On the other hand, to
demand equality of rights, as do the Socialists of the subject
caste, is by no means the outcome of justice, but of covetous-
ness.
demand equality of rights, as do the Socialists of the subject
caste, is by no means the outcome of justice, but of covetous-
ness.
Nietzsche - v06 - Human All-Too-Human - a
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THE COMPLETE WORKS
OF
FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE
The First Complete and Authorised English Translation
EDITED BY
Dr. OSCAR LEVY
VOLUME SEVEN
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN
PART ONE
## p. ii (#10) ##############################################
Of the First Edition of
One Thousand Copies
this is
------------------------------
## p. iii (#11) #############################################
FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE
HUMAN
ALL-TOO-HUMAN
A BOOK FOR FREE SPIRITS
PART I
TRANSLATED BY
HELEN ZIMMERN
WITH INTRODUCTION BY
J. M. KENNEDY
T. N. FOULIS
13 & IS FREDERICK STREET
EDINBURGH: and LONDON
1909
## p. iv (#12) ##############################################
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Printed by Morrison & Gibb Limited, Edinburgh
## p. v (#13) ###############################################
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Introduction - - - - - vii
Author's Preface i
-First Division: First and Last Things - 13
Second Division: The History of the Moral
Sentiments - - - - - S3
Third Division: The Religious Life- hi
Fourth Division: Concerning the Soul of
Artists and Authors- - - 153
"Fifth Division: The Signs of Higher and
Lower Culture - 207
Sixth Division: Man in Society - 267
Seventh Division: Wife and Child - - 295
Eighth Division: A Glance at the State - 317
Ninth Division: Man alone by Himself - 355
An Epode—Among Friends - - - 409
y
207594
## p. vi (#14) ##############################################
## p. vii (#15) #############################################
INTRODUCTION.
Nietzsche's essay, Richard Wagner in Bayreuth,
appeared in 1876, and his next publication was
his present work, which was issued in 1878. A
comparison of the books will show that the two
years of meditation intervening had brought about
a great change in Nietzsche's views, his style of
expressing them, and the form in which they were
cast. The Dionysian, overflowing with life, gives
way to an Apollonian thinker with a touch of
pessimism. The long essay form is abandoned,
and instead we have a series of aphorisms, some
tinged with melancholy, others with satire, several,
especially towards the end, with Nietzschian wit
at its best, and a few at the beginning so very
abstruse as to require careful study.
Since the Bayreuth festivals of 1876, Nietzsche
had gradually come to see Wagner as he really
was. The ideal musician that Nietzsche had pic-
tured in his own mind turned out to be nothing
more than a rather dilettante philosopher, an
opportunistic decadent with a suspicious tendency
towards Christianity. The young philosopher
thereupon proceeded to shake off the influence
which the musician had exercised upon him.
He was successful in doing so, but not without a
## p. viii (#16) ############################################
. Vlll INTRODUCTION.
struggle, just as he had formerly shaken off the
influence of Schopenhauer. Hence he writes in
his autobiography: * "Human, all-too-Human, is
the monument of a crisis. It is entitled: 'A
book for free spirits,' and almost every line in it
represents a victory—in its pages I freed myself
from everything foreign to my real nature. Ideal-
ism is foreign to me: the title says,' Where you see
ideal things, I see things which are only—human,
alas! all-too-human! ' I know man better—the
term ' free spirit' must here be understood in no
other sense than this: a. freed man, who has once
more taken possession of himself. "
The form of this book will be better under-
stood when it is remembered that at this period
Nietzsche was beginning to suffer from stomach
trouble and headaches. As a cure for his com-
plaints, he spent his time in travel when he could
get a few weeks' respite from his duties at Basel
University; and it was in the course of his solitary
walks and hill-climbing tours that the majority of
these thoughts occurred to him and were jotted
down there and then. A few of them, however,
date further back, as he tells us in the preface to
the second part of this work. Many of them, he
says, occupied his mind even before he published
his first book, The Birth of Tragedy, and several
others, as we learn from his notebooks and post-
humous writings, date from the period of the
Thoughts out of Season.
It must be clearly understood, however, that
* Ecce Homo, p. 75.
