No More Learning

■*
in the individual. Even the rarer people who
think outside themselves do not contemplate this
general life, but only a limited part of it. If one
understands how to direct one's attention chiefly
to the exceptions,—I mean to the highly gifted and
the rich souls,—if one regards the production of
these as the aim of the whole world-development
and rejoices in its operation, then one may
believe in the value of life, because one thereby
overlooks the other men—one consequently thinks
fallaciously. So too, when one directs one's
attention to all mankind, but only considers one
species of impulses in them, the less egoistical
ones, and excuses them with regard to the other
instincts, one may then again entertain hopes of
mankind in general and believe so far in the value
of life, consequently in this case also through
fallaciousness of thought. Let one, however,
behave in this or that manner: with such
behaviour one is an exception amongst men.
Now, most people bear life without any consider-
able grumbling, and consequently believe in the
value of existence, but precisely because each one is
solely self-seeking and self-affirming, and does not
step out of himself like those exceptions; every-
thing extra-personal is imperceptible to them, or
at most seems only a faint shadow. Therefore on
this alone is based the value of life for the ordinary
everyday man, that he regards himself as more
important than the world. The great lack of
imagination from which he suffers is the reason why
he cannot enter into the feelings of other beings,
and therefore sympathises as little as possible with


## p. 49 (#85) ##############################################

FIRST AND LAST THINGS. 49
their fate and suffering. He, on the other hand,
who really could sympathise therewith, would have
to despair of the value of life; were he to succeed
in comprehending and feeling in himself the
general consciousness of mankind, he would
collapse with a curse on existence; for mankind
as a whole has no goals, consequently man, in
considering his whole course, cannot find in it his
comfort and support, but his despair. If, in all
that he does, he considers the final aimlessness of
man, his own activity assumes in his eyes the
character of wastefulness. But to feel one's self
just as much wasted as humanity (and not only
as an individual) as we see the single blossom of
nature wasted, is a feeling above all other feelings.
But who is capable of it? Assuredly only a
poet, and poets always know how to console
themselves. XL^
34-
For Tranquillity. —But does not our philo-
sophy thus become a tragedy? Does not truth
become hostile to life, to improvement? A ques-
tion seems to weigh upon our tongue and yet
hesitate to make itself heard: whether one can
consciously remain in untruthfulness? or, supposing
one were obliged to do this, would not death be
preferable? For there is no longer any "must";
morality, in so far as it had any " must" or " shalt,"
has been destroyed by our mode of contemplation,
just as religion has been destroyed. Knowledge
can only allow pleasure and pain, benefit and in-
jury to subsist as motives; but how will these
vol. i. D
J


## p. 50 (#86) ##############################################

50 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
motives agree with the sense of truth? They also
contain errors (for, as already said, inclination and
aversion, and their very incorrect determinations,
practically regulate our pleasure and pain). The
whole of human life is deeply immersed in un-
truthfulness; the individual cannot draw it up out
of this well, without thereby taking a deep dislike to
his whole past, without finding his present motives
—those of honour, for instance—inconsistent, and
without opposing scorn and disdain to the passions
which conduce to happiness in the future. Is it
true that there remains but one sole way of think-
ing which brings after it despair as a personal
experience, as a theoretical result, a philosophy of
dissolution, disintegration, and self-destruction? I
believe that the decision with regard to the after-
effects of the knowledge will be given through the
temperament of a man; I could imagine another
after-effect, just as well as that one described, which
is possible in certain natures, by means of which a
life would arise much simpler, freer from emotions
than is the present one, so that though at first,
indeed, the old motives of passionate desire might
still have strength from old hereditary habit, they
would gradually become weaker under the influence
of purifying knowledge. One would live at last
amongst men, and with one's self as with Nature,
without praise, reproach, or agitation, feasting one's
eyes, as if it were a play, upon much of which one
was formerly afraid. One would be free from the
emphasis, and would no longer feel the goading, of
the thought that one is not only nature or more
than nature. Certainly, as already remarked, a
-


## p. 51 (#87) ##############################################

FIRST AND LAST THINGS. Si
good temperament would be necessary for this, an
even, mild, and naturally joyous soul, a disposition
which would not always need to be on its guard
against spite and sudden outbreaks, and would
not convey in its utterances anything of a grumb-
ling or sudden nature,—those well-known vexatious
qualities of old dogs and men who have been long
chained up. On the contrary, a man from whom
the ordinary fetters of life have so far fallen that
he continues to live only for the sake of ever better
knowledge must be able to renounce without envy
and regret: much, indeed almost everything that is
precious to other men, he must regard as the all-
sufficing and the most desirable condition; the free,
fearless soaring over men, customs, laws, and the
traditional valuations of things. The joy of this
condition he imparts willingly, and he has perhaps
nothing else to impart,—wherein, to be sure, there
is more privation and renunciation. If, nevertheless,
more is demanded from him, he will point with a
friendly shake of his head to his brother, the free
man of action, and will perhaps not conceal a little
derision, for as regards this " freedom" it is a very
peculiar case.


