Reading Help Beyond good and evil
sees, hears, suspects, hopes, and dreams extraordinary things; `
` who is struck by his own thoughts as if they came from the `
` outside, from above and below, as a species of events and `
` lightning-flashes PECULIAR TO HIM; who is perhaps himself a storm `
` pregnant with new lightnings; a portentous man, around whom there `
` is always rumbling and mumbling and gaping and something uncanny `
` going on. A philosopher: alas, a being who often runs away from `
` himself, is often afraid of himself--but whose curiosity always `
` makes him "come to himself" again. `
` `
` 293. A man who says: "I like that, I take it for my own, and mean `
` to guard and protect it from every one"; a man who can conduct a `
` case, carry out a resolution, remain true to an opinion, keep `
` hold of a woman, punish and overthrow insolence; a man who has `
` his indignation and his sword, and to whom the weak, the `
` suffering, the oppressed, and even the animals willingly submit `
` and naturally belong; in short, a man who is a MASTER by nature-- `
` when such a man has sympathy, well! THAT sympathy has value! But `
` of what account is the sympathy of those who suffer! Or of those `
` even who preach sympathy! There is nowadays, throughout almost `
` the whole of Europe, a sickly irritability and sensitiveness `
` towards pain, and also a repulsive irrestrainableness in `
` complaining, an effeminizing, which, with the aid of religion and `
` philosophical nonsense, seeks to deck itself out as something `
` superior--there is a regular cult of suffering. The UNMANLINESS `
` of that which is called "sympathy" by such groups of visionaries, `
` is always, I believe, the first thing that strikes the eye.--One `
` must resolutely and radically taboo this latest form of bad `
` taste; and finally I wish people to put the good amulet, "GAI `
` SABER" ("gay science," in ordinary language), on heart and neck, `
` as a protection against it. `
` `
` 294. THE OLYMPIAN VICE.--Despite the philosopher who, as a `
` genuine Englishman, tried to bring laughter into bad repute in `
` all thinking minds--"Laughing is a bad infirmity of human nature, `
` which every thinking mind will strive to overcome" (Hobbes),--I `
` would even allow myself to rank philosophers according to the `
` quality of their laughing--up to those who are capable of GOLDEN `
` laughter. And supposing that Gods also philosophize, which I am `
` strongly inclined to believe, owing to many reasons--I have no `
` doubt that they also know how to laugh thereby in an overman-like `
` and new fashion--and at the expense of all serious things! Gods `
` are fond of ridicule: it seems that they cannot refrain from `
` laughter even in holy matters. `
` `
` 295. The genius of the heart, as that great mysterious one `
` possesses it, the tempter-god and born rat-catcher of `
` consciences, whose voice can descend into the nether-world of `
` every soul, who neither speaks a word nor casts a glance in which `
` there may not be some motive or touch of allurement, to whose `
` perfection it pertains that he knows how to appear,--not as he `
` is, but in a guise which acts as an ADDITIONAL constraint on his `
` followers to press ever closer to him, to follow him more `
` cordially and thoroughly;--the genius of the heart, which imposes `
` silence and attention on everything loud and self-conceited, `
` which smoothes rough souls and makes them taste a new longing--to `
` lie placid as a mirror, that the deep heavens may be reflected in `
` them;--the genius of the heart, which teaches the clumsy and too `
` hasty hand to hesitate, and to grasp more delicately; which `
` scents the hidden and forgotten treasure, the drop of goodness `
` and sweet spirituality under thick dark ice, and is a divining- `
` rod for every grain of gold, long buried and imprisoned in mud `
` and sand; the genius of the heart, from contact with which every `
` one goes away richer; not favoured or surprised, not as though `
` gratified and oppressed by the good things of others; but richer `
` in himself, newer than before, broken up, blown upon, and sounded `
