No More Learning

122 (#144) ############################################

122
BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL.
200.
The man of an age of dissolution which mixes
the races with one another, who has the inheritance
of a diversified descent in his body--that is to say,
contrary, and often not only contrary, instincts and
standards of value, which struggle with one another
and are seldom at peace—such a man of late
culture and broken lights, will, on an average, be
a weak man. His fundamental desire is that the
war which is in him should come to an end ;
happiness appears to him in the character of a
soothing medicine and mode of thought (for
instance, Epicurean or Christian); it is above all
things the happiness of repose, of undisturbedness,
of repletion, of final unity—it is the Sabbath of
Sabbaths,” to use the expression of the holy
rhetorician, St Augustine, who was himself such
a man. -Should, however, the contrariety and con-
flict in such natures operate as an additional incen-
tive and stimulus to life and if, on the other hand,
in addition to their powerful and irreconcilable
instincts, they have also inherited and indoctrin-
ated into them a proper mastery and subtlety for
carrying on the conflict with themselves (that is to
say, the faculty of self-control and self-deception),
there then arise those marvellously incompre-
hensible, and inexplicable beings, those enigmatical
men, predestined for conquering and circumventing
others, the finest examples of which are Alcibiades
and Cæsar (with whom I should like to associate
the first of Europeans according to my taste, the
Hohenstaufen, Frederick the Second), and amongst


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THE NATURAL HISTORY OF MORALS.
123
artists, perhaps Lionardo da Vinci. They appear
precisely in the same periods when that weaker
type, with its longing for repose, comes to the
front; the two types are complementary to each
other, and spring from the same causes.
201.
As long as the utility which determines moral
estimates is only gregarious utility, as long as the
preservation of the community is only kept in view,
and the immoral is sought precisely and exclusively
in what seems dangerous to the maintenance of
the community, there can be no "morality of love
to one's neighbour. " Granted even that there is
already a little constant exercise of consideration,
sympathy, fairness, gentleness, and mutual assist-
ance, granted that even in this condition of society
all those instincts are already active which are
latterly distinguished by honourable names as
“virtues," and eventually almost coincide with the
conception “morality”: in that period they do not
as yet belong to the domain of moral valuations-
they are still ultra-moral. A sympathetic action,
for instance, is neither called good nor bad, moral
nor immoral, in the best period of the Romans;
and should it be praised, a sort of resentful disdain
is compatible with this praise, even at the best,
directly the sympathetic action is compared with
one which contributes to the welfare of the whole,
to the res publica. After all,“ love to our neighbour
is always a secondary matter, partly conventional
and arbitrarily manifested in relation to our fear
of our neighbour. After the fabric of society seems
(


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124
BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL.
on the whole established and secured against
external dangers, it is this fear of our neighbour
which again creates new perspectives of moral valua-
tion. Certain strong and dangerous instincts, such
as the love of enterprise, foolhardiness, revengeful-
ness, astuteness, rapacity, and love of power, which
up till then had not only to be honoured from the
point of view of general utility-under other names,
of course, than those here given-but had to be
fostered and cultivated (because they were per-
petually required in the common danger against
the common enemies), are now felt in their danger-
ousness to be doubly strong-when the outlets for
them are lacking—and are gradually branded as
immoral and given over to calumny. The contrary
instincts and inclinations now attain to moral
honour; the gregarious instinct gradually draws
its conclusions. How much or how little danger-
ousness to the community or to equality is con-
tained in an opinion, a condition, an emotion, a
disposition, or an endowment—that is now the
moral perspective; There again fear is the mother
of morals. It is by the loftiest and strongest
instincts, when they break out passionately and
carry the individual far above and beyond the
average, and the low level of the gregarious
conscience, that the self-reliance of the community
is destroyed; its belief in itself, its backbone, as it
were, breaks ; consequently these very instincts
will be most branded and defamed. The lofty
independent spirituality, the will to stand alone,
and even the cogent reason, are felt to be dangers;
everything that elevates the individual above the


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THE NATURAL HISTORY OF MORALS.
125
>
herd, and is a source of fear to the neighbour, is
henceforth called evil; the tolerant, unassuming,
self-adapting, self-equalising disposition, the medi-
ocrity of desires, attains to moral distinction and
honour. Finally, under very peaceful circum-
stances, there is always less opportunity and
necessity for training the feelings to severity and
rigour; and now every form of severity, even in
justice, begins to disturb the conscience; a lofty
and rigorous nobleness and self - responsibility
almost offends, and awakens distrust, “the lamb,"
and still more “the sheep,” wins respect. There
is a point of diseased mellowness and effeminacy
in the history of society, at which society itself
takes the part of him who injures it, the part of
the criminal, and does so, in fact, seriously and
honestly. To punish, appears to it to be somehow
unfair—it is certain that the idea of “punishment
and “the obligation to punish" are then painful
and alarming to people. “Is it not sufficient if the
criminal be rendered harmless? Why should we
still punish? Punishment itself is terrible! ”—with
these questions gregarious morality, the morality
of fear, draws its ultimate conclusion.
could at all do away with danger, the cause of fear,
one would have done away with this morality at
the same time, it would no longer be necessary, it
would not consider itself any longer necessary! -
Whoever examines the conscience of the present-
day European, will always elicit the same impera-
tive from its thousand moral folds and hidden
recesses, the imperative of the timidity of the herd:
we wish that some time or other there may be
If one


## p. 126 (#148) ############################################

126
BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL.
nothing more to fear! ” Some time or other--the
will and the way thereto is nowadays called
progress” all over Europe,
66
202.
"
Let us at once say again what we have already said
a hundred times, for people's ears nowadays are un-
willing to hear such truths-our truths. We know
well enough how offensively it sounds when any one
plainly, and without metaphor, counts man amongst
the animals; but it will be accounted to us almost
a crime, that it is precisely in respect to men of
“modern ideas” that we have constantly applied
the terms "herd,” “herd-instincts," and such like
expressions. What avail is it? We cannot do
otherwise, for it is precisely here that our new in-
sight is. We have found that in all the principal
moral judgments Europe has become unanimous,
including likewise the countries where European
influence prevails : in Europe people evidently know
what Socrates thought he did not know, and what
the famous serpent of old once promised to teach
—they "know" to-day what is good and evil. It
must then sound hard and be distasteful to the ear,
when we always insist that that which here thinks it
knows, that which here glorifies itself with praise
and blame, and calls itself good, is the instinct of
the herding human animal: the instinct which has
come and is ever coming more and more to the
front, to preponderance and supremacy over other
instincts, according to the increasing physiological
approximation and resemblance of which it is the


## p. 127 (#149) ############################################

THE NATURAL HISTORY OF MORALS.
127
a
:
symptom. Morality in Europe at present is herding-
animal morality; and therefore, as we understand
the matter, only one kind of human morality,
beside which, before which, and after which many
other moralities, and above all higher moralities,
are or should be possible. Against such a "possi-
bility," against such a “should be," however, this
morality defends itself with all its strength; it says
obstinately and inexorably: "I am morality itself
and nothing else is morality! ” Indeed, with the
help of a religion which has humoured and flattered
the sublimest desires of the herding-animal, things
have reached such a point that we always find a
more visible expression of this morality even in
political and social arrangements : the democratic
movement is the inheritance of the Christian move-
ment. That its tempo, however, is much too slow
and sleepy for the more impatient ones, for those
who are sick and distracted by the herding-instinct,
is indicated by the increasingly furious howling,
and always less disguised teeth-gnashing of the
anarchist dogs, who are now roving through the
highways of European culture. Apparently in
opposition to the peacefully industrious democrats
and Revolution-ideologues, and still more so to the
awkward philosophasters and fraternity-visionaries
who call themselves Socialists and want a “free
society," those are really at one with them all in
their thorough and instinctive hostility to every
form of society other than that of the autonomous
herd (to the extent even of repudiating the notions
“master” and “servant"-ni dieu ni maltre, says a
socialist formula); at one in their tenacious oppo-
"


