A soft
sheen characterises the most precious metal.
sheen characterises the most precious metal.
Nietzsche - v07 - Human All-Too-Human - b
—It is but a small thing to be a pattern
sort of man with regard to rights and property—for
^
## p. 349 (#397) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 349
instance (to name trifling points, which of course
give a better proof of this sort of pattern nature
than great examples), if as a boy one never steals
fruit from another's orchard, and as a man never
walks on unmown fields. It is but little; you are
then still only a " law-abiding person," with just that
degree of morality of which a " society," a group of
human beings, is capable.
304-
"Man ! "—What is the vanity of the vainest in-
dividual as compared with the vanity which the
most modest person feels when he thinks of his
position in nature and in the world as " Man! "
305-
The Most Necessary Gymnastic. —Through
deficiency in self-control in small matters a similar
deficiency on great occasions slowly arises. Every
Uay on which we have not at least once denied
ourselves some trifle is turned to bad use and a
danger to the next day. This gymnastic is indis-
pensable if we wish to maintain the joy of being
our own master.
306.
Losing Ourselves. —When we have first found
ourselves, we must understand how from time to
t me to lose ourselves and then to find ourselves
again. —This is true on the assumption that we are
thinkers. A thinker finds it a drawback always to
be tied to one person.
,
## p. 350 (#398) ############################################
350 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
307-
When it is Necessary to Part. —You must,
for a time at least, part from that which you want
to know and measure. Only when you have left a
city do you see how high its towers rise above its
houses.
308.
At Noontide. —He to whom an active and
stormy morning of life is allotted, at the noontide
of life feels his soul overcome by a strange longing
for a rest that may last for months and years.
All grows silent around him, voices sound farther
and farther in the distance, the sun shines straight
down upon him. On a hidden woodland sward
he sees the great God Pan sleeping, and with Pan
Nature seems to him to have gone to sleep with
an expression of eternity on their faces. He wants
nothing, he troubles about nothing; his heart stands
still, only his eye lives. It is a death with waking
eyes. Then man sees much that he never saw be-
fore, and, so far as his eye can reach, all is woven
into and as it were buried in a net of light. He
feels happy, but it is a heavy, very heavy kind
of happiness. —Then at last the wind stirs in the
trees, noontide is over, life carries him away again,
life with its blind eyes, and its tempestuous retinue
behind it — desire, illusion, oblivion, enjoyment,
destruction, decay. And so comes evening, more
stormy and more active than was even the morn-
ing. —To the really active man these prolonged
phases of cognition seem almost uncanny and mor-
bid, but not unpleasant.
V
## p. 351 (#399) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 351
309-
To Beware of One's Portrait-Painter. —A
great painter, who in a portrait has revealed and put
on canvas the fullest expression and look of which a
man is capable, will almost always think, when he
sees the man later in real life, that he is only look-
ing at a caricature.
310.
The Two Principles of the New Life. —
First Principle: to arrange one's life on the most
secure and tangible basis, not as hitherto upon the
most distant, undetermined, and cloudy foundation.
Second Principle: to establish the rank of the
nearest and nearer things, and of the more and less
secure, before one arranges one's life and directs it
to a final end.
3"-
Dangerous Irritability. —Talented men who
are at the same time idle will always appear some-
what irritated when one of their friends has accom-
plished a thorough piece of work. Their jealousy
is awakened, they are ashamed of their own lazi-
ness, or rather, they fear that their active friend will
now despise them even more than before. In such
a mood they criticise the new achievement, and, to
the utter astonishment of the author, their criticism
becomes a revenge.
312.
Destructions of Illusions. — Illusions are
certainly expensive amusements; but the destruc-
## p. 352 (#400) ############################################
352 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
tion of illusions is still more expensive, if looked
upon as an amusement, as it undoubtedly is by some
people.
313-
The Monotone of the " Sage. "—Cows some-
times have a look of wondering which stops short
on the path to questioning. In the eye of the
higher intelligence, on the other hand, the nil admi-
rari is spread out like the monotony of the cloud-
less sky.
314.
NOT to be III TOO Long. —We should beware
of being ill too long. The lookers-on become im-
patient of their customary duty of showing sym-
pathy, because they find it too much trouble to
maintain the appearance of this emotion for any
length of time. Then they immediately pass to
suspicion of our character, with the conclusion:
"You deserve to be ill, and we need no longer be
at pains to show our sympathy. "
315-
A Hint to Enthusiasts. — He who likes to
be carried away, and would fain be carried on high,
must beware lest he become too heavy. For in-
stance, he must not learn much, and especially not
let himself be crammed with science. Science
makes men ponderous—take care, ye enthusiasts!
316.
Knowledge of how to Surprise Oneself.
—He who would see himself as he is, must know
## p. 353 (#401) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 353
how to surprise himself, torch in hand. For with
the mind it is as with the body: whoever is ac-
customed to look at himself in the glass forgets
his ugliness, and only recognises it again by means
of the portrait-painter. Yet he even grows used
to the picture and forgets his ugliness all over
again. —Herein we see the universal law that man
cannot endure unalterable ugliness, unless for a
moment. He forgets or denies it in all cases. —The
moralists must reckon upon that "moment" for
bringing forward their truths.
