The
conquest
itself is a means, not an end:
if it be not so regarded, all kind of weeds and
devil's crop quickly spring up upon the fertile soil
that has been cleared, and soon the growth is all
wilder and more luxuriant than before.
if it be not so regarded, all kind of weeds and
devil's crop quickly spring up upon the fertile soil
that has been cleared, and soon the growth is all
wilder and more luxuriant than before.
Nietzsche - v07 - Human All-Too-Human - b
If our honour has
suffered through our adversary, revenge can restore
it. But in any case honour has suffered an injury
if intentional harm has been done us, because our
adversary proved thereby that he was not afraid of
us. By revenge we prove that we are not afraid of
him either, and herein lies the settlement, the read-
justment. (The intention of showing their complete
lack of fear goes so far in some people that the
dangers of revenge-loss of health or life or other
losses-are in their eyes an indispensable condition
of every vengeful act. Hence they practise the duel,
although the law also offers them aid in obtaining
satisfaction for what they have suffered. They are
not satisfied with a safe means of recovering their
honour, because this would not prove their fearless-
ness. )- In the first-named variety of revenge it is
just fear that strikes the counter-blow; in the second
case it is the absence of fear, which, as has been said,
wishes to manifest itself in the counter-blow. —Thus
nothing appears more different than the motives of
the two courses of action which are designated by the
one word “revenge. " Yet it often happens that the
avenger is not precisely certain as to what really
prompted his deed : perhaps he struck the counter-
## p. 213 (#248) ############################################
212
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
a stop. Sc year and the instinct of self-preservation,
in order to background, when he has time to reflect
enough to roadpoint of wounded honour, he imagines
too strong
avenged himself for the sake of his
will all th is motive
vis motive is in any case more reputable
Las a so: ther. An essential point is whether he
towards our injured in the eyes of others (the
sation of only in the eyes of his offenders: in the
revenge, he will prefer secret, in the
he will prefer secret, in the former open
here self- Accordingly, as he enters strongly or
the soul of the doer and the spectator,
of reason the soul of the doer and t
think of will be more bitter or more tame. If
We act v: . . . . . ly lacking
ly lacking in this sort of imagination, he
ami, with think at all of revenge, as the feeling of
is not present in him, and accordingly
vpounded. In the same way, he will not
venge if he despises the offender and the
most vul evenge
because as objects of his contempt they
of reven
sider the
im honour, and accordingly cannot rob
The int
1. Finally, he will forego revenge in
hand, t
mon case of his loving the offender.
injury i
ie then suffers loss of honour in the
horizoi
I will perhaps become less worthy
own ft
e returned. But even to renounce
e is a sacrifice that love is ready
blood.
fear o
nly object is to avoid hurting the
his would mean hurting oneself
as stro
compl
rt by the sacrifice. Accordingly,
do: t
ge himself, unless he be bereft
minec
1 by contempt or by love for the
'le turns to the law-courts, he
what
rivate individual ; but also, as
is no
him?
man of society, he desires the
## p. 213 (#249) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW.
215
revenge of society upon one who does not respect
it. Thus by legal punishment private honour as
well as that of society is restored—that is to say,
punishment is revenge. Punishment undoubtedly
contains the first-mentioned element of revenge,
in as far as by its means society helps to preserve
itself, and strikes a counter-blow in self-defence.
Punishment desires to prevent further injury, to
scare other offenders. In this way the two elements
of revenge, different as they are, are united in punish-
ment, and this may perhaps tend most of all to
maintain the above-mentioned confusion of ideas,
thanks to which the individual avenger generally
does not know what he really wants.
34.
THE VIRTUES THAT DAMAGE US. -As members
of communities we think we have no right to exercise
certain virtues which afford usgreat honourand some
pleasure as private individuals (for example, indul-
gence and favour towards miscreants of all kinds)-
in short, every mode of action whereby the advantage
of society would suffer through our virtue. No bench
of judges, face to face with its conscience, may per-
mit itself to be gracious. This privilege is reserved
for the king as an individual, and we are glad when
he makes use of it, proving that we should like to be
gracious individually, but not collectively. Society
recognises only the virtues profitable to her, or at
least not injurious to her-virtues like justice, which
are exercised without loss, or, in fact, at compound
interest. The virtues that damage us cannot have
## p. 214 (#250) ############################################
214 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
blow from fear and the instinct of self-preservation,
but in the background, when he has time to reflect
upon the standpoint ofwounded honour, he imagines
that he has avenged himself for the sake of his
honour—this motive is in any case more reputable
than the other. An essential point is whether he
sees his honour injured in the eyes of others (the
world) or only in the eyes of his offenders: in the
latter case he will prefer secret, in the former open
revenge. Accordingly, as he enters strongly or
feebly into the soul of the doer and the spectator,
his revenge will be more bitter or more tame. If
he is entirely lacking in this sort of imagination, he
will not think at all of revenge, as the feeling of
"honour" is not present in him, and accordingly
cannot be wounded. In the same way, he will not
think of revenge if he despises the offender and the
spectator; because as objects of his contempt they
cannot give him honour, and accordingly cannot rob
him of honour. Finally, he will forego revenge in
the not uncommon case of his loving the offender.
It is true that he then suffers loss of honour in the
other's eyes, and will perhaps become less worthy
of having his love returned. But even to renounce
all requital of love is a sacrifice that love is ready
to make when its only object is to avoid hurting the
beloved object: this would mean hurting oneself
more than one is hurt by the sacrifice. —Accordingly,
every one will avenge himself, unless he be bereft
of honour or inspired by contempt or by love for the
offender. Even if he turns to the law-courts, he
desires revenge as a private individual; but also, as
a thoughtful, prudent man of society, he desires the
## p. 215 (#251) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 215
revenge of society upon one who does not respect
it. Thus by legal punishment private honour as
well as that of society is restored—that is to say,
punishment is revenge. Punishment undoubtedly
contains the first-mentioned element of revenge,
in as far as by its means society helps to preserve
itself, and strikes a counter-blow in self-defence.
Punishment desires to prevent further injury, to
scare other offenders. In this way the two elements
of revenge, different as they are, are united in punish-
ment, and this may perhaps tend most of all to
maintain the above-mentioned confusion of ideas,
thanks to which the individual avenger generally
does not know what he really wants.
34-
The Virtues that Damage Us. —As members
of communities we think we have no right to exercise
certain virtues which afford us great honour and some
pleasure as private individuals (for example, indul-
gence and favour towards miscreants of all kinds)—
in short, every mode of action whereby the advantage
of society would suffer through our virtue. No bench
of judges, face to face with its conscience, may per-
mit itself to be gracious. This privilege is reserved
for the king as an individual, and we are glad when
he makes use of it, proving that we should like to be
gracious individually, but not collectively. Society
recognises only the virtues profitable to her, or at
least not injurious to her—virtues like justice, which
are exercised without loss, or, in fact, at compound
interest. The virtues that damage us cannot have
## p. 216 (#252) ############################################
2l6 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
originated in society, because even now opposition
to them arises in every small society that is in the
making. Such virtues are therefore those of men
of unequal standing, invented by the superior indi-
viduals; they are the virtues of rulers, and the idea
underlying them is: "I am mighty enough to put
u£ with an obvious loss; that is a proof of my power. "
Thus they are virtues closely akin to pride.
35-
The Casuistry of Advantage. —There would
be no moral casuistry if there were no casuistry of
advantage. The most free and refined intelligence
is often incapable of choosing between two alterna-
tives in such a way that his choice necessarily in-
volves the greater advantage. In such cases we
choose because we must, and afterwards often feel
a kind of emotional sea-sickness.
36-
Turning Hypocrite. — Every beggar turns
hypocrite, like every one who makes his living out
of indigence, be it personal or public. —The beggar
does not feel want nearly so keenly as he must make
others feel it, if he wishes to make a living by mendi-
cancy.