## p. ix (#17) ##############################################
INTRODUCTION. IX
Nietzsche's disease must not be looked upon in
the same way as that of an ordinary man. People
are inclined to regard a sick man as rancorous;
but any one who fights with and conquers his
disease, and even exploits it, as Nietzsche did,
benefits thereby to an extraordinary degree. In
the first place, he has passed through several stages
of human psychology with which a healthy man
is entirely unacquainted; for he has learnt by
introspection the spiteful and revengeful spirit of
the sick man and his religion. Secondly, in his
moments of freedom from pain and gloom his
thoughts will be all the more brilliant.
In support of this last statement, one instance
may be selected out of hundreds that could be
adduced. Heinrich Heine spent the greater
part of his life in exile from his native country,
tortured by headaches, and finally dying in a
foreign land as the result of a spinal disease.
His splendid works were composed in his moments
of respite from illness, and during the last years
of his life, when his health was at its worst, he
gave to the world his famous Romancero. We
would likewise do well to recollect Goethe's
saying:
Zart Gedicht, wie Regenbogen,
Wird nur auf dunkelm Grund gezogen.
Previously to writing this book, then, Nietzsche
had travelled a great deal. He had come into
contact with men and women of many nation-
* " Tender poetry, like rainbows, can appear only on a
dark and sombre background. "—J. M. K.
## p. x (#18) ###############################################
X INTRODUCTION.
alities, and had surveyed many human institu-
tions: states, religions, schools, parliaments, stand-
ing armies; he had weighed modern problems on
the scales of Hellenic thought, and had, by a
strong effort of will, raised himself above what
were, in his opinion, the petty squabbles of politics,
whether local or international. Hence in the
following pages all matters pertaining to the State
are judged merely in the abstract, and without
reference to any particular country.
The reader of these aphorisms can hardly fail
to be struck by their remarkable exactness; and
it says much for the breadth and keenness of
Nietzsche's psychological insight that the book was
published before he was thirty-four years of age.
It would be well to point out that the present
work—like all Nietzsche's writings—is not in-
tended for those who are gradually becoming
exhausted by the modern commercial death-and-
life struggle for existence. The aphorisms in this
volume are essentially for minds of a higher
order. Nietzsche's dislike of modern time-serving
institutions may be seen, to take one instance,
from aphorism 442. Here he complains that
national armies, so large and important at the
present day, are, philosophically speaking, a
waste; for they absorb intellects of a calibre fit
for something better than the drilling of troops.
Applying this principle a little further, we can
see that it gives us an answer to a question which
is often asked: Why is England so poor in great
artists of all kinds? May it not be because such
## p. xi (#19) ##############################################
INTRODUCTION. XI
men are earlly in life caught in the net of politics,
and waste lives which might be devoted to philo-
sophy, art, and literature, in the much less con-
genial tasks of administering Egyptian finance or
governing Hindoos?
The reader will be amply repaid if he submits
every aphorism to a similar analysis, and gives it
the practical application which Nietzsche had in
mind.
Again, take aphorism 434, containing the now
celebrated dictum that women always intrigue in
secret against the higher souls of their husbands.
While this statement is correct as applied to artists,
it is obviously not intended for business-men, whose
wives in many instances spur them on—not to
philosophy or art, but to money, comfort, and
worldly success.
Even politicians and statesmen will find much
to interest them here. Socialists will be especially
pleased with and interested in aphorism 451.
The ruling classes, says Nietzsche, can, if they
choose, treat all men as equals, and proclaim the
establishment of equal rights:
so far a socialistic mode of thought which is based on
justice is possible ; but, as has been said, only within the
ranks of the governing classes. . . . On the other hand, to
demand equality of rights, as do the Socialists of the subject
caste, is by no means the outcome of justice, but of covetous-
ness. If you expose bloody pieces of flesh to a beast, and
withdraw them again until it finally begins to roar, do you
think that the roaring implies justice?
Theologians, to mention another example of
Nietzsche's acuteness, will also find much to in-
## p. xii (#20) #############################################
Xll INTRODUCTION.
i
terest them—though possibly not to please them
— in aphorism 630, dealing with convictions and
their origin. In fact, there is no paragraph in the
book that does not deserve careful siudy by all
serious thinkers.
Those who are accustomed to Nietzsche the
classical scholar, and those who are, on the other
hand, accustomed to Nietzsche the outspoken Im-
moralist, may be somewhat astonished at the calm
tone of the present volume. The explanation is
that Nietzsche was now just beginning to walk on
his own philosophical path. His lifelong aim, the
uplifting of the type man, was still in view, but
the way leading towards it was once more un-
certain. Hence the peculiarly calm, even melan-
cholic, and what Nietzsche himself would call
Apollonian, tinge of many of these aphorisms, so
different from the style of his earlier and later
writings. For this very reason, however, the book
may appeal all the more to English readers, who
are of course more Apollonian than Dionysian.