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128
BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL.
>
sition to every special claim, every special right
and privilege (this means ultimately opposition to
every right, for when all are equal, no one needs
"rights” any longer); at one in their distrust of
punitive justice (as though it were a violation of
the weak, unfair to the necessary consequences of
all former society); but equally at one in their
religion of sympathy, in their compassion for all
that feels, lives, and suffers (down to the very
animals, up even to “God”—the extravagance of
“sympathy for God” belongs to a democratic age);
altogether at one in the cry and impatience of their
sympathy, in their deadly hatred of suffering gener-
ally, in their almost feminine incapacity for witness-
ing it or allowing it; at one in their involuntary
beglooming and heart-softening, under the spell of
which Europe seems to be threatened with a new
Buddhism ; at one in their belief in the morality of
mutual sympathy, as though it were morality in
itself, the climax, the attained climax of mankind,
the sole hope of the future, the consolation of the
present, the great discharge from all the obliga-
tions of the past; altogether at one in their belief
in the community as the deliverer, in the herd, and
therefore in “themselves. ”
203.
We, who hold a different belief-we, who regard
the democratic movement, not only as a degenerat-
ing form of political organisation, but as equiva-
lent to a degenerating, a waning type of man, as
involving his mediocrising and depreciation : where


## p. 129 (#151) ############################################

THE NATURAL HISTORY OF MORALS.
129
"
have we to fix our hopes? In new philosophers-
there is no other alternative: in minds strong and
original enough to initiate opposite estimates of
value, to transvalue and invert “eternal valua-
tions”; in forerunners, in men of the future, who in
the present shall fix the constraints and fasten the
knots which will compel millenniums to take new
paths. To teach man the future of humanity as
his will, as depending on human will, and to make
preparation for vast hazardous enterprises and col-
lective attempts in rearing and educating, in order
thereby to put an end to the frightful rule of folly
and chance which has hitherto gone by the name
of “history" (the folly of the "greatest number"
is only its last form)—for that purpose a new
type of philosophers and commanders will some
time or other be needed, at the very idea of
which everything that has existed in the way of
occult, terrible, and benevolent beings might look
pale and dwarfed. The image of such leaders
hovers before our eyes is it lawful for me to
say it aloud, ye free spirits ? The conditions which
one would partly have to create and partly utilise
for their genesis; the presumptive methods and
tests by virtue of which a soul should grow up
to such an elevation and power as to feel a con-
straint to these tasks; a transvaluation of values,
under the new pressure and hammer of which a
conscience should be steeled and a heart trans-
formed into brass, so as to bear the weight of such
responsibility; and on the other hand the necessity
for such leaders, the dreadful danger that they
might be lacking, or miscarry and degenerate :--
I


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130
BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL.
these are our real anxieties and glooms, ye know it
well, ye free spirits! these are the heavy distant
thoughts and storms which sweep across the heaven
of our life. There are few pains so grievous as to
have seen, divined, or experienced how an excep-
tional man has missed his way and deteriorated;
but he who has the rare eye for the universal
danger of "man" himself deteriorating, he who like
us has recognised the extraordinary fortuitousness
which has hitherto played its game in respect to
the future of mankind—a game in which neither
the hand, nor even a "finger of God” has partici-
pated ! -he who divines the fate that is hidden
under the idiotic unwariness and blind confidence
of “modern ideas," and still more under the whole
of Christo-European morality - suffers from an
anguish with which no other is to be compared.
He sees at a glance all that could still be made out
of man through a favourable accumulation and
augmentation of human powers and arrangements;
he knows with all the knowledge of his conviction
how unexhausted man still is for the greatest possi-
bilities, and how often in the past the type man
has stood in presence of mysterious decisions
and new paths :-he knows still better from his
painfulest recollections on what wretched obstacles
promising developments of the highest rank have
hitherto usually gone to pieces, broken down, sunk,
and become contemptible. The universal degener-
acy of mankind to the level of the
man of the
future"-as idealised by the socialistic fools and
shallow - pates - this degeneracy and dwarfing of
man to an absolutely gregarious animal (or as they


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THE NATURAL HISTORY OF MORALS.
131
call it, to a man of “free society"), this brutalising
of man into a pigmy with equal rights and claims,
is undoubtedly possible! He who has thought out
this possibility to its ultimate conclusion knows
another loathing unknown to the rest of mankind-
and perhaps also a new mission !


## p. 132 (#154) ############################################

(
IT


## p. 133 (#155) ############################################

SIXTH CHAPTER
WE SCHOLARS.
204.
At the risk that moralising may also reveal itself
here as that which it has always been-namely,
resolutely montrer ses plaies, according to Balzac
I would venture to protest against an improper and
injurious alteration of rank, which quite unnoticed,
and as if with the best conscience, threatens nowa-
days to establish itself in the relations of science
and philosophy. I mean to say that one must have
the right out of one's own experience-experience,
as it seems to me, always implies unfortunate ex-
perience? —to treat of such an important question of
rank, so as not to speak of colour like the blind, or
against science like women and artists ("Ah! this
dreadful science ! ” sigh their instinct and their
shame, “it always finds things out! "). The declara-
tion of independence of the scientific man, his
emancipation from philosophy, is one of the subtler
after-effects of democratic organisation and dis-
organisation : the self-glorification and self-con-
ceitedness of the learned man is now everywhere in
full bloom, and in its best springtime-which does
not mean to imply that in this case self-praise
smells sweetly. Here also the instinct of the popu-
r


## p. 134 (#156) ############################################

134
BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL.
»
lace cries, “Freedom from all masters! ” and after
science has, with the happiest results, resisted
theology, whose "handmaid " it had been too long,
it now proposes in its wantonness and indiscretion
to lay down laws for philosophy, and in its turn to
play the “master”—what am I saying! to play the
philosopher on its own account. My memory—the
memory of a scientific man, if you please ! -teems
with the naïvetés of insolence which I have heard
about philosophy and philosophers from young
naturalists and old physicians (not to mention the
most cultured and most conceited of all learned
men, the philologists and schoolmasters, who are
both the one and the other by profession). On one
occasion it was the specialist and the Jack Horner
who instinctively stood on the defensive against all
synthetic tasks and capabilities; at another time it
was the industrious worker who had got a scent of
otiuni and refined luxuriousness in the internal
economy of the philosopher, and felt himself
aggrieved and belittled thereby. On another occa-
sion it was the colour-blindness of the utilitarian,
who sees nothing in philosophy but a series of
refuted systems, and an extravagant expenditure
which “does nobody any good. ” At another time
the fear of disguised mysticism and of the boundary-
adjustment of knowledge became conspicuous, at
another time the disregard of individual philoso-
phers, which had involuntarily extended to disre-
gard of philosophy generally. In fine, I found most
frequently, behind the proud disdain of philosophy
in young scholars, the evil after-effect of some parti-
cular philosopher, to whom on the whole obedience