37-
A Sort of Cult of the Passions. —You
hypochondriacs, you philosophic blind-worms talk
of the formidable nature of human passions, in
order to inveigh against the dreadsomeness of the
## p. 217 (#253) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 217
whole world-structure. As if the passions were
always and everywhere formidable! As if this
sort of terror must always exist in the world! —
Through a carelessness in small matters, through
a deficiency in observation of self and of the ris-
ing generation, you have yourselves allowed your
passions to develop into such unruly monsters that
you are frightened now at the mere mention of the
word "passion "! It rests with you and it rests
with us to divest the passions of their formidable
features and so to dam them that they do not
become devastating floods. —We must not exalt
our errors into eternal fatalities. Rather shall we
honestly endeavour to convert all the passions of
humanity into sources of joy. *
38.
The Sting of Conscience. —The sting of con-
science, like the gnawing of a dog at a stone, is
mere foolishness.
39-
Origin of Rights. —Rights may be traced to
traditions, traditions to momentary agreements. At
some time or other men were mutually content
with the consequences of making an agreement,
and, again, too indolent formally to renew it.
Thus they went on living as if it had constantly
been renewed, and gradually, when oblivion cast its
* The play on Freudenschaften {i. e. pleasure-giving passions)
and Leidenschaften {i. e. pain-giving passions) is often used by
Nietzsche, and is untranslateable. —Tr.
## p. 218 (#254) ############################################
218 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
veil over the origin, they thought they possessed
a sacred, unalterable foundation on which every
generation would be compelled to build. Tradi-
tion was now a constraint, even if it no more in-
volved the profit originally derived from making the
agreement. —Here the weak have always found their
strong fortress. They are inclined to immortalise
the momentary agreement, the single act of favour
shown towards them.
40.
The Significance of Oblivion in Moral
Sentiment. —The same actions that in primitive
society first aimed at the common advantage were
later on performed from other motives: from fear
or reverence of those who demanded and recom-
mended them ; or from habit, because men had seen
them done about them from childhood upwards;
or from kindness, because the practising of them
caused delight and approving looks on all sides;
or from vanity, because they were praised. Such
actions, in which the fundamental motive, that of
utility, has been forgotten, are then called moral;
not, indeed, because they are done from those other
motives, but because they are not done with a con-
scious purpose of utility. —Whence the hatred of
utility that suddenly manifests itself here, and
by which all praiseworthy actions formally ex-
clude all actions for the sake of utility ? —Clearly
society, the rallying-point of all morality and of
all maxims in praise of moral action, has had to
battle too long and too fiercely with the selfishness
and obstinacy of the individual not to rate every
## p. 219 (#255) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 2IQ
motive morally higher than utility. Hence it looks
as if morals had not sprung from utility, whereas
in fact morals are originally the public utility,
which had great difficulty in prevailing over the
interests of the unit and securing a loftier reputa-
tion.
41.
The Heirs to the Wealth of Morality. —
Even in the domain of morals there is an inherited
wealth, which is owned by the gentle, the good-
tempered, the compassionate, the indulgent. They
have inherited from their forefathers their gentle
mode of action, but not common sense (the source
of that mode of action). The pleasant thing about
this wealth is that one must always bestow and
communicate a portion of it, if its presence is to be
felt at all. Thus this wealth unconsciously aims
at bridging the gulf between the morally rich and
the morally poor, and, what is its best and most
remarkable feature, not for the sake of a future
mean between rich and poor, but for the sake of a
universal prosperity and superfluity. —Such may be
the prevailing view of inherited moral wealth, but
it seems to me that this view is maintained more
in majorem gloriam of morality than in honour
of truth. Experience at least establishes a maxim
which must serve, if not as a refutation, at any rate
as an important check upon that generalisation.
Without the most exquisite intelligence, says experi-
ence, without the most refined capacity for choice
and a strong propensity to observe the mean, the
morally rich will become spendthrifts of morality.
## p. 220 (#256) ############################################
220 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
For by abandoning themselves without restraint to
their compassionate, gentle, conciliatory, harmon-
ising instincts, they make all about them more
careless, more covetous, and more sentimental.
The children of these highly moral spendthrifts
easily and (sad to relate) at best become pleasant
but futile wasters.
42.
The Judge and Extenuating Circum-
stances. —" One should behave as a man of honour
even towards the devil and pay his debts," said an
old soldier, when the story of Faust had been related
to him in rather fuller detail. "Hell is the right
place for Faust! " "You are terrible, you men! "
cried his wife; "how can that be? After all, his
only fault was having no ink in his ink-stand! It
is indeed a sin to write with blood, but surely for
that such a handsome man ought not to burn in
Hell-fire? "
43-
Problem of the Duty of Truth. —Duty is
an imperious sentiment that forces us to action.
We call it good, and consider it outside the pale
of discussion. The origin, limits, and justification
of duty we will not debate or allow to be debated.
But the thinker considers everything an evolution
and every evolution a subject for discussion, and is
accordingly without duty so long as he is merely
a thinker. As such, he would not recognise the
duty of seeing and speaking the truth; he would
not feel the sentiment at all. He asks, whence
comes it and whither will it go? But even this
## p. 221 (#257) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 221
questioning appears to him questionable. Surely,
however, the consequence would be that the think-
er's machinery would no longer work properly if
he could really feel himself unencumbered by duty
in the search for knowledge? It would appear,
then, that for fuel the same element is necessary as
must be investigated by means of the machine. —
Perhaps the formula will be: granted there were
a duty of recognising truth, what is then the truth
in regard to every other kind of duty? —But is
not a hypothetical sense of duty a contradiction in
terms?
44-
GRADES OF Morals. — Morality is primarily
a means of preserving the community and saving
it from destruction. Next it is a means of main-
taining the community on a certain plane and in a
certain degree of benevolence. Its motives are fear
and hope, and these in a more coarse, rough, and
powerful form, the more the propensity towards
the perverse, one-sided, and personal still persists.
The most terrible means of intimidation must be
brought into play so long as milder forms have
no effect and that twofold species of preservation
cannot be attained. (The strongest intimidation,
by the way, is the invention of a hereafter with a
hell everlasting. ) For this purpose we must have
racks and torturers of the soul. Further grades of
morality, and accordingly means to the end re-
ferred to, are the commandments of a God (as in
the Mosaic law). Still further and higher are the
commandments of an absolute sense of duty with
## p. 222 (#258) ############################################
222 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
a "Thou shalt"—all rather roughly hewn yet broad
steps, because on the finer, narrower steps men
cannot yet set their feet . Then comes a morality
of inclination, of taste, finally of insight—which is
beyond all the illusory motives of morality, but
has convinced itself that humanity for long periods
could be allowed no other.
45-
The Morality ofPity in theMouths of the
Intemperate. —All those who are not sufficiently
masters of themselves and do not know morality
as a self-control and self-conquest continuously
exercised in things great and small, unconsciously
come to glorify the good, compassionate, benevolent
impulses of that instinctive morality which has no
head, but seems merely to consist of a heart and
helpful hands. It is to their interest even to cast
suspicion upon a morality of reason and to set up
the other as the sole morality.
46.
Sewers of the Soul. —Even the soul must
have its definite sewers, through which it can allow
its filth to flow off: for this purpose it may use
persons, relations, social classes, its native country,
or the world, or finally—for the wholly arrogant (I
mean our modern "pessimists ")—le bon Dieu.
47-
A Kind of Rest and Contemplation. —Be-
ware lest your rest and contemplation resemble that
## p. 223 (#259) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 223
of a dog before a butcher's stall, prevented by fear
from advancing and by greed from retiring, and
opening its eyes wide as though they were mouths.
48.
Prohibitions without Reasons. —A prohibi-
tion, the reason of which we do not understand or
admit, is almost a command, not only for the stiff-
necked but for the thirster after knowledge. We
at once make an experiment in order to learn why
the prohibition was made. Moral prohibitions, like
those of the Decalogue, are only suited to ages
when reason lies vanquished. Nowadays a pro-
hibition like "Thou shalt not kill," "Thou shalt
not commit adultery," laid down without reasons,
would have an injurious rather than a beneficial
effect
49-
Character Portrait. —What sort of a man
is it that can say of himself: "I despise very easily,
but never hate. I at once find out in. every man
something which can be honoured and for which I
honour him: the so-called amiable qualities attract
me but little"?
SO.