Nietzsche is feeling his way, and these aphorisms
represent his first steps. As such—besides having
a high intrinsic value of themselves—they are
enormous aids to the study of his character and
temperament.
J. M. KENNEDY.
## p. xiii (#21) ############################################
PREFACE.
i.
I HAVE been told frequently, and always with
great surprise, that there is something common
and distinctive in all my writings, from the Birth
of Tragedy to the latest published Prelude to a
Philosophy of the Future. They all contain, I have
been told, snares and nets for unwary birds, and
an almost perpetual unconscious demand for. the
inversion of customary valuations''and valued
customs. ( What? Everything only — human —
all-too-human? ) People lay down my writings
with this sigh, not without a certain dread and
distrust of morality itself, indeed almost tempted
and encouraged to become advocates of the worst
things: as being perhaps only the best dis-
paraged? My writings have been called a school
of suspicion and especially of disdain, more happily,
also, a school of courage and even of audacity.
Indeed, I myself do not think that any one has
ever looked at the world with such a profound
suspicion; and not only as occasional Devil's
Advocate, but equally also, to speak theologically,
as enemy and impeacher of God; and he who
realises something of the consequences involved,
## p. xiv (#22) #############################################
xii INTRODUCTION.
terest them—though possibly not to please them
—in aphorism 630, dealing with convictions and
their origin. In fact, there is no paragraph in the
book that does not deserve careful study by all
serious thinkers.
Those who are accustomed to Nietzsche the
classical scholar, and those who are, on the other
hand, accustomed to Nietzsche the outspoken Im-
moralist, may be somewhat astonished at the calm
tone of the present volume. The explanation is
that Nietzsche was now just beginning to walk on
his own philosophical path. His lifelong aim, the
uplifting of the type man, was still in view, but
the way leading towards it was once more un-
certain. Hence the peculiarly calm, even melan-
cholic, and what Nietzsche himself would call
Apollonian, tinge of many of these aphorisms, so
different from the style of his earlier and later
writings. For this very reason, however, the book
may appeal all the more to English readers, who
are of course more Apollonian than Dionysian.
Nietzsche is feeling his way, and these aphorisms
represent his first steps. As such—besides having
a high intrinsic value of themselves—they are
enormous aids to the study of his character and
temperament
.
J. M. KENNEDY.
## p. 1 (#23) ###############################################
PREFACE.
I HAVE been told frequently, and always with
great surprise, that there is something common
and distinctive in all my writings, from the Birth
of Tragedy to the latest published Prelude to a
Philosophy of the Future. They all contain, I have
been told, snares and nets for unwary birds, and
an almost perpetual unconscious demand for the
inversion of customary valuations and valued
customs. ( What? Everything only — human —
all-too-human? ) People lay down my writings
with this sigh, not without a certain dread and
distrust of morality itself, indeed almost tempted
and encouraged to become advocates of the worst
things: as being perhaps only the best dis-
paraged? My writings have been called a school
of suspicion and especially of disdain, more happily,
also, a school of courage and even of audacity.
