Reading Help Beyond good and evil
arbitrarily re-underlines, makes prominent, and falsifies for `
` itself certain traits and lines in the foreign elements, in every `
` portion of the "outside world." Its object thereby is the `
` incorporation of new "experiences," the assortment of new things `
` in the old arrangements--in short, growth; or more properly, the `
` FEELING of growth, the feeling of increased power--is its object. `
` This same will has at its service an apparently opposed impulse `
` of the spirit, a suddenly adopted preference of ignorance, of `
` arbitrary shutting out, a closing of windows, an inner denial of `
` this or that, a prohibition to approach, a sort of defensive `
` attitude against much that is knowable, a contentment with `
` obscurity, with the shutting-in horizon, an acceptance and `
` approval of ignorance: as that which is all necessary according `
` to the degree of its appropriating power, its "digestive power," `
` to speak figuratively (and in fact "the spirit" resembles a `
` stomach more than anything else). Here also belong an occasional `
` propensity of the spirit to let itself be deceived (perhaps with `
` a waggish suspicion that it is NOT so and so, but is only allowed `
` to pass as such), a delight in uncertainty and ambiguity, an `
` exulting enjoyment of arbitrary, out-of-the-way narrowness and `
` mystery, of the too-near, of the foreground, of the magnified, `
` the diminished, the misshapen, the beautified--an enjoyment of `
` the arbitrariness of all these manifestations of power. Finally, `
` in this connection, there is the not unscrupulous readiness of `
` the spirit to deceive other spirits and dissemble before them-- `
` the constant pressing and straining of a creating, shaping, `
` changeable power: the spirit enjoys therein its craftiness and `
` its variety of disguises, it enjoys also its feeling of security `
` therein--it is precisely by its Protean arts that it is best `
` protected and concealed!--COUNTER TO this propensity for `
` appearance, for simplification, for a disguise, for a cloak, in `
` short, for an outside--for every outside is a cloak--there `
` operates the sublime tendency of the man of knowledge, which `
` takes, and INSISTS on taking things profoundly, variously, and `
` thoroughly; as a kind of cruelty of the intellectual conscience `
` and taste, which every courageous thinker will acknowledge in `
` himself, provided, as it ought to be, that he has sharpened and `
` hardened his eye sufficiently long for introspection, and is `
` accustomed to severe discipline and even severe words. He will `
` say: "There is something cruel in the tendency of my spirit": let `
` the virtuous and amiable try to convince him that it is not so! `
` In fact, it would sound nicer, if, instead of our cruelty, `
` perhaps our "extravagant honesty" were talked about, whispered `
` about, and glorified--we free, VERY free spirits--and some day `
` perhaps SUCH will actually be our--posthumous glory! Meanwhile-- `
` for there is plenty of time until then--we should be least `
` inclined to deck ourselves out in such florid and fringed moral `
` verbiage; our whole former work has just made us sick of this `
` taste and its sprightly exuberance. They are beautiful, `
` glistening, jingling, festive words: honesty, love of truth, love `
` of wisdom, sacrifice for knowledge, heroism of the truthful-- `
` there is something in them that makes one's heart swell with `
` pride. But we anchorites and marmots have long ago persuaded `
` ourselves in all the secrecy of an anchorite's conscience, that `
` this worthy parade of verbiage also belongs to the old false `
` adornment, frippery, and gold-dust of unconscious human vanity, `
` and that even under such flattering colour and repainting, the `
` terrible original text HOMO NATURA must again be recognized. In `
` effect, to translate man back again into nature; to master the `
` many vain and visionary interpretations and subordinate meanings `
` which have hitherto been scratched and daubed over the eternal `
` original text, HOMO NATURA; to bring it about that man shall `
` henceforth stand before man as he now, hardened by the discipline `
` of science, stands before the OTHER forms of nature, with `
` fearless Oedipus-eyes, and stopped Ulysses-ears, deaf to the `
` enticements of old metaphysical bird-catchers, who have piped to `
` him far too long: "Thou art more! thou art higher! thou hast a `
` different origin!"--this may be a strange and foolish task, but `
` that it is a TASK, who can deny! Why did we choose it, this `
