Reading Help Beyond good and evil
ruin, its inventiveness and bravery in undergoing, enduring, `
` interpreting, and exploiting misfortune, and whatever depth, `
` mystery, disguise, spirit, artifice, or greatness has been `
` bestowed upon the soul--has it not been bestowed through `
` suffering, through the discipline of great suffering? In man `
` CREATURE and CREATOR are united: in man there is not only matter, `
` shred, excess, clay, mire, folly, chaos; but there is also the `
` creator, the sculptor, the hardness of the hammer, the divinity `
` of the spectator, and the seventh day--do ye understand this `
` contrast? And that YOUR sympathy for the "creature in man" `
` applies to that which has to be fashioned, bruised, forged, `
` stretched, roasted, annealed, refined--to that which must `
` necessarily SUFFER, and IS MEANT to suffer? And our sympathy--do `
` ye not understand what our REVERSE sympathy applies to, when it `
` resists your sympathy as the worst of all pampering and `
` enervation?--So it is sympathy AGAINST sympathy!--But to repeat `
` it once more, there are higher problems than the problems of `
` pleasure and pain and sympathy; and all systems of philosophy `
` which deal only with these are naivetes. `
` `
` 226. WE IMMORALISTS.-This world with which WE are concerned, in `
` which we have to fear and love, this almost invisible, inaudible `
` world of delicate command and delicate obedience, a world of `
` "almost" in every respect, captious, insidious, sharp, and `
` tender--yes, it is well protected from clumsy spectators and `
` familiar curiosity! We are woven into a strong net and garment of `
` duties, and CANNOT disengage ourselves--precisely here, we are `
` "men of duty," even we! Occasionally, it is true, we dance in our `
` "chains" and betwixt our "swords"; 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. But do what we will, `
` fools and appearances say of us: "These are men WITHOUT duty,"-- `
` we have always fools and appearances against us! `
` `
` 227. Honesty, granting that it is the virtue of which we cannot `
` rid ourselves, we free spirits--well, we will labour at it with `
` all our perversity and love, and not tire of "perfecting" `
` ourselves in OUR virtue, which alone remains: may its glance some `
` day overspread like a gilded, blue, mocking twilight this aging `
` civilization with its dull gloomy seriousness! And if, `
` nevertheless, our honesty should one day grow weary, and sigh, `
` and stretch its limbs, and find us too hard, and would fain have `
` it pleasanter, easier, and gentler, like an agreeable vice, let `
` us remain HARD, we latest Stoics, and let us send to its help `
` whatever devilry we have in us:--our disgust at the clumsy and `
` undefined, our "NITIMUR IN VETITUM," our love of adventure, our `
` sharpened and fastidious curiosity, our most subtle, disguised, `
` intellectual Will to Power and universal conquest, which rambles `
` and roves avidiously around all the realms of the future--let us `
` go with all our "devils" to the help of our "God"! It is probable `
` that people will misunderstand and mistake us on that account: `
` what does it matter! They will say: "Their 'honesty'--that is `
` their devilry, and nothing else!" What does it matter! And even `
` if they were right--have not all Gods hitherto been such `
` sanctified, re-baptized devils? And after all, what do we know of `
` ourselves? And what the spirit that leads us wants TO BE CALLED? `
` (It is a question of names.) And how many spirits we harbour? Our `
` honesty, we free spirits--let us be careful lest it become our `
` vanity, our ornament and ostentation, our limitation, our `
` stupidity! Every virtue inclines to stupidity, every stupidity to `
` virtue; "stupid to the point of sanctity," they say in Russia,-- `
` let us be careful lest out of pure honesty we eventually become `
` saints and bores! Is not life a hundred times too short for us-- `
` to bore ourselves? One would have to believe in eternal life in `
` order to . . . `
` `
` 228. I hope to be forgiven for discovering that all moral `
` philosophy hitherto has been tedious and has belonged to the `
` soporific appliances--and that "virtue," in my opinion, has been `
` MORE injured by the TEDIOUSNESS of its advocates than by anything `
` else; at the same time, however, I would not wish to overlook `
` their general usefulness. It is desirable that as few people as `
` possible should reflect upon morals, and consequently it is very `
` desirable that morals should not some day become interesting! But `
` let us not be afraid! Things still remain today as they have `
` always been: I see no one in Europe who has (or DISCLOSES) an `
` idea of the fact that philosophizing concerning morals might be `
` conducted in a dangerous, captious, and ensnaring manner--that `
` CALAMITY might be involved therein. Observe, for example, the `
` indefatigable, inevitable English utilitarians: how ponderously `