Indeed, I myself do not think that any one has
ever looked at the world with such a profound
suspicion; and not only as occasional Devil's
Advocate, but equally also, to speak theologically,
as enemy and impeacher of God; and he who
realises something of the consequences involved,
vOl. I. A
## p. 2 (#24) ###############################################
2 PREFACE.
in every profound suspicion, something of the
chills and anxieties of loneliness to which every
uncompromising difference of outlook condemns
him who is affected therewith, will also understand
how often I sought shelter in some kind of
reverence or hostility, or scientificality or levity
or stupidity, in order to recover from myself, and,
as it were, to obtain temporary self-forgetfulness;
also why, when I did not find what I needed, I
was obliged to manufacture it, to counterfeit and
to imagine it in a suitable manner (and what else
have poets ever done? And for what purpose
has all the art in the world existed ? ). What I
always required most, however, for my cure and
self-recovery, was the belief that I was not isolated
in such circumstances, that I did not see in an
isolated manner—a magic suspicion of relationship
and similarity to others in outlook and desire, a
repose in the confidence of friendship, a blindness
in both parties without suspicion or note of inter-
rogation, an enjoyment of foregrounds, and surfaces
of the near and the nearest, of all that has colour,
epidermis, and outside appearance. Perhaps I
might be reproached in this respect for much " art"
and fine false coinage; for instance, for voluntarily
and knowingly shutting my eyes to Schopenhauer's
blind will to morality at a time when I had become
sufficiently clear-sighted about morality; also for
deceiving myself about Richard Wagner's incurable
romanticism, as if it were a beginning and not an
end ; also about the Greeks, also about the Germans
and their future—and there would still probably
be quite a long list of such alsos? Supposing,
## p. 3 (#25) ###############################################
PREFACE. 3
however, that this were all true and that I were
reproached with good reason, what do you know,
what could you know as to how much artifice of
self-preservation, how much rationality and higher
protection there is in such self-deception,—and
how much falseness I still require in order to allow
myself again apd again the luxury of my sincerity?
. . . In short, I still live; and life, in spite of
ourselves, is not devised by morality; it demands
illusion, it lives by illusion . . . but There!
I am already beginning again and doing what I
have always done, old immoralist and bird-catcher
that I am,—I am talking un-morally, ultra-morally,
"beyond good and evil "? . . .
Thus then, when I found it necessary, I invented
once on a time the " free spirits," to whom this
discouragingly encouraging book with the title
Human, all-too-Human, is dedicated. There are
no such ". free spirits" nor have there been such,
but, as already said, I then required them for
company to keep me cheerful in the midst of evils
(sickness, loneliness, foreignness, — acedia, inac-
tivity) as brave companions and ghosts with whom
I could laugh and gossip when so inclined and send
to the devil when they became bores,—as com-
pensation for the lack of friends. That such free
spirits will be possible some day, that our Europe
will have such bold and cheerful wights amongst
her sons of to-morrow and the day after to-morrow,
actually and bodily, and not merely, as in my case,
## p. 4 (#26) ###############################################
4 PREFACE.
as the shadows of a hermit's phantasmagoria—
/ should be the last to doubt thereof. Already
I see them coming, slowly, slowly; and perhaps I
am doing something to hasten their coming when
I describe in advance under what auspices I see
them originate, and upon what paths I see them
come.
One may suppose that a spirit in which the
type "free spirit" is to become fully mature and
sweet, has had its decisive event in a great emanci-
pation, and that it was all the more fettered pre-
viously and apparently bound for ever to its corner
and pillar. What is it that binds most strongly?
What cords are almost unrendable? In men of
a lofty and select type it will be their duties; the
reverence which is suitable to youth, respect and
tenderness for all that is time-honoured and worthy,
gratitude to the land which bore them, to the hand
which led them, to the sanctuary where they learnt
to adore,—their most exalted moments themselves
will bind them most effectively, will lay upon them
the most enduring obligations. For those who are
thus bound the great emancipation comes suddenly,
like an earthquake; the young soul is all at once
convulsed, unloosened and extricated—it does not
itself know what is happening. An impulsion
and compulsion sway and over-master it like a
command; a will and a wish awaken, to go forth
on their course, anywhere, at any cost; a violent,
dangerous curiosity about an undiscovered world
flames and flares in every sense.
On the other hand, to
demand equality of rights, as do the Socialists of the subject
caste, is by no means the outcome of justice, but of covetous-
ness. If you expose bloody pieces of flesh to a beast, and
withdraw them again until it finally begins to roar, do you
think that the roaring implies justice?
Theologians, to mention another example of
Nietzsche's acuteness, will also find much to in-
## p. xii (#20) #############################################
Xll INTRODUCTION.
i
terest them—though possibly not to please them
— in aphorism 630, dealing with convictions and
their origin. In fact, there is no paragraph in the
book that does not deserve careful siudy by all
serious thinkers.
Those who are accustomed to Nietzsche the
classical scholar, and those who are, on the other
hand, accustomed to Nietzsche the outspoken Im-
moralist, may be somewhat astonished at the calm
tone of the present volume. The explanation is
that Nietzsche was now just beginning to walk on
his own philosophical path. His lifelong aim, the
uplifting of the type man, was still in view, but
the way leading towards it was once more un-
certain. Hence the peculiarly calm, even melan-
cholic, and what Nietzsche himself would call
Apollonian, tinge of many of these aphorisms, so
different from the style of his earlier and later
writings. For this very reason, however, the book
may appeal all the more to English readers, who
are of course more Apollonian than Dionysian.
