No More Learning

It is only those who never—or always—attend
church that underestimate the dishonesty with
which this subject is still dealt in Protestant
pulpits; in what a clumsy fashion the preacher
takes advantage of his security from interruption;
how the Bible is pinched and squeezed; and how
the people are made acquainted with every form of
the art of false reading.
When all is said and done, however, what can
be expected from the effects of a religion which,
during the centuries when it was being firmly
established, enacted that huge philological farce
concerning the Old Testament? I refer to that
attempt to tear the Old Testament from the hands
of the Jews under the pretext that it contained only
Christian doctrines and belonged to the Christians
as the true people of Israel, while the Jews had
merely arrogated it to themselves without authority.
This was followed by a mania of would-be inter-
pretation and falsification, which could not under
any circumstances have been allied with a good
conscience. However strongly Jewish savants pro-
tested, it was everywhere sedulously asserted that
the Old Testament alluded everywhere to Christ,
and nothing but Christ, more especially His Cross,
and thus, wherever reference was made to wood, a
rod, a ladder, a twig, a tree, a willow, or a staff,
such a reference could not but be a prophecy re-
lating to the wood of the Cross: even the setting-


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86 THE DAWN OF DAY.
up of the Unicorn and the Brazen Serpent, even
Moses stretching forth his hands in prayer—yea,
the very spits on which the Easter lambs were
roasted: all these were allusions to the Cross, and,
as it were, preludes to it! Did any one who kept
on asserting these things ever believe in them?
Let it not be forgotten that the Church did not
shrink from putting interpolations in the text of the
Septuagint (e. g. Ps. xcvi. I o), in order that she might
later on make use of these interpolated passages
as Christian prophecies. They were engaged in a
struggle, and thought of their foes rather than of
honesty.
85.
Subtlety in Penury. —Take care not to laugh
at the mythology of the Greeks merely because it
so little resembles your own profound metaphysics!
You should admire a peoplewho checked their quick
intellect at this point, and for a long time after-
wards had tact enough to avoid the danger of
scholasticism and hair-splitting superstition.
86.
The Christian Interpreters of the Body.
—Whatever originates in the stomach, the intes-
tines, the beating of the heart, the nerves, the bile,
the seed—all those indispositions, debilities, irrita-
tions, and the whole contingency of that machine
about which we know so little—a Christian like
Pascal considers it all as a moral and religious
phenomenon, asking himself whether God or the


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THE DAWN OF DAY. 87
devil, good or evil, salvation or damnation, is the
cause. Alas for the unfortunate interpreter! How
he must distort and worry his system! How he
must distort and worry himself in order to gain
his point!
87.
The Moral Miracle. —In the domain of
morality, Christianity knows of nothing but the
miracle: the sudden change in all valuations, the
sudden renouncement of all habits, the sudden and
irresistible predilection for new things and persons.
Christianity looks upon this phenomenon as the
work of God, and calls it the act of regeneration,
thus giving it a unique and incomparable value.
Everything else which is called morality, and which
bears no relation to this miracle, becomes in con-
sequence a matter of indifference to the Christian,
and indeed, so far as it is a feeling of well-being
and pride, an object of fear. The canon of virtue,
of the fulfilled law, is established in the New
Testament, but in such a way as to be the canon
of impossible virtue: men who still aspire to moral
perfections must come to understand, in the face
of this canon, that they are further and further
removed from their aim; they must despair of
virtue, and end by throwing themselves at the feet
of the Merciful One.
It is only in reaching a conclusion like this that
moral efforts on the part of the Christian can still
be regarded as possessing any value: the condition
that these efforts shall always remain sterile, painful,
and melancholy is therefore indispensable; and it


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88 THE DAWN OF DAY.
is in this way that those efforts could still avail to
bring about that moment of ecstasy when man ex-
periences the " overflow of grace" and the moral
miracle. This struggle for morality is, however,
not necessary; for it is by no means uncommon for
this miracle to happen to the sinner at the very
moment when he is, so to speak, wallowing in the
mire of sin: yea, the leap from the deepest and
most abandoned sinfulness into its contrary seems
easier, and, as a clear proof of the miracle, even
more desirable.
What, for the rest, may be the signification of
such a sudden, unreasonable, and irresistible re-
volution, such a change from the depths of misery
into the heights of happiness? (might it be a
disguised epilepsy ? ) This should at all events
be considered by alienists, who have frequent op-
portunities of observing similar "miracles "—for
example, the mania of murder or suicide. The
relatively "more pleasant consequences" in the case
of the Christian make no important difference.
88.
Luther, the Great Benefactor. —Luther's
most important result is the suspicion which he
awakened against the saints and the entire Christian
vita contemplativa; only since his day has an un-
christian vita contemplativa again become possible
in Europe, only since then has contempt for laymen
and worldly activity ceased. Luther continued to
be an honest miner's son even after he had been
shut up in a monastery, and there, for lack of other
S