## p. 52 (#88) ##############################################



## p. 53 (#89) ##############################################

\
SECOND DIVISION.
THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL
SENTIMENTS.
35-
Advantages of Psychological Observa-
tion. —That reflection on the human, all-tooV
human—or, according to the learned expression!
psychological observation—is one of the means\
by which one may lighten the burden of life, that
exercise in this art produces presence of mind in
difficult circumstances, in the midst of tiresome
surroundings, even that from the most thorny and
unpleasant periods of one's own life one may gather
maxims and thereby feel a little better: all this
was believed, was known in former centuries. Why
was it forgotten by our century, when in Germany
at least, even in all Europe, the poverty of
psychological observation betrays itself by many
signs? Not exactly in novels, tales, and philo-
sophical treatises,—they are the work of exceptional
individuals,—rather in the judgments on public
events and personalities; but above all there is al
lack of the art of psychological analysis and sum-!
ming-up in every rank of society, in which a great'
deal is talked about men, but nothing about man.
Why do we allow the richest and most harmless


## p. 54 (#90) ##############################################

54 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
/
subject of conversation to escape us? Why are
not the great masters of psychological maxims
more read? For, without any exaggeration, the
educated man in Europe who has read La Roche-
foucauld and his kindred in mind and art, is rarely
found, and still more rare is he who knows them
and does not blame them. It is probable, how-
ever, that even this exceptional reader will find
much less pleasure in them than the form of this
artist should afford him; for even the clearest head
is not capable of rightly estimating the art of
shaping and polishing maxims unless he has really
been brought up to it and has competed in it.
Without this practical teaching one deems this
shaping and polishing to be easier than it is; one
has not a sufficient perception of fitness and charm.
For this reason the present readers of maxims find
in them a comparatively small pleasure, hardly
a mouthful of pleasantness, so that they resemble
the people who generally look at cameos, who
praise because they cannot love, and are very ready
^ to admire, but still more ready to run away.
36.
— OBJECTION. —Or should there be a counter-
reckoning to that theory that places psychological
observation amongst the means of charming, curing,
and relieving existence? Should one have suffi-
ciently convinced one's self of the unpleasant con-
sequences of this art to divert from it designedly
the attention of him who is educating himself in it?
As a matter of fact, a certain blind belief in the
V


## p. 55 (#91) ##############################################

THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL SENTIMENTS. 55
goodness of human nature, an innate aversion to,
the analysis of human actions, a kind of shame-
facedness with respect to the nakedness of the soul
may really be more desirable for the general well-
being of a man than that quality, useful in iso-
lated cases, of psychological sharp-sightedness ; and
perhaps the belief in goodness, in virtuous men
and deeds, in an abundance of impersonal good-
will in the world, has made men better inasmuch
as it has made them less distrustful. When one,
imitates Plutarch's heroes with enthusiasm, and
turns with disgust from a suspicious examination
of the motives for their actions, it is not truth
which benefits thereby, but the welfare of human
society; the psychological mistake and, generally
speaking, the insensibility on this matter helps
humanity forwards, while the recognition of truth
gains more through the stimulating power of
hypothesis than La Rochefoucauld has said in his,
preface to the first edition of his "Sentences el
maximes morales'. ' . . . "Ce que le monde nomme
vertu nest d'ordinaire quun fantome forme"par nos
passions, a qui on donne un no7n honnete pour faire
impune'ment ce qu'on veut. " La Rochefoucauld and^
those other French masters of soul-examination
(who have lately been joined by a German, the
author of Psychological Observations *) resemble
good marksmen who again and again hit' the
bull's-eye; but it is the bull's-eye of human nature.
Their art arouses astonishment; but in the end a
spectator who is not led by the spirit of science,
* Dr. Paul RfSe. —J. M. K.
\°
*H\
rk
0
-,


## p. 56 (#92) ##############################################

56 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-IIUMAN.
\
but by humane intentions, will probably execrate an
art which appears to implant in the soul the sense
of the disparagement and suspicion of mankind.
^EVEI
37-
Nevertheless. —However it may be with
reckoning and counter-reckoning, in the present
condition of philosophy the awakening of moral
observation is necessary. Humanity can no
"""1 longer be spared the cruel sight of the psycho-
logical dissecting-table with its knives and forceps.
For here rules that science which inquires into
the origin and history of the so-called moral
sentiments, and which, in its progress, has to
draw up and solve complicated sociological
j problems:— the older philosophy knows the
Vlatter one not at all, and has always avoided the
examination of the origin and history of moral
Sentiments on any feeble pretext. With what
consequences it is now very easy to see, after it
has been shown by many examples how the
/ mistakes of the greatest philosophers generally
! have their starting-point in a wrong explanation
1 of certain human actions and sensations, just as
i\ on the ground of an erroneous analysis—for
instance, that of the so-called unselfish actions—
a false ethic is built up; then, to harmonise with
this again, religion and mythological confusion
are brought in to assist, and finally the shades
l^of these dismal spirits fall also over physics and
the general mode of regarding the world. If it
is certain, however, that superficiality in psycho-
:


## p. 57 (#93) ##############################################

THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL SENTIMENTS. S7
logical observation has laid, and still lays, the
most dangerous snares for human judgments and I
conclusions, then there is need now of that
endurance of work which does not grow weary
of piling stone upon stone, pebble on pebble;
there is need of courage not to be ashamed of
such humble work and to turn a deaf ear to
scorn. And this is also true,—numberless single
observations on the human and all-too-human
have first been discovered, and given utterance to,
in circles of society which were accustomed to
offer sacrifice therewith to a clever desire to please,
and not to scientific knowledge,—and the odour
of that old home of the moral maxim, a very
seductive odour, has attached itself almost in-
separably to the whole species, so that on its
account the scientific man involuntarily betrays a.
certain distrust of this species and its earnestness.
But it is sufficient to point to the consequences,
for already it begins to be seen what results of
a serious kind spring from the ground of psycho-
logical observation. What, after all, is the
principal axiom to which the boldest and coldest
thinker, the author of the book On the Origin of
Moral Sensations^ has attained by means of his
incisive and decisive analyses of human actions?
"The moral man," he says, "is no nearer to the
intelligible (metaphysical) world than is the
physical man. " This theory, hardened and
sharpened under the hammer-blow of historical
knowledge, may some time or other, perhaps in
* Dr. Paul Ree. —J. M. K.
S