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WE SCHOLARS.
135
had been foresworn, without, however, the spell of
his scornful estimates of other philosophers having
been got rid of-the result being a general ill-will
to all philosophy. (Such seems to me, for instance,
the after-effect of Schopenhauer on the most modern
Germany: by his unintelligent rage against Hegel,
he has succeeded in severing the whole of the last
generation of Germans from its connection with
German culture, which culture, all things considered,
has been an elevation and a divining refinement of
the historical sense ; but precisely at this point
Schopenhauer himself was poor, irreceptive, and
un-German to the extent of ingeniousness. ) On the
whole, speaking generally, it may just have been the
humanness, all-too-humanness of the modern philo-
sophers themselves, in short, their contemptible-
ness, which has injured most radically the reverence
for philosophy and opened the doors to the instinct
of the populace. Let it but be acknowledged to
what an extent our modern world diverges from
the whole style of the world of Heraclites, Plato,
Empedocles, and whatever else all the "royal and
magnificent anchorites of the spirit” were called;
and with what justice an honest man of science
may feel himself of a better family and origin, in
view of such representatives of philosophy, who,
owing to the fashion of the present day, are just as
much aloft as they are down below-in Germany,
for instance, the two lions of Berlin, the anarchist
Eugen Dühring and the amalgamist Eduard von
Hartmann. It is especially the sight of those
hotch - potch philosophers, who call themselves
realists,” or “positivists,” which is calculated to
66


## p. 136 (#158) ############################################

136
BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL.
implant a dangerous distrust in the soul of a young
and ambitious scholar : those philosophers, at the
best, are themselves but scholars and specialists,
that is very evident !
All of them are persons
who have been vanquished and brought back again
under the dominion of science, who at one time or
another claimed more from themselves, without
having a right to the "more" and its responsibility
-and who now, creditably, rancorously and vindic-
tively, represent in word and deed, disbelief in the
master-task and supremacy of philosophy. After
all, how could it be otherwise ? Science flourishes
nowadays and has the good conscience clearly
visible on its countenance; while that to which the
entire modern philosophy has gradually sunk, the
remnant of philosophy of the present day, excites
distrust and displeasure, if not scorn and pity.
Philosophy reduced to a "theory of knowledge,” no
more in fact than a diffident science of epochs and
doctrine of forbearance: a philosophy that never
even gets beyond the threshold, and rigorously
denies itself the right to enter—that is philosophy
in its last throes, an end, an agony, something that
awakens pity. How could such a philosophy--
rule 1
205.
The dangers that beset the evolution of the philo-
sopher are, in fact, so manifold nowadays, that one
might doubt whether this fruit could still come to
maturity. The extent and towering structure of
the sciences have increased enormously, and there-
with also the probability that the philosopher will


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WE SCHOLARS.
137
grow tired even as a learner, or will attach himself
somewhere and “specialise”: so that he will no
longer attain to his elevation, that is to say, to his
superspection, his circumspection, and his despection.
Or he gets aloft too late, when the best of his
maturity and strength is past; or when he is im-
paired, coarsened, and deteriorated, so that his view,
his general estimate of things, is no longer of much
importance. It is perhaps just the refinement of
his intellectual conscience that makes him hesitate
and linger on the way; he dreads the temptation
to become a dilettante, a millepede, a milleantenna ;
he knows too well that as a discerner, one who has
lost his self-respect no longer commands, no longer
leads; unless he should aspire to become a great
play-actor, a philosophical Cagliostro and spiritual
rat-catcher-in short, a misleader.
, misleader. This is in the
last instance a question of taste, if it has not really
been a question of conscience. To double once
more the philosopher's difficulties, there is also the
fact that he demands from himself a verdict, a Yea
or Nay, not concerning science, but concerning life
and the worth of life-he learns unwillingly to
believe that it is his right and even his duty to
obtain this verdict, and he has to seek his way to
the right and the belief only through the most ex-
tensive (perhaps disturbing and destroying) ex-
periences, often hesitating, doubting, and dumb-
founded. In fact, the philosopher has long been
mistaken and confused by the multitude, either
with the scientific man and ideal scholar, or with
the religiously elevated, desensualised, desecularised
visionary and God-intoxicated man; and even yet
1


## p. 138 (#160) ############################################

138
BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL.
(
1
>
when one hears anybody praised, because he lives
“wisely,” or “as a philosopher," it hardly means
anything more than “prudently and apart. ” Wis-
dom: that seems to the populace to be a kind of
flight, a means and artifice for withdrawing success-
fully from a bad game; but the genuine philosopher
-does it not seem so to us, my friends ? -lives
unphilosophically” and “unwisely," above all,
imprudently, and feels the obligation and burden of
a hundred attempts and temptations of life-he
risks himself constantly, he plays this bad game.
206.
In relation to the genius, that is to say, a being
who either engenders or produces—both words under-
stood in their fullest sense--the man of learning, the
scientific average man, has always something of the
old maid about him ; for, like her, he is not con-
versant with the two principal functions of man.
To both, of course, to the scholar and to the old
maid, one concedes respectability, as if by way of
indemnification—in these cases one emphasises the
respectability—and yet, in the compulsion of this
concession, one has the same admixture of vexation.
Let us examine more closely: what is the scientific
man? Firstly, a commonplace type of man, with
commonplace virtues : that is to say, a non-ruling,
non-authoritative, and non-self-sufficient type of
man; he possesses industry, patient adaptableness to
rank and file, equability and moderation in capacity
and requirement; he has the instinct for people like
himself, and for that which they require—for
instance: the portion of independence and green


## p. 139 (#161) ############################################

WE SCHOLARS.
139
:
meadow without which there is no rest from labour,
the claim to honour and consideration (which first
and foremost presupposes recognition and recognisa-
bility), the sunshine of a good name, the perpetual
ratification of his value and usefulness, with which
the inward distrust which lies at the bottom of the
heart of all dependent men and gregarious animals,
has again and again to be overcome. The learned
man, as is appropriate, has also maladies and
faults of an ignoble kind : he is full of petty envy,
and has a lynx-eye for the weak points in those
natures to whose elevations he cannot attain. He
is confiding, yet only as one who lets himself go,
but does not flow; and precisely before the man of
the great current he stands all the colder and more
reserved—his eye is then like a smooth and irre-
sponsive lake, which is no longer moved by rapture
or sympathy. The worst and most dangerous thing
of which a scholar is capable results from the instinct
of mediocrity of his type, from the Jesuitism of
mediocrity, which labours instinctively for the
destruction of the exceptional man, and endeavours
to break—or still better, to relax-every bent bow.
To relax, of course, with consideration, and naturally
with an indulgent hand-to relax with confiding
sympathy : that is the real art of Jesuitism, which
has always understood how to introduce itself as
the religion of sympathy.
a
207
However gratefully one may welcome the objective
spirit—and who has not been sick to death of all
subjectivity and its confounded ipsissimosity ! -in