Pity and Contempt. —The expression of pity
is regarded as a sign of contempt, because one has
clearly ceased to be an object olfear as soon as one
becomes an object of pity. One has sunk below
the level of the equilibrium. For this equilibrium
does not satisfy human vanity, which is only satis-
## p. 224 (#260) ############################################
224 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
fied by the feeling that one is imposing respect and
awe. Hence it is difficult to explain why pity is
so highly prized, just as we need to explain why
the unselfish man, who is originally despised or
feared as being artful, is praised.
51-
The Capacity of Being Small. —We must
be as near to flowers, grasses, and butterflies as
a child, that is, not much bigger than they. We
adults have grown up beyond them and have to
stoop to them. I think the grasses hate us when
we confess our love for them. —He who would have
a share in all good things must understand at times
how to be small.
52.
The Sum-Total of Conscience. —The sum-
total of our conscience is all that has regularly been
demanded of us, without reason, in the days of our
childhood, by people whom we respected or feared.
From conscience comes that feeling of obligation
(" This I must do, this omit ") which does not ask,
Why must I ? —In all cases where a thing is done
with " because " and " why," man acts without con-
science, but not necessarily on that account against
conscience. —The belief in authority is the source of
conscience; which is therefore not the voice of God
in the heart of man, but the voice of some men in
man.
S3-
Conquest of the Passions. —The man who has
overcome his passions has entered into possession
## p. 225 (#261) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 225
of the most fruitful soil, like the colonist who has
become lord over bogs and forests. To sow the
seed of spiritual good works on the soil of the
vanquished passions is the next and most urgent
task.
The conquest itself is a means, not an end:
if it be not so regarded, all kind of weeds and
devil's crop quickly spring up upon the fertile soil
that has been cleared, and soon the growth is all
wilder and more luxuriant than before.
54-
Skill in Service. —All so-called practical men
have skill in service, whether it be serving others
or themselves; this is what makes them practical.
Robinson owned a servant even better than Friday
—his name was Crusoe.
55-
Danger in Speech to Intellectual Free-
dom. —Every word is a preconceived judgment.
S6.
Intellect and Boredom. —The proverb," The
Hungarian is far too lazy to feel bored," gives food
for thought. Only the highest and most active
animals are capable of being bored. —The boredom
of God on the seventh day of Creation would be a
subject for a great poet.
57-
Intercourse with Animals. —The origin of
our morality may still be observed in our relations
VOL. II. P
## p. 226 (#262) ############################################
226 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
with animals. Where advantage or the reverse do
not come into play, we have a feeling of complete
irresponsibility. For example, we kill or wound
insects or let them live, and as a rule think no more
about it . We are so clumsy that even our gracious
acts towards flowers and small animals are almost
always murderous: this does not in the least detract
from our pleasure in them. —To-day is the festival
of the small animals, the most sultry day of the
year. There is a swarming and crawling around
us, and we, without intention, but also without
reflection, crush here and there a little fly or
winged beetle. —If animals do us harm, we strive
to annihilate them in every possible way. The
means are often cruel enough, even without our
really intending them to be so—it is the cruelty of
thoughtlessness. If they are useful, we turn them
to advantage, until a more refined wisdom teaches
us that certain animals amply reward a different
mode of treatment, that of tending and breeding.
Here responsibility first arises. Torturing is avoided
in the case of the domestic animal. One man is
indignant if another is cruel to his cow, quite in
accordance with the primitive communal morality,
which sees the commonwealth in danger whenever
an individual does wrong. He who perceives any
transgression in the community fears indirect harm
to himself. Thus we fear in this case for the quality
of meat, agriculture, and means of communication
if we see the domestic animals ill-treated. More-
over, he who is harsh to animals awakens a suspicion
that he is also harsh to men who are weak, inferior,
and incapable of revenge. He is held to be ignoble
## p. 227 (#263) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 227
and deficient in the finer form of pride. Thus arises
a foundation of moral judgments and sentiments,
but the greatest contribution is made by supersti-
tion. Many animals incite men by glances, tones,
and gestures to transfer themselves into them
in imagination, and some religions teach us, under
certain circumstances, to see in animals the dwelling-
place of human and divine souls: whence they re-
commend a nobler caution or even a reverential
awe in intercourse with animals. Even after the
disappearance of this superstition the sentiments
awakened by it continue to exercise their influence,
to ripen and to blossom. —Christianity, as is well
known, has shown itself in this respect a poor and
retrograde religion.
58.
New Actors. —Among human beings there is
no greater banality than death. Second in order,
because it is possible to die without being born,
comes birth, and next comes marriage. But these
hackneyed little tragi-comedies are always pre-
sented, at each of their unnumbered and innumerable
performances, by new actors, and accordingly do
not cease to find interested spectators: whereas we
might well believe that the whole audience of the
world-theatre had long since hanged themselves to
every tree from sheer boredom at these performances.
So much depends on new actors, so little on the
piece.
59-
What is " Being Obstinate " ? —The shortest
way is not the straightest possible, but that wherein
## p. 228 (#264) ############################################
228 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
favourable winds swell our sails. So says the wis-
dom of seamen. Not to follow his course is obsti-
nate, firmness of character being then adulterated
by stupidity.
60.
The Word "Vanity. "—It is annoying that
certain words, with which we moralists positively
cannot dispense, involve in themselves a kind of
censorship of morals, dating from the times when
the most ordinary and natural impulses were de-
nounced. Thus that fundamental conviction that
on the waves of society we either find navigable
waters or suffer shipwreck far more through what
we appear than through what we are (a conviction
that must act as guiding principle of all action in
relation to society) is branded with the general word
"vanity. " In other words, one of the most weighty
and significant of qualities is branded with an ex-
pression which denotes it as essentially empty and
negative: a great thing is designated by a diminu-
tive, ay, even slandered by the strokes of caricature.
There is no help for it; we must use such words, but
then we must shut our ears to the insinuations of
ancient habits.
61.
The Fatalism of the Turk. —The fatalism of
the Turk has this fundamental defect, that it con-
trasts man and fate as two distinct things. Man,
says this doctrine, may struggle against fate and
try to baffle it, but in the end fate will always gain
the victory. Hence the most rational course is to
## p. 229 (#265) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 229
resign oneself or to live as one pleases. As a
matter of fact, every man is himself a piece of fate.
When he thinks that he is struggling against fate
in this way, fate is accomplishing its ends even in
that struggle. The combat is a fantasy, but so is the
resignation in fate—all these fantasies are included
in fate. —The fear felt by most people of the doctrine
that denies the freedom of the will is a fear of the
fatalism of the Turk. They imagine that man will
become weakly resigned and will stand before the
future with folded hands, because he cannot alter
anything of the future. Or that he will give a free
rein to his caprices, because the predestined cannot
be made worse by that course. The follies of men
are as much a piece of fate as are his wise actions,
and even that fear of belief in fate is a fatality. You
yourself, you poor timid creature, are that indomit-
able Moira, which rules even the Gods; whatever
may happen, you are a curse or a blessing, and
in any case the fetters wherein the strongest lies
bound: in you the whole future of the human world
is predestined, and it is no use for you to be frightened
of yourself.
62.
The Advocate of the Devil. —" Only by our
own suffering do we become wise, only by others'
suffering do we become good "—so runs that strange
philosophy which derives all morality from pity and
all intellectuality from the isolation of the individual.
Herein this philosophy is the unconscious pleader
for all human deterioration. For pity needs suffer-
ing, and isolation contempt of others.
## p. 230 (#266) ############################################
230
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
63.
THE MORAL CHARACTER-MASKS. — In ages
when the character-masks of different classes are
definitely fixed, like the classes themselves, moralists
will be seduced into holding the moral character-
masks, too, as absolute, and in delineating them
accordingly. Thus Molière is intelligible as the
contemporary of the society of Louis XIV. : in our
society of transitions and intermediate stages he
would seem an inspired pedant.
64.
THE MOST NOBLE VIRTUE. -In the first era of
the higher humanity courage is accounted the most
noble virtue, in the next justice, in the third temper-
ance, in the fourth wisdom. In which era do we
live? In which do you live?
65.
A NECESSARY PRELIMINARY. -A man who will'
not become master of his irritability, his venomous
and vengeful feelings, and his lust, and attempts to
become master in anything else, is as stupid as the
farmer who lays out his field beside a torrent with-
out guarding against that torrent.