` and respectably they stalk on, stalk along (a Homeric metaphor `
` expresses it better) in the footsteps of Bentham, just as he had `
` already stalked in the footsteps of the respectable Helvetius! `
` (no, he was not a dangerous man, Helvetius, CE SENATEUR `
` POCOCURANTE, to use an expression of Galiani). No new thought, `
` nothing of the nature of a finer turning or better expression of `
` an old thought, not even a proper history of what has been `
` previously thought on the subject: an IMPOSSIBLE literature, `
` taking it all in all, unless one knows how to leaven it with some `
` mischief. In effect, the old English vice called CANT, which is `
` MORAL TARTUFFISM, has insinuated itself also into these moralists `
` (whom one must certainly read with an eye to their motives if one `
` MUST read them), concealed this time under the new form of the `
` scientific spirit; moreover, there is not absent from them a `
` secret struggle with the pangs of conscience, from which a race `
` of former Puritans must naturally suffer, in all their scientific `
` tinkering with morals. (Is not a moralist the opposite of a `
` Puritan? That is to say, as a thinker who regards morality as `
` questionable, as worthy of interrogation, in short, as a problem? `
` Is moralizing not-immoral?) In the end, they all want English `
` morality to be recognized as authoritative, inasmuch as mankind, `
` or the "general utility," or "the happiness of the greatest `
` number,"--no! the happiness of ENGLAND, will be best served `
` thereby. They would like, by all means, to convince themselves `
` that the striving after English happiness, I mean after COMFORT `
` and FASHION (and in the highest instance, a seat in Parliament), `
` is at the same time the true path of virtue; in fact, that in so `
` far as there has been virtue in the world hitherto, it has just `
` consisted in such striving. Not one of those ponderous, `
` conscience-stricken herding-animals (who undertake to advocate `
` the cause of egoism as conducive to the general welfare) wants to `
` have any knowledge or inkling of the facts that the "general `
` welfare" is no ideal, no goal, no notion that can be at all `
` grasped, but is only a nostrum,--that what is fair to one MAY NOT `
` at all be fair to another, that the requirement of one morality `
` for all is really a detriment to higher men, in short, that there `
` is a DISTINCTION OF RANK between man and man, and consequently `
` between morality and morality. They are an unassuming and `
` fundamentally mediocre species of men, these utilitarian `
` Englishmen, and, as already remarked, in so far as they are `
` tedious, one cannot think highly enough of their utility. One `
` ought even to ENCOURAGE them, as has been partially attempted in `
` the following rhymes:-- `
` `
` Hail, ye worthies, barrow-wheeling, `
` "Longer--better," aye revealing, `
` `
` Stiffer aye in head and knee; `
` Unenraptured, never jesting, `
` Mediocre everlasting, `
` `
` SANS GENIE ET SANS ESPRIT! `
` `
` 229. In these later ages, which may be proud of their humanity, `
` there still remains so much fear, so much SUPERSTITION of the `
` fear, of the "cruel wild beast," the mastering of which `
` constitutes the very pride of these humaner ages--that even `
` obvious truths, as if by the agreement of centuries, have long `
` remained unuttered, because they have the appearance of helping `
` the finally slain wild beast back to life again. I perhaps risk `
` something when I allow such a truth to escape; let others capture `
` it again and give it so much "milk of pious sentiment" `
` [FOOTNOTE: An expression from Schiller's William Tell, Act IV, `
` Scene 3.] to drink, that it will lie down quiet and forgotten, in `
` its old corner.--One ought to learn anew about cruelty, and open `
` one's eyes; one ought at last to learn impatience, in order that `
` such immodest gross errors--as, for instance, have been fostered `
` by ancient and modern philosophers with regard to tragedy--may no `
` longer wander about virtuously and boldly. Almost everything that `
` we call "higher culture" is based upon the spiritualising and `
` intensifying of CRUELTY--this is my thesis; the "wild beast" has `
` not been slain at all, it lives, it flourishes, it has only been-- `
` transfigured. That which constitutes the painful delight of `
` tragedy is cruelty; that which operates agreeably in so-called `
` tragic sympathy, and at the basis even of everything sublime, up `
` to the highest and most delicate thrills of metaphysics, obtains `
` its sweetness solely from the intermingled ingredient of cruelty. `
` What the Roman enjoys in the arena, the Christian in the `
` ecstasies of the cross, the Spaniard at the sight of the faggot `
` and stake, or of the bull-fight, the present-day Japanese who `
` presses his way to the tragedy, the workman of the Parisian `
` suburbs who has a homesickness for bloody revolutions, the `
