No More Learning

266.
The Undervalued Effect of Public-
School Teaching. —The value of a public
school is seldom sought in those things which are
really learnt there and are carried away never to
be lost, but in those things which are learnt and
which the pupil only acquires against his will, in
order to get rid of them again as soon as possible.
Every educated person acknowledges that the
reading of the classics, as now practised, is a
monstrous proceeding carried on before young
people are ripe enough for it by teachers who
with every word, often by their appearance alone,
throw a mildew on a good author. But therein
lies the value, generally unrecognised, of these
teachers who speak the abstract language of the
higher culture, which, though dry and difficult to
understand, is yet a sort of higher gymnastics of the
brain; and there is value in the constant recurrence


## p. 247 (#367) ############################################

SIGNS OF HIGHER AND LOWER CULTURE. 247
in their language of ideas, artistic expressions,
methods and allusions which the young people
hardly ever hear in the conversations of their
relatives and in the street. Even if the pupils
only hear, their intellect is involuntarily trained
to a scientific mode of regarding things. It is
not possible to emerge from this discipline entirely
untouched by its abstract character, and to remain
a simple child of nature.
267.
Learning many Languages. —The learning
of many languages fills the memory with words
instead of with facts and thoughts, and this is a
vessel which, with every person, can only contain
a certain limited amount of contents. Therefore
the learning of many languages is injurious, inas-
much as it arouses a belief in possessing dexterity
and, as a matter of fact, it lends a kind of delusive
importance to social intercourse. It is also indirectly
injurious in that it opposes the acquirement of
solid knowledge and the intention to win the
respect of men in an honest way. Finally, it is
the axe which is laid to the root of a delicate
sense of language in our mother-tongue, which
thereby is incurably injured and destroyed. The
two nations which produced the greatest stylists,
the Greeks and the French, learned no foreign
languages. But as human intercourse must always
grow more cosmopolitan, and as, for instance, a
good merchant in London must now be able to
read and write eight languages, the learning of


## p. 248 (#368) ############################################


248
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
many tongues has certainly become a necessary
evil; but which, when finally carried to an
extreme, will compel mankind to find a remedy,
and in some far-off future there will be a new
language, used at first as a language of commerce,
then as a language of intellectual intercourse
generally, then for all, as surely as some time
or other there will be aviation. Why else should
philology have studied the laws of languages for
a whole century, and have estimated the necessary,
the valuable, and the successful portion of each
separate language?
268.
The War History of the Individual. —
In a single human life that passes through many
styles of culture we find that struggle condensed
which would otherwise have been played out
between two generations, between father and son;
the closeness of the relationship sharpens this
struggle, because each party ruthlessly drags in
the familiar inward nature of the other party; and
thus this struggle in the single individual becomes
most embittered; here every new phase disregards
the earlier ones with cruel injustice and mis-
understanding of their means and aims.
269.
A Quarter of an Hour Earlier. —A man
is found occasionally whose views are beyond his
time, but only to such an extent that he anticipates
the common views of the next decade. He
^


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[SIGNS OF HIGHER AND LOWER CULTURE. 249
possesses public opinion before it is public; that
is? he has fallen into the arms of a view that
deserves to be trivial a quarter of an hour sooner
than other people. But his fame is usually far
noisier than the fame of those who are really
great and prominent.
. '
270.
The Art of Reading. —Every strong ten-
dency is one-sided; it approaches the aim of the
straight line and, like this, is exclusive, that is, it
does not touch many other aims, as do weak
parties and natures in their wave-like rolling to-
and-fro; it must also be forgiven to philologists
that they are one-sided. The restoration and
keeping pure of texts, besides their explana-
tion, carried on in common for hundreds of
years, has finally enabled the right methods
to be found; the whole of the Middle Ages was
absolutely incapable of a strictly philological
explanation, that is, of the simple desire to com-
prehend what an author says—it was an achieve-
ment, finding these methods, let it not be under-
valued! Through this all science first acquired
continuity and steadiness, so that the art of
reading rightly, which is called philology, attained
its summit.
271. \
The Art of Reasoning. —The greatest
advance that men have made lies in their