## p. 140 (#162) ############################################

140
BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL.
the end, however, one must learn caution even with
regard to one's gratitude, and put a stop to the
exaggeration with which the unselfing and de-
personalising of the spirit has recently been cele-
brated, as if it were the goal in itself, as if it were
salvation and glorification - as is especially ac-
customed to happen in the pessimist school, which
has also in its turn good reasons for paying the
highest honours to “disinterested knowledge. ” The
objective man, who no longer curses and scolds like
the pessimist, the ideal man of learning in whom
the scientific instinct blossoms forth fully after a
thousand complete and partial failures, is assuredly
one of the most costly instruments that exist, but
his place is in the hand of one who is more power-
ful. He is only an instrument; we may say, he is a
mirror-he is no "purpose in himself. " The objec-
tive man is in truth a mirror : accustomed to pro-
stration before everything that wants to be known,
with such desires only as knowing or “reflecting”
imply-he waits until something comes, and then
expands himself sensitively, so that even the light
footsteps and gliding past of spiritual beings may
not be lost on his surface and film. Whatever
"personality” he still possesses seems to him
accidental, arbitrary, or still oftener, disturbing ; so
much has he come to regard himself as the passage
and reflection of outside forms and events. He
calls up the recollection of "himself” with an effort,
and not infrequently wrongly; he readily confounds
himself with other persons, he makes mistakes with
regard to his own needs, and here only is he un-
refined and negligent. Perhaps he is troubled about


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WE SCHOLARS.
141
the health, or the pettiness and confined atmosphere
of wife and friend, or the lack of companions and
society-indeed, he sets himself to reflect on his
suffering, but in vain! His thoughts already rove
away to the more general case, and to-morrow he
knows as little as he knew yesterday how to help
himself. He does not now take himself seriously
and devote time to himself: he is serene, not from
lack of trouble, but from lack of capacity for grasp-
ing and dealing with his trouble. The habitual
complaisance with respect to all objects and ex-
periences, the radiant and impartial hospitality with
which he receives everything that comes his way,
his habit of inconsiderate good-nature, of dangerous
indifference as to Yea and Nay: alas! there are
enough of cases in which he has to atone for these
virtues of his ! —and as man generally, he becomes
far too easily the caput mortuum of such virtues.
Should one wish love or hatred from him I mean
love and hatred as God, woman, and animal under-
stand them—he will do what he can, and furnish
what he can. But one must not be surprised if it
should not be much-if he should show himself just
at this point to be false, fragile, questionable, and
deteriorated. His love is constrained, his hatred is
artificial, and rather un tour de force, a slight ostenta-
tion and exaggeration. He is only genuine so far
as he can be objective ; only in his serene totality
is he still “nature” and “natural. ” His mirroring
and eternally self-polishing soul no longer knows
how to affirm, no longer how to deny ; he does not
command; neither does he destroy. "Je ne méprise
presque rien" he says, with Leibnitz: let us not
-
9)


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142
BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL.
overlook nor undervalue the presque ! Neither is
he a model man; he does not go in advance of any
one, nor after either; he places himself generally
too far off to have any reason for espousing the
cause of either good or evil. If he has been so
long confounded with the philosopher, with the
Cæsarean trainer and dictator of civilisation, he has
had far too much honour, and what is most essential
in him has been overlooked-he is an instrument,
something of a slave, though certainly the sublimest
sort of slave, but nothing in himself-presque rien !
The objective man is an instrument, a costly, easily
injured, easily tarnished, measuring instrument and
mirroring apparatus, which is to be taken care of
and respected ; but he is no goal, no outgoing nor
upgoing, no complementary man in whom the rest
of existence justifies itself, no termination-and
still less a commencement, an engendering, or
primary cause, nothing hardy, powerful, self-centred,
that wants to be master ; but rather only a soft,
inflated, delicate, movable potter's-form, that must
wait for some kind of content and frame to “shape"
itself thereto—for the most part a man without
frame and content, a "selfless
“selfless” man. Consequently,
also, nothing for women, in parenthesi.
208.
When a philosopher nowadays makes known
that he is not a sceptic-I hope that has been
gathered from the foregoing description of the
objective spirit ? —people all hear it impatiently;
they regard him on that account with some appre-
hension, they would like to ask so many, many


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.
questions . . indeed among timid hearers, of
whom there are now so many, he is henceforth said
to be dangerous. With his repudiation of scepti-
cism, it seems to them as if they heard some evil-
threatening sound in the distance, as if a new kind
of explosive were being tried somewhere, a dyna-
mite of the spirit, perhaps a newly discovered
Russian nihiline, a pessimism bonæ voluntatis, that
not only denies, means denial, but-dreadful
thought! practises denial. Against this kind of
"good will”—a will to the veritable, actual nega-
tion of life-there is, as is generally acknowledged
nowadays, no better soporific and sedative than
scepticism, the mild, pleasing, lulling poppy of
scepticism; and Hamlet himself is now prescribed
by the doctors of the day as an antidote to the
"spirit,” and its underground noises. “Are not
our ears already full of bad sounds ? ” say the
sceptics, as lovers of repose, and almost as a kind
of safety police, “this subterranean Nay is terrible!
Be still, ye pessimistic moles ! ” The sceptic, in
effect, that delicate creature, is far too easily
frightened; his conscience is schooled so as to
start at every Nay, and even at every sharp,
decided Yea, and feels something like a bite thereby.
Yea! and Nay! —they seem to him opposed to
morality; he loves, on the contrary, to make a
festival to his virtue by a noble aloofness, while
perhaps he says with Montaigne: “What do I
know? " Or with Socrates: “I know that I know
nothing. " Or: "Here I do not trust myself, no
door is open to me. ” Or: “Even if the door were
open, why should I enter immediately ? ” Or:
"
>
"


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144
BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL.
“What is the use of any hasty hypotheses ? It
might quite well be in good taste to make no
hypotheses at all. Are you absolutely obliged to
straighten at once what is crooked ? to stuff every
hole with some kind of oakum? Is there not time
enough for that? Has not the time leisure? Oh,
ye demons, can ye not at all wait ? The uncertain
also has its charms, the Sphinx, too, is a Circe, and
Circe, too, was a philosopher”—Thus does a sceptic
console himself; and in truth he needs some con-
solation. For scepticism is the most spiritual
expression of a certain many-sided physiological
temperament, which in ordinary language is called
nervous debility and sickliness; it arises whenever
races or classes which have been long separated,
decisively and suddenly blend with one another.
In the new generation, which has inherited as it
were different standards and valuations in its
blood, everything is disquiet, derangement, doubt,
and tentative; the best powers operate restrictively,
the very virtues prevent each other growing and
becoming strong, equilibrium, ballast, and perpen-
dicular stability are lacking in body and soul.
That, however, which is most diseased and degen-
erated in such nondescripts is the will; they are
no longer familiar with independence of decision,
or the courageous feeling of pleasure in willing-
they are doubtful of the "freedom of the will”
even in their dreams. Our present-day Europe,
the scene of a senseless, precipitate attempt at a
radical blending of classes, and consequently of
races, is therefore sceptical in all its heights and
depths, sometimes exhibiting the mobile scepti-


