Reading Help Beyond good and evil
most wicked consciences of today, as the living touchstones of `
` the soul. `
` `
` 33. It cannot be helped: the sentiment of surrender, of sacrifice `
` for one's neighbour, and all self-renunciation-morality, must be `
` mercilessly called to account, and brought to judgment; just as `
` the aesthetics of "disinterested contemplation," under which the `
` emasculation of art nowadays seeks insidiously enough to create `
` itself a good conscience. There is far too much witchery and `
` sugar in the sentiments "for others" and "NOT for myself," for `
` one not needing to be doubly distrustful here, and for one asking `
` promptly: "Are they not perhaps--DECEPTIONS?"--That they PLEASE-- `
` him who has them, and him who enjoys their fruit, and also the `
` mere spectator--that is still no argument in their FAVOUR, but `
` just calls for caution. Let us therefore be cautious! `
` `
` 34. At whatever standpoint of philosophy one may place oneself `
` nowadays, seen from every position, the ERRONEOUSNESS of the `
` world in which we think we live is the surest and most certain `
` thing our eyes can light upon: we find proof after proof thereof, `
` which would fain allure us into surmises concerning a deceptive `
` principle in the "nature of things." He, however, who makes `
` thinking itself, and consequently "the spirit," responsible for `
` the falseness of the world--an honourable exit, which every `
` conscious or unconscious advocatus dei avails himself of--he who `
` regards this world, including space, time, form, and movement, as `
` falsely DEDUCED, would have at least good reason in the end to `
` become distrustful also of all thinking; has it not hitherto been `
` playing upon us the worst of scurvy tricks? and what guarantee `
` would it give that it would not continue to do what it has always `
` been doing? In all seriousness, the innocence of thinkers has `
` something touching and respect-inspiring in it, which even `
` nowadays permits them to wait upon consciousness with the request `
` that it will give them HONEST answers: for example, whether it be `
` "real" or not, and why it keeps the outer world so resolutely at `
` a distance, and other questions of the same description. The `
` belief in "immediate certainties" is a MORAL NAIVETE which does `
` honour to us philosophers; but--we have now to cease being `
` "MERELY moral" men! Apart from morality, such belief is a folly `
` which does little honour to us! If in middle-class life an ever- `
` ready distrust is regarded as the sign of a "bad character," and `
` consequently as an imprudence, here among us, beyond the middle- `
` class world and its Yeas and Nays, what should prevent our being `
` imprudent and saying: the philosopher has at length a RIGHT to `
` "bad character," as the being who has hitherto been most befooled `
` on earth--he is now under OBLIGATION to distrustfulness, to the `
` wickedest squinting out of every abyss of suspicion.--Forgive me `
` the joke of this gloomy grimace and turn of expression; for I `
` myself have long ago learned to think and estimate differently `
` with regard to deceiving and being deceived, and I keep at least `
` a couple of pokes in the ribs ready for the blind rage with which `
` philosophers struggle against being deceived. Why NOT? It is `
` nothing more than a moral prejudice that truth is worth more than `
` semblance; it is, in fact, the worst proved supposition in the `
` world. So much must be conceded: there could have been no life at `
` all except upon the basis of perspective estimates and `
` semblances; and if, with the virtuous enthusiasm and stupidity of `
` many philosophers, one wished to do away altogether with the `
` "seeming world"--well, granted that YOU could do that,--at least `
` nothing of your "truth" would thereby remain! Indeed, what is it `
` that forces us in general to the supposition that there is an `
` essential opposition of "true" and "false"? Is it not enough to `
` suppose degrees of seemingness, and as it were lighter and darker `
` shades and tones of semblance--different valeurs, as the painters `
` say? Why might not the world WHICH CONCERNS US--be a fiction? And `
` to any one who suggested: "But to a fiction belongs an `
` originator?"--might it not be bluntly replied: WHY? May not this `
` "belong" also belong to the fiction? Is it not at length `
` permitted to be a little ironical towards the subject, just as `
` towards the predicate and object? Might not the philosopher `
` elevate himself above faith in grammar? All respect to `
` governesses, but is it not time that philosophy should renounce `
` governess-faith? `
` `
` 35. O Voltaire! O humanity! O idiocy! There is something ticklish `
` in "the truth," and in the SEARCH for the truth; and if man goes `
` about it too humanely--"il ne cherche le vrai que pour faire le `
` bien"--I wager he finds nothing! `
` `
` 36. Supposing that nothing else is "given" as real but our world `
