No More Learning

The form is fluid, but the mean-



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"GUILT," "BAD CONSCIENCE," AND THE LIKE. (91

ing is even more so — e ven insi | de , every ind ividual''
organism the case is the same : with every genuine
growtH of the whole, the ^^Junction^' _of ^he
individual organs" beconies shifted, — in certain
cases a partial~perisKiiTg'of these organs, a diminu-
tion of their numbers (for instance, through
annihilation of the connecting members), can be
a symptom of growing strength and perfection.
What . 1 mean is this : even partial loss of
utiH^j^ decay,^nd_^ degeneratio^lToss of ^ function
and, purposej_iin_ajword^_ death, appertain__to_^e
conditions of the genuine progressus ; which always
appears fn the shape of a will and way to greater
power, and is always realised at_ the expense _^,
innumerabl e smaller powers. The magnitude of
a " progress " is gauged by the greatness of the
sacrifice that it requires : humanity as a mass
sacrificed to the prosperity of the one stronger
species of Man — that would be a progre ss. 3 I
emphasise all the more this cardinal characteristic
of the historic method, for the reason that in its
essence it r uns counter to predominant instincts
and_prevaiHng taste, which_ much prefer to put up
with absolute casualness. e ven with the mechanical
senselessness of all phenomena, than with the theory
of a power-will, in exhaustive play throughout all
phenomena. The democratic idiosyncrasy against
everything which rules and wishes to rule, the
modern misarchism (to coin a bad word for a bad
thing), has gradually but so thoroughly trans-
formed itself into the guise of intellectualism, the
most abstract intellectualism, that even nowadays
it penetrates and has the right to penetrate step



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92 THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS.

by step into the most exact and apparently the
most objective sciences : this tendency has, in
fact, in my view already dominated the whole of
physiology and biology, and to their detriment,
as is obvious, in so far as it has spirited away a
radical idea, the idea of true activity. The tyranny

of this idiosyncrasy, however, results injtne theory
of""adapt-atio » ' ' - b ctng— pusEed forward mto the
vairtrf^he" argument, exploited ; adaptation — that
means to say, a second-class activity, a mere
capacity for " reacting "t; in fact, life itselt has""
been defined (by Herbert Spencer) as an in-
creasingly effec tive internal adaptation to external
circumstances. r This definition, however, fails to
realise the reaf essence of life , its will to powerj
It fails to appreciate _the paramount superiority
enjoyed by those plastic forces~bf spontaneity,
aggression, and encroachment" with "TEeir new~~
interpre^Ea^tcfRs" and" tendencies, To"the operation*
of which adaptation is~ only a natural corollary:
consequently the sovereign_office of UEilMghest
functionaries' iritTie organism itself (among which
the life-will appears as an active and forinative
principle) is repudiated. One remembers Huxley's"
reproach to Spencer of his " administrative
Nihilism " : but it is a case of something much
more than " administration. "

13-

To return to our subject, namely punishment,
we must make consequently a double distinction :
first, the relatively permanent element, the custom,



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" GUILT," " BAD CONSCIENCE," AND THE LIKE. 93

the act, the " drama," a certain rigid sequence of
methods of procedure ; on the qther hand, the fluid
element, the meaning, the end, the expectation
which is attached to the operation of such pro-
cedure. At this point we immediately assume,
per analogiam (in accordance with the theory of
the historic method, which we have elaborated
above), that the procedure itself is something older
and earlier than its utilisation in punishment, that
this utilisation was introduced a. nd interpreted into
the procedure (which had existed for a long time,
but whose employment had another meaning), in
short, that the case is different from that hitherto
supposed by our naif genealogists of morals and
of law, who thought that the procedure was
invented for the purpose of punishment, in the
same way that the hand had been previously
thought to have been invented for the purpose
of grasping. With regard to the other element
in punishment, its fluid element, its meaning, the
idea of punishment in a very late stage of civilisa-
tion (for instance, contemporary Europe) is not
content with manifesting merely one meaning,
but manifests a whole synthesis " of meanings. "
The past general history of punishment, the history
of its employment for the most diverse ends,
crystallises eventually into a kind of unity, which
is difficult to analyse into its parts, and which, it
is necessary to emphasise, absolutely defies defini-
tion. (It is nowadays impossible to say definitely
the precise reason for punishment: all ideas, in
which a whole process is promiscuously compre-
hended, elude definition ; it is only that which



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94 THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS.

has no history, which can be defined. ) At an
earlier stage, on the contrary, that synthesis of
meanings appears much less rigid and much more
elastic ; we can realise how in each individual
case the elements of the synthesis change their
value and their position, so that now one element
and now another stands out and predominates
over the others, nay, in certain cases one element
(perhaps the end of deterrence) seems to eliminate
all the rest. At any rate, so as to give some idea
of the uncertain, supplementary, and accidental
nature of the meaning of punishment and of the
manner in which one identical procedure can be
employed and adapted for the most diametrically
opposed objects, I will at this point give a scheme
that has suggested itself to me, a scheme itself
based on comparatively small and accidental
material. — Punishment, as rendering the criminal
harmless and incapable of further injury. — Punish-
ment, as compensation for the injury sustained by
the injured party, in any form whatsoever (including
the form of sentimental compensation). — Punish-
ment, as an isolation of that which disturbs the
equilibrium, so as to prevent the further spreading
of the disturbance. — Punishment as a means of
inspiring fear of those who determine and execute
the punishment. — Punishment as a kind of com-
pensation for advantages which the wrong-doer has
up to that time enjoyed (for example, when he is
utilised as a slave in the mines). — Punishment, as
the elimination of an element of decay (sometimes
of a whole branch, as according to the Chinese
laws, consequently as a means to the purification



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" GUILT," " BAD CONSCIENCE," AND THE LIKE. 95

of the race, or the preservation of a social type). —
Punishment as a festival, as the violent oppression
and humiliation of an enemy that has at last been
subdued. — Punishment as a mnemonic, whether for
him who suffers the punishment — the so-called
" correction," or for the witnesses of its administra-
tion. — Punishment, as the payment of a fee stipu-
lated for by the power which protects the evil-doer
from the excesses of revenge. — Punishment, as
a compromise with the natural phenomenon of
revenge, in so far as revenge is still maintained
and claimed as a privilege by the stronger races. —
Punishment as a declaration and measure of war
against an enemy of peace, of law, of order, of
authority, who is fought by society with the
weapons which war provides, as a spirit dangerous
to the community, as a breaker of the contract on
which the community is based, as a rebel, a traitor,
and a breaker of the peace.