317-
Opinions and Fish. —We are possessors of our
opinions as of fish—that is, in so far as we are pos-
sessors of a fish pond. We must go fishing and
have luck—then we have our fish, our opinions. I
speak here of live opinions, of live fish. Others are
content to possess a cabinet of fossils—and, in their
head, "convictions. "
318.
Signs of Freedom and Servitude. — To
satisfy one's needs so far as possible oneself, even
if imperfectly, is the path towards freedom in mind
and personality. To satisfy many even superfluous
needs, and that as fully as possible, is a training
for servitude. The Sophist Hippias, who himself
earned and made all that he wore within and with-
out, is the representative of the highest freedom of
mind and personality. It does not matter whether
## p. 354 (#402) ############################################
354 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
all is done equally well and perfectly—pride can
repair the damaged places.
319-
Belief in Oneself. —In our times we mistrust
every one who believes in himself. Formerly this
was enough to make people believe in one. The
recipe for finding faith now runs: "Spare not thy-
self! In order to set thy opinion in a credible light,
thou must first set fire to thy own hut! "
320.
yS At Once Richer and Poorer. —I know a
man who accustomed himself even in childhood
to think well of the intellectuality of mankind—in
other words, of their real devotion as regards things
of the intellect, their unselfish preference for that
which is recognised as true—but who had at the
same time a modest or even depreciatory view of
his own brain (judgment, memory, presence of mind,
imagination). He set no value on himself when
he compared himself with others. Now in the
course of years he was compelled, first once and
then in a hundred ways, to revise this verdict. One
would have thought he would be thoroughly satis-
fied and delighted. Such, in fact, was to some ex-
tent the case, but, as he once said, "Yet a bitterness
of the deepest dye is mingled with my feeling, such
as I did not know in earlier life; for since I learnt
to value men and myself more correctly, my intellect
seems to me of less use. I scarcely think I can
now do any good at all with it, because the minds
## p. 355 (#403) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 355
of others cannot understand the good. I now
always see before me the frightful gulf between
those who could give help and those who need
help. So I am troubled by the misfortune of having
my intellect to myself and of being forced to enjoy
it alone so far as it can give any enjoyment. But
to give is more blessed than to possess, and what is
the richest man in the solitude of a desert? " *
321.
How WE SHOULD Attack. — The reasons for
which men believe or do not believe are in very few
people as strong as they might be. As a rule, in
order to shake a belief it is far from necessary to use
the heaviest weapon of attack. Many attain their ob-
ject by merely making the attack with some noise—
in fact, pop-guns are often enough. In dealing with
very vain persons, the semblance of a strong attack
is enough. They think they are being taken quite
seriously, and readily give way.
322.
DEATH. —Through the certain prospect of death
a precious, fragrant drop of frivolity might be mixed
with every life—and now, you singular druggist-
souls, you have made of death a drop of poison,
unpleasant to taste, which makes the whole of life
hideous.
323-
Repentance. —Never allow repentance free play,
* Clearly autobiographical. Nietzsche, like all great men,
passed through a period of modesty and doubt. —Tr.
## p. 356 (#404) ############################################
356 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAX.
but say at once to yourself, "That would be add-
ing a second piece of folly to the first. " If you
have worked evil, you must bethink yourself of
doing good. If you are punished for your actions,
submit to the punishment with the feeling that by
this very submission you are somehow doing good,
in that you are deterring others from falling into
the same error. Every malefactor who is punished
has a ,right to consider himself a benefactor to
mankind.
324-
Becoming a Thinker. —How can any one be-
come a thinker if he does not spend at least a third
part of the day without passions, men, and books?
325.
The Best Remedy. —A little health on and off
is the best remedy for the invalid.
326.
DON'T TOUCH. —There are dreadful people who,
instead of solving a problem, complicate it for those
who deal with it and make it harder to solve. *
Whoever does not know how to hit the nail on the
head should be entreated not to hit the nail at all.
327.
Forgetting Nature. — We speak of Nature,
and, in doing so, forget ourselves: we ourselves are
* Nietzsche here alludes to his own countrymen. —Te.
## p. 357 (#405) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 357
Nature, quand mime. — Consequently, Nature is
something quite different from what we feel on hear-
ing her name pronounced.
328.
Profundity and Ennui. —In the case of pro-
found men, as of deep wells, it takes a long time
before anything that is thrown into them reaches
the bottom. The spectators, who generally do not
wait long enough, too readily look upon such a man
as callous and hard—or even as boring.
329-
When it is Time to Vow Fidelity to One-
self. —We sometimes go astray in an intellectual
direction which does not correspond to our talents.
