No More Learning

AT A MEETING: -
A. What are you looking at? you have been
standing here for a very long time.
B. Always the new and the old over again!
the helplessness of a thing urges me on to plunge
into it so deeply that I end by penetrating to its
deepest depths, and perceive that in reality it is
not worth so very much. At the end of all
experiences of this kind we meet with a kind of
sorrow and stupor. I experience this on a small
scale several times a day.
466.
A LOSS OF RENOWN. —What an advantage it
is to be able to speak as a stranger to mankind !
When they take away our anonymity, and make
us famous, the gods deprive us of “ half our virtue. ”
467.
DOUBLY PATIENT. —“By doing this you will
hurt many people. ”—I know that, and I also know


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330
THE DAWN OF DAY.
yet the man who wishes to cure his soul will
carefully consider a change, even in his least
important habits. Many a man will utter a cold
and angry word to his surroundings ten times a
day without thinking about it, and he will forget
that after a few years it will have become a regular
habit with him to put his surroundings out of
temper ten times a day. But he can also acquire
the habit of doing good to them ten times.
463.
ON THE SEVENTH DAY. —“ You praise this
as my creation ? but I have only put aside what
was a burden to me! my soul is above the vanity
of creators. —You praise this as my resignation ?
but I have only stripped myself of what had become
burdensome! My soul is above the vanity of the
resigned ones! ”
464.
THE DONOR'S MODESTY. — There is such a
want of generosity in always posing as the donor
and benefactor, and showing one's face when doing
so! But to give and bestow, and at the same time
to conceal one's name and favour or not to have
a name at all, like nature, in whom this fact is more
refreshing to us than anything else—here at last
we no more meet with the giver and bestower,
no more with a “gracious countenance. ”—It is
true that you have now forfeited even this comfort,
for you have placed a God in this nature—and
now everything is once again fettered and op-
pressed! Well? are we never to have the right of


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THE DAWN OF DAY.
331
remaining alone with ourselves ? are we always
to be watched, guarded, surrounded by leading
strings and gifts ? If there is always some one
round about us, the best part of courage and kind-
ness will ever remain impossible of attainment in
this world. Are we not tempted to fly to hell
before this continual obtrusiveness of heaven, this
inevitable supernatural neighbour? Never mind,
it was only a dream; let us wake up!
465.
AT A MEETING: -
A. What are you looking at? you have been
standing here for a very long time.
B. Always the new and the old over again !
the helplessness of a thing urges me on to plunge
into it so deeply that I end by penetrating to its
deepest depths, and perceive that in reality it is
not worth so very much. At the end of all
experiences of this kind we meet with a kind of
sorrow and stupor. I experience this on a small
scale several times a day.
466.
A LOSS OF RENOWN. —What an advantage it
is to be able to speak as a stranger to mankind !
When they take away our anonymity, and make
us famous, the gods deprive us of “ half our virtue. ”
467.
DOUBLY PATIENT. —“By doing this you will
hurt many people. ”—I know that, and I also know


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330
THE DAWN OF DAY.
yet the man who wishes to cure his soul will
carefully consider a change, even in his least
important habits. Many a man will utter a cold
and angry word to his surroundings ten times a
day without thinking about it, and he will forget
that after a few years it will have become a regular
habit with him to put his surroundings out of
temper ten times a day. But he can also acquire
the habit of doing good to them ten times.
463.
ON THE SEVENTH DAY. —“You praise this
as my creation ? but I have only put aside what
was a burden to me! my soul is above the vanity
of creators. —You praise this as my resignation ?
but I have only stripped myself of what had become
burdensome! My soul is above the vanity of the
resigned ones! ”
464.
THE DONOR'S MODESTY. — There is such a
want of generosity in always posing as the donor
and benefactor, and showing one's face when doing
so! But to give and bestow, and at the same time
to conceal one's name and favour! or not to have
a name at all, like nature, in whom this fact is more
refreshing to us than anything else—here at last
we no more meet with the giver and bestower,
no more with a “gracious countenance. ”—It is
true that you have now forfeited even this comfort,
for you have placed a God in this nature—and
now everything is once again fettered and op-
pressed! Well? are we never to have the right of