14.

This list is certainly not complete ; it is obvious
that punishment is overloaded with utilities of all
kinds. This makes it all the more permissible to
eliminate one supposed utility, which passes, at any
rate in the popular mind, for its most essential
utility, and which is just what even now provides
the strongest support for that faith in punishment
which is nowadays for many reasons tottering.
Punishment is supposed to have the value of
exciting in the guilty the consciousness of guilt ;
in punishment is sought the proper instrumentum



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g6 THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS.

of that psychic reaction which becomes known as
a "bad conscience," "remorse. " But this theory
is even, from the point of view of the present,
a violation of reality and psychology: and how
much more so is the case when we have to deal
with the longest period of man's history, his
primitive history ! Genuine remorse is certainly
extremely rare among wrong-doers and the victims
of punishment ; prisons and houses of coiTection
are not tke soil on which this worm of remorse
pullulates for choice — this is the unanimous
opinion of all conscientious observers, who in
many cases arrive at such a judgment with
enough reluctance and against their own personal
wishes. (Speaking generally, punishment hardens
and numbs, it produces concentration, it sharpens
the consciousness of alienation, it strengthens the
power of resistance, j When it happens that it
breaks the man's energy and brings about a
piteous prostration and abjectness, such a result
is certainly even less salutary than the average
effect of punishment, which is characterised by
a harsh and sinister doggedness. The thought
of those prehistoric millennia brings us to the un-
hesitating conclusion, that it was simply through
punishment that the evolution of the conscious-
ness of guilt was most forcibly retarded — at any
rate in the victims of the punishing power. In
particular, let us not underestimate the extent to
which, by the very sight of the judicial and
executive procedure, the wrong-doer is himself pre-
vented from feeling that his deed, the character of
his act, is intrinsically reprehensible : for he sees



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"GUILT," " BAD CONSCIENCE," AND THE LIKE. 97

clearly the same kind of acts practised in the
service of justice, and then called good, and
practised with a good conscience ; acts such as
espionage, trickery, bribery, trapping, the whole
intriguing and insidious art of the policeman and
the informer — the whole system, in fact, manifested
in the different kinds of punishment (a system
not excused by passion, but based on principle), of
robbing, oppressing, insulting, imprisoning, rack-
ing, murdering. — All this he sees treated by his
judges, not as acts njeriting censure and con-
demnation in themselves, but only in a particular
context and application. It was not on this soil
that grew the " bad conscience," that most sinister
and interesting plant of our earthly vegetation —
in point of fact, throughout a most lengthy period,
no suggestion of having to do with a " guilty
man " manifested itself in the consciousness of the
man who judged and punished. One had merely
to deal with an author of an injury, an irrespons-
ible piece of fate. And the man himself, on
whom the punishment subsequently fell like a
piece of fate, was occasioned no more of an
"inner pain" than would be occasioned by the
sudden approach of some uncalculated event,
some terrible natural catastrophe, a rushing,
crushing avalanche against which there is no
resistance.

IS.

This truth came insidiously enough to the
consciousness of Spinoza (to the disgust of his
commentators, who (like Kuno Fischer, for instance)
G



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98 THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS.

give themselves no end of trouble to misunder-
stand him on this point), when one afternoon (as
he sat raking up who knows what memory) he in-
dulged in the question of what was really left for
him personally of the celebrated morsus conscientice
— Spinoza, who had relegated " good and evil " to
the sphere of human imagination, and indignantly
defended the honour of his " free " God against
those blasphemers who affirmed that God did
everything sub ratione boni (" but this was tanta-
mount to subordinating God to fate, and would
really be the greatest of all absurdities"). For
Spinoza the world had returned again to that
innocence in which it lay before the discovery of
the bad conscience : what, then, had happened to
the morsus conscienticB ? " The antithesis of
gaudiutn" said he at last to himself, — " A sadness
accompanied by the recollection of a past event
which has turned out contrary to all expecta-
tion " {Eth. III. , Propos. XVIIL Schol. i. ii. ). Evil-
doers have throughout thousands of years felt when
overtaken by punishment exactly like Spinoza, on
the subject of their " offence " : " here is some-
thing which went wrong contrary to my anticipa-
tion," not " I ought not to have done this. " — They
submitted themselves to punishment, just as one
submits one's self to a disease, to a misfortune, or
to death, with that stubborn and resigned fatalism
which gives the Russians, for instance, even now-
adays, the advantage over us Westerners, in the
handling of life. If at that period there was a
critique of action, the criterion was prudence:
the real effect of punishment is unquestionably



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" GUILT," " BAD CONSCIENCE," AND THE LIKE. 99

chiefly to be found in a sharpening of the sense of
prudence, in a lengthening of the memory, in a
will to adopt more of a policy of caution, sus-
picion, and secrecy ; in the recognition that there
are many things which are unquestionably beyond
one's capacity ; in a kind of improvement in self-
criticism. The broad effects which can be
obtained by punishment in man and beast, are
the increase of fear, the sharpening of the sense
of cunning, the mastery of the desires : so it is
that punishment tames man, but does not make
him " better " — it would be more correct even to
go so far as to assert the contrary (" Injury makes
a man cunning," says a popular proverb : so far
as it makes him cunning, it makes him also bad.
Fortunately, it often enough makes him stupid).

16.