` of desires and passions, that we cannot sink or rise to any other `
` "reality" but just that of our impulses--for thinking is only a `
` relation of these impulses to one another:--are we not permitted `
` to make the attempt and to ask the question whether this which is `
` "given" does not SUFFICE, by means of our counterparts, for the `
` understanding even of the so-called mechanical (or "material") `
` world? I do not mean as an illusion, a "semblance," a `
` "representation" (in the Berkeleyan and Schopenhauerian sense), `
` but as possessing the same degree of reality as our emotions `
` themselves--as a more primitive form of the world of emotions, in `
` which everything still lies locked in a mighty unity, which `
` afterwards branches off and develops itself in organic processes `
` (naturally also, refines and debilitates)--as a kind of `
` instinctive life in which all organic functions, including self- `
` regulation, assimilation, nutrition, secretion, and change of `
` matter, are still synthetically united with one another--as a `
` PRIMARY FORM of life?--In the end, it is not only permitted to `
` make this attempt, it is commanded by the conscience of LOGICAL `
` METHOD. Not to assume several kinds of causality, so long as the `
` attempt to get along with a single one has not been pushed to its `
` furthest extent (to absurdity, if I may be allowed to say so): `
` that is a morality of method which one may not repudiate `
` nowadays--it follows "from its definition," as mathematicians `
` say. The question is ultimately whether we really recognize the `
` will as OPERATING, whether we believe in the causality of the `
` will; if we do so--and fundamentally our belief IN THIS is just `
` our belief in causality itself--we MUST make the attempt to posit `
` hypothetically the causality of the will as the only causality. `
` "Will" can naturally only operate on "will"--and not on "matter" `
` (not on "nerves," for instance): in short, the hypothesis must be `
` hazarded, whether will does not operate on will wherever `
` "effects" are recognized--and whether all mechanical action, `
` inasmuch as a power operates therein, is not just the power of `
` will, the effect of will. Granted, finally, that we succeeded in `
` explaining our entire instinctive life as the development and `
` ramification of one fundamental form of will--namely, the Will to `
` Power, as my thesis puts it; granted that all organic functions `
` could be traced back to this Will to Power, and that the solution `
` of the problem of generation and nutrition--it is one problem-- `
` could also be found therein: one would thus have acquired the `
` right to define ALL active force unequivocally as WILL TO POWER. `
` The world seen from within, the world defined and designated `
` according to its "intelligible character"--it would simply be `
` "Will to Power," and nothing else. `
` `
` 37. "What? Does not that mean in popular language: God is `
` disproved, but not the devil?"--On the contrary! On the contrary, `
` my friends! And who the devil also compels you to speak `
` popularly! `
` `
` 38. As happened finally in all the enlightenment of modern times `
` with the French Revolution (that terrible farce, quite `
` superfluous when judged close at hand, into which, however, the `
` noble and visionary spectators of all Europe have interpreted `
` from a distance their own indignation and enthusiasm so long and `
` passionately, UNTIL THE TEXT HAS DISAPPEARED UNDER THE `
` INTERPRETATION), so a noble posterity might once more `
` misunderstand the whole of the past, and perhaps only thereby `
` make ITS aspect endurable.--Or rather, has not this already `
` happened? Have not we ourselves been--that "noble posterity"? `
` And, in so far as we now comprehend this, is it not--thereby `
` already past? `
` `
` 39. Nobody will very readily regard a doctrine as true merely `
` because it makes people happy or virtuous--excepting, perhaps, `
` the amiable "Idealists," who are enthusiastic about the good, `
` true, and beautiful, and let all kinds of motley, coarse, and `
` good-natured desirabilities swim about promiscuously in their `
` pond. Happiness and virtue are no arguments. It is willingly `
` forgotten, however, even on the part of thoughtful minds, that to `
` make unhappy and to make bad are just as little counter- `
` arguments. A thing could be TRUE, although it were in the highest `
` degree injurious and dangerous; indeed, the fundamental `
` constitution of existence might be such that one succumbed by a `
` full knowledge of it--so that the strength of a mind might be `
` measured by the amount of "truth" it could endure--or to speak `
` more plainly, by the extent to which it REQUIRED truth `
` attenuated, veiled, sweetened, damped, and falsified. But there `
` is no doubt that for the discovery of certain PORTIONS of truth `
` the wicked and unfortunate are more favourably situated and have `
` a greater likelihood of success; not to speak of the wicked who `
` are happy--a species about whom moralists are silent. Perhaps `