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2SO HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
acquisition of the art to reason rightly. It 1 is
not so very natural, as Schopenhauer supposes
when he says, "All are capable of reasoning,
but few of judging," it is learnt late and has
not yet attained supremacy. False conclusions
are the rule in older ages; and the mythologies
of all peoples, their magic and their superstition,
their religious cult and their law are the inex-
haustible sources of proof of this theory.
272.
Phases of Individual Culture. — The
strength and weakness of mental productiveness
depend far less on inherited talents than on the
accompanying amount of elasticity. Most edu-
cated young people of thirty turn round at this
solstice of their lives and are afterwards dis-
inclined for new mental turnings. Therefore,
for the salvation of a constantly increasing culture,
a new generation is immediately necessary, which
will not do very much either, for in order to
come up with the father's culture the son must
exhaust almost all the inherited energy which
the father himself possessed at that stage of
life when his son was born; with the little
addition he gets further on (for as here the
road is being traversed for the second time
progress is a little quicker; in order to learn
that which the father knew, the son does not
consume quite so much strength). Men of great
elasticity, like Goethe, for instance, get through


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SIGNS OF HIGHER AND LOWER CULTURE. 251
almost more than four generations in succession
would be capable of; but then they advance
too quickly, so that the rest of mankind only
comes up with them in the next century, and
even then perhaps not completely, because the
exclusiveness of culture and the consecutiveness
of development have been weakened by the
frequent interruptions. Men catch up more
quickly with the ordinary phases of intellectual
culture which has been acquired in the course
of history. Nowadays they begin to acquire
culture as religiously inclined children, and
perhaps about their tenth year these sentiments
attain to their highest point, and are then
changed into weakened forms (pantheism), whilst
they draw near to science; they entirely pass by
God, immortality, and such-like things, but are
overcome by the witchcraft of a metaphysical
philosophy. Eventually they find even this un-
worthy of belief; art, on the contrary, seems
to vouchsafe more and more, so that for a time
metaphysics is metamorphosed and continues
to exist either as a transition to art or as an
artistically transfiguring temperament. But the
scientific sense grows more imperious and con-
ducts man to natural sciences and history, and
particularly to the severest methods of knowledge,
whilst art has always a milder and less exacting
meaning. All this usually happens within the
first thirty years of a man's life. It is the re-
capitulation of a pensum, for which humanity had
laboured perhaps thirty thousand years.


## p. 252 (#372) ############################################


252 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
273-
Retrograded, not Left Behind. —Who-
ever, in the present day, still derives his develop-
ment from religious sentiments, and perhaps lives
for some length of time afterwards in metaphysics
and art, has assuredly gone back a considerable
distance and begins his race with other modern
men under unfavourable conditions; he apparently
loses time and space. But because he stays in
those domains where ardour and energy are
liberated and force flows continuously as a volcanic
stream out of an inexhaustible source, he goes
forward all the more quickly as soon as he has
freed himself at the right moment from those
dominators; his feet are winged, his breast has
learned quieter, longer, and more enduring
breathing. He has only retreated in order to
have sufficient room to leap; thus something
terrible and threatening may lie in this retrograde
movement.
274.
A Portion of our Ego as an Artistic
Object. —It is a sign of superior culture
consciously to retain and present a true picture
of certain phases of development which commoner
men live through almost thoughtlessly and then
efface from the tablets of their souls: this is a
higher species of the painter's art which only the
few understand. For this it is necessary to
isolate those phases artificially. Historical studies
form the qualification for this painting, for they


## p. 253 (#373) ############################################

SIGNS OF HIGHER AND LOWER CULTURE. 253
constantly incite us in regard to a portion of
history, a people, or a human life, to imagine
for ourselves a quite distinct horizon of thoughts,
a certain strength of feelings, the prominence of
this or the obscurity of that. Herein consists
the historic sense, that out of given instances
we can quickly reconstruct such systems of
thoughts and feelings, just as we can mentally
reconstruct a temple out of a few pillars and
remains of walls accidentally left standing. The
next result is that we understand our fellow-
men as belonging to distinct systems and re-
presentatives of different cultures—that is, as
necessary, but as changeable; and, again, that
we can separate portions of our own development
and put them down independently.
275-
Cynics and Epicureans. —The cynic re-
cognises the connection between the multiplied
and stronger pains of the more highly cultivated
man and the abundance of requirements; he
comprehends, therefore, that the multitude of
opinions about what is beautiful, suitable, seemly
and pleasing, must also produce very rich
sources of enjoyment, but also of displeasure.
In accordance with this view he educates himself
backwards, by giving up many of these opinions
and withdrawing from certain demands of culture;
he thereby gains a feeling of freedom and strength;
and gradually, when habit has made his manner
of life endurable, his sensations of displeasure
l


