Why should it not
suffice us when life mirrors itself peacefully in a
deep lake?
suffice us when life mirrors itself peacefully in a
deep lake?
Nietzsche - v06 - Human All-Too-Human - a
We thus take an intelligent
interest in the life and nature of many persons by
not treating ourselves as rigid, persistent single
individuals.
619.
In the Fire of Contempt. —It is a fresh
step towards independence when one first dares
to give utterance to opinions which it is considered
as disgraceful for a person to entertain; even
friends and acquaintances are then accustomed to
grow anxious. The gifted nature must also pass
through this fire; it afterwards belongs far more
to itself.
620.
Self-sacrifice. —In the event of choice, a
great sacrifice is preferred to a small one, because
we compensate ourselves for the great sacrifice by
## p. 391 (#575) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 39I
self-admiration, which is not possible in the case
of a small one.
621.
LOVE AS AN ARTIFICE. —Whoever really wishes
to become acquainted with something new (whether
it be a person, an event, or a book), does well to
take up the matter with all possible love, and to
avert his eye quickly from all that seems hostile,
objectionable, and false therein,—in fact to forget
such things; so that, for instance, he gives the
author of a book the best sta/t possible, and
straightway, just as in a race, longs with beating
heart that he may reach the goal. In this manner
one penetrates to the heart of the new thing, to its
moving point, and this is called becoming ac-
quainted with it. This stage having been arrived
at, the understanding afterwards makes its restric-
tions; the over-estimation and the temporary
suspension of the critical pendulum were only
artifices to lure forth the soul of the matter.
622.
Thinking Too Well and Too III of the
WORLD. —Whether we think too well or too ill of
things, we always have the advantage of deriving
therefrom a greater pleasure, for with a too good
preconception we usually put more sweetness into
things (experiences) than they actually contain. A
too bad preconception causes a pleasant disap-
pointment, the pleasantness that lay in the things
themselves is increased by the pleasantness of the
## p. 392 (#576) ############################################
392 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
surprise. A gloomy temperament, however, will
have the reverse experience in both cases.
623.
Profound People. —Those whose strength lies
in the deepening of impressions—they are usually
called profound people—are relatively self-pos-
sessed and decided in all sudden emergencies, for
in the first moment the impression is still shallow,
it only then becomes deep. Long foreseen, long
expected events or persons, however, excite such
natures most, and make them almost incapable of
eventually having presence of mind on the arrival
thereof.
624.
Intercourse with the Higher Self. —
Every one has his good day, when he finds his
higher self; and true humanity demands that a
person shall be estimated according to this state
and not according to his work-days of constraint
and bondage. A painter, for instance, should be
appraised and honoured according to the most
exalted vision he could see and represent. But
men themselves commune very differently with
this their higher self, and are frequently their own
playactors, in so far as they repeatedly imitate
what they are in those moments. Some stand in
awe and humility before their ideal, and would
fain deny it; they are afraid of their higher self
because, when it speaks, it speaks pretentiously.
Besides, it has a ghost-like freedom of coming and
staying away just as it pleases; on that account it
## p. 393 (#577) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 393
is often called a gift of the gods, while in fact
everything else is a gift of the gods (of chance);
this, however, is the man himself.
625.
Lonely People. —Some people are so much
accustomed to being alone in self-communion that
they do not at all compare themselves with others,
but spin out their soliloquising life in a quiet,
happy mood, conversing pleasantly, and even
hilariously, with themselves. If, however, they
are brought to the point of comparing them-
selves with others, they are inclined to a brooding
under-estimation of their own worth, so that they
have first to be compelled by others to form once
more a good and just opinion of themselves, and
even from this acquired opinion they will always
want to subtract and abate something. We must
not, therefore, grudge certain persons their loneli-
ness or foolishly commiserate them on that account,
as is so often done.
626.
Without Melody. —There are persons to
whom a constant repose in themselves and the
harmonious ordering of all their capacities is so
natural that every definite activity is repugnant to
them. They resemble music which consists of
nothing but prolonged, harmonious accords, without
even the tendency to an organised and animated
melody showing itself. All external movement
serves only to restore to the boat its equilibrium
## p. 394 (#578) ############################################
394 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
on the sea of harmonious euphony. Modern men
usually become excessively impatient when they
meet such natures, who will never be anything in the
world, only it is not allowable to say of them that
they are nothing. But in certain moods the sight
of them raises the unusual question: "Why should
there be melody at all? Why should it not
suffice us when life mirrors itself peacefully in a
deep lake? " The Middle Ages were richer in
such natures than our times. How seldom one
now meets with any one who can live on so peace-
fully and happily with himself even in the midst
of the crowd, saying to himself, like Goethe, " The
best thing of all is the deep calm in which I live
and grow in opposition to the world, and gain
what it cannot take away from me with fire and
sword. "
627.
To Live and Experience. —If we observe
how some people can deal with their experiences
—their unimportant, everyday experiences—so
that these become soil which yields fruit thrice
a year; whilst others—and how many ! —are
driven through the surf of the most exciting
adventures, the most diversified movements of
times and peoples, and yet always remain light,
always remain on the surface, like cork; we are
finally tempted to divide mankind into a minority
(minimality) of those who know how to make
much out of little, and a majority of those who
know how to make little out of much; indeed, we
even meet with the counter-sorcerers who, instead
## p. 395 (#579) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 395
of making the world out of nothing, make a
nothing out of the world.
628.
Seriousness in Play. —In Genoa one evening,
in the twilight, I heard from a tower a long
chiming of bells; it was never like to end, and
sounded as if insatiable above the noise of the
streets, out into the evening sky and sea-air, so
thrilling, and at the same time so childish and so
sad. I then remembered the words of Plato, and
suddenly felt the force of them in my heart:
"Human matters, one and all, are not worthy of
great seriousness; nevertheless . . . "
629.
Conviction and Justice. —The requirement
that a person must afterwards, when cool and
sober, stand by what he says, promises, and resolves
during passion, is one of the heaviest burdens that
weigh upon mankind. To have to acknowledge
for all future time the consequences of anger, of
fiery revenge, of enthusiastic devotion, may lead to
a bitterness against these feelings proportionate
to the idolatry with which they are idolised,
especially by artists. These cultivate to its
full extent the esteem of the passions, and have
always done so; to be sure, they also glorify the
terrible satisfaction of the passions which a person
affords himself, the outbreaks of vengeance, with
death, mutilation, or voluntary banishment in their
train, and the resignation of the broken heart.
## p. 396 (#580) ############################################
396 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
In any case they keep alive curiosity about the
passions; it is as if they said: "Without passions
you have no experience whatever. " Because we
have sworn fidelity (perhaps even to a purely
fictitious being, such as a god), because we have
surrendered our heart to a prince, a party, a
woman, a priestly order, an artist, or a thinker, in
a state of infatuated delusion that threw a charm
over us and made those beings appear worthy of
all veneration, and every sacrifice—are we, there-
fore, firmly and inevitably bound? Or did we
not, after all, deceive ourselves then? Was there
not a hypothetical promise, under the tacit pre-
supposition that those beings to whom we conse-
crated ourselves were really the beings they
seemed to be in our imagination? Are we under
obligation to be faithful to our errors, even with
the knowledge that by this fidelity we shall cause
injury to our higher selves? No, there is no law,
no obligation of that sort; we must become traitors,
we must act unfaithfully and abandon our ideals
again and again. We cannot advance from one
period of life into another without causing these
pains of treachery and also suffering from them.
Might it be necessary to guard against the ebulli-
tions of our feelings in order to escape these pains?
Would not the world then become too arid, too
ghost-like for us? Rather will we ask ourselves
whether these pains are necessary on a change of
convictions, or whether they do not depend on
a mistaken opinion and estimate* Why do we
admire a person who remains true to his convic-
tions and despise him who changes them? I fear
## p. 397 (#581) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 397
the answer must be, "because every one takes for
granted that such a change is caused only by
motives of more general utility or of personal
trouble. " That is to say, we believe at bottom
that nobody alters his opinions as long as they are
advantageous to him, or at least as long as they
do not cause him any harm. If it is so, however,
it furnishes a bad proof of the intellectual signifi-
cance of all convictions. Let us once examine
how convictions arise, and let us see whether their
importance is not greatly over-estimated; it will
thereby be seen that the change of convictions also
is in all circumstances judged according to a false
standard, that we have hitherto been accustomed
to suffer too much from this change.
630.
Conviction is belief in the possession of abso-
lute truth on any matter of knowledge. This belief
takes it for granted, therefore, that there are
absolute truths; also, that perfect methods have
been found for attaining to them; and finally, that
every one who has convictions makes use of these
perfect methods. All three notions show at once
that the man of convictions is not the man of
scientific thought; he seems to us still in the
age of theoretical innocence, and is practically a
child, however grown-up he may be. Whole
centuries, however, have been lived under the
influence of those childlike presuppositions, and
out of them have flowed the mightiest sources
of human strength The countless numbers who
## p. 398 (#582) ############################################
398 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
sacrificed themselves for their convictions believed
they were doing it for the sake of absolute truth.
They were all wrong, however; probably no one
has ever sacrificed himself for Truth; at least, the
dogmatic expression of the faith of any such person
has been unscientific or only partly scientific. But
really, people wanted to carry their point because
they believed that they must be in the right. To
allow their belief to be wrested from them prob-
ably meant calling in question their eternal salva-
tion. In an affair of such extreme importance
the "will" was too audibly the prompter of the
intellect. The presupposition of every believer
of every shade of belief has been that he could not
be confuted. ; if the counter-arguments happened
to be very strong, it always remained for him to
decry intellect generally, and, perhaps, even to set
up the "credo quia absurdum est" as the standard
of extreme fanaticism. It is not the struggle of
opinions that has made history so turbulent; but
the struggle of belief in opinions,—that is to say, of
convictions. If all those who thought so highly
of their convictions, who made sacrifices of all
kinds for them, and spared neither honour, body,
nor life in their service, had only devoted half of
their energy to examining their right to adhere to
this or that conviction and by what road they
arrived at it, how peaceable would the history of
mankind now appear! How much more know-
ledge would there be! All the cruel scenes in
connection with the persecution of heretics of all
kinds would have been avoided, for two reasons:
firstly, because the inquisitors would above'all have
## p. 399 (#583) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 399
inquired of themselves, and would have recognised
the presumption of defending absolute truth; and
secondly, because the heretics themselves would,
after examination, have taken no more interest in
such badly established doctrines as those of all
religious sectarians and "orthodox" believers.
631.
