Therefore he must know
how to influence his hearer's imagination favour-
ably towards himself.
how to influence his hearer's imagination favour-
ably towards himself.
Nietzsche - v06 - Human All-Too-Human - a
He can reckon with
greater certainty on future fame and can afford to
do without the present, whilst an artist who does
this always plays a desperate game that makes
his heart ache. In very rare cases, when in one
and the same individual are combined the genius
of power and of knowledge and the moral genius,
there is added to the above-mentioned pains that
species of pain which must be regarded as the
most curious exception in the world; those extra-
and super-personal sensations which are experienced
on behalf of a nation, of humanity, of all civili-
sation, all suffering existence, which acquire their
value through the connection with particularly
difficult and remote perceptions (pity in itself is
worth but little). But what standard, what proof
is there for its genuineness? Is it not almost
imperative to be mistrustful of all who talk of
feeling sensations of this kind?
f 158.
The Destiny of Greatness. —Every great
phenomenon is followed by degeneration, especially
## p. 162 (#228) ############################################
l62 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
in the world of art. The example of the great
tempts vainer natures to superficial imitation or
exaggeration; all great gifts have the fatality of
crushing many weaker forces and germs, and
of laying waste all nature around them. The
happiest arrangement in the development of an
art is for several geniuses mutually to hold one
another within bounds; in this strife it generally
happens that light and air are also granted to the
weaker and more delicate natures.
159.
Art Dangerous for the Artist. —When
art takes strong hold of an individual it draws
him back to the contemplation of those times
when art flourished best, and it has then a retro-
grade effect. The artist grows more and more
to reverence sudden inspirations; he believes in
gods and daemons, he spiritualises all nature,
hates science, is changeable in his moods like the
ancients, and longs for an overthrow of all exist-
ing conditions which are not favourable to art,
and does this with the impetuosity and unreason-
ableness of a child. Now, in himself, the artist
is already a backward nature, because he halts at
a game that belongs properly to youth and child-
hood; to this is added the fact that he is educated
back into former times. Thus there gradually
arises a fierce antagonism between him and his
contemporaries, and a sad ending; according to
the accounts of the ancients, Homer and ^Eschylus
spent their last years, and died, in melancholy.
## p. 163 (#229) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 163
160.
Created Individuals. —When it is said that
the dramatist (and the artist above all) creates real
characters, it is a fine deception and exaggeration,
in the existence and propagation of which art cele-
brates one of its unconscious but at the same time
abundant triumphs. As a matter of fact, we do
not understand much about a real, living man, and
we generalise very superficially when we ascribe to
him this and that character; this very imperfect
attitude of ours towards man is represented by
the poet, inasmuch as he makes into men (in
this sense " creates ") outlines as superficial as our
knowledge of man is superficial. There is a great
deal of delusion about these created characters of
artists; they are by no means living productions
of nature, but are like painted men, somewhat too
thin, they will not bear a close inspection. And
when it is said that the character of the ordinary
living being contradicts itself frequently, and that
the one created by the dramatist is the original
model conceived by nature, this is quite wrong.
A genuine man is something absolutely necessary
(even in those so-called contradictions), but we
do not always recognise this necessity. The
imaginary man, the phantasm, signifies something
necessary, but only to those who understand a real
man only in a crude, unnatural simplification, so
that a few strong, oft-repeated traits, with a great
deal of light and shade and half-light about them,
amply satisfy their notions. They are, therefore,
ready to treat the phantasm as a genuine, necessary
## p. 164 (#230) ############################################
164 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
man, because with real men they are accustomed
to regard a phantasm, an outline, an intentional
abbreviation as the whole. That the painter and
the sculptor express the "idea" of man is a vain
imagination and delusion; whoever says this is in
subjection to the eye, for this only sees the
surface, the epidermis of the human body,—the
inward body, however, is equally a part of the
idea. Plastic art wishes to make character visible!
on the surface ; . histrionic art employs speech for'
the same purpose, it reflects character in sounds.
Art starts from the natural ignorance of man about
his interior condition (in body and character); it is
not meant for philosophers or natural scientists.
161.
The Over-valuation of Self in the
Belief in Artists and Philosophers. —We
are all prone to think that the excellence of a
work of art or of an artist is proved when it moves
and touches us. But there our own excellence in
judgment and sensibility must have been proved
first, which is not the case. In all plastic art, who
had greater power to effect a charm than Bernini,
who made a greater effect than the orator that
appeared after Demosthenes introduced the Asiatic
style and gave it a predominance which lasted
throughout two centuries? This predominance
during whole centuries is not a proof of the
excellence and enduring validity of a style;
therefore we must not be too certain in our good
opinion of any artist,—this is not only belief
## p. 165 (#231) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 165
in the truthfulness of our sensations but also in
the infallibility of our judgment, whereas judgment
or sensation, or even both, may be too coarse or
too fine, exaggerated or crude. Neither are the
blessings and blissfulness of a philosophy or of a
religion proofs of its truth; just as little as the
happiness which an insane person derives from his
fixed idea is a proof of the reasonableness of this
idea.
162.
The Cult of Genius for the sake of
Vanity. —Because we think well of ourselves, but
nevertheless do not imagine that we are capable
of the conception of one of Raphael's pictures or
of a scene such as those of one of Shakespeare's
dramas, we persuade ourselves that the faculty
for doing this is quite extraordinarily wonderful, a
very rare case, or, if we are religiously inclined, a
grace from above. Thus the cult of genius fosters
our vanity, our self-love, for it is only when we
think of it as very far removed from us, as a
miraculum, that it does not wound us (even
Goethe, who was free from envy, called Shakespeare
a star of the farthest heavens, whereby we are
reminded of the line " die Sterne, die begehrt man
nicht" *). But, apart from those suggestions of our
* The allusion is to Goethe's lines:
Die Sterne, die begehrt man nicht,
Man freut sich ihrer Pracht.
We do not want the stars themselves,
Their brilliancy delights our hearts. —J. M. K.
## p. 166 (#232) ############################################
l66 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
vanity, the activity of a genius does not seem so
radically different from the activity of a mechanical
inventor, of an astronomer or historian or strategist.
All these forms of activity are explicable if we
realise men whose minds are active in one special
direction, who make use of everything as material,
who always eagerly study their own inward life
and that of others, who find types and incitements
everywhere, who never weary in the employment
of their means. Genius does nothing but learn
how to lay stones, then to build, always to seek for
material and always to work upon it. Every
human activity is marvellously complicated, and
not only that of genius, but it is no " miracle. "
Now whence comes the belief that genius is found
only in artists, orators, and philosophers, that they
alone have "intuition" (by which we credit them
with a kind of magic glass by means of which
they see straight into one's "being ")? It is clear
that men only speak of genius where the workings
of a great intellect are most agreeable to them
and they have no desire to feel envious. To call
any one " divine" is as much as saying "here we
have no occasion for rivalry. " Thus it is that
everything completed and perfect is stared at,
and everything incomplete is undervalued. Now
nobody can see how the work of an artist has
developed; that is its advantage, for everything of
which the development is seen is looked on coldly.
The perfected art of representation precludes all
thought of its development, it tyrannises as a
present perfection. For this reason artists of
representation are especially held to be possessed
## p. 167 (#233) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 167
of genius, but not scientific men. In reality,
however, the former valuation and the latter
under-valuation are only puerilities of reason.
163.
The Earnestness of Handicraft. — Do
not talk of gifts, of inborn talents! We could
mention great men of all kinds who were but
little gifted. But they obtained greatness, became
"geniuses " (as they are called), through qualities
of the lack of which nobody who is conscious of
them likes to speak. They all had that thorough
earnestness for work which learns first how to
form the different parts perfectly before it ventures
to make a great whole; they gave themselves time
for this, because they took more pleasure in doing
small, accessory things well than in the effect of
a dazzling whole. For instance, the recipe for
becoming a good novelist is easily given, but the
carrying out of the recipe presupposes qualities
which we are in the habit of overlooking when we
say, "I have not sufficient talent. " Make a
hundred or more sketches of novel-plots, none
more than two pages long, but of such clearness
that every word in them is necessary; write down
anecdotes every day until you learn to find the
most pregnant, most effective form; never weary
of collecting and delineating human types and
characters; above all, narrate things as often as
possible and listen to narrations with a sharp
eye and ear for the effect upon other people
present; travel like a landscape painter and a
## p. 167 (#234) ############################################
l66 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
vanity, the activity of a genius does not seem so
radically different from the activity of a mechanical
inventor, of an astronomer or historian or strategist.
All these forms of activity are explicable if we
realise men whose minds are active in one special
direction, who make use of everything as material,
who always eagerly study their own inward life
and that of others, who find types and incitements
everywhere, who never weary in the employment
of their means. Genius does nothing but learn
how to lay stones, then to build, always to seek for
material and always to work upon it. Every
human activity is marvellously complicated, and
not only that of genius, but it is no " miracle. "
Now whence comes the belief that genius is found
only in artists, orators, and philosophers, that they
alone have "intuition" (by which we credit them
with a kind of magic glass by means of which
they see straight into one's " being ")? It is clear
that men only speak of genius where the workings
of a great intellect are most agreeable to them
and they have no desire to feel envious. To call
any one " divine" is as much as saying " here we
have no occasion for rivalry. " Thus it is that
everything completed and perfect is stared at,
and everything incomplete is undervalued. Now
nobody can see how the work of an artist has
developed; that is its advantage, for everything of
which the development is seen is looked on coldly.