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145
cism which springs impatiently and wantonly from
branch to branch, sometimes with gloomy aspect,
like a cloud overcharged with interrogative signs-
and often sick unto death of its will! Paralysis of
will; where do we not find this cripple sitting
nowadays! And yet how bedecked oftentimes !
How seductively ornamented! There are the
finest gala dresses and disguises for this disease ;
and that, for instance, most of what places itself
nowadays in the show-cases as objectiveness,"
“the scientific spirit,” “ l'art pour l'art,” and “pure
voluntary knowledge," is only decked-out scepti-
cism and paralysis of will—I am ready to answer
for this diagnosis of the European disease. —The
disease of the will is diffused unequally over
Europe; it is worst and most varied where civilisa-
tion has longest prevailed; it decreases according
as “the barbarian" still—or again-asserts his
claims under the loose drapery of Western culture.
It is therefore in the France of to-day, as can be
readily disclosed and comprehended, that the will
is most infirm; and France, which has always
had a masterly aptitude for converting even the
portentous crises of its spirit into something
charming and seductive, now manifests emphatic-
ally its intellectual ascendency over Europe, by
being the school and exhibition of all the charms
of scepticism.
The power to will and to persist,
moreover, in a resolution, is already somewhat
stronger in Germany, and again in the North of
Germany it is stronger than in Central Germany;
it is considerably stronger in England, Spain, and
Corsica, associated with phlegm in the former and
K


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146
BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL.
with hard skulls in the latter—not to mention
Italy, which is too young yet to know what it
wants, and must first show whether it can exercise
will; but it is strongest and most surprising of all
in that immense middle empire where Europe as it
were flows back to Asia-namely, in Russia.
There the power to will has been long stored up
and accumulated, there the will—uncertain whether
to be negative or affirmative—waits threateningly to
be discharged (to borrow their pet phrase from our
physicists). Perhaps not only Indian wars and
complications in Asia would be necessary to free
Europe from its greatest danger, but also internal
subversion, the shattering of the empire into small
states, and above all the introduction of parlia-
mentary imbecility, together with the obligation
of every one to read his newspaper at breakfast.
I do not say this as one who desires it; in my
heart I should rather prefer the contrary-I mean
such an increase in the threatening attitude of
Russia, that Europe would have to make up its
mind to become equally threatening-namely, to
acquire one will, by means of a new caste to rule
over the Continent, a persistent, dreadful will of its
own, that can set its aims thousands of years ahead;
so that the long spun-out comedy of its petty-
stateism, and its dynastic as well as its democratic
many-willed-ness, might finally be brought to a
close. The time for petty politics is past; the next
century will bring the struggle for the dominion
of the world—the compulsion to great politics.


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209.
As to how far the new warlike age on which we
Europeans have evidently entered may perhaps
favour the growth of another and stronger kind of
scepticism, I should like to express myself pre-
liminarily merely by a parable, which the lovers of
German history will already understand. That un-
scrupulous enthusiast for big, handsome grenadiers
(who, as King of Prussia, brought into being a
military and sceptical genius—and therewith, in
reality, the new and now triumphantly emerged
type of German), the problematic, crazy father of
Frederick the Great, had on one point the very
knack and lucky grasp of the genius : he knew
what was then lacking in Germany, the want of
which was a hundred times more alarming and
serious than any lack of culture and social form-his
ill-will to the young Frederick resulted from the
anxiety of a profound instinct. Men were lacking;
and he suspected, to his bitterest regret, that his own
son was not man enough. There, however, he de-
ceived himself; butwho would not have deceived him-
self in his place? He saw his son lapsed to atheism,
to the esprit, to the pleasant frivolity of clever
Frenchmen--he saw in the background the great
bloodsucker, the spider scepticism ; he suspected
the incurable wretchedness of a heart no longer
hard enough either for evil or good, and of a broken
will that no longer commands, is no longer able to
command. Meanwhile, however, there grew up in
his son that new kind of harder and more dangerous
scepticism--who knows to what extent it was en-
a


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148
BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL.
couraged just by his father's hatred and the icy
melancholy of a will condemned to solitude ? —the
scepticism of daring manliness, which is closely
related to the genius for war and conquest, and
made its first entrance into Germany in the person
of the great Frederick. This scepticism despises
and nevertheless grasps ; it undermines and takes
possession; it does not believe, but it does not
thereby lose itself; it gives the spirit a dangerous
liberty, but it keeps strict guard over the heart. It
is the German form of scepticism, which, as a con-
tinued Fredericianism, risen to the highest spiritua-
lity, has kept Europe for a considerable time under
the dominion of the German spirit and its critical
and historical distrust. Owing to the insuperably
strong and tough masculine character of the great
German philologists and historical critics (who,
rightly estimated, were also all of them artists of
destruction and dissolution), a new conception of
the German spirit gradually established itself—in
spite of all Romanticism in music and philosophy,
in which the leaning towards masculine scepticism
was decidedly prominent: whether, for instance, as
fearlessness of gaze, as courage and sternness of the
dissecting hand, or as resolute will to dangerous
voyages of discovery, to spiritualised North Pole
expeditions under barren and dangerous skies.
There may be good grounds for it when warm-
blooded and superficial humanitarians cross them-
selves before this spirit, cet esprit fataliste, ironique,
méphistophélique, as Michelet calls it, not without a
shudder. But if one would realise how characteristic
is this fear of the “man" in the German spirit which
1


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WE SCHOLARS.
149
awakened Europe out of its "dogmatic slumber,"
let us call to mind the former conception which had
to be overcome by this new one-and that it is not
so very long ago that a masculinised woman could
dare, with unbridled presumption, to recommend
the Germans to the interest of Europe as gentle,
good-hearted, weak-willed, and poetical fools.
Finally, let us only understand profoundly enough
Napoleon's astonishment when he saw Goethe: it
reveals what had been regarded for centuries as the
“German spirit. ” “ Voild un homme! ”-that was
as much as to say :
“ But this is a man! And I
only expected to see a German ! "
210.
Supposing, then, that in the picture of the philo-
sophers of the future, some trait suggests the
question whether they must not perhaps be sceptics
in the last-mentioned sense, something in them
would only be designated thereby—and not they
themselves. With equal right they might call
themselves critics; and assuredly they will be
men of experiments. By the name with which I
ventured to baptize them, I have already expressly
cmphasised their attempting and their love of
attempting : is this because, as critics in body and
soul, they will love to make use of experiments in a
new, and perhaps wider and more dangerous sense?
In their passion for knowledge, will they have to go
further in daring and painful attempts than the sensi-
tive and pampered taste of a democratic century
can approve of ? - There is no doubt: these coming
ones will be least able to dispense with the serious


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150
BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL.
and not unscrupulous qualities which distinguish
the critic from the sceptic: I mean the certainty as
to standards of worth, the conscious employment
of a unity of method, the wary courage, the standing-
alone, and the capacity for self-responsibility ;
indeed, they will avow among themselves a delight
in denial and dissection, and a certain considerate
cruelty, which knows how to handle the knife surely
and deftly, even when the heart bleeds. They will
be sterner (and perhaps not always towards them-
selves only) than humane people may desire, they
will not deal with the “truth” in order that it may
"please" them, or "elevate" and "inspire" them-
they will rather have little faith in “ truth” bringing
with it such revels for the feelings. They will
smile, those rigorous spirits, when any one says in
their presence: “that thought elevates me, why
should it not be true ? "or: “that work enchants me,
why should it not be beautiful ? ” or : "that artist en-
larges me, why should he not be great? ” Perhaps
they will not only have a smile, but a genuine disgust
for all that is thus rapturous, idealistic, feminine, and
hermaphroditic; and if any one could look into their
inmost heart, he would not easily find therein the
intention to reconcile “Christian sentiments" with
"antique taste," or even with "modern parliamen-
tarism" (the kind of reconciliation necessarily found
even amongst philosophers in our very uncertain
and consequently very conciliatory century).
Critical discipline, and every habit that conduces
to purity and rigour in intellectual matters, will not
only be demanded from themselves by these philo-
sophers of the future; they may even make a display
»