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THE DAWN OF DAY. 89
depths and "borings," he descended into himself,
and bored terrifying and dark passages through his
own depths—finally coming to recognise that an
introspective and saintly life was impossible to him,
and that his innate " activity" in body and soul
would end by being his ruin. For a long time,
too long, indeed, he endeavoured to find the way
to holiness through castigations; but at length he
made up his mind, and said to himself: "There is
no real vita contemplativa! We have been deceived.
The saints were no better than the rest of us. "
This was truly a rustic way of gaining one's case;
but for the Germans of that period it was the only
proper way. How edified they felt when they could
read in their Lutheran catechism: "Apart from the
Ten Commandments there is no work which could
find favour in the eyes of God—these much-boasted
spiritual works of the saints are purely imaginary! "
89.
Doubt as Sin. —Christianity has done all it
possibly could to draw a circle round itself, and has
even gone so far as to declare doubt itself to be
a sin. We are to be precipitated into faith by a
miracle, without the help of reason, after which we
are to float in it as the clearest and least equivocal
of elements—a mere glance at some solid ground,
the thought that we exist for some purpose other
than floating, the least movement of our amphibious
nature: all this is a sin! Let it be noted that,
following this decision, the proofs and demonstra-
tion of the faith, and all meditations upon its origin,


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90 THE DAWN OF DAY.
are prohibited as sinful. Christianity wants blind-
ness and frenzy and an eternal swan-song above
the waves under which reason has been drowned!
90.
Egoism versus Egoism. —How many are there
who still come to the conclusion: "Life would be
intolerable were there no God! " Or, as is said in
idealistic circles: "Life would be intolerable if its
ethical signification were lacking. " Hence there
must be a God—or an ethical signification of
existence! In reality the case stands thus: He
who is accustomed to conceptions of this sort does
not desire a life without them, hence these concep-
tions are necessary for him and his preservation—
but what a presumption it is to assert that every-
thing necessary for my preservation must exist
in reality! As if my preservation were really
necessary! What if others held the contrary
opinion? if they did not care to live under the
conditions of these two articles of faith, and did not
regard life as worth living if they were realised ! —
And that is the present position of affairs.
91-
The Honesty of God. —An omniscient and
omnipotent God who does not even take care that
His intentions shall be understood by His creatures
—could He be a God of goodness? A God, who,
for thousands of years, has permitted innumerable
doubts and scruples to continue unchecked as if
they were of no importance in the salvation of man-


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THE DAWN OF DAY. 91
kind, and who, nevertheless, announces the most
dreadful consequences for any one who mistakes his
truth? Would he not be a cruel god if, being him-
self in possession of the truth, he could calmly con-
template mankind, in a state of miserable torment,
worrying its mind as to what was truth?
Perhaps, however, he really is a God of goodness,
and was unable to express Himself more clearly?
Perhaps he lacked intelligence enough for this?
Or eloquence? All the worse! For in such a
case he may have been deceived himself in regard
to what he calls his "truth," and may not be far
from being another " poor, deceived devil! " Must
he not therefore experience all the torments of hell
at seeing His creatures suffering so much here below
—and even more, suffering through all eternity—
when he himself can neither advise nor help them,
except as a deaf and dumb person, who makes all
kinds of equivocal signs when his child or his dog
is threatened with the most fearful danger? A dis-
tressed believer who argues thus might be pardoned
if his pity for the suffering God were greater than
his pity for his "neighbours"; for they are his
neighbours no longer if that most solitary and
primeval being is also the greatest sufferer and
stands most in need of consolation.
Every religion shows some traits of the fact that
it owes its origin to a state of human intellectuality
which was as yet too young and immature: they
all make light of the necessity for speaking the
truth: as yet they know nothing of the duty of
God, the duty of being clear and truthful in His
communications with men. No one was more


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90
THE DAWN OF DAY.
are prohibited as sinful. Christianity wants blind-
ness and frenzy and an eternal swan-song above
the waves under which reason has been drowned !
90.
EGOISM VERSUS EGOISM. —How many are there
who still come to the conclusion: “Life would be
intolerable were there no God! ” Or, as is said in
idealistic circles : “Life would be intolerable if its
ethical signification were lacking. ” Hence there
must be a God—or an ethical signification of
existence! In reality the case stands thus : He
who is accustomed to conceptions of this sort does
not desire a life without them, hence these concep-
tions are necessary for him and his preservation-
but what a presumption it is to assert that every-
thing necessary for my preservation must exist
in reality! As if my preservation were really
necessary! What if others held the contrary
opinion ? if they did not care to live under the
conditions of these two articles of faith, and did not
regard life as worth living if they were realised ! -
And that is the present position of affairs.
91.
THE HONESTY OF GOD. -An omniscient and
omnipotent God who does not even take care that
His intentions shall be understood by His creatures
-could He be a God of goodness ? A God, who,
for thousands of years, has permitted innumerable
doubts and scruples to continue unchecked as if
they were of no importance in the salvation of man-