The perfected art of representation precludes all
thought of its development, it tyrannises as a
present perfection. For this reason artists of
representation are especially held to be possessed
## p. 167 (#235) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. \6j
F genius, but not scientific men. In reality,
owever, the former valuation and the latter
der-valuation are only puerilities of reason.
"
163.
The Earnestness of Handicraft. — Do
iot talk of gifts, of inborn talents! We could
mention great men of all kinds who were but
little gifted. But they obtained greatness, became
"geniuses " (as they are called), through qualities
of the lack of which nobody who is conscious of
them likes to speak. They all had that thorough
earnestness for work which learns first how to
form the different parts perfectly before it ventures
to make a great whole; they gave themselves time
for this, because they took more pleasure in doing
small, accessory things well than in the effect of
a dazzling whole. For instance, the recipe for
becoming a good novelist is easily given, but the
carrying out of the recipe presupposes qualities
which we are in the habit of overlooking when we
say, "I have not sufficient talent. " Make a
hundred or more sketches of novel-plots, none
more than two pages long, but of such clearness
that every word in them is necessary; write down
anecdotes every day until you learn to find the
most pregnant, most effective form; never weary
of collecting and delineating human types and
characters; above all, narrate things as often as
possible and listen to narrations with a sharp
eye and ear for the effect upon other people
present; travel like a landscape painter and a
## p. 168 (#236) ############################################
168 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
!
designer of costumes; take from different sciences
everything that is artistically effective, if it be
well represented; finally, meditate on the motives
for human actions, scorn not even the smallest
point of instruction on this subject, and collect
similar matters by day and night. Spend some
ten years in these various exercises: then the
creations of your study may be allowed to see the
light of day. But what do most people do, on
the contrary? They do not begin with the part,
but with the whole. Perhaps they make one
good stroke, excite attention, and ever afterwards
their work grows worse and worse, for good,
natural reasons. But sometimes, when intellect
and character are lacking for the formation of
such an artistic career, fate and necessity take
the place of these qualities and lead the future
master step by step through all the phases of his
craft.
164.
The Danger and the Gain in the Cult
OF GENIUS. —The belief in great, superior, fertile
minds is not necessarily, but still very frequently,
connected with that wholly or partly religious
superstition that those spirits are of superhuman
origin and possess certain marvellous faculties,
by means of which they obtained their knowledge
in ways quite different from the rest of mankind.
They are credited with having an immediate
insight into the nature of the world, through
a peep-hole in the mantle of the phenomenon as
it were, and it is believed that, without the
## p. 169 (#237) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 169
trouble and severity of science, by virtue of
this marvellous prophetic sight, they could
impart something final and decisive about man-
kind and the world. So long as there are
still believers in miracles in the world of
knowledge it may perhaps be admitted that
the believers themselves derive a benefit therefrom,
inasmuch as by their absolute subjection to great
minds they obtain the best discipline and schooling
for their own minds during the period of develop-
ment. On the other hand, it may at least be
questioned whether the superstition of genius,
of its privileges and special faculties, is useful
for a genius himself when it implants itself in
him. In any case it is a dangerous sign when
man shudders at his own self, be it that famous
Caesarian shudder or the shudder of genius which
applies to this case, when the incense of sacrifice,
which by rights is offered to a God alone,
penetrates into the brain of the genius, so that
he begins to waver and to look upon himself
as something superhuman. The slow conse-
quences are: the feeling of irresponsibility, the
exceptional rights, the belief that mere inter-
course with him confers a favour, and frantic rage
at any attempt to compare him with others or
even to place him below them and to bring into
prominence whatever is unsuccessful in his work.
Through the fact that he ceases to criticise
himself one pinion after another falls out of
his plumage,—that superstition undermines the
foundation of his strength and even makes
him a hypocrite after his power has failed him.
## p. 170 (#238) ############################################
^mmM^m-tmimm*
170 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
For great minds it is, therefore, perhaps better
when they come to an understanding about their
strength and its source, when they comprehend
what purely human qualities are mingled in them,
what a combination they are of fortunate
conditions: thus once it was continual energy,
a decided application to individual aims, great
personal courage, and then the good fortune of
an education, which at an early period provided
the best teachers, examples, and methods.
Assuredly, if its aim is to make tne greatest
possible effect, abstruseness has always done
much for itself and that gift of partial insanity;
for at all times that power has been admired
and envied by means of which men were deprived
of will and imbued with the fancy that they
were preceded by supernatural leaders. Truly,
men are exalted and inspired by the belief that
some one among them is endowed with super-
natural powers, and in this respect insanity, as
Plato says, has brought the greatest blessings
to mankind. In a few rare cases this form of
insanity may also have been the means by which
an all-round exuberant nature was kept within
bounds; in individual life the imaginings of
frenzy frequently exert the virtue of remedies
which are poisons in themselves; but in every
"genius" that believes in his own divinity the
poison shows itself at last in the same proportion
as the "genius" grows old; we need but
recollect the example of Napoleon, for it was
most assuredly through his faith in himself and his
star, and through his scorn of mankind, that he
## p. 171 (#239) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 171
grew to that mighty unity which distinguished
him from all modern men, until at last, however,
fthis faith developed into an almost insane
fatalism, robbed him of his quickness of compre-
hension and penetration, and was the cause of
his downfall.
165.
Genius and Nullity. —It is precisely the
original artists, those who create out of their
own heads, who in certain circumstances can
bring forth complete emptiness and husk, whilst
the more dependent natures, the so-called talented
ones, are full of memories of all manner of good-
ness, and even in a state of weakness produce
something tolerable. But if the original ones are
abandoned by themselves, memory renders them
no assistance; they become empty.
166. I
The Public. —The people really demands
nothing more from tragedy than to be deeply
affected, in order to have a good cry occasionally;
the artist, on the contrary, who sees the new
tragedy, takes pleasure in the clever technical
inventions and tricks, in the management and
distribution of the material, in the novel arrange-
ment of old motives and old ideas. His
attitude is the aesthetic attitude towards a work
of art, that of the creator; the one first described,
with regard solely to the material, is that of
the people. Of the individual who stands between
## p. 172 (#240) ############################################
172 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
168 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
the two nothing need be said: he is neither
"people" nor artist, and does not know what
he wants—therefore his pleasure is also clouded
and insignificant.
167.
The Artistic Education of the Public. —
If the same motif is not employed in a hundred
ways by different masters, the public never learns
to get beyond their interest in the subject; but
at last, when it is well acquainted with the
motif through countless different treatments, and
no longer finds in it any charm of novelty or
excitement, it will then begin to grasp and enjoy
the various shades and delicate new inventions
in its treatment.
168.
The Artist and his Followers must
KEEP IN Step. —The progress from one grade
of style to another must be so slow that not
only the artists but also the auditors and
spectators can follow it and know exactly what
is going on. Otherwise there will suddenly appear
that great chasm between the artist, who creates
his work upon a height apart, and the public,
who cannot rise up to that height and finally
sinks discontentedly deeper. For when the
artist no longer raises his public it rapidly sinks
downwards, and its fall is the deeper and more
dangerous in proportion to the height to which
genius has carried it, like the eagle, out of
whose talons a tortoise that has been borne up
into the clouds falls to its destruction.
"
## p. 173 (#241) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 173
169.
The Source of the Comic Element. —If
we consider that for many thousands of years
man was an animal that was susceptible in the
highest degree to fear, and that everything sudden
and unexpected had to find him ready for battle,
perhaps even ready for death; that even later,
in social relations, all security was based on
the expected, on custom in thought and action,
we need not be surprised that at everything
sudden and unexpected in word and deed, if
it occurs without danger or injury, man becomes
exuberant and passes over into the very opposite
of fear—the terrified, trembling, crouching being
shoots upward, stretches itself: man laughs.
This transition from momentary fear into short-
lived exhilaration is called the Comic. On the
other hand, in the tragic phenomenon, man passes
quickly from great enduring exuberance into
great fear; but as amongst mortals great and
lasting exuberance is much rarer than the cause
for fear, there is far more comedy than tragedy
in the world; we laugh much oftener than we
are agitated.
170.
The Artist's Ambition. —The Greek artists,
the tragedians for instance, composed in order to
conquer; their whole art cannot be imagined
without rivalry,—the good Hesiodian Eris,
Ambition, gave wings to their genius. This
ambition further demanded that their work
## p. 174 (#242) ############################################
168 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
174 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
should achieve the greatest excellence in their
own eyes, as they understood excellence, without
any regard for the reigning taste and the general
opinion about excellence in a work of art; and
thus it was long before ^Eschylus and Euripides
achieved any success, until at last they educated
judges of art, who valued their work according to
the standards which they themselves appointed.
Hence they strove for victory over rivals accord-
ing to their own valuation, they really wished to
be more excellent; they demanded assent from
without to this self-valuation, the confirmation of
this verdict. To achieve honour means in this
case "to make one's self superior to others, and
to desire that this should be recognised publicly. "
Should the former condition be wanting, and the
latter nevertheless desired, it is then called vanity.
Should the latter be lacking and not missed, then
it is named pride.
171.