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THE DAWN OF DAY.
331
remaining alone with ourselves ? are we always
to be watched, guarded, surrounded by leading
strings and gifts ? If there is always some one
round about us, the best part of courage and kind-
ness will ever remain impossible of attainment in
this world. Are we not tempted to fly to hell
before this continual obtrusiveness of heaven, this
inevitable supernatural neighbour ? Never mind,
it was only a dream ; let us wake up!
465.
AT A MEETING: -
A. What are you looking at? you have been
standing here for a very long time.
B. Always the new and the old over again !
the helplessness of a thing urges me on to plunge
into it so deeply that I end by penetrating to its
deepest depths, and perceive that in reality it is
not worth so very much. At the end of all
experiences of this kind we meet with a kind of
sorrow and stupor. I experience this on a small
scale several times a day.
466.
A LOSS OF RENOWN. -What an advantage it
is to be able to speak as a stranger to mankind !
When they take away our anonymity, and make
us famous, the gods deprive us of “half our virtue. ”
467.
DOUBLY PATIENT. —“By doing this you will
hurt many people. ”—I know that, and I also know


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332 THE DAWN OF DAY.
that I shall have to suffer for it doubly: in the
first place out of pity for their suffering, and secondly
from the revenge they will take on me. But in
spite of this I cannot help doing what I do.
468.
The Kingdom of Beauty is Greater. —We
move about in nature, cunning and cheerful, in order
that we may surprise everything in the beauty
peculiar to it; we make an effort, whether in sun-
shine or under a stormy sky, to see a distant part
of the coast with its rocks, bays, and olive and
pine trees under an aspect in which it achieves its
perfection and consummation. Thus also we should
walk about among men as their discoverers and
explorers, meting out to them good and evil in
order that we may unveil the peculiar beauty which
is seen with some in the sunshine, in others under
thunder-clouds, or with others again only in twilight
and under a rainy sky.
Are we then forbidden to enjoy the evil man
like some savage landscape which possesses its own
bold and daring lines and luminous effects, while
this same man, so long as he behaves well, and in
conformity with the law, appears to us to be an
error of drawing, and a mere caricature which
offends us like a defect in nature? —Yes, this is
forbidden: for as yet we have only been permitted
to seek beauty in anything that is morally good,—
and this is sufficient to explain why we have found
so little and have been compelled to look for beauty
without either flesh or bones ! —in the same way as


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THE DAWN OF DAY. 333
evil men are familiar with innumerable kinds of
happiness which the virtuous never dream of, we
may also find among them innumerable types of
beauty, many of them as yet undiscovered.
469.
The Inhumanity of the Sage. —The heavy
and grinding progress of the sage, who in the
words of the Buddhist song, "Wanders lonely like
the rhinoceros," now and again stands in need of
proofs of a conciliatory and softened humanity, and
not only proofs of those accelerated steps, those
polite and sociable witticisms; not only of humour
and a certain self-mockery, but likewise of contra-
dictions and occasional returns to the predominating
inconsistencies. In order that he may not resemble
the heavy roller that rolls along like fate, the sage
who wishes to teach must take advantage of his
defects, and utilise them for his own adornment;
and when saying "despise me" he will implore
permission to be the advocate of a presumptuous
truth.
This sage wishes to lead you to the mountains,
and he will perhaps endanger your life: therefore
as the price of his enjoyment he willingly authorises
you to take your revenge either before or after-
wards on such a guide. Do you remember what
thoughts came into your head when he once led
you to a gloomy cavern over a slippery path? Your
distrustful heart beat rapidly, and said inwardly,
"This guide might surely do something better
than crawl about here! he is one of those idle


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334 THE DAWN OF DAY.
people who are full of curiosity—is it not doing
him too much honour to appear to attach any
value at all to him by following him? "
470.
Many at the Banquet. —How happy we are
when we are fed like the birds by the hand of
some one who throws them their crumbs without
examining them too closely, or inquiring into their
worthiness! To live like a bird which comes and
flies away, and does not carry its name on its beak!
I take great pleasure in satisfying my appetite at
the banquet of the many.
471.
Another type of Love for one's Neigh-
bour. —Everything that is agitated, noisy, fitful,
and nervous forms a contrast to the great passion
which, glowing in the heart of man like a quiet and
gloomy flame, and gathering about it all that is
flaming and ardent, gives to man the appearance
of coldness and indifference, and stamps a certain
impassiveness on his features. Such men are occa-
sionally capable of showing their love for their
neighbour, but this love is different from that of
sociable people who are anxious to please. It is
a mild, contemplative, and calm amiability: these
people, as it were, look out of the windows of the
castle which serves them as a stronghold, and con-
sequently as a prison; for the outlook into the far
distance, the open air, and a different world is so
pleasant for them!