## p. 58 (#94) ##############################################

Jj 58 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
^
Y'
f
some future period, serve as the axe which is
applied to the root of the "metaphysical need"
of man,—whether more as a blessing than a
curse to the general welfare it is not easy to
say, but in any case as a theory with the most
important consequences, at once fruitful and
terrible, and looking into the world with that
Janus-face which all great knowledge possesses.
\
/
38.
How FAR USEFUL. —It must remain for ever
undecided whether psychological observation is
advantageous or disadvantageous to man; but it
is certain that it is necessary, because science
cannot do without it. Science, however, has no
consideration for ultimate purposes, any more
than Nature has, but just as the latter occasion-
ally achieves things of the greatest suitableness
without intending to do so, so also true science,
as the imitator of nature in ideas, will occasion-
ally and in many ways further the usefulness
and welfare of man,—but also without intending
to do so.
ut whoever feels too chilled by the breath of
such a reflection has perhaps too little fire in him-
self; let him look around him meanwhile and he
will become aware of illnesses which have need of
ice-poultices, and of men who are so "kneaded
together" of heat and spirit that they can hardly
find an atmosphere that is cold and biting enough.
Moreover, as individuals and nations that are too
serious have need of frivolities, as others too


## p. 59 (#95) ##############################################

THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL SENTIMENTS. 59
mobile and excitable have need occasionally of
heavily oppressing burdens for the sake of their
health, should not we, the more intellectual people
of this age, that grows visibly more and more
inflamed, seize all quenching and cooling means
that exist, in order that we may at least remain
as constant, harmless, and moderate as we still
are, and thus, perhaps, serve some time or other
as mirror and self-contemplation for this age?
39-
The Fable of Intelligible Freedom. —
The history of the sentiments by means of which
we make a person responsible consists of the
following principal phases. First, all single actions
are called good or bad without any regard to
their motives, but only on account of the useful
or injurious consequences which result for the
community. But soon the origin of these dis-
tinctions is forgotten, and it is deemed that the
qualities " good " or "bad" are contained in the
action itself without regard to its consequences,
by the same error according to which language
describes the stone as hard, the tree as green,—with
which, in short, the result is regarded as the cause.
Then the goodness or badness is implanted in the
motive, and the action in itself is looked upon as
morally ambiguous. Mankind even goes further,
and applies the predicate good or bad no longer
to single motives, but to the whole nature of an
individual, out of whom the motive grows as the
plant grows out of the earth. Thus, in turn, man
sY\
itt-,. . ': •
r


## p. 59 (#96) ##############################################

HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
|
nature. Eventually it is discovered that even this
-
is made responsible for his operations, then for his
actions, then for his motives, and finally for his
nature cannot be responsible, inasmuch as it is an
absolutely, necessary consequence concreted out of
the elements and influences of past and present
things, that man, therefore, cannot be made re-
sponsible for anything, neither for his nature, nor
is motives, nor his actions, nor his effects. It has
therewith come to be recognised that the history
of moral valuations is at the same time the history
of an error, the error of responsibility, which is
based upon the error of the freedom of will.
hopenhauer thus decided against it: because
certain actions bring ill humour (“consciousness
of guilt”) in their train, there must be a re-
sponsibility; for there would be no reason for this
ill humour if not only all human actions were not
done of necessity, which is actually the case and
also the belief of this philosopher, but man him-
self from the same necessity is precisely the being
that he is—which Schopenhauer denies. From
the fact of that ill humour Schopenhauer thinks
he can prove a liberty which man must somehow
have had, not with regard to actions, but with
regard to nature; liberty, therefore, to be thus or
otherwise, not to act thus or otherwise. From the
esse, the sphere of freedom and responsibility, there
results, in his opinion, the operari, the sphere of
strict causality, necessity, and irresponsibility. This
ill humour is apparently directed to the operari, in
so far it is erroneous, but in reality it is directed
to the esse, which is the deed of a free will, the
- i--º


## p. 59 (#97) ##############################################

.
fundameira = - ------------- - - ---- - - -2.
man becºmes - tº--- - ------- - - - -
is anteriºr = ------------ - - - - - -----
conclusiºr = <==- === -- - - - - - - -
humour, the -º--- ~ Tºrº-- *-a------sº--~~~~
*ff of this I -- a -s----- ºr- z--- - -er-
-
ing from its rºstas= --------- -2. ----------
arrives at his ==- - ----------- - - - ---> --
- --- - - - -
intelligiºt free-- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
deed is Tºr I-sar - ---------- ~~~~ * *
with the aever--- -
probatºr ºr-- ~ar--- ~~
short Perrºr aſ tº ºr ºr ---.
* • * • -
responside iºr ºr a----- *****
to judge is ide-ria - " - - - - -" º
- * -- " -- * º
applies vºter z -- - - -
theory is as rear = *- : - - -***
prefers :: 2: Laze = - - -- ºr
truth, fºr fear zºº tº zz--~~~


## p. 59 (#98) ##############################################

60 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.

is made responsible for his operations, then for his
actions, then for his motives, and finally for his
nature. Eventually it is discovered that even this
/'nature cannot be responsible, inasmuch as it is an
absolutely necessary consequence concreted out of
1 the elements and influences of past and present
] things,—that man, therefore, cannot be made re-
\ sponsible for anything, neither for his nature, nor
i-his motives, nor his actions, nor his effects. It has
therewith come to be recognised that the history
of moral valuations is at the same time the history
of an error, the error of responsibility, which is
based upon the error of the freedom of will.
Schopenhauer thus decided against it: because
certain actions bring ill humour (" consciousness
of guilt") in their train, there must be a re-
sponsibility; for there would be no reason for this
ill humour if not only all human actions were not
done of necessity,—which is actually the case and
also the belief of this philosopher,—but man him-
self from the same necessity is precisely the being
that he is—which Schopenhauer denies. From
the fact of that ill humour Schopenhauer thinks
he can prove a liberty which man must somehow
have had, not with regard to actions, but with
regard to nature; liberty, therefore, to be thus or
otherwise, not to act thus or otherwise. From the
esse, the sphere of freedom and responsibility, there
results, in his opinion, the operari, the sphere of
strict causality, necessity, and irresponsibility. This
ill humour is apparently directed to the operari,—in
so far it is erroneous,—but in reality it is directed
to the esse, which is the deed of a free will, the