` foolish task? Or, to put the question differently: "Why knowledge `
` at all?" Every one will ask us about this. And thus pressed, we, `
` who have asked ourselves the question a hundred times, have not `
` found and cannot find any better answer. . . . `
` `
` 231. Learning alters us, it does what all nourishment does that `
` does not merely "conserve"--as the physiologist knows. But at the `
` bottom of our souls, quite "down below," there is certainly `
` something unteachable, a granite of spiritual fate, of `
` predetermined decision and answer to predetermined, chosen `
` questions. In each cardinal problem there speaks an unchangeable `
` "I am this"; a thinker cannot learn anew about man and woman, for `
` instance, but can only learn fully--he can only follow to the end `
` what is "fixed" about them in himself. Occasionally we find `
` certain solutions of problems which make strong beliefs for us; `
` perhaps they are henceforth called "convictions." Later on--one `
` sees in them only footsteps to self-knowledge, guide-posts to the `
` problem which we ourselves ARE--or more correctly to the great `
` stupidity which we embody, our spiritual fate, the UNTEACHABLE in `
` us, quite "down below."--In view of this liberal compliment which `
` I have just paid myself, permission will perhaps be more readily `
` allowed me to utter some truths about "woman as she is," provided `
` that it is known at the outset how literally they are merely--MY `
` truths. `
` `
` 232. Woman wishes to be independent, and therefore she begins to `
` enlighten men about "woman as she is"--THIS is one of the worst `
` developments of the general UGLIFYING of Europe. For what must `
` these clumsy attempts of feminine scientificality and self- `
` exposure bring to light! Woman has so much cause for shame; in `
` woman there is so much pedantry, superficiality, `
` schoolmasterliness, petty presumption, unbridledness, and `
` indiscretion concealed--study only woman's behaviour towards `
` children!--which has really been best restrained and dominated `
` hitherto by the FEAR of man. Alas, if ever the "eternally tedious `
` in woman"--she has plenty of it!--is allowed to venture forth! if `
` she begins radically and on principle to unlearn her wisdom and `
` art-of charming, of playing, of frightening away sorrow, of `
` alleviating and taking easily; if she forgets her delicate `
` aptitude for agreeable desires! Female voices are already raised, `
` which, by Saint Aristophanes! make one afraid:--with medical `
` explicitness it is stated in a threatening manner what woman `
` first and last REQUIRES from man. Is it not in the very worst `
` taste that woman thus sets herself up to be scientific? `
` Enlightenment hitherto has fortunately been men's affair, men's `
` gift-we remained therewith "among ourselves"; and in the end, in `
` view of all that women write about "woman," we may well have `
` considerable doubt as to whether woman really DESIRES `
` enlightenment about herself--and CAN desire it. If woman does not `
` thereby seek a new ORNAMENT for herself--I believe ornamentation `
` belongs to the eternally feminine?--why, then, she wishes to make `
` herself feared: perhaps she thereby wishes to get the mastery. `
` But she does not want truth--what does woman care for truth? From `
` the very 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 beauty. Let us confess it, we `
` men: we honour and love this very art and this very instinct in `
` woman: we who have the hard task, and for our recreation gladly `
` seek the company of beings under whose hands, glances, and `
` delicate follies, our seriousness, our gravity, and profundity `
` appear almost like follies to us. Finally, I ask the question: `
` Did a woman herself ever acknowledge profundity in a woman's `
` mind, or justice in a woman's heart? And is it not true that on `
` the whole "woman" has hitherto been most despised by woman `
` herself, and not at all by us?--We men desire that woman should `
` not continue to compromise herself by enlightening us; just as it `
` was man's care and the consideration for woman, when the church `
` decreed: mulier taceat in ecclesia. It was to the benefit of `
` woman when Napoleon gave the too eloquent Madame 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. `
` `
` 233. It betrays corruption of the instincts--apart from the fact `
` that it betrays bad taste--when a woman refers to Madame Roland, `
` or Madame de Stael, or Monsieur George Sand, as though something `
` were proved thereby in favour of "woman as she is." Among men, `