66.
WHAT IS TRUTH ? —Schwarzert (Melanchthon):
We often preach our faith when we have lost it, and
leave not a stone unturned to find it—and then we
often do not preach worst !
## p. 231 (#267) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 231
Luther: Brother,you are really speaking like an
angel to-day.
Schwarzert: But that is the idea of your enemies,
and they apply it to you.
Luther: Then it would be a lie from the devil's
hind-quarters.
67.
The Habit of Contrasts. —Superficial, in-
exact observation sees contrasts everywhere in
nature (for instance, "hot and cold "), where there
are no contrasts, only differences of degree. This
bad habit has induced us to try to understand
and interpret even the inner nature, the intellectual
and moral world, in accordance with such contrasts.
An infinite amount of cruelty, arrogance, harshness,
estrangement, and coldness has entered into human
emotion, because men imagined they saw contrasts
where there were only transitions.
68.
Can We Forgive ? —How can we forgive them
at all, if they know not what they do? We have
nothing to forgive. But does a man ever fully know
what he is doing? And if this point at least remains
always debatable, men never have anything to for-
give each other, and indulgence is for the reason-
able man an impossible thing. Finally, if the
evil-doers had really known what they did, we
should still only have a right to forgive if we had a
right to accuse and to punish. But we have not
that right.
## p. 232 (#268) ############################################
232 HUMAX, ALL-TOO-HUMAX.
69.
Habitual Shake. —Why do we feel shame
when some virtue or merit is attributed to us which,
as the saying goes, "we have not deserved"?
Because we appear to have intruded upon a territory
to which we do not belong, from which we should
be excluded, as from a holy place or holy of holies,
which ought not to be trodden by our foot . Through
the errors of others we have, nevertheless, penetrated
to it, and we are now swayed partly by fear, partly
by reverence, partly by surprise; we do net know
whether we ought to fly or to enjoy the blissful
moment with all its gracious advantages. In all
shame there is a mystery, which seems dese;rated or
in danger of desecration through us. All favour
begets shame. —But if it be remembered that we
have never really "deserved " anything, this feeling
of shame, provided that we surrender ourselves to
this point of view in a spirit of Christian contem-
plation, becomes habitual, because upon such a
one God seems continually to be conferring his
blessing and his favours. Apart from this Christian
interpretation, the state of habitual shame will be
possible even to the entirely godless sage, who
clings firmly to the basic non-responsibility and non-
meritoriousness of all action and being. If he be
treated as if he had deserved this or that, he will
seem to have won his way into a higher order of
beings, who do actually deserve something, who are
free and can really bear the burden of responsibility
for their own volition and capacity. Whoever says
to him, "You have deserved it," appears to cry
## p. 233 (#269) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 233
out to him, "You are not a human being, but a
God. "
70.
The Most Unskilful Teacher. —In one man
all his real virtues are implanted on the soil of his
spirit of contradiction, in another on his incapacity
to say "no "—in other words, on his spirit of ac-
quiescence. A third has made all his morality grow
out of his pride as a solitary, a fourth from his
strong social instinct. Now,supposing that theseeds
of the virtues in these four cases, owing to mischance
or unskilful teachers, were not sown on the soil of
their nature, which provides them with the richest
and most abundant mould, they would become
weak, unsatisfactory men (devoid of morality).
And who would have been the most unskilful of
teachers, the evil genius of these men? The moral
fanatic, who thinks that the good can only grow
out of the good and on the soil of the good.
7i-
The Cautious Style. —A. But if this were
known to all, it would be injurious to the majority.
You yourself call your opinions dangerous to those
in danger, and yet you make them public?
B. I write so that neither the mob, nor the
populi, nor the parties of all kinds can read me. So
my opinions will never be "public opinions. "
A. How do you write, then?
B. Neither usefully nor pleasantly—for the three
classes I have mentioned.
## p. 233 (#270) ############################################
232
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
69.
HABITUAL SHAME. – Why do we feel shame
when some virtue or merit is attributed to us which,
as the saying goes, “we have not deserved "?
Because we appear to have intruded upon a territory
to which we do not belong, from which we should
be excluded, as from a holy place or holy of holies,
which ought not to be trodden by our foot. Through
the errors of others we have, nevertheless, penetrated
to it, and we are now swayed partly by fear, partly
by reverence, partly by surprise; we do nct know
whether we ought to fly or to enjoy the blissful
moment with all its gracious advantages. In all
shame there is a mystery, which seems desecrated or
in danger of desecration through us. All favour
begets shame. —But if it be remembered that we
have never really “deserved” anything, this feeling
of shame, provided that we surrender ourselves to
this point of view in a spirit of Christian contem-
plation, becomes habitual, because upon such a
one God seems continually to be conferring his
blessing and his favours. Apart from this Christian
interpretation, the state of habitual shame will be
possible even to the entirely godless sage, who
clings firmly to the basic non-responsibility and non-
meritoriousness of all action and being. If he be
treated as if he had deserved this or that, he will
seem to have won his way into a higher order of
beings, who do actually deserve something, who are
free and can really bear the burden of responsibility
for their own volition and capacity. Whoever says
to him, “You have deserved it," appears to cry
## p. 233 (#271) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 233
out to him, “You are not a human being, but a
God. ”
70.
The MOST UNSKILFUL TEACHER. -In one man
all his real virtues are implanted on the soil of his
spirit of contradiction, in another on his incapacity
to say "no"—in other words, on his spirit of ac-
quiescence. A third has made all his morality grow
out of his pride as a solitary, a fourth from his
strong social instinct. Now,supposing that theseeds
of the virtues in these four cases, owing to mischance
or unskilful teachers, were not sown on the soil of
their nature, which provides them with the richest
and most abundant mould, they would become
weak, unsatisfactory men (devoid of morality).
And who would have been the most unskilful of
teachers, the evil genius of these men? The moral
fanatic, who thinks that the good can only grow
out of the good and on the soil of the good.
71.
THE CAUTIOUS STYLE. -A. But if this were
known to all, it would be injurious to the majority.
You yourself call your opinions dangerous to those
in danger, and yet you make them public?
B. I write so that neither the mob, nor the
populi, nor the parties of all kinds can read me. So
my opinions will never be "public opinions. ”
• A. How do you write, then?
B. Neither usefully nor pleasantly—for the three
classes I have mentioned.
## p. 234 (#272) ############################################
234
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
72.
DIVINE MISSIONARIES. — Even Socrates feels
himself to be a divine missionary, but I am not sure
whether we should not here detect a tincture of that
Attic irony and fondness for jesting whereby this
odious, arrogant conception would be toned down.
He talks of the fact without unction_his images of
the gadily and the horse are simple and not sacer-
dotal. The real religious task which he has set
himself—to test God in a hundred ways and see
whether he spoke the truth-betrays a bold and free
attitude, in which the missionary walked by the side
of his God. This testing of God is one of the most
subtle compromises between piety and free-thinking
that has ever been devised. —Nowadays we do not
even need this compromise any longer.
73.
HONESTY IN PAINTING. –Raphael, who cared a
great deal for the Church (so far as she could pay
him), but, like the best men of his time, cared little
for the objects of the Church's belief, did not advance
one step to meet the exacting, ecstatic piety of many
of his patrons. He remained honest even in that
exceptional picture which was originally intended
for a banner in a procession—the Sistine Madonna.