## p. 59 (#99) ##############################################

THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL SENTIMENTS. 61
fundamental cause of the existence of an individual,
man becomes'that which he wislies to be, his will
is anterior to his existence. Here the mistaken
conclusion is drawn that from the fact of the ill
humour, the justification, the reasonable admissable-
ness of this ill humour is presupposed; and start-
ing from this mistaken conclusion, Schopenhauer
arrives at his fantastic sequence of the so-called
intelligible freedom. But the ill humour after the
deed is not necessarily reasonable, indeed it is
assuredly not reasonable, for it is based upon the
erroneous presumption that the action need not
v''
have inevitably followed. Therefore, it is onl^
because man believes himself to be free, not
because he is free, that he experiences remorse,
and pricks of conscience. Moreover, this ill
humour is a habit that can be broken off; in
many people it is entirely absent in connection
with actions where others experience it. It is a
very changeable thing, and one which is connected
with the development of customs and culture, and
probably only existing during a comparatively
short period of the world's history. Nobody is . s>
responsible for his actions, nobody for his nature ;M
to judge is identical with being unjust. This also V
applies when an individual judges himself. The
theory is as clear as sunlight, and yet every one
prefers to go back into the shadow and the un-
truth, for fear of the consequences.
40.
The Super-Animal. —The beast in us wishes
to be deceived; morality is a lie of necessity in
k-lV^'


## p. 59 (#100) #############################################

6o
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.

is made responsible for his operations, then for his
actions, then for his motives, and finally for his
nature. Eventually it is discovered that even this
nature cannot be responsible, inasmuch as it is an
absolutely necessary consequence concreted out of
the elements and influences of past and present
things,—that man, therefore, cannot be made re-
sponsible for anything, neither for his nature, nor
*-his motives, nor his actions, nor his effects. It has
therewith come to be recognised that the history
of moral valuations is at the same time the history
of an error, the error of responsibility, which is
based upon the error of the freedom of will.
Schopenhauer thus decided against it: because
certain actions bring ill humour (" consciousness
of guilt") in their train, there must be a re-
sponsibility; for there would be no reason for this
ill humour if not only all human actions were not
done of necessity,—which is actually the case and
also the belief of this philosopher,—but man him-
self from the same necessity is precisely the being
that he is—which Schopenhauer denies. From
the fact of that ill humour Schopenhauer thinks
he can prove a liberty which man must somehow
have had, not with regard to actions, but with
regard to nature; liberty, therefore, to be thus or
otherwise, not to act thus or otherwise. From the
esse, the sphere of freedom and responsibility, there
results, in his opinion, the operari, the sphere of
strict causality, necessity, and irresponsibility. This
ill humour is apparently directed to the operari,—in
so far it is erroneous,—but in reality it is directed
to the esse, which is the deed of a free will, the


## p. 59 (#101) #############################################

THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL SENTIMENTS. 6|
99
fundamental cause of the existence of an individual,
manbecomesthat which he wishes to be, his will'
is anterior to his existence. Here the mistaken
conclusion is drawn that from the fact of the ill
humour, the justification, the reasonable Wwm^Zr-
««of this ill humour is presupposed; and start-
«g from fc mistaken conclusion, Schopenhauer
■Wat his fantastic sequence of the so-called
-f^do. But the i„ humour ^
deed i not necessarily reasonable, indeed it «
«y„otreasonable|forit. ^^'t'S
peous presumption that the aS neS t
** Stably followed. Therefore it >
because man *. /- l- reiore' rt « on >>!
* p* vi&e erence i—«
hum™ is a J? " M°re0Ver' ^ ill
verychangeablethinHL ^"enCe St II » »
rab,yo^^;t;;nd^. and
sh°rt period of the world" Vt ^P3^^
responsibleforhisacttu* NoH L
2™*»*»»i»d a^. ^t Thisa]4
*7^clearassun ih^ The
^,forfearof^co^adow and the yn.
^ necessity in
V> I
pain,
free
i, like
it is
:alled
there
gious
older
were
i for-
con-
ertain
f feet
! d of
fear.
into
tions,
pears,
f the
pro-
gods
1
ns in
m is
i nd is
f that
flues. )
Mich
stery
after-
vhich
.


## p. 59 (#102) #############################################

60 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
\r
is made responsible for his operations, then for his
actions, then for his motives, and finally for his
nature. Eventually it is discovered that even this
nature cannot be responsible, inasmuch as it is an
absolutely necessary consequence concreted out of
the elements and influences of past and present
things,—that man, therefore, cannot be made re-
sponsible for anything, neither for his nature, nor
v-his motives, nor his actions, nor his effects. It has
therewith come to be recognised that the history
of moral valuations is at the same time the history
of an error, the error of responsibility, which is
based upon the error of the freedom of will.
Schopenhauer thus decided against it: because
certain actions bring ill humour (" consciousness
of guilt") in their train, there must be a re-
sponsibility; for there would be no reason for this
ill humour if not only all human actions were not
done of necessity,—which is actually the case and
also the belief of this philosopher,—but man him-
self from the same necessity is precisely the being'
that he is—which Schopenhauer denies. From
the fact of that ill humour Schopenhauer thinks
he can prove a liberty which man must somehow
have had, not with regard to actions, but with
regard to nature; liberty, therefore, to be thus or
otherwise, not to act thus or otherwise. From the
esse, the sphere of freedom and responsibility, there
results, in his opinion, the operari, the sphere of
strict causality, necessity, and irresponsibility. This
ill humour is apparently directed to the operari,—in
so far it is erroneous,—but in reality it is directed
to the esse, which is the deed of a free will, the