` severity and craft are more favourable conditions for the `
` development of strong, independent spirits and philosophers than `
` the gentle, refined, yielding good-nature, and habit of taking `
` things easily, which are prized, and rightly prized in a learned `
` man. Presupposing always, to begin with, that the term `
` "philosopher" be not confined to the philosopher who writes `
` books, or even introduces HIS philosophy into books!--Stendhal `
` furnishes a last feature of the portrait of the free-spirited `
` philosopher, which for the sake of German taste I will not omit `
` to underline--for it is OPPOSED to German taste. "Pour etre bon `
` philosophe," says this last great psychologist, "il faut etre `
` sec, clair, sans illusion. Un banquier, qui a fait fortune, a une `
` partie du caractere requis pour faire des decouvertes en `
` philosophie, c'est-a-dire pour voir clair dans ce qui est." `
` `
` 40. Everything that is profound loves the mask: the profoundest `
` things have a hatred even of figure and likeness. Should not the `
` CONTRARY only be the right disguise for the shame of a God to go `
` about in? A question worth asking!--it would be strange if some `
` mystic has not already ventured on the same kind of thing. There `
` are proceedings of such a delicate nature that it is well to `
` overwhelm them with coarseness and make them unrecognizable; `
` there are actions of love and of an extravagant magnanimity after `
` which nothing can be wiser than to take a stick and thrash the `
` witness soundly: one thereby obscures his recollection. Many a `
` one is able to obscure and abuse his own memory, in order at `
` least to have vengeance on this sole party in the secret: shame `
` is inventive. They are not the worst things of which one is most `
` ashamed: there is not only deceit behind a mask--there is so much `
` goodness in craft. I could imagine that a man with something `
` costly and fragile to conceal, would roll through life clumsily `
` and rotundly like an old, green, heavily-hooped wine-cask: the `
` refinement of his shame requiring it to be so. A man who has `
` depths in his shame meets his destiny and his delicate decisions `
` upon paths which few ever reach, and with regard to the existence `
` of which his nearest and most intimate friends may be ignorant; `
` his mortal danger conceals itself from their eyes, and equally so `
` his regained security. Such a hidden nature, which instinctively `
` employs speech for silence and concealment, and is inexhaustible `
`
` the soul. `
` `
` 33. It cannot be helped: the sentiment of surrender, of sacrifice `
` for one's neighbour, and all self-renunciation-morality, must be `
` mercilessly called to account, and brought to judgment; just as `
` the aesthetics of "disinterested contemplation," under which the `
` emasculation of art nowadays seeks insidiously enough to create `
` itself a good conscience. There is far too much witchery and `
` sugar in the sentiments "for others" and "NOT for myself," for `
` one not needing to be doubly distrustful here, and for one asking `
` promptly: "Are they not perhaps--DECEPTIONS?"--That they PLEASE-- `
` him who has them, and him who enjoys their fruit, and also the `
` mere spectator--that is still no argument in their FAVOUR, but `
` just calls for caution. Let us therefore be cautious! `
` `
` 34. At whatever standpoint of philosophy one may place oneself `
` nowadays, seen from every position, the ERRONEOUSNESS of the `
` world in which we think we live is the surest and most certain `
` thing our eyes can light upon: we find proof after proof thereof, `
` which would fain allure us into surmises concerning a deceptive `
` principle in the "nature of things." He, however, who makes `
` thinking itself, and consequently "the spirit," responsible for `
` the falseness of the world--an honourable exit, which every `
` conscious or unconscious advocatus dei avails himself of--he who `
` regards this world, including space, time, form, and movement, as `
` falsely DEDUCED, would have at least good reason in the end to `
` become distrustful also of all thinking; has it not hitherto been `
` playing upon us the worst of scurvy tricks? and what guarantee `
` would it give that it would not continue to do what it has always `
` been doing? In all seriousness, the innocence of thinkers has `
` something touching and respect-inspiring in it, which even `
` nowadays permits them to wait upon consciousness with the request `
` that it will give them HONEST answers: for example, whether it be `
` "real" or not, and why it keeps the outer world so resolutely at `
` a distance, and other questions of the same description. The `
` belief in "immediate certainties" is a MORAL NAIVETE which does `
` honour to us philosophers; but--we have now to cease being `
` "MERELY moral" men! Apart from morality, such belief is a folly `
` which does little honour to us! If in middle-class life an ever- `
` ready distrust is regarded as the sign of a "bad character," and `