What is Needful to a Work of Art. —
Those who talk so much about the needful
factors of a' work of art exaggerate; if they are
artists they do so in major em artis gloriavi, if they
are laymen, from ignorance. The form of a
work of art, which gives speech to their thoughts
and is, therefore^their mode of talking, is always
somewhat uncertain, like all kinds of speech.
The sculptor can add or omit many little traits,
as can also the exponent, be he an actor or, in
music, a performer or conductor. These many
little traits and finishing touches afford him
## p. 175 (#243) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 175
pleasure one day and none the next, they exist
more for the sake of the artist than the art; for
he also has occasionally need of sweetmeats and
playthings to prevent him from becoming morose
with the severity and self-restraint which the
representation of the dominant idea demands
from him.
172.
To Cause the Master to be Forgotten.
—The pianoforte player who executes the work
of a master will have played best if he has made
his audience forget the master, and if it seemed
as if he were relating a story from his own
life or just passing through some experience.
Assuredly, if he is of no importance, every one
will abhor the garrulity with which he talks
about his own life. Therefore he must know
how to influence his hearer's imagination favour-
ably towards himself. Hereby are explained all
the weaknesses and follies of " the virtuoso. "
173-
Corriger la Fortune. —There are unfortunate
accidents in the lives of great artists, which
compel the painter, for instance, to sketch out
his most important picture only as a passing
thought, or such as obliged Beethoven to leave
behind him only the insufficient pianoforte score
of many great sonatas (as in the great B flat).
In these cases the artist of a later day must
endeavour to fill out the life of the great man,—
what, for instance, he would do who, as master
## p. 175 (#244) ############################################
174 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
should achieve the greatest excellence in their
own eyes, as they understood excellence, without
any regard for the reigning taste and the general
opinion about excellence in a work of art; and
thus it was long before ^Eschylus and Euripides
achieved any success, until at last they educated
judges of art, who valued their work according to
the standards which they themselves appointed.
Hence they strove for victory over rivals accord-
ing to their own valuation, they really wished to
be more excellent; they demanded assent from
without to this self-valuation, the confirmation of
this verdict. To achieve honour means in this
case "to make one's self superior to others, and
to desire that this should be recognised publicly. "
Should the former condition be wanting, and the
latter nevertheless desired, it is then called vanity.
Should the latter be lacking and not missed, then
it is named pride.
171.
What is Needful to a Work of Art. —
Those who talk so much about the needful
factors of a work of art exaggerate; if they are
artists they do so in majorem artis gloriam, if they
are laymen, from ignorance. The form of a
work of art, which gives speech to their thoughts
and is, thereforeutheir mode of talking, is always
somewhat uncertain, like all kinds of speech.
The sculptor can add or omit many little traits,
as can also the exponent, be he an actor or, in
music, a performer or conductor. These many
little traits and finishing touches afford him
## p. 175 (#245) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 175
pleasure one day and none the next, they exist
more for the sake of the artist than the art; for
he also has occasionally need of sweetmeats and
playthings to prevent him from becoming morose
with the severity and self-restraint which the
representation of the dominant idea demands
from him.
172.
To Cause the Master to be Forgotten.
—The pianoforte player who executes the work
of a master will have played best if he has made
his audience forget the master, and if it seemed
as if he were relating a story from his own
life or just passing through some experience.
Assuredly, if he is of no importance, every one
will abhor the garrulity with which he talks
about his own life.
Therefore he must know
how to influence his hearer's imagination favour-
ably towards himself. Hereby are explained all
the weaknesses and follies of " the virtuoso. "
173-
Corriger la Fortune. —There are unfortunate
accidents in the lives of great artists, which
compel the painter, for instance, to sketch out
his most important picture only as a passing
thought, or such as obliged Beethoven to leave
behind him only the insufficient pianoforte score
of many great sonatas (as in the great B flat).
In these cases the artist of a later day must
endeavour to fill out the life of the great man,—
what, for instance, he would do who, as master
## p. 176 (#246) ############################################
168 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
I76 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
of all orchestral effects, would call into life that
symphony which has fallen into the piano-trance.
174.
REDUCING. —Many things, events, or persons,
cannot bear treatment on a small scale. The
Laocoon group cannot be reduced to a knick-
knack; great size is necessary to it. But more
seldom still does anything that is naturally small
bear enlargement; for which reason biographers
succeed far oftener in representing a great man as
small than a small one as great.
175.
Sensuousness in Present-day Art. —
Artists nowadays frequently miscalculate when
they count on the sensuous effect of their works,
for their spectators or hearers have no longer a
fully sensuous nature, and, quite contrary to the
artist's intention, his work produces in them a
"holiness" of feeling which is closely related to
boredom. Their sensuousness begins, perhaps, just
where that of the artist ceases ; they meet, therefore,
only at one point at the most.
176.
Shakespeare as a Moralist. —Shakespeare
meditated much on the passions, and on account
of his temperament had probably a close acquaint-
ance with many of them (dramatists are in
general rather wicked men). He could, however,
## p. 177 (#247) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 177
not talk on the subject, like Montaigne, but put
his observations thereon into the mouths of im-
passioned figures, which is contrary to nature,
certainly, but makes his dramas so rich in thought
that they cause all others to seem poor in com-
parison and readily arouse a general aversion to
them. Schiller's reflections (which are almost
always based on erroneous or trivial fancies) are
just theatrical reflections, and as such are very
effective; whereas Shakespeare's reflections do
honour to his model, Montaigne, and contain
quite serious thoughts in polished form, but on
that account are too remote and refined for the
eyes of the theatrical public, and are consequently
ineffective.
177.
Securing a Good Hearing. —It is not
sufficient to know how to play well; one must
also know how to secure a good hearing. A
violin in the hand of the greatest master gives
only a little squeak when the place where it is
heard is too large; the master may then be
mistaken for any bungler.
178.
The Incomplete as the Effective. —Just
as figures in relief make such a strong impression
on the imagination because they seem in the act of
emerging from the wall and only stopped by some
sudden hindrance; so the relief-like, incomplete
representation of a thought, or a whole philosophy,
is sometimes more effective than its exhaustive
vol. 1. M
## p. 178 (#248) ############################################
168 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
178 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
amplification,—more is left for the investigation of
the onlooker, he is incited to the further study of
that which stands out before him in such strong
light and shade; he is prompted to think out the
subject, and even to overcome the hindrance which
hitherto prevented it from emerging clearly.
179.
Against the Eccentric. —When art arrays
itself in the most shabby material it is most
easily recognised as art.
180.
Collective Intellect. —A good author
possesses not only his own intellect, but also that
of his friends.
181.
Different Kinds of Mistakes. —The mis-
fortune of acute and clear authors is that people
consider them as shallow and therefore do not
devote any effort to them ; and the good fortune of
obscure writers is that the reader makes an effort
to understand them and places the delight in his
own zeal to their credit.
. 182.
Relation to Science. —None of the people
have any real interest in a science, who only begin
to be enthusiastic about it when they themselves
have made discoveries in it.
"
## p. 179 (#249) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 179
183.
THE Key. —The single thought on which an
eminent man sets a great value, arousing the
derision and laughter of the masses, is for him a
key to hidden treasures; for them, however, it is
nothing more than a piece of old iron.
184.
Untranslatable. —It is neither the best nor
the worst parts of a book which are untranslatable.
185.
Authors' Paradoxes. —The so-called para-
doxes of an author to which a reader objects are
often not in the author's book at all, but in the
reader's head.
186.
Wit. —The wittiest authors produce a scarcely
noticeable smile.
187.
Antithesis. —Antithesis is the narrow gate
through which error is fondest of sneaking to the
truth.
188.
Thinkers as Stylists. —Most thinkers write
badly, because they communicate not only their
thoughts, but also the thinking of them.
## p. 180 (#250) ############################################
163 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
180 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
189.
Thoughts in Poetry. —The poet conveys
his thoughts ceremoniously in the vehicle of
rhythm, usually because they are not able to go
on foot.
190.
The Sin against the Reader's Intellect.
—When an author renounces his talent in order
merely to put himself on a level with the reader,
he commits the only deadly sin which the latter
will never forgive, should he notice anything of it.
One may say everything that is bad about a
person, but in the manner in which it is said one
must know how to revive his vanity anew.
191.
The Limits of Uprightness. —Even the
most upright author lets fall a word too much
when he wishes to round off a period.
192.
The Best Author. —The best author will be
he who is ashamed to become one.
193-
Draconian Law against Authors. —One
should regard authors as criminals who only
obtain acquittal or mercy in the rarest cases,—
that would be a remedy for books becoming too
rife.
## p. 181 (#251) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. l8l
194.
The Fools of Modern Culture. —The fools
of mediaeval courts correspond to our feuilleton
writers; they are the same kind of men, semi-
rational, witty, extravagant, foolish, sometimes
there only for the purpose of lessening the pathos
of the outlook with fancies and chatter, and of
drowning with their clamour the far too deep and
solemn chimes of great events; they were formerly
in the service of princes and nobles, now they are in
the service of parties (since a large portion of the
old obsequiousness in the intercourse of the people
with their prince still survives in party-feeling and
party-discipline). Modern literary men, however,
are generally very similar to the feuilleton writers,
they are the "fools of modern culture," whom one
judges more leniently when one does not regard
them as fully responsible beings. To look upon
writing as a regular profession should justly be
regarded as a form of madness.