Nietzsche is feeling his way, and these aphorisms
represent his first steps. As such—besides having
a high intrinsic value of themselves—they are
enormous aids to the study of his character and
temperament.
J. M. KENNEDY.
## p. xiii (#21) ############################################
PREFACE.
i.
I HAVE been told frequently, and always with
great surprise, that there is something common
and distinctive in all my writings, from the Birth
of Tragedy to the latest published Prelude to a
Philosophy of the Future. They all contain, I have
been told, snares and nets for unwary birds, and
an almost perpetual unconscious demand for. the
inversion of customary valuations''and valued
customs. ( What? Everything only — human —
all-too-human? ) People lay down my writings
with this sigh, not without a certain dread and
distrust of morality itself, indeed almost tempted
and encouraged to become advocates of the worst
things: as being perhaps only the best dis-
paraged? My writings have been called a school
of suspicion and especially of disdain, more happily,
also, a school of courage and even of audacity.
Indeed, I myself do not think that any one has
ever looked at the world with such a profound
suspicion; and not only as occasional Devil's
Advocate, but equally also, to speak theologically,
as enemy and impeacher of God; and he who
realises something of the consequences involved,
## p. xiv (#22) #############################################
xii INTRODUCTION.
terest them—though possibly not to please them
—in aphorism 630, dealing with convictions and
their origin. In fact, there is no paragraph in the
book that does not deserve careful study by all
serious thinkers.
Those who are accustomed to Nietzsche the
classical scholar, and those who are, on the other
hand, accustomed to Nietzsche the outspoken Im-
moralist, may be somewhat astonished at the calm
tone of the present volume. The explanation is
that Nietzsche was now just beginning to walk on
his own philosophical path. His lifelong aim, the
uplifting of the type man, was still in view, but
the way leading towards it was once more un-
certain. Hence the peculiarly calm, even melan-
cholic, and what Nietzsche himself would call
Apollonian, tinge of many of these aphorisms, so
different from the style of his earlier and later
writings. For this very reason, however, the book
may appeal all the more to English readers, who
are of course more Apollonian than Dionysian.
Nietzsche is feeling his way, and these aphorisms
represent his first steps. As such—besides having
a high intrinsic value of themselves—they are
enormous aids to the study of his character and
temperament
.
J. M. KENNEDY.
## p. 1 (#23) ###############################################
PREFACE.
I HAVE been told frequently, and always with
great surprise, that there is something common
and distinctive in all my writings, from the Birth
of Tragedy to the latest published Prelude to a
Philosophy of the Future. They all contain, I have
been told, snares and nets for unwary birds, and
an almost perpetual unconscious demand for the
inversion of customary valuations and valued
customs. ( What? Everything only — human —
all-too-human? ) People lay down my writings
with this sigh, not without a certain dread and
distrust of morality itself, indeed almost tempted
and encouraged to become advocates of the worst
things: as being perhaps only the best dis-
paraged? My writings have been called a school
of suspicion and especially of disdain, more happily,
also, a school of courage and even of audacity.