At this juncture I cannot avoid trying to give
a tentative and provisional expression to my own
hypothesis concerning the origin of the bad con-
science : it is difficult to make it fully appreciated,
and it requires continuous meditation, attention,

and digestion. T regard the )iad coiTi''tpnrp ag

tiie^jerious_Jllog§s„,. ,ffih^

contract under^ the stress of the most, radical
cha nge whic h he has ever expejieaced. -^r-that .
c hange, when he found ^himself finally imprisoned
w ithin the pale of society and_of peaceJ

Just like the plight of the water-animals, when
they were compelled either to become land-
animals or to perish, so was the plight of these



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lOO ) THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS.

half-animals, perfectly adapted as they were to
the savage life of war, prowling, and adventure —
suddenly all their instincts were rendered worthless
and "switched off. " Henceforward they had to
walk on their feet — "carry themselves," whereas
heretofore they had been carried by the water:
a terrible heaviness oppressed them. They
found themselves clumsy in obeying the simplest
directions, confronted with this new and unknown
world they had no longer their old guides —
the regulative instincts that had led them un-
consciously to safety — they were reduced, were
those unhappy creatures, to thinking, inferring,
carculating," putting together causes andresujts^
reduced to that poorest and most eixati£_£ttga»
. of theirs," their "c'oiisciousnesfi. ",. I do not believe
there was ever in the world such a feeling of
misery, such a leaden discomfort — further, those
old instincts had not immediately ceased their
demands ! Only it was difficult and rarely
possible to gratify them : speaking broadly,
they were compelled to satisfy themselves by
new and, as it were, hole-and-corner methods.
[All instincts which do not find a vent jwithout,,^
. turn inwards — this is what I mean by the^
growing. " internalisation " of man : consequently
we have the first growth in man, of what
subsequently was called his souLl The whole

inner world, originally as^ . thin as W it ha'a~

been stretched between two layers of skin,_burst
apart and expanded proportionately, and obtained _
depth, breadth, and height, when man's external
outlet became obstructed. These terrible bul-



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" GUILT," " BAD CONSCIENCE," AND THE LIKE. lOI

warksjwith^ whyh„the, socig,} organisation . protected
its elf against the old instincts of freedo m (punish-
ments belong pre-eminently to these bulwarks),
brought it about that all those instincts of wild,
free, pro wling man became turned backwards
against man himself. Enmity, cruelty, the delidCT^
in_p e. rse. cution, in s urprises, ch ange, des^. uctiOQT^

thejamiQg-j^lJhgsg„ffl§^i^ ag^'P^t tjasii:. jaaii

possessors : t his is the origin of the "bad conscience. 'j
It was man, who, lacking external enemies and
obstacles, and imprisoned as he was Jn , the
oppressive n arrowhesF^anH^monotony of custom,
in his own impatience lacerated, persecuted,
gnawed , frightened, arid Ill-treated himself; it was
this animal in the hands" of the tamer, which beat
itself against the bars of its cage ; it was this
being who, pining and yearning for that desert
home of which it had been deprived, was com-
pelled to create out of its own selfi_an. ady. eiiture,
a torture-chamber, a hazardous and perilous desert
— it was this foplj this" homesick "and desperate
prisoner — who invented the " bad conscience. "
But thereby he introduced that most grave and
sinister illness, from which mankind has not yet
recovered, the suffering of man from the disease
called man, as the result of a violent breaking from
his animal past, the result, as it were, of a spasm-
odic plunge into a new environment and new con-
ditions of existence^the result of a declaration^f
war^gainst the old m? flwefs",;7wHic¥'up'to that
time had been' the staple of his power, his joy,
his formidableness. Let us immediately add that
this fact of an animal ego turning against itself,



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102 THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS.

taking part against itself, produced in the world so
novel, profound, unheard-of, problematic, inconsist-
ent, and pregnant a phenomenon, that the aspect of
the world was radically altered thereby. In sooth,
only divine spectators could have appreciated the
drama that then began, and whose end baffles con-
jecture as yet — a drama too subtle, too wonderful,
too paradoxical to warrant its undergoing a non-
sensical and unheeded performance on some
random grotesque planet ! Henceforth man is to
be counted as one of the most unexpected and
sensational lucky shots in the game of the "big
baby" of Heracleitus, whether he be called Zeus
or Chance — he awakens on his behalf the interest,
excitement, hope, almost the confidence, of his
being the harbinger and forerunner of something,
of man being no end, but only a stage, an
interlude, a bridge, a great promise.

17-

It is primarily involved in this kypathesisuQf^
the origin of the bad conscience, that that alteraj^
tion was no gxaduai and no voluntary altststion,
and that it did . not manifest . itself „as,an^organic
adaptation to new conditions, but^as^,Ji,_bre^,'
a jump, a necessity, an inevitable fate, against
which there was no resistance and neyer a spark
of rese ntment. And secondarily, that the fitting
of a hithertolTrichecked and amorphous population
into a fixed form, starting as it had done iii^n act
of violence, could only be accomplished by acts
of violence and nothing else — that the oldest



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

"State" appeared consequently as a ghastly
tyranny, a grinding ruthless piece of machinery,
which went on working, till this raw material
of a semi - animal populace was not only
thoroughly kneaded and elastic, but also moulded.
I used the word " State " : my meaning is self-/
evident, namely, a herd of blonde beasts of prey, c
race of conquerors and masters, which with all its
warlike organisation and all its organising power
pounces with its terrible claws on a population,
in numbers possibly tremendously superior, but\
as yet formless, as yet nomad. Such is the
origin of the " St ate/^ That fantastic theory that
"makes it begin'"wiith a contract is, I think, dis-
posed of. He who can command, he who is a
master^b y "^natur. e,". , he who comes"oal tEe~scene
forceful in deed and gesture — what has he to
^o with contracts ? Such beings defy calculation,
they come like fate^ without cause, reason, notice,
excuse, they are there like the lightning is there,
too terrible, too sudden, too convincing, too
"different," to be personally even hated. Their
work is an instinctive creating and impressing ,
of forms, they are the most involuntary, un-
conscious artists that there are : — their appearance
produces instantaneously a scheme of sovereignty
which is live, in which the functions are partitioned
and apportioned, in which above all no part is
received or finds a place, until pregnant with a
" meaning " in regard to the whole. They afe\
ignorant of the meaning of guilt, responsibiltiy, '
consideration, are these born organisers ; in them
predominates that terrible artist - egoism, that



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I04 ' THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS.