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THE DAWN OF DAY.
91
kind, and who, nevertheless, announces the most
dreadful consequences for any one who mistakes his
truth? Would he not be a cruel god if, being him-
self in possession of the truth, he could calmly con-
template mankind, in a state of miserable torment,
worrying its mind as to what was truth?
Perhaps, however, he really is a God of goodness,
and was unable to express Himself more clearly ?
Perhaps he lacked intelligence enough for this ?
Or eloquence ? All the worse! For in such a
case he may have been deceived himself in regard
to what he calls his “truth," and may not be far
from being another“ poor, deceived devil ! ” Must
he not therefore experience all the torments of hell
at seeing His creatures suffering so much here below
—and even more, suffering through all eternity-
when he himself can neither advise nor help them,
except as a deaf and dumb person, who makes all
kinds of equivocal signs when his child or his dog
is threatened with the most fearful danger ? A dis-
tressed believer who argues thus might be pardoned
if his pity for the suffering God were greater than
his pity for his "neighbours"; for they are his
neighbours no longer if that most solitary and
primeval being is also the greatest sufferer and
stands most in need of consolation.
Every religion shows some traits of the fact that
it owes its origin to a state of human intellectuality
which was as yet too young and immature: they
all make light of the necessity for speaking the
truth: as yet they know nothing of the duty of
God, the duty of being clear and truthful in His
communications with men. No one was more


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92 THE DAWN OF DAY.
eloquent than Pascal in speaking of the "hidden
God " and the reasons why He had to keep Himself
hidden, all of which indicates clearly enough that
Pascal himself could never make his mind easy on
this point: but he speaks with such confidence that
one is led to imagine that he must have been let
into the secret at some time or other. He seemed
to have some idea that the deus absconditus bore
a few slight traces of immorality; and he felt too
much ashamed and afraid of acknowledging this
to himself: consequently, like a man who is afraid,
he spoke as loudly as he could.
92.
At the Death-bed of Christianity. —All
truly active men now do without inward Christian-
ity, and the most moderate and thoughtful men of
the intellectual middle classes possess only a kind
of modified Christianity; that is, a peculiarly sim-
plified Christianity. A God who, in his love, ordains
everything so that it may be best for us, a God who
gives us our virtue and our happiness and then
takes them away from us, so that everything at
length goes on smoothly and there is no reason
left why we should take life ill or grumble about it:
in short, resignation and modesty raised to the rank
of divinities—that is the best and most lifelike
remnant of Christianity now left to us. It must
be remembered, however, that in this way Christi-
anity has developed into a soft moralism: instead
of " God, freedom, and immortality," we have now
a kind of benevolence and honest sentiments, and
the belief that, in the entire universe, benevolence


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THE DAWN OF DAY. 93
and honest sentiments will finally prevail: this is
the euthanasia of Christianity.
93-
What is Truth ? —Who will not be pleased
with the conclusions which the faithful take such
delight in coming to ? —" Science cannot be true;
for it denies God. Hence it does not come from
God; and consequently it cannot be true—for God
is truth. " It is not the deduction but the premise
which is fallacious. What if God were not exactly
truth, and if this were proved? And if he were
instead the vanity, the desire for power, the am-
bitions, the fear, and the enraptured and terrified
folly of mankind?
94-
Remedy for the Displeased. —Even Paul
already believed that some sacrifice was necessary
to take away the deep displeasure which God
experienced concerning sin: and ever since then
Christians have never ceased to vent the ill-humour
which they felt with themselves upon some victim
or another—whether it was "the world," or
"history," or "reason," or joy, or the tranquillity
of other men—something good, no matter what,
had to die for their sins (even if only in effigie)!
95-
The Historical Refutation as the De-
cisive One. —Formerly it was sought to prove
that there was no God—now it is shown how the
belief that a God existed could have originated,


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94 THE DAWN OF DAY.
and by what means this belief gained authority
and importance: in this way the counterproof that
there is no God becomes unnecessary and super-
fluous. —In former times, when the " evidences of
the existence of God" which had been brought
forward were refuted, a doubt still remained, viz.
whether better proofs could not be found than those
which had just been refuted: at that time the atheists
did not understand the art of making a tabula
rasa.
96.
"IN HOC SIGNO VINCEs. "—To whatever degree
of progress Europe may have attained in other
respects, where religious affairs are concerned it
has not yet reached the liberal naivete* of the
ancient Brahmins, which proves that, in India, four
thousand years ago, people meditated more pro-
foundly and transmitted to their descendants more
pleasure in meditating than is the case in our own
days. For those Brahmins believed in the first
place that the priests were more powerful than the
gods, and in the second place that it was observ-
ances which constituted the power of the priests:
as a result of which their poets were never tired of
glorifying those observances (prayers, ceremonies,
sacrifices, chants, improvised melodies) as the real
dispensers of all benefits. Although a certain
amount of superstition and poetry was mingled
with all this, the principles were true! A step
further, and the gods were cast aside—which
Europe likewise will have to do before very long!
One more step further, and priests and intermedi-


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THE DAWN OF DAY. 95
aries could also be dispensed with—and then
Buddha, the teacher of the religion of self-redemp-
tion, appeared. How far Europe is still removed
from this degree of culture! When at length all
the customs and observances, upon which rests the
power of gods, priests, and saviours, shall have been
destroyed, when as a consequence morality, in the
old sense, will be dead, then there will come . . .
yea, what will come then? But let us refrain from
speculating; let us rather make certain that Europe
will retrieve that which, in India, amidst this people
of thinkers, was carried out thousands of years ago
as a commandment of thought!
Scattered among the different nations of Europe
there are now from ten to twenty millions of men
who no longer "believe in God "—is it too much
to ask that they should give each other some
indication or password? As soon as they re-
cognise each other in this way, they will also make
themselves known to each other; and they will
immediately become a power in Europe, and,
happily, a power among the nations! among the
classes! between rich and poor! between those
who command, and those who obey! between the
most restless and the most tranquil, tranquillising
people!