195-
After the Example of the Greeks. —It
is a great hindrance to knowledge at present
that, owing to centuries of exaggeration of feeling,
all words have become vague and inflated. The
higher stage of culture, which is under the sway
(though not under the tyranny) of knowledge,
requires great sobriety of feeling and thorough
concentration of words—on which points the
Greeks in the time of Demosthenes set an
## p. 182 (#252) ############################################
168 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
182 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
example to us. Exaggeration is a distinguishing
mark of all modern writings, and even when
they are simply written the expressions therein
are still felt as too eccentric. Careful reflection,
conciseness, coldness, plainness, even carried
intentionally to the farthest limits,—in a word,
suppression of feeling and taciturnity,—these
are the only remedies. For the rest, this cold
manner of writing and feeling is now very
attractive, as a contrast; and to be sure there is a
new danger therein. For intense cold is as good
a stimulus as a high degree of warmth.
196.
Good Narrators, Bad Explainers. —In
good narrators there is often found an admirable
psychological sureness and logicalness, as far
as these qualities can be observed in the actions
of their personages, in positively ludicrous contrast
to their inexperienced pyschological reasoning,
so that their culture appears to be as extra-
ordinarily high one moment as it seems regret-
tably defective the next. It happens far too
frequently that they give an evidently false ex-
planation of their own heroes and their actions,—
of this there is no doubt, however improbable
the thing may appear. It is quite likely that
the greatest pianoforte player has thought but
little about the technical conditions and the
special virtues, drawbacks, usefulness, and tract-
ability of each finger (dactylic ethics), and makes
big mistakes whenever he speaks of such things.
## p. 183 (#253) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 183
will
197-
The Writings of Acquaintances and
their Readers. —We read the writings of our
acquaintances (friends and enemies) in a double
sense, inasmuch as our perception constantly
me( whispers, "That is something of himself, a
iml remembrance of his inward being, his experiences,
we his talents," and at the same time another kind
gr of perception endeavours to estimate the profit
wl of the work in itself, what valuation it merits
o' apart from its author, how far it will enrich
H knowledge. These two manners of reading and
3 estimating interfere with each other, as may
1 naturally be supposed. And a conversation with
! a friend will only bear good fruit of knowledge
when both think only of the matter under
consideration and forget that they are friends.
198.
Rhythmical Sacrifice. —Good writers alter
the rhythm of many a period merely because they
do not credit the general reader with the ability
to comprehend the measure followed by the
period in its first version; thus they make it
easier for the reader, by giving the preference
to the better known rhythms. This regard for
the rhythmical incapacity of the modern reader
has already called forth many a sigh, for much
has been sacrificed to it. Does not the same
thing happen to good musicians?
"
■-
## p. 184 (#254) ############################################
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
1"' ishihg
The Incomplete as an Artistic Stimulus. |^en
—The incomplete is often more effective than S rejn
perfection, and this is the case with eulogies, iction
To effect their purpose a stimulating incomplete- arried
ness is necessary, as an irrational element, which Word
calls up a sea before the hearer's imagination, these
and, like a mist, conceals the opposite coast, i. e. cold
the limits of the object of praise. If the well- tvery
known merits of a person are referred to and \ is a
described at length and in detail, it always Jood
gives rise to the suspicion that these are his only
merits. The perfect eulogist takes his stand
above the person praised, he appears to overlook
him. Therefore complete praise has a weakening
effect.
200.
Precautions in Writing and Teaching. ■
—Whoever has once written and has been seized I
with the passion for writing learns from almost I
all that he does and experiences that which is S2»
literally communicable. He thinks no longer J
of himself, but of the author and his public;
he desires insight into things; but not for his
own use. He who teaches is mostly incapable
of doing anything for his own good: he is always
thinking of the good of his scholars, and all
knowledge delights him only in so far as he
is able to teach it. He comes at last to regard
himself as a medium of knowledge, and above
all as a means thereto, so that he has lost all
serious consideration for himself.
ible
i
## p. 185 (#255) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 185
w
20I.
The Necessity for Bad Authors. —There
will always be a need of bad authors; for they
p3 meet the taste of readers of an undeveloped,
clj immature age—these have their requirements as
sq well as mature readers. If human life were of
ai greater length, the number of mature individuals
a< would be greater than that of the immature,
e\ or at least equally great; but, as it is, by far
the greater number die too young: i. e. there
are always many more undeveloped intellects
with bad taste. These demand, with the greater
impetuosity of youth, the satisfaction of their
needs, and they insist on having bad authors.
it
T
202.
Too Near and too Far. —The reader and
the author very often do not understand each
pother, because the author knows his theme too
well and finds it almost slow, so that he omits
the examples, of which he knows hundreds;
the reader, however, is interested in the subject,
and is liable to consider it as badly proved if
examples are lacking.
203.
A Vanished Preparation for Art. —Of
everything that was practised in public schools,
: the thing of greatest value was the exercise in
Latin style,—this was an exercise in art, whilst all
.
## p. 186 (#256) ############################################
186 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
other occupations aimed only at the acquirement
of knowledge. It is a barbarism to put German
composition before it, for there is no typical
German style developed by public oratory; but if
there is a desire to advance practice in thought
by means of German composition, then it is
certainly better for the time being to pay no
attention to style, to separate the practice in
thought, therefore, from the practice in reproduc-
tion. The latter should confine itself to the
various modes of presenting a given subject, and
should not concern itself with the independent
finding of a subject. The mere presentment of a
given subject was the task of the Latin style, for
which the old teachers possessed a long vanished
delicacy of ear. Formerly, whoever learned to
write well in a modern language had to thank
this practice for the acquirement (now we are
obliged to go to school to the older French
writers). But yet more: he obtained an idea of
the loftiness and difficulty of form, and was
prepared for art in the only right way: by
practice.
204.
Darkness and Over-Brightness Side by
Side. —Authors who, in general, do not under-
stand how to express their thoughts clearly are
fond of choosing, in detail, the strongest, most
exaggerated distinctions and superlatives,—there-
by is produced an effect of light, which is like
torchlight in intricate forest paths.
## p. 187 (#257) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 187
205.
Literary Painting. —An important object
will be best described if the colours for the
painting are taken out of the object itself, as a
chemist does, and then employed like an artist,
so that the drawing develops from the outlines
and transitions of the colours. Thus the painting
acquires something of the entrancing natural
element which gives such importance to the object
itself.
206.
Books which Teach how to Dance. —
There are authors who, by representing the
impossible as possible, and by talking of morality
and cleverness as if both were merely moods and
humours assumed at will, produce a feeling of
exuberant freedom, as if man stood on tiptoe and
were compelled to dance from sheer, inward
delight.
207.
Unfinished Thoughts. —Just as not only
manhood, but also youth and childhood have a
value per se, and are not to be looked upon merely
as passages and bridges, so also unfinished
thoughts have their value. For this reason we
must not torment a poet with subtle explanations,
but must take pleasure in the uncertainty of his
horizon, as if the way to further thoughts were still
open. We stand on the threshold; we wait as
for the digging up of a treasure, it is as if a well
of profundity were about to be discovered. The
## p. 188 (#258) ############################################
I 68 . HUMAN—ALI—IQQjau
188 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
poet anticipates something of the thinker's
pleasure in the discovery of a leading thought, and
makes us covetous, so that we give chase to it;
but it flutters past our head and exhibits the
loveliest butterfly-wings,—and yet it escapes us.
208.
The Book Grown almost into a Human
Being. —Every author is surprised anew at the
way in which his book; as soon as he has sent it
out, continues to live a life of its own; it seems
to him as if one part of an insect had been cut
off and now went on its own way. Perhaps he
forgets it almost entirely, perhaps he rises above
the view expressed therein, perhaps even he under-
stands it no longer, and has lost that impulse
upon which he soared at the time he conceived
the book; meanwhile it seeks its readers, inflames
life, pleases, horrifies, inspires new works, becomes
the soul of designs and actions,—in short, it lives
like a creature endowed with mind and soul, and
yet is no human being. The happiest fate is that
of the author who, as an old man, is able to say
that all there was in him of life-inspiring,
strengthening, exalting, enlightening thoughts and
feelings still lives on in his writings, and that he
himself now only represents the gray ashes, whilst
the fire has been kept alive and spread out. And
if we consider that every human action, not only
a book, is in some way or other the cause of other
actions, decisions, and thoughts; that everything
that happens is inseparably connected with every-
## p. 189 (#259) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 189
thing that is going to happen, we recognise the
real immortality, that of movement,—that which
has once moved is enclosed and immortalised in
the general union of all existence, like an insect
within a piece of amber.
209.
Joy in Old Age. —The thinker, as likewise
the artist, who has put his best self into his works,
feels an almost malicious joy when he sees how
mind and body are being slowly damaged and
destroyed by time, as if from a dark corner he
were spying a thief at his money-chest, knowing
all the time that it was empty and his treasures
in safety.
210.
Quiet Fruitfulness. —The born aristocrats
of the mind are not in too much of a hurry; their
creations appear and fall from the tree on some
quiet autumn evening, without being rashly
desired, instigated, or pushed aside by new
matter. The unceasing desire to create is vulgar,
and betrays envy, jealousy, and ambition. If a
man is something, it is not really necessary for
him to do anything—-and yet he does a great
deal. There is a human species higher even than
the " productive" man.