` these are the three comical women as they are--nothing more!--and `
` just the best involuntary counter-arguments against feminine `
` emancipation and autonomy. `
` `
` 234. Stupidity in the kitchen; woman as cook; the terrible `
` thoughtlessness with which the feeding of the family and the `
` master of the house is managed! Woman does not understand what `
` food means, and she insists on being cook! If woman had been a `
` thinking creature, she should certainly, as cook for thousands of `
` years, have discovered the most important physiological facts, `
` and should likewise have got possession of the healing art! `
` Through bad female cooks--through the entire lack of reason in `
` the kitchen--the development of mankind has been longest retarded `
` and most interfered with: even today matters are very little `
` better. A word to High School girls. `
` `
` 235. 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. Among these is the `
` incidental remark of Madame de Lambert to her son: "MON AMI, NE `
` VOUS PERMETTEZ JAMAIS QUE DES FOLIES, QUI VOUS FERONT GRAND `
` PLAISIR"--the motherliest and wisest remark, by the way, that was `
` ever addressed to a son. `
` `
` 236. I have no doubt that every noble woman will oppose what `
` Dante and Goethe believed about woman--the former when he sang, `
` "ELLA GUARDAVA SUSO, ED IO IN LEI," and the latter when he `
` interpreted it, "the eternally feminine draws us ALOFT"; for THIS `
` is just what she believes of the eternally masculine. `
` `
` 237. `
` `
` SEVEN APOPHTHEGMS FOR WOMEN `
` `
` How the longest ennui flees, When a man comes to our knees! `
` `
` Age, alas! and science staid, Furnish even weak virtue aid. `
` `
` Sombre garb and silence meet: Dress for every dame--discreet. `
` `
` Whom I thank when in my bliss? God!--and my good tailoress! `
` `
` Young, a flower-decked cavern home; Old, a dragon thence doth `
` roam. `
` `
` Noble title, leg that's fine, Man as well: Oh, were HE mine! `
` `
` Speech in brief and sense in mass--Slippery for the jenny-ass! `
` `
` 237A. Woman has hitherto been treated by men like birds, which, `
` losing their way, have come down among them from an elevation: as `
` something delicate, fragile, wild, strange, sweet, and animating- `
` -but as something also which must be cooped up to prevent it `
` flying away. `
` `
`
` itself certain traits and lines in the foreign elements, in every `
` portion of the "outside world." Its object thereby is the `
` incorporation of new "experiences," the assortment of new things `
` in the old arrangements--in short, growth; or more properly, the `
` FEELING of growth, the feeling of increased power--is its object. `
` This same will has at its service an apparently opposed impulse `
` of the spirit, a suddenly adopted preference of ignorance, of `
` arbitrary shutting out, a closing of windows, an inner denial of `
` this or that, a prohibition to approach, a sort of defensive `
` attitude against much that is knowable, a contentment with `
` obscurity, with the shutting-in horizon, an acceptance and `
` approval of ignorance: as that which is all necessary according `
` to the degree of its appropriating power, its "digestive power," `
` to speak figuratively (and in fact "the spirit" resembles a `
` stomach more than anything else). Here also belong an occasional `
` propensity of the spirit to let itself be deceived (perhaps with `
` a waggish suspicion that it is NOT so and so, but is only allowed `
` to pass as such), a delight in uncertainty and ambiguity, an `
` exulting enjoyment of arbitrary, out-of-the-way narrowness and `
` mystery, of the too-near, of the foreground, of the magnified, `
` the diminished, the misshapen, the beautified--an enjoyment of `
` the arbitrariness of all these manifestations of power. Finally, `
` in this connection, there is the not unscrupulous readiness of `
` the spirit to deceive other spirits and dissemble before them-- `
` the constant pressing and straining of a creating, shaping, `
` changeable power: the spirit enjoys therein its craftiness and `
` its variety of disguises, it enjoys also its feeling of security `
` therein--it is precisely by its Protean arts that it is best `
` protected and concealed!--COUNTER TO this propensity for `
` appearance, for simplification, for a disguise, for a cloak, in `
` short, for an outside--for every outside is a cloak--there `
` operates the sublime tendency of the man of knowledge, which `
` takes, and INSISTS on taking things profoundly, variously, and `
` thoroughly; as a kind of cruelty of the intellectual conscience `