From the ages in which it was customary to
believe in the possession of absolute truth, people
have inherited a profound dislike of all sceptical
and relative attitudes with regard to questions of
knowledge; they mostly prefer to acquiesce, for
good or evil, in the convictions of those in
authority (fathers, friends, teachers, princes), and
they have a kind of remorse of conscience when
they do not do so. This tendency is quite com-
prehensible, and its results furnish no ground for
condemnation of the course of the development
of human reason. The scientific spirit in man,
however, has gradually to bring to maturity the
virtue of cautious forbearance, the wise modera-
tion, which is better known in practical than in
theoretical life, and which, for instance, Goethe
has represented in "Antonio," as an object of
provocation for all Tassos,—that is to say, for
unscientific and at the same time inactive natures.
The man of convictions has in himself the right
not to comprehend the man of cautious thought,
the theoretical Antonio; the scientific man, on the
other hand, has no right to blame the former on
that account, he takes no notice thereof, and
## p. 400 (#584) ############################################
400 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
knows, moreover, that in certain cases the former
will yet cling to him, as Tasso finally clung to
Antonio.
632.
He who has not passed through different
phases of conviction, but sticks to the faith in
whose net he was first caught, is, under all circum-
stances, just on account of this unchangeableness,
a representative of atavistic culture; in accordance
with this lack of culture (which always pre- ,
supposes plasticity for culture), he is severe, un-
intelligent, unteachable, without liberality, an ever
suspicious person, an unscrupulous person who
has recourse to all expedients for enforcing his
opinions because he cannot conceive that there
must be other opinions; he is, in such respects,
perhaps a source of strength, and even wholesome
in cultures that have become too emancipated and
languid, but only because he strongly incites to
opposition: for thereby the delicate organisation
of the new culture, which is forced to struggle
with him, becomes strong itself.
633.
In essential respects we are still the same men
as those of the time of the Reformation; how
could it be otherwise? But the fact that we
no longer allow ourselves certain means for pro-
moting the triumph of our opinions distinguishes
us from that age, and proves that we belong to
a higher culture. He who still combats and
overthrows opinions with calumnies and outbursts
## p. 401 (#585) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 4OI
of rage, after the manner of the Reformation men,
obviously betrays the fact that he would have
burnt his adversaries had he lived in other times,
and that he would have resorted to all the
methods of the Inquisition if he had been an
opponent of the Reformation. The Inquisition
was rational at that time; for it represented
nothing else than the universal application of
martial law, which had to be proclaimed through-
out the entire domain of the Church, and which,
like all martial law, gave a right to the extremest
methods, under the presupposition, of course,
(which we now no longer share with those people),
that the Church possessed truth and had to preserve
it at all costs, and at any sacrifice, for the salvation
of mankind. Now, however, one does not so
readily concede to any one that he possesses the
truth; strict methods of investigation have diffused
enough of distrust and precaution, so that every
one who violently advocates opinions in word and
deed is looked upon as an enemy of our modern
culture, or, at least, as an atavist. As a matter
of fact the pathos that man possesses truth is
now of very little consequence in comparison with
the certainly milder and less noisy pathos of the
search for truth, which is never weary of learning
afresh and examining anew.
634-
Moreover, the methodical search for truth is
itself the outcome of those ages in which con-
victions were at war with each other. If the
vol. 1. 2C
## p. 402 (#586) ############################################
402 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
individual had not cared about his "truth," that
is to say, about carrying his point, there would
have been no method of investigation; thus,
however, by the eternal struggle of the claims of
different individuals to absolute truth, people went
on step by step to find irrefragable principles
according to which the rights of the claims could
be tested and the dispute settled. At first people
decided according to authorities; later on they
criticised one another's ways and means of finding
the presumed truth; in the interval there was a
period when people deduced the consequences of'
the adverse theory, and perhaps found them to be
productive of injury and unhappiness; from which
it was then to be inferred by every one that the
conviction of the adversary involved an error.
The personal struggle of the thinker at last so
sharpened his methods that real truths could be
discovered, and the mistakes of former methods
exposed before the eyes of all.
635.
On the whole, scientific methods are at least
as important results of investigation as any other
results, for the scientific spirit is based upon a
knowledge of method, and if the methods were
lost, all the results of science could not prevent
the renewed prevalence of superstition and
absurdity. Clever people may learn as much as
they like of the results of science, but one still
notices in their conversation, and especially in
the hypotheses they make, that they lack the
## p. 403 (#587) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 403
scientific spirit; they have not the instinctive
distrust of the devious courses of thinking which,
in consequence of long training, has taken root
in the soul of every scientific man. It is enough
for them to find any kind of hypothesis on a
subject, they are then all on fire for it, and
imagine the matter is thereby settled. To have
an opinion is with them equivalent to immedi-
ately becoming fanatical for it, and finally taking
it to heart as a conviction. In the case of
an unexplained matter they become heated for
the first idea that comes into their head which
has any resemblance to an explanation—a course
from which the worst results constantly follow,
especially in the field of politics. On that ac-
count everybody should nowadays have become
thoroughly acquainted with at least one science,
for then surely he knows what is meant by
method, and how necessary is the extremest
carefulness. To women in particular this advice
is to be given at present; as to those who are
irretrievably the victims of all hypotheses, especi-
ally when these have the appearance of being
witty, attractive, enlivening, and invigorating.
Indeed, on close inspection one sees that by far
the greater number of educated people still desire
convictions from a thinker and nothing but con-
victions, and that only a small minority want
certainty. The former want to be forcibly carried
away in order thereby to obtain an increase of
strength; the latter few have the real interest
which disregards personal advantages and the
increase of strength also. The former class, who
## p. 403 (#588) ############################################
390 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
the arrows with which he shoots; he unburdens
himself first as an individual, and thinks of getting
a remedy which, while benefiting society directly,
will also benefit himself indirectly by means of
society.
618.
Philosophically Minded. —We usually en-
deavour to acquire one attitude of mind, one set
of opinions for all situations and events of life—
it is mostly called being philosophically minded.
But for the acquisition of knowledge it may be of
greater importance not to make ourselves thus
uniform, but to hearken to the low voice of the
different situations in life; these bring their own
opinions with them. We thus take an intelligent
interest in the life and nature of many persons by
not treating ourselves as rigid, persistent single
individuals.
619.
In the Fire of Contempt. —It is a fresh
step towards independence when one first dares
to give utterance to opinions which it is considered
as disgraceful for a person to entertain; even
friends and acquaintances are then accustomed to
grow anxious. The gifted nature must also pass
through this fire; it afterwards belongs far more
to itself.
620.
Self-sacrifice. —In the event of choice, a
great sacrifice is preferred to a small one, because
we compensate ourselves for the great sacrifice by
1
## p. 403 (#589) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 391
self-admiration, which is not possible in the case
of a small one.
621.
LOVE as an Artifice. —Whoever really wishes
to become acquainted with something new (whether
it be a person, an event, or a book), does well to
take up the matter with all possible love, and to
avert his eye quickly from all that seems hostile,
objectionable, and false therein,—in fact to forget
such things; so that, for instance, he gives the
author of a book the best sta/t possible, and
straightway, just as in a race, longs with beating
heart that he may reach the goal. In this manner
one penetrates to the heart of the new thing, to its
moving point, and this is called becoming ac-
quainted with it. This stage having been arrived
at, the understanding afterwards makes its restric-
tions; the over-estimation and the temporary
suspension of the critical pendulum were only
artifices to lure forth the soul of the matter.
622.
Thinking Too Well and Too III of the
WORLD. —Whether we think too well or too ill of
things, we always have the advantage of deriving
therefrom a greater pleasure, for with a too good
preconception we usually put more sweetness into
things (experiences) than they actually contain. A
too bad preconception causes a pleasant disap-
pointment, the pleasantness that lay in the things
themselves is increased by the pleasantness of the
## p. 403 (#590) ############################################
392 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
surprise. A gloomy temperament, however, will
have the reverse experience in both cases.
623.
Profound People. —Those whose strength lies
in the deepening of impressions—they are usually
called profound people—are relatively self-pos-
sessed and decided in all sudden emergencies, for
in the first moment the impression is still shallow,
it only then becomes deep. Long foreseen, long
expected events or persons, however, excite such
natures most, and make them almost incapable of
eventually having presence of mind on the arrival
thereof.
624.
Intercourse with the Higher Self. —
Every one has his good day, when he finds his
higher self; and true humanity demands that a
person shall be estimated according to this state
and not according to his work-days of constraint
and bondage. A painter, for instance, should be
appraised and honoured according to the most
exalted vision he could see and represent. But
men themselves commune very differently with
this their higher self, and are frequently their own
playactors, in so far as they repeatedly imitate
what they are in those moments. Some stand in
awe and humility before their ideal, and would
fain deny it; they are afraid of their higher self
because, when it speaks, it speaks pretentiously.
Besides, it has a ghost-like freedom of coming and
staying away just as it pleases; on that account it
## p. 403 (#591) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 393
is often called a gift of the gods, while in fact
everything else is a gift of the gods (of chance);
this, however, is the man himself.
625.
Lonely People. —Some people are so much
accustomed to being alone in self-communion that
they do not at all compare themselves with others,
but spin out their soliloquising life in a quiet,
happy mood, conversing pleasantly, and even
hilariously, with themselves. If, however, they
are brought to the point of comparing them-
selves with others, they are inclined to a brooding
under-estimation of their own worth, so that they
have first to be compelled by others to form once
more a good and just opinion of themselves, and
even from this acquired opinion they will always
want to subtract and abate something. We must
not, therefore, grudge certain persons their loneli-
ness or foolishly commiserate them on that account,
as is so often done.
626.
Without Melody. —There are persons to
whom a constant repose in themselves and the
harmonious ordering of all their capacities is so
natural that every definite activity is repugnant to
them. They resemble music which consists of
nothing but prolonged, harmonious accords, without
even the tendency to an organised and animated
melody showing itself. All external movement
serves only to restore to the boat its equilibrium
## p. 403 (#592) ############################################
394 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
on the sea of harmonious euphony. Modern men
usually become excessively impatient when they
meet such natures, who will never be anythingin the
world, only it is not allowable to say of them that
they are nothing. But in certain moods the sight
of them raises the unusual question: "Why should
there be melody at all?
Why should it not
suffice us when life mirrors itself peacefully in a
deep lake? " The Middle Ages were richer in
such natures than our times. How seldom one
now meets with any one who can live on so peace-
fully and happily with himself even in the midst
of the crowd, saying to himself, like Goethe, " The
best thing of all is the deep calm in which I live
and grow in opposition to the world, and gain
what it cannot take away from me with fire and
sword. "
627.