Here for once he wished to paint a vision, but such
a vision as even noble youths without “faith” may
and will have—the vision of the future wife, a wise,
high-souled, silent, and very beautiful woman, carry-
ing her first-born in her arms. Let men of an older
generation, accustomed to prayer and devotion, find
## p. 235 (#273) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND- HIS SHADOW. 235
here, like the worthy elder on the left, something
superhuman to revere. We younger men (so
Raphael seems to call to us) are occupied with the
beautiful maiden on the right, who says to the
spectator of the picture, with her challenging and
by no means devout look, "The mother and her
child—is not that a pleasant, inviting sight? " The
face and the look are reflected in the joy in the faces
of the beholders. The artist who devised all this
enjoys himself in this way, and adds his own delight
to the delight of the art-lover. As regards the
"messianic" expression in the face of the child,
Raphael, honest man, who would not paint any
state of soul in which he did not believe, has
amiably cheated his religious admirers. He painted
that freak of nature which is very often found, the
man's eye in the child's face, and that, too, the eye
of a brave, helpful man who sees distress.
suffered through our adversary, revenge can restore
it. But in any case honour has suffered an injury
if intentional harm has been done us, because our
adversary proved thereby that he was not afraid of
us. By revenge we prove that we are not afraid of
him either, and herein lies the settlement, the read-
justment. (The intention of showing their complete
lack of fear goes so far in some people that the
dangers of revenge-loss of health or life or other
losses-are in their eyes an indispensable condition
of every vengeful act. Hence they practise the duel,
although the law also offers them aid in obtaining
satisfaction for what they have suffered. They are
not satisfied with a safe means of recovering their
honour, because this would not prove their fearless-
ness. )- In the first-named variety of revenge it is
just fear that strikes the counter-blow; in the second
case it is the absence of fear, which, as has been said,
wishes to manifest itself in the counter-blow. —Thus
nothing appears more different than the motives of
the two courses of action which are designated by the
one word “revenge. " Yet it often happens that the
avenger is not precisely certain as to what really
prompted his deed : perhaps he struck the counter-
## p. 213 (#248) ############################################
212
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
a stop. Sc year and the instinct of self-preservation,
in order to background, when he has time to reflect
enough to roadpoint of wounded honour, he imagines
too strong
avenged himself for the sake of his
will all th is motive
vis motive is in any case more reputable
Las a so: ther. An essential point is whether he
towards our injured in the eyes of others (the
sation of only in the eyes of his offenders: in the
revenge, he will prefer secret, in the
he will prefer secret, in the former open
here self- Accordingly, as he enters strongly or
the soul of the doer and the spectator,
of reason the soul of the doer and t
think of will be more bitter or more tame. If
We act v: . . . . . ly lacking
ly lacking in this sort of imagination, he
ami, with think at all of revenge, as the feeling of
is not present in him, and accordingly
vpounded. In the same way, he will not
venge if he despises the offender and the
most vul evenge
because as objects of his contempt they
of reven
sider the
im honour, and accordingly cannot rob
The int
1. Finally, he will forego revenge in
hand, t
mon case of his loving the offender.
injury i
ie then suffers loss of honour in the
horizoi
I will perhaps become less worthy
own ft
e returned. But even to renounce
e is a sacrifice that love is ready
blood.
fear o
nly object is to avoid hurting the
his would mean hurting oneself
as stro
compl
rt by the sacrifice. Accordingly,
do: t
ge himself, unless he be bereft
minec
1 by contempt or by love for the
'le turns to the law-courts, he
what
rivate individual ; but also, as
is no
him?
man of society, he desires the
## p. 213 (#249) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW.
215
revenge of society upon one who does not respect
it. Thus by legal punishment private honour as
well as that of society is restored—that is to say,
punishment is revenge. Punishment undoubtedly
contains the first-mentioned element of revenge,
in as far as by its means society helps to preserve
itself, and strikes a counter-blow in self-defence.
Punishment desires to prevent further injury, to
scare other offenders. In this way the two elements
of revenge, different as they are, are united in punish-
ment, and this may perhaps tend most of all to
maintain the above-mentioned confusion of ideas,
thanks to which the individual avenger generally
does not know what he really wants.
34.
THE VIRTUES THAT DAMAGE US. -As members
of communities we think we have no right to exercise
certain virtues which afford usgreat honourand some
pleasure as private individuals (for example, indul-
gence and favour towards miscreants of all kinds)-
in short, every mode of action whereby the advantage
of society would suffer through our virtue. No bench
of judges, face to face with its conscience, may per-
mit itself to be gracious. This privilege is reserved
for the king as an individual, and we are glad when
he makes use of it, proving that we should like to be
gracious individually, but not collectively. Society
recognises only the virtues profitable to her, or at
least not injurious to her-virtues like justice, which
are exercised without loss, or, in fact, at compound
interest. The virtues that damage us cannot have
## p. 214 (#250) ############################################
214 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
blow from fear and the instinct of self-preservation,
but in the background, when he has time to reflect
upon the standpoint ofwounded honour, he imagines
that he has avenged himself for the sake of his
honour—this motive is in any case more reputable
than the other. An essential point is whether he
sees his honour injured in the eyes of others (the
world) or only in the eyes of his offenders: in the
latter case he will prefer secret, in the former open
revenge. Accordingly, as he enters strongly or
feebly into the soul of the doer and the spectator,
his revenge will be more bitter or more tame. If
he is entirely lacking in this sort of imagination, he
will not think at all of revenge, as the feeling of
"honour" is not present in him, and accordingly
cannot be wounded. In the same way, he will not
think of revenge if he despises the offender and the
spectator; because as objects of his contempt they
cannot give him honour, and accordingly cannot rob
him of honour. Finally, he will forego revenge in
the not uncommon case of his loving the offender.
It is true that he then suffers loss of honour in the
other's eyes, and will perhaps become less worthy
of having his love returned. But even to renounce
all requital of love is a sacrifice that love is ready
to make when its only object is to avoid hurting the
beloved object: this would mean hurting oneself
more than one is hurt by the sacrifice. —Accordingly,
every one will avenge himself, unless he be bereft
of honour or inspired by contempt or by love for the
offender. Even if he turns to the law-courts, he
desires revenge as a private individual; but also, as
a thoughtful, prudent man of society, he desires the
## p. 215 (#251) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 215
revenge of society upon one who does not respect
it. Thus by legal punishment private honour as
well as that of society is restored—that is to say,
punishment is revenge. Punishment undoubtedly
contains the first-mentioned element of revenge,
in as far as by its means society helps to preserve
itself, and strikes a counter-blow in self-defence.
Punishment desires to prevent further injury, to
scare other offenders. In this way the two elements
of revenge, different as they are, are united in punish-
ment, and this may perhaps tend most of all to
maintain the above-mentioned confusion of ideas,
thanks to which the individual avenger generally
does not know what he really wants.
34-
The Virtues that Damage Us. —As members
of communities we think we have no right to exercise
certain virtues which afford us great honour and some
pleasure as private individuals (for example, indul-
gence and favour towards miscreants of all kinds)—
in short, every mode of action whereby the advantage
of society would suffer through our virtue. No bench
of judges, face to face with its conscience, may per-
mit itself to be gracious. This privilege is reserved
for the king as an individual, and we are glad when
he makes use of it, proving that we should like to be
gracious individually, but not collectively. Society
recognises only the virtues profitable to her, or at
least not injurious to her—virtues like justice, which
are exercised without loss, or, in fact, at compound
interest. The virtues that damage us cannot have
## p. 216 (#252) ############################################
2l6 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
originated in society, because even now opposition
to them arises in every small society that is in the
making. Such virtues are therefore those of men
of unequal standing, invented by the superior indi-
viduals; they are the virtues of rulers, and the idea
underlying them is: "I am mighty enough to put
u£ with an obvious loss; that is a proof of my power. "
Thus they are virtues closely akin to pride.
35-
The Casuistry of Advantage. —There would
be no moral casuistry if there were no casuistry of
advantage. The most free and refined intelligence
is often incapable of choosing between two alterna-
tives in such a way that his choice necessarily in-
volves the greater advantage. In such cases we
choose because we must, and afterwards often feel
a kind of emotional sea-sickness.
36-
Turning Hypocrite. — Every beggar turns
hypocrite, like every one who makes his living out
of indigence, be it personal or public. —The beggar
does not feel want nearly so keenly as he must make
others feel it, if he wishes to make a living by mendi-
cancy.
37-
A Sort of Cult of the Passions. —You
hypochondriacs, you philosophic blind-worms talk
of the formidable nature of human passions, in
order to inveigh against the dreadsomeness of the
## p. 217 (#253) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 217
whole world-structure. As if the passions were
always and everywhere formidable! As if this
sort of terror must always exist in the world! —
Through a carelessness in small matters, through
a deficiency in observation of self and of the ris-
ing generation, you have yourselves allowed your
passions to develop into such unruly monsters that
you are frightened now at the mere mention of the
word "passion "! It rests with you and it rests
with us to divest the passions of their formidable
features and so to dam them that they do not
become devastating floods. —We must not exalt
our errors into eternal fatalities. Rather shall we
honestly endeavour to convert all the passions of
humanity into sources of joy. *
38.