` and taste, which every courageous thinker will acknowledge in `
` himself, provided, as it ought to be, that he has sharpened and `
` hardened his eye sufficiently long for introspection, and is `
` accustomed to severe discipline and even severe words. He will `
` say: "There is something cruel in the tendency of my spirit": let `
` the virtuous and amiable try to convince him that it is not so! `
` In fact, it would sound nicer, if, instead of our cruelty, `
` perhaps our "extravagant honesty" were talked about, whispered `
` about, and glorified--we free, VERY free spirits--and some day `
` perhaps SUCH will actually be our--posthumous glory! Meanwhile-- `
` for there is plenty of time until then--we should be least `
` inclined to deck ourselves out in such florid and fringed moral `
` verbiage; our whole former work has just made us sick of this `
` taste and its sprightly exuberance. They are beautiful, `
` glistening, jingling, festive words: honesty, love of truth, love `
` of wisdom, sacrifice for knowledge, heroism of the truthful-- `
` there is something in them that makes one's heart swell with `
` pride. But we anchorites and marmots have long ago persuaded `
` ourselves in all the secrecy of an anchorite's conscience, that `
` this worthy parade of verbiage also belongs to the old false `
` adornment, frippery, and gold-dust of unconscious human vanity, `
` and that even under such flattering colour and repainting, the `
` terrible original text HOMO NATURA must again be recognized. In `
` effect, to translate man back again into nature; to master the `
` many vain and visionary interpretations and subordinate meanings `
` which have hitherto been scratched and daubed over the eternal `
` original text, HOMO NATURA; to bring it about that man shall `
` henceforth stand before man as he now, hardened by the discipline `
` of science, stands before the OTHER forms of nature, with `
` fearless Oedipus-eyes, and stopped Ulysses-ears, deaf to the `
` enticements of old metaphysical bird-catchers, who have piped to `
` him far too long: "Thou art more! thou art higher! thou hast a `
` different origin!"--this may be a strange and foolish task, but `
` that it is a TASK, who can deny! Why did we choose it, this `
` foolish task? Or, to put the question differently: "Why knowledge `
` at all?" Every one will ask us about this. And thus pressed, we, `
` who have asked ourselves the question a hundred times, have not `
` found and cannot find any better answer. . . . `
` `
` 231. Learning alters us, it does what all nourishment does that `
` does not merely "conserve"--as the physiologist knows. But at the `
` bottom of our souls, quite "down below," there is certainly `
` something unteachable, a granite of spiritual fate, of `
` predetermined decision and answer to predetermined, chosen `
` questions. In each cardinal problem there speaks an unchangeable `
` "I am this"; a thinker cannot learn anew about man and woman, for `
` instance, but can only learn fully--he can only follow to the end `
` what is "fixed" about them in himself. Occasionally we find `
` certain solutions of problems which make strong beliefs for us; `
` perhaps they are henceforth called "convictions." Later on--one `
` sees in them only footsteps to self-knowledge, guide-posts to the `
` problem which we ourselves ARE--or more correctly to the great `
` stupidity which we embody, our spiritual fate, the UNTEACHABLE in `
` us, quite "down below."--In view of this liberal compliment which `
` I have just paid myself, permission will perhaps be more readily `
` allowed me to utter some truths about "woman as she is," provided `
` that it is known at the outset how literally they are merely--MY `
` truths. `
` `
` 232. Woman wishes to be independent, and therefore she begins to `
` enlighten men about "woman as she is"--THIS is one of the worst `
` developments of the general UGLIFYING of Europe. For what must `
` these clumsy attempts of feminine scientificality and self- `
` exposure bring to light! Woman has so much cause for shame; in `
` woman there is so much pedantry, superficiality, `
` schoolmasterliness, petty presumption, unbridledness, and `
` indiscretion concealed--study only woman's behaviour towards `
` children!--which has really been best restrained and dominated `
` hitherto by the FEAR of man. Alas, if ever the "eternally tedious `
` in woman"--she has plenty of it!--is allowed to venture forth! if `
` she begins radically and on principle to unlearn her wisdom and `
` art-of charming, of playing, of frightening away sorrow, of `