gleams like brass, and that . knows itself justified
to all eternity, in its work||even as a mother in
her child. It is not in them that there grew
the bad conscience, that is elementary — but it
would not have grown without them, repulsive
growth as it was, it would be missing, had not
a tremendous quantity of freedom been expelled
from the world by the stress of their hammer-
strokes, their artist violence, or been at any
rate made invisible and, as it were, latent. This
instinct of freedom forced i nto being laten t-^t~is~
already _. clear — this instinct of freedom forced
back, trodden back, imprisoned ,within its elf, an d
finally only able tP find vent and relief in itself;
this, only this, is the beginning of the " bad
conscience. "

Beware of thinking lightly of this phenomenon,
by reason of its initial painful ugliness. At
batt. om it is the s ame active force_^gbich is ai-^pfjjT
on a more grandiose scale in _ those potent artists
and organisers, and, builds^ „ states, which here,
internally, on a smaller and pettierjcale_aQd-5Kith.
a retrogressive tendency, _ makes itself -a-Jaad-^on-
science in the " labyrinth of the breast," to use
Goethe's phrase, and which builds negativ-eJdeals. ;
it is, I repeat, that identiral in. <^t mct of freedom (to
use my own language, the will t o power) : only
the material, on which this force with all its con-
structive and tyrannous nature is let loose, is here
man himself, his whole old animal self — and not
as in the case of that more grandiose and sensa-



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"GUILT," "BAD CONSCIENCE," AND THE LIKE. (^ lOS

tional phenomenon, the other man, other men.
This secret self-tyranny, this crueltjj^of_the„aJltist,
thiis^ delight in giving a form to on e's self as a piece
of difficult, refractorvj and suffering material, in

- -. ,,- n-i |-irx~~— ^ <iiin<lliiii J i n''" ii '■'"'"■ n il *" ■■ i"' " "" " " "T '" ' "' " " ' ' "ii^i

burning in ^ wiU, a critique, a contradiction, a
contempt, a_ n egation ^. . Ihis silUda;~jauad_shastiZ-„
labour of love on the part of a soul^whose will is^
cloven "Tntwo within itself, which makes itself
suffer fromaeTigKt"in tfie inffiction of sufifering ;
this wholly '«c? ? ! ? FT5a'd''"consctehce Tias finally (as
oTie' "already anticipates)— true fountainhead as
it is of idealism and imagination — produced an
abundance of" novel ancT amazing T5eaufy^an3
affirm^tion^^jiiiS perhaps "Kas" really teen thg,,££sJL
to give b irth to beauty at all. What would
beauty be, forsooth, if its contradiction had not
first been presented to consciousness, if the ugly
had not first said to itself, " I am ugly " ? At
any rate, after this hint the problem oi how far
idealism and bea uty can be traced in _such
opposite ideas as '^ seTflessness" self -denial, self-
sacrifice, b ecomes less problematical ; and in-
dubitably in future we shall certainly know the
real and original character of Ithe delight experi- .
enced by the self-less, the self-denying, the self-
sacrificing: this delight is a phase of crueltyj
[—So much provisionally for the origin of
' "altruism" as a moral value, and the marking
out the ground from which this value has grown :
it^is o nly the bad con science, only the will for,'
seIfciESiiZIES! ! SSSH^rnecessary conditronsj
for the -existence: of altruism as a value. \ "~ »



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Io6 THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS.

19.

Undoubtedly the bad conscience is an illness,
but an illness like pregnancy is an illness. If
we search out the conditions under which this
illness reaches its most terrible and sublime
zenith, we shall see what really first brought
about its entry into the world. But to do this
we must take a long breath, and we must first
of all go back once again to an earlier point
of view. The relation at civil law of the ower to
his creditor (which has already been discussed in
detail), has been interpreted once again (and
indeed in a manner which historically is exceed-
ingly remarkable and suspicious) into a relation-
ship, which is perhaps more incomprehensible to
us moderns than to any other era ; that is, into
the relationship of the existing generation to its
ancestors. Within the original tribal association —
we are talking of primitive times — each living
generation recognises a legal obligation towards
the earlier generation, and particularly towards
the earliest, which founded the family (and this
is something much more than a mere sentimental
obligation, the existence of which, during the
longest period of man's history, is by no means
indisputable). There prevails in them the con-
viction that it is only thanks to sacrifices and
efforts of their ancestors, that the race persists
at all — and that this has to be paid back to
them by sacrifices and services. Thus is recog-
nised the owing of a debt, which accumulates
continually by reason of these ancestors never



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" GUILT," " BAD CONSCIENCE," AND THE LIKE. I07

ceasing in their subsequent life as potent spirits
to secure by their power new privileges and
advantages to the race. Gratis, perchance ? But
there is no gratis for that raw and " mean-souled "
age. What return can be made? — Sacrifice (at
first, nourishment, in its crudest sense), festivals,
temples, tributes of veneration, above all, obedience
— since all customs are, qu& works of the ancestors,
equally their precepts and commands — are the
ancestors ever given enough ? This suspicion
remains and grows : from time to time it extorts
a great wholesale ransom, something monstrous
in the way of repayment of the creditor (the
notorious sacrifice of the first-born, for example,
blood, human blood in any case). The fear of
ancestors and their power, the consciousness of
owing debts to them, necessarily increases, accord-
ing to this kind of logic, in the exact proportion
that the race itself increases, that the race itself
becomes more victorious, more independent, more
honoured, more feared. This, and not the con-
trary, is the fact. Each step towards race decay, all
disastrous events, all symptoms of degeneration,
of approaching disintegration, always diminish the
fear of the founders' spirit, and whittle away the
idea of his sagacity, providence, and potent presence.
Conceive this crude kind of logic carried to its
climax : it follows that the ancestors of the most
powerful races must, through the growing fear
that they exercise on the imaginations, grow
themselves into monstrous dimensions, and become
relegated to the gloom of a divine mystery that
transcends invagination — the ancestor becomes at



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I08 THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS.

last necessarily transfigured into a god. Perhaps
this is the very origin of the gods, that is, an
origin from fear ! And those who feel bound to
add, " but from piety also," will have difficulty in
maintaining this theory, with regard to the
primeval and longest period of the human race.
And of course this is even more the case as
regards the middle period, the formative period
of the aristocratic races — the aristocratic races
which have given back with interest to their
founders, the ancestors (heroes, gods), all those
qualities which in the meanwhile have appeared
in themselves, that is, the aristocratic qualities.
We will later on glance again at the ennobling and
promotion of the gods (which of course is totally
distinct from their " sanctification ") : let us now
provisionally follow to its end the course of the
whole of this development of the consciousness of
" owing. "

20.