Indeed, I myself do not think that any one has
ever looked at the world with such a profound
suspicion; and not only as occasional Devil's
Advocate, but equally also, to speak theologically,
as enemy and impeacher of God; and he who
realises something of the consequences involved,
vOl. I. A
## p. 2 (#24) ###############################################
2 PREFACE.
in every profound suspicion, something of the
chills and anxieties of loneliness to which every
uncompromising difference of outlook condemns
him who is affected therewith, will also understand
how often I sought shelter in some kind of
reverence or hostility, or scientificality or levity
or stupidity, in order to recover from myself, and,
as it were, to obtain temporary self-forgetfulness;
also why, when I did not find what I needed, I
was obliged to manufacture it, to counterfeit and
to imagine it in a suitable manner (and what else
have poets ever done? And for what purpose
has all the art in the world existed ? ). What I
always required most, however, for my cure and
self-recovery, was the belief that I was not isolated
in such circumstances, that I did not see in an
isolated manner—a magic suspicion of relationship
and similarity to others in outlook and desire, a
repose in the confidence of friendship, a blindness
in both parties without suspicion or note of inter-
rogation, an enjoyment of foregrounds, and surfaces
of the near and the nearest, of all that has colour,
epidermis, and outside appearance. Perhaps I
might be reproached in this respect for much " art"
and fine false coinage; for instance, for voluntarily
and knowingly shutting my eyes to Schopenhauer's
blind will to morality at a time when I had become
sufficiently clear-sighted about morality; also for
deceiving myself about Richard Wagner's incurable
romanticism, as if it were a beginning and not an
end ; also about the Greeks, also about the Germans
and their future—and there would still probably
be quite a long list of such alsos? Supposing,
## p. 3 (#25) ###############################################
PREFACE. 3
however, that this were all true and that I were
reproached with good reason, what do you know,
what could you know as to how much artifice of
self-preservation, how much rationality and higher
protection there is in such self-deception,—and
how much falseness I still require in order to allow
myself again apd again the luxury of my sincerity?
. . . In short, I still live; and life, in spite of
ourselves, is not devised by morality; it demands
illusion, it lives by illusion . . . but There!
I am already beginning again and doing what I
have always done, old immoralist and bird-catcher
that I am,—I am talking un-morally, ultra-morally,
"beyond good and evil "? . . .
Thus then, when I found it necessary, I invented
once on a time the " free spirits," to whom this
discouragingly encouraging book with the title
Human, all-too-Human, is dedicated. There are
no such ". free spirits" nor have there been such,
but, as already said, I then required them for
company to keep me cheerful in the midst of evils
(sickness, loneliness, foreignness, — acedia, inac-
tivity) as brave companions and ghosts with whom
I could laugh and gossip when so inclined and send
to the devil when they became bores,—as com-
pensation for the lack of friends. That such free
spirits will be possible some day, that our Europe
will have such bold and cheerful wights amongst
her sons of to-morrow and the day after to-morrow,
actually and bodily, and not merely, as in my case,
## p. 4 (#26) ###############################################
4 PREFACE.
as the shadows of a hermit's phantasmagoria—
/ should be the last to doubt thereof. Already
I see them coming, slowly, slowly; and perhaps I
am doing something to hasten their coming when
I describe in advance under what auspices I see
them originate, and upon what paths I see them
come.
One may suppose that a spirit in which the
type "free spirit" is to become fully mature and
sweet, has had its decisive event in a great emanci-
pation, and that it was all the more fettered pre-
viously and apparently bound for ever to its corner
and pillar. What is it that binds most strongly?
What cords are almost unrendable? In men of
a lofty and select type it will be their duties; the
reverence which is suitable to youth, respect and
tenderness for all that is time-honoured and worthy,
gratitude to the land which bore them, to the hand
which led them, to the sanctuary where they learnt
to adore,—their most exalted moments themselves
will bind them most effectively, will lay upon them
the most enduring obligations. For those who are
thus bound the great emancipation comes suddenly,
like an earthquake; the young soul is all at once
convulsed, unloosened and extricated—it does not
itself know what is happening. An impulsion
and compulsion sway and over-master it like a
command; a will and a wish awaken, to go forth
on their course, anywhere, at any cost; a violent,
dangerous curiosity about an undiscovered world
flames and flares in every sense. "Better to
## p. 5 (#27) ###############################################
PREFACE. 5
die than live here "—says the imperious voice and
seduction, and this "here," this "at home" is all
that the soul has hitherto loved! A sudden fear
and suspicion of that which it loved, a flash of
disdain for what was called its " duty," a rebellious,
arbitrary, volcanically throbbing longing for travel,
foreignness, estrangement, coldness, disenchant-
ment, glaciation, a hatred of love, perhaps a sacri-
legious clutch and look backwards, to where it
hitherto adored and loved, perhaps a glow of
shame at what it was just doing, and at the same
time a rejoicing that it was doing it, an intoxicated,
internal, exulting thrill which betrays a triumph
—a triumph? Over what? Over whom? An
enigmatical, questionable, doubtful triumph, but
the first triumph nevertheless ;—such evil and
painful incidents belong to . the history of the great
emancipation. It is, at the same time, a disease
which may destroy the man, this first outbreak of
power and will to self-decision, self-valuation, this
will to free will; and how much disease is mani-
fested in the wild attempts and eccentricities by
which the liberated and emancipated one now
seeks to demonstrate his mastery over things! He
roves about raging with unsatisfied longing; what-
ever he captures has to suffer for the dangerous
tension of his pride; he tears to pieces whatever
attracts him. With a malicious laugh he twirls'
round whatever he finds veiled or guarded by a
sense of shame; he tries how these things look
when turned upside down. It is a matter of
arbitrariness with him, and pleasure in arbitrariness,
if he now perhaps bestow his favour on what
## p. 6 (#28) ###############################################
6 PREFACE.
had hitherto a bad repute,—if he inquisitively
and temptingly haunt what is specially forbidden.