## p. 335 (#479) ############################################

THE DAWN OF DAY. 335
472.
Not Justifying Oneself. —
A. But why are you not willing to justify
yourself?
B. I could do it in this instance, as in dozens
of others; but I despise the pleasure which lies in
justification, for all that matters little to me, and I
would rather bear a stained reputation than give
those petty folks the spiteful pleasure of saying,
"He takes these things very seriously. " This is not
true. Perhaps I ought to have more consideration
for myself, and look upon it as a duty to rectify
erroneous opinions about myself—I am too in-
different and too indolent regarding myself, and
consequently also regarding everything that is
brought about through my agency.
473-
Where to Build one's House. —If you feel
great and productive in solitude, society will belittle
and isolate you, and vice versa. A powerful mild-
ness such as that of a father:—wherever this feeling
takes possession of you, there build your house,
whether in the midst of the multitude, or on some
silent spot. Ubipater sum, ibi patria*
474-
The only Means. —"Dialectic is the only
means of reaching the divine essence, and penetrat-
* A variation of the well-known proverb, Ubi bene, ibi
patria. —TR.


## p. 336 (#480) ############################################

336 THE DAWN OF DAY.
ing behind the veil of appearance. " This declara-
tion of Plato in regard to dialectic is as solemn and
passionate as that of Schopenhauer in regard to the
contrary of dialectic—and both are wrong. For
that to which they wish to point out the way to us
does not exist. —And so far have not all the great
passions of mankind been passions for something
non-existent? —and all their ceremonies—cere-
monies for something non-existent also?
475-
Becoming Heavy. —You know him not: what-
ever weights he may attach to himself he will
nevertheless be able to raise them all with him.
But you, judging from the weak flapping of your
own wings, come to the conclusion that he wishes
to remain below, merely because he does burden
himself with those weights.
476.
At the Harvest Thanksgiving of the
INTELLECT. —There is a daily increase and ac-
cumulation of experiences, events, opinions upon
these experiences and events, and dreams upon
these opinions—a boundless and delightful display
of wealth! its aspect dazzles the eyes: I can no
longer understand how the poor in spirit can be
called blessed! Occasionally, however, I envy
them when I am tired: for the superintendence of
such vast wealth is no easy task, and its weight
frequently crushes all happiness. —Alas, if only the


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THE DAWN OF DAY:
337
mere sight of it were sufficient! If only we could
be misers of our knowledge !
477.
FREED FROM SCEPTICISM. —
A. Some men emerge from a general moral
scepticism bad-tempered and feeble, corroded,
worm-eaten, and even partly consumed—but I on
the other hand, more courageous and healthier than
ever, and with my instincts conquered once more.
Where a strong wind blows, where the waves are
rolling angrily, and where more than usual danger
is to be faced, there I feel happy. I did not
become a worm, although I often had to work and
dig like a worm.
B. You have just ceased to be a sceptic; for
you deny !
A. And in doing so I have learnt to say yea
again.
478.
LET US PASS BY. -Spare him! Leave him in
his solitude ! Do you wish to crush him down
entirely? He became cracked like a glass into
which some hot liquid was poured suddenly—and
he was such a precious glass !
479.
LOVE AND TRUTHFULNESS. Through our love
we have become dire offenders against truth, and
even habitual dissimulators and thieves, who give