For a time we struggle heroically against wind and
tide, really against ourselves; but finally we become
weary and we pant. What we accomplish gives us
no real pleasure, since we think that we have paid too
heavy a price for these successes. We even despair
of our productivity, of our future, perhaps in the
midst of victory. —Finally, finally we turn back—and
then the wind swells our sails and bears us into our
smooth water. What bliss! How certain of victory
we feel! Only now do we know what we are and
what we intend, and now we vow fidelity to our-
selves, and have a right to do so—as men that know.
330.
Weather Prophets. —Just as the clouds reveal
to us the direction of the wind high above our
## p. 358 (#406) ############################################
358 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
heads, so the lightest and freest spirits give signs of
future weather by their course. The wind in the
valley and the market-place opinions of to-day have
no significance for the future, but only for the past.
331-
Continual Acceleration. —Those who begin
slowly and find it hard to become familiar with
a subject, sometimes acquire afterwards the quality
of continual acceleration—so that in the end no one
knows where the current will take them.
332.
The Three Good Things. —Greatness, calm,
sunlight—these three embrace all that a thinker
desires and also demands of himself: his hopes
and duties, his claims in the intellectual and moral
sphere, nay even in his daily manner of life and
the scenic background of his residence. Corre-
sponding to these three things are, firstly thoughts
that exalt, secondly thoughts that soothe, and
thirdly thoughts that illuminate—but, fourthly,
thoughts that share in all these three qualities, in
which all earthly things are transfigured. This is
the kingdom of the great trinity of joy.
333-
Dying FOR " Truth. "—We should not let our-
selves be burnt for our opinions—we are not so cer-
tain of them as all that. But we might let ourselves
be burnt for the right of possessing and changing
our opinions.
## p. 359 (#407) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW.
359
334.
MARKET VALUE. —If we wish to pass exactly
for what we are, we must be something that has its
market value. As, however, only objects in com-
mon use have a market value, this desire is the
consequence either of shrewd modesty or of stupid
immodesty.
335.
MORAL FOR BUILDERS. —We must remove the
scaffolding when the house has been built.
336.
SOPHOCLEANISM. —Who poured more water into
wine than the Greeks? Sobriety and grace com-
bined—that was the aristocratic privilege of the
Athenian in the time of Sophocles and after. Imi-
tate that whoever can! In life and in work!
there
337.
HEROISM. — The heroic consists in doing some-
thing great (or in nobly not doing something) with-
out feeling oneself to be in competition with or
before others. The hero carries with him, wherever
he goes, the wilderness and the holy land with in-
violable precincts.
338.
FINDING OUR“ DOUBLE" IN NATURE. —In some
country places we rediscover ourselves, with a de-
lightful shudder : it is the pleasantest way of find-
ing our “double. ”—How happy must he be who has
## p. 360 (#408) ############################################
360 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
that feeling just here, in this perpetually sunny
October air, in this happy elfin play of the wind
from morn till eve, in this clearest of atmospheres
and mildest of temperatures, in all the serious yet
cheerful landscape of hill, lake, and forest on this
plateau, which has encamped fearlessly next to the
terrors of eternal snow: here, where Italy and Fin-
land have joined hands, and where the home of all
the silver colour-tones of Nature seems to be estab-
lished. How happy must he be who can say, " True,
there are many grander and finer pieces of scenery,
but this is so familiar and intimate to me, related
by blood, nay even more to me! "
339-
Affability of the Sage. —The sage will un-
consciously be affable in his intercourse with other
men, as a prince would be, and will readily treat
them as equals, in spite of all differences of talent,
rank, and character. For this characteristic, how-
ever, so scon as people notice it, he is most heavily
censured.
340.
GOLD. —All that is gold does not glitter.
A soft
sheen characterises the most precious metal.
341-
Wheel AND Drag. —The wheel and the drag
have different duties, but also one in common—that
of hurting each other.
## p. 361 (#409) ############################################
THE WANDERER. AND HIS SHADOW. 361
342.
Disturbances of the Thinker. —All that in-
terrupts the thinker in his thoughts (disturbs him,
as people say) must be regarded by him calmly, as
a new model who comes in by the door to offer
himself to the artist. Interruptions are the ravens
which bring food to the recluse.
343-
Being very Clever. —Being very clever keeps
men young, but they must put up with being con-
sidered, for that very reason, older than they are.
For men read the handwriting of the intellect as
signs of experience—that is, of having lived much and
evilly, of suffering, error, and repentance. Hence, if
we are very clever and show it, we appear to them
older and wickeder than we are.
344-
How we must Conquer. —We ought not to
desire victory if we only have the prospect of over-
coming our opponent by a hair's breadth. A good
victory makes the vanquished rejoice, and must have
about it something divine which spares humiliation.
345-
An Illusion of Superior Minds. —Superior
minds find it difficult to free themselves from an
illusion; for they imagine that they excite envy
among the mediocre and are looked upon as ex-
## p. 362 (#410) ############################################
362
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
ceptions. As a matter of fact, however, they are
looked upon as superfluous, as something that would
not be missed if it did not exist.
346.