According to the teaching of history, the con-
sciousness of owing debts to the deity by no
means came to an end with the decay of the
clan organisation of society ; just as mankind has
inherited the ideas of " good " and " bad " from
the race-nobility (together with its fundamental
tendency towards establishing social distinctions),
so with the heritage of the racial and tribal gods
it has also inherited the incubus of debts as yet
unpaid and the desire to discharge them. The
transition is effected by those large populations of
slaves and bondsmen, who, whether through com-



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"GUILT," "BAD CONSCIENCE, AND THE LIKE. 109

pulsion or through submission and " mimicry "\
have accommodated themselves to the religion of ]
their masters ; through this channel these inherited
tendencies inundate the world. iThe feeling of
owing a debt to the deity has grown continu-
ously for several centuries, always in the same
proportion in which the idea of God and the con-
sciousness of God have grown and become exalted
among mankind! (The whole history of ethnic
fights, victories, reconciliations, amalgamations,
everything, in fact, which precedes the eventual
classing of all the social elements in each great
race-synthesis, are mirrored in the hotch-potch
genealogy of their gods, in the legends of their
fights, victories, and reconciliations. Progress to-
wards universal empires invariably means progress
towards universal deities ; despotism, with its sub-
jugation of the independent nobility, always paves
the way for some system or other of monotheism. )
The appearance of the Christian god, as the record
god up to this time, has for that very reason
brought equally into the world the record amount!
of guilt consciousness. Granted that we have'
gradually started on the reverse movement, there
is no little probability in the deduction, based on
the continuous decay in the belief in the Christian
god, to the effect that there also already exists a
considerable decay in the human consciousness of
owing (ought) ; in fact, we cannot shut our eyes
to the prospect of the complete and eventual
triumph of atheism freeing mankind from all
this feeling of obligation to their origin, their
causa prima. Atheism and a kind of second



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no THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS.

innocence complement and supplement each
other.

21.

So much for my rough and preliminary sketch
of the interrelation of the ideas " ought " (owe) and
" duty " with the postulates of religion. I have
intentionally shelved up to the present the actual
moralisation of these ideas (their being pushed
back into the conscience, or more precisely the
interweaving of the bad conscience with the idea
of God), and at the end of the last paragraph
used language to the effect that this moralisation
did not exist, and that consequently these ideas
had necessarily come to an end, by reason of
what had happened to their hypothesis, the
credence in our " creditor," in God. The actual
facts differ terribly from this theory. It is with
the moralisation of the ideas " ought " and " duty,"
and with their being pushed back into the bad
conscience, that comes the first actual attempt to
reverse the direction of the development we have
just described, or at any rate to arrest its evolu-
tion ; it is just at this juncture that the very hope
of an eventual redemption has to put itself once
for all into the prison of pessimism, it is at this
juncture that the eye has to recoil and rebound in
despair from off an adamantine impossibility, it is
at this juncture that the ideas " guilt " and " duty "
have to turn backwards — turn backwards against
whom? There is no doubt about it; primarily
against the " ower," in whom the bad conscience
now establishes itself, eats, extends, and grows



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" GUILT," " BAD CONSCIENCE," AND THE LIKE.
1 1 1

like a polypus throughout its length and breadth,
all with such virulence, that at last, with the
impossibility of paying the debt, there becomes
conceived the idea of the impossibility of paying
the penalty, the thought of its inexpiability (the
idea of " eternal punishment ") — finally, too, it
turns against the " creditor," whether found in the
causa prima of man, the origin of the human race,
its sire, who henceforth becomes burdened with a
curse (" Adam," " original sin," " determination of
the will "), or in Nature from whose womb man
springs, and on whom the responsibility for the
principle of evil is now cast (" Diabolisation of
Nature"), or in existence generally, on this logic
an absolute white elephant, with which mankind is
landed (the Nihilistic flight from life, the demand
for Nothingness, or for the opposite of existence,
for some other existence. Buddhism and the like)
— 'till suddenly we stand before that paradoxical
and awful expedient, through which a tortured
humanity has found a temporary alleviation, that
stroke of genius calledlChristianity : — God person-
ally immolating himself for the debt of man, God
paying himself personally out of a pound of his
own flesh, God as the one being who can deliver
man from what man had become unable to deliver
himself — the creditor playing scapegoat for his
debtor, from love (can you believe it ? ), from love
of his debtor ! . . . J

The reader will already have conjectured what
took place on the stage and behind the scenes of



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112 THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS.

this drama. \That will for seltJtor
verted cruelty of the anijnal man, ,3KhQ,_JtH£asd.
subjective, and scared -iato introapfijction (encaged
as he was in " the State," as part pf his taming
process), invented the„ had_-CQnscience-so-as~t©
hurt himself, after the natur:al. . xmtiet for t[i|p j;;! "
to hurt, became blocked — in other words, this man
of the mS" coHscience_ explajte^ ^he religious
hypothesis so as to ^garry his« martyr^orn to the
ghastliest pitch of agoriis ed_ intensity. \ Owing
something to^ God: t his thought be comes his
instrument of tortmg. He apprehends in God the
most extreme antitheses that he can find to his
own characteristic and ineradicable animal instincts,
he himself gives a new interpretation to these
animal instincts as being against what he " owes "
to God (as enmity, rebellion, and revolt against
the " Lord," the " Father," the " Sire," the " Begin-
ning of the world "), he places himself between the
horns of the dilemma,^God "arid " DeviH" Every
negation which he is inclined to utter to himself;
to the nature, naturalness, an3 reality of"Kis"bellig;~
he whips into an ejaculation of "yes"," uttering it
as something existing, living, efficlg1! Tt,"'"as beiiig-
G od. ja s the holiness of God, the judgment of God,
as the hangmanship of God, as transcendence, as
eternity, as unending torment, as hell, as infinity
of punishment and guilt. This is a kind of mad-
ness of the will in the sphere oTpsychoTogical
cruelty which is absolutely unparalleled ^— -man's
wiU to fin^ himgplf gniH-y and-blamewort hv to the
point of inexpiability, his wi// to think of himself
as punished, without the punishment evCT^Being