` consequently as an imprudence, here among us, beyond the middle- `
` class world and its Yeas and Nays, what should prevent our being `
` imprudent and saying: the philosopher has at length a RIGHT to `
` "bad character," as the being who has hitherto been most befooled `
` on earth--he is now under OBLIGATION to distrustfulness, to the `
` wickedest squinting out of every abyss of suspicion.--Forgive me `
` the joke of this gloomy grimace and turn of expression; for I `
` myself have long ago learned to think and estimate differently `
` with regard to deceiving and being deceived, and I keep at least `
` a couple of pokes in the ribs ready for the blind rage with which `
` philosophers struggle against being deceived. Why NOT? It is `
` nothing more than a moral prejudice that truth is worth more than `
` semblance; it is, in fact, the worst proved supposition in the `
` world. So much must be conceded: there could have been no life at `
` all except upon the basis of perspective estimates and `
` semblances; and if, with the virtuous enthusiasm and stupidity of `
` many philosophers, one wished to do away altogether with the `
` "seeming world"--well, granted that YOU could do that,--at least `
` nothing of your "truth" would thereby remain! Indeed, what is it `
` that forces us in general to the supposition that there is an `
` essential opposition of "true" and "false"? Is it not enough to `
` suppose degrees of seemingness, and as it were lighter and darker `
` shades and tones of semblance--different valeurs, as the painters `
` say? Why might not the world WHICH CONCERNS US--be a fiction? And `
` to any one who suggested: "But to a fiction belongs an `
` originator?"--might it not be bluntly replied: WHY? May not this `
` "belong" also belong to the fiction? Is it not at length `
` permitted to be a little ironical towards the subject, just as `
` towards the predicate and object? Might not the philosopher `
` elevate himself above faith in grammar? All respect to `
` governesses, but is it not time that philosophy should renounce `
` governess-faith? `
` `
` 35. O Voltaire! O humanity! O idiocy! There is something ticklish `
` in "the truth," and in the SEARCH for the truth; and if man goes `
` about it too humanely--"il ne cherche le vrai que pour faire le `
` bien"--I wager he finds nothing! `
` `
` 36. Supposing that nothing else is "given" as real but our world `
` of desires and passions, that we cannot sink or rise to any other `
` "reality" but just that of our impulses--for thinking is only a `
` relation of these impulses to one another:--are we not permitted `
` to make the attempt and to ask the question whether this which is `
` "given" does not SUFFICE, by means of our counterparts, for the `
` understanding even of the so-called mechanical (or "material") `
` world? I do not mean as an illusion, a "semblance," a `
` "representation" (in the Berkeleyan and Schopenhauerian sense), `
` but as possessing the same degree of reality as our emotions `
` themselves--as a more primitive form of the world of emotions, in `
` which everything still lies locked in a mighty unity, which `
` afterwards branches off and develops itself in organic processes `
` (naturally also, refines and debilitates)--as a kind of `
` instinctive life in which all organic functions, including self- `
` regulation, assimilation, nutrition, secretion, and change of `
` matter, are still synthetically united with one another--as a `
` PRIMARY FORM of life?--In the end, it is not only permitted to `
` make this attempt, it is commanded by the conscience of LOGICAL `
` METHOD. Not to assume several kinds of causality, so long as the `
` attempt to get along with a single one has not been pushed to its `
` furthest extent (to absurdity, if I may be allowed to say so): `
` that is a morality of method which one may not repudiate `
` nowadays--it follows "from its definition," as mathematicians `
` say. The question is ultimately whether we really recognize the `
` will as OPERATING, whether we believe in the causality of the `
` will; if we do so--and fundamentally our belief IN THIS is just `
` our belief in causality itself--we MUST make the attempt to posit `
` hypothetically the causality of the will as the only causality. `
` "Will" can naturally only operate on "will"--and not on "matter" `
` (not on "nerves," for instance): in short, the hypothesis must be `
` hazarded, whether will does not operate on will wherever `
` "effects" are recognized--and whether all mechanical action, `
` inasmuch as a power operates therein, is not just the power of `
` will, the effect of will. Granted, finally, that we succeeded in `
` explaining our entire instinctive life as the development and `
` ramification of one fundamental form of will--namely, the Will to `
` Power, as my thesis puts it; granted that all organic functions `
` could be traced back to this Will to Power, and that the solution `
` of the problem of generation and nutrition--it is one problem-- `