DEMANDED BY CLEANLINESS. -Changing opin-
ions is in some natures as much demanded by clean-
liness as changing clothes. In the case of other
natures it is only demanded by vanity.
347.
ALSO WORTHY OF A HERO. —Here is a hero who
did nothing but shake the tree as soon as the fruits
were ripe. Do you think that too small a thing?
Well, just look at the tree that he shook.
348.
A GAUGE FOR WISDOM. —The growth of wisdom
may be gauged exactly by the diminution of ill-
temper.
349.
EXPRESSING AN ERROR DISAGREEABLY. —It is
not to every one's taste to hear truth pleasantly ex-
pressed. But let no one at least believe that error
will become truth if it is disagreeably expressed.
350.
THE GOLDEN MAXIM. — Man has been bound
with many chains, in order that he may forget to
## p. 363 (#411) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 363
comport himself like an animal. And indeed he
has become more gentle, more intellectual, more
joyous, more meditative than any animal. But now
he still suffers from having carried his chains so long,
from having been so long without pure air and free
movement—these chains, however, are, as I repeat
again and again, the ponderous and significant
errors of moral, religious, and metaphysical ideas.
Only when the disease of chains is overcome is the
first great goal reached—the separation of man from
the brute. At present we stand in the midst of our
work of removing the chains, and in doing so we
need the strictest precautions. Only the ennobled
man may be granted freedom of spirit; to him
alone comes the alleviation of life and heals his
wounds; he is the first who can say that he lives
for the sake of joy, with no other aim; in any other
mouth, his motto of " Peace around me and good-
will towards all the most familiar things," would be
dangerous. —In this motto for single individuals he
is thinking of an ancient saying, magnificent and
pathetic, which applied to all, and has remained
standing above all mankind, as a motto and a
beacon whereby shall perish all who adorn their
banner too early—the rock on which Christianity
foundered. It is not even yet time, it seems, for all
men to have the lot of those shepherds who saw the
heavens lit up above them and heard the words:
"Peace on earth and goodwill to one another among
men. "—It is still the age of the individual.
## p. 364 (#412) ############################################
364 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
The Shadow: Of all that you have enunciated,
nothing pleased me more than one promise: "Ye
want again to be good neighbours to the most
familiar things. " This will be to the advantage of
us poor shadows too. For do but confess that you
have hitherto been only too fond of reviling us.
The Wanderer: Reviling? But why did you
never defend yourselves? After all, you were very
close to our ears.
The Shadow: It seemed to us that we were too
near you to have a right to talk of ourselves.
The Wanderer: What delicacy! Ah, you shadows
are "better men " * than we, I can see that.
The Shadow: And yet you called us "importu-
nate "—us, who know one thing at least extremely
well: how to be silent and to wait—no Englishman
knows it better. It is true we are very, very often
in the retinue of men, but never as their bondsmen.
When man shuns light, we shun man—so far, at least,
we are free.
The Wanderer: Ah, light shuns man far oftener,
and then also you abandon him.
The Shadow: It has often pained me to leave you.
I am eager for knowledge, and much in man has re-
mained obscure to me, because I cannot always be in
his company. At the price of complete knowledge
of man I would gladly be your slave.
The Wanderer: Do you know, do I know, whether
you would not then unwittingly become master in-
* An allusion to the poem " Der Wilde " (The Savage) by
Saume, which ends with the line," Sehet, wir wilden sind doch
bessere Menschen " (Behold, after all, we savages are better
men). —Tr.
## p. 365 (#413) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 365
stead of slave? Or would remain a slave indeed, but
would lead a life of humiliation and disgust because
you despised your master? Let us both be content
with freedom such as you have enjoyed up to now—
you and I! For the sight of a being not free would
embitter my greatest joys; all that is best would be
repugnant to me if any one had to share it with me
—I will not hear of any slaves about me. That is
why I do not care for the dog, that lazy, tail-
wagging parasite, who first became " doggish" as the
slave of man, and of whom they still say that he is
loyal to his master and follows him like
The Shadow: Like his shadow, they say. Per-
haps I have already followed you too long to-day?
It has been the longest day, but we are nearing the
end; be patient a little more! The grass is damp;
I am feeling chilly.
The Wanderer: Oh, is it already time to part?
And I had to hurt you in the end—I saw you be-
came darker.
The Shadow: I blushed the only colour I have at
command. I remembered that I had often lain at
your feet like a dog, and that you then
The Wanderer: Can I not with all speed do some-
thing to please you? Have you no wish?
The Shadow: None, except perhaps the wish that
the philosophic " dog " * expressed to Alexander the
Great—just move a little out of my light; I feel
cold.
The Wanderer: What am I to do?
* Diogenes, founder of the Cynic school, which derived its
name from kvwv (dog). —Tr.
## p. 366 (#414) ############################################
366
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
The Shadow: Walk under those fir-trees and look
around you towards the mountains; the sun is
sinking.
The Wanderer: Where are you? Where are
you?
FER?