211.
Achilles and Homer. —It is always like
the case of Achilles and Homer,—the one has
## p.
greater certainty on future fame and can afford to
do without the present, whilst an artist who does
this always plays a desperate game that makes
his heart ache. In very rare cases, when in one
and the same individual are combined the genius
of power and of knowledge and the moral genius,
there is added to the above-mentioned pains that
species of pain which must be regarded as the
most curious exception in the world; those extra-
and super-personal sensations which are experienced
on behalf of a nation, of humanity, of all civili-
sation, all suffering existence, which acquire their
value through the connection with particularly
difficult and remote perceptions (pity in itself is
worth but little). But what standard, what proof
is there for its genuineness? Is it not almost
imperative to be mistrustful of all who talk of
feeling sensations of this kind?
f 158.
The Destiny of Greatness. —Every great
phenomenon is followed by degeneration, especially
## p. 162 (#228) ############################################
l62 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
in the world of art. The example of the great
tempts vainer natures to superficial imitation or
exaggeration; all great gifts have the fatality of
crushing many weaker forces and germs, and
of laying waste all nature around them. The
happiest arrangement in the development of an
art is for several geniuses mutually to hold one
another within bounds; in this strife it generally
happens that light and air are also granted to the
weaker and more delicate natures.
159.
Art Dangerous for the Artist. —When
art takes strong hold of an individual it draws
him back to the contemplation of those times
when art flourished best, and it has then a retro-
grade effect. The artist grows more and more
to reverence sudden inspirations; he believes in
gods and daemons, he spiritualises all nature,
hates science, is changeable in his moods like the
ancients, and longs for an overthrow of all exist-
ing conditions which are not favourable to art,
and does this with the impetuosity and unreason-
ableness of a child. Now, in himself, the artist
is already a backward nature, because he halts at
a game that belongs properly to youth and child-
hood; to this is added the fact that he is educated
back into former times. Thus there gradually
arises a fierce antagonism between him and his
contemporaries, and a sad ending; according to
the accounts of the ancients, Homer and ^Eschylus
spent their last years, and died, in melancholy.
## p. 163 (#229) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 163
160.
Created Individuals. —When it is said that
the dramatist (and the artist above all) creates real
characters, it is a fine deception and exaggeration,
in the existence and propagation of which art cele-
brates one of its unconscious but at the same time
abundant triumphs. As a matter of fact, we do
not understand much about a real, living man, and
we generalise very superficially when we ascribe to
him this and that character; this very imperfect
attitude of ours towards man is represented by
the poet, inasmuch as he makes into men (in
this sense " creates ") outlines as superficial as our
knowledge of man is superficial. There is a great
deal of delusion about these created characters of
artists; they are by no means living productions
of nature, but are like painted men, somewhat too
thin, they will not bear a close inspection. And
when it is said that the character of the ordinary
living being contradicts itself frequently, and that
the one created by the dramatist is the original
model conceived by nature, this is quite wrong.
A genuine man is something absolutely necessary
(even in those so-called contradictions), but we
do not always recognise this necessity. The
imaginary man, the phantasm, signifies something
necessary, but only to those who understand a real
man only in a crude, unnatural simplification, so
that a few strong, oft-repeated traits, with a great
deal of light and shade and half-light about them,
amply satisfy their notions. They are, therefore,
ready to treat the phantasm as a genuine, necessary
## p. 164 (#230) ############################################
164 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
man, because with real men they are accustomed
to regard a phantasm, an outline, an intentional
abbreviation as the whole. That the painter and
the sculptor express the "idea" of man is a vain
imagination and delusion; whoever says this is in
subjection to the eye, for this only sees the
surface, the epidermis of the human body,—the
inward body, however, is equally a part of the
idea. Plastic art wishes to make character visible!
on the surface ; . histrionic art employs speech for'
the same purpose, it reflects character in sounds.
Art starts from the natural ignorance of man about
his interior condition (in body and character); it is
not meant for philosophers or natural scientists.
161.
The Over-valuation of Self in the
Belief in Artists and Philosophers. —We
are all prone to think that the excellence of a
work of art or of an artist is proved when it moves
and touches us. But there our own excellence in
judgment and sensibility must have been proved
first, which is not the case. In all plastic art, who
had greater power to effect a charm than Bernini,
who made a greater effect than the orator that
appeared after Demosthenes introduced the Asiatic
style and gave it a predominance which lasted
throughout two centuries? This predominance
during whole centuries is not a proof of the
excellence and enduring validity of a style;
therefore we must not be too certain in our good
opinion of any artist,—this is not only belief
## p. 165 (#231) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 165
in the truthfulness of our sensations but also in
the infallibility of our judgment, whereas judgment
or sensation, or even both, may be too coarse or
too fine, exaggerated or crude. Neither are the
blessings and blissfulness of a philosophy or of a
religion proofs of its truth; just as little as the
happiness which an insane person derives from his
fixed idea is a proof of the reasonableness of this
idea.
162.
The Cult of Genius for the sake of
Vanity. —Because we think well of ourselves, but
nevertheless do not imagine that we are capable
of the conception of one of Raphael's pictures or
of a scene such as those of one of Shakespeare's
dramas, we persuade ourselves that the faculty
for doing this is quite extraordinarily wonderful, a
very rare case, or, if we are religiously inclined, a
grace from above. Thus the cult of genius fosters
our vanity, our self-love, for it is only when we
think of it as very far removed from us, as a
miraculum, that it does not wound us (even
Goethe, who was free from envy, called Shakespeare
a star of the farthest heavens, whereby we are
reminded of the line " die Sterne, die begehrt man
nicht" *). But, apart from those suggestions of our
* The allusion is to Goethe's lines:
Die Sterne, die begehrt man nicht,
Man freut sich ihrer Pracht.
We do not want the stars themselves,
Their brilliancy delights our hearts. —J. M. K.
## p. 166 (#232) ############################################
l66 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
vanity, the activity of a genius does not seem so
radically different from the activity of a mechanical
inventor, of an astronomer or historian or strategist.
All these forms of activity are explicable if we
realise men whose minds are active in one special
direction, who make use of everything as material,
who always eagerly study their own inward life
and that of others, who find types and incitements
everywhere, who never weary in the employment
of their means. Genius does nothing but learn
how to lay stones, then to build, always to seek for
material and always to work upon it. Every
human activity is marvellously complicated, and
not only that of genius, but it is no " miracle. "
Now whence comes the belief that genius is found
only in artists, orators, and philosophers, that they
alone have "intuition" (by which we credit them
with a kind of magic glass by means of which
they see straight into one's "being ")? It is clear
that men only speak of genius where the workings
of a great intellect are most agreeable to them
and they have no desire to feel envious. To call
any one " divine" is as much as saying "here we
have no occasion for rivalry. " Thus it is that
everything completed and perfect is stared at,
and everything incomplete is undervalued. Now
nobody can see how the work of an artist has
developed; that is its advantage, for everything of
which the development is seen is looked on coldly.
The perfected art of representation precludes all
thought of its development, it tyrannises as a
present perfection. For this reason artists of
representation are especially held to be possessed
## p. 167 (#233) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 167
of genius, but not scientific men. In reality,
however, the former valuation and the latter
under-valuation are only puerilities of reason.
163.
The Earnestness of Handicraft. — Do
not talk of gifts, of inborn talents! We could
mention great men of all kinds who were but
little gifted. But they obtained greatness, became
"geniuses " (as they are called), through qualities
of the lack of which nobody who is conscious of
them likes to speak. They all had that thorough
earnestness for work which learns first how to
form the different parts perfectly before it ventures
to make a great whole; they gave themselves time
for this, because they took more pleasure in doing
small, accessory things well than in the effect of
a dazzling whole. For instance, the recipe for
becoming a good novelist is easily given, but the
carrying out of the recipe presupposes qualities
which we are in the habit of overlooking when we
say, "I have not sufficient talent. " Make a
hundred or more sketches of novel-plots, none
more than two pages long, but of such clearness
that every word in them is necessary; write down
anecdotes every day until you learn to find the
most pregnant, most effective form; never weary
of collecting and delineating human types and
characters; above all, narrate things as often as
possible and listen to narrations with a sharp
eye and ear for the effect upon other people
present; travel like a landscape painter and a
## p. 167 (#234) ############################################
l66 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
vanity, the activity of a genius does not seem so
radically different from the activity of a mechanical
inventor, of an astronomer or historian or strategist.
All these forms of activity are explicable if we
realise men whose minds are active in one special
direction, who make use of everything as material,
who always eagerly study their own inward life
and that of others, who find types and incitements
everywhere, who never weary in the employment
of their means. Genius does nothing but learn
how to lay stones, then to build, always to seek for
material and always to work upon it. Every
human activity is marvellously complicated, and
not only that of genius, but it is no " miracle. "
Now whence comes the belief that genius is found
only in artists, orators, and philosophers, that they
alone have "intuition" (by which we credit them
with a kind of magic glass by means of which
they see straight into one's " being ")? It is clear
that men only speak of genius where the workings
of a great intellect are most agreeable to them
and they have no desire to feel envious. To call
any one " divine" is as much as saying " here we
have no occasion for rivalry. " Thus it is that
everything completed and perfect is stared at,
and everything incomplete is undervalued. Now
nobody can see how the work of an artist has
developed; that is its advantage, for everything of
which the development is seen is looked on coldly.