` by a thawing wind; more uncertain, perhaps, more delicate, more `
` fragile, more bruised, but full of hopes which as yet lack names, `
` full of a new will and current, full of a new ill-will and `
` counter-current . . . but what am I doing, my friends? Of whom am `
` I talking to you? Have I forgotten myself so far that I have not `
` even told you his name? Unless it be that you have already `
` divined of your own accord who this questionable God and spirit `
` is, that wishes to be PRAISED in such a manner? For, as it `
` happens to every one who from childhood onward has always been on `
` his legs, and in foreign lands, I have also encountered on my `
` path many strange and dangerous spirits; above all, however, and `
` again and again, the one of whom I have just spoken: in fact, no `
` less a personage than the God DIONYSUS, the great equivocator and `
` tempter, to whom, as you know, I once offered in all secrecy and `
` reverence my first-fruits--the last, as it seems to me, who has `
` offered a SACRIFICE to him, for I have found no one who could `
` understand what I was then doing. In the meantime, however, I `
` have learned much, far too much, about the philosophy of this `
` God, and, as I said, from mouth to mouth--I, the last disciple `
` and initiate of the God Dionysus: and perhaps I might at last `
` begin to give you, my friends, as far as I am allowed, a little `
` taste of this philosophy? In a hushed voice, as is but seemly: `
` for it has to do with much that is secret, new, strange, `
` wonderful, and uncanny. The very fact that Dionysus is a `
` philosopher, and that therefore Gods also philosophize, seems to `
` me a novelty which is not unensnaring, and might perhaps arouse `
` suspicion precisely among philosophers;--among you, my friends, `
` there is less to be said against it, except that it comes too `
` late and not at the right time; for, as it has been disclosed to `
` me, you are loth nowadays to believe in God and gods. It may `
` happen, too, that in the frankness of my story I must go further `
` than is agreeable to the strict usages of your ears? Certainly `
` the God in question went further, very much further, in such `
` dialogues, and was always many paces ahead of me . . . Indeed, if `
` it were allowed, I should have to give him, according to human `
` usage, fine ceremonious tides of lustre and merit, I should have `
` to extol his courage as investigator and discoverer, his fearless `
` honesty, truthfulness, and love of wisdom. But such a God does `
` not know what to do with all that respectable trumpery and pomp. `
` "Keep that," he would say, "for thyself and those like thee, and `
` whoever else require it! I--have no reason to cover my `
` nakedness!" One suspects that this kind of divinity and `
` philosopher perhaps lacks shame?--He once said: "Under certain `
` circumstances I love mankind"--and referred thereby to Ariadne, `
` who was present; "in my opinion man is an agreeable, brave, `
` inventive animal, that has not his equal upon earth, he makes his `
` way even through all labyrinths. I like man, and often think how `
` I can still further advance him, and make him stronger, more `
` evil, and more profound."--"Stronger, more evil, and more `
` profound?" I asked in horror. "Yes," he said again, "stronger, `
` more evil, and more profound; also more beautiful"--and thereby `
` the tempter-god smiled with his halcyon smile, as though he had `
` just paid some charming compliment. One here sees at once that it `
` is not only shame that this divinity lacks;--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. We men are--more `
` human.-- `
` `
` 296. Alas! what are you, after all, my written and painted `
` thoughts! Not long ago you were so variegated, young and `
` malicious, so full of thorns and secret spices, that you made me `
` sneeze and laugh--and now? You have already doffed your novelty, `
` and some of you, I fear, are ready to become truths, so immortal `
` do they look, so pathetically honest, so tedious! And was it ever `
` otherwise? What then do we write and paint, we mandarins with `
` Chinese brush, we immortalisers of things which LEND themselves `