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254 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
are, as a matter of fact, rarer and weaker than
those of cultivated people, and approach those
of the domestic animal; moreover, he experiences
everything with the charm of contrast, and—he
can also scold to his heart's content; so that
thereby he again rises high above the sensation-
range of the animal. The Epicurean has the
same point of view as the cynic; there is usually
only a difference of temperament between them.
Then the Epicurean makes use of his higher
culture to render himself independent of prevailing
opinions, he raises himself above them, whilst
the cynic only remains negative. He walks,
as it were, in wind-protected, well-sheltered, half-
dark paths, whilst over him, in the wind, the tops
of the trees rustle and show him how violently
agitated is the world out there. The cynic, on
the contrary, goes, as it were, naked into the
rushing of the wind and hardens himself to the
point of insensibility.
276.
Microcosm and Macrocosm of Culture.
—The best discoveries about culture man makes
within himself when he finds two heterogeneous
powers ruling therein. Supposing some one were
living as much in love for the plastic arts or for
music as he was carried away by the spirit of
science, and that he were to regard it as impos-
sible for him to end this contradiction by the
destruction of one and complete liberation of the
other power, there would therefore remain nothing


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SIGNS OF HIGHER AND LOWER CULTURE. 255
for him to do but to erect around himself such
a large edifice of culture that those two powers
might both dwell within it, although at different
ends, whilst between them there dwelt reconciling,
intermediary powers, with predominant strength to
quell, in case of need, the rising conflict. But
such an edifice of culture in the single individual
will bear a great resemblance to the culture
of entire periods, and will afford consecutive
analogical teaching concerning it. For wher-
ever the great architecture of culture manifested
itself it was its mission to compel opposing powers
to agree, by means of an overwhelming accumu-
lation of other less unbearable powers, without
thereby oppressing and fettering them.
277.
Happiness and Culture. —We are moved
at the sight of our childhood's surroundings,—the
arbour, the church with its graves, the pond and
the wood,—all this we see again with pain.
We are seized with pity for ourselves; for what
have we not passed through since then! And
everything here is so silent, so eternal, only we
are so changed, so moved; we even find a few
human beings, on whom Time has sharpened his
teeth no more than on an oak tree,—peasants,
fishermen, woodmen — they are unchanged.
Emotion and self-pity at the sight of lower
culture is the sign of higher culture; from which
the conclusion may be drawn that happiness has
certainly not been increased by it. Whoever


## p. 256 (#376) ############################################

256 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
wishes to reap happiness and comfort in life
should always avoid higher culture.
278.
The Simile of the Dance. —It must now
be regarded as a decisive sign of great culture if
some one possesses sufficient strength and flexi-
bility to be as pure and strict in discernment as,
in other moments, to be capable of giving poetry,
religion, and metaphysics a hundred paces' start
and then feeling their force and beauty. Such a
position amid two such different demands is very
difficult, for science urges the absolute supremacy
of its methods, and if this insistence is not yielded
to, there arises the other danger of a weak waver-
ing between different impulses. Meanwhile, to
cast a glance, in simile at least, on a solution of
this difficulty, it may be remembered that dancing
is not the same as a dull reeling to and fro
between different impulses. High culture will
resemble a bold dance,—wherefore, as has been
said, there is need of much strength and suppleness.
279.
Of the Relieving of Life. —A primary
way of lightening life is the idealisation of all its
occurrences; and with the help of painting we
should make it quite clear to ourselves what ideal-
ising means. The painter requires that the spectator
should not observe too closely or too sharply, he
forces him back to a certain distance from whence
J- ^