` Wagnerienne who, with unhinged will, "undergoes" the performance `
` of "Tristan and Isolde"--what all these enjoy, and strive with `
` mysterious ardour to drink in, is the philtre of the great Circe `
` "cruelty." Here, to be sure, we must put aside entirely the `
` blundering psychology of former times, which could only teach `
` with regard to cruelty that it originated at the sight of the `
` suffering of OTHERS: there is an abundant, super-abundant `
` enjoyment even in one's own suffering, in causing one's own `
` suffering--and wherever man has allowed himself to be persuaded `
` to self-denial in the RELIGIOUS sense, or to self-mutilation, as `
` among the Phoenicians and ascetics, or in general, to `
` desensualisation, decarnalisation, and contrition, to Puritanical `
` repentance-spasms, to vivisection of conscience and to Pascal- `
` like SACRIFIZIA DELL' INTELLETO, he is secretly allured and `
` impelled forwards by his cruelty, by the dangerous thrill of `
` cruelty TOWARDS HIMSELF.--Finally, let us consider that even the `
` seeker of knowledge operates as an artist and glorifier of `
` cruelty, in that he compels his spirit to perceive AGAINST its `
` own inclination, and often enough against the wishes of his `
` heart:--he forces it to say Nay, where he would like to affirm, `
` love, and adore; indeed, every instance of taking a thing `
` profoundly and fundamentally, is a violation, an intentional `
` injuring of the fundamental will of the spirit, which `
` instinctively aims at appearance and superficiality,--even in `
` every desire for knowledge there is a drop of cruelty. `
` `
` 230. Perhaps what I have said here about a "fundamental will of `
` the spirit" may not be understood without further details; I may `
` be allowed a word of explanation.--That imperious something which `
` is popularly called "the spirit," wishes to be master internally `
` and externally, and to feel itself master; it has the will of a `
` multiplicity for a simplicity, a binding, taming, imperious, and `
` essentially ruling will. Its requirements and capacities here, `
` are the same as those assigned by physiologists to everything `
` that lives, grows, and multiplies. The power of the spirit to `
` appropriate foreign elements reveals itself in a strong tendency `
` to assimilate the new to the old, to simplify the manifold, to `
` overlook or repudiate the absolutely contradictory; just as it `
` arbitrarily re-underlines, makes prominent, and falsifies for `
`
` interpreting, and exploiting misfortune, and whatever depth, `
` mystery, disguise, spirit, artifice, or greatness has been `
` bestowed upon the soul--has it not been bestowed through `
` suffering, through the discipline of great suffering? In man `
` CREATURE and CREATOR are united: in man there is not only matter, `
` shred, excess, clay, mire, folly, chaos; but there is also the `
` creator, the sculptor, the hardness of the hammer, the divinity `
` of the spectator, and the seventh day--do ye understand this `
` contrast? And that YOUR sympathy for the "creature in man" `
` applies to that which has to be fashioned, bruised, forged, `
` stretched, roasted, annealed, refined--to that which must `
` necessarily SUFFER, and IS MEANT to suffer? And our sympathy--do `
` ye not understand what our REVERSE sympathy applies to, when it `
` resists your sympathy as the worst of all pampering and `
` enervation?--So it is sympathy AGAINST sympathy!--But to repeat `
` it once more, there are higher problems than the problems of `
` pleasure and pain and sympathy; and all systems of philosophy `
` which deal only with these are naivetes. `
` `
` 226. WE IMMORALISTS.-This world with which WE are concerned, in `
` which we have to fear and love, this almost invisible, inaudible `
` world of delicate command and delicate obedience, a world of `
` "almost" in every respect, captious, insidious, sharp, and `
` tender--yes, it is well protected from clumsy spectators and `
` familiar curiosity! We are woven into a strong net and garment of `
` duties, and CANNOT disengage ourselves--precisely here, we are `
` "men of duty," even we! Occasionally, it is true, we dance in our `
` "chains" and betwixt our "swords"; 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. But do what we will, `
` fools and appearances say of us: "These are men WITHOUT duty,"-- `
` we have always fools and appearances against us! `
` `
` 227. Honesty, granting that it is the virtue of which we cannot `
` rid ourselves, we free spirits--well, we will labour at it with `
` all our perversity and love, and not tire of "perfecting" `
` ourselves in OUR virtue, which alone remains: may its glance some `
` day overspread like a gilded, blue, mocking twilight this aging `
` civilization with its dull gloomy seriousness! And if, `
` nevertheless, our honesty should one day grow weary, and sigh, `
` and stretch its limbs, and find us too hard, and would fain have `