` to writing, what are we alone capable of painting? Alas, only `
` that which is just about to fade and begins to lose its odour! `
` Alas, only exhausted and departing storms and belated yellow `
` sentiments! Alas, only birds strayed and fatigued by flight, `
` which now let themselves be captured with the hand--with OUR `
` hand! We immortalize what cannot live and fly much longer, things `
` only which are exhausted and mellow! And it is only for your `
` AFTERNOON, you, my written and painted thoughts, for which alone `
` I have colours, many colours, perhaps, many variegated `
` softenings, and fifty yellows and browns and greens and reds;-- `
` but nobody will divine thereby how ye looked in your morning, you `
` sudden sparks and marvels of my solitude, you, my old, beloved-- `
` EVIL thoughts! `
` `
` `
` `
` FROM THE HEIGHTS `
` `
` `
` `
` By F W Nietzsche `
` `
` Translated by L A Magnus `
` `
` `
` 1. `
` `
` MIDDAY of Life! Oh, season of delight! `
` My summer's park! `
` Uneaseful joy to look, to lurk, to hark-- `
` I peer for friends, am ready day and night,-- `
` Where linger ye, my friends? The time is right! `
` `
` 2. `
` `
` Is not the glacier's grey today for you `
` Rose-garlanded? `
` The brooklet seeks you, wind, cloud, with longing thread `
` And thrust themselves yet higher to the blue, `
` To spy for you from farthest eagle's view `
` `
` 3. `
` `
` My table was spread out for you on high-- `
` Who dwelleth so `
` Star-near, so near the grisly pit below?-- `
` My realm--what realm hath wider boundary? `
` My honey--who hath sipped its fragrancy? `
` `
` 4. `
` `
` Friends, ye are there! Woe me,--yet I am not `
` He whom ye seek? `
` Ye stare and stop--better your wrath could speak! `
` I am not I? Hand, gait, face, changed? And what `
` I am, to you my friends, now am I not? `
` `
` 5. `
` `
` Am I an other? Strange am I to Me? `
` Yet from Me sprung? `
` A wrestler, by himself too oft self-wrung? `
` Hindering too oft my own self's potency, `
` Wounded and hampered by self-victory? `
` `
` 6. `
` `
` I sought where-so the wind blows keenest. There `
` I learned to dwell `
`
` who is struck by his own thoughts as if they came from the `
` outside, from above and below, as a species of events and `
` lightning-flashes PECULIAR TO HIM; who is perhaps himself a storm `
` pregnant with new lightnings; a portentous man, around whom there `
` is always rumbling and mumbling and gaping and something uncanny `
` going on. A philosopher: alas, a being who often runs away from `
` himself, is often afraid of himself--but whose curiosity always `
` makes him "come to himself" again. `
` `
` 293. A man who says: "I like that, I take it for my own, and mean `
` to guard and protect it from every one"; a man who can conduct a `
` case, carry out a resolution, remain true to an opinion, keep `
` hold of a woman, punish and overthrow insolence; a man who has `
` his indignation and his sword, and to whom the weak, the `
` suffering, the oppressed, and even the animals willingly submit `
` and naturally belong; in short, a man who is a MASTER by nature-- `
` when such a man has sympathy, well! THAT sympathy has value! But `
` of what account is the sympathy of those who suffer! Or of those `
` even who preach sympathy! There is nowadays, throughout almost `
` the whole of Europe, a sickly irritability and sensitiveness `
` towards pain, and also a repulsive irrestrainableness in `
` complaining, an effeminizing, which, with the aid of religion and `
` philosophical nonsense, seeks to deck itself out as something `
` superior--there is a regular cult of suffering. The UNMANLINESS `
` of that which is called "sympathy" by such groups of visionaries, `
` is always, I believe, the first thing that strikes the eye.--One `
` must resolutely and radically taboo this latest form of bad `
` taste; and finally I wish people to put the good amulet, "GAI `
` SABER" ("gay science," in ordinary language), on heart and neck, `
` as a protection against it. `
` `
` 294. THE OLYMPIAN VICE.--Despite the philosopher who, as a `
` genuine Englishman, tried to bring laughter into bad repute in `