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BOOK II.
97-
One becomes Moral—but not because one is
moral! Submission to morals may be due to
slavishness or vanity, egoism or resignation, dismal
fanaticism or thoughtlessness. It may, again,
be an act of despair, such as submission to the
authority of a ruler; but there is nothing moral
about it per se.
98.
Alterations in Morals. —Morals are con-
stantly undergoing changes and transformations,
occasioned by successful crimes. (To these, for ex-
ample, belong all innovations in moral judgments. )
99-
Wherein we are all Irrational. —We still
continue to draw conclusions from judgments which
we consider as false, or doctrines in which we no
longer believe,—through our feelings.
100.
Awaking from a Dream. —Noble and wise
men once upon a time believed in the music of the
G


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98 THE DAWN OF DAY.
spheres; there are still noble and wise men who
believe in " the moral significance of existence," but
there will come a day when this music of the spheres
also will no longer be audible to them. They will
awake and perceive that their ears have been dream-
ing.
IOI.
Open to Doubt. —To accept a belief simply be-
cause it is customary implies that one is dishonest,
cowardly, and lazy. —Must dishonesty, cowardice,
and laziness, therefore, be the primary conditions
of morality?
102.
The most Ancient Moral Judgments. —
What attitude do we assume towards the acts of
our neighbour ? —In the first place, we consider how
they may benefit ourselves—we see them only in
this light. It is this effect which we regard as the
intention of the acts,—and in the end we come
to look upon these intentions of our neighbour
as permanent qualities in him, and we call him,
for example, " a dangerous man. " Triple error!
Triple and most ancient mistake! Perhaps this
inheritance comes to us from the animals and their
faculty of judgment! Must not the origin of all
morality be sought in these detestable narrow-
minded conclusions: "Whatever injures me is evil
(something injurious in itself), whatever benefits me
is good (beneficial and profitable in itself), what-
ever injures me once or several times is hostile per
se; whatever benefits me once or several times is


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THE DAWN OF DAY. 99
friendly per se. " 0 pudenda origo! Is not this
equivalent to interpreting the contemptible, occa-
sional, and often merely accidental relations of an-
other person to us as his primary and most essential
qualities, and affirming that towards himself and
every one else he is only capable of such actions as
we ourselves have experienced at his hands once or
several times! And is not this thorough folly based
upon the most immodest of all mental reservations:
namely, that we ourselves must be the standard of
what is good, since we determine good and evil?
103.
There are Two Classes of People who
DENY MOraLITY. —To deny morality may mean,
in the first place, to deny the moral inducements
which, men pretend, have urged them on to their
actions,—which is equivalent to saying" that
morality merely consists of words and forms, part of
that coarse and subtle deceit (especially self-deceit)
which is characteristic of mankind, and perhaps
more especially of those men who are celebrated for
their virtues. In the second place, it may mean our
denying that moral judgments are founded on
truths. It is admitted in such a case that these
judgments are, in fact, the motives of the actions,
but that in this way it is really errors as the basis
of all moral judgments which urge men on to their
moral actions.
This is my point of view; but I
should be far from denying that in very many cases
a subtle suspicion in accordance with the former
point of view—i. e. in the spirit of La Rochefoucauld


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IOO THE DAWN OF DAY.
—is also justifiable,and in anycaseof a high general
utility. —Therefore I deny morality in the same
way as I deny alchemy, i. e. I deny its hypotheses;
but I do not deny that there have been alchemists
who believed in these hypotheses and based their
actions upon them. I also deny immorality—not
that innumerable people feel immoral, but that
there is any true reason why they should feel so.
I should not, of course, deny—unless I were a fool
—that many actions which are called immoral
should be avoided and resisted; and in the same
way that many which are called moral should be
performed and encouraged; but I hold that in both
cases these actions should be performed from
motives other than those which have prevailed up
to the present time. We must learn anew in order
that at last, perhaps very late in the day, we may be
able to do something more: feel anew.
104.
Our Valuations. —All actions may be re-
ferred back to valuations, and all valuations are
either one's own or adopted, the latter being by far
the more numerous. Why do we adopt them?
Through fear, i. e. we think it more advisable to
pretend that they are our own, and so well do we
accustom ourselves to do so that it at last becomes
second nature to us. A valuation of our own,
which is the appreciation of a thing in accordance
with the pleasure or displeasure it causes us and
no one else; is something very rare indeed ! —But
must not our valuation of our neighbour—which