The perfected art of representation precludes all
thought of its development, it tyrannises as a
present perfection. For this reason artists of
representation are especially held to be possessed
## p. 167 (#235) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. \6j
F genius, but not scientific men. In reality,
owever, the former valuation and the latter
der-valuation are only puerilities of reason.
"
163.
The Earnestness of Handicraft. — Do
iot talk of gifts, of inborn talents! We could
mention great men of all kinds who were but
little gifted. But they obtained greatness, became
"geniuses " (as they are called), through qualities
of the lack of which nobody who is conscious of
them likes to speak. They all had that thorough
earnestness for work which learns first how to
form the different parts perfectly before it ventures
to make a great whole; they gave themselves time
for this, because they took more pleasure in doing
small, accessory things well than in the effect of
a dazzling whole. For instance, the recipe for
becoming a good novelist is easily given, but the
carrying out of the recipe presupposes qualities
which we are in the habit of overlooking when we
say, "I have not sufficient talent. " Make a
hundred or more sketches of novel-plots, none
more than two pages long, but of such clearness
that every word in them is necessary; write down
anecdotes every day until you learn to find the
most pregnant, most effective form; never weary
of collecting and delineating human types and
characters; above all, narrate things as often as
possible and listen to narrations with a sharp
eye and ear for the effect upon other people
present; travel like a landscape painter and a
## p. 168 (#236) ############################################
168 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
!
designer of costumes; take from different sciences
everything that is artistically effective, if it be
well represented; finally, meditate on the motives
for human actions, scorn not even the smallest
point of instruction on this subject, and collect
similar matters by day and night. Spend some
ten years in these various exercises: then the
creations of your study may be allowed to see the
light of day. But what do most people do, on
the contrary? They do not begin with the part,
but with the whole. Perhaps they make one
good stroke, excite attention, and ever afterwards
their work grows worse and worse, for good,
natural reasons. But sometimes, when intellect
and character are lacking for the formation of
such an artistic career, fate and necessity take
the place of these qualities and lead the future
master step by step through all the phases of his
craft.
164.
The Danger and the Gain in the Cult
OF GENIUS. —The belief in great, superior, fertile
minds is not necessarily, but still very frequently,
connected with that wholly or partly religious
superstition that those spirits are of superhuman
origin and possess certain marvellous faculties,
by means of which they obtained their knowledge
in ways quite different from the rest of mankind.
They are credited with having an immediate
insight into the nature of the world, through
a peep-hole in the mantle of the phenomenon as
it were, and it is believed that, without the
## p. 169 (#237) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 169
trouble and severity of science, by virtue of
this marvellous prophetic sight, they could
impart something final and decisive about man-
kind and the world. So long as there are
still believers in miracles in the world of
knowledge it may perhaps be admitted that
the believers themselves derive a benefit therefrom,
inasmuch as by their absolute subjection to great
minds they obtain the best discipline and schooling
for their own minds during the period of develop-
ment. On the other hand, it may at least be
questioned whether the superstition of genius,
of its privileges and special faculties, is useful
for a genius himself when it implants itself in
him. In any case it is a dangerous sign when
man shudders at his own self, be it that famous
Caesarian shudder or the shudder of genius which
applies to this case, when the incense of sacrifice,
which by rights is offered to a God alone,
penetrates into the brain of the genius, so that
he begins to waver and to look upon himself
as something superhuman. The slow conse-
quences are: the feeling of irresponsibility, the
exceptional rights, the belief that mere inter-
course with him confers a favour, and frantic rage
at any attempt to compare him with others or
even to place him below them and to bring into
prominence whatever is unsuccessful in his work.
Through the fact that he ceases to criticise
himself one pinion after another falls out of
his plumage,—that superstition undermines the
foundation of his strength and even makes
him a hypocrite after his power has failed him.
## p. 170 (#238) ############################################
^mmM^m-tmimm*
170 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
For great minds it is, therefore, perhaps better
when they come to an understanding about their
strength and its source, when they comprehend
what purely human qualities are mingled in them,
what a combination they are of fortunate
conditions: thus once it was continual energy,
a decided application to individual aims, great
personal courage, and then the good fortune of
an education, which at an early period provided
the best teachers, examples, and methods.
Assuredly, if its aim is to make tne greatest
possible effect, abstruseness has always done
much for itself and that gift of partial insanity;
for at all times that power has been admired
and envied by means of which men were deprived
of will and imbued with the fancy that they
were preceded by supernatural leaders. Truly,
men are exalted and inspired by the belief that
some one among them is endowed with super-
natural powers, and in this respect insanity, as
Plato says, has brought the greatest blessings
to mankind. In a few rare cases this form of
insanity may also have been the means by which
an all-round exuberant nature was kept within
bounds; in individual life the imaginings of
frenzy frequently exert the virtue of remedies
which are poisons in themselves; but in every
"genius" that believes in his own divinity the
poison shows itself at last in the same proportion
as the "genius" grows old; we need but
recollect the example of Napoleon, for it was
most assuredly through his faith in himself and his
star, and through his scorn of mankind, that he
## p. 171 (#239) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 171
grew to that mighty unity which distinguished
him from all modern men, until at last, however,
fthis faith developed into an almost insane
fatalism, robbed him of his quickness of compre-
hension and penetration, and was the cause of
his downfall.
165.
Genius and Nullity. —It is precisely the
original artists, those who create out of their
own heads, who in certain circumstances can
bring forth complete emptiness and husk, whilst
the more dependent natures, the so-called talented
ones, are full of memories of all manner of good-
ness, and even in a state of weakness produce
something tolerable. But if the original ones are
abandoned by themselves, memory renders them
no assistance; they become empty.
166. I
The Public. —The people really demands
nothing more from tragedy than to be deeply
affected, in order to have a good cry occasionally;
the artist, on the contrary, who sees the new
tragedy, takes pleasure in the clever technical
inventions and tricks, in the management and
distribution of the material, in the novel arrange-
ment of old motives and old ideas. His
attitude is the aesthetic attitude towards a work
of art, that of the creator; the one first described,
with regard solely to the material, is that of
the people. Of the individual who stands between
## p. 172 (#240) ############################################
172 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
168 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
the two nothing need be said: he is neither
"people" nor artist, and does not know what
he wants—therefore his pleasure is also clouded
and insignificant.
167.
The Artistic Education of the Public. —
If the same motif is not employed in a hundred
ways by different masters, the public never learns
to get beyond their interest in the subject; but
at last, when it is well acquainted with the
motif through countless different treatments, and
no longer finds in it any charm of novelty or
excitement, it will then begin to grasp and enjoy
the various shades and delicate new inventions
in its treatment.
168.
The Artist and his Followers must
KEEP IN Step. —The progress from one grade
of style to another must be so slow that not
only the artists but also the auditors and
spectators can follow it and know exactly what
is going on. Otherwise there will suddenly appear
that great chasm between the artist, who creates
his work upon a height apart, and the public,
who cannot rise up to that height and finally
sinks discontentedly deeper. For when the
artist no longer raises his public it rapidly sinks
downwards, and its fall is the deeper and more
dangerous in proportion to the height to which
genius has carried it, like the eagle, out of
whose talons a tortoise that has been borne up
into the clouds falls to its destruction.
"
## p. 173 (#241) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 173
169.
The Source of the Comic Element. —If
we consider that for many thousands of years
man was an animal that was susceptible in the
highest degree to fear, and that everything sudden
and unexpected had to find him ready for battle,
perhaps even ready for death; that even later,
in social relations, all security was based on
the expected, on custom in thought and action,
we need not be surprised that at everything
sudden and unexpected in word and deed, if
it occurs without danger or injury, man becomes
exuberant and passes over into the very opposite
of fear—the terrified, trembling, crouching being
shoots upward, stretches itself: man laughs.
This transition from momentary fear into short-
lived exhilaration is called the Comic. On the
other hand, in the tragic phenomenon, man passes
quickly from great enduring exuberance into
great fear; but as amongst mortals great and
lasting exuberance is much rarer than the cause
for fear, there is far more comedy than tragedy
in the world; we laugh much oftener than we
are agitated.
170.
The Artist's Ambition. —The Greek artists,
the tragedians for instance, composed in order to
conquer; their whole art cannot be imagined
without rivalry,—the good Hesiodian Eris,
Ambition, gave wings to their genius. This
ambition further demanded that their work
## p. 174 (#242) ############################################
168 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
174 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
should achieve the greatest excellence in their
own eyes, as they understood excellence, without
any regard for the reigning taste and the general
opinion about excellence in a work of art; and
thus it was long before ^Eschylus and Euripides
achieved any success, until at last they educated
judges of art, who valued their work according to
the standards which they themselves appointed.
Hence they strove for victory over rivals accord-
ing to their own valuation, they really wished to
be more excellent; they demanded assent from
without to this self-valuation, the confirmation of
this verdict. To achieve honour means in this
case "to make one's self superior to others, and
to desire that this should be recognised publicly. "
Should the former condition be wanting, and the
latter nevertheless desired, it is then called vanity.
Should the latter be lacking and not missed, then
it is named pride.
171.
What is Needful to a Work of Art. —
Those who talk so much about the needful
factors of a' work of art exaggerate; if they are
artists they do so in major em artis gloriavi, if they
are laymen, from ignorance. The form of a
work of art, which gives speech to their thoughts
and is, therefore^their mode of talking, is always
somewhat uncertain, like all kinds of speech.