To Live and Experience. —If we observe
how some people can deal with their experiences
—their unimportant, everyday experiences—so
that these become soil which yields fruit thrice
a year; whilst others—and how many ! —are
driven through the surf of the most exciting
adventures, the most diversified movements of
times and peoples, and yet always remain light,
always remain on the surface, like cork; we are
finally tempted to divide mankind into a minority
(minimality) of those who know how to make
much out of little, and a majority of those who
know how to make little out of much; indeed, we
even meet with the counter-sorcerers who, instead
## p. 403 (#593) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 395
of making the world out of nothing, make a
nothing out of the world.
628.
Seriousness IN Play. —In Genoa one evening,
in the twilight, I heard from a tower a long
chiming of bells; it was never like to end, and
sounded as if insatiable above the noise of the
streets, out into the evening sky and sea-air, so
thrilling, and at the same time so childish and so
sad. I then remembered the words of Plato, and
suddenly felt the force of them in my heart:
"Human matters, one and all, are not worthy of
great seriousness; nevertheless . . . "
629.
Conviction and Justice. —The requirement
that a person must afterwards, when cool and
sober, stand by what he says, promises, and resolves
during passion, is one of the heaviest burdens that
weigh upon mankind. To have to acknowledge
for all future time the consequences of anger, of
fiery revenge, of enthusiastic devotion, may lead to
a bitterness against these feelings proportionate
to the idolatry with which they are idolised,
especially by artists. These cultivate to its
full extent the esteem of the passions, and have
always done so; to be sure, they also glorify the
terrible satisfaction of the passions which a person
affords himself, the outbreaks of vengeance, with
death, mutilation, or voluntary banishment in their
train, and the resignation of the broken heart.
## p. 403 (#594) ############################################
396 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
In any case they keep alive curiosity about the
passions; it is as if they said: "Without passions
you have no experience whatever. " Because we
have sworn fidelity (perhaps even to a purely
fictitious being, such as a god), because we have
surrendered our heart to a prince, a party, a
woman, a priestly order, an artist, or a thinker, in
a state of infatuated delusion that threw a charm
over us and made those beings appear worthy of
all veneration, and every sacrifice—are we, there-
fore, firmly and inevitably bound? Or did we
not, after all, deceive ourselves then? Was there
not a hypothetical promise, under the tacit pre-
supposition that those beings to whom we conse-
crated ourselves were really the beings they
seemed to be in our imagination? Are we under
obligation to be faithful to our errors, even with
the knowledge that by this fidelity we shall cause
injury to our higher selves? No, there is no law,
no obligation of that sort; we must become traitors,
we must act unfaithfully and abandon our ideals
again and again. We cannot advance from one
period of life into another without causing these
pains of treachery and also suffering from them.
Might it be necessary to guard against the ebulli-
tions of our feelings in order to escape these pains?
Would not the world then become too arid, too
ghost-like for us? Rather will we ask ourselves
whether these pains are necessary on a change of
convictions, or whether they do not depend on
a mistaken opinion and estimate. Why do we
admire a person who remains true to his convic-
tions and despise him who changes them? I fear
## p. 403 (#595) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 397
the answer must be, "because every one takes for
granted that such a change is caused only by
motives of more general utility or of personal
trouble. " That is to say, we believe at bottom
that nobody alters his opinions as long as they are
advantageous to him, or at least as long as they
do not cause him any harm. If it is so, however,
it furnishes a bad proof of the intellectual signifi-
cance of all convictions. Let us once examine
how convictions arise, and let us see whether their
importance is not greatly over-estimated; it will
thereby be seen that the change of convictions also
is in all circumstances judged according to a false
standard, that we have hitherto been accustomed
to suffer too much from this change.
630.
Conviction is belief in the possession of abso-
lute truth on any matter of knowledge. This belief
takes it for granted, therefore, that there are
absolute truths; also, that perfect methods have
been found for attaining to them; and finally, that
every one who has convictions makes use of these
perfect methods. All three notions show at once
that the man of convictions is not the man of
scientific thought; he seems to us still in the
age of theoretical innocence, and is practically a
child, however grown-up he may be. Whole
centuries, however, have been lived under the
influence of those childlike presuppositions, and
out of them have flowed the mightiest sources
of human strength. The countless numbers who
## p. 403 (#596) ############################################
398 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
sacrificed themselves for their convictions believed
they were doing it for the sake of absolute truth.
They were all wrong, however; probably no one
has ever sacrificed himself for Truth; at least, the
dogmatic expression of the faith of any such person
has been unscientific or only partly scientific. But
really, people wanted to carry their point because
they believed that they must be in the right. To
allow their belief to be wrested from them prob-
ably meant calling in question their eternal salva-
tion. In an affair of such extreme importance
the "will" was too audibly the prompter of the
intellect. The presupposition of every believer
of every shade of belief has been that he could not
be confuted. ; if the counter-arguments happened
to be very strong, it always remained for him to
decry intellect generally, and, perhaps, even to set
up the "credo quia absurdum est" as the standard
of extreme fanaticism. It is not the struggle of
opinions that has made history so turbulent; but
the struggle of belief in opinions,—that is to say, of
convictions. If all those who thought so highly
of their convictions, who made sacrifices of all
kinds for them, and spared neither honour, body,
nor life in their service, had only devoted half of
their energy to examining their right to adhere to
this or that conviction and by what road they
arrived at it, how peaceable would the history of
mankind now appear! How much more know-
ledge would there be! All the cruel scenes in
connection with the persecution of heretics of all
kinds would have been avoided, for two reasons:
firstly, because the inquisitors would above'all have
## p. 403 (#597) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 399
inquired of themselves, and would have recognised
the presumption of defending absolute truth; and
secondly, because the heretics themselves would,
after examination, have taken no more interest in
such badly established doctrines as those of all
religious sectarians and " orthodox" believers.
631.
From the ages in which it was customary to
believe in the possession of absolute truth, people
have inherited a profound dislike of all sceptical
and relative attitudes with regard to questions of
knowledge; they mostly prefer to acquiesce, for
good or evil, in the convictions of those in
authority (fathers, friends, teachers, princes), and
they have a kind of remorse of conscience when
they do not do so. This tendency is quite com-
prehensible, and its results furnish no ground for
condemnation of the course of the development
of human reason. The scientific spirit in man,
however, has gradually to bring to maturity the
virtue of cautious forbearance, the wise modera-
tion, which is better known in practical than in
theoretical life, and which, for instance, Goethe
has represented in "Antonio," as an object of
provocation for all Tassos,—that is to say, for
unscientific and at the same time inactive natures.
The man of convictions has in himself the right
not to comprehend the man of cautious thought,
the theoretical Antonio; the scientific man, on the
other hand, has no right to blame the former on
that account, he takes no notice thereof, and
## p. 403 (#598) ############################################
400 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
knows, moreover, that in certain cases the former
will yet cling to him, as Tasso finally clung to
Antonio.
632.
He who has not passed through different
phases of conviction, but sticks to the faith in
whose net he was first caught, is, under all circum-
stances, just on account of this unchangeableness,
a representative of atavistic culture; in accordance
with this lack of culture (which always pre- ,
supposes plasticity for culture), he is severe, un-
intelligent, unteachable, without liberality, an ever
suspicious person, an unscrupulous person who
has recourse to all expedients for enforcing his
opinions because he cannot conceive that there
must be other opinions; he is, in such respects,
perhaps a source of strength, and even wholesome
in cultures that have become too emancipated and
languid, but only because he strongly incites to
opposition: for thereby the delicate organisation
of the new culture, which is forced to struggle
with him, becomes strong itself.
633.
In essential respects we are still the same men
as those of the time of the Reformation; how
could it be otherwise? But the fact that we
no longer allow ourselves certain means for pro-
moting the triumph of our opinions distinguishes
us from that age, and proves that we belong to
a higher culture. He who still combats and
overthrows opinions with calumnies and outbursts
## p. 403 (#599) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 4OI
of rage, after the manner of the Reformation men,
obviously betrays the fact that he would have
burnt his adversaries had he lived in other times,
and that he would have resorted to all the
methods of the Inquisition if he had been an
opponent of the Reformation. The Inquisition
was rational at that time; for it represented
nothing else than the universal application of
martial law, which had to be proclaimed through-
out the entire domain of the Church, and which,
like all martial law, gave a right to the extremest
methods, under the presupposition, of course,
(which we now no longer share with those people),
that the Church possessed truth and had to preserve
it at all costs, and at any sacrifice, for the salvation
of mankind. Now, however, one does not so
readily concede to any one that he possesses the
truth; strict methods of investigation have diffused
enough of distrust and precaution, so that every
one who violently advocates opinions in word and
deed is looked upon as an enemy of our modern
culture, or, at least, as an atavist. As a matter
of fact the pathos that man possesses truth is
now of very little consequence in comparison with
the certainly milder and less noisy pathos of the
search for truth, which is never weary of learning
afresh and examining anew.
634.
Moreover, the methodical search for truth is
itself the outcome of those ages in which con-
victions were at war with each other. If the
vol. 1. 2C
## p. 403 (#600) ############################################
402 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
individual had not cared about his "truth," that
is to say, about carrying his point, there would
have been no method of investigation; thus,
however, by the eternal struggle of the claims of
different individuals to absolute truth, people went
on step by step to find irrefragable principles
according to which the rights of the claims could
be tested and the dispute settled. At first people
decided according to authorities; later on they
criticised one another's ways and means of finding
the presumed truth; in the interval there was a
period when people deduced the consequences of
the adverse theory, and perhaps found them to be
productive of injury and unhappiness; from which
it was then to be inferred by every one that the
conviction of the adversary involved an error.
The personal struggle of the thinker at last so
sharpened his methods that real truths could be
discovered, and the mistakes of former methods
exposed before the eyes of all.
635.
On the whole, scientific methods are at least
as important results of investigation as any other
results, for the scientific spirit is based upon a
knowledge of method, and if the methods were
lost, all the results of science could not prevent
the renewed prevalence of superstition and
absurdity. Clever people may learn as much as
they like of the results of science, but one still
notices in their conversation, and especially in
the hypotheses they make, that they lack the
## p. 403 (#601) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 403
scientific spirit; they have not the instinctive
distrust of the devious courses of thinking which,
in consequence of long training, has taken root
in the soul of every scientific man. It is enough
for them to find any kind of hypothesis on a
subject, they are then all on fire for it, and
imagine the matter is thereby settled. To have
an opinion is with them equivalent to immedi-
ately becoming fanatical for it, and finally taking
it to heart as a conviction. In the case of
an unexplained matter they become heated for
the first idea that comes into their head which
has any resemblance to an explanation—a course
from which the worst results constantly follow,
especially in the field of politics. On that ac-
count everybody should nowadays have become
thoroughly acquainted with at least one science,
for then surely he knows what is meant by
method, and how necessary is the extremest
carefulness. To women in particular this advice
is to be given at present; as to those who are
irretrievably the victims of all hypotheses, especi-
ally when these have the appearance of being
witty, attractive, enlivening, and invigorating.