` alleviating and taking easily; if she forgets her delicate `
` aptitude for agreeable desires! Female voices are already raised, `
` which, by Saint Aristophanes! make one afraid:--with medical `
` explicitness it is stated in a threatening manner what woman `
` first and last REQUIRES from man. Is it not in the very worst `
` taste that woman thus sets herself up to be scientific? `
` Enlightenment hitherto has fortunately been men's affair, men's `
` gift-we remained therewith "among ourselves"; and in the end, in `
` view of all that women write about "woman," we may well have `
` considerable doubt as to whether woman really DESIRES `
` enlightenment about herself--and CAN desire it. If woman does not `
` thereby seek a new ORNAMENT for herself--I believe ornamentation `
` belongs to the eternally feminine?--why, then, she wishes to make `
` herself feared: perhaps she thereby wishes to get the mastery. `
` But she does not want truth--what does woman care for truth? From `
` the very 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 beauty. Let us confess it, we `
` men: we honour and love this very art and this very instinct in `
` woman: we who have the hard task, and for our recreation gladly `
` seek the company of beings under whose hands, glances, and `
` delicate follies, our seriousness, our gravity, and profundity `
` appear almost like follies to us. Finally, I ask the question: `
` Did a woman herself ever acknowledge profundity in a woman's `
` mind, or justice in a woman's heart? And is it not true that on `
` the whole "woman" has hitherto been most despised by woman `
` herself, and not at all by us?--We men desire that woman should `
` not continue to compromise herself by enlightening us; just as it `
` was man's care and the consideration for woman, when the church `
` decreed: mulier taceat in ecclesia. It was to the benefit of `
` woman when Napoleon gave the too eloquent Madame 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. `
` `
` 233. It betrays corruption of the instincts--apart from the fact `
` that it betrays bad taste--when a woman refers to Madame Roland, `
` or Madame de Stael, or Monsieur George Sand, as though something `
` were proved thereby in favour of "woman as she is." Among men, `
` these are the three comical women as they are--nothing more!--and `
` just the best involuntary counter-arguments against feminine `
` emancipation and autonomy. `
` `
` 234. Stupidity in the kitchen; woman as cook; the terrible `
` thoughtlessness with which the feeding of the family and the `
` master of the house is managed! Woman does not understand what `
` food means, and she insists on being cook! If woman had been a `
` thinking creature, she should certainly, as cook for thousands of `
` years, have discovered the most important physiological facts, `
` and should likewise have got possession of the healing art! `
` Through bad female cooks--through the entire lack of reason in `
` the kitchen--the development of mankind has been longest retarded `
` and most interfered with: even today matters are very little `
` better. A word to High School girls. `
` `
` 235. 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. Among these is the `
` incidental remark of Madame de Lambert to her son: "MON AMI, NE `
` VOUS PERMETTEZ JAMAIS QUE DES FOLIES, QUI VOUS FERONT GRAND `
` PLAISIR"--the motherliest and wisest remark, by the way, that was `
` ever addressed to a son. `
` `
` 236. I have no doubt that every noble woman will oppose what `
` Dante and Goethe believed about woman--the former when he sang, `
` "ELLA GUARDAVA SUSO, ED IO IN LEI," and the latter when he `
` interpreted it, "the eternally feminine draws us ALOFT"; for THIS `
` is just what she believes of the eternally masculine. `
` `
` 237. `
` `
` SEVEN APOPHTHEGMS FOR WOMEN `
` `
` How the longest ennui flees, When a man comes to our knees! `
` `
` Age, alas! and science staid, Furnish even weak virtue aid. `
` `
` Sombre garb and silence meet: Dress for every dame--discreet. `
` `
` Whom I thank when in my bliss? God!--and my good tailoress! `
` `
` Young, a flower-decked cavern home; Old, a dragon thence doth `
` roam. `
` `
` Noble title, leg that's fine, Man as well: Oh, were HE mine! `
` `
` Speech in brief and sense in mass--Slippery for the jenny-ass! `
` `
` 237A. Woman has hitherto been treated by men like birds, which, `
` losing their way, have come down among them from an elevation: as `
` something delicate, fragile, wild, strange, sweet, and animating- `
` -but as something also which must be cooped up to prevent it `
` flying away. `
` `
`