In the background of his activities and wanderings
—for he is restless and aimless in his course as in
a desert—stands the note of interrogation of an
increasingly dangerous curiosity. "Cannot all
valuations be reversed? And is good perhaps
evil? And God only an invention and artifice
of the devil? Is everything, perhaps, radically
false? And if we are the deceived, are we not
thereby also deceivers? Must we not also be
|__deceivers ? "—Such thoughts lead and mislead
r<" him more and more, onward and away. Solitude
li=- encircles and engirdles him, always more threaten-
ing, more throttling, more heart-oppressing, that
terrible goddess and mater sceva cupidinum—but
who knows nowadays what solitude is? . . .
From this morbid solitariness, from the desert
of such years of experiment, it is still a long way
to the copious, overflowing safety and soundness
which does not care to dispense with disease
itself as an instrument and angling-hook of
knowledge;—to that mature freedom of spirit
which is equally self-control and discipline of
the heart, and gives access to many and opposed
modes of thought;—to that inward comprehen-
siveness and daintiness of superabundance, which
excludes any danger of the spirit's becoming
enamoured and lost in its own paths, and
## p. 7 (#29) ###############################################
PREFACE. 7
lying intoxicated in some corner or other; to that
excess of plastic, healing, formative, and restorative
powers, which is exactly the sign of splendid
health, that excess which gives the free spirit
the dangerous prerogative of being entitled to
live by experiments and offer itself to adventure;
the free spirit's prerogative of mastership! Long
years of convalescence may lie in between, years
full of many-coloured, painfully-enchanting magi-
cal transformations, curbed and led by a tough
will to health, which often dares to dress and
disguise itself as actual health. There is a middle
condition therein, which a man of such a fate
never calls to mind later on without emotion; a
pale, delicate light and a sunshine-happiness are
peculiar to him, a feeling of bird-like freedom,
prospect, and haughtiness, a tertium quid in
which curiosity and gentle disdain are combined.
A "free spirit"—this cool expression does good
in every condition, it almost warms. One no
longer lives, in the fetters of love and hatred,
without Yea, without Nay, voluntarily near,
voluntarily distant, preferring to escape, to turn
aside, to flutter forth, to fly up and away; one
is fastidious like every one who has once seen
an immense variety beneath him,—and one has
become the opposite of those who trouble them-
selves about things which do not concern them.
In fact, it is nothing but things which now
concern the free spirit,—and how many things ! —
which no longer trouble him!
## p. 7 (#30) ###############################################
6 PREFACE.
I
had hitherto a bad repute,—if he inquisitively
and temptingly haunt what is specially forbidden.
In the background of his activities and wanderings
—for he is restless and aimless in his course as in
a desert—stands the note of interrogation of an
increasingly dangerous curiosity. "Cannot all
valuations be reversed? And is good perhaps
evil? And God only an invention and artifice
of the devil? Is everything, perhaps, radically
false? And if we are the deceived, are we not
thereby also deceivers? Must we not also be
I deceivers ? "—Such thoughts lead and mislead
him more and more, onward and away. Solitude
encircles and engirdles him, always more threaten-
ing, more throttling, more heart-oppressing, that
terrible goddess and mater s<Eva cupidinunt—but
who knows nowadays what solitude is? . . .
From this morbid solitariness, from the desert
of such years of experiment, it is still a long way
to the copious, overflowing safety and soundness
which does not care to dispense with disease
itself as an instrument and angling-hook of
knowledge;—to that mature freedom of spirit
which is equally self-control and discipline of
the heart, and gives access to many and opposed
modes of thought ;—to that inward comprehen-
siveness and daintiness of superabundance, which
excludes any danger of the spirit's becoming
enamoured and lost in its own paths, and
## p. 7 (#31) ###############################################
PREFACE. 7
lying intoxicated in some corner or other; to that
excess of plastic, healing, formative, and restorative
powers, which is exactly the sign of splendid
health, that excess which gives the free spirit
the dangerous prerogative of being entitled to
live by experiments and offer itself to adventure;
the free spirit's prerogative of mastership! Long
years of convalescence may lie in between, years
full of many-coloured, painfully-enchanting magi-
cal transformations, curbed and led by a tough
will to health, which often dares to dress and
disguise itself as actual health. There is a middle
condition therein, which a man of such a fate
never calls to mind later on without emotion; a
pale, delicate light and a sunshine-happiness are
peculiar to him, a feeling of bird-like freedom,
prospect, and haughtiness, a tertium quid in
which curiosity and gentle disdain are combined.