Indeed, on close inspection one sees that by far
the greater number of educated people still desire
convictions from a thinker and nothing but con-
victions, and that only a small minority want
certainty. The former want to be forcibly carried
away in order thereby to obtain an increase of
strength; the latter few have the real interest
which disregards personal advantages and the
increase of strength also. The former class, who
## p. 404 (#602) ############################################
404 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
greatly predominate, are always reckoned upon
when the thinker comports himself and labels
himself as a genius, and thus views himself as a
higher being to whom authority belongs. In so
far as genius of this kind upholds the ardour of
convictions, and arouses distrust of the cautious
and modest spirit of science, it is an enemy of
truth, however much it may think itself the
wooer thereof.
636.
There is, certainly, also an entirely different
species of genius, that of justice; and I cannot
make up my mind to estimate it lower than any
kind of philosophical, political, or artistic genius.
Its peculiarity is to go, with heartfelt aversion, out
of the way of everything that blinds and confuses
people's judgment of things; it is consequently
an adversary of convictions, for it wants to give
their own to all, whether they be living or dead,
real or imaginary—and for that purpose it must
know thoroughly; it therefore places everything
in the best light and goes around it with careful
eyes. Finally, it will even give to its adversary
the blind or short-sighted "conviction" (as men
call it,—among women it is called "faith "), what
is due to conviction—for the sake of truth.
637.
Opinions evolve out of passions; indolence of
intellect allows those to congeal into convictions.
He, however, who is conscious of himself as a
free, restless, lively spirit, can prevent this conge-
## p. 405 (#603) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 405
lation by constant change; and if he is altogether
a thinking snowball, he will not have opinions in
his head at all, but only certainties and properly
estimated probabilities. But we, who are of a
mixed nature, alternately inspired with ardour
and chilled through and through by the intellect,
want to kneel before justice, as the only goddess
we acknowledge. The Jire in us generally makes
us unjust, and impure in the eyes of our goddess;
in this condition we are not permitted to take
her hand, and the serious smile of her approval
never rests upon us. We reverence her as the
veiled Isis of our life; with shame we offer her
our pain as penance and sacrifice when the fire
threatens to burn and consume us. It is the
intellect that saves us from being utterly burnt and
reduced to ashes; it occasionally drags us away
from the sacrificial altar of justice or enwraps us
in a garment of asbestos. Liberated from the
fire, and impelled by the intellect, we then pass
from opinion to opinion, through the change of
parties, as noble betrayers of all things that can
in any way be betrayed—and nevertheless with-
out a feeling of guilt.
638.
The Wanderer. —He who has attained in-
tellectual emancipation to any extent cannot, for
a long time, regard himself otherwise than as a
wanderer on the face of the earth—and not even
as a traveller towards a final goal, for there is no
such thing. But he certainly wants to observe and
## p. 405 (#604) ############################################
404 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
greatly predominate, are always reckoned upon
when the thinker comports himself and labels
himself as a genius, and thus views himself as a
higher being to whom authority belongs. In so
far as genius of this kind upholds the ardour of
convictions, and arouses distrust of the cautious
and modest spirit of science, it is an enemy of
truth, however much it may think itself the
wooer thereof.
636.
There is, certainly, also an entirely different
species of genius, that of justice; and I cannot
make up my mind to estimate it lower than any
kind of philosophical, political, or artistic genius.
Its peculiarity is to go, with heartfelt aversion, out
of the way of everything that blinds and confuses
people's judgment of things; it is consequently
an adversary of convictions, for it wants to give
their own to all, whether they be living or dead,
real or imaginary—and for that purpose it must
know thoroughly; it therefore places everything
in the best light and goes around it with careful
eyes. Finally, it will even give to its adversary
the blind or short-sighted "conviction" (as men
call it,—among women it is called "faith "), what
is due to conviction—for the sake of truth,
637.
Opinions evolve out of passions; indolence of
intellect allows those to congeal into convictions.
He, however, who is conscious of himself as a
free, restless, lively spirit, can prevent this conge-
## p. 405 (#605) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 405
lation by constant change; and if he is altogether
a thinking snowball, he will not have opinions in
his head at all, but only certainties and properly
estimated probabilities. But we, who are of a
mixed nature, alternately inspired with ardour
and chilled through and through by the intellect,
want to kneel before justice, as the only goddess
we acknowledge. The fire in us generally makes
us unjust, and impure in the eyes of our goddess;
in this condition we are not permitted to take
her hand, and the serious smile of her approval
never rests upon us. We reverence her as the
veiled Isis of our life; with shame we offer her
our pain as penance and sacrifice when the fire
threatens to burn and consume us. It is the
intellect that saves us from being utterly burnt and
reduced to ashes; it occasionally drags us away
from the sacrificial altar of justice or enwraps us
in a garment of asbestos. Liberated from the
fire, and impelled by the intellect, we then pass
from opinion to opinion, through the change of
parties, as noble betrayers of all things that can
in any way be betrayed—and nevertheless with-
out a feeling of guilt.
638.
The Wanderer. —He who has attained in-
tellectual emancipation to any extent cannot, for
a long time, regard himself otherwise than as a
wanderer on the face of the earth—and not even
as a traveller towards a final goal, for there is no
such thing. But he certainly wants to observe and
## p. 405 (#606) ############################################
404 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
greatly predominate, are always reckoned upon
when the thinker comports himself and labels
himself as a genius, and thus views himself as a
higher being to whom authority belongs. In so
far as genius of this kind upholds the ardour of
convictions, and arouses distrust of the cautious
and modest spirit of science, it is an enemy of
truth, however much it may think itself the
wooer thereof.
636.
There is, certainly, also an entirely different
species of genius, that of justice; and I cannot
make up my mind to estimate it lower than any
kind of philosophical, political, or artistic genius.
Its peculiarity is to go, with heartfelt aversion, out
of the way of everything that blinds and confuses
people's judgment of things; it is consequently
an adversary of convictions, for it wants to give
their own to all, whether they be living or dead,
real or imaginary—and for that purpose it must
know thoroughly; it therefore places everything
in the best light and goes around it with careful
eyes. Finally, it will even give to its adversary
the blind or short-sighted "conviction" (as men
call it,—among women it is called "faith "), what
is due to conviction—for the sake of truth.
637-
Opinions evolve out of passions; indolence of
intellect allows those to congeal into convictions.
He, however, who is conscious of himself as a
free, restless, lively spirit, can prevent this conge-
## p. 405 (#607) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 405
lation by constant change; and if he is altogether
a thinking snowball, he will not have opinions in
his head at all, but only certainties and properly
estimated probabilities. But we, who are of a
mixed nature, alternately inspired with ardour
and chilled through and through by the intellect,
want to kneel before justice, as the only goddess
we acknowledge. The yzr^ in us generally makes
us unjust, and impure in the eyes of our goddess;
in this condition we are not permitted to take
her hand, and the serious smile of her approval
never rests upon us. We reverence her as the
veiled Isis of our life; with shame we offer her
our pain as penance and sacrifice when the fire
threatens to burn and consume us. It is the
intellect that saves us from being utterly burnt and
reduced to ashes; it occasionally drags us away
from the sacrificial altar of justice or enwraps us
in a garment of asbestos. Liberated from the
fire, and impelled by the intellect, we then pass
from opinion to opinion, through the change of
parties, as noble betrayers of all things that can
in any way be betrayed—and nevertheless with-
out a feeling of guilt.
638.
The Wanderer. —He who has attained in-
tellectual emancipation to any extent cannot, for
a long time, regard himself otherwise than as a
wanderer on the face of the earth—and not even
as a traveller towards a final goal, for there is no
such thing. But he certainly wants to observe and
## p. 406 (#608) ############################################
406 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
keep his eyes open to whatever actually happens
lin the world; therefore he cannot attach his
heart too firmly to anything individual; he must
'have in himself something wandering that takes
pleasure in change and transitoriness. To be
sure such a man will have bad nights, when he
is weary and finds the gates of the town that
should offer him rest closed; perhaps he may
also find that, as in the East, the desert reaches
to the gates, that wild beasts howl far and near,
that a strong wind arises, and that robbers take
away his beasts of burden. Then the dreadful
night closes over him like a second desert upon
the desert, and his heart grows weary of wander-
ing. Then when the morning sun rises upon
him, glowing like a Deity of anger, when the
town is opened, he sees perhaps in the faces of
the dwellers therein still more desert, uncleanli-
ness, deceit, and insecurity than outside the gates
—and the day is almost worse than the night.
Thus it may occasionally happen to the wanderer;
but then there come as compensation the delight-
ful mornings of other lands and days, when already
in the grey of the dawn he sees the throng of
muses dancing by, close to him, in the mist of
the mountain; when afterwards, in the symmetry
of his ante-meridian soul, he strolls silently under
the trees, out of whose crests and leafy hiding-
places all manner of good and bright things are
flung to him, the gifts of all the free spirits who
are at home in mountains, forests, and solitudes,
and who, like himself, alternately merry and
thoughtful, are wanderers and philosophers. Born
## p. 407 (#609) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 407
of the secrets of the early dawn, they ponder the
question how the day, between the hours of ten
and twelve, can have such a pure, transparent,
and gloriously cheerful countenance: they seek
the ante-meridian philosophy.
## p. 408 (#610) ############################################
## p. 409 (#611) ############################################
AN EPODE.
AMONG FRIENDS.
(Translatedby T. COMMON. )
Nice, when mute we lie a-dreaming,
Nicer still when we are laughing,
'Neath the sky heaven's chariot speeding,
On the moss the book a-reading,
Sweetly loud with friends all laughing
Joyous, with white teeth a-gleaming.
Do I well, we're mute and humble;
Do I ill—we'll laugh exceeding;
Make it worse and worse, unheeding,
Worse proceeding, more laughs needing,
Till into the grave we stumble.
Friends! Yea! so shall it obtain?
Amen! Till we meet again.
II.
No excuses need be started!
Give, ye glad ones, open hearted,
## p. 410 (#612) ############################################
4IO HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
To this foolish book before you
Ear and heart and lodging meet;
Trust me, 'twas not meant to bore you,
Though of folly I may treat!
What I find, seek, and am needing,
Was it e'er in book for reading?
Honour now fools in my name,
Learn from out this book by reading
How "our sense" from reason came.
Thus, my friends, shall it obtain?
Amen! Till we meet again.
## p. (#613) ################################################
THE WORKS OF
FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE.
First Complete and Authorised English Translation, in 18 Volumes.