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333 THE DAWN OF DAY.
out more things as true than seem to us to be
true. On this account the thinker must from time
to time drive away those whom he loves (not
necessarily those who love him), so that they may
show their sting and wickedness, and cease to
tempt him. Consequently the kindness of the
thinker will have its waning and waxing moon.
480.
Inevitable. —No matter what your experience
may be, any one who does not feel well disposed
towards you will find in this experience some pre-
text for disparaging you! You may undergo the
greatest possible revolutions of mind and know-
ledge, and at length, with the melancholy smile of
the convalescent, you may be able to step out into
freedom and bright stillness, and yet some one will
say: "This fellow looks upon his illness as an
argument, and takes his impotence to be a proof
of the impotence of all others—he is vain enough
to fall ill that he may feel the superiority of the
sufferer. " And again, if somebody were to break
the chains that bound him down, and wounded
himself severely in doing so, some one else would
point at him mockingly and cry: "How awkward
he is! there is a man who had got accustomed to
his chains, and yet he is fool enough to burst them
asunder! "
481.
Two GERMANS—If we compare Kant and
Schopenhauer with Plato, Spinoza, Pascal, Rous-
seau, and Goethe, with reference to their souls


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THE DAWN OF DAY. 339
and not their intellects, we shall see that the two
first-named thinkers are at a disadvantage: their
thoughts do not constitute a passionate history of
their souls—we are not led to expect in them
romance, crises, catastrophies, or death struggles.
Their thinking is not at the same time the in-
voluntary biography of a soul, but in the case of
Kant merely of a head; and in the case of
Schopenhauer again merely the description and
reflection of a character (" the invariable ") and the
pleasure which this reflection causes, that is to say,
the pleasure of meeting with an intellect of the
first order.
Kant, when he shimmers through his thoughts,
appears to us as an honest and honourable man
in the best sense of the words, but likewise as an
insignificant one: he is wanting in breadth and
power; he had not come through many experi-
ences, and his method of working did not allow
him sufficient time to undergo experiences. Of
course, in speaking of experiences, I do not refer
to the ordinary external events of life, but to those
fatalities and convulsions which occur in the course
of the most solitary and quiet life which has some
leisure and glows with the passion for thinking.
Schopenhauer has at all events one advantage over
him; for he at least was distinguished by a certain
fierce ugliness of disposition, which showed itself in
hatred, desire, vanity, and suspicion: he was of a
rather more ferocious disposition, and had both
time and leisure to indulge this ferocity. But he
lacked "development," which was also wanting in
his range of thought: he had no "history. "


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34°
THE DAWN OF DAY.
482.
Seeking one's Company. —Are we then look-
ing for too much when we seek the company of
men who have grown mild, agreeable to the taste,
and nutritive, like chestnuts which have been put
into the fire and taken out just at the right
moment? Of men who expect little from life, and
prefer to accept this little as a present rather than
as a merit of their own, as if it were carried to them
by birds and bees? Of men who are too proud
ever to feel themselves rewarded, and too serious
in their passion for knowledge and honesty to have
time for or pleasure in fame? Such men we
should call philosophers; but they themselves will
always find some more modest designation.
483-
Satiated with Mankind. —
A. Seek for knowledge! Yes ■ but always as a
man! What? must I always be a spectator of the
same comedy, and always play a part in the same
comedy, without ever being able to observe things
with other eyes than those? and yet there may be
countless types of beings whose organs are better
adapted for knowledge than ours! At the end of
all their searching for knowledge what will men
at length come to know? Their organs! which
perhaps is as much as to say: the impossibility of
knowledge' misery and disgust!
B. This is a bad attack you have—reason is
attacking you! to-morrow, however, you will again


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THE DAWN OF DAY. 341
be in the midst of knowledge, and hence of irra-
tionality—that is to say, delighted about all that
is human. Let us go to the sea!
484.
Going our own Way. —When we take the
decisive step, and make up our minds to follow
our own path, a secret is suddenly revealed to us:
it is clear that all those who had hitherto been
friendly to us and on intimate terms with us judged
themselves to be superior to us, and are offended
now. The best among them are indulgent, and
are content to wait patiently until we once more
find the "right path "—they know it, apparently.
Others make fun of us, and pretend that we have
been seized with a temporary attack of mild in-
sanity, or spitefully point out some seducer. The
more malicious say we are vain fools, and do their
best to blacken our motives; while the worst of all
see in us their greatest enemy, some one who is
thirsting for revenge after many years of depend-
ence,—and are afraid of us. What, then, are we
to do? My own opinion is that we should begin
our sovereignty by promising to all our acquaint-
ances in advance a whole year's amnesty for sins
of every kind.
485.
Far-off Perspectives. —
A. But why this solitude?
B. I am not angry with anybody. But when
I am alone it seems to me that I can see my
friends in a clearer and rosier light than when I