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WE SCHOLARS.
151
.
thereof as their special adornment-nevertheless
they will not want to be called critics on that
account. It will seem to them no small indignity
to philosophy to have it decreed, as is so welcome
nowadays, that “philosophy itself is criticism and
critical science - and nothing else whatever ! "
Though this estimate of philosophy may enjoy the
approval of all the Positivists of France and Ger-
many (and possibly it even flattered the heart and
taste of Kant : let us call to mind the titles of his
principal works), our new philosophers will say, not-
withstanding, that critics are instruments of the
philosopher, and just on that account, as instru-
ments, they are far from being philosophers them-
selves! Even the great Chinaman of Königsberg
was only a great critic.
"
211.
I insist upon it that people finally cease con-
founding philosophical workers, and in general
scientific men, with philosophers—that precisely
here one should strictly give "each his own," and
not give those far too much, these far too little. It
may be necessary for the education of the real
philosopher that he himself should have once stood
upon all those steps upon which his servants, the
scientific workers of philosophy, remain standing,
and must remain standing: he himself must perhaps
have been critic, and dogmatist, and historian, and
besides, poet, and collector, and traveller, and
riddle-reader, and moralist, and seer, and “free
spirit," and almost everything, in order to traverse
the whole range of human values and estimations,


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152
BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL.
and that he may be able with a variety of eyes and
consciences to look from a height to any distance,
from a depth up to any height, from a nook into
any expanse. But all these are only preliminary
conditions for his task; this task itself demands
something else—it requires him to create values.
The philosophical workers, after the excellent
pattern of Kant and Hegel, have to fix and formal-
ise some great existing body of valuations—that
is to say, former determinations of value, creations
of value, which have become prevalent, and are for
a time called “truths”—whether in the domain of
the logical, the political (moral), or the artistic. It
is for these investigators to make whatever has
happened and been esteemed hitherto, conspicuous,
conceivable, intelligible, and manageable, to shorten
everything long, even "time" itself, and to subjugate
the entire past: an immense and wonderful task,
in the carrying out of which all refined pride, all
tenacious will, can surely find satisfaction. The
real philosophers, however, are commanders and law-
givers, they say: “Thus shall it be! ”
;
They
determine first the Whither and the Why of man-
kind, and thereby set aside the previous labour
of all philosophical workers, and all subjugators of
the past--they grasp at the future with a creative
hand, and whatever is and was, becomes for them
thereby a means, an instrument, and a hammer.
Their “knowing" is creating, their creating is a
law-giving, their will to truth is-Will to Power. -
Are there at present such philosophers? Have
there ever been such philosophers ? Must there
not be such philosophers some day?


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153
212,
It is always more obvious to me that the philo-
sopher, as a man indispensable for the morrow and
the day after the morrow, has ever found himself,
and has been obliged to find himself, in contradiction
to the day in which he lives; his enemy has always
been the ideal of his day. Hitherto all those
extraordinary furtherers of humanity' whom one
calls philosophers—who rarely regarded themselves
as lovers of wisdom, but rather as disagreeable fools
and dangerous interrogators—have found their
mission, their hard, involuntary, imperative mission
(in the end however the greatness of their mission),
in being the bad conscience of their age. In putting
the vivisector's knife to the breast of the very virtues
of their age, they have betrayed their own secret;
it has been for the sake of a new greatness of man,
a new untrodden path to his aggrandisement.
They have always disclosed how much hypocrisy,
indolence, self-indulgence, and self-neglect, how
much falsehood was concealed under the most
venerated types of contemporary morality, how
much virtue was outlived; they have always said :
“We must remove hence to where you are least at
home. " In face of a world of "modern ideas,"
which would like to confine every one in a corner,
in a “specialty," a philosopher, if there could be
philosophers nowadays, would be compelled to
place the greatness of man, the conception of
"greatness,” precisely in his comprehensiveness and
multifariousness, in his all-roundness; he would
even determine worth and rank according to the


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154
BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL.
CC
amount and variety of that which a man could bear
and take upon himself, according to the extent to
which a man could stretch his responsibility. Nowa-
days the taste and virtue of the age weaken and
attenuate the will; nothing is so adapted to the
spirit of the age as weakness of will : consequently,
in the ideal of the philosopher, strength of will,
sternness and capacity for prolonged resolution,
must specially be included in the conception of
greatness”; with as good a right as the opposite
doctrine, with its ideal of a silly, renouncing, humble,
selfless humanity, was suited to an opposite age-
such as the sixteenth century, which suffered from
its accumulated energy of will, and from the wildest
,
torrents and floods of selfishness. In the time of
Socrates, among men only of worn-out instincts,
old conservative Athenians who let themselves
go_" for the sake of happiness," as they said; for
the sake of pleasure, as their conduct indicated-
and who had continually on their lips the old
pompous words to which they had long forfeited
the right by the life they led, irony was perhaps
necessary for greatness of soul, the wicked Socratic
assurance of the old physician and plebeian, who
cut ruthlessly into his own flesh, as into the flesh
and heart of the "noble," with a look that said
plainly enough: “Do not dissemble before me!
here-we are equal ! ” At present, on the contrary,
when throughout Europe the herding animal alone
attains to honours, and dispenses honours, when
"equality of right” can too readily be transformed
into equality in wrong : I mean to say into general
war against everything rare, strange, and privileged,
6


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WE SCHOLARS.
155
<
against the higher man, the higher soul, the higher
duty, the higher responsibility, the creative pleni-
potence and lordliness — at present it belongs to
the conception of “greatness" to be noble, to wish
to be apart, to be capable of being different, to
stand alone, to have to live by personal initiative;
and the philosopher will betray something of his ,
own ideal when he asserts: "He shall be the
greatest who can be the most solitary, the most
concealed, the most divergent, the man beyond
good and evil, the master of his virtues, and of
superabundance of wilt ; precisely this shall be
called greatness : as diversified as can be entire, as
ample as can be full. And to ask once more the
question: Is greatness possible—nowadays?
213.
It is difficult to learn what a philosopher is,
because it cannot be taught: one must “know" it
by experience or one should have the pride not
to know it. The fact that at present people all
talk of things of which they cannot have any experi-
ence, is true more especially and unfortunately as
concerns the philosopher and philosophical matters:
the very few know them, are permitted to
know them, and all popular ideas about them are
false. Thus, for instance, the truly philosophical
combination of a bold, exuberant spirituality which
runs at presto pace, and a dialectic rigour and
necessity which makes no false step, is unknown
to most thinkers and scholars from their own
experience, and therefore, should any one speak of
it in their presence, it is incredible to them. They