## p. 59 (#103) #############################################

THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL SENTIMENTS. 61
fundamental cause of the existence of an individual,
man becomes'that which he wishes to be, his will
is anterior to his existence. Here the mistaken
conclusion is drawn that from the fact of the ill
humour, the justification, the reasonable admissable-
ness of this ill humour is presupposed; and start-
ing from this mistaken conclusion, Schopenhauer
arrives at his fantastic sequence of the so-called
intelligible freedom. But the ill humour after the
deed is not necessarily reasonable, indeed it is
assuredly not reasonable, for it is based upon the
erroneous presumption that the action need not , \ ,
have inevitably followed. Therefore, it is onlyV - ^-)AV,-'t
because man believes himself to be free, not
because he is free, that he experiences remorse/
and pricks of conscience. Moreover, this ill
humour is a habit that can be broken off; in
many people it is entirely absent in connection
with actions where others experience it. It is a
very changeable thing, and one which is connected
with the development of customs and culture, and
probably only existing during a comparatively
short period of the world's history. Nobody is |
responsible for his actions, nobody for his nature;
to judge is identical with being unjust. This also'
applies when an individual judges himself. The
theory is as clear as sunlight, and yet every one
prefers to go back into the shadow and the un-
truth, for fear of the consequences.
40.
The Super-Animal. —The beast in us wishes
to be deceived; morality is a lie of necessity in
i


## p. 60 (#104) #############################################

60 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
\r
is made responsible for his operations, then for his
actions, then for his motives, and finally for his
nature. Eventually it is discovered that even this
nature cannot be responsible, inasmuch as it is an
absolutely necessary consequence concreted out of
the elements and influences of past and present
things,—that man, therefore, cannot be made re-
sponsible for anything, neither for his nature, nor
v-his motives, nor his actions, nor his effects. It has
therewith come to be recognised that the history
of moral valuations is at the same time the history
of an error, the error of responsibility, which is
based upon the error of the freedom of will.
Schopenhauer thus decided against it: because
certain actions bring ill humour (" consciousness
of guilt") in their train, there must be a re-
sponsibility; for there would be no reason for this
ill humour if not only all human actions were not
done of necessity,—which is actually the case and
also the belief of this philosopher,—but man him-
self from the same necessity is precisely the being
that he is—which Schopenhauer denies. From
the fact of that ill humour Schopenhauer thinks
he can prove a liberty which man must somehow
have had, not with regard to' actions, but with
regard to nature; liberty, therefore, to be thus or
otherwise, not to act thus or otherwise. From the
esse, the sphere of freedom and responsibility, there
results, in his opinion, the operari, the sphere of
strict causality, necessity, and irresponsibility. This
ill humour is apparently directed to the operari,—in
so far it is erroneous,—but in reality it is directed
to the esse, which is the deed of a free will, the


## p. 61 (#105) #############################################

THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL SENTIMENTS. 6l
fundamental cause of the existence of an individual,
man becomes'"that which he wisfies to be, his will
is anterior to his existence. Here the mistaken
conclusion is drawn that from the fact of the ill
humour, the justification, the reasonable admissable-
ness of this ill humour is presupposed; and start-
ing from this mistaken conclusion, Schopenhauer
arrives at his fantastic sequence of the so-called
intelligible freedom. But the ill humour after the
deed is not necessarily reasonable, indeed it is
assuredly not reasonable, for it is based upon the
erroneous presumption that the action need not , f k
have inevitably followed. Therefore, it is onlyl , - '^- j\V
because man believes himself to be free, not
because he is free, that he experiences remorse/
and pricks of conscience. Moreover, this ill
humour is a habit that can be broken off; in
many people it is entirely absent in connection
with actions where others experience it. It is a
very changeable thing, and one which is connected
with the development of customs and culture, and
probably only existing during a comparatively
short period of the world's history. Nobody is /~\
responsible for his actions, nobody for his nature ;iyi)
to judge is identical with being unjust. This also Ay
applies when an individual judges himself. The
theory is as clear as sunlight, and yet every one
prefers to go back into the shadow and the un-
truth, for fear of the consequences.
40.
The Super-Animal. —The beast in us wishes
to be deceived; morality is a lie of necessity in


## p. 62 (#106) #############################################

62 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
£der that we may not be torn in pieces by it.
Without the errors which lie in the assumption of
orality, man would have remained an animal.
Thus, however, he has considered himself as
something higher and has laid strict laws upon
himself. Therefore he hates the grades which
have remained nearer to animalness, whereby the
former scorn of the slave, as a not-yet-man, is to
be explained as a fact.
41.
The Unchangeable Character. —That the
Character is unchangeable is not true in a strict
ense; this favourite theory means, rather, that
during the short lifetime of an individual the new
influencing motives cannot penetrate deeply enough
to destroy the ingrained marks of many thousands
of years. But if one were to imagine a man of
eighty thousand years, one would have in him an
absolutely changeable character, so that a number
of different individuals would gradually develop
out of him. The shortness of human life misleads
us into forming many erroneous ideas about the
qualities of man.
42.
The Order of Possessions and Morality.
— The once-accepted hierarchy of possessions,
according as this or the other is coveted by a
lower, higher, or highest egoism, now decides
what is moral or immoral. To prefer a lesser
good (for instance, the gratification of the senses)