Edited by Dr. OSCAR LEVY.
Now Ready.
THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON, Vol. I. Translated by
A.
interest in the life and nature of many persons by
not treating ourselves as rigid, persistent single
individuals.
619.
In the Fire of Contempt. —It is a fresh
step towards independence when one first dares
to give utterance to opinions which it is considered
as disgraceful for a person to entertain; even
friends and acquaintances are then accustomed to
grow anxious. The gifted nature must also pass
through this fire; it afterwards belongs far more
to itself.
620.
Self-sacrifice. —In the event of choice, a
great sacrifice is preferred to a small one, because
we compensate ourselves for the great sacrifice by
## p. 391 (#575) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 39I
self-admiration, which is not possible in the case
of a small one.
621.
LOVE AS AN ARTIFICE. —Whoever really wishes
to become acquainted with something new (whether
it be a person, an event, or a book), does well to
take up the matter with all possible love, and to
avert his eye quickly from all that seems hostile,
objectionable, and false therein,—in fact to forget
such things; so that, for instance, he gives the
author of a book the best sta/t possible, and
straightway, just as in a race, longs with beating
heart that he may reach the goal. In this manner
one penetrates to the heart of the new thing, to its
moving point, and this is called becoming ac-
quainted with it. This stage having been arrived
at, the understanding afterwards makes its restric-
tions; the over-estimation and the temporary
suspension of the critical pendulum were only
artifices to lure forth the soul of the matter.
622.
Thinking Too Well and Too III of the
WORLD. —Whether we think too well or too ill of
things, we always have the advantage of deriving
therefrom a greater pleasure, for with a too good
preconception we usually put more sweetness into
things (experiences) than they actually contain. A
too bad preconception causes a pleasant disap-
pointment, the pleasantness that lay in the things
themselves is increased by the pleasantness of the
## p. 392 (#576) ############################################
392 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
surprise. A gloomy temperament, however, will
have the reverse experience in both cases.
623.
Profound People. —Those whose strength lies
in the deepening of impressions—they are usually
called profound people—are relatively self-pos-
sessed and decided in all sudden emergencies, for
in the first moment the impression is still shallow,
it only then becomes deep. Long foreseen, long
expected events or persons, however, excite such
natures most, and make them almost incapable of
eventually having presence of mind on the arrival
thereof.
624.
Intercourse with the Higher Self. —
Every one has his good day, when he finds his
higher self; and true humanity demands that a
person shall be estimated according to this state
and not according to his work-days of constraint
and bondage. A painter, for instance, should be
appraised and honoured according to the most
exalted vision he could see and represent. But
men themselves commune very differently with
this their higher self, and are frequently their own
playactors, in so far as they repeatedly imitate
what they are in those moments. Some stand in
awe and humility before their ideal, and would
fain deny it; they are afraid of their higher self
because, when it speaks, it speaks pretentiously.
Besides, it has a ghost-like freedom of coming and
staying away just as it pleases; on that account it
## p. 393 (#577) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 393
is often called a gift of the gods, while in fact
everything else is a gift of the gods (of chance);
this, however, is the man himself.
625.
Lonely People. —Some people are so much
accustomed to being alone in self-communion that
they do not at all compare themselves with others,
but spin out their soliloquising life in a quiet,
happy mood, conversing pleasantly, and even
hilariously, with themselves. If, however, they
are brought to the point of comparing them-
selves with others, they are inclined to a brooding
under-estimation of their own worth, so that they
have first to be compelled by others to form once
more a good and just opinion of themselves, and
even from this acquired opinion they will always
want to subtract and abate something. We must
not, therefore, grudge certain persons their loneli-
ness or foolishly commiserate them on that account,
as is so often done.
626.
Without Melody. —There are persons to
whom a constant repose in themselves and the
harmonious ordering of all their capacities is so
natural that every definite activity is repugnant to
them. They resemble music which consists of
nothing but prolonged, harmonious accords, without
even the tendency to an organised and animated
melody showing itself. All external movement
serves only to restore to the boat its equilibrium
## p. 394 (#578) ############################################
394 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
on the sea of harmonious euphony. Modern men
usually become excessively impatient when they
meet such natures, who will never be anything in the
world, only it is not allowable to say of them that
they are nothing. But in certain moods the sight
of them raises the unusual question: "Why should
there be melody at all? Why should it not
suffice us when life mirrors itself peacefully in a
deep lake? " The Middle Ages were richer in
such natures than our times. How seldom one
now meets with any one who can live on so peace-
fully and happily with himself even in the midst
of the crowd, saying to himself, like Goethe, " The
best thing of all is the deep calm in which I live
and grow in opposition to the world, and gain
what it cannot take away from me with fire and
sword. "
627.
To Live and Experience. —If we observe
how some people can deal with their experiences
—their unimportant, everyday experiences—so
that these become soil which yields fruit thrice
a year; whilst others—and how many ! —are
driven through the surf of the most exciting
adventures, the most diversified movements of
times and peoples, and yet always remain light,
always remain on the surface, like cork; we are
finally tempted to divide mankind into a minority
(minimality) of those who know how to make
much out of little, and a majority of those who
know how to make little out of much; indeed, we
even meet with the counter-sorcerers who, instead
## p. 395 (#579) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 395
of making the world out of nothing, make a
nothing out of the world.
628.
Seriousness in Play. —In Genoa one evening,
in the twilight, I heard from a tower a long
chiming of bells; it was never like to end, and
sounded as if insatiable above the noise of the
streets, out into the evening sky and sea-air, so
thrilling, and at the same time so childish and so
sad. I then remembered the words of Plato, and
suddenly felt the force of them in my heart:
"Human matters, one and all, are not worthy of
great seriousness; nevertheless . . . "
629.
Conviction and Justice. —The requirement
that a person must afterwards, when cool and
sober, stand by what he says, promises, and resolves
during passion, is one of the heaviest burdens that
weigh upon mankind. To have to acknowledge
for all future time the consequences of anger, of
fiery revenge, of enthusiastic devotion, may lead to
a bitterness against these feelings proportionate
to the idolatry with which they are idolised,
especially by artists. These cultivate to its
full extent the esteem of the passions, and have
always done so; to be sure, they also glorify the
terrible satisfaction of the passions which a person
affords himself, the outbreaks of vengeance, with
death, mutilation, or voluntary banishment in their
train, and the resignation of the broken heart.
## p. 396 (#580) ############################################
396 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
In any case they keep alive curiosity about the
passions; it is as if they said: "Without passions
you have no experience whatever. " Because we
have sworn fidelity (perhaps even to a purely
fictitious being, such as a god), because we have
surrendered our heart to a prince, a party, a
woman, a priestly order, an artist, or a thinker, in
a state of infatuated delusion that threw a charm
over us and made those beings appear worthy of
all veneration, and every sacrifice—are we, there-
fore, firmly and inevitably bound? Or did we
not, after all, deceive ourselves then? Was there
not a hypothetical promise, under the tacit pre-
supposition that those beings to whom we conse-
crated ourselves were really the beings they
seemed to be in our imagination? Are we under
obligation to be faithful to our errors, even with
the knowledge that by this fidelity we shall cause
injury to our higher selves? No, there is no law,
no obligation of that sort; we must become traitors,
we must act unfaithfully and abandon our ideals
again and again. We cannot advance from one
period of life into another without causing these
pains of treachery and also suffering from them.
Might it be necessary to guard against the ebulli-
tions of our feelings in order to escape these pains?
Would not the world then become too arid, too
ghost-like for us? Rather will we ask ourselves
whether these pains are necessary on a change of
convictions, or whether they do not depend on
a mistaken opinion and estimate* Why do we
admire a person who remains true to his convic-
tions and despise him who changes them? I fear
## p. 397 (#581) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 397
the answer must be, "because every one takes for
granted that such a change is caused only by
motives of more general utility or of personal
trouble. " That is to say, we believe at bottom
that nobody alters his opinions as long as they are
advantageous to him, or at least as long as they
do not cause him any harm. If it is so, however,
it furnishes a bad proof of the intellectual signifi-
cance of all convictions. Let us once examine
how convictions arise, and let us see whether their
importance is not greatly over-estimated; it will
thereby be seen that the change of convictions also
is in all circumstances judged according to a false
standard, that we have hitherto been accustomed
to suffer too much from this change.
630.
Conviction is belief in the possession of abso-
lute truth on any matter of knowledge. This belief
takes it for granted, therefore, that there are
absolute truths; also, that perfect methods have
been found for attaining to them; and finally, that
every one who has convictions makes use of these
perfect methods. All three notions show at once
that the man of convictions is not the man of
scientific thought; he seems to us still in the
age of theoretical innocence, and is practically a
child, however grown-up he may be. Whole
centuries, however, have been lived under the
influence of those childlike presuppositions, and
out of them have flowed the mightiest sources
of human strength The countless numbers who
## p. 398 (#582) ############################################
398 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
sacrificed themselves for their convictions believed
they were doing it for the sake of absolute truth.
They were all wrong, however; probably no one
has ever sacrificed himself for Truth; at least, the
dogmatic expression of the faith of any such person
has been unscientific or only partly scientific. But
really, people wanted to carry their point because
they believed that they must be in the right. To
allow their belief to be wrested from them prob-
ably meant calling in question their eternal salva-
tion. In an affair of such extreme importance
the "will" was too audibly the prompter of the
intellect. The presupposition of every believer
of every shade of belief has been that he could not
be confuted. ; if the counter-arguments happened
to be very strong, it always remained for him to
decry intellect generally, and, perhaps, even to set
up the "credo quia absurdum est" as the standard
of extreme fanaticism. It is not the struggle of
opinions that has made history so turbulent; but
the struggle of belief in opinions,—that is to say, of
convictions. If all those who thought so highly
of their convictions, who made sacrifices of all
kinds for them, and spared neither honour, body,
nor life in their service, had only devoted half of
their energy to examining their right to adhere to
this or that conviction and by what road they
arrived at it, how peaceable would the history of
mankind now appear! How much more know-
ledge would there be! All the cruel scenes in
connection with the persecution of heretics of all
kinds would have been avoided, for two reasons:
firstly, because the inquisitors would above'all have
## p. 399 (#583) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 399
inquired of themselves, and would have recognised
the presumption of defending absolute truth; and
secondly, because the heretics themselves would,
after examination, have taken no more interest in
such badly established doctrines as those of all
religious sectarians and "orthodox" believers.
631.
