `
` tentativeness; the best powers operate restrictively, the very `
` virtues prevent each other growing and becoming strong, `
` equilibrium, ballast, and perpendicular stability are lacking in `
` body and soul. That, however, which is most diseased and `
` degenerated in such nondescripts is the WILL; they are no longer `
` familiar with independence of decision, or the courageous feeling `
` of pleasure in willing--they are doubtful of the "freedom of the `
` will" even in their dreams Our present-day Europe, the scene of a `
` senseless, precipitate attempt at a radical blending of classes, `
` and CONSEQUENTLY of races, is therefore skeptical in all its `
` heights and depths, sometimes exhibiting the mobile skepticism `
` which springs impatiently and wantonly from branch to branch, `
` sometimes with gloomy aspect, like a cloud over-charged with `
` interrogative signs--and often sick unto death of its will! `
` Paralysis of will, where do we not find this cripple sitting `
` nowadays! And yet how bedecked oftentimes' How seductively `
` 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 "objectiveness," "the scientific `
` spirit," "L'ART POUR L'ART," and "pure voluntary knowledge," is `
` only decked-out skepticism and paralysis of will--I am ready to `
` answer for this diagnosis of the European disease--The disease of `
` the will is diffused unequally over Europe, it is worst and most `
` varied where civilization has longest prevailed, it decreases `
` according as "the barbarian" still--or again--asserts his claims `
` under the loose drapery of Western culture It is therefore in the `
` France of today, as can be readily disclosed and comprehended, `
` that the will is most infirm, and France, which has always had a `
` masterly aptitude for converting even the portentous crises of `
` its spirit into something charming and seductive, now manifests `
` emphatically its intellectual ascendancy over Europe, by being `
` the school and exhibition of all the charms of skepticism The `
` power to will and to persist, moreover, in a resolution, is `
` already somewhat stronger in Germany, and again in the North of `
` Germany it is stronger than in Central Germany, it is `
` considerably stronger in England, Spain, and Corsica, associated `
` with phlegm in the former and with hard skulls in the latter--not `
` to mention Italy, which is too young yet to know what it wants, `
` and must first show whether it can exercise will, but it is `
` strongest and most surprising of all in that immense middle `
` empire where Europe as it were flows back to Asia--namely, in `
` Russia There the power to will has been long stored up and `
` accumulated, there the will--uncertain whether to be negative or `
` affirmative--waits threateningly to be discharged (to borrow `
` their pet phrase from our physicists) Perhaps not only Indian `
` wars and complications in Asia would be necessary to free Europe `
`
` respectability, as if by way of indemnification--in these cases `
` one emphasizes the respectability--and yet, in the compulsion of `
` this concession, one has the same admixture of vexation. Let us `
` examine more closely: what is the scientific man? Firstly, a `
` commonplace type of man, with commonplace virtues: that is to `
` say, a non-ruling, non-authoritative, and non-self-sufficient `
` type of man; he possesses industry, patient adaptableness to rank `
` and file, equability and moderation in capacity and requirement; `
` he has the instinct for people like himself, and for that which `
` they require--for instance: the portion of independence and green `
` meadow without which there is no rest from labour, the claim to `
` honour and consideration (which first and foremost presupposes `
` recognition and recognisability), the sunshine of a good name, `
` the perpetual ratification of his value and usefulness, with `
` which the inward DISTRUST which lies at the bottom of the heart `
` of all dependent men and gregarious animals, has again and again `
` to be overcome. The learned man, as is appropriate, has also `
` maladies and faults of an ignoble kind: he is full of petty envy, `
` and has a lynx-eye for the weak points in those natures to whose `
` elevations he cannot attain. He is confiding, yet only as one who `
` lets himself go, but does not FLOW; and precisely before the man `
` of the great current he stands all the colder and more reserved-- `
` his eye is then like a smooth and irresponsive lake, which is no `
` longer moved by rapture or sympathy. The worst and most dangerous `
` thing of which a scholar is capable results from the instinct of `
` mediocrity of his type, from the Jesuitism of mediocrity, which `
` labours instinctively for the destruction of the exceptional man, `
` and endeavours to break--or still better, to relax--every bent `
` bow To relax, of course, with consideration, and naturally with `
` an indulgent hand--to RELAX with confiding sympathy that is the `
` real art of Jesuitism, which has always understood how to `
` introduce itself as the religion of sympathy. `
` `
` 207. However gratefully one may welcome the OBJECTIVE spirit--and `
` who has not been sick to death of all subjectivity and its `
` confounded IPSISIMOSITY!--in the end, however, one must learn `