` it pleasanter, easier, and gentler, like an agreeable vice, let `
` us remain HARD, we latest Stoics, and let us send to its help `
` whatever devilry we have in us:--our disgust at the clumsy and `
` undefined, our "NITIMUR IN VETITUM," our love of adventure, our `
` sharpened and fastidious curiosity, our most subtle, disguised, `
` intellectual Will to Power and universal conquest, which rambles `
` and roves avidiously around all the realms of the future--let us `
` go with all our "devils" to the help of our "God"! It is probable `
` that people will misunderstand and mistake us on that account: `
` what does it matter! They will say: "Their 'honesty'--that is `
` their devilry, and nothing else!" What does it matter! And even `
` if they were right--have not all Gods hitherto been such `
` sanctified, re-baptized devils? And after all, what do we know of `
` ourselves? And what the spirit that leads us wants TO BE CALLED? `
` (It is a question of names.) And how many spirits we harbour? Our `
` honesty, we free spirits--let us be careful lest it become our `
` vanity, our ornament and ostentation, our limitation, our `
` stupidity! Every virtue inclines to stupidity, every stupidity to `
` virtue; "stupid to the point of sanctity," they say in Russia,-- `
` let us be careful lest out of pure honesty we eventually become `
` saints and bores! Is not life a hundred times too short for us-- `
` to bore ourselves? One would have to believe in eternal life in `
` order to . . . `
` `
` 228. I hope to be forgiven for discovering that all moral `
` philosophy hitherto has been tedious and has belonged to the `
` soporific appliances--and that "virtue," in my opinion, has been `
` MORE injured by the TEDIOUSNESS of its advocates than by anything `
` else; at the same time, however, I would not wish to overlook `
` their general usefulness. It is desirable that as few people as `
` possible should reflect upon morals, and consequently it is very `
` desirable that morals should not some day become interesting! But `
` let us not be afraid! Things still remain today as they have `
` always been: I see no one in Europe who has (or DISCLOSES) an `
` idea of the fact that philosophizing concerning morals might be `
` conducted in a dangerous, captious, and ensnaring manner--that `
` CALAMITY might be involved therein. Observe, for example, the `
` indefatigable, inevitable English utilitarians: how ponderously `
` and respectably they stalk on, stalk along (a Homeric metaphor `
` expresses it better) in the footsteps of Bentham, just as he had `
` already stalked in the footsteps of the respectable Helvetius! `
` (no, he was not a dangerous man, Helvetius, CE SENATEUR `
` POCOCURANTE, to use an expression of Galiani). No new thought, `
` nothing of the nature of a finer turning or better expression of `
` an old thought, not even a proper history of what has been `
` previously thought on the subject: an IMPOSSIBLE literature, `
` taking it all in all, unless one knows how to leaven it with some `
` mischief. In effect, the old English vice called CANT, which is `
` MORAL TARTUFFISM, has insinuated itself also into these moralists `
` (whom one must certainly read with an eye to their motives if one `
` MUST read them), concealed this time under the new form of the `
` scientific spirit; moreover, there is not absent from them a `
` secret struggle with the pangs of conscience, from which a race `
` of former Puritans must naturally suffer, in all their scientific `
` tinkering with morals. (Is not a moralist the opposite of a `
` Puritan? That is to say, as a thinker who regards morality as `
` questionable, as worthy of interrogation, in short, as a problem? `
` Is moralizing not-immoral?) In the end, they all want English `
` morality to be recognized as authoritative, inasmuch as mankind, `
` or the "general utility," or "the happiness of the greatest `
` number,"--no! the happiness of ENGLAND, will be best served `
` thereby. They would like, by all means, to convince themselves `
` that the striving after English happiness, I mean after COMFORT `
` and FASHION (and in the highest instance, a seat in Parliament), `
` is at the same time the true path of virtue; in fact, that in so `
` far as there has been virtue in the world hitherto, it has just `
` consisted in such striving. Not one of those ponderous, `
` conscience-stricken herding-animals (who undertake to advocate `
` the cause of egoism as conducive to the general welfare) wants to `
` have any knowledge or inkling of the facts that the "general `
` welfare" is no ideal, no goal, no notion that can be at all `
` grasped, but is only a nostrum,--that what is fair to one MAY NOT `
` at all be fair to another, that the requirement of one morality `
` for all is really a detriment to higher men, in short, that there `
` is a DISTINCTION OF RANK between man and man, and consequently `
` between morality and morality. They are an unassuming and `