1916
## p. (#415) ################################################
THE WORKS OF
FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE.
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Edited by Dr OSCAR LEVY.
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XII. BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL. Translated by Helen
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sort of man with regard to rights and property—for
^
## p. 349 (#397) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 349
instance (to name trifling points, which of course
give a better proof of this sort of pattern nature
than great examples), if as a boy one never steals
fruit from another's orchard, and as a man never
walks on unmown fields. It is but little; you are
then still only a " law-abiding person," with just that
degree of morality of which a " society," a group of
human beings, is capable.
304-
"Man ! "—What is the vanity of the vainest in-
dividual as compared with the vanity which the
most modest person feels when he thinks of his
position in nature and in the world as " Man! "
305-
The Most Necessary Gymnastic. —Through
deficiency in self-control in small matters a similar
deficiency on great occasions slowly arises. Every
Uay on which we have not at least once denied
ourselves some trifle is turned to bad use and a
danger to the next day. This gymnastic is indis-
pensable if we wish to maintain the joy of being
our own master.
306.
Losing Ourselves. —When we have first found
ourselves, we must understand how from time to
t me to lose ourselves and then to find ourselves
again. —This is true on the assumption that we are
thinkers. A thinker finds it a drawback always to
be tied to one person.
,
## p. 350 (#398) ############################################
350 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
307-
When it is Necessary to Part. —You must,
for a time at least, part from that which you want
to know and measure. Only when you have left a
city do you see how high its towers rise above its
houses.
308.
At Noontide. —He to whom an active and
stormy morning of life is allotted, at the noontide
of life feels his soul overcome by a strange longing
for a rest that may last for months and years.
All grows silent around him, voices sound farther
and farther in the distance, the sun shines straight
down upon him. On a hidden woodland sward
he sees the great God Pan sleeping, and with Pan
Nature seems to him to have gone to sleep with
an expression of eternity on their faces. He wants
nothing, he troubles about nothing; his heart stands
still, only his eye lives. It is a death with waking
eyes. Then man sees much that he never saw be-
fore, and, so far as his eye can reach, all is woven
into and as it were buried in a net of light. He
feels happy, but it is a heavy, very heavy kind
of happiness. —Then at last the wind stirs in the
trees, noontide is over, life carries him away again,
life with its blind eyes, and its tempestuous retinue
behind it — desire, illusion, oblivion, enjoyment,
destruction, decay. And so comes evening, more
stormy and more active than was even the morn-
ing. —To the really active man these prolonged
phases of cognition seem almost uncanny and mor-
bid, but not unpleasant.
V
## p. 351 (#399) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 351
309-
To Beware of One's Portrait-Painter. —A
great painter, who in a portrait has revealed and put
on canvas the fullest expression and look of which a
man is capable, will almost always think, when he
sees the man later in real life, that he is only look-
ing at a caricature.
310.
The Two Principles of the New Life. —
First Principle: to arrange one's life on the most
secure and tangible basis, not as hitherto upon the
most distant, undetermined, and cloudy foundation.
Second Principle: to establish the rank of the
nearest and nearer things, and of the more and less
secure, before one arranges one's life and directs it
to a final end.
3"-
Dangerous Irritability. —Talented men who
are at the same time idle will always appear some-
what irritated when one of their friends has accom-
plished a thorough piece of work. Their jealousy
is awakened, they are ashamed of their own lazi-
ness, or rather, they fear that their active friend will
now despise them even more than before. In such
a mood they criticise the new achievement, and, to
the utter astonishment of the author, their criticism
becomes a revenge.
312.
Destructions of Illusions. — Illusions are
certainly expensive amusements; but the destruc-
## p. 352 (#400) ############################################
352 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
tion of illusions is still more expensive, if looked
upon as an amusement, as it undoubtedly is by some
people.
313-
The Monotone of the " Sage. "—Cows some-
times have a look of wondering which stops short
on the path to questioning. In the eye of the
higher intelligence, on the other hand, the nil admi-
rari is spread out like the monotony of the cloud-
less sky.
314.
NOT to be III TOO Long. —We should beware
of being ill too long. The lookers-on become im-
patient of their customary duty of showing sym-
pathy, because they find it too much trouble to
maintain the appearance of this emotion for any
length of time. Then they immediately pass to
suspicion of our character, with the conclusion:
"You deserve to be ill, and we need no longer be
at pains to show our sympathy. "
315-
A Hint to Enthusiasts. — He who likes to
be carried away, and would fain be carried on high,
must beware lest he become too heavy. For in-
stance, he must not learn much, and especially not
let himself be crammed with science. Science
makes men ponderous—take care, ye enthusiasts!
316.
Knowledge of how to Surprise Oneself.
—He who would see himself as he is, must know
## p. 353 (#401) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 353
how to surprise himself, torch in hand. For with
the mind it is as with the body: whoever is ac-
customed to look at himself in the glass forgets
his ugliness, and only recognises it again by means
of the portrait-painter. Yet he even grows used
to the picture and forgets his ugliness all over
again. —Herein we see the universal law that man
cannot endure unalterable ugliness, unless for a
moment. He forgets or denies it in all cases. —The
moralists must reckon upon that "moment" for
bringing forward their truths.