` all thinking minds--"Laughing is a bad infirmity of human nature, `
` which every thinking mind will strive to overcome" (Hobbes),--I `
` would even allow myself to rank philosophers according to the `
` quality of their laughing--up to those who are capable of GOLDEN `
` laughter. And supposing that Gods also philosophize, which I am `
` strongly inclined to believe, owing to many reasons--I have no `
` doubt that they also know how to laugh thereby in an overman-like `
` and new fashion--and at the expense of all serious things! Gods `
` are fond of ridicule: it seems that they cannot refrain from `
` laughter even in holy matters. `
` `
` 295. The genius of the heart, as that great mysterious one `
` possesses it, the tempter-god and born rat-catcher of `
` consciences, whose voice can descend into the nether-world of `
` every soul, who neither speaks a word nor casts a glance in which `
` there may not be some motive or touch of allurement, to whose `
` perfection it pertains that he knows how to appear,--not as he `
` is, but in a guise which acts as an ADDITIONAL constraint on his `
` followers to press ever closer to him, to follow him more `
` cordially and thoroughly;--the genius of the heart, which imposes `
` silence and attention on everything loud and self-conceited, `
` which smoothes rough souls and makes them taste a new longing--to `
` lie placid as a mirror, that the deep heavens may be reflected in `
` them;--the genius of the heart, which teaches the clumsy and too `
` hasty hand to hesitate, and to grasp more delicately; which `
` scents the hidden and forgotten treasure, the drop of goodness `
` and sweet spirituality under thick dark ice, and is a divining- `
` rod for every grain of gold, long buried and imprisoned in mud `
` and sand; the genius of the heart, from contact with which every `
` one goes away richer; not favoured or surprised, not as though `
` gratified and oppressed by the good things of others; but richer `
` in himself, newer than before, broken up, blown upon, and sounded `
` by a thawing wind; more uncertain, perhaps, more delicate, more `
` fragile, more bruised, but full of hopes which as yet lack names, `
` full of a new will and current, full of a new ill-will and `
` counter-current . . . but what am I doing, my friends? Of whom am `
` I talking to you? Have I forgotten myself so far that I have not `
` even told you his name? Unless it be that you have already `
` divined of your own accord who this questionable God and spirit `
` is, that wishes to be PRAISED in such a manner? For, as it `
` happens to every one who from childhood onward has always been on `
` his legs, and in foreign lands, I have also encountered on my `
` path many strange and dangerous spirits; above all, however, and `
` again and again, the one of whom I have just spoken: in fact, no `
` less a personage than the God DIONYSUS, the great equivocator and `
` tempter, to whom, as you know, I once offered in all secrecy and `
` reverence my first-fruits--the last, as it seems to me, who has `
` offered a SACRIFICE to him, for I have found no one who could `
` understand what I was then doing. In the meantime, however, I `
` have learned much, far too much, about the philosophy of this `
` God, and, as I said, from mouth to mouth--I, the last disciple `
` and initiate of the God Dionysus: and perhaps I might at last `
` begin to give you, my friends, as far as I am allowed, a little `
` taste of this philosophy? In a hushed voice, as is but seemly: `
` for it has to do with much that is secret, new, strange, `
` wonderful, and uncanny. The very fact that Dionysus is a `
` philosopher, and that therefore Gods also philosophize, seems to `
` me a novelty which is not unensnaring, and might perhaps arouse `
` suspicion precisely among philosophers;--among you, my friends, `
` there is less to be said against it, except that it comes too `
` late and not at the right time; for, as it has been disclosed to `
` me, you are loth nowadays to believe in God and gods. It may `
` happen, too, that in the frankness of my story I must go further `
` than is agreeable to the strict usages of your ears? Certainly `