` could also be found therein: one would thus have acquired the `
` right to define ALL active force unequivocally as WILL TO POWER. `
` The world seen from within, the world defined and designated `
` according to its "intelligible character"--it would simply be `
` "Will to Power," and nothing else. `
` `
` 37. "What? Does not that mean in popular language: God is `
` disproved, but not the devil?"--On the contrary! On the contrary, `
` my friends! And who the devil also compels you to speak `
` popularly! `
` `
` 38. As happened finally in all the enlightenment of modern times `
` with the French Revolution (that terrible farce, quite `
` superfluous when judged close at hand, into which, however, the `
` noble and visionary spectators of all Europe have interpreted `
` from a distance their own indignation and enthusiasm so long and `
` passionately, UNTIL THE TEXT HAS DISAPPEARED UNDER THE `
` INTERPRETATION), so a noble posterity might once more `
` misunderstand the whole of the past, and perhaps only thereby `
` make ITS aspect endurable.--Or rather, has not this already `
` happened? Have not we ourselves been--that "noble posterity"? `
` And, in so far as we now comprehend this, is it not--thereby `
` already past? `
` `
` 39. Nobody will very readily regard a doctrine as true merely `
` because it makes people happy or virtuous--excepting, perhaps, `
` the amiable "Idealists," who are enthusiastic about the good, `
` true, and beautiful, and let all kinds of motley, coarse, and `
` good-natured desirabilities swim about promiscuously in their `
` pond. Happiness and virtue are no arguments. It is willingly `
` forgotten, however, even on the part of thoughtful minds, that to `
` make unhappy and to make bad are just as little counter- `
` arguments. A thing could be TRUE, although it were in the highest `
` degree injurious and dangerous; indeed, the fundamental `
` constitution of existence might be such that one succumbed by a `
` full knowledge of it--so that the strength of a mind might be `
` measured by the amount of "truth" it could endure--or to speak `
` more plainly, by the extent to which it REQUIRED truth `
` attenuated, veiled, sweetened, damped, and falsified. But there `
` is no doubt that for the discovery of certain PORTIONS of truth `
` the wicked and unfortunate are more favourably situated and have `
` a greater likelihood of success; not to speak of the wicked who `
` are happy--a species about whom moralists are silent. Perhaps `
` severity and craft are more favourable conditions for the `
` development of strong, independent spirits and philosophers than `
` the gentle, refined, yielding good-nature, and habit of taking `
` things easily, which are prized, and rightly prized in a learned `
` man. Presupposing always, to begin with, that the term `
` "philosopher" be not confined to the philosopher who writes `
` books, or even introduces HIS philosophy into books!--Stendhal `
` furnishes a last feature of the portrait of the free-spirited `
` philosopher, which for the sake of German taste I will not omit `
` to underline--for it is OPPOSED to German taste. "Pour etre bon `
` philosophe," says this last great psychologist, "il faut etre `
` sec, clair, sans illusion. Un banquier, qui a fait fortune, a une `
` partie du caractere requis pour faire des decouvertes en `
` philosophie, c'est-a-dire pour voir clair dans ce qui est." `
` `
` 40. Everything that is profound loves the mask: the profoundest `
` things have a hatred even of figure and likeness. Should not the `
` CONTRARY only be the right disguise for the shame of a God to go `
` about in? A question worth asking!--it would be strange if some `
` mystic has not already ventured on the same kind of thing. There `
` are proceedings of such a delicate nature that it is well to `
` overwhelm them with coarseness and make them unrecognizable; `
` there are actions of love and of an extravagant magnanimity after `
` which nothing can be wiser than to take a stick and thrash the `
` witness soundly: one thereby obscures his recollection. Many a `
` one is able to obscure and abuse his own memory, in order at `
` least to have vengeance on this sole party in the secret: shame `
` is inventive. They are not the worst things of which one is most `
` ashamed: there is not only deceit behind a mask--there is so much `
` goodness in craft. I could imagine that a man with something `
` costly and fragile to conceal, would roll through life clumsily `
` and rotundly like an old, green, heavily-hooped wine-cask: the `
` refinement of his shame requiring it to be so. A man who has `
` depths in his shame meets his destiny and his delicate decisions `
` upon paths which few ever reach, and with regard to the existence `
` of which his nearest and most intimate friends may be ignorant; `
` his mortal danger conceals itself from their eyes, and equally so `
` his regained security. Such a hidden nature, which instinctively `
` employs speech for silence and concealment, and is inexhaustible `
`