The Sting of Conscience. —The sting of con-
science, like the gnawing of a dog at a stone, is
mere foolishness.
39-
Origin of Rights. —Rights may be traced to
traditions, traditions to momentary agreements. At
some time or other men were mutually content
with the consequences of making an agreement,
and, again, too indolent formally to renew it.
Thus they went on living as if it had constantly
been renewed, and gradually, when oblivion cast its
* The play on Freudenschaften {i. e. pleasure-giving passions)
and Leidenschaften {i. e. pain-giving passions) is often used by
Nietzsche, and is untranslateable. —Tr.
## p. 218 (#254) ############################################
218 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
veil over the origin, they thought they possessed
a sacred, unalterable foundation on which every
generation would be compelled to build. Tradi-
tion was now a constraint, even if it no more in-
volved the profit originally derived from making the
agreement. —Here the weak have always found their
strong fortress. They are inclined to immortalise
the momentary agreement, the single act of favour
shown towards them.
40.
The Significance of Oblivion in Moral
Sentiment. —The same actions that in primitive
society first aimed at the common advantage were
later on performed from other motives: from fear
or reverence of those who demanded and recom-
mended them ; or from habit, because men had seen
them done about them from childhood upwards;
or from kindness, because the practising of them
caused delight and approving looks on all sides;
or from vanity, because they were praised. Such
actions, in which the fundamental motive, that of
utility, has been forgotten, are then called moral;
not, indeed, because they are done from those other
motives, but because they are not done with a con-
scious purpose of utility. —Whence the hatred of
utility that suddenly manifests itself here, and
by which all praiseworthy actions formally ex-
clude all actions for the sake of utility ? —Clearly
society, the rallying-point of all morality and of
all maxims in praise of moral action, has had to
battle too long and too fiercely with the selfishness
and obstinacy of the individual not to rate every
## p. 219 (#255) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 2IQ
motive morally higher than utility. Hence it looks
as if morals had not sprung from utility, whereas
in fact morals are originally the public utility,
which had great difficulty in prevailing over the
interests of the unit and securing a loftier reputa-
tion.
41.
The Heirs to the Wealth of Morality. —
Even in the domain of morals there is an inherited
wealth, which is owned by the gentle, the good-
tempered, the compassionate, the indulgent. They
have inherited from their forefathers their gentle
mode of action, but not common sense (the source
of that mode of action). The pleasant thing about
this wealth is that one must always bestow and
communicate a portion of it, if its presence is to be
felt at all. Thus this wealth unconsciously aims
at bridging the gulf between the morally rich and
the morally poor, and, what is its best and most
remarkable feature, not for the sake of a future
mean between rich and poor, but for the sake of a
universal prosperity and superfluity. —Such may be
the prevailing view of inherited moral wealth, but
it seems to me that this view is maintained more
in majorem gloriam of morality than in honour
of truth. Experience at least establishes a maxim
which must serve, if not as a refutation, at any rate
as an important check upon that generalisation.
Without the most exquisite intelligence, says experi-
ence, without the most refined capacity for choice
and a strong propensity to observe the mean, the
morally rich will become spendthrifts of morality.
## p. 220 (#256) ############################################
220 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
For by abandoning themselves without restraint to
their compassionate, gentle, conciliatory, harmon-
ising instincts, they make all about them more
careless, more covetous, and more sentimental.
The children of these highly moral spendthrifts
easily and (sad to relate) at best become pleasant
but futile wasters.
42.
The Judge and Extenuating Circum-
stances. —" One should behave as a man of honour
even towards the devil and pay his debts," said an
old soldier, when the story of Faust had been related
to him in rather fuller detail. "Hell is the right
place for Faust! " "You are terrible, you men! "
cried his wife; "how can that be? After all, his
only fault was having no ink in his ink-stand! It
is indeed a sin to write with blood, but surely for
that such a handsome man ought not to burn in
Hell-fire? "
43-
Problem of the Duty of Truth. —Duty is
an imperious sentiment that forces us to action.
We call it good, and consider it outside the pale
of discussion. The origin, limits, and justification
of duty we will not debate or allow to be debated.
But the thinker considers everything an evolution
and every evolution a subject for discussion, and is
accordingly without duty so long as he is merely
a thinker. As such, he would not recognise the
duty of seeing and speaking the truth; he would
not feel the sentiment at all. He asks, whence
comes it and whither will it go? But even this
## p. 221 (#257) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 221
questioning appears to him questionable. Surely,
however, the consequence would be that the think-
er's machinery would no longer work properly if
he could really feel himself unencumbered by duty
in the search for knowledge? It would appear,
then, that for fuel the same element is necessary as
must be investigated by means of the machine. —
Perhaps the formula will be: granted there were
a duty of recognising truth, what is then the truth
in regard to every other kind of duty? —But is
not a hypothetical sense of duty a contradiction in
terms?
44-
GRADES OF Morals. — Morality is primarily
a means of preserving the community and saving
it from destruction. Next it is a means of main-
taining the community on a certain plane and in a
certain degree of benevolence. Its motives are fear
and hope, and these in a more coarse, rough, and
powerful form, the more the propensity towards
the perverse, one-sided, and personal still persists.
The most terrible means of intimidation must be
brought into play so long as milder forms have
no effect and that twofold species of preservation
cannot be attained. (The strongest intimidation,
by the way, is the invention of a hereafter with a
hell everlasting. ) For this purpose we must have
racks and torturers of the soul. Further grades of
morality, and accordingly means to the end re-
ferred to, are the commandments of a God (as in
the Mosaic law). Still further and higher are the
commandments of an absolute sense of duty with
## p. 222 (#258) ############################################
222 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
a "Thou shalt"—all rather roughly hewn yet broad
steps, because on the finer, narrower steps men
cannot yet set their feet . Then comes a morality
of inclination, of taste, finally of insight—which is
beyond all the illusory motives of morality, but
has convinced itself that humanity for long periods
could be allowed no other.
45-
The Morality ofPity in theMouths of the
Intemperate. —All those who are not sufficiently
masters of themselves and do not know morality
as a self-control and self-conquest continuously
exercised in things great and small, unconsciously
come to glorify the good, compassionate, benevolent
impulses of that instinctive morality which has no
head, but seems merely to consist of a heart and
helpful hands. It is to their interest even to cast
suspicion upon a morality of reason and to set up
the other as the sole morality.
46.
Sewers of the Soul. —Even the soul must
have its definite sewers, through which it can allow
its filth to flow off: for this purpose it may use
persons, relations, social classes, its native country,
or the world, or finally—for the wholly arrogant (I
mean our modern "pessimists ")—le bon Dieu.
47-
A Kind of Rest and Contemplation. —Be-
ware lest your rest and contemplation resemble that
## p. 223 (#259) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 223
of a dog before a butcher's stall, prevented by fear
from advancing and by greed from retiring, and
opening its eyes wide as though they were mouths.
48.
Prohibitions without Reasons. —A prohibi-
tion, the reason of which we do not understand or
admit, is almost a command, not only for the stiff-
necked but for the thirster after knowledge. We
at once make an experiment in order to learn why
the prohibition was made. Moral prohibitions, like
those of the Decalogue, are only suited to ages
when reason lies vanquished. Nowadays a pro-
hibition like "Thou shalt not kill," "Thou shalt
not commit adultery," laid down without reasons,
would have an injurious rather than a beneficial
effect
49-
Character Portrait. —What sort of a man
is it that can say of himself: "I despise very easily,
but never hate. I at once find out in. every man
something which can be honoured and for which I
honour him: the so-called amiable qualities attract
me but little"?
SO.
Pity and Contempt. —The expression of pity
is regarded as a sign of contempt, because one has
clearly ceased to be an object olfear as soon as one
becomes an object of pity. One has sunk below
the level of the equilibrium. For this equilibrium
does not satisfy human vanity, which is only satis-
## p. 224 (#260) ############################################
224 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
fied by the feeling that one is imposing respect and
awe. Hence it is difficult to explain why pity is
so highly prized, just as we need to explain why
the unselfish man, who is originally despised or
feared as being artful, is praised.