## p. 63 (#107) #############################################

THE HISTORY OF j THE MORAL SENTIMENTS. 63
to a more highly Valued good (for instance, health)
is accounted immoral, and also to prefer luxury
to liberty. The Hierarchy of possessions, however,
is not fixed and equal at all times; if any one pre-
fers vengeance tol justice he is moral according to
the standard of ai(i earlier civilisation, but immoral
according to the (present one. To be "immoral,'!
therefore, denotes; that an individual has not feltl
or not felt sufficiently strongly, the higher, finer,!
spiritual motives which have come in with a|
new culture; it marks one who has remained
behind, but only according to the difference of
degrees. The Order of possessions itself is not
raised and lowered according to a moral point
of view; but each time that it is fixed it sup-
plies the decision as to whether an action is moral
or immoral.
43-
Cruel People as Those who have Re- \
MAINED Behind. —People who are cruel now-
adays must be accounted for by us as the grades
of earlier civilisations which have survived;
here are exposed those deeper formations in
the mountain of humamty which usually remain
concealed. They are backward people whose
brains, through all manner of accidents in the course
of inheritance, have not been developed in so
delicate and manifold a way. They show us
what we all were and horrify us, but they them-
selves are as little responsible as is a block of
granite for being granite. There must, too, be
grooves and twists in our brains which answer to
^
S


## p. 64 (#108) #############################################

64 HUMAN, ALL-TOO- HUMAN.
that condition of mind, as in t le form of certain
human organs there are supposed to be traces of
a fish-state. But these grooves and twists are no
longer the bed through which] the stream of our
sensation flows.
44-
GRATITUDE AND Revenge. 4—The reason why
the powerful man is grateful isj this: his bene-
factor, through the benefit he confers, has mistaken
and intruded into the sphere of the powerful man,
—now the latter, in return, penetrates into the
sphere of the benefactor by the act of gratitude.
It is a milder form of revenge. Without the
satisfaction of gratitude, the powerful man would
have shown himself powerless, and would have
been reckoned as such ever after. Therefore
every society of the good, which originally meant
he powerful, places gratitude amongst the first
uties. —Swift propounded the maxim that men
were grateful in the same proportion as they were
revengeful.
45-
The Twofold Early History of Good
AND Evil. —The conception of good and evil
/T) has a twofold early history, namely, once in the
\J Isoul of the ruling tribes and castes. Whoever has
the power of returning good for good, evil for evil,
md really practises requital, and who is, therefore,
jrateful and revengeful, is called good; whoever
s powerless, and unable to requite, is reckoned as
jad. As a good man one is reckoned among the


## p. 65 (#109) #############################################

THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL SENTIMENTS. 65
"good," a community which has common feelings
because the single individuals are bound to one
another by the sense of requital. As a bad man
one belongs to the " bad," to a party of subordinate,
powerless people who have no common feeling.
The good are a caste, the bad are a mass like
dust. Good and bad have for a long time meant
the same thing as noble and base, master and
slave. On the other hand, the enemy is not
looked upon as evil, he can requite. In Homer
the Trojan and the Greek are both good. It is\
not the one who injures us, but the one who is I
despicable, who is called bad. Good is inherited
in the community of the good; it is impossible
that a bad man could spring from such good
soil. If, nevertheless, one of the good ones does
something which is unworthy of the good, refuge
is sought in excuses; the guilt is thrown upon
a god, for instance; it is said that he has struck
the good man with blindness and madness. — . _
Then in the soul of the oppressed and powerles^f^ j
Here every other man is looked upon as hostiley-'
inconsiderate, rapacious, cruer, cunning, be he
noble or base; evil is the distinguishing word for
man, even for every conceivable, living creature,
e. g. for a god; human, divine, is the same thing
as devilish, evil. The signs of goodness, helpful-
ness, pity, are looked upon with fear as spite, the
prelude to a terrible result, stupefaction and out- 1
witting,—in short, as refined malice. With such a \
disposition in the individual a community could
hardly exist, or at most it could exist only in its
crudest form, so that in all places where this con-
vol. 1. E
/''


## p. 66 (#110) #############################################

66 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
ception of good and evil obtains, the downfall of
the single individuals, of their tribes and races, is
act hand. —Our present civilisation has grown up
OB the soil of the ruling tribes and castes.
46.
Sympathy Stronger than Suffering. —
I There are cases when sympathy is stronger than
actual suffering. For instance, we are more pained
when one of our friends is guilty of something
shameful than when we do it ourselves. For one
thing, we have more, faith in the purity of his
character than he has himself; then our love for
him, probably on account of this very faith, is
stronger than his love for himself. And even if
his egoism suffers more thereby than our egoism,
inasmuch as it has to bear more of the bad con-
sequences of his fault, the un-egoistic in us—this
word is not to be taken too seriously, but only as
a modification of the expression—is more deeply
wounded by his guilt than is the un-egoistic in
him.
47-
Hypochondria. —There are people who be-
come hypochondriacal through their sympathy and
concern for another person; the kind of sympathy
which results therefrom is nothing but a disease.
Thus there is also a Christian hypochondria, which
afflicts those solitary, religiously-minded people
who keep constantly before their eyes the suffer-
ings and death of Christ.


## p. 67 (#111) #############################################

THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL SEXTIMEXTS. 67
r
Economy of Goodxess. —Goodness and lore,
as the most healing herbs and powers in human
intercourse, are such costly discoveries that one
would wish as much economy as possible to be
exercised in the employment of these balsamic
'means; but this is impossible. The economy
of goodness is the dream of the most daring
Utopians.
49-
GOODWILL. —Amongst the small, but count-
lessly frequent and therefore very effective, things
to which science should pay more attention than
to the great, rare things, is to be reckoned good-
will; I mean that exhibition of a friendly dis-
position in intercourse, that smiling eye, that clasp
of the hand, that cheerfulness with which almost
* all human actions are usually accompanied.
Every teacher, every official, adds this to whatever
is his duty; it is the perpetual occupation of
'humanity, and at the same time the waves of its
light, in which everything grows; in the narrowest
circle, namely, within the family, life blooms and
nourishes only through that goodwill. Kindli-
ness, friendliness, the courtesy of the heart, are
ever-flowing streams of un-egoistic impulses, and
* have given far more powerful assistance to culture
than even those much more famous demonstra-
tions which are called pity, mercy, and self-
sacrifice. But they are thought little of, and, as a
matter of fact, there is not much that is un-egoistic
y
UJ