317-
Opinions and Fish. —We are possessors of our
opinions as of fish—that is, in so far as we are pos-
sessors of a fish pond. We must go fishing and
have luck—then we have our fish, our opinions. I
speak here of live opinions, of live fish. Others are
content to possess a cabinet of fossils—and, in their
head, "convictions. "
318.
Signs of Freedom and Servitude. — To
satisfy one's needs so far as possible oneself, even
if imperfectly, is the path towards freedom in mind
and personality. To satisfy many even superfluous
needs, and that as fully as possible, is a training
for servitude. The Sophist Hippias, who himself
earned and made all that he wore within and with-
out, is the representative of the highest freedom of
mind and personality. It does not matter whether
## p. 354 (#402) ############################################
354 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
all is done equally well and perfectly—pride can
repair the damaged places.
319-
Belief in Oneself. —In our times we mistrust
every one who believes in himself. Formerly this
was enough to make people believe in one. The
recipe for finding faith now runs: "Spare not thy-
self! In order to set thy opinion in a credible light,
thou must first set fire to thy own hut! "
320.
yS At Once Richer and Poorer. —I know a
man who accustomed himself even in childhood
to think well of the intellectuality of mankind—in
other words, of their real devotion as regards things
of the intellect, their unselfish preference for that
which is recognised as true—but who had at the
same time a modest or even depreciatory view of
his own brain (judgment, memory, presence of mind,
imagination). He set no value on himself when
he compared himself with others. Now in the
course of years he was compelled, first once and
then in a hundred ways, to revise this verdict. One
would have thought he would be thoroughly satis-
fied and delighted. Such, in fact, was to some ex-
tent the case, but, as he once said, "Yet a bitterness
of the deepest dye is mingled with my feeling, such
as I did not know in earlier life; for since I learnt
to value men and myself more correctly, my intellect
seems to me of less use. I scarcely think I can
now do any good at all with it, because the minds
## p. 355 (#403) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 355
of others cannot understand the good. I now
always see before me the frightful gulf between
those who could give help and those who need
help. So I am troubled by the misfortune of having
my intellect to myself and of being forced to enjoy
it alone so far as it can give any enjoyment. But
to give is more blessed than to possess, and what is
the richest man in the solitude of a desert? " *
321.
How WE SHOULD Attack. — The reasons for
which men believe or do not believe are in very few
people as strong as they might be. As a rule, in
order to shake a belief it is far from necessary to use
the heaviest weapon of attack. Many attain their ob-
ject by merely making the attack with some noise—
in fact, pop-guns are often enough. In dealing with
very vain persons, the semblance of a strong attack
is enough. They think they are being taken quite
seriously, and readily give way.
322.
DEATH. —Through the certain prospect of death
a precious, fragrant drop of frivolity might be mixed
with every life—and now, you singular druggist-
souls, you have made of death a drop of poison,
unpleasant to taste, which makes the whole of life
hideous.
323-
Repentance. —Never allow repentance free play,
* Clearly autobiographical. Nietzsche, like all great men,
passed through a period of modesty and doubt. —Tr.
## p. 356 (#404) ############################################
356 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAX.
but say at once to yourself, "That would be add-
ing a second piece of folly to the first. " If you
have worked evil, you must bethink yourself of
doing good. If you are punished for your actions,
submit to the punishment with the feeling that by
this very submission you are somehow doing good,
in that you are deterring others from falling into
the same error. Every malefactor who is punished
has a ,right to consider himself a benefactor to
mankind.
324-
Becoming a Thinker. —How can any one be-
come a thinker if he does not spend at least a third
part of the day without passions, men, and books?
325.
The Best Remedy. —A little health on and off
is the best remedy for the invalid.
326.
DON'T TOUCH. —There are dreadful people who,
instead of solving a problem, complicate it for those
who deal with it and make it harder to solve. *
Whoever does not know how to hit the nail on the
head should be entreated not to hit the nail at all.
327.
Forgetting Nature. — We speak of Nature,
and, in doing so, forget ourselves: we ourselves are
* Nietzsche here alludes to his own countrymen. —Te.
## p. 357 (#405) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 357
Nature, quand mime. — Consequently, Nature is
something quite different from what we feel on hear-
ing her name pronounced.
328.
Profundity and Ennui. —In the case of pro-
found men, as of deep wells, it takes a long time
before anything that is thrown into them reaches
the bottom. The spectators, who generally do not
wait long enough, too readily look upon such a man
as callous and hard—or even as boring.
329-
When it is Time to Vow Fidelity to One-
self. —We sometimes go astray in an intellectual
direction which does not correspond to our talents.