` fundamentally mediocre species of men, these utilitarian `
` Englishmen, and, as already remarked, in so far as they are `
` tedious, one cannot think highly enough of their utility. One `
` ought even to ENCOURAGE them, as has been partially attempted in `
` the following rhymes:-- `
` `
` Hail, ye worthies, barrow-wheeling, `
` "Longer--better," aye revealing, `
` `
` Stiffer aye in head and knee; `
` Unenraptured, never jesting, `
` Mediocre everlasting, `
` `
` SANS GENIE ET SANS ESPRIT! `
` `
` 229. In these later ages, which may be proud of their humanity, `
` there still remains so much fear, so much SUPERSTITION of the `
` fear, of the "cruel wild beast," the mastering of which `
` constitutes the very pride of these humaner ages--that even `
` obvious truths, as if by the agreement of centuries, have long `
` remained unuttered, because they have the appearance of helping `
` the finally slain wild beast back to life again. I perhaps risk `
` something when I allow such a truth to escape; let others capture `
` it again and give it so much "milk of pious sentiment" `
` [FOOTNOTE: An expression from Schiller's William Tell, Act IV, `
` Scene 3.] to drink, that it will lie down quiet and forgotten, in `
` its old corner.--One ought to learn anew about cruelty, and open `
` one's eyes; one ought at last to learn impatience, in order that `
` such immodest gross errors--as, for instance, have been fostered `
` by ancient and modern philosophers with regard to tragedy--may no `
` longer wander about virtuously and boldly. Almost everything that `
` we call "higher culture" is based upon the spiritualising and `
` intensifying of CRUELTY--this is my thesis; the "wild beast" has `
` not been slain at all, it lives, it flourishes, it has only been-- `
` transfigured. That which constitutes the painful delight of `
` tragedy is cruelty; that which operates agreeably in so-called `
` tragic sympathy, and at the basis even of everything sublime, up `
` to the highest and most delicate thrills of metaphysics, obtains `
` its sweetness solely from the intermingled ingredient of cruelty. `
` What the Roman enjoys in the arena, the Christian in the `
` ecstasies of the cross, the Spaniard at the sight of the faggot `
` and stake, or of the bull-fight, the present-day Japanese who `
` presses his way to the tragedy, the workman of the Parisian `
` suburbs who has a homesickness for bloody revolutions, the `
` Wagnerienne who, with unhinged will, "undergoes" the performance `
` of "Tristan and Isolde"--what all these enjoy, and strive with `
` mysterious ardour to drink in, is the philtre of the great Circe `
` "cruelty." Here, to be sure, we must put aside entirely the `
` blundering psychology of former times, which could only teach `
` with regard to cruelty that it originated at the sight of the `
` suffering of OTHERS: there is an abundant, super-abundant `
` enjoyment even in one's own suffering, in causing one's own `
` suffering--and wherever man has allowed himself to be persuaded `
` to self-denial in the RELIGIOUS sense, or to self-mutilation, as `
` among the Phoenicians and ascetics, or in general, to `
` desensualisation, decarnalisation, and contrition, to Puritanical `
` repentance-spasms, to vivisection of conscience and to Pascal- `
` like SACRIFIZIA DELL' INTELLETO, he is secretly allured and `
` impelled forwards by his cruelty, by the dangerous thrill of `
` cruelty TOWARDS HIMSELF.--Finally, let us consider that even the `
` seeker of knowledge operates as an artist and glorifier of `
` cruelty, in that he compels his spirit to perceive AGAINST its `
` own inclination, and often enough against the wishes of his `
` heart:--he forces it to say Nay, where he would like to affirm, `
` love, and adore; indeed, every instance of taking a thing `
` profoundly and fundamentally, is a violation, an intentional `
` injuring of the fundamental will of the spirit, which `
` instinctively aims at appearance and superficiality,--even in `
` every desire for knowledge there is a drop of cruelty. `
` `
` 230. Perhaps what I have said here about a "fundamental will of `
` the spirit" may not be understood without further details; I may `
` be allowed a word of explanation.--That imperious something which `
` is popularly called "the spirit," wishes to be master internally `
` and externally, and to feel itself master; it has the will of a `
` multiplicity for a simplicity, a binding, taming, imperious, and `
` essentially ruling will. Its requirements and capacities here, `
` are the same as those assigned by physiologists to everything `
` that lives, grows, and multiplies. The power of the spirit to `
` appropriate foreign elements reveals itself in a strong tendency `
` to assimilate the new to the old, to simplify the manifold, to `
` overlook or repudiate the absolutely contradictory; just as it `
` arbitrarily re-underlines, makes prominent, and falsifies for `
`