51-
The Capacity of Being Small. —We must
be as near to flowers, grasses, and butterflies as
a child, that is, not much bigger than they. We
adults have grown up beyond them and have to
stoop to them. I think the grasses hate us when
we confess our love for them. —He who would have
a share in all good things must understand at times
how to be small.
52.
The Sum-Total of Conscience. —The sum-
total of our conscience is all that has regularly been
demanded of us, without reason, in the days of our
childhood, by people whom we respected or feared.
From conscience comes that feeling of obligation
(" This I must do, this omit ") which does not ask,
Why must I ? —In all cases where a thing is done
with " because " and " why," man acts without con-
science, but not necessarily on that account against
conscience. —The belief in authority is the source of
conscience; which is therefore not the voice of God
in the heart of man, but the voice of some men in
man.
S3-
Conquest of the Passions. —The man who has
overcome his passions has entered into possession
## p. 225 (#261) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 225
of the most fruitful soil, like the colonist who has
become lord over bogs and forests. To sow the
seed of spiritual good works on the soil of the
vanquished passions is the next and most urgent
task.
The conquest itself is a means, not an end:
if it be not so regarded, all kind of weeds and
devil's crop quickly spring up upon the fertile soil
that has been cleared, and soon the growth is all
wilder and more luxuriant than before.
54-
Skill in Service. —All so-called practical men
have skill in service, whether it be serving others
or themselves; this is what makes them practical.
Robinson owned a servant even better than Friday
—his name was Crusoe.
55-
Danger in Speech to Intellectual Free-
dom. —Every word is a preconceived judgment.
S6.
Intellect and Boredom. —The proverb," The
Hungarian is far too lazy to feel bored," gives food
for thought. Only the highest and most active
animals are capable of being bored. —The boredom
of God on the seventh day of Creation would be a
subject for a great poet.
57-
Intercourse with Animals. —The origin of
our morality may still be observed in our relations
VOL. II. P
## p. 226 (#262) ############################################
226 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
with animals. Where advantage or the reverse do
not come into play, we have a feeling of complete
irresponsibility. For example, we kill or wound
insects or let them live, and as a rule think no more
about it . We are so clumsy that even our gracious
acts towards flowers and small animals are almost
always murderous: this does not in the least detract
from our pleasure in them. —To-day is the festival
of the small animals, the most sultry day of the
year. There is a swarming and crawling around
us, and we, without intention, but also without
reflection, crush here and there a little fly or
winged beetle. —If animals do us harm, we strive
to annihilate them in every possible way. The
means are often cruel enough, even without our
really intending them to be so—it is the cruelty of
thoughtlessness. If they are useful, we turn them
to advantage, until a more refined wisdom teaches
us that certain animals amply reward a different
mode of treatment, that of tending and breeding.
Here responsibility first arises. Torturing is avoided
in the case of the domestic animal. One man is
indignant if another is cruel to his cow, quite in
accordance with the primitive communal morality,
which sees the commonwealth in danger whenever
an individual does wrong. He who perceives any
transgression in the community fears indirect harm
to himself. Thus we fear in this case for the quality
of meat, agriculture, and means of communication
if we see the domestic animals ill-treated. More-
over, he who is harsh to animals awakens a suspicion
that he is also harsh to men who are weak, inferior,
and incapable of revenge. He is held to be ignoble
## p. 227 (#263) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 227
and deficient in the finer form of pride. Thus arises
a foundation of moral judgments and sentiments,
but the greatest contribution is made by supersti-
tion. Many animals incite men by glances, tones,
and gestures to transfer themselves into them
in imagination, and some religions teach us, under
certain circumstances, to see in animals the dwelling-
place of human and divine souls: whence they re-
commend a nobler caution or even a reverential
awe in intercourse with animals. Even after the
disappearance of this superstition the sentiments
awakened by it continue to exercise their influence,
to ripen and to blossom. —Christianity, as is well
known, has shown itself in this respect a poor and
retrograde religion.
58.
New Actors. —Among human beings there is
no greater banality than death. Second in order,
because it is possible to die without being born,
comes birth, and next comes marriage. But these
hackneyed little tragi-comedies are always pre-
sented, at each of their unnumbered and innumerable
performances, by new actors, and accordingly do
not cease to find interested spectators: whereas we
might well believe that the whole audience of the
world-theatre had long since hanged themselves to
every tree from sheer boredom at these performances.
So much depends on new actors, so little on the
piece.
59-
What is " Being Obstinate " ? —The shortest
way is not the straightest possible, but that wherein
## p. 228 (#264) ############################################
228 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
favourable winds swell our sails. So says the wis-
dom of seamen. Not to follow his course is obsti-
nate, firmness of character being then adulterated
by stupidity.
60.
The Word "Vanity. "—It is annoying that
certain words, with which we moralists positively
cannot dispense, involve in themselves a kind of
censorship of morals, dating from the times when
the most ordinary and natural impulses were de-
nounced. Thus that fundamental conviction that
on the waves of society we either find navigable
waters or suffer shipwreck far more through what
we appear than through what we are (a conviction
that must act as guiding principle of all action in
relation to society) is branded with the general word
"vanity. " In other words, one of the most weighty
and significant of qualities is branded with an ex-
pression which denotes it as essentially empty and
negative: a great thing is designated by a diminu-
tive, ay, even slandered by the strokes of caricature.
There is no help for it; we must use such words, but
then we must shut our ears to the insinuations of
ancient habits.
61.
The Fatalism of the Turk. —The fatalism of
the Turk has this fundamental defect, that it con-
trasts man and fate as two distinct things. Man,
says this doctrine, may struggle against fate and
try to baffle it, but in the end fate will always gain
the victory. Hence the most rational course is to
## p. 229 (#265) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 229
resign oneself or to live as one pleases. As a
matter of fact, every man is himself a piece of fate.
When he thinks that he is struggling against fate
in this way, fate is accomplishing its ends even in
that struggle. The combat is a fantasy, but so is the
resignation in fate—all these fantasies are included
in fate. —The fear felt by most people of the doctrine
that denies the freedom of the will is a fear of the
fatalism of the Turk. They imagine that man will
become weakly resigned and will stand before the
future with folded hands, because he cannot alter
anything of the future. Or that he will give a free
rein to his caprices, because the predestined cannot
be made worse by that course. The follies of men
are as much a piece of fate as are his wise actions,
and even that fear of belief in fate is a fatality. You
yourself, you poor timid creature, are that indomit-
able Moira, which rules even the Gods; whatever
may happen, you are a curse or a blessing, and
in any case the fetters wherein the strongest lies
bound: in you the whole future of the human world
is predestined, and it is no use for you to be frightened
of yourself.
62.
The Advocate of the Devil. —" Only by our
own suffering do we become wise, only by others'
suffering do we become good "—so runs that strange
philosophy which derives all morality from pity and
all intellectuality from the isolation of the individual.
Herein this philosophy is the unconscious pleader
for all human deterioration. For pity needs suffer-
ing, and isolation contempt of others.
## p. 230 (#266) ############################################
230
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
63.
THE MORAL CHARACTER-MASKS. — In ages
when the character-masks of different classes are
definitely fixed, like the classes themselves, moralists
will be seduced into holding the moral character-
masks, too, as absolute, and in delineating them
accordingly. Thus Molière is intelligible as the
contemporary of the society of Louis XIV. : in our
society of transitions and intermediate stages he
would seem an inspired pedant.
64.
THE MOST NOBLE VIRTUE. -In the first era of
the higher humanity courage is accounted the most
noble virtue, in the next justice, in the third temper-
ance, in the fourth wisdom. In which era do we
live? In which do you live?
65.
A NECESSARY PRELIMINARY. -A man who will'
not become master of his irritability, his venomous
and vengeful feelings, and his lust, and attempts to
become master in anything else, is as stupid as the
farmer who lays out his field beside a torrent with-
out guarding against that torrent.
66.
WHAT IS TRUTH ? —Schwarzert (Melanchthon):
We often preach our faith when we have lost it, and
leave not a stone unturned to find it—and then we
often do not preach worst !