For a time we struggle heroically against wind and
tide, really against ourselves; but finally we become
weary and we pant. What we accomplish gives us
no real pleasure, since we think that we have paid too
heavy a price for these successes. We even despair
of our productivity, of our future, perhaps in the
midst of victory. —Finally, finally we turn back—and
then the wind swells our sails and bears us into our
smooth water. What bliss! How certain of victory
we feel! Only now do we know what we are and
what we intend, and now we vow fidelity to our-
selves, and have a right to do so—as men that know.
330.
Weather Prophets. —Just as the clouds reveal
to us the direction of the wind high above our
## p. 358 (#406) ############################################
358 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
heads, so the lightest and freest spirits give signs of
future weather by their course. The wind in the
valley and the market-place opinions of to-day have
no significance for the future, but only for the past.
331-
Continual Acceleration. —Those who begin
slowly and find it hard to become familiar with
a subject, sometimes acquire afterwards the quality
of continual acceleration—so that in the end no one
knows where the current will take them.
332.
The Three Good Things. —Greatness, calm,
sunlight—these three embrace all that a thinker
desires and also demands of himself: his hopes
and duties, his claims in the intellectual and moral
sphere, nay even in his daily manner of life and
the scenic background of his residence. Corre-
sponding to these three things are, firstly thoughts
that exalt, secondly thoughts that soothe, and
thirdly thoughts that illuminate—but, fourthly,
thoughts that share in all these three qualities, in
which all earthly things are transfigured. This is
the kingdom of the great trinity of joy.
333-
Dying FOR " Truth. "—We should not let our-
selves be burnt for our opinions—we are not so cer-
tain of them as all that. But we might let ourselves
be burnt for the right of possessing and changing
our opinions.
## p. 359 (#407) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW.
359
334.
MARKET VALUE. —If we wish to pass exactly
for what we are, we must be something that has its
market value. As, however, only objects in com-
mon use have a market value, this desire is the
consequence either of shrewd modesty or of stupid
immodesty.
335.
MORAL FOR BUILDERS. —We must remove the
scaffolding when the house has been built.
336.
SOPHOCLEANISM. —Who poured more water into
wine than the Greeks? Sobriety and grace com-
bined—that was the aristocratic privilege of the
Athenian in the time of Sophocles and after. Imi-
tate that whoever can! In life and in work!
there
337.
HEROISM. — The heroic consists in doing some-
thing great (or in nobly not doing something) with-
out feeling oneself to be in competition with or
before others. The hero carries with him, wherever
he goes, the wilderness and the holy land with in-
violable precincts.
338.
FINDING OUR“ DOUBLE" IN NATURE. —In some
country places we rediscover ourselves, with a de-
lightful shudder : it is the pleasantest way of find-
ing our “double. ”—How happy must he be who has
## p. 360 (#408) ############################################
360 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
that feeling just here, in this perpetually sunny
October air, in this happy elfin play of the wind
from morn till eve, in this clearest of atmospheres
and mildest of temperatures, in all the serious yet
cheerful landscape of hill, lake, and forest on this
plateau, which has encamped fearlessly next to the
terrors of eternal snow: here, where Italy and Fin-
land have joined hands, and where the home of all
the silver colour-tones of Nature seems to be estab-
lished. How happy must he be who can say, " True,
there are many grander and finer pieces of scenery,
but this is so familiar and intimate to me, related
by blood, nay even more to me! "
339-
Affability of the Sage. —The sage will un-
consciously be affable in his intercourse with other
men, as a prince would be, and will readily treat
them as equals, in spite of all differences of talent,
rank, and character. For this characteristic, how-
ever, so scon as people notice it, he is most heavily
censured.
340.
GOLD. —All that is gold does not glitter.
A soft
sheen characterises the most precious metal.
341-
Wheel AND Drag. —The wheel and the drag
have different duties, but also one in common—that
of hurting each other.
## p. 361 (#409) ############################################
THE WANDERER. AND HIS SHADOW. 361
342.
Disturbances of the Thinker. —All that in-
terrupts the thinker in his thoughts (disturbs him,
as people say) must be regarded by him calmly, as
a new model who comes in by the door to offer
himself to the artist. Interruptions are the ravens
which bring food to the recluse.
343-
Being very Clever. —Being very clever keeps
men young, but they must put up with being con-
sidered, for that very reason, older than they are.
For men read the handwriting of the intellect as
signs of experience—that is, of having lived much and
evilly, of suffering, error, and repentance. Hence, if
we are very clever and show it, we appear to them
older and wickeder than we are.
344-
How we must Conquer. —We ought not to
desire victory if we only have the prospect of over-
coming our opponent by a hair's breadth. A good
victory makes the vanquished rejoice, and must have
about it something divine which spares humiliation.
345-
An Illusion of Superior Minds. —Superior
minds find it difficult to free themselves from an
illusion; for they imagine that they excite envy
among the mediocre and are looked upon as ex-
## p. 362 (#410) ############################################
362
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
ceptions. As a matter of fact, however, they are
looked upon as superfluous, as something that would
not be missed if it did not exist.
346.