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156
BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL.
)
-
conceive of every necessity as troublesome, as a
painful compulsory obedience and state of con-
straint; thinking itself is regarded by them as
something slow and hesitating, almost as a trouble,
and often enough as "worthy of the sweat of the
noble”—but not at all as something easy and divine,
closely related to dancing and exuberance! “To
think" and to take a matter “seriously," "ardu-
ously”—that is one and the same thing to them;
such only has been their “experience. ”—Artists
have here perhaps a finer intuition; they who know
only too well that precisely when they no longer
do anything “arbitrarily," and everything of neces-
sity, their feeling of freedom, of subtlety, of power,
of creatively fixing, disposing, and shaping, reaches
its climax-in short, that necessity and “freedom
of will” are then the same thing with them. There
is, in fine, a gradation of rank in psychical states,
to which the gradation of rank in the problems
corresponds; and the highest problems repel ruth-
lessly every one who ventures too near them, with-
out being predestined for their solution by the
loftiness and power of his spirituality. Of what
use is it for nimble, everyday intellects, or clumsy,
honest mechanics and empiricists to press, in their
plebeian ambition, close to such problems, and as
it were into this "holy of holies"-as so often
happens nowadays! But coarse feet must never
tread upon such carpets: this is provided for in
the primary law of things; the doors remain closed
to those intruders, though they may dash and
break their heads thereon! People have always
to be born to a high station, or, more definitely,


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WE SCHOLARS.
157
:
they have to be bred for it: a person has only a
right to philosophy—taking the word in its higher
significance—in virtue of his descent; the ancestors,
the "blood,” decide here also. Many generations
must have prepared the way for the coming of the
philosopher; each of his virtues must have been
separately acquired, nurtured, transmitted, and
embodied ; not only the bold, easy, delicate course
and current of his thoughts, but above all the
readiness for great responsibilities, the majesty of
ruling glance and contemning look, the feeling of
separation from the multitude with their duties and
virtues, the kindly patronage and defence of what-
ever is misunderstood and calumniated, be it God
or devil, the delight and practice of supreme justice,
the art of commanding, the amplitude of will, the
lingering eye which rarely admires, rarely looks up,
rarely loves. . . .


## p. 158 (#180) ############################################



## p. 159 (#181) ############################################

SEVENTH CHAPTER
OUR VIRTUES.
-
214.
OUR Virtues ? —It is probable that we too have
still our virtues, although naturally they are not
those sincere and massive virtues on account of
which we hold our grandfathers in esteem and also
at a little distance from us. We Europeans of the
day after to-morrow, we firstlings of the twentieth
century — with all our dangerous curiosity, our
multifariousness and art of disguising, our mellow
and seemingly sweetened cruelty in sense and
spirit - we shall presumably, if we must have
virtues, have those only which have come to agree-
ment with our most secret and heartfelt inclinations,
with our most ardent requirements: well, then, let
us look for them in our labyrinths ! -where, as we
know, so many things lose themselves, so many
things get quite lost! And is there anything finer
than to search for one's own virtues ? Is it not
almost to believe in one's own virtues ? But this
"believing in one's own virtues"—is it not practi-
cally the same as what was formerly called one's
"good conscience," that long, respectable pigtail of
an idea, which our grandfathers used to hang behind


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160
BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL.
their heads, and often enough also behind their
understandings ? It seems, therefore, that however
little we may imagine ourselves to be old-fashioned
and grandfatherly respectable in other respects, in
one thing we are nevertheless the worthy grand-
children of our grandfathers, we last Europeans
with good consciences: we also still wear their
pigtail. —Ah! if you only knew how soon, so very
soon-it will be different!
215.
As in the stellar firmament there are sometimes
two suns which determine the path of one planet,
and in certain cases suns of different colours shine
around a single planet, now with red light, now
with green, and then simultaneously illumine and
flood it with motley colours : so we modern men,
owing to the complicated mechanism of our “firma-
ment,” are determined by different moralities; our
actions shine alternately in different colours, and
are seldom unequivocal—and there are often cases,
also, in which our actions are motley-coloured.
216.
To love one's enemies? I think that has been
well learnt: it takes place thousands of times at
present on a large and small scale ; indeed, at
times the higher and sublimer thing takes place :
we learn to despise when we love, and precisely
when we love best; all of it, however, unconsciously,
without noise, without ostentation, with the shame
and secrecy of goodness, which forbids the utter-


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QUR VIRTUES.
161
ance of the pompous word and the formula of
virtue. Morality as attitude—is opposed to our
taste nowadays. This is also an advance, as it
was an advance in our fathers that religion as an
attitude finally became opposed to their taste,
including the enmity and Voltairean bitterness
against religion (and all that formerly belonged
to freethinker-pantomime). It is the music in our
conscience, the dance in our spirit, to which Puritan
litanies, moral sermons, and goody-goodness won't
chime.
217
Let us be careful in dealing with those who
attach great importance to being credited with
moral tact and subtlety in moral discernment!
They never forgive us if they have once made a
mistake before us (or even with regard to us)—they
inevitably become our instinctive calumniators and
detractors, even when they still remain our "friends. "
-Blessed are the forgetful; for they "get the better”
even of their blunders.
218.
The psychologists of France—and where else are
there still psychologists nowadays ? -have never
yet exhausted their bitter and manifold enjoy-
ment of the bêtise bourgeoise, just as though . . . in
short, they betray something thereby. Flaubert, for
instance, the honest citizen of Rouen, neither saw,
heard, nor tasted anything else in the end ; it was
his mode of self-torment and refined cruelty As
this is growing wearisome, I would now recommend
L


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162
BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL.
for a change something else for a pleasure
namely, the unconscious astuteness with which
good, fat, honest mediocrity always behaves to-
wards loftier spirits and the tasks they have to
perform, the subtle, barbed, Jesuitical astuteness,
which is a thousand times subtler than the taste
and understanding of the middle-class in its best
moments—subtler even than the understanding of
its victims a repeated proof that “instinct” is
:
the most intelligent of all kinds of intelligence
which have hitherto been discovered. In short,
you psychologists, study the philosophy of the
"rule" in its struggle with the "exception": there
you have a spectacle fit for Gods and godlike
malignity! Or, in plainer words, practise vivi-
section on “good people,” on the “homo bonæ
voluntatis," . . . on yourselves !
»
219.
The practice of judging and condemning morally,
is the favourite revenge of the intellectually shallow
on those who are less so; it is also a kind of
indemnity for them being badly endowed by
nature; and finally, it is an opportunity for acquir-
ing spirit and becoming subtle :malice spiritualises.
They are glad in their inmost heart that there is a
standard according to which those who are over-
endowed with intellectual goods and privileges, are
equal to them; they contend for the "equality of all
before God," and almost need the belief in God for
his purpose. It is among them
It is among them that the most
powerful antagonists of atheism are found. If any
one were to say to them: "a lofty spirituality is


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OUR VIRTUES.
163
beyond all comparison with the honesty and
respectability of a merely moral man ”-it would
make them furious ; I shall take care not to say
so. I would rather flatter them with my theory
that lofty spirituality itself exists only as the
ultimate product of moral qualities; that it is a
synthesis of all qualities attributed to the “merely
moral” man, after they have been acquired singly
through long training and practice, perhaps during
a whole series of generations; that lofty spirituality
is precisely the spiritualising of justice, and the
beneficent severity which knows that it is author-
ised to maintain gradations of rank in the world,
even among things—and not only among men.
220.
6
Now that the praise of the " disinterested person
is so popular, one must-probably not without
some danger-get an idea of what people actually
take an interest in, and what are the things
generally which fundamentally and profoundly
concern ordinary men — including the cultured,
even the learned, and perhaps philosophers also, if
appearances do not deceive.
The fact thereby
becomes obvious that the greater part of what
interests and charms higher natures, and more
refined and fastidious tastes, seems absolutely “un-
interesting "to the average man :-if
, notwithstand-
ing, he perceive devotion to these interests, he calls
it désintéressé, and wonders how it is possible to
act “disinterestedly. " There have been philo-
sophers who could give this popular astonishment
a seductive and mystical, other-world expression