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SIGNS OF HIGHER AND LOWER CULTURE. 257
to make his observations; he is obliged to take
for granted a fixed distance of the spectator from
the picture,—he must even suppose an equally
certain amount of sharpness of eye in his
spectator; in such things he must on no account
waver. Every one, therefore, who desires to
idealise his life must not look at it too closely,
i and must always keep his gaze at a certain
distance. This was a trick that Goethe, for
instance, understood.
280.
Aggravation as Relief, and Vice Versa.
—Much that makes life more difficult in certain
grades of mankind serves to lighten it in a higher
grade, because such people have become familiar
with greater aggravations of life. The contrary
also happens; for instance, religion has a double
face, according to whether a man looks up to it
to relieve him of his burden and need, or looks
down upon it as upon fetters laid on him to
prevent him from soaring too high into the air.
281.
The Higher Culture is Necessarily
Misunderstood. —He who has strung his instru-
ment with only two strings, like the scholars
(who, besides the instinct of knowledge possess
only an acquired religious instinct), does not under-
stand people who can play upon more strings.
It lies in the nature of the higher, many-stringed
culture that it should always be falsely interpreted
by the lower; an example of this is when art
vol. 1. R


## p. 258 (#378) ############################################

i
258 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
appears as a disguised form of the religious.
People who are only religious understand even
science as a searching after the religious senti-
ment, just as deaf mutes do not know what music
is, unless it be visible movement.
282.
Lamentation. —It is, perhaps, the advantages
of our epoch that bring with them a backward
movement and an occasional undervaluing of the
vita contemplativa. But it must be acknowledged
that our time is poor in the matter of great
moralists, that Pascal, Epictetus, Seneca, and
Plutarch are now but little read, that work and
industry—formerly in the following of the great
goddess Health—sometimes appear to rage like
a disease. Because time to think and tranquillity
in thought are lacking, we no longer ponder over
different views, but content ourselves with hating
them. With the enormous acceleration of life,
mind and eye grow accustomed to a partial and
false sight and judgment, and all people are like
travellers whose only acquaintance with countries
and nations is derived from the railway. An
independent and cautious attitude of knowledge
is looked upon almost as a kind of madness; the
free spirit is brought into disrepute, chiefly
through scholars, who miss their thoroughness
and ant-like industry in his art of regarding things
and would gladly banish him into one single corner
of science, while it has the different and higher
mission of commanding the battalion rear-guard
of scientific and learned men from an isolated



## p. 259 (#379) ############################################

SIGNS OF HIGHER AND LOWER CULTURE. 259
position, and showing them the ways and aims
of culture. A song of lamentation such as that
which has just been sung will probably have its
own period, and will cease of its own accord on a
forcible return of the genius of meditation.
283.
The Chief Deficiency of Active People. —
Active people are usually deficient in the higher
activity, I mean individual activity. They are
active as officials, merchants, scholars, that is as
a species, but not as quite distinct separate and
single individuals; in this respect they are idle.
. It is the misfortune of the active that their activity
is almost always a little senseless. For instance,
we must not ask the money-making banker the
reason of his restless activity, it is foolish. The
active roll as the stone rolls, according to the
stupidity of mechanics. All mankind is divided,
as it was at all times and is still, into slaves and
freemen; for whoever has not two-thirds of his
day for himself is a slave, be he otherwise what-
ever he likes, statesman, merchant, official, or
scholar.
284.
In Favour of the Idle. —As a sign that
the value of a contemplative life has decreased,
scholars now vie with active people in a sort of
hurried enjoyment, so that they appear to value
this mode of enjoying more than that which
really pertains to them, and which, as a matter of
fact, is a far greater enjoyment. Scholars are


## p. 260 (#380) ############################################


2<5o HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
ashamed of otium. But there is one noble thing
about idleness and idlers. If idleness is really the
beginning of all vice, it finds itself, therefore, at least
in near neighbourhood of all the virtues; the idle
man is still a better man than the active. You
do not suppose that in speaking of idleness and
idlers I am alluding to you, you sluggards?
285.
Modern Unrest. —Modern restlessness in-
creases towards the west, so that Americans look
upon the inhabitants of Europe as altogether
peace-loving and enjoying beings, whilst in reality
they swarm about like wasps and bees. This
restlessness is so great that the higher culture
cannot mature its fruits, it is as if the seasons
followed each other too quickly. For lack of rest
our civilisation is turning into a new barbarism.
At no period have the active, that is, the restless,
been of more importance. One of the necessary
corrections, therefore, which must be undertaken in
the character of humanity is to strengthen the
contemplative element on a large scale. But every
individual who is quiet and steady in heart and
head already has the right to believe that he
possesses not only a good temperament, but also
a generally useful virtue, and even fulfils a higher
mission by the preservation of this virtue.
286.
To what Extent the Active Man is
Lazy. —I believe that every one must ha^e his