` caution even with regard to one's gratitude, and put a stop to `
` the exaggeration with which the unselfing and depersonalizing of `
` the spirit has recently been celebrated, as if it were the goal `
` in itself, as if it were salvation 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 "disinterested knowledge" The objective man, who no longer `
` curses and scolds like the pessimist, the IDEAL man of learning `
` in whom the scientific instinct blossoms forth fully after a `
` thousand complete and partial failures, is assuredly one of the `
` most costly instruments that exist, but his place is in the hand `
` of one who is more powerful He is only an instrument, we may say, `
` he is a MIRROR--he is no "purpose in himself" The objective man `
` is in truth a mirror accustomed to prostration before everything `
` that wants to be known, with such desires only as knowing or `
` "reflecting" implies--he waits until something comes, and then `
` expands himself sensitively, so that even the light footsteps and `
` gliding-past of spiritual beings may not be lost on his surface `
` and film Whatever "personality" he still possesses seems to him `
` accidental, arbitrary, or still oftener, disturbing, so much has `
` he come to regard himself as the passage and reflection of `
` outside forms and events He calls up the recollection of `
` "himself" with an effort, and not infrequently wrongly, he `
` readily confounds himself with other persons, he makes mistakes `
` with regard to his own needs, and here only is he unrefined and `
` negligent Perhaps he is troubled about the health, or the `
` pettiness and confined atmosphere of wife and friend, or the lack `
` of companions and society--indeed, he sets himself to reflect on `
` his suffering, but in vain! His thoughts already rove away to the `
` MORE GENERAL case, and tomorrow he knows as little as he knew `
` yesterday how to help himself He does not now take himself `
` seriously and devote time to himself he is serene, NOT from lack `
` of trouble, but from lack of capacity for grasping and dealing `
` with HIS trouble The habitual complaisance with respect to all `
` objects and experiences, the radiant and impartial hospitality `
` with which he receives everything that comes his way, his habit `
` of inconsiderate good-nature, of dangerous indifference as to Yea `
` and Nay: alas! there are enough of cases in which he has to atone `
` for these virtues of his!--and as man generally, he becomes far `
` too easily the CAPUT MORTUUM of such virtues. Should one wish `
` love or hatred from him--I mean love and hatred as God, woman, `
` and animal understand them--he will do what he can, and furnish `
` what he can. But one must not be surprised if it should not be `
` much--if he should show himself just at this point to be false, `
` fragile, questionable, and deteriorated. His love is constrained, `
` his hatred is artificial, and rather UNN TOUR DE FORCE, a slight `
` ostentation and exaggeration. He is only genuine so far as he can `
` be objective; only in his serene totality is he still "nature" `
` and "natural." His mirroring and eternally self-polishing soul no `
` longer knows how to affirm, no longer how to deny; he does not `
` command; neither does he destroy. "JE NE MEPRISE PRESQUE RIEN"-- `
` he says, with Leibniz: let us not overlook nor undervalue the `
` PRESQUE! Neither is he a model man; he does not go in advance of `
` any one, nor after, either; he places himself generally too far `
` off to have any reason for espousing the cause of either good or `
` evil. If he has been so long confounded with the PHILOSOPHER, `
` with the Caesarian trainer and dictator of civilization, he has `
` had far too much honour, and what is more essential in him has `
` been overlooked--he is an instrument, something of a slave, `
` though certainly the sublimest sort of slave, but nothing in `
` himself--PRESQUE RIEN! The objective man is an instrument, a `
` costly, easily injured, easily tarnished measuring instrument and `
` mirroring apparatus, which is to be taken care of and respected; `
` but he is no goal, not outgoing nor upgoing, no complementary man `
` in whom the REST of existence justifies itself, no termination-- `
` and still less a commencement, an engendering, or primary cause, `
` nothing hardy, powerful, self-centred, that wants to be master; `
` but rather only a soft, inflated, delicate, movable potter's- `
` form, that must wait for some kind of content and frame to `
` "shape" itself thereto--for the most part a man without frame and `
` content, a "selfless" man. Consequently, also, nothing for women, `
` IN PARENTHESI. `
` `
` 208. When a philosopher nowadays makes known that he is not a `
` skeptic--I hope that has been gathered from the foregoing `
` description of the objective spirit?--people all hear it `
` impatiently; they regard him on that account with some `
` apprehension, they would like to ask so many, many questions . . . `
` indeed among timid hearers, of whom there are now so many, he is `
` henceforth said to be dangerous. With his repudiation of `
` skepticism, it seems to them as if they heard some evil- `
` threatening sound in the distance, as if a new kind of explosive `
` were being tried somewhere, a dynamite of the spirit, perhaps a `