` the God in question went further, very much further, in such `
` dialogues, and was always many paces ahead of me . . . Indeed, if `
` it were allowed, I should have to give him, according to human `
` usage, fine ceremonious tides of lustre and merit, I should have `
` to extol his courage as investigator and discoverer, his fearless `
` honesty, truthfulness, and love of wisdom. But such a God does `
` not know what to do with all that respectable trumpery and pomp. `
` "Keep that," he would say, "for thyself and those like thee, and `
` whoever else require it! I--have no reason to cover my `
` nakedness!" One suspects that this kind of divinity and `
` philosopher perhaps lacks shame?--He once said: "Under certain `
` circumstances I love mankind"--and referred thereby to Ariadne, `
` who was present; "in my opinion man is an agreeable, brave, `
` inventive animal, that has not his equal upon earth, he makes his `
` way even through all labyrinths. I like man, and often think how `
` I can still further advance him, and make him stronger, more `
` evil, and more profound."--"Stronger, more evil, and more `
` profound?" I asked in horror. "Yes," he said again, "stronger, `
` more evil, and more profound; also more beautiful"--and thereby `
` the tempter-god smiled with his halcyon smile, as though he had `
` just paid some charming compliment. One here sees at once that it `
` is not only shame that this divinity lacks;--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. We men are--more `
` human.-- `
` `
` 296. Alas! what are you, after all, my written and painted `
` thoughts! Not long ago you were so variegated, young and `
` malicious, so full of thorns and secret spices, that you made me `
` sneeze and laugh--and now? You have already doffed your novelty, `
` and some of you, I fear, are ready to become truths, so immortal `
` do they look, so pathetically honest, so tedious! And was it ever `
` otherwise? What then do we write and paint, we mandarins with `
` Chinese brush, we immortalisers of things which LEND themselves `
` to writing, what are we alone capable of painting? Alas, only `
` that which is just about to fade and begins to lose its odour! `
` Alas, only exhausted and departing storms and belated yellow `
` sentiments! Alas, only birds strayed and fatigued by flight, `
` which now let themselves be captured with the hand--with OUR `
` hand! We immortalize what cannot live and fly much longer, things `
` only which are exhausted and mellow! And it is only for your `
` AFTERNOON, you, my written and painted thoughts, for which alone `
` I have colours, many colours, perhaps, many variegated `
` softenings, and fifty yellows and browns and greens and reds;-- `
` but nobody will divine thereby how ye looked in your morning, you `
` sudden sparks and marvels of my solitude, you, my old, beloved-- `
` EVIL thoughts! `
` `
` `
` `
` FROM THE HEIGHTS `
` `
` `
` `
` By F W Nietzsche `
` `
` Translated by L A Magnus `
` `
` `
` 1. `
` `
` MIDDAY of Life! Oh, season of delight! `
` My summer's park! `
` Uneaseful joy to look, to lurk, to hark-- `
` I peer for friends, am ready day and night,-- `
` Where linger ye, my friends? The time is right! `
` `
` 2. `
` `
` Is not the glacier's grey today for you `
` Rose-garlanded? `
` The brooklet seeks you, wind, cloud, with longing thread `
` And thrust themselves yet higher to the blue, `
` To spy for you from farthest eagle's view `
` `
` 3. `
` `
` My table was spread out for you on high-- `
` Who dwelleth so `
` Star-near, so near the grisly pit below?-- `
` My realm--what realm hath wider boundary? `
` My honey--who hath sipped its fragrancy? `
` `
` 4. `
` `
` Friends, ye are there! Woe me,--yet I am not `
` He whom ye seek? `
` Ye stare and stop--better your wrath could speak! `
` I am not I? Hand, gait, face, changed? And what `
` I am, to you my friends, now am I not? `
` `
` 5. `
` `
` Am I an other? Strange am I to Me? `
` Yet from Me sprung? `
` A wrestler, by himself too oft self-wrung? `
` Hindering too oft my own self's potency, `
` Wounded and hampered by self-victory? `
` `
` 6. `
` `
` I sought where-so the wind blows keenest. There `
` I learned to dwell `
`