From the ages in which it was customary to
believe in the possession of absolute truth, people
have inherited a profound dislike of all sceptical
and relative attitudes with regard to questions of
knowledge; they mostly prefer to acquiesce, for
good or evil, in the convictions of those in
authority (fathers, friends, teachers, princes), and
they have a kind of remorse of conscience when
they do not do so. This tendency is quite com-
prehensible, and its results furnish no ground for
condemnation of the course of the development
of human reason. The scientific spirit in man,
however, has gradually to bring to maturity the
virtue of cautious forbearance, the wise modera-
tion, which is better known in practical than in
theoretical life, and which, for instance, Goethe
has represented in "Antonio," as an object of
provocation for all Tassos,—that is to say, for
unscientific and at the same time inactive natures.
The man of convictions has in himself the right
not to comprehend the man of cautious thought,
the theoretical Antonio; the scientific man, on the
other hand, has no right to blame the former on
that account, he takes no notice thereof, and
## p. 400 (#584) ############################################
400 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
knows, moreover, that in certain cases the former
will yet cling to him, as Tasso finally clung to
Antonio.
632.
He who has not passed through different
phases of conviction, but sticks to the faith in
whose net he was first caught, is, under all circum-
stances, just on account of this unchangeableness,
a representative of atavistic culture; in accordance
with this lack of culture (which always pre- ,
supposes plasticity for culture), he is severe, un-
intelligent, unteachable, without liberality, an ever
suspicious person, an unscrupulous person who
has recourse to all expedients for enforcing his
opinions because he cannot conceive that there
must be other opinions; he is, in such respects,
perhaps a source of strength, and even wholesome
in cultures that have become too emancipated and
languid, but only because he strongly incites to
opposition: for thereby the delicate organisation
of the new culture, which is forced to struggle
with him, becomes strong itself.
633.
In essential respects we are still the same men
as those of the time of the Reformation; how
could it be otherwise? But the fact that we
no longer allow ourselves certain means for pro-
moting the triumph of our opinions distinguishes
us from that age, and proves that we belong to
a higher culture. He who still combats and
overthrows opinions with calumnies and outbursts
## p. 401 (#585) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 4OI
of rage, after the manner of the Reformation men,
obviously betrays the fact that he would have
burnt his adversaries had he lived in other times,
and that he would have resorted to all the
methods of the Inquisition if he had been an
opponent of the Reformation. The Inquisition
was rational at that time; for it represented
nothing else than the universal application of
martial law, which had to be proclaimed through-
out the entire domain of the Church, and which,
like all martial law, gave a right to the extremest
methods, under the presupposition, of course,
(which we now no longer share with those people),
that the Church possessed truth and had to preserve
it at all costs, and at any sacrifice, for the salvation
of mankind. Now, however, one does not so
readily concede to any one that he possesses the
truth; strict methods of investigation have diffused
enough of distrust and precaution, so that every
one who violently advocates opinions in word and
deed is looked upon as an enemy of our modern
culture, or, at least, as an atavist. As a matter
of fact the pathos that man possesses truth is
now of very little consequence in comparison with
the certainly milder and less noisy pathos of the
search for truth, which is never weary of learning
afresh and examining anew.
634-
Moreover, the methodical search for truth is
itself the outcome of those ages in which con-
victions were at war with each other. If the
vol. 1. 2C
## p. 402 (#586) ############################################
402 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
individual had not cared about his "truth," that
is to say, about carrying his point, there would
have been no method of investigation; thus,
however, by the eternal struggle of the claims of
different individuals to absolute truth, people went
on step by step to find irrefragable principles
according to which the rights of the claims could
be tested and the dispute settled. At first people
decided according to authorities; later on they
criticised one another's ways and means of finding
the presumed truth; in the interval there was a
period when people deduced the consequences of'
the adverse theory, and perhaps found them to be
productive of injury and unhappiness; from which
it was then to be inferred by every one that the
conviction of the adversary involved an error.
The personal struggle of the thinker at last so
sharpened his methods that real truths could be
discovered, and the mistakes of former methods
exposed before the eyes of all.
635.
On the whole, scientific methods are at least
as important results of investigation as any other
results, for the scientific spirit is based upon a
knowledge of method, and if the methods were
lost, all the results of science could not prevent
the renewed prevalence of superstition and
absurdity. Clever people may learn as much as
they like of the results of science, but one still
notices in their conversation, and especially in
the hypotheses they make, that they lack the
## p. 403 (#587) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 403
scientific spirit; they have not the instinctive
distrust of the devious courses of thinking which,
in consequence of long training, has taken root
in the soul of every scientific man. It is enough
for them to find any kind of hypothesis on a
subject, they are then all on fire for it, and
imagine the matter is thereby settled. To have
an opinion is with them equivalent to immedi-
ately becoming fanatical for it, and finally taking
it to heart as a conviction. In the case of
an unexplained matter they become heated for
the first idea that comes into their head which
has any resemblance to an explanation—a course
from which the worst results constantly follow,
especially in the field of politics. On that ac-
count everybody should nowadays have become
thoroughly acquainted with at least one science,
for then surely he knows what is meant by
method, and how necessary is the extremest
carefulness. To women in particular this advice
is to be given at present; as to those who are
irretrievably the victims of all hypotheses, especi-
ally when these have the appearance of being
witty, attractive, enlivening, and invigorating.
Indeed, on close inspection one sees that by far
the greater number of educated people still desire
convictions from a thinker and nothing but con-
victions, and that only a small minority want
certainty. The former want to be forcibly carried
away in order thereby to obtain an increase of
strength; the latter few have the real interest
which disregards personal advantages and the
increase of strength also. The former class, who
## p. 403 (#588) ############################################
390 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
the arrows with which he shoots; he unburdens
himself first as an individual, and thinks of getting
a remedy which, while benefiting society directly,
will also benefit himself indirectly by means of
society.
618.
Philosophically Minded. —We usually en-
deavour to acquire one attitude of mind, one set
of opinions for all situations and events of life—
it is mostly called being philosophically minded.
But for the acquisition of knowledge it may be of
greater importance not to make ourselves thus
uniform, but to hearken to the low voice of the
different situations in life; these bring their own
opinions with them. We thus take an intelligent
interest in the life and nature of many persons by
not treating ourselves as rigid, persistent single
individuals.
619.
In the Fire of Contempt. —It is a fresh
step towards independence when one first dares
to give utterance to opinions which it is considered
as disgraceful for a person to entertain; even
friends and acquaintances are then accustomed to
grow anxious. The gifted nature must also pass
through this fire; it afterwards belongs far more
to itself.
620.
Self-sacrifice. —In the event of choice, a
great sacrifice is preferred to a small one, because
we compensate ourselves for the great sacrifice by
1
## p. 403 (#589) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 391
self-admiration, which is not possible in the case
of a small one.
621.
LOVE as an Artifice. —Whoever really wishes
to become acquainted with something new (whether
it be a person, an event, or a book), does well to
take up the matter with all possible love, and to
avert his eye quickly from all that seems hostile,
objectionable, and false therein,—in fact to forget
such things; so that, for instance, he gives the
author of a book the best sta/t possible, and
straightway, just as in a race, longs with beating
heart that he may reach the goal. In this manner
one penetrates to the heart of the new thing, to its
moving point, and this is called becoming ac-
quainted with it. This stage having been arrived
at, the understanding afterwards makes its restric-
tions; the over-estimation and the temporary
suspension of the critical pendulum were only
artifices to lure forth the soul of the matter.
622.
Thinking Too Well and Too III of the
WORLD. —Whether we think too well or too ill of
things, we always have the advantage of deriving
therefrom a greater pleasure, for with a too good
preconception we usually put more sweetness into
things (experiences) than they actually contain. A
too bad preconception causes a pleasant disap-
pointment, the pleasantness that lay in the things
themselves is increased by the pleasantness of the
## p. 403 (#590) ############################################
392 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
surprise. A gloomy temperament, however, will
have the reverse experience in both cases.
623.
Profound People. —Those whose strength lies
in the deepening of impressions—they are usually
called profound people—are relatively self-pos-
sessed and decided in all sudden emergencies, for
in the first moment the impression is still shallow,
it only then becomes deep. Long foreseen, long
expected events or persons, however, excite such
natures most, and make them almost incapable of
eventually having presence of mind on the arrival
thereof.
624.
Intercourse with the Higher Self. —
Every one has his good day, when he finds his
higher self; and true humanity demands that a
person shall be estimated according to this state
and not according to his work-days of constraint
and bondage. A painter, for instance, should be
appraised and honoured according to the most
exalted vision he could see and represent. But
men themselves commune very differently with
this their higher self, and are frequently their own
playactors, in so far as they repeatedly imitate
what they are in those moments. Some stand in
awe and humility before their ideal, and would
fain deny it; they are afraid of their higher self
because, when it speaks, it speaks pretentiously.
Besides, it has a ghost-like freedom of coming and
staying away just as it pleases; on that account it
## p. 403 (#591) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 393
is often called a gift of the gods, while in fact
everything else is a gift of the gods (of chance);
this, however, is the man himself.
625.
Lonely People. —Some people are so much
accustomed to being alone in self-communion that
they do not at all compare themselves with others,
but spin out their soliloquising life in a quiet,
happy mood, conversing pleasantly, and even
hilariously, with themselves. If, however, they
are brought to the point of comparing them-
selves with others, they are inclined to a brooding
under-estimation of their own worth, so that they
have first to be compelled by others to form once
more a good and just opinion of themselves, and
even from this acquired opinion they will always
want to subtract and abate something. We must
not, therefore, grudge certain persons their loneli-
ness or foolishly commiserate them on that account,
as is so often done.
626.
Without Melody. —There are persons to
whom a constant repose in themselves and the
harmonious ordering of all their capacities is so
natural that every definite activity is repugnant to
them. They resemble music which consists of
nothing but prolonged, harmonious accords, without
even the tendency to an organised and animated
melody showing itself. All external movement
serves only to restore to the boat its equilibrium
## p. 403 (#592) ############################################
394 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
on the sea of harmonious euphony. Modern men
usually become excessively impatient when they
meet such natures, who will never be anythingin the
world, only it is not allowable to say of them that
they are nothing. But in certain moods the sight
of them raises the unusual question: "Why should
there be melody at all?
Why should it not
suffice us when life mirrors itself peacefully in a
deep lake? " The Middle Ages were richer in
such natures than our times. How seldom one
now meets with any one who can live on so peace-
fully and happily with himself even in the midst
of the crowd, saying to himself, like Goethe, " The
best thing of all is the deep calm in which I live
and grow in opposition to the world, and gain
what it cannot take away from me with fire and
sword. "
627.