## p. (#127) ################################################

"3

able to balance the guil t, his will to infect and to
poison the fundamental basis of the universe with
the problem of punishment and guilt, in order to
cut off once and for all any escape out of this
labyrinth of " fixed ideas," his will for rearing an
ideal — that of the " holy God " — face to face with
which he can have tangible proof of his own un-
worthiness. Alas for this mad melancholy beast
man ! What phantasies invade it, what paroxysms
of perversity, hysterical senselessness, and mental
bestiality break out immediately, at the very
slightest check on its being the beast of action.
All this is excessively interesting, but at the same
time tainted with a black, gloomy, enervating
melancholy, so that a forcible veto must be in-
voked against looking too long into these abysses.
Here is disease, undubitably, the most ghastly
disease that has as yet played havoc among men :
and he who can still hear (but man turns now
deaf ears to such sounds), how in this night of
torment and nonsense there has rung out the cry
of love, the cry of the most passionate ecstasy, of
redemption in love, he turns away gripped by an
invincible horror — in man there is so much that
is ghastly — too long has the world been a mad-
house. .

23.

Let this suffice once for all concerning the origin
of the " holy God. " The fact that in itself the
conception of gods is not bound to lead necessarily
to this degradation of the imagination (a temporary
representation of whose vagaries we felt bound to
H



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114 THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS.

give), the fact that there exist nobler methods of
utilising the invention of gods than in this self-
crucifixion and self-degradation of man, in which
the last two thousand years of Europe have been
past masters — these facts can fortunately be still
perceived from every glance that we cast at the
/Grecian gods, these mirrors of noble and grandiose
men, in which the animal in man felt itself deified,
and did not devour itself in subjective frenzj^
These Greeks long utilised their gods as simple
buffers against the " bad conscience " — so that they
could continue to enjoy their freedom of soul :
this, of course, is diametrically opposed to Chris-
tianity's theory of its god. They went very far
on this principle, did these splendid and lion-
hearted children ; and there is no lesser authority
than that of the Homeric Zeus for making them
realise occasionally that they are taking life too
casually. " Wonderful," says he on one occasion
— it has to do with the case of . (Egistheus, a very
bad case indeed —

" Wonderful how they grumble, the mortals against
the immortals,
Only from us, they presume, comes evil, but in

their folly.
Fashion they, spite of fate, the doom of their
own disaster. "

Yet the reader will note and observe that this
Olympian spectator and judge is far from being
angry with them and thinking evil of them on
this score. " How foolish they are," so thinks he



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" GUILT," " BAD CONSCIENCE," AND THE LIKE. 1 1 5

of the misdeeds of mortals — and " folly," " im-
prudence," " a little brain disturbance," and nothing
more, are what the Greeks, even of the strongest,
bravest period, have admitted to be the ground of
much that is evil and fatal. — Folly, not sin, do you
understand? . . . But even this brain disturbance
was a problem — " Come, how is it even possible ?
How could it have really got in brains like ours,
the brains of men of aristocratic ancestry, of men
of fortune, of men of good natural endowments, of
men of the best society, of men of nobility and
virtue ? " This was the question that for century on
century the aristocratic Greek put to himself when
confronted with every (to him incomprehensible)
outrage and sacrilege with which one of his peers
had polluted himself. " It must be that a god
had infatuated him," he would say at last, nodding
his head. — This solution is typical of the GreeksTl
. . . accordingly the gods in those times subserved
the functions of justifying man to a certain extent
even in evil — in those days they took upon them-
selves not the punishment, but, what is more
noble, the guilt. [

24.

I conclude with three queries, as you will see.
" Is an ideal actually set up he re, orjs^one^pulled^
do wn? " I am perhaps asked. . . . But have ye
"sSSTciently asked yourselves how dear a payment
hasth e settin g up of every ideal in the worl d"
e xacted ? T o achieve that consummation how
much truth must' ^a^a^_^be_lra^^ced3[^^rnns-_
understood, how many lies must be sanctified,



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Il6 THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS.

how much conscience has got to be distiirbed, how
many pounds of " God " have got to be sacrificed
every time ? To enable a sanctuary^ to b&„set up
a sanctuary has got to be destroyed : that is a law
— ^5how"iiTe an instance where it has not been
fulfilled ! . . . We modern men, we inherit the
immemorial tradition of vivisecting the conscience,
and practising cruelty to our animal selves. That
is the sphere of our most protracted training,
perhaps of our artistic prowess, at any rate of our
dilettantism and our perverted taste. I Man has
for too long regarded his natural proclivities with
an " evil eye," so that eventually they have become
in his system affiliated to a bad conscience. A
converse endeavour would be intrinsically fea sible
— but who is strong enough to attempt it? —
namely, to affiliate to the " bad conscience " alt
those unnatui'-al proclivities, all those transcendentaT
aspirations, contrary to sense, instinct, nature, and
animalism — in short, all past and present ideals,
which are all ideals opposed to life, and_traducing
the wo rld. ] To whom is one to turn nowadays
with SMc/i hopes and pretensions ? — It is just the
g-ood men that we should thus bring about our
ears ; and in addition, as stands to reason, the
indolent, the hedgers, the vain, the hysterical, the
tired. . . . What is more offensive or more
thoroughly calculated to alienate, than giving any
hint of the exalted severity with which we treat
ourselves ? And again how conciliatory, how full
of love does all the world show itself towards us
so soon as we do as all the world does, and " let
ourselves go" like all the world. For such a