` newly discovered Russian NIHILINE, a pessimism BONAE VOLUNTATIS, `
` that not only denies, means denial, but-dreadful thought! `
` PRACTISES denial. Against this kind of "good-will"--a will to the `
` veritable, actual negation of life--there is, as is generally `
` acknowledged nowadays, no better soporific and sedative than `
` skepticism, the mild, pleasing, lulling poppy of skepticism; and `
` Hamlet himself is now prescribed by the doctors of the day as an `
` antidote to the "spirit," and its underground noises. "Are not `
` our ears already full of bad sounds?" say the skeptics, as lovers `
` of repose, and almost as a kind of safety police; "this `
` subterranean Nay is terrible! Be still, ye pessimistic moles!" `
` The skeptic, in effect, that delicate creature, is far too easily `
` frightened; his conscience is schooled so as to start at every `
` Nay, and even at that sharp, decided Yea, and feels something `
` like a bite thereby. Yea! and Nay!--they seem to him opposed to `
` morality; he loves, on the contrary, to make a festival to his `
` virtue by a noble aloofness, while perhaps he says with `
` Montaigne: "What do I know?" Or with Socrates: "I know that I `
` know nothing." Or: "Here I do not trust myself, no door is open `
` to me." Or: "Even if the door were open, why should I enter `
` immediately?" Or: "What is the use of any hasty hypotheses? It `
` might quite well be in good taste to make no hypotheses at all. `
` Are you absolutely obliged to straighten at once what is crooked? `
` to stuff every hole with some kind of oakum? Is there not time `
` enough for that? Has not the time leisure? Oh, ye demons, can ye `
` not at all WAIT? The uncertain also has its charms, the Sphinx, `
` too, is a Circe, and Circe, too, was a philosopher."--Thus does a `
` skeptic console himself; and in truth he needs some consolation. `
` For skepticism is the most spiritual expression of a certain `
` many-sided physiological temperament, which in ordinary language `
` is called nervous debility and sickliness; it arises whenever `
` races or classes which have been long separated, decisively and `
` suddenly blend with one another. In the new generation, which has `
` inherited as it were different standards and valuations in its `
` blood, everything is disquiet, derangement, doubt, and `
` tentativeness; the best powers operate restrictively, the very `
` virtues prevent each other growing and becoming strong, `
` equilibrium, ballast, and perpendicular stability are lacking in `
` body and soul. That, however, which is most diseased and `
` degenerated in such nondescripts is the WILL; they are no longer `
` familiar with independence of decision, or the courageous feeling `
` of pleasure in willing--they are doubtful of the "freedom of the `
` will" even in their dreams Our present-day Europe, the scene of a `
` senseless, precipitate attempt at a radical blending of classes, `
` and CONSEQUENTLY of races, is therefore skeptical in all its `
` heights and depths, sometimes exhibiting the mobile skepticism `
` which springs impatiently and wantonly from branch to branch, `
` sometimes with gloomy aspect, like a cloud over-charged with `
` interrogative signs--and often sick unto death of its will! `
` Paralysis of will, where do we not find this cripple sitting `
` nowadays! And yet how bedecked oftentimes' How seductively `
` 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 "objectiveness," "the scientific `
` spirit," "L'ART POUR L'ART," and "pure voluntary knowledge," is `
` only decked-out skepticism and paralysis of will--I am ready to `
` answer for this diagnosis of the European disease--The disease of `
` the will is diffused unequally over Europe, it is worst and most `
` varied where civilization has longest prevailed, it decreases `
` according as "the barbarian" still--or again--asserts his claims `
` under the loose drapery of Western culture It is therefore in the `
` France of today, as can be readily disclosed and comprehended, `
` that the will is most infirm, and France, which has always had a `
` masterly aptitude for converting even the portentous crises of `
` its spirit into something charming and seductive, now manifests `
` emphatically its intellectual ascendancy over Europe, by being `
` the school and exhibition of all the charms of skepticism The `
` power to will and to persist, moreover, in a resolution, is `
` already somewhat stronger in Germany, and again in the North of `
` Germany it is stronger than in Central Germany, it is `
` considerably stronger in England, Spain, and Corsica, associated `
` with phlegm in the former and with hard skulls in the latter--not `
` to mention Italy, which is too young yet to know what it wants, `
` and must first show whether it can exercise will, but it is `
` strongest and most surprising of all in that immense middle `
` empire where Europe as it were flows back to Asia--namely, in `
` Russia There the power to will has been long stored up and `
` accumulated, there the will--uncertain whether to be negative or `
` affirmative--waits threateningly to be discharged (to borrow `
` their pet phrase from our physicists) Perhaps not only Indian `
` wars and complications in Asia would be necessary to free Europe `
`