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THE DAWN OF DAY. IOI
is prompted by the motive that we adopt his valu-
ation in most cases-—proceed from ourselves and by
our own decision? Of course, but then we come to
these decisions during our childhood, and seldom
change them. We often remain during our whole
lifetime the dupes of our childish and accustomed
judgments in our manner of judging our fellow-
men (their minds, rank, morality, character, and
reprehensibility), and we find it necessary to sub-
scribe to their valuations.
105.
PSEUDO-EgoISM. — The great majority of
people, whatever they may think and say about
their " egoism," do nothing for their ego all their
life long, but only for a phantom of this ego which
has been formed in regard to them by their friends
and communicated to them. As a consequence,
they all live in a haze of impersonal and half-
personal opinions and of arbitrary and, as it were,
poetic valuations: the one always in the head of
another, and this head, again, in the head of some-
body else—a queer world of phantoms which
manages to give itself a rational appearance! This
haze of opinions and habits grows in extent and
lives almost independently of the people it sur-
rounds; it is it which gives rise to the immense
effect of general judgments on " man "—all those
men, who do not know themselves, believe in a
bloodless abstraction which they call "man," i. e.
in a fiction; and every change caused in this ab-
straction by the judgments of powerful individu-


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102 THE DAWN OF DAY.
alities (such as princes and philosophers) produces
an extraordinary and irrational effect on the great
majority,—for the simple reason that not a single
individual in this haze can oppose a real ego,
an ego which is accessible to and fathomed by
himself, to the universal pale fiction, which he
could thereby destroy.
106.
Against Definitions of Moral Aims. —On
all sides we now hear the aim of morals defined as
the preservation and advancement of humanity; but
this is merely the expression of a wish to have a
formula and nothing more. Preservation wherein?
advancement whither? These are questions which
must at once be asked. Is not the most essential
point, the answer to this wherein f and whither?
left out of the formula? What results therefrom,
so far as our own actions and duties are concerned,
which is not already tacitly and instinctively under-
stood? Can we sufficiently understand from this
formula whether we must prolong as far as possible
the existence of the human race, or bring about the
greatest possible disanimalisation of man? How
different the means, i. e. the practical morals, would
have to be in the two cases! Supposing that the
greatest possible rationality were given to mankind,
this certainly would not guarantee the longest
possible existence for them! Or supposing that
their " greatest happiness" was thought to be the
answer to the questions put, do we thereby mean
the highest degree of happiness which a few in-


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THE DAWN OF DAY. 103
dividuals might attain, or an incalculable, though
finally attainable, average state of happiness for
all? And why should morality be the way to it?
Has not morality, considered as a whole, opened up
so many sources of displeasure as to lead us to
think that man up to the present, with every new
refinement of morality, has become more and more
discontented with himself, with his neighbour, and
with his own lot? Has not the most moral of men
hitherto believed that the only justifiable state of
mankind in the face of morals is that of the deepest
misery?
107.
Our Right to our Folly. —How must we
act? Why must we act? So far as the coarse and
immediate needs of the individual are concerned,
it is easy to answer these questions, but the more
we enter upon the more important and more subtle
domainsof action, themoredoes the problem become
uncertain and the more arbitrary its solution. An
arbitrary decision, however, is the very thing that
must be excluded here,—thus commands the auth-
ority of morals: an obscure uneasiness and awe
must relentlessly guide man in those very actions
the objects and means of which he cannot at once
perceive. This authority of morals undermines our
thinking faculty in regard to those things concern-
ing which it might be dangerous to think wrongly,
—it is in thisway,at all events, that morality usually
justifies itself to its accusers. Wrong in this place
means dangerous; but dangerous to whom? It


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104 THE DAWN OF DAY.
is not, as a rule, the danger of the doer of the action
which the supporters of authoritative morals have
in view, but their own danger; the loss which their
power and influence might undergo if the right to
act according to their own greater or lesser reason,
however wilfully and foolishly, were accorded to all
men. They on their part make unhesitating use
of their right to arbitrariness and folly,—they even
command in cases where it is hardly possible, or at
all events very difficult, to answer the questions,
"How must they act, why must they act? " And
if the reason of mankind grows with such extra-
ordinary slowness that it was often possible to deny
its growth during the whole course of humanity,
what is more to blame for this than this solemn
presence, even omnipresence, of moral commands,
which do not even permit the individual question
of how and why to be asked at all? Have we not
been educated precisely in such a way as to make
us feel pathetic, and thus to obscure our vision at
the very time when our reason should be able to
see as clearly and calmly as possible—i. e. in all
higher and more important circumstances?
108.
Some Theses. —We should not give the indi-
vidual, in so far as he desires his own happiness,
any precepts or recommendations as to the road
leading to happiness ; for individual happiness arises
from particular laws that are unknown to anybody,
and such a man will only be hindered or obstructed
by recommendations which come to him from out-