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34^ THE DAWX OF DAY.
am with them; and when I loved and felt music
best I lived far from it. It would seem that I
most have distant perspectives in order that I
may think well of things.
486.
GOLD AND Hunger. —Here and there we
meet with a man who changes into gold everything
that he touches. But some fine evil day he will
discover that he himself must starve through this
gift of his. Everything around him is brilliant,
superb, and unapproachable in its ideal beauty,
and now he eagerly longs for things which it is
impossible for him to turn into gold and how
intense is this longing! like that of a starving man
for a meal! Query: What will he seize?
487.
Shame. —Look at that noble steed pawing the
ground, snorting, longing for a ride, and loving its
accustomed rider—but, shameful to relate, the rider
cannot mount to-day. he is tired. —Such is the
shame felt by the weary thinker in the presence
of his own philosophy '.
488.
Against the Waste of Love. —Do we not
blush when we surprise ourselves in a state of
violent aversion? Well, then, we should also blush
when we find ourselves possessed of strong affections
onaccount of the injustice contained in them. More:


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THE DAWN OF DAY. 343
there are people who feel their hearts weighed down
and oppressedwhen some one gives them the benefit
of his love and sympathy to the extent that he
deprives others of a share. The tone of his voice
reveals to us the fact that we have been specially
selected and preferred ! but, alas! I am not thankful
for being thus selected: I experience within myself
a certain feeling of resentment against him who
wishes to distinguish me in this way—he shall not
love me at the expense of others! I shall always
try to look after myself and to endure myself, and
my heart is often filled to overflowing, and with
some reason. To such a man nothing ought to be
given of which others stand so greatly in need.
489.
Friends in Need. —We may occasionally
remark that one of our friends sympathises with
another more than with us. His delicacy is troubled
thereby, and his selfishness is not equal to the task
of breaking down his feelings of affection: in such
a case we should facilitate the separation for him,
and estrange him in some way in order to widen
the distance between us. —This is also necessary
when we fall into a habit of thinking which might
be detrimental to him: our affection for him
should induce us to ease his conscience in separating
himself from us by means of some injustice which
we voluntarily take upon ourselves.
490.
Those petty Truths. —" You know all that,
but you have never lived through it—so I will not
s■


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344 THE DAWN OF DAY.
accept your evidence. Those' petty truths'—you
deem them petty because yon have not paid for
them with your blood ! "—But are they really great,
simply because they have been bought at so high a
price? and blood is always too high a price! —** Do
you really think so? How stingy you are with your
blood:"
491.
Solitude, therefore ! —
A. So you wish to go back to your desert?
B. I am not a quick thinker; I must wait for
myself a long time—it is always later and later
before the water from the fountain of my own ego
spurts forth, and I have often to go thirsty longer
than suits my patience That is why I retire into
solitude in order that I may not have to drink from
the common cisterns. When I live in the midst
of the multitude my life is like theirs, and I do not
think like myself; but after some time it always
seems to me as if the multitude wished to banish
me from myself, and to rob me of my soul. Then
I get angry with all these people, and afraid of them;
and I must have the desert to become well disposed
again.
492.
Under the South Wind. —
A. I can no longer understand myself! It was
only yesterday that I felt myself so tempestuous and
ardent, and at the same time so warm and sunny
and exceptionally bright! but to-day! Now
everything is calm, wide, oppressive, and dark like
the lagoon at Venice. I wish for nothing, and


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THE DAWN OF DAY. 345
draw a deep breath, and yet I feel inwardly in-
dignant at this "wish for nothing "—so the waves
rise and fall in the ocean of my melancholy.
B. You describe a petty, agreeable illness. The
next wind from the north-east will blow it away.
A. Why so?
493-
On One's own Tree. —
A. No thinker's thoughts give me so much
pleasure as my own: this, of course, proves nothing
in favour of their value; but I should be foolish to
neglect fruits which are tasteful to me only because
they happen to grow on my own tree ! —and I was
once such a fool.
B. Others have the contrary feeling: which like-
wise proves nothing in favour of their thoughts, nor
yet is it any argument against their value.
494-
The Last Argument of the Brave Man. —
There are snakes in this little clump of trees. —
Very well, I will rush into the thicket and kill them.
—But by doing that you will run the risk of falling
a victim to them, and not they to you. —But what
do I matter?
495-
OUR Teachers. —During our period of youth
we select our teachers and guides from our own
times, and from those circles which we happen to
meet with: we have the thoughtless conviction that
the present age must have teachers who will suit