## p. 261 (#381) ############################################

SIGNS OF HIGHER AND LOWER CULTURE. 2D,<55
own opinion about everything concerning which \
opinions are possible, because he himself is a
peculiar, unique thing, which assumes towards all
other things a new and never hitherto existing
attitude. But idleness, which lies at the bottom
of the active man's soul, prevents him from draw-
ing water out of his own well. Freedom of
opinion is like health; both are individual, and no
good general conception can be set up of either of
them. That which is necessary for the health of
one individual is the cause of disease in another,
and many means and ways to the freedom of the
spirit are for more highly developed natures the
ways and means to confinement.
287.
Censor Vit/£. —Alternations of love and hatred
for a long period distinguish the inward condition
of a man who desires to be free in his judgment
of life; he does not forget, and bears everything a
grudge, for good and evil. At last, when the
whole tablet of his soul is written full of experi-
ences, he will not hate and despise existence,
neither will he love it, but will regard it sometimes
with a joyful, sometimes with a sorrowful eye, and,
like nature, will be now in a summer and now in
an autumn mood.
288.
The Secondary Result. —Whoever earnestly
desires to be free will therewith and without any
compulsion lose all inclination for faults and vices;
he will also be more rarely overcome by anger and
\


## p. 262 (#382) ############################################

2$>2 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
I
vexation. His will desires nothing more urgently
than to discern, and the means to do this,—that is,
the permanent condition in which he is best able
to discern. '
289.
The Value of Disease. —The man who is
bed-ridden often perceives that he is usually ill of
his position, business, or society, and through them
has lost all self-possession. He gains this piece
of knowledge from the idleness to which his illness
condemns him.
290.
Sensitiveness in the Country. —If there
are no firm, quiet lines on the horizon of his life, a
species of mountain and forest line, man's inmost
will itself becomes restless, inattentive, and covetous,
as is the nature of a dweller in towns; he has no
happiness and confers no happiness.
291.
Prudence of the Free Spirits. —Free-
thinkers, those who live by knowledge alone, will
soon attain the supreme aim of their life and their
ultimate position towards society and State, and
will gladly content themselves, for instance, with a
small post or an income that is just sufficient to
enable them to live; for they will arrange to live
in such a manner that a great change of outward
prosperity, even an overthrow of the political order,
would not cause an overthrow of their life. To
all these things they devote as little energy as


## p. 263 (#383) ############################################

SIGNS OF HIGHER AND LOWER CULTURE. 2*65
V
\
possible in order that with their whole accumu- \
lated strength, and with a long breath, they may
dive into the element of knowledge. Thus they
can hope to dive deep and be able to see the
bottom. Such a spirit seizes only the point of
an event, he does not care for things in the whole
breadth and prolixity of their folds, for he does not
wish to entangle himself in them. He, too, knows
the weekdays of restraint, of dependence and
servitude. But from time to time there must
dawn for him a Sunday of liberty, otherwise he
could not endure life. It is probable that even his
love for humanity will be prudent and somewhat
short-winded, for he desires to meddle with the
world of inclinations and of blindness only as far
as is necessary for the purpose of knowledge. He
must trust that the genius of justice will say some-
thing for its disciple and protegd if accusing voices
were to call him poor in love. In his mode of life
and thought there is a refined heroism, which
scorns to offer itself to the great mob-reverence, as
its coarser brother does, and passes quietly through
and out of the world.
Whatever labyrinths it
traverses, beneath whatever rocks its stream has
occasionally worked its way—when it reaches the
light it goes clearly, easily, and almost noiselessly
on its way, and lets the sunshine strike down to
its very bottom.
292.
Forward. —And thus forward upon the path
of wisdom, with a firm step and good confidence!
However you may be situated, serve yourself as a