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" GUILT," " BAD CONSCIENCE," AND THE LIKE. 1 1 7

consummation we need spirits of different calibre
than seems really feasible in this age ; spirits
rendered potent through wars and victories, to
whom conquest, adventure, danger, even pain, have
become a need ; for such a consummation we need
habituation to sharp, rare air, to winter wanderings,
to literal and metaphorical ice and mountains ; we
even need a kind of sublime malice, a supreme
and most self-conscious insolence of knowledge,
which is the appanage of great health ; we need (to
summarise the awful truth) just this great health !
Is this even feasible to-day ? . . . But some day,
in a stronger age than this rotting and intros~pective
present, must he~Tn sronT^comeTo^^uSj^^eve^ the
redeemer of great love and scorn, the creative
spirit, reboiimffing°TyTlie"impetus of KisjDwn force"
back^gain awayTronPevetyTranscendental plane
and dimension, he whose solitude is misunder-
standed of the people, a s though it were a flig ht
Jrnm rqfilit y ; — whi1p actually it is only his diving,
burrowing, and penetr ating into reality, sotTTat
"when he^comes again to the lighT 'Ee''^h at once
^""^-S 5fe2HLfeyJfes§--®esns Jhg^«(;/(? ? «^^f(? ^ of this
reality :. . its redem ption from the curse which the
old ideal has laid upon it. 1 This maiaof tKe'future,
wholFHiF^^lg' vO-i1T7eaeemjas_fromJthe old ideal,
as Jie jafilLfroxiil that IdgaT's^ necessary corollary of
great n ausea, wil l_tojiot hingness, and Nihilism ;
tKis tocsin of noon and of the great verdict, whiST
renders the will again free, who gives back to the
world its goal and to man his hope, this Antichrist
and Antinihilist, this conqueror of God and of
Nothingness — he must one day come. \



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Il8 THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS.

25.

But what am I talking of? Enough ! Enough ?
At this juncture I have only one proper course,
silence : otherwise I trespass on a domain open
alone to one who is younger than I, one stronger,
more "future" than I — open alone to Zara-
thustra, Zarathustra the godless.



## p. (#133) ################################################

THIRD ESSAY.

WHAT IS THE MEANING OF ASCETIC
IDEALS?

" Careless, mocking, forceful — so does wisdom wish us : she
is a woman, and never loves any one but a warrior. "

Thus Spake Zarathustra.



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## p. (#135) ################################################

What is the meaning of ascetic ideals ? In
artists, nothing, or too much ; in philosophers and
scholars, a kind of " flair " and instinct for the con-
ditions most favourable to advanced intellectualism ;
in women, at best an additional seductive fascina-
tion, a little morbidezza on a fine piece of flesh,
the angelhood of a fat, pretty animal ; in physio-
logical failures and whiners (in the majority of
mortals), an attempt to pose as " too good " for this
world, a holy form of debauchery, their chief
weapon in the battle with lingering pain and
ennui ; in priests, the actual priestly faith, their best
engine of power, and also the supreme authority
for power ; in saints, finally a pretext for hiberna-
tion, their novissima glories cupido, their peace in
nothingness (" God "), their form of madness.

But in the very fact that the ascetic ideal has
meant so much to man, lies expressed the funda-
mental featare of man's will, his horror vacui: he
needs a ^«'g/-^rr. ^od. ,ii will, sooner will Incinilngness
dian not will at all. -^- Am I_J3ot__ understpoji ? ^—
Have I not been understood ? — " Certainly not,
sir ? "^^Wgll, Jet us begin. at- lh e -J a eg Janing.

2.

What is the meaning of ascetic ideals ? Or, to
take an individual case in regard to which I have



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122 THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS.

often been consulted, what is the meaning, for
example, of an artist like Richard Wagner paying
homage to chastity in his old age ? He had
always done so, of course, in a certain sense, but
it was not till quite the end, that he did so in
an ascetic sense. What is the meaning of this
" change of attitude," this radical revolution in his
attitude — for that was what it was? Wagner
veered thereby straight round into his own opposite.
What is the meaning of an artist veering round
into his own opposite? At this point (granted
that we do not mind stopping a little/Over this
question), we immediately call to xamd the best,
strongest, gayest, and boldest period, that there
perhaps ever was in Wagner's life : that was the
period when he was genuinely and deeply
occupied with the idea of " Luther's Wedding. "
Who knows what chance is responsible for our
now having the Meistersingers instead of this
wedding music ? And how much in the latter is
perhaps just an echo of the former ? But there
is no doubt but that the theme would have dealt
with the praise of chastity. And certainly it
would also have dealt with the praise of sensuality,
and even so, it would seem quite in order, and
even so, it would have been equally Wagnerian.
For there is no necessary antithesis between
chastity and sensuality : every j [ood rnarriagg,

every authentic^ hear t-felt love trans cgnda this

antithesis. Wagner wouI3, it seems to me, have

~3one well'lo have brought this pleasing reality

home once again to his Germans, by means of a

bold and graceful " Luther Comedy," for there



## p. (#137) ################################################

WHAT IS THE MEANING OF ASCETIC IDEALS ? 1 23

were and are among the Germans many revilers
of sensuality ; and perhaps Luther's greatest merit
lies just in the fact of his having had the courage
of his sensuality (it used to be called, prettily
enough, " evangelistic freedom "). But even in
those cases where that antithesis between chastity
and sensuality does exist, there has fortunately
been for some time no necessity for it to be in
any way a tragic antithesis. This should, at any
rate, be the case with all beings who are sound
in mind and body, who are far from reckoning
their delicate balance between " animal " and
"angel," as being on the face of it one of the
principles opposed to existence — the most subtle
and brilliant spirits, such as Goethe, such as Hafiz,
have even seen in this a further charm of life.
Such " conflicts " actually allure one to life. On
the other hand, it is only too clear that when
once these ruined swine are reduced to worshipping
chastity — and there are such swine — they only
see and worship in it the antithesis to themselves,
the antithesis to ruined swine. Oh what a tragic
grunting and eagerness ! You can just think of
it — they worship that painful and superfluous
contrast, which Richard Wagner in his latter days
undoubtedly wished to set to music, and to place
on the stage ! " For what purpose, forsooth f "
as we may reasonably ask. What did the swine
matter to him ; what do they matter to us ?