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THE DAWN OF DAY. 105
side sources. Those precepts which are called moral
are in reality directed against individuals, and do
not by any means make for the happiness of such in-
dividuals. The relationship of these precepts to the
"happiness and well-being of mankind" is equally
slight, for it is quite impossible to assign a definite
conception to these words, and still less can they
be employed as guiding stars on the dark sea of
moral aspirations. It is a prejudice to think that
morality is more favourable to the development of
the reason than immorality. It is erroneous to
suppose that the unconscious aim in the develop-
ment of every conscious being (namely, animal,
man, humanity, etc. ) is its "greatest happiness":
on the contrary, there is a particular and incom-
parable happiness to be attained at every stage of
our development, one that is neither high nor low,
but quite an individual happiness. Evolution does
not make happiness its goal; it aims merely at
evolution, and nothing else. It is only if humanity
had a universally recognised goal that we could
propose to do this or that: for the time being there
is no such goal. It follows that the pretensions
of morality should not be brought into any relation-
ship with mankind: this would be merely childish
and irrational. It is quite another thing to recom-
mend a goal to mankind: this goal would then be
something that would depend upon our own will
and pleasure. Provided that mankind in general
agreed to adopt such a goal, it could then impose
a moral law upon itself, a law which would, at all
events, be imposed by their own free will. Up to
now, however, the moral law has had to be placed


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I06 THE DAWN OF DAY.
above our own free will: strictly speaking, men
did not wish to impose this law upon themselves;
they wished to take it from somewhere, to discover
it, or to let themselves be commanded by it from
somewhere.
109.
Self-control and Moderation, and their
Final Motive. —I find not more than six essen-
tiallydifferent methods for combating the vehemence
of an impulse. First of all, we may avoid the
occasion for satisfying the impulse, weakening and
mortifying it by refraining from satisfying it for
long and ever-lengthening periods. Secondly, we
may impose a severe and regular order upon our-
selves in regard to the satisfying of our appetites.
By thus regulating the impulse and limiting its ebb
and flow to fixed periods, we may obtain intervals
in which it ceases to disturb us; and by beginning
in this way we may perhaps be able to pass on to
the first method. In the third place, we may de-
liberately give ourselves ovetto an unrestrained and
unbounded gratification of the impulse in order that
we may become disgusted with it, and to obtain by
means of this very disgust a command over the im-
pulse: provided, of course, that we do not imitate the
rider who rides his horse to death and breaks his
own neck in doing so. For this, unhappily, is gener-
ally the outcome of the application of this third
method.
In the fourth place, there is an intellectual trick,
which consists in associating the idea of the gratifica-
x



## p. 107 (#141) ############################################

THE DAWN OF DAY. 107
tion so firmly with some painful thought, that after a
little practice the thought of gratification is itself im-
mediately felt as a very painful one. (For example,
when the Christian accustoms himself to think of
the presence and scorn of the devil in the course of
sensual enjoyment, or everlasting punishment in
hell for revenge by murder; or even merely of the
contempt which he will meet with from those of
his fellow-men whom he most respects, if he steals
a sum of money, or if a man has often checked an
intense desire for suicide by thinking of the grief
and self-reproaches of his relations and friends, and
has thus succeeded in balancing himself upon the
edge of life: for, after some practice, these ideas
follow one another in his mind like cause and effect. )
Among instances of this kind may be mentioned
the cases of Lord Byron and Napoleon, in whom
the pride of man revolted and took offence at the
preponderance of one particular passion over the
collective attitude and order of reason. From this
arises the habit and joy of tyrannising over the
craving and making it, as it were, gnash its teeth.
"I will not be a slave of any appetite," wrote Byron
in his diary. In the fifth place, we may bring about
a dislocation of our powers by imposing upon our-
selves a particularly difficult and fatiguing task, or
by deliberately submitting to some new charm and
pleasure in order thus to turn our thoughts and
physical powers into other channels. It comes to
the same thing if we temporarily favour another im-
pulse by affording it numerous opportunities of
gratification, and thus rendering it the squanderer
of the power which would otherwise be command-


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106
THE DAWN OF DAY.
above our own free will: strictly speaking, men
did not wish to impose this law upon themselves;
they wished to take it from somewhere, to discover
it, or to let themselves be commanded by it from
somewhere.
109.
SELF-CONTROL AND MODERATION, AND THEIR
FINAL MOTIVE. — I find not more than six essen-
tially different methods for combating the vehemence
of an impulse. First of all, we may avoid the
occasion for satisfying the impulse, weakening and
mortifying it by refraining from satisfying it for
long and ever-lengthening periods. Secondly, we
may impose a severe and regular order upon our-
selves in regard to the satisfying of our appetites.
By thus regulating the impulse and limiting its ebb
and flow to fixed periods, we may obtain intervals
in which it ceases to disturb us; and by beginning
in this way we may perhaps be able to pass on to
the first method. In the third place, we may de-
liberately give ourselves over to an unrestrained and
unbounded gratification of the impulse in order that
we may become disgusted with it, and to obtain by
means of this very disgust a command over the im-
pulse: provided, of course, that we do not imitate the
rider who rides his horse to death and breaks his
own neck in doing so. For this, unhappily, is gener-
ally the outcome of the application of this third
method.
In the fourth place, there is an intellectual trick,
which consists in associating the idea of the gratifica-