The sculptor can add or omit many little traits,
as can also the exponent, be he an actor or, in
music, a performer or conductor. These many
little traits and finishing touches afford him
## p. 175 (#243) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 175
pleasure one day and none the next, they exist
more for the sake of the artist than the art; for
he also has occasionally need of sweetmeats and
playthings to prevent him from becoming morose
with the severity and self-restraint which the
representation of the dominant idea demands
from him.
172.
To Cause the Master to be Forgotten.
—The pianoforte player who executes the work
of a master will have played best if he has made
his audience forget the master, and if it seemed
as if he were relating a story from his own
life or just passing through some experience.
Assuredly, if he is of no importance, every one
will abhor the garrulity with which he talks
about his own life. Therefore he must know
how to influence his hearer's imagination favour-
ably towards himself. Hereby are explained all
the weaknesses and follies of " the virtuoso. "
173-
Corriger la Fortune. —There are unfortunate
accidents in the lives of great artists, which
compel the painter, for instance, to sketch out
his most important picture only as a passing
thought, or such as obliged Beethoven to leave
behind him only the insufficient pianoforte score
of many great sonatas (as in the great B flat).
In these cases the artist of a later day must
endeavour to fill out the life of the great man,—
what, for instance, he would do who, as master
## p. 175 (#244) ############################################
174 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
should achieve the greatest excellence in their
own eyes, as they understood excellence, without
any regard for the reigning taste and the general
opinion about excellence in a work of art; and
thus it was long before ^Eschylus and Euripides
achieved any success, until at last they educated
judges of art, who valued their work according to
the standards which they themselves appointed.
Hence they strove for victory over rivals accord-
ing to their own valuation, they really wished to
be more excellent; they demanded assent from
without to this self-valuation, the confirmation of
this verdict. To achieve honour means in this
case "to make one's self superior to others, and
to desire that this should be recognised publicly. "
Should the former condition be wanting, and the
latter nevertheless desired, it is then called vanity.
Should the latter be lacking and not missed, then
it is named pride.
171.
What is Needful to a Work of Art. —
Those who talk so much about the needful
factors of a work of art exaggerate; if they are
artists they do so in majorem artis gloriam, if they
are laymen, from ignorance. The form of a
work of art, which gives speech to their thoughts
and is, thereforeutheir mode of talking, is always
somewhat uncertain, like all kinds of speech.
The sculptor can add or omit many little traits,
as can also the exponent, be he an actor or, in
music, a performer or conductor. These many
little traits and finishing touches afford him
## p. 175 (#245) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 175
pleasure one day and none the next, they exist
more for the sake of the artist than the art; for
he also has occasionally need of sweetmeats and
playthings to prevent him from becoming morose
with the severity and self-restraint which the
representation of the dominant idea demands
from him.
172.
To Cause the Master to be Forgotten.
—The pianoforte player who executes the work
of a master will have played best if he has made
his audience forget the master, and if it seemed
as if he were relating a story from his own
life or just passing through some experience.
Assuredly, if he is of no importance, every one
will abhor the garrulity with which he talks
about his own life.
Therefore he must know
how to influence his hearer's imagination favour-
ably towards himself. Hereby are explained all
the weaknesses and follies of " the virtuoso. "
173-
Corriger la Fortune. —There are unfortunate
accidents in the lives of great artists, which
compel the painter, for instance, to sketch out
his most important picture only as a passing
thought, or such as obliged Beethoven to leave
behind him only the insufficient pianoforte score
of many great sonatas (as in the great B flat).
In these cases the artist of a later day must
endeavour to fill out the life of the great man,—
what, for instance, he would do who, as master
## p. 176 (#246) ############################################
168 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
I76 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
of all orchestral effects, would call into life that
symphony which has fallen into the piano-trance.
174.
REDUCING. —Many things, events, or persons,
cannot bear treatment on a small scale. The
Laocoon group cannot be reduced to a knick-
knack; great size is necessary to it. But more
seldom still does anything that is naturally small
bear enlargement; for which reason biographers
succeed far oftener in representing a great man as
small than a small one as great.
175.
Sensuousness in Present-day Art. —
Artists nowadays frequently miscalculate when
they count on the sensuous effect of their works,
for their spectators or hearers have no longer a
fully sensuous nature, and, quite contrary to the
artist's intention, his work produces in them a
"holiness" of feeling which is closely related to
boredom. Their sensuousness begins, perhaps, just
where that of the artist ceases ; they meet, therefore,
only at one point at the most.
176.
Shakespeare as a Moralist. —Shakespeare
meditated much on the passions, and on account
of his temperament had probably a close acquaint-
ance with many of them (dramatists are in
general rather wicked men). He could, however,
## p. 177 (#247) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 177
not talk on the subject, like Montaigne, but put
his observations thereon into the mouths of im-
passioned figures, which is contrary to nature,
certainly, but makes his dramas so rich in thought
that they cause all others to seem poor in com-
parison and readily arouse a general aversion to
them. Schiller's reflections (which are almost
always based on erroneous or trivial fancies) are
just theatrical reflections, and as such are very
effective; whereas Shakespeare's reflections do
honour to his model, Montaigne, and contain
quite serious thoughts in polished form, but on
that account are too remote and refined for the
eyes of the theatrical public, and are consequently
ineffective.
177.
Securing a Good Hearing. —It is not
sufficient to know how to play well; one must
also know how to secure a good hearing. A
violin in the hand of the greatest master gives
only a little squeak when the place where it is
heard is too large; the master may then be
mistaken for any bungler.
178.
The Incomplete as the Effective. —Just
as figures in relief make such a strong impression
on the imagination because they seem in the act of
emerging from the wall and only stopped by some
sudden hindrance; so the relief-like, incomplete
representation of a thought, or a whole philosophy,
is sometimes more effective than its exhaustive
vol. 1. M
## p. 178 (#248) ############################################
168 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
178 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
amplification,—more is left for the investigation of
the onlooker, he is incited to the further study of
that which stands out before him in such strong
light and shade; he is prompted to think out the
subject, and even to overcome the hindrance which
hitherto prevented it from emerging clearly.
179.
Against the Eccentric. —When art arrays
itself in the most shabby material it is most
easily recognised as art.
180.
Collective Intellect. —A good author
possesses not only his own intellect, but also that
of his friends.
181.
Different Kinds of Mistakes. —The mis-
fortune of acute and clear authors is that people
consider them as shallow and therefore do not
devote any effort to them ; and the good fortune of
obscure writers is that the reader makes an effort
to understand them and places the delight in his
own zeal to their credit.
. 182.
Relation to Science. —None of the people
have any real interest in a science, who only begin
to be enthusiastic about it when they themselves
have made discoveries in it.
"
## p. 179 (#249) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 179
183.
THE Key. —The single thought on which an
eminent man sets a great value, arousing the
derision and laughter of the masses, is for him a
key to hidden treasures; for them, however, it is
nothing more than a piece of old iron.
184.
Untranslatable. —It is neither the best nor
the worst parts of a book which are untranslatable.
185.
Authors' Paradoxes. —The so-called para-
doxes of an author to which a reader objects are
often not in the author's book at all, but in the
reader's head.
186.
Wit. —The wittiest authors produce a scarcely
noticeable smile.
187.
Antithesis. —Antithesis is the narrow gate
through which error is fondest of sneaking to the
truth.
188.
Thinkers as Stylists. —Most thinkers write
badly, because they communicate not only their
thoughts, but also the thinking of them.
## p. 180 (#250) ############################################
163 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
180 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
189.
Thoughts in Poetry. —The poet conveys
his thoughts ceremoniously in the vehicle of
rhythm, usually because they are not able to go
on foot.
190.
The Sin against the Reader's Intellect.
—When an author renounces his talent in order
merely to put himself on a level with the reader,
he commits the only deadly sin which the latter
will never forgive, should he notice anything of it.
One may say everything that is bad about a
person, but in the manner in which it is said one
must know how to revive his vanity anew.
191.
The Limits of Uprightness. —Even the
most upright author lets fall a word too much
when he wishes to round off a period.
192.
The Best Author. —The best author will be
he who is ashamed to become one.
193-
Draconian Law against Authors. —One
should regard authors as criminals who only
obtain acquittal or mercy in the rarest cases,—
that would be a remedy for books becoming too
rife.
## p. 181 (#251) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. l8l
194.
The Fools of Modern Culture. —The fools
of mediaeval courts correspond to our feuilleton
writers; they are the same kind of men, semi-
rational, witty, extravagant, foolish, sometimes
there only for the purpose of lessening the pathos
of the outlook with fancies and chatter, and of
drowning with their clamour the far too deep and
solemn chimes of great events; they were formerly
in the service of princes and nobles, now they are in
the service of parties (since a large portion of the
old obsequiousness in the intercourse of the people
with their prince still survives in party-feeling and
party-discipline). Modern literary men, however,
are generally very similar to the feuilleton writers,
they are the "fools of modern culture," whom one
judges more leniently when one does not regard
them as fully responsible beings. To look upon
writing as a regular profession should justly be
regarded as a form of madness.