## p. 68 (#112) #############################################

68 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
in them. The sum of these small doses is never- i
theless mighty, their united force is amongst the
strongest forces. Thus one finds much more
happiness in the world than sad eyes see, if one
only reckons rightly, and does not forget all those
moments of comfort in which every day is rich,
even in the most harried of human lives.
50.
The Wish to arouse Pity. —In the most
remarkable passage of his auto - portrait (first
printed in 1658), La Rochefoucauld assuredly
hits the nail on the head when he warns all
sensible people against pity, when he advises them
to leave that to those orders of the people who
have need of passion (because it is not ruled by
reason), and to reach the point of helping the
suffering and acting energetically in an accident;
while pity, according to his (and Plato's) judgment,
f weakens the soul. Certainly we should exhibit
» pity, but take good care not to feel it, for the
unfortunate are so stupid that to them the
exhibition of pity is the greatest good in the
world. One can, perhaps, give a more forcible
warning against this feeling of pity if one looks *
upon that need of the unfortunate not exactly as
stupidity and lack of intellect, a kind of mental
derangement which misfortune brings with it (and
as such, indeed, La Rochefoucauld appears to
regard it), but as something quite different and
more serious. Observe children, who cry and
scream in order to be pitied, and therefore wait


## p. 69 (#113) #############################################

THE H1IE |ST0RY OF THE MORAL SENTIMENTS. 69
>
!
(or tk mP moment when they will be noticed; live in
interco'WTJrse with the sick and mentally oppressed,
and as; jk yourself whether that ready complaining
and \t jhimpering, that making a show of mis-
fortune f, does not, at bottom, aim at making the
special fors miserable; the pity which the spectators
then e'jxhibit is in so far a consolation for the weak . ;
and s "differing in that the latter recognise therein'1^* \ \
that tljjiey possess still one power, in spite of their" ^ iiOv
weakme. ss, the power of giving pain. The un- v*^'
fortunlate derives a sort of pleasure from this
feeling of superiority, of which the exhibition of
pityT makes him conscious; his imagination is
exal ted, he is still powerful enough to give the
wor d pain. Thus the thirst for pity is the thirst
for self-gratification, and that, moreover, at the
exp ;nse of his fellow-men; it shows man in the
who le inconsiderateness of his own dear self, but
not exactly in his "stupidity," as La Rochefou-
cauld thinks. In society-talk three-fourths of all
questions asked and of all answers given are
intended to cause the interlocutor a little pain;
for /this reason so many people pine for company;
it enables them to feel their power. There is a
powerful charm of life in such countless but very
small doses in which malice makes itself felt, just
as goodwill, spread in the same way throughout
the world, is the ever-ready means of healing.
But are there many honest people who will admit
that it is pleasing to give pain? that one not
infrequently amuses one's self—and amuses one's
self very well—in causing mortifications to others,
at least in thought, and firing off at them the


## p. 70 (#114) #############################################

JO HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN. I are too
Jiything
grape-shot of petty malice? Most people! ^at
dishonest, and a few are too good, to know z-msacfaz
of this pudendum; these will always deii. fa-re
Prosper Merim^e is right when he says,
aussi qu'il n'y a rien de plus commun que
le malpour leplaisir de le faire"
ITY. —
|ren in
inking
his
own
one
Si-
How Appearance becomes Actual:
The actor finally reaches such a point that e4|anj
the deepest sorrow he cannot cease from thiJL at
about the impression made by his own person
the general scenic effect; for instance, eve
the funeral of his child, he will weep over
own sorrow and its expression like one of his Lte'
audience. The hypocrite, who always plays I are
and the same part, ceases at last to be a hypocLtes
for instance, priests, who as young men Louj
generally conscious or unconscious hypocAoes
become at last natural, and are then really witM^
any affectation, just priests; or if the father (■j1;s
not succeed so far, perhaps the son does, ¥s t0
makes use of his father's progress and inheritsL je
habits. If any one long and obstinately desire
appear something, he finds it difficult at last tl
anything else. The profession of almost ev^-
individual, even of the artist, begins with hypocrisy
with an imitating from without, with a copying o
the effective. He who always wears the masl
of a friendly expression must eventually obtaii
a power over well-meaning dispositions withou
which the expression of friendliness is not to b<
aery


## p. 71 (#115) #############################################

THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL SENTIMENTS. JI
compelled,—and finally, these, again, obtain a
power over him, he is well-meaning.
52.
The Point of Honour in Deception. —
In all great deceivers one thing is noteworthy, to
which they owe their power. In the actual act of
deception, with all their preparations, the dreadful
voice, expression, and mien, in the midst of their
effective scenery they are overcome by their belief
in themselves; it is this, then, which speaks so
wonderfully and persuasively to the spectators.
The founders of religions are distinguished from
those great deceivers in that they never awake
from their condition of self-deception; or at times,
but very rarely, they have an enlightened moment
when doubt overpowers them; they generally
console themselves, however, by ascribing these
enlightened moments to the influence of the Evil
One. There must be self-deception in order that
this and that may produce great effects. For men
believe in the truth of everything that is visibly,
strongly believed in.
53-
The Nominal Degrees of Truth. —One
of the commonest mistakes is this: because some
one is truthful and honest towards us, he must
speak the truth. Thus the child believes in its
parents' judgment, the Christian in the assertions
of the Founder of the Church. In the same way
men refuse to admit that all those things which
men defended in former ages with the sacrifice of
r