## p. 231 (#267) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 231
Luther: Brother,you are really speaking like an
angel to-day.
Schwarzert: But that is the idea of your enemies,
and they apply it to you.
Luther: Then it would be a lie from the devil's
hind-quarters.
67.
The Habit of Contrasts. —Superficial, in-
exact observation sees contrasts everywhere in
nature (for instance, "hot and cold "), where there
are no contrasts, only differences of degree. This
bad habit has induced us to try to understand
and interpret even the inner nature, the intellectual
and moral world, in accordance with such contrasts.
An infinite amount of cruelty, arrogance, harshness,
estrangement, and coldness has entered into human
emotion, because men imagined they saw contrasts
where there were only transitions.
68.
Can We Forgive ? —How can we forgive them
at all, if they know not what they do? We have
nothing to forgive. But does a man ever fully know
what he is doing? And if this point at least remains
always debatable, men never have anything to for-
give each other, and indulgence is for the reason-
able man an impossible thing. Finally, if the
evil-doers had really known what they did, we
should still only have a right to forgive if we had a
right to accuse and to punish. But we have not
that right.
## p. 232 (#268) ############################################
232 HUMAX, ALL-TOO-HUMAX.
69.
Habitual Shake. —Why do we feel shame
when some virtue or merit is attributed to us which,
as the saying goes, "we have not deserved"?
Because we appear to have intruded upon a territory
to which we do not belong, from which we should
be excluded, as from a holy place or holy of holies,
which ought not to be trodden by our foot . Through
the errors of others we have, nevertheless, penetrated
to it, and we are now swayed partly by fear, partly
by reverence, partly by surprise; we do net know
whether we ought to fly or to enjoy the blissful
moment with all its gracious advantages. In all
shame there is a mystery, which seems dese;rated or
in danger of desecration through us. All favour
begets shame. —But if it be remembered that we
have never really "deserved " anything, this feeling
of shame, provided that we surrender ourselves to
this point of view in a spirit of Christian contem-
plation, becomes habitual, because upon such a
one God seems continually to be conferring his
blessing and his favours. Apart from this Christian
interpretation, the state of habitual shame will be
possible even to the entirely godless sage, who
clings firmly to the basic non-responsibility and non-
meritoriousness of all action and being. If he be
treated as if he had deserved this or that, he will
seem to have won his way into a higher order of
beings, who do actually deserve something, who are
free and can really bear the burden of responsibility
for their own volition and capacity. Whoever says
to him, "You have deserved it," appears to cry
## p. 233 (#269) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 233
out to him, "You are not a human being, but a
God. "
70.
The Most Unskilful Teacher. —In one man
all his real virtues are implanted on the soil of his
spirit of contradiction, in another on his incapacity
to say "no "—in other words, on his spirit of ac-
quiescence. A third has made all his morality grow
out of his pride as a solitary, a fourth from his
strong social instinct. Now,supposing that theseeds
of the virtues in these four cases, owing to mischance
or unskilful teachers, were not sown on the soil of
their nature, which provides them with the richest
and most abundant mould, they would become
weak, unsatisfactory men (devoid of morality).
And who would have been the most unskilful of
teachers, the evil genius of these men? The moral
fanatic, who thinks that the good can only grow
out of the good and on the soil of the good.
7i-
The Cautious Style. —A. But if this were
known to all, it would be injurious to the majority.
You yourself call your opinions dangerous to those
in danger, and yet you make them public?
B. I write so that neither the mob, nor the
populi, nor the parties of all kinds can read me. So
my opinions will never be "public opinions. "
A. How do you write, then?
B. Neither usefully nor pleasantly—for the three
classes I have mentioned.
## p. 233 (#270) ############################################
232
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
69.
HABITUAL SHAME. – Why do we feel shame
when some virtue or merit is attributed to us which,
as the saying goes, “we have not deserved "?
Because we appear to have intruded upon a territory
to which we do not belong, from which we should
be excluded, as from a holy place or holy of holies,
which ought not to be trodden by our foot. Through
the errors of others we have, nevertheless, penetrated
to it, and we are now swayed partly by fear, partly
by reverence, partly by surprise; we do nct know
whether we ought to fly or to enjoy the blissful
moment with all its gracious advantages. In all
shame there is a mystery, which seems desecrated or
in danger of desecration through us. All favour
begets shame. —But if it be remembered that we
have never really “deserved” anything, this feeling
of shame, provided that we surrender ourselves to
this point of view in a spirit of Christian contem-
plation, becomes habitual, because upon such a
one God seems continually to be conferring his
blessing and his favours. Apart from this Christian
interpretation, the state of habitual shame will be
possible even to the entirely godless sage, who
clings firmly to the basic non-responsibility and non-
meritoriousness of all action and being. If he be
treated as if he had deserved this or that, he will
seem to have won his way into a higher order of
beings, who do actually deserve something, who are
free and can really bear the burden of responsibility
for their own volition and capacity. Whoever says
to him, “You have deserved it," appears to cry
## p. 233 (#271) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 233
out to him, “You are not a human being, but a
God. ”
70.
The MOST UNSKILFUL TEACHER. -In one man
all his real virtues are implanted on the soil of his
spirit of contradiction, in another on his incapacity
to say "no"—in other words, on his spirit of ac-
quiescence. A third has made all his morality grow
out of his pride as a solitary, a fourth from his
strong social instinct. Now,supposing that theseeds
of the virtues in these four cases, owing to mischance
or unskilful teachers, were not sown on the soil of
their nature, which provides them with the richest
and most abundant mould, they would become
weak, unsatisfactory men (devoid of morality).
And who would have been the most unskilful of
teachers, the evil genius of these men? The moral
fanatic, who thinks that the good can only grow
out of the good and on the soil of the good.
71.
THE CAUTIOUS STYLE. -A. But if this were
known to all, it would be injurious to the majority.
You yourself call your opinions dangerous to those
in danger, and yet you make them public?
B. I write so that neither the mob, nor the
populi, nor the parties of all kinds can read me. So
my opinions will never be "public opinions. ”
• A. How do you write, then?
B. Neither usefully nor pleasantly—for the three
classes I have mentioned.
## p. 234 (#272) ############################################
234
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
72.
DIVINE MISSIONARIES. — Even Socrates feels
himself to be a divine missionary, but I am not sure
whether we should not here detect a tincture of that
Attic irony and fondness for jesting whereby this
odious, arrogant conception would be toned down.
He talks of the fact without unction_his images of
the gadily and the horse are simple and not sacer-
dotal. The real religious task which he has set
himself—to test God in a hundred ways and see
whether he spoke the truth-betrays a bold and free
attitude, in which the missionary walked by the side
of his God. This testing of God is one of the most
subtle compromises between piety and free-thinking
that has ever been devised. —Nowadays we do not
even need this compromise any longer.
73.
HONESTY IN PAINTING. –Raphael, who cared a
great deal for the Church (so far as she could pay
him), but, like the best men of his time, cared little
for the objects of the Church's belief, did not advance
one step to meet the exacting, ecstatic piety of many
of his patrons. He remained honest even in that
exceptional picture which was originally intended
for a banner in a procession—the Sistine Madonna.
Here for once he wished to paint a vision, but such
a vision as even noble youths without “faith” may
and will have—the vision of the future wife, a wise,
high-souled, silent, and very beautiful woman, carry-
ing her first-born in her arms. Let men of an older
generation, accustomed to prayer and devotion, find
## p. 235 (#273) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND- HIS SHADOW. 235
here, like the worthy elder on the left, something
superhuman to revere. We younger men (so
Raphael seems to call to us) are occupied with the
beautiful maiden on the right, who says to the
spectator of the picture, with her challenging and
by no means devout look, "The mother and her
child—is not that a pleasant, inviting sight? " The
face and the look are reflected in the joy in the faces
of the beholders. The artist who devised all this
enjoys himself in this way, and adds his own delight
to the delight of the art-lover. As regards the
"messianic" expression in the face of the child,
Raphael, honest man, who would not paint any
state of soul in which he did not believe, has
amiably cheated his religious admirers. He painted
that freak of nature which is very often found, the
man's eye in the child's face, and that, too, the eye
of a brave, helpful man who sees distress.