DEMANDED BY CLEANLINESS. -Changing opin-
ions is in some natures as much demanded by clean-
liness as changing clothes. In the case of other
natures it is only demanded by vanity.
347.
ALSO WORTHY OF A HERO. —Here is a hero who
did nothing but shake the tree as soon as the fruits
were ripe. Do you think that too small a thing?
Well, just look at the tree that he shook.
348.
A GAUGE FOR WISDOM. —The growth of wisdom
may be gauged exactly by the diminution of ill-
temper.
349.
EXPRESSING AN ERROR DISAGREEABLY. —It is
not to every one's taste to hear truth pleasantly ex-
pressed. But let no one at least believe that error
will become truth if it is disagreeably expressed.
350.
THE GOLDEN MAXIM. — Man has been bound
with many chains, in order that he may forget to
## p. 363 (#411) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 363
comport himself like an animal. And indeed he
has become more gentle, more intellectual, more
joyous, more meditative than any animal. But now
he still suffers from having carried his chains so long,
from having been so long without pure air and free
movement—these chains, however, are, as I repeat
again and again, the ponderous and significant
errors of moral, religious, and metaphysical ideas.
Only when the disease of chains is overcome is the
first great goal reached—the separation of man from
the brute. At present we stand in the midst of our
work of removing the chains, and in doing so we
need the strictest precautions. Only the ennobled
man may be granted freedom of spirit; to him
alone comes the alleviation of life and heals his
wounds; he is the first who can say that he lives
for the sake of joy, with no other aim; in any other
mouth, his motto of " Peace around me and good-
will towards all the most familiar things," would be
dangerous. —In this motto for single individuals he
is thinking of an ancient saying, magnificent and
pathetic, which applied to all, and has remained
standing above all mankind, as a motto and a
beacon whereby shall perish all who adorn their
banner too early—the rock on which Christianity
foundered. It is not even yet time, it seems, for all
men to have the lot of those shepherds who saw the
heavens lit up above them and heard the words:
"Peace on earth and goodwill to one another among
men. "—It is still the age of the individual.
## p. 364 (#412) ############################################
364 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
The Shadow: Of all that you have enunciated,
nothing pleased me more than one promise: "Ye
want again to be good neighbours to the most
familiar things. " This will be to the advantage of
us poor shadows too. For do but confess that you
have hitherto been only too fond of reviling us.
The Wanderer: Reviling? But why did you
never defend yourselves? After all, you were very
close to our ears.
The Shadow: It seemed to us that we were too
near you to have a right to talk of ourselves.
The Wanderer: What delicacy! Ah, you shadows
are "better men " * than we, I can see that.
The Shadow: And yet you called us "importu-
nate "—us, who know one thing at least extremely
well: how to be silent and to wait—no Englishman
knows it better. It is true we are very, very often
in the retinue of men, but never as their bondsmen.
When man shuns light, we shun man—so far, at least,
we are free.
The Wanderer: Ah, light shuns man far oftener,
and then also you abandon him.
The Shadow: It has often pained me to leave you.
I am eager for knowledge, and much in man has re-
mained obscure to me, because I cannot always be in
his company. At the price of complete knowledge
of man I would gladly be your slave.
The Wanderer: Do you know, do I know, whether
you would not then unwittingly become master in-
* An allusion to the poem " Der Wilde " (The Savage) by
Saume, which ends with the line," Sehet, wir wilden sind doch
bessere Menschen " (Behold, after all, we savages are better
men). —Tr.
## p. 365 (#413) ############################################
THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW. 365
stead of slave? Or would remain a slave indeed, but
would lead a life of humiliation and disgust because
you despised your master? Let us both be content
with freedom such as you have enjoyed up to now—
you and I! For the sight of a being not free would
embitter my greatest joys; all that is best would be
repugnant to me if any one had to share it with me
—I will not hear of any slaves about me. That is
why I do not care for the dog, that lazy, tail-
wagging parasite, who first became " doggish" as the
slave of man, and of whom they still say that he is
loyal to his master and follows him like
The Shadow: Like his shadow, they say. Per-
haps I have already followed you too long to-day?
It has been the longest day, but we are nearing the
end; be patient a little more! The grass is damp;
I am feeling chilly.
The Wanderer: Oh, is it already time to part?
And I had to hurt you in the end—I saw you be-
came darker.
The Shadow: I blushed the only colour I have at
command. I remembered that I had often lain at
your feet like a dog, and that you then
The Wanderer: Can I not with all speed do some-
thing to please you? Have you no wish?
The Shadow: None, except perhaps the wish that
the philosophic " dog " * expressed to Alexander the
Great—just move a little out of my light; I feel
cold.
The Wanderer: What am I to do?
* Diogenes, founder of the Cynic school, which derived its
name from kvwv (dog). —Tr.
## p. 366 (#414) ############################################
366
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
The Shadow: Walk under those fir-trees and look
around you towards the mountains; the sun is
sinking.
The Wanderer: Where are you? Where are
you?
FER?
1916
## p. (#415) ################################################
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