## p. 264 (#384) ############################################


2£>4 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
source of experience! Throw off the displeasure
at your nature, forgive yourself your own individu-
ality, for in any case you have in yourself a ladder
with a hundred steps upon which you can mount to
knowledge. The age into which with grief you feel
yourself thrown thinks you happy because of this
good fortune; it calls out to you that you shall
still have experiences which men of later ages will
perhaps be obliged to forego. Do not despise
the fact of having been religious; consider fully
how you have had a genuine access to art. Can
you not, with the help of these experiences, follow
immense stretches of former humanity with a
clearer understanding? Is not that ground which
sometimes displeases you so greatly, that ground
of clouded thought, precisely the one upon which
have grown many of the most glorious fruits of
older civilisations? You must have loved religion
and art as you loved mother and nurse,—other-
wise you cannot be wise. But you must be able
to see beyond them, to outgrow them; if you
remain under their ban you do not understand
them. You must also be familiar with history and
that cautious play with the balances: "On the
one hand—on the other hand. " Go back, tread-
ing in the footsteps made by mankind in its great
and painful journey through the desert of the past,
and you will learn most surely whither it is that
all later humanity never can or may go again.
And inasmuch as you wish with all your strength
to see in advance how the knots of the future are
tied, your own life acquires the value of an instru-
ment and means of knowledge. It is within your


## p. 265 (#385) ############################################

SIGNS OF HIGHER AND LOWER CULTURE. ^65
\
power to see that all you have experienced, trials,
errors, faults, deceptions, passions, your love and
your hope, shall be merged wholly in your aim.
This aim is to become a necessary chain of culture-
links yourself, and from this necessity to draw a
conclusion as to the necessity in the progress of
general culture. When your sight has become
strong enough to see to the bottom of the dark
well of your nature and your knowledge, it is
possible that in its mirror you may also behold
the far-away visions of future civilisations. Do
you think that such a life with such an aim is too
wearisome, too empty of all that is agreeable?
Then you have still to learn that no honey is
sweeter than that of knowledge, and that the
overhanging clouds of trouble must be to you as
an udder from which you shall draw milk for your
refreshment. And only when old age approaches
will you rightly perceive how you listened to the
voice of nature, that nature which rules the whole
world through pleasure; the same life which has
its zenith in age has also its zenith in wisdom, in
that mild sunshine of a constant mental joyful-
ness; you meet them both, old age and wisdom,
upon one ridge of life,—it was thus intended by
Nature. Then it is time, and no cause for anger,
that the mists of death approach. Towards the
light is your last movement; a joyful cry of
knowledge is your last sound.


## p. 266 (#386) ############################################

|
A 1


## p. 267 (#387) ############################################

s-
SIXTH DIVISION.
MAN IN SOCIETY.
293-
Well-Meant Dissimulation. —In intercourse
with men a well-meant dissimulation is often
necessary, as if we did not see through the motives
of their actions.
294.
Copies. —We not unfrequently meet with copies
of prominent persons; and as in the case of
pictures, so also here, the copies please more than
the originals.
295.
The Public Speaker. —One may speak with
the greatest appropriateness, and yet so that every-
body cries out to the contrary,—that is to say,
when one does not speak to everybody.
296.
Want of Confidence. —Want of confidence
among friends is a fault that cannot be censured
without becoming incurable.


## p. 268 (#388) ############################################


268
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
297.
The Art of Giving. —To have to refuse a
gift, merely because it has not been offered in the
right way, provokes animosity against the giver.
298.
The most Dangerous Partisan. —In every
party there is one who, by his far too dogmatic
expression of the party-principles, excites defec-
tion among the others.
299.
Advisers of the Sick. — Whoever gives
advice to a sick person acquires a feeling of
superiority over him, whether the advice be ac-
cepted or rejected. Hence proud and sensitive sick
persons hate advisers more than their sickness.
300.
Double Nature of Equality. —The rage
for equality may so manifest itself that we seek
either to draw all others down to ourselves (by
belittling, disregarding, and tripping up), or our-
selves and all others upwards (by recognition,
assistance, and congratulation).
301.
Against Embarrassment. —The best way
to relieve and calm very embarrassed people is to
give them decided praise.
V