3.
At this point it is impossible to beg the
further question of what he really had to do with



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124 THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS.

that manly (ah, so unmanly) country bumpkin,
that poor devil and natural, Parsifal, whom he
eventually made a Catholic by such fraudulent
devices. What? Was this Parsifal really meant
seriously "i One might be tempted to suppose
the contrary, even to wish it — that the Wagner-
ian Parsifal was meant joyously, like a concluding
play of a trilogy or satyric drama, in which
Wagner the tragedian wished to take farewell of
us, of himself, above all of tragedy, and to do so in
a manner that should be quite fitting and worthy,
that is, with an excess of the most extreme and
flippant parody of the tragic itself, of the ghastly
earthly seriousness and earthly woe of old — a
parody of that most crude phase in the unnatural-
ness of the ascetic ideal, that had at length been
overcome. That, as I have said, would have been
quite worthy of a great tragedian ; who like every
artist first attains the supreme pinnacle of his
greatness when he can look down into himself and
his art, when he can laugh at himself. Is Wagner's
Parsifal his secret laugh of superiority over
himself, the triumph of that supreme artistic
freedom and artistic transcendency which he has
at length attained. We might, I repeat, wish it
were so, for what can Parsifal, taken seriously,
amount to? Is it really necessary to see in it
(according to an expression once used against me)
the product of an insane hate of knowledge, mind,
and flesh ? A curse on flesh and spirit in one
breath of hate ? An apostasy and reversion to the
morbid Christian and obscurantist ideals? And
finally a self-negation and self-elimination on the



## p. (#139) ################################################

WHAT IS THE MEANING OF ASCETIC IDEALS? 12$

part of an artist, who till then had devoted all the
strength of his will to the contrary, namely, the
highest artistic expression of soul and body. And
not only of his art ; of his life as well. Just
remember with what enthusiasm Wagner followed
in the footsteps of Feuerbach. Feuerbach's motto
of "healthy sensuality" rang in the ears of
Wagner during the thirties and forties of the
century, as it did in the ears of many Germans
(they dubbed themselves " Young Germans "), like
the word of redemption. Did he eventually
change his mind on the subject ? For it seems at
any rate that he eventually wished to change his
teaching on that subject . . . and not only is
that the case with the Parsifal trumpets on the
stage : in the melancholy, cramped, and em-
barrassed lucubrations of his later years, there
are a hundred places in which there are manifesta-
tions of a secret wish and will, a despondent,
uncertain, unavowed will to preach actual retro-
gression, conversion, Christianity, mediaevalism,
and to say to his disciples, " All is vanity ! Seek
salvation elsewhere ! " Even the " blood of the
Redeemer " is once invoked.

Let me speak out my mind in a case like this,
which has many painful elements — and it is a
typical case : it is certainly best to separate an
artist from his work so completely that he can-
not be taken as seriously as his work. He is
after all merely the presupposition of his work



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126 THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS.

the womb, the soil, in certain cases the dung and
manure, on which and out of which it grows —
and consequently, in most cases, something that
must be forgotten if the work itself is to be en-
joyed. The insight into the origin of a work is
a matter for psychologists and vivisectors, but
never either in the present or the future for the
aesthetes, the artists. The author and creator
of Parsifal was as little spared the necessity of
sinking and living himself into the terrible depths
and foundations of medieval soul-contrasts, the
necessity of a malignant abstraction from all
intellectual elevation, severity, and discipline, the
necessity of a kind of mental perversity (if the
reader will pardon me such a word), as little as
a pregnant woman is spared the horrors and
marvels of pregnancy, which, as I have said, must
be forgotten if the child is to be enjoyed. We
must guard ourselves against the confusion, into
which an artist himself would fall only too easily
(to employ the English terminology) out of
psychological " contiguity " ; as though the artist
himself actually were the object which he is able
to represent, imagine, and express. In point of fact,
the position is that even if he conceived he were
such an object, he would certainly not represent,
conceive, express it. Homer would not have
created an Achilles, nor Goethe a Faust, if Homer
had been an Achilles or if Goethe had been a Faust.
A complete and perfect artist is to all eternity
separated from the " real," from the actual ; on
the other hand, it will be appreciated that he can
at times get tired to the point of despair of this



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WHAT IS THE MEANING OF ASCETIC IDEALS? 1 27

eternal " unreality " and falseness of his inner-
most being — and that he then sometimes
attempts to trespass on to the most forbidden
ground, on reality, and attempts to have real
existence. With what success? The success will
be guessed — it is the typical velleity of the artist ;
the same velleity to which Wagner fell a victim
in his old age, and for which he had to pay so
dearly and so fatally (he lost thereby his most
valuable friends). But after all, quite apart from
this velleity, who would not wish emphatically
for Wagner's own sake that he had taken fare-
well of us and of his art in a different manner,
not with a Parsifal, but in more victorious, more
self-confident, more Wagnerian style — a style
less misleading, a style less ambiguous with regard
to his whole meaning, less Schopenhauerian, less
Nihilistic? . . .

What, then, is the meaning of ascetic ideals ?
In' the case of an artist we are getting to under-
sraflg^heir . iaeamiig_^:„J\7i2^g^ at all . . . or so
much that it is as good as nothing at all. Indeed,
what is the use of them ? Our artists have for a
long time past not taken up a sufficiently inde- .
pendent attitude, either in the world or against it,
to warrant their valuations and the changes in
these valuations exciting interest. At all times
they have played the valet of some morality,
philosophy, or religion, quite apart from the fact
that unfortunately they have often enough been
the inordinately supple courtiers of their clients



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128 THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS.

and patrons, and the inquisitive toadies of the
powers that are existing, or even of the new
powers to come. To put it at the lowest, they
always need a rampart, a support, an already
constituted authority : artists never stand by
themselves, standing alone is opposed to their
deepest instincts. So, for example, did Richard
Wagner take, " when the time had come," the
philosopher Schopenhauer for his covering man
in front, for his rampart. Who would consider
it even thinkable, that he would have had the
courage for an ascetic ideal, without the support
afforded him by the philosophy of Schopenhauer,
without the authority of Schopenhauer, which
dominated Europe in the seventies ? (This is
without consideration of the question whether an
artist without the milk * of an orthodoxy would
have been possible at all. ) This brings us to the
more serious question : What is _ the meaning of
a real philosopher paying homage to the ascetic
ideal, a really self-dependent intellect like Schcr-''
penhauer, a man and knight with a glance of
bronze, who has the courage to be himself, who
knows how to stand alone without first waiting
for men who cover him in front, and the nods of
his superiors ?