195-
After the Example of the Greeks. —It
is a great hindrance to knowledge at present
that, owing to centuries of exaggeration of feeling,
all words have become vague and inflated. The
higher stage of culture, which is under the sway
(though not under the tyranny) of knowledge,
requires great sobriety of feeling and thorough
concentration of words—on which points the
Greeks in the time of Demosthenes set an
## p. 182 (#252) ############################################
168 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
182 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
example to us. Exaggeration is a distinguishing
mark of all modern writings, and even when
they are simply written the expressions therein
are still felt as too eccentric. Careful reflection,
conciseness, coldness, plainness, even carried
intentionally to the farthest limits,—in a word,
suppression of feeling and taciturnity,—these
are the only remedies. For the rest, this cold
manner of writing and feeling is now very
attractive, as a contrast; and to be sure there is a
new danger therein. For intense cold is as good
a stimulus as a high degree of warmth.
196.
Good Narrators, Bad Explainers. —In
good narrators there is often found an admirable
psychological sureness and logicalness, as far
as these qualities can be observed in the actions
of their personages, in positively ludicrous contrast
to their inexperienced pyschological reasoning,
so that their culture appears to be as extra-
ordinarily high one moment as it seems regret-
tably defective the next. It happens far too
frequently that they give an evidently false ex-
planation of their own heroes and their actions,—
of this there is no doubt, however improbable
the thing may appear. It is quite likely that
the greatest pianoforte player has thought but
little about the technical conditions and the
special virtues, drawbacks, usefulness, and tract-
ability of each finger (dactylic ethics), and makes
big mistakes whenever he speaks of such things.
## p. 183 (#253) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 183
will
197-
The Writings of Acquaintances and
their Readers. —We read the writings of our
acquaintances (friends and enemies) in a double
sense, inasmuch as our perception constantly
me( whispers, "That is something of himself, a
iml remembrance of his inward being, his experiences,
we his talents," and at the same time another kind
gr of perception endeavours to estimate the profit
wl of the work in itself, what valuation it merits
o' apart from its author, how far it will enrich
H knowledge. These two manners of reading and
3 estimating interfere with each other, as may
1 naturally be supposed. And a conversation with
! a friend will only bear good fruit of knowledge
when both think only of the matter under
consideration and forget that they are friends.
198.
Rhythmical Sacrifice. —Good writers alter
the rhythm of many a period merely because they
do not credit the general reader with the ability
to comprehend the measure followed by the
period in its first version; thus they make it
easier for the reader, by giving the preference
to the better known rhythms. This regard for
the rhythmical incapacity of the modern reader
has already called forth many a sigh, for much
has been sacrificed to it. Does not the same
thing happen to good musicians?
"
■-
## p. 184 (#254) ############################################
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
1"' ishihg
The Incomplete as an Artistic Stimulus. |^en
—The incomplete is often more effective than S rejn
perfection, and this is the case with eulogies, iction
To effect their purpose a stimulating incomplete- arried
ness is necessary, as an irrational element, which Word
calls up a sea before the hearer's imagination, these
and, like a mist, conceals the opposite coast, i. e. cold
the limits of the object of praise. If the well- tvery
known merits of a person are referred to and \ is a
described at length and in detail, it always Jood
gives rise to the suspicion that these are his only
merits. The perfect eulogist takes his stand
above the person praised, he appears to overlook
him. Therefore complete praise has a weakening
effect.
200.
Precautions in Writing and Teaching. ■
—Whoever has once written and has been seized I
with the passion for writing learns from almost I
all that he does and experiences that which is S2»
literally communicable. He thinks no longer J
of himself, but of the author and his public;
he desires insight into things; but not for his
own use. He who teaches is mostly incapable
of doing anything for his own good: he is always
thinking of the good of his scholars, and all
knowledge delights him only in so far as he
is able to teach it. He comes at last to regard
himself as a medium of knowledge, and above
all as a means thereto, so that he has lost all
serious consideration for himself.
ible
i
## p. 185 (#255) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 185
w
20I.
The Necessity for Bad Authors. —There
will always be a need of bad authors; for they
p3 meet the taste of readers of an undeveloped,
clj immature age—these have their requirements as
sq well as mature readers. If human life were of
ai greater length, the number of mature individuals
a< would be greater than that of the immature,
e\ or at least equally great; but, as it is, by far
the greater number die too young: i. e. there
are always many more undeveloped intellects
with bad taste. These demand, with the greater
impetuosity of youth, the satisfaction of their
needs, and they insist on having bad authors.
it
T
202.
Too Near and too Far. —The reader and
the author very often do not understand each
pother, because the author knows his theme too
well and finds it almost slow, so that he omits
the examples, of which he knows hundreds;
the reader, however, is interested in the subject,
and is liable to consider it as badly proved if
examples are lacking.
203.
A Vanished Preparation for Art. —Of
everything that was practised in public schools,
: the thing of greatest value was the exercise in
Latin style,—this was an exercise in art, whilst all
.
## p. 186 (#256) ############################################
186 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
other occupations aimed only at the acquirement
of knowledge. It is a barbarism to put German
composition before it, for there is no typical
German style developed by public oratory; but if
there is a desire to advance practice in thought
by means of German composition, then it is
certainly better for the time being to pay no
attention to style, to separate the practice in
thought, therefore, from the practice in reproduc-
tion. The latter should confine itself to the
various modes of presenting a given subject, and
should not concern itself with the independent
finding of a subject. The mere presentment of a
given subject was the task of the Latin style, for
which the old teachers possessed a long vanished
delicacy of ear. Formerly, whoever learned to
write well in a modern language had to thank
this practice for the acquirement (now we are
obliged to go to school to the older French
writers). But yet more: he obtained an idea of
the loftiness and difficulty of form, and was
prepared for art in the only right way: by
practice.
204.
Darkness and Over-Brightness Side by
Side. —Authors who, in general, do not under-
stand how to express their thoughts clearly are
fond of choosing, in detail, the strongest, most
exaggerated distinctions and superlatives,—there-
by is produced an effect of light, which is like
torchlight in intricate forest paths.
## p. 187 (#257) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 187
205.
Literary Painting. —An important object
will be best described if the colours for the
painting are taken out of the object itself, as a
chemist does, and then employed like an artist,
so that the drawing develops from the outlines
and transitions of the colours. Thus the painting
acquires something of the entrancing natural
element which gives such importance to the object
itself.
206.
Books which Teach how to Dance. —
There are authors who, by representing the
impossible as possible, and by talking of morality
and cleverness as if both were merely moods and
humours assumed at will, produce a feeling of
exuberant freedom, as if man stood on tiptoe and
were compelled to dance from sheer, inward
delight.
207.
Unfinished Thoughts. —Just as not only
manhood, but also youth and childhood have a
value per se, and are not to be looked upon merely
as passages and bridges, so also unfinished
thoughts have their value. For this reason we
must not torment a poet with subtle explanations,
but must take pleasure in the uncertainty of his
horizon, as if the way to further thoughts were still
open. We stand on the threshold; we wait as
for the digging up of a treasure, it is as if a well
of profundity were about to be discovered. The
## p. 188 (#258) ############################################
I 68 . HUMAN—ALI—IQQjau
188 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
poet anticipates something of the thinker's
pleasure in the discovery of a leading thought, and
makes us covetous, so that we give chase to it;
but it flutters past our head and exhibits the
loveliest butterfly-wings,—and yet it escapes us.
208.
The Book Grown almost into a Human
Being. —Every author is surprised anew at the
way in which his book; as soon as he has sent it
out, continues to live a life of its own; it seems
to him as if one part of an insect had been cut
off and now went on its own way. Perhaps he
forgets it almost entirely, perhaps he rises above
the view expressed therein, perhaps even he under-
stands it no longer, and has lost that impulse
upon which he soared at the time he conceived
the book; meanwhile it seeks its readers, inflames
life, pleases, horrifies, inspires new works, becomes
the soul of designs and actions,—in short, it lives
like a creature endowed with mind and soul, and
yet is no human being. The happiest fate is that
of the author who, as an old man, is able to say
that all there was in him of life-inspiring,
strengthening, exalting, enlightening thoughts and
feelings still lives on in his writings, and that he
himself now only represents the gray ashes, whilst
the fire has been kept alive and spread out. And
if we consider that every human action, not only
a book, is in some way or other the cause of other
actions, decisions, and thoughts; that everything
that happens is inseparably connected with every-
## p. 189 (#259) ############################################
THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 189
thing that is going to happen, we recognise the
real immortality, that of movement,—that which
has once moved is enclosed and immortalised in
the general union of all existence, like an insect
within a piece of amber.
209.
Joy in Old Age. —The thinker, as likewise
the artist, who has put his best self into his works,
feels an almost malicious joy when he sees how
mind and body are being slowly damaged and
destroyed by time, as if from a dark corner he
were spying a thief at his money-chest, knowing
all the time that it was empty and his treasures
in safety.
210.
Quiet Fruitfulness. —The born aristocrats
of the mind are not in too much of a hurry; their
creations appear and fall from the tree on some
quiet autumn evening, without being rashly
desired, instigated, or pushed aside by new
matter. The unceasing desire to create is vulgar,
and betrays envy, jealousy, and ambition. If a
man is something, it is not really necessary for
him to do anything—-and yet he does a great
deal. There is a human species higher even than
the " productive" man.
211.
Achilles and Homer. —It is always like
the case of Achilles and Homer,—the one has
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