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MAN IN SOCIETY. X7I
\ .
\
\
302.
Preference for Certain Virtues. —We
set no special value on the possession of a virtue
until we perceive that it is entirely lacking in our
adversary.
303-
Why we Contradict. —We often contradict
an opinion when it is really only the tone in
which it is expressed that is unsympathetic to us.
304-
/ Confidence and Intimacy. —Whoever pro-
poses to command the intimacy of a person is
usually uncertain of possessing his confidence.
Whoever is sure of a person's confidence attaches
little value to intimacy with him. i
305.
The Equilibrium of Friendship. — The
right equilibrium of friendship in our relation to
other men is sometimes restored when we put a
few grains of wrong on our own side of the scales.
306.
The most Dangerous Physicians. —The
most dangerous physicians are those who, like born
actors, imitate the born physician with the perfect
art of imposture.


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2(,9 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
307.
When Paradoxes are Permissible. —In
order to interest clever persons in a theory, it is
sometimes only necessary to put it before them
in the form of a prodigious paradox.
308.
How Courageous People are Won Over.
—Courageous people are persuaded to a course of
action by representing it as more dangerous than
it really is.
309.
Courtesies. —We regard the courtesies shown
us by unpopular persons as offences.
310.
Keeping People Waiting. —A sure way of
exasperating people and of putting bad thoughts
into their heads is to keep them waiting long.
That makes them immoral.
3ii-
Against the Confidential. —Persons who
give us their full confidence think they have
thereby a right to ours. That is a mistake;
people acquire no rights through gifts.
312.
A Mode of Settlement. —It often suffices
to give a person whom we have injured an
opportunity to make a joke about us to give him


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MAN IN SOCIETY. 271
personal satisfaction, and even to make him favour-
ably disposed to us.
313-
The Vanity of the Tongue. —Whether man
conceals his bad qualities and vices, or frankly
acknowledges them, his vanity in either case seeks
its advantage thereby,—only let it be observed_/
how nicely he distinguishes those from whom he
conceals such qualities from those with whom he
is frank and honest.
314-
Considerate. —To have no wish to offend or
injure any one may as well be the sign of a just
as of a timid nature.
315-
Requisite for Disputation. —He who can-
not put his thoughts on ice should not enter into
the heat of dispute.
316.
Intercourse and Pretension. —We forget
our pretensions when we are always conscious of
being amongst meritorious people; being alone
implants presumption in us. The young are
pretentious, for they associate with their equals,
who are all ciphers but would fain have a great
significance.
317-
Motives of an Attack. —One does not attack J
a person merely to hurt and conquer him, but
perhaps merely to become conscious of one's own
strength.


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272 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
3*i 8.
Flattery. —Persons who try by means of
flattery to put us off our guard in intercourse
with them, employ a dangerous expedient, like
a sleeping-draught, which, when it does not send
the patient to sleep, keeps him all the wider
awake.
319-
A Good Letter-Writer. —A person who
does not write books, thinks much, and lives in
unsatisfying society, will usually be a good letter-
writer.
320.
The Ugliest of All. —It may be doubted
whether a person who has travelled much has
found anywhere in the world uglier places than
those to be met with in the human face.
321.
The Sympathetic Ones. — Sympathetic
natures, ever ready to help in misfortune, are
seldom those that participate in joy; in the
happiness of others they have nothing to occupy
them, they are superfluous, they do not feel them-
selves in possession of their superiority, and hence
readily show their displeasure.
322.
The Relatives of a Suicide. —The relatives
of a suicide take it in ill part that he did not
remain alive out of consideration for their reputation.