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344
THE DAWN OF DAY.
accept your evidence. Those 'petty truths'—you
deem them petty because you have not paid for
them with your blood ! ”—But are they really great,
simply because they have been bought at so high a
price? and blood is always too high a price ! —“Do
you really think so ? How stingy you are with your
blood ! "
491.
SOLITUDE, THEREFORE ! -
A. So you wish to go back to your desert ?
B. I am not a quick thinker; I must wait for
myself a long time—it is always later and later
before the water from the fountain of my own ego
spurts forth, and I have often to go thirsty longer
than suits my patience. That is why I retire into
solitude in order that I may not have to drink from
the common cisterns. When I live in the midst
of the multitude my life is like theirs, and I do not
think like myself; but after some time it always
seems to me as if the multitude wished to banish
me from myself, and to rob me of my soul. Then
I get angry with all these people, and afraid of them;
and I must have the desert to become well disposed
again.
492.
UNDER THE South WIND. -
A. I can no longer understand myself! It was
only yesterday that I felt myself so tempestuous and
ardent, and at the same time so warm and sunny
and exceptionally bright! but to-day! Now
everything is calm, wide, oppressive, and dark like
the lagoon at Venice. I wish for nothing, and


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THE DAWN OF DAY.
345
draw a deep breath, and yet I feel inwardly in-
dignant at this “wish for nothing"--so the waves
rise and fall in the ocean of my melancholy.
B. You describe a petty, agreeable illness. The
next wind from the north-east will blow it away.
A. Why so ?
493.
ON ONE'S OWN TREE. —
A. No thinker's thoughts give me so much
pleasure as my own: this, of course, proves nothing
in favour of their value; but I should be foolish to
neglect fruits which are tasteful to me only because
they happen to grow on my own tree ! —and I was
once such a fool.
B. Others have the contrary feeling : which like-
wise proves nothing in favour of their thoughts, nor
yet is it any argument against their value.
494.
THE LAST ARGUMENT OF THE BRAVE MAN. -
There are snakes in this little clump of trees.
Very well, I will rush into the thicket and kill them.
-But by doing that you will run the risk of falling
a victim to them, and not they to you. —But what
do I matter?
495.
OUR TEACHERS. —During our period of youth
we select our teachers and guides from our own
times, and from those circles which we happen to
meet with : we have the thoughtless conviction that
the present age must have teachers who will suit


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344
THE DAWN OF DAY.
accept your evidence. Those' petty truths'—you
deem them petty because you have not paid for
them with your blood ! ”—But are they really great,
simply because they have been bought at so high a
price? and blood is always too high a price ! -“Do
you really think so ? How stingy you are with your
blood! ”
491.
SOLITUDE, THEREFORE !
A. So you wish to go back to your desert ?
B. I am not a quick thinker; I must wait for
myself a long time—it is always later and later
before the water from the fountain of my own ego
spurts forth, and I have often to go thirsty longer
than suits my patience. That is why I retire into
solitude in order that I may not have to drink from
the common cisterns. When I live in the midst
of the multitude my life is like theirs, and I do not
think like myself; but after some time it always
seems to me as if the multitude wished to banish
me from myself, and to rob me of my soul. Then
I get angry with all these people, and afraid of them;
and I must have the desert to become well disposed
again.
492.
UNDER THE South WIND. —
A. I can no longer understand myself! It was
only yesterday that I felt myself so tempestuous and
ardent, and at the same time so warm and sunny
and exceptionally bright! but to-day! Now
everything is calm, wide, oppressive, and dark like
the lagoon at Venice. I wish for nothing, and


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THE DAWN OF DAY.
345
draw a deep breath, and yet I feel inwardly in-
dignant at this “ wish for nothing”-so the waves
rise and fall in the ocean of my melancholy.
B. You describe a petty, agreeable illness. The
next wind from the north-east will blow it away.
A. Why so ?
493.
ON ONE'S OWN TREE.