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164
BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL.
.
(perhaps because they did not know the higher
nature by experience ? ), instead of stating the naked
and candidly reasonable truth that “disinterested”
action is very interesting and “interested" action,
provided that . “ And love? ”—What! Even
an action for love's sake shall be “unegoistic”? But
you fools—! “And the praise of the self-sacrificer? ”
-But whoever has really offered sacrifice knows
that he wanted and obtained something for it-
perhaps something from himself for something from
himself; that he relinquished here in order to have
more there, perhaps in general to be more, or even
feel himself“ more. "
But this is a realm of ques-
tions and answers in which a more fastidious spirit
does not like to stay: for here truth has to stifle
her yawns so much when she is obliged to answer.
And after all, truth is a woman; one must not use
force with her.
>
a
221.
“It sometimes happens," said a moralistic pedant
and trifle-retailer, “that I honour and respect an
unselfish man: not, however, because he is unselfish,
but because I think he has a right to be useful to
another man at his own expense. In short, the
question is always who he is, and who the other is.
For instance, in a person created and destined for
command, self-denial and modest retirement, instead
of being virtues would be the waste of virtues : so
it seems to me. Every system of unegoistic mor-
ality which takes itself unconditionally and appeals
to every one, not only sins against good taste, but
is also an incentive to sins of omission, an additional


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OUR VIRTUES.
165
seduction under the mask of philanthropy-and
precisely a seduction and injury to the higher,
rarer, and more privileged types of men. Moral
systems must be compelled first of all to bow
before the gradations of rank; their presumption
must be driven home to their conscience-until
they thoroughly understand at last that it is
immoral to say that “what is right for one is
proper for another. ”—So said my moralistic pedant
and bonhomme. Did he perhaps deserve to be
laughed at when he thus exhorted systems of
morals to practise morality? But one should not
be too much in the right if one wishes to have the
laughers on one's own side; a grain of wrong
pertains even to good taste.
")
222.
Wherever sympathy (fellow-suffering) is preached
nowadays-and, if I gather rightly, no other re-
ligion is any longer preached_let the psycholo-
gist have his ears open: through all the vanity,
through all the noise which is natural to these
preachers (as to all preachers), he will hear a hoarse,
groaning, genuine note of self-contempt. It belongs
to the overshadowing and uglifying of Europe,
which has been on the increase for a century (the
first symptoms of which are already specified
documentarily in a thoughtful letter of Galiani to
Madame d'Epinay)-if it is not really the cause
thereof! The man of "modern ideas," the con-
ceited ape, is excessively dissatisfied with himself-
,
this is perfectly certain. He suffers, and his vanity
wants him only “to suffer with his fellows. "
"


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166
BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL.
223.
The hybrid European-a tolerably ugly plebeian,
taken all in all-absolutely requires a costume:
he needs history as a storeroom of costumes. To
be sure, he notices that none of the costumes fit
him properly-he changes and changes. Let us
look at the nineteenth century with respect to these
hasty preferences and changes in its masquerades
of style, and also with respect to its moments of
desperation on account of "nothing suiting” us,
It is in vain to get ourselves up as romantic, or
classical, or Christian, or Florentine, or barocco, or
"national,” in moribus et artibus : it does not
“clothe us”! But the “spirit,” especially the
“ historical spirit," profits even by this desperation :
once and again a new sample of the past or of
the foreign is tested, put on, taken off, packed up,
and above all studied - we are the first studious
age in puncto of “costumes," I mean as concerns
morals, articles of belief, artistic tastes, and religions;
we are prepared as no other age has ever been for
a carnival in the grand style, for the most spiritual
festival-laughter and carrogance, for the transcen-
dental height of supreme folly and Aristophanic
ridicule of the world. Perhaps we are still dis-
covering the domain of our invention just here, the
domain where even we can still be original, pro-
bably as parodists of the world's history and as
God's Merry-Andrews,-perhaps, though nothing
else of the present have a future, our laughter itself
may have a future!
a
3


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OUR VIRTUES.
167
224.
The historical sense (or the capacity for divining
quickly the order of rank of the valuations accord-
ing to which a people, a community, or an indi-
vidual has lived, the “divining instinct” for the
relationships of these valuations, for the relation of
the authority of the valuations to the authority of
the operating forces),--this historical sense, which
we Europeans claim as our speciality, has come to
us in the train of the enchanting and mad semi-
barbarity into which Europe has been plunged by
the democratic mingling of classes and races--it is
only the nineteenth century that has recognised
this faculty as its sixth sense. Owing to this
mingling, the past of every form and mode of life,
and of cultures which were formerly closely con-
tiguous and superimposed on one another, flows
forth into us “modern souls”; our instincts now
run back in all directions, we ourselves are a kind
of chaos: in the end, as we have said, the spirit
perceives its advantage therein. By means of our
semi-barbarity in body and in desire, we have secret
access everywhere, such as a noble age never had;
we have access above all to the labyrinth of imper-
fect civilisations, and to every form of semi-
barbarity that has at any time existed on earth;
and in so far as the most considerable part of
human civilisation hitherto has just been semi-
barbarity, the “historical sense” implies almost the
sense and instinct for everything, the taste and
tongue for everything: whereby it immediately
proves
itself to be an ignoble sense. For instance,


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168
BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL
we enjoy Homer once more: it is perhaps our
happiest acquisition that we know how to appre-
ciate Homer, whom men of distinguished culture
(as the French of the seventeenth century, like
Saint-Evremond, who reproached him for his esprit
vaste, and even Voltaire, the last echo of the cen-
tury) cannot and could not so easily appropriate-
whom they scarcely permitted themselves to enjoy.
The very decided Yea and Nay of their palate,
their promptly ready disgust, their hesitating reluc-
tance with regard to everything strange, their
horror of the bad taste even of lively curiosity, and
in general the averseness of every distinguished
and self-sufficing culture to avow a new desire, a
dissatisfaction with its own condition, or an admira-
tion of what is strange: all this determines and
disposes them unfavourably even towards the best
things of the world which are not their property or
could not become their prey—and no faculty is more
unintelligible to such men than just this historical
sense, with its truckling, plebeian curiosity. The
case is not different with Shakespeare, that mar-
vellous Spanish-Moorish-Saxon synthesis of taste,
over whom an ancient Athenian of the circle of
Æschylus would have half-killed himself with
laughter or irritation: but we-accept precisely this
wild motleyness, this medley of the most delicate,
the most coarse, and the most artificial, with a
secret confidence and cordiality; we enjoy it as a
refinement of art reserved expressly for us, and
allow ourselves to be as little disturbed by the
repulsive fumes and the proximity of the English
populace in which Shakespeare's art and taste lives,
1


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OUR VIRTUES.