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THE DAWN OF DAY.
107
tion so firmly with some painful thought, that after a
little practice the thought of gratification is itself im-
mediately felt as a very painful one. (For example,
when the Christian accustoms himself to think of
the presence and scorn of the devil in the course of
sensual enjoyment, or everlasting punishment in
hell for revenge by murder; or even merely of the
contempt which he will meet with from those of
his fellow-men whom he most respects, if he steals
a sum of money, or if a man has often checked an
intense desire for suicide by thinking of the grief
and self-reproaches of his relations and friends, and
has thus succeeded in balancing himself upon the
edge of life: for, after some practice, these ideas
follow one another in his mind like cause and effect. )
Among instances of this kind may be mentioned
the cases of Lord Byron and Napoleon, in whom
the pride of man revolted and took offence at the
preponderance of one particular passion over the
collective attitude and order of reason. From this
arises the habit and joy of tyrannising over the
craving and making it, as it were, gnash its teeth.
“ I will not be a slave of any appetite," wrote Byron
in his diary. In the fifth place, we may bring about
a dislocation of our powers by imposing upon our-
selves a particularly difficult and fatiguing task, or
by deliberately submitting to some new charm and
pleasure in order thus to turn our thoughts and
physical powers into other channels. It comes to
the same thing if we temporarily favour another im-
pulse by affording it numerous opportunities of
gratification, and thus rendering it the squanderer
of the power which would otherwise be command-


## p. 107 (#144) ############################################

106
THE DAWN OF DAY.
above our own free will: strictly speaking, men
did not wish to impose this law upon themselves;
they wished to take it from somewhere, to discover
it, or to let themselves be commanded by it from
somewhere.
109.
SELF-CONTROL AND MODERATION, AND THEIR
FINAL MOTIVE. —I find not more than six essen-
tially different methods for combating the vehemence
of an impulse. First of all, we may avoid the
occasion for satisfying the impulse, weakening and
mortifying it by refraining from satisfying it for
long and ever-lengthening periods. Secondly, we
may impose a severe and regular order upon our-
selves in regard to the satisfying of our appetites.
By thus regulating the impulse and limiting its ebb
and flow to fixed periods, we may obtain intervals
in which it ceases to disturb us; and by beginning
in this way we may perhaps be able to pass on to
the first method. In the third place, we may de-
liberately give ourselves over to an unrestrained and
unbounded gratification of the impulse in order that
we may become disgusted with it, and to obtain by
means of this very disgust a command over the im-
pulse: provided, of course, that we do not imitate the
rider who rides his horse to death and breaks his
own neck in doing so. For this, unhappily, is gener-
ally the outcome of the application of this third
method.
In the fourth place, there is an intellectual trick,
which consists in associating the idea of the gratifica-


## p. 107 (#145) ############################################

THE DAWN OF DAY.
107
tion so firmly with some painful thought, that after a
little practice the thought of gratification is itself im-
mediately felt as a very painful one. (For example,
when the Christian accustoms himself to think of
the presence and scorn of the devil in the course of
sensual enjoyment, or everlasting punishment in
hell for revenge by murder; or even merely of the
contempt which he will meet with from those of
his fellow-men whom he most respects, if he steals
a sum of money, or if a man has often checked an
intense desire for suicide by thinking of the grief
and self-reproaches of his relations and friends, and
has thus succeeded in balancing himself upon the
edge of life: for, after some practice, these ideas
follow one another in his mind like cause and effect. )
Among instances of this kind may be mentioned
the cases of Lord Byron and Napoleon, in whom
the pride of man revolted and took offence at the
preponderance of one particular passion over the
collective attitude and order of reason. From this
arises the habit and joy of tyrannising over the
craving and making it, as it were, gnash its teeth.
“I will not be a slave of any appetite," wrote Byron
in his diary. In the fifth place, we may bring about
a dislocation of our powers by imposing upon our-
selves a particularly difficult and fatiguing task, or
by deliberately submitting to some new charm and
pleasure in order thus to turn our thoughts and
physical powers into other channels. It comes to
the same thing if we temporarily favour another im-
pulse by affording it numerous opportunities of
gratification, and thus rendering it the squanderer
of the power which would otherwise be command-


## p. 108 (#146) ############################################

108 THE DAWN OF DAY.
eered, so to speak, by the tyrannical impulse. A
few, perhaps, will be able to restrain the particular
passion which aspires to domination by granting
their other known passions a temporary encourage-
ment and license in order that they may devour
the food which the tyrant wishes for himself
alone.
In the sixth and last place, the man who can
stand it, and thinks it reasonable to weaken and sub-
due his entire physical and psychical organisation,
likewise, of course, attains the goal of weakening a
single violent instinct; as, for example, those who
starve their sensuality and at the same time their
vigour, and often destroy their reason into the bar-
gain, such as the ascetics. —Hence, shunning the
opportunities, regulating the impulse, bringing
about satiety and disgust in the impulse, associating
a painful idea (such as that of discredit, disgust, or
offended pride), then the dislocation of one's forces,
and finally general debility and exhaustion: these
are the six methods. But the will to combat the
violence of a craving is beyond our power, equally
with the method we adopt and the success we may
have in applying it. In all this process our intellect
is rather merely the blind instrument of another rival
craving, whether it be the impulse to repose, or the
fear of disgrace and other evil consequences, or love.
While " we " thus imagine that we are complaining
of the violence of an impulse, it is at bottom merely
one impulse which is complaining of another, i. e. the
perception of the violent suffering which is being
caused us presupposes that there is another equally
or more violent impulse, and that a struggle
<
*.