## p. 72 (#116) #############################################

72
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
life and happiness were nothing but errors; it is
even said, perhaps, that they were degrees of the
truth. But what is really meant is that when a
man has honestly believed in something, and has
fought and died for his faith, it would really be
too unjust if he had only been inspired by an
error. Such a thing seems a contradiction of
eternal justice; therefore the heart of sensitive
man ever enunciates against his head the axiom:
between moral action and intellectual insight there
must absolutely be a necessary connection. It is
\ unfortunately otherwise; for there is no eternal
1 justice.
54-
/ Falsehood. —Why do people mostly speak
if- the truth in daily life ? —Assuredly not because a
god has forbidden falsehood. But, firstly, because
\^ it is more convenient, as falsehood requires inven-
tion, deceit, and memory. (As Swift says, he
who tells a lie is not sensible how great a task
he undertakes; for in order to uphold one
lie he must invent twenty others. ) Therefore,
because it is advantageous in upright circum-
stances to say straight out, "I want this, I have
done that," and so on; because, in other words,
the path of compulsion and authority is surer than
that of cunning. But if a child has been brought
up in complicated domestic circumstances, he em-
ploys falsehood, naturally and unconsciously says
whatever best suits his interests; a sense of truth
and a hatred of falsehood are quite foreign and
unknown to him, and so he lies in all innocence.
%


## p. 73 (#117) #############################################

THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL SENTIMENTS. 73
55-
Throwing Suspicion on Morality for
Faith's Sake. —No power can be maintained
when it is only represented by hypocrites; no
matter how many " worldly " elements the Catholic
Church possesses, its strength lies in those still
numerous priestly natures who render life hard
and full of meaning for themselves, and whose
glance and worn bodies speak of nocturnal vigils,
hunger, burning prayers, and perhaps even of
scourging; these move men and inspire them
with fear. What if it were necessary to live thus?
This is the terrible question which their aspect
brings to the lips. Whilst they spread this doubt
they always uprear another pillar of their power;
even the free-thinker does not dare to withstand
such unselfishness with hard words of truth, and to
say, " Thyself deceived, deceive not others! " Only
the difference of views divides them from him,
certainly no difference of goodness or badness;
but men generally treat unjustly that which they
do not like. Thus we speak of the cunning and
the infamous art of the Jesuits, but overlook the
self-control which every individual Jesuit practises,
and the fact that the lightened manner of life
preached by Jesuit books is by no means for their
benefit, but for that of the laity. We may even
ask whether, with precisely similar tactics and
organisation, we enlightened ones would make
equally good tools, equally admirable through
self-conquest, indefatigableness, and renunciation.


## p. 74 (#118) #############################################

74
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
AA Victory of
yM Evil. —It is of;
W
^
. vj
56.
of Knowledge over Radical
great advantage to him who de-
sires to be wise to have witnessed for a time the
spectacle of a thoroughly evil and degenerate man;
it is false, like the contrary spectacle, but for whole
long periods it held the mastery, and its roots have
even extended and ramified themselves to us and
our world. In order to understand ourselves we
must understand it; but then, in order to mount
higher we must rise above it. We recognise, then,
that there exist no sins in the metaphysical sense;
but, in the same sense, also no virtues; we recog-
nise that the entire domain of ethical ideas is
perpetually tottering, that there are higher and
deeper conceptions of good and evil, of moral and
immoral. He who does not desire much more
from things than a knowledge of them easily
makes peace with his soul, and will make a mis-
take (or commit a sin, as the world calls it) at
the most from ignorance, but hardly from covetous-
ness. He will no longer wish to excommunicate
and exterminate desires; but his only, his wholly
dominating ambition, to know as well as possible
at all times, will make him cool and will soften
all the savageness in his disposition. Moreover,
he has been freed from a number of tormenting
conceptions, he has no more feeling at the mention
of the words " punishments of hell," "sinfulness,"
"incapacity for good," he recognises in them only
the vanishing shadow-pictures of false views of
the world and of life.


## p. 75 (#119) #############################################

THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL SENTIMENTS. 7J
57-
Morality as the Self-Disintegration of
Man. —A good author, who really has his heart in
his work, wishes that some one could come and
annihilate him by representing the same thing in
a clearer way and answering without more ado
the problems therein proposed. The loving girl
wishes she could prove the self-sacrificing faithful-
ness of her love by the unfaithfulness of her
beloved. The soldier hopes to die on the field of
battle for his victorious fatherland; for his loftiest
desires triumph in the victory of his country.
The mother gives to the child that of which she
deprives herself—sleep, the best food, sometimes
her health and fortune. But are all these un-
egoistic conditions? Are these deeds of morality
miracles, because, to use Schopenhauer's expres-
sion, they are "impossible and yet performed "?
Is it not clear that in all four cases the individual
loves something of himself, a thought, a desire, a
production, better than anything else of himself;
that he therefore divides his nature and to one
part sacrifices all the rest? Is it something
entirely different when an obstinate man says, "I
would rather be shot than move a step out of my
way for this man "? The desire for something
(wish, inclination, longing) is present in all the
instances mentioned; to give way to it, with all
its consequences, is certainly not "un-egoistic. "
—In ethics man does not consider himself as
individuum but as dividuiim.
r


## p. 76 (#120) #############################################

/6 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
58.
What One may Promise. —One may promise
(actions, but no sentiments, for these are involun-
tary. Whoever promises to love or hate a person,
or be faithful to him for ever, promises something
which is not within his power; he can certainly
promise such actions as are usually the results of
love, hate, or fidelity, but which may also spring
from other motives; for many ways and motives
lead to one and the same action. The promise
to love some one for ever is, therefore, really: So
long as I love you I will act towards you in a
loving way; if I cease to love you, you will still
receive the same treatment from me, although
inspired by other motives, so that our fellow-men
will still be deluded into the belief that our love
is unchanged and ever the same. One promises,
therefore, the continuation of the semblance of
love, when, without self-deception, one speaks vows
of eternal love.
59-
Intellect and Morality. —One must have
a good memory to be able to keep a given promise.
One must have a strong power of imagination to
be able to feel pity. So closely is morality bound
to the goodness of the intellect.
60.
J To wish for Revenge and to take Re-
venge. —To have a revengeful thought and to


## p.