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MAN IN SOCIETY. 273
323.
Ingratitude Foreseen. —He who makes a
large gift gets no gratitude; for the recipient is
already overburdened by the acceptance of the gift.
324-
In Dull Society. —Nobody thanks a witty
man for politeness when he puts himself on a par
with a society in which it would not be polite to
show one's wit.
325-
The Presence of Witnesses. — We are
doubly willing to jump into the water after some
one who has fallen in, if there are people present
who have not the courage to do so.
326.
Being Silent. —For both parties in a con-
troversy, the most disagreeable way of retaliating
is to be vexed and silent; for the aggressor
usually regards the silence as a sign of contempt.
327-
Friends' Secrets. —Few people will not
expose the private affairs of their friends when
at a loss for a subject of conversation.
328.
Humanity. —The humanity of intellectual
celebrities consists in courteously submitting to
vol. 1. S


## p. 274 (#394) ############################################


274 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
unfairness in intercourse with those who are
not celebrated.
329-
The Embarrassed. —People who do not feel
sure of themselves in society seize every oppor-
tunity of publicly showing their superiority to
close friends, for instance by teasing them.
330.
THANKS. —A refined nature is vexed by know-
ing that some one owes it thanks, a coarse nature
by knowing that it owes thanks to some one.
331-
A Sign of Estrangement. —The surest sign
of the estrangement of the opinions of two persons
is when they both say something ironical to each
other and neither of them feels the irony.
332.
Presumption in Connection with Merit.
—Presumption in connection with merit offends
us even more than presumption in persons devoid
of merit, for merit in itself offends us.
333-
Danger in the Voice. —In conversation we
are sometimes confused by the tone of our own
voice, and misled to make assertions that do not
at all correspond to our opinions.


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MAN IN SOCIETY. 275
334-
In Conversation. —Whether in conversation
with others we mostly agree or mostly disagree
with them is a matter of habit; there is sense in
both cases.
335-
Fear of Our Neighbour. —We are afraid of
the animosity of our neighbour, because we are
apprehensive that he may thereby discover our
secrets.
336.
Distinguishing by Blaming. —Highly re-
spected persons distribute even their blame in
such fashion that they try to distinguish us there-
with. It is intended to remind us of their serious
interest in us. We misunderstand them entirely
when we take their blame literally and protest
against it; we thereby offend them and estrange
ourselves from them.
337-
Indignation at the Goodwill of Others.
—We are mistaken as to the extent to which we
think we are hated or feared; because, though
we ourselves know very well the extent of our
divergence from a person, tendency, or party, those
others know us only superficially, and can, there-
fore, only hate us superficially. We often meet
with goodwill which is inexplicable to us; but
when we comprehend it, it shocks us, because it
shows that we are not considered with sufficient
seriousness or importance.


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276 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
338.
Thwarting Vanities. —When two persons
meet whose vanity is equally great, they have
afterwards a bad impression of each other;
because each has been so occupied with the
impression he wished to produce on the other
that the other has made no impression upon him;
at last it becomes clear to them both that their
efforts have been in vain, and each puts the blame
on the other.
339-
Improper Behaviour as a Good Sign. —A
superior mind takes pleasure in the tactlessness,
pretentiousness, and even hostility of ambitious
youths; it is the vicious habit of fiery horses
which have not yet carried a rider, but, in a short
time, will be so proud to carry one. . t»»
340.
When it is Advisable to Suffer Wrong.
—It is well to put up with accusations without
refutation, even when they injure us, when the
accuser would see a still greater fault on our part
if we contradicted and perhaps even refuted him.
In this way, certainly, a person may always be
wronged and always have right on his side, and
may eventually, with the best conscience in the
world, become the most intolerable tyrant and
tormentor; and what happens in the individual
may also take place in whole classes of society.


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MAN IN SOCIETY. 277
341-
Too Little Honoured. —Very conceited
persons, who have received less consideration than
they expected, attempt for a long time to
deceive themselves and others with regard to it,
and become subtle psychologists in order to make
out that they have been amply honoured. Should
they not attain their aim, should the veil of
deception be torn, they give way to all the greater
fury.
342.
Primitive* Conditions Re - echoing in
Speech. —By the manner in which people make
assertions in their intercourse we often recognise
an echo of the times when they were more con-
versant with weapons than anything else; some-
times they handle their assertions like sharp-
shooters using their arms, sometimes we think we
hear the whizz and clash of swords, and with
some men an assertion crashes down like a stout
cudgel. Women, on the contrary, speak like
beings who for thousands of years have sat at the
loom, plied the needle, or played the child with
children.
343-
The Narrator. —He who gives an account
of something readily betrays whether it is because
the fact interests him, or because he wishes to
excite interest by the narration. In the latter
case he will exaggerate, employ superlatives, and
such like. He then does not usually tell his story


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278 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.