To Live and Experience. —If we observe
how some people can deal with their experiences
—their unimportant, everyday experiences—so
that these become soil which yields fruit thrice
a year; whilst others—and how many ! —are
driven through the surf of the most exciting
adventures, the most diversified movements of
times and peoples, and yet always remain light,
always remain on the surface, like cork; we are
finally tempted to divide mankind into a minority
(minimality) of those who know how to make
much out of little, and a majority of those who
know how to make little out of much; indeed, we
even meet with the counter-sorcerers who, instead
## p. 403 (#593) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 395
of making the world out of nothing, make a
nothing out of the world.
628.
Seriousness IN Play. —In Genoa one evening,
in the twilight, I heard from a tower a long
chiming of bells; it was never like to end, and
sounded as if insatiable above the noise of the
streets, out into the evening sky and sea-air, so
thrilling, and at the same time so childish and so
sad. I then remembered the words of Plato, and
suddenly felt the force of them in my heart:
"Human matters, one and all, are not worthy of
great seriousness; nevertheless . . . "
629.
Conviction and Justice. —The requirement
that a person must afterwards, when cool and
sober, stand by what he says, promises, and resolves
during passion, is one of the heaviest burdens that
weigh upon mankind. To have to acknowledge
for all future time the consequences of anger, of
fiery revenge, of enthusiastic devotion, may lead to
a bitterness against these feelings proportionate
to the idolatry with which they are idolised,
especially by artists. These cultivate to its
full extent the esteem of the passions, and have
always done so; to be sure, they also glorify the
terrible satisfaction of the passions which a person
affords himself, the outbreaks of vengeance, with
death, mutilation, or voluntary banishment in their
train, and the resignation of the broken heart.
## p. 403 (#594) ############################################
396 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
In any case they keep alive curiosity about the
passions; it is as if they said: "Without passions
you have no experience whatever. " Because we
have sworn fidelity (perhaps even to a purely
fictitious being, such as a god), because we have
surrendered our heart to a prince, a party, a
woman, a priestly order, an artist, or a thinker, in
a state of infatuated delusion that threw a charm
over us and made those beings appear worthy of
all veneration, and every sacrifice—are we, there-
fore, firmly and inevitably bound? Or did we
not, after all, deceive ourselves then? Was there
not a hypothetical promise, under the tacit pre-
supposition that those beings to whom we conse-
crated ourselves were really the beings they
seemed to be in our imagination? Are we under
obligation to be faithful to our errors, even with
the knowledge that by this fidelity we shall cause
injury to our higher selves? No, there is no law,
no obligation of that sort; we must become traitors,
we must act unfaithfully and abandon our ideals
again and again. We cannot advance from one
period of life into another without causing these
pains of treachery and also suffering from them.
Might it be necessary to guard against the ebulli-
tions of our feelings in order to escape these pains?
Would not the world then become too arid, too
ghost-like for us? Rather will we ask ourselves
whether these pains are necessary on a change of
convictions, or whether they do not depend on
a mistaken opinion and estimate. Why do we
admire a person who remains true to his convic-
tions and despise him who changes them? I fear
## p. 403 (#595) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 397
the answer must be, "because every one takes for
granted that such a change is caused only by
motives of more general utility or of personal
trouble. " That is to say, we believe at bottom
that nobody alters his opinions as long as they are
advantageous to him, or at least as long as they
do not cause him any harm. If it is so, however,
it furnishes a bad proof of the intellectual signifi-
cance of all convictions. Let us once examine
how convictions arise, and let us see whether their
importance is not greatly over-estimated; it will
thereby be seen that the change of convictions also
is in all circumstances judged according to a false
standard, that we have hitherto been accustomed
to suffer too much from this change.
630.
Conviction is belief in the possession of abso-
lute truth on any matter of knowledge. This belief
takes it for granted, therefore, that there are
absolute truths; also, that perfect methods have
been found for attaining to them; and finally, that
every one who has convictions makes use of these
perfect methods. All three notions show at once
that the man of convictions is not the man of
scientific thought; he seems to us still in the
age of theoretical innocence, and is practically a
child, however grown-up he may be. Whole
centuries, however, have been lived under the
influence of those childlike presuppositions, and
out of them have flowed the mightiest sources
of human strength. The countless numbers who
## p. 403 (#596) ############################################
398 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
sacrificed themselves for their convictions believed
they were doing it for the sake of absolute truth.
They were all wrong, however; probably no one
has ever sacrificed himself for Truth; at least, the
dogmatic expression of the faith of any such person
has been unscientific or only partly scientific. But
really, people wanted to carry their point because
they believed that they must be in the right. To
allow their belief to be wrested from them prob-
ably meant calling in question their eternal salva-
tion. In an affair of such extreme importance
the "will" was too audibly the prompter of the
intellect. The presupposition of every believer
of every shade of belief has been that he could not
be confuted. ; if the counter-arguments happened
to be very strong, it always remained for him to
decry intellect generally, and, perhaps, even to set
up the "credo quia absurdum est" as the standard
of extreme fanaticism. It is not the struggle of
opinions that has made history so turbulent; but
the struggle of belief in opinions,—that is to say, of
convictions. If all those who thought so highly
of their convictions, who made sacrifices of all
kinds for them, and spared neither honour, body,
nor life in their service, had only devoted half of
their energy to examining their right to adhere to
this or that conviction and by what road they
arrived at it, how peaceable would the history of
mankind now appear! How much more know-
ledge would there be! All the cruel scenes in
connection with the persecution of heretics of all
kinds would have been avoided, for two reasons:
firstly, because the inquisitors would above'all have
## p. 403 (#597) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 399
inquired of themselves, and would have recognised
the presumption of defending absolute truth; and
secondly, because the heretics themselves would,
after examination, have taken no more interest in
such badly established doctrines as those of all
religious sectarians and " orthodox" believers.
631.
From the ages in which it was customary to
believe in the possession of absolute truth, people
have inherited a profound dislike of all sceptical
and relative attitudes with regard to questions of
knowledge; they mostly prefer to acquiesce, for
good or evil, in the convictions of those in
authority (fathers, friends, teachers, princes), and
they have a kind of remorse of conscience when
they do not do so. This tendency is quite com-
prehensible, and its results furnish no ground for
condemnation of the course of the development
of human reason. The scientific spirit in man,
however, has gradually to bring to maturity the
virtue of cautious forbearance, the wise modera-
tion, which is better known in practical than in
theoretical life, and which, for instance, Goethe
has represented in "Antonio," as an object of
provocation for all Tassos,—that is to say, for
unscientific and at the same time inactive natures.
The man of convictions has in himself the right
not to comprehend the man of cautious thought,
the theoretical Antonio; the scientific man, on the
other hand, has no right to blame the former on
that account, he takes no notice thereof, and
## p. 403 (#598) ############################################
400 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
knows, moreover, that in certain cases the former
will yet cling to him, as Tasso finally clung to
Antonio.
632.
He who has not passed through different
phases of conviction, but sticks to the faith in
whose net he was first caught, is, under all circum-
stances, just on account of this unchangeableness,
a representative of atavistic culture; in accordance
with this lack of culture (which always pre- ,
supposes plasticity for culture), he is severe, un-
intelligent, unteachable, without liberality, an ever
suspicious person, an unscrupulous person who
has recourse to all expedients for enforcing his
opinions because he cannot conceive that there
must be other opinions; he is, in such respects,
perhaps a source of strength, and even wholesome
in cultures that have become too emancipated and
languid, but only because he strongly incites to
opposition: for thereby the delicate organisation
of the new culture, which is forced to struggle
with him, becomes strong itself.
633.
In essential respects we are still the same men
as those of the time of the Reformation; how
could it be otherwise? But the fact that we
no longer allow ourselves certain means for pro-
moting the triumph of our opinions distinguishes
us from that age, and proves that we belong to
a higher culture. He who still combats and
overthrows opinions with calumnies and outbursts
## p. 403 (#599) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 4OI
of rage, after the manner of the Reformation men,
obviously betrays the fact that he would have
burnt his adversaries had he lived in other times,
and that he would have resorted to all the
methods of the Inquisition if he had been an
opponent of the Reformation. The Inquisition
was rational at that time; for it represented
nothing else than the universal application of
martial law, which had to be proclaimed through-
out the entire domain of the Church, and which,
like all martial law, gave a right to the extremest
methods, under the presupposition, of course,
(which we now no longer share with those people),
that the Church possessed truth and had to preserve
it at all costs, and at any sacrifice, for the salvation
of mankind. Now, however, one does not so
readily concede to any one that he possesses the
truth; strict methods of investigation have diffused
enough of distrust and precaution, so that every
one who violently advocates opinions in word and
deed is looked upon as an enemy of our modern
culture, or, at least, as an atavist. As a matter
of fact the pathos that man possesses truth is
now of very little consequence in comparison with
the certainly milder and less noisy pathos of the
search for truth, which is never weary of learning
afresh and examining anew.
634.
Moreover, the methodical search for truth is
itself the outcome of those ages in which con-
victions were at war with each other. If the
vol. 1. 2C
## p. 403 (#600) ############################################
402 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
individual had not cared about his "truth," that
is to say, about carrying his point, there would
have been no method of investigation; thus,
however, by the eternal struggle of the claims of
different individuals to absolute truth, people went
on step by step to find irrefragable principles
according to which the rights of the claims could
be tested and the dispute settled. At first people
decided according to authorities; later on they
criticised one another's ways and means of finding
the presumed truth; in the interval there was a
period when people deduced the consequences of
the adverse theory, and perhaps found them to be
productive of injury and unhappiness; from which
it was then to be inferred by every one that the
conviction of the adversary involved an error.
The personal struggle of the thinker at last so
sharpened his methods that real truths could be
discovered, and the mistakes of former methods
exposed before the eyes of all.
635.
On the whole, scientific methods are at least
as important results of investigation as any other
results, for the scientific spirit is based upon a
knowledge of method, and if the methods were
lost, all the results of science could not prevent
the renewed prevalence of superstition and
absurdity. Clever people may learn as much as
they like of the results of science, but one still
notices in their conversation, and especially in
the hypotheses they make, that they lack the
## p. 403 (#601) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 403
scientific spirit; they have not the instinctive
distrust of the devious courses of thinking which,
in consequence of long training, has taken root
in the soul of every scientific man. It is enough
for them to find any kind of hypothesis on a
subject, they are then all on fire for it, and
imagine the matter is thereby settled. To have
an opinion is with them equivalent to immedi-
ately becoming fanatical for it, and finally taking
it to heart as a conviction. In the case of
an unexplained matter they become heated for
the first idea that comes into their head which
has any resemblance to an explanation—a course
from which the worst results constantly follow,
especially in the field of politics. On that ac-
count everybody should nowadays have become
thoroughly acquainted with at least one science,
for then surely he knows what is meant by
method, and how necessary is the extremest
carefulness. To women in particular this advice
is to be given at present; as to those who are
irretrievably the victims of all hypotheses, especi-
ally when these have the appearance of being
witty, attractive, enlivening, and invigorating.