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THE DAWN OF DAY. 109
is impending in which our intellect must take
part.
110.
That which Opposes. —We may observe the
following process in ourselves, and I should like
it to be often observed and confirmed. There arises
in us the scent of a kind of pleasure hitherto un-
known to us, and consequently a new craving.
Now, the question is, What opposes itself to this
craving? If it be things and considerations of a
common kind, or people whom we hold in no very
high esteem, the aim of the new craving assumes
the appearance of a "noble, good, praiseworthy
feeling, and one worthy of sacrifice ": all the moral
dispositions which have been inherited will adopt
it and will add it to the number of those aims which
we consider as moral—and now we imagine that
we are no longer striving after a pleasure, but after
a morality, which greatly increases our confidence
in our aspirations.
III.
To the Admirers of Objectiveness. —He
who, as a child, has observed in his parents and
acquaintances in the midst of whom he has grown
up, certain varied and strong feelings, with but
little subtle discernment and inclination for intel-
lectual justice, and has therefore employed his best
powers and his most precious time in imitating these
feelings, will observe in himself when he arrives
at years of discretion that every new thing or man
he meets with excites in him either sympathy or


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110 THE DAWN OF DAY.
aversion, envy or contempt. Under the domina-
tion of this experience, which he is powerless to
shake off, he admires neutrality of feeling or
"objectivity" as an extraordinary thing, as some-
thing connected with genius or a very rare morality,
and he cannot believe that even this neutrality is
merely the product of education and habit.
112.
On the Natural History of Duty and
RIGHt. —Our duties are the claims which others
have upon us. How did they acquire these claims?
By the fact that they considered us as capable of
making and holding agreements and contracts, by
assuming that we were their like and equals, and
by consequently entrusting something to us, bring-
ing us up, educating us, and supporting us. We
do our duty, i. e. we justify that conception of our
power for the sake of which all these things were
done for us. We return them in proportion as
they were meted out to us. It is thus our pride
that orders us to do our duty—we desire to re-
establish our own independence by opposing to that
which others have done for us something that we
do for them, for in that way the others invade our
sphere of power, and would for ever have a hand
in it if we did not make reprisals by means of
"duty," and thus encroach upon their power. The
rights of others can only have regard to that which
lies within our power; it would be unreasonable
on their part to require something from us which
does not belong to us. To put the matter more


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THE DAWN OF DAY. Iil
accurately, their rights can only relate to what they
imagine to be in our power, provided that it is
something that we ourselves consider as being in
our power. The same error may easily occur on
either side. The feeling of duty depends upon
our having the same belief in regard to the extent
of our power as other people have, i. e. that we can
promise certain things and undertake to do them
freely (" free will").
My rights consist of that part of my power which
others have not only conceded to me, but which
they wish to maintain for me. Why do they do
it? On the one hand they are actuated by wisdom,
fear and prudence: whether they expect something
similar from us (the protection of their rights),
whether they consider a struggle with us as danger-
ous or inopportune, or whether they see a dis-
advantage to themselves in every diminution of our
power, since in that case we should be ill adapted
for an alliance with them against a hostile third
power. On the other hand rights are granted by
donations and cessions. In this latter case, the
other people have not only enough power, but more
than enough, so that they can give up a portion and
guarantee it to the person to whom they give it:
whereby they presuppose a certain restricted sense
of power in the person upon whom they have be-
stowed the gift. In this way rights arise: recog-
nised and guaranteed degrees of power. When
the relations of powers to one another are materially
changed, rights disappear and new ones are formed,
as is demonstrated by the constant flux and reflux
of the rights of nations. When our power dimin-


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112 THE DAWN OF DAY.
ishes to any great extent, the feelings of those who
hitherto guaranteed it undergo some change: they
consider whether they shall once again restore us to
our former possession, and if they do not see their
way to do this they deny our " rights" from that
time forward. In the same way, if our power in-
creases to a considerable extent the feelings of those
who previously recognised it, and whose recognition
we no longer require, likewise change: they will
then try to reduce our power to its former dimen-
sions, and they will endeavour to interfere in our
affairs, justifying their interference by an appeal to
their " duty. " But this is merely useless word-quib-
bling. Where right prevails, a certain state and
degree of power is maintained, and all attempts at
its augmentation and diminution are resisted. The
right of others is the concession of our feeling of
power to the feeling of power in these others.
Whenever our power shows itself to be thoroughly
shattered and broken, our rights cease: on the
other hand, when we have become very much
stronger, the rights of others cease in our minds to be
what we have hitherto admitted them to be. The
man who aims at being just, therefore, must keep a
constant lookout for the changes in the indicator of
the scales in order that he may properly estimate the
degrees of power and right which, with the custom-
ary transitoriness of human things, retain their
equilibrium for only a short time and in most cases
continue to rise and fall.