Indeed, on close inspection one sees that by far
the greater number of educated people still desire
convictions from a thinker and nothing but con-
victions, and that only a small minority want
certainty. The former want to be forcibly carried
away in order thereby to obtain an increase of
strength; the latter few have the real interest
which disregards personal advantages and the
increase of strength also. The former class, who
## p. 404 (#602) ############################################
404 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
greatly predominate, are always reckoned upon
when the thinker comports himself and labels
himself as a genius, and thus views himself as a
higher being to whom authority belongs. In so
far as genius of this kind upholds the ardour of
convictions, and arouses distrust of the cautious
and modest spirit of science, it is an enemy of
truth, however much it may think itself the
wooer thereof.
636.
There is, certainly, also an entirely different
species of genius, that of justice; and I cannot
make up my mind to estimate it lower than any
kind of philosophical, political, or artistic genius.
Its peculiarity is to go, with heartfelt aversion, out
of the way of everything that blinds and confuses
people's judgment of things; it is consequently
an adversary of convictions, for it wants to give
their own to all, whether they be living or dead,
real or imaginary—and for that purpose it must
know thoroughly; it therefore places everything
in the best light and goes around it with careful
eyes. Finally, it will even give to its adversary
the blind or short-sighted "conviction" (as men
call it,—among women it is called "faith "), what
is due to conviction—for the sake of truth.
637.
Opinions evolve out of passions; indolence of
intellect allows those to congeal into convictions.
He, however, who is conscious of himself as a
free, restless, lively spirit, can prevent this conge-
## p. 405 (#603) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 405
lation by constant change; and if he is altogether
a thinking snowball, he will not have opinions in
his head at all, but only certainties and properly
estimated probabilities. But we, who are of a
mixed nature, alternately inspired with ardour
and chilled through and through by the intellect,
want to kneel before justice, as the only goddess
we acknowledge. The Jire in us generally makes
us unjust, and impure in the eyes of our goddess;
in this condition we are not permitted to take
her hand, and the serious smile of her approval
never rests upon us. We reverence her as the
veiled Isis of our life; with shame we offer her
our pain as penance and sacrifice when the fire
threatens to burn and consume us. It is the
intellect that saves us from being utterly burnt and
reduced to ashes; it occasionally drags us away
from the sacrificial altar of justice or enwraps us
in a garment of asbestos. Liberated from the
fire, and impelled by the intellect, we then pass
from opinion to opinion, through the change of
parties, as noble betrayers of all things that can
in any way be betrayed—and nevertheless with-
out a feeling of guilt.
638.
The Wanderer. —He who has attained in-
tellectual emancipation to any extent cannot, for
a long time, regard himself otherwise than as a
wanderer on the face of the earth—and not even
as a traveller towards a final goal, for there is no
such thing. But he certainly wants to observe and
## p. 405 (#604) ############################################
404 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
greatly predominate, are always reckoned upon
when the thinker comports himself and labels
himself as a genius, and thus views himself as a
higher being to whom authority belongs. In so
far as genius of this kind upholds the ardour of
convictions, and arouses distrust of the cautious
and modest spirit of science, it is an enemy of
truth, however much it may think itself the
wooer thereof.
636.
There is, certainly, also an entirely different
species of genius, that of justice; and I cannot
make up my mind to estimate it lower than any
kind of philosophical, political, or artistic genius.
Its peculiarity is to go, with heartfelt aversion, out
of the way of everything that blinds and confuses
people's judgment of things; it is consequently
an adversary of convictions, for it wants to give
their own to all, whether they be living or dead,
real or imaginary—and for that purpose it must
know thoroughly; it therefore places everything
in the best light and goes around it with careful
eyes. Finally, it will even give to its adversary
the blind or short-sighted "conviction" (as men
call it,—among women it is called "faith "), what
is due to conviction—for the sake of truth,
637.
Opinions evolve out of passions; indolence of
intellect allows those to congeal into convictions.
He, however, who is conscious of himself as a
free, restless, lively spirit, can prevent this conge-
## p. 405 (#605) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 405
lation by constant change; and if he is altogether
a thinking snowball, he will not have opinions in
his head at all, but only certainties and properly
estimated probabilities. But we, who are of a
mixed nature, alternately inspired with ardour
and chilled through and through by the intellect,
want to kneel before justice, as the only goddess
we acknowledge. The fire in us generally makes
us unjust, and impure in the eyes of our goddess;
in this condition we are not permitted to take
her hand, and the serious smile of her approval
never rests upon us. We reverence her as the
veiled Isis of our life; with shame we offer her
our pain as penance and sacrifice when the fire
threatens to burn and consume us. It is the
intellect that saves us from being utterly burnt and
reduced to ashes; it occasionally drags us away
from the sacrificial altar of justice or enwraps us
in a garment of asbestos. Liberated from the
fire, and impelled by the intellect, we then pass
from opinion to opinion, through the change of
parties, as noble betrayers of all things that can
in any way be betrayed—and nevertheless with-
out a feeling of guilt.
638.
The Wanderer. —He who has attained in-
tellectual emancipation to any extent cannot, for
a long time, regard himself otherwise than as a
wanderer on the face of the earth—and not even
as a traveller towards a final goal, for there is no
such thing. But he certainly wants to observe and
## p. 405 (#606) ############################################
404 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
greatly predominate, are always reckoned upon
when the thinker comports himself and labels
himself as a genius, and thus views himself as a
higher being to whom authority belongs. In so
far as genius of this kind upholds the ardour of
convictions, and arouses distrust of the cautious
and modest spirit of science, it is an enemy of
truth, however much it may think itself the
wooer thereof.
636.
There is, certainly, also an entirely different
species of genius, that of justice; and I cannot
make up my mind to estimate it lower than any
kind of philosophical, political, or artistic genius.
Its peculiarity is to go, with heartfelt aversion, out
of the way of everything that blinds and confuses
people's judgment of things; it is consequently
an adversary of convictions, for it wants to give
their own to all, whether they be living or dead,
real or imaginary—and for that purpose it must
know thoroughly; it therefore places everything
in the best light and goes around it with careful
eyes. Finally, it will even give to its adversary
the blind or short-sighted "conviction" (as men
call it,—among women it is called "faith "), what
is due to conviction—for the sake of truth.
637-
Opinions evolve out of passions; indolence of
intellect allows those to congeal into convictions.
He, however, who is conscious of himself as a
free, restless, lively spirit, can prevent this conge-
## p. 405 (#607) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 405
lation by constant change; and if he is altogether
a thinking snowball, he will not have opinions in
his head at all, but only certainties and properly
estimated probabilities. But we, who are of a
mixed nature, alternately inspired with ardour
and chilled through and through by the intellect,
want to kneel before justice, as the only goddess
we acknowledge. The yzr^ in us generally makes
us unjust, and impure in the eyes of our goddess;
in this condition we are not permitted to take
her hand, and the serious smile of her approval
never rests upon us. We reverence her as the
veiled Isis of our life; with shame we offer her
our pain as penance and sacrifice when the fire
threatens to burn and consume us. It is the
intellect that saves us from being utterly burnt and
reduced to ashes; it occasionally drags us away
from the sacrificial altar of justice or enwraps us
in a garment of asbestos. Liberated from the
fire, and impelled by the intellect, we then pass
from opinion to opinion, through the change of
parties, as noble betrayers of all things that can
in any way be betrayed—and nevertheless with-
out a feeling of guilt.
638.
The Wanderer. —He who has attained in-
tellectual emancipation to any extent cannot, for
a long time, regard himself otherwise than as a
wanderer on the face of the earth—and not even
as a traveller towards a final goal, for there is no
such thing. But he certainly wants to observe and
## p. 406 (#608) ############################################
406 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
keep his eyes open to whatever actually happens
lin the world; therefore he cannot attach his
heart too firmly to anything individual; he must
'have in himself something wandering that takes
pleasure in change and transitoriness. To be
sure such a man will have bad nights, when he
is weary and finds the gates of the town that
should offer him rest closed; perhaps he may
also find that, as in the East, the desert reaches
to the gates, that wild beasts howl far and near,
that a strong wind arises, and that robbers take
away his beasts of burden. Then the dreadful
night closes over him like a second desert upon
the desert, and his heart grows weary of wander-
ing. Then when the morning sun rises upon
him, glowing like a Deity of anger, when the
town is opened, he sees perhaps in the faces of
the dwellers therein still more desert, uncleanli-
ness, deceit, and insecurity than outside the gates
—and the day is almost worse than the night.
Thus it may occasionally happen to the wanderer;
but then there come as compensation the delight-
ful mornings of other lands and days, when already
in the grey of the dawn he sees the throng of
muses dancing by, close to him, in the mist of
the mountain; when afterwards, in the symmetry
of his ante-meridian soul, he strolls silently under
the trees, out of whose crests and leafy hiding-
places all manner of good and bright things are
flung to him, the gifts of all the free spirits who
are at home in mountains, forests, and solitudes,
and who, like himself, alternately merry and
thoughtful, are wanderers and philosophers. Born
## p. 407 (#609) ############################################
MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. 407
of the secrets of the early dawn, they ponder the
question how the day, between the hours of ten
and twelve, can have such a pure, transparent,
and gloriously cheerful countenance: they seek
the ante-meridian philosophy.
## p. 408 (#610) ############################################
## p. 409 (#611) ############################################
AN EPODE.
AMONG FRIENDS.
(Translatedby T. COMMON. )
Nice, when mute we lie a-dreaming,
Nicer still when we are laughing,
'Neath the sky heaven's chariot speeding,
On the moss the book a-reading,
Sweetly loud with friends all laughing
Joyous, with white teeth a-gleaming.
Do I well, we're mute and humble;
Do I ill—we'll laugh exceeding;
Make it worse and worse, unheeding,
Worse proceeding, more laughs needing,
Till into the grave we stumble.
Friends! Yea! so shall it obtain?
Amen! Till we meet again.
II.
No excuses need be started!
Give, ye glad ones, open hearted,
## p. 410 (#612) ############################################
4IO HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
To this foolish book before you
Ear and heart and lodging meet;
Trust me, 'twas not meant to bore you,
Though of folly I may treat!
What I find, seek, and am needing,
Was it e'er in book for reading?
Honour now fools in my name,
Learn from out this book by reading
How "our sense" from reason came.
Thus, my friends, shall it obtain?
Amen! Till we meet again.
## p. (#613) ################################################
THE WORKS OF
FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE.
First Complete and Authorised English Translation, in 18 Volumes.
Edited by Dr. OSCAR LEVY.
Now Ready.
THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON, Vol. I. Translated by
A.