A "free spirit"—this cool expression does good
in every condition, it almost warms. One no
longer lives, in the fetters of love and hatred,
without Yea, without Nay, voluntarily near,
voluntarily distant, preferring to escape, to turn
aside, to flutter forth, to fly up and away; one
is fastidious like every one who has once seen
an immense variety beneath him,—and one has
become the opposite of those who trouble them-
selves about things which do not concern them.
In fact, it is nothing but things which now
concern the free spirit,—and how many things ! —
which no longer trouble him!
## p. 7 (#32) ###############################################
6 PREFACE.
I
L
had hitherto a bad repute,—if he inquisitively
and temptingly haunt what is specially forbidden.
In the background of his activities and wanderings
—for he is restless and aimless in his course as in
a desert—stands the note of interrogation of an
increasingly dangerous curiosity. "Cannot all
valuations be reversed? And is good perhaps
evil? And God only an invention and artifice
of the devil? Is everything, perhaps, radically
false? And if we are the deceived, are we not
thereby also deceivers? Must we not also be
I deceivers ? "—Such thoughts lead and mislead
him more and more, onward and away. Solitude
encircles and engirdles him, always more threaten-
ing, more throttling, more heart-oppressing, that
terrible goddess and mater sceva cupidinum—but
who knows nowadays what solitude is? . . .
4.
From this morbid solitariness, from the desert
of such years of experiment, it is still a long way
to the copious, overflowing safety and soundness
which does not care to dispense with disease
itself as an instrument and angling-hook of
knowledge;—to that mature freedom of spirit
which is equally self-control and discipline of
the heart, and gives access to many and opposed
modes of thought ;—to that inward comprehen-
siveness and daintiness of superabundance, which
excludes any danger of the spirit's becoming
enamoured and lost in its own paths, and
## p. 7 (#33) ###############################################
PREFACE. 7
lying intoxicated in some corner or other; to that
excess of plastic, healing, formative, and restorative
powers, which is exactly the sign of splendid
health, that excess which gives the free spirit
the dangerous prerogative of being entitled to
live by experiments and offer itself to adventure;
the free spirit's prerogative of mastership! Long
years of convalescence may lie in between, years
full of many-coloured, painfully-enchanting magi-
cal transformations, curbed and led by a tough
will to health, which often dares to dress and
disguise itself as actual health. There is a middle
condition therein, which a man of such a fate
never calls to mind later on without emotion; a
pale, delicate light and a sunshine-happiness are
peculiar to him, a feeling of bird-like freedom,
prospect, and haughtiness, a tertium quid in
which curiosity and gentle disdain are combined.
A "free spirit"—this cool expression does good
in every condition, it almost warms. One no
longer lives, in the fetters of love and hatred,
without Yea, without Nay, voluntarily near,
voluntarily distant, preferring to escape, to turn
aside, to flutter forth, to fly up and away; one
is fastidious like every one who has once seen
an immense variety beneath him,—and one has
become the opposite of those who trouble them-
selves about things which do not concern them.
In fact, it is nothing but things which now
concern the free spirit,—and how many things ! —
which no longer trouble him!
## p. 8 (#34) ###############################################
PREFACE.
5-
A step further towards recovery, and the free
spirit again draws near to life; - slowly, it is
true, and almost stubbornly, almost distrustfully.
Again it grows warmer around him, and, as it
were, yellower; feeling and sympathy gain depth,
thawing winds of every kind pass lightly over him.
He almost feels as if his eyes were now first opened
to what is near. He marvels and is still; where
has he been? The near and nearest things, how
changed they appear to him! What a bloom and
magic they have acquired meanwhile! He looks
back gratefully,—grateful to his wandering, his
austerity and self-estrangement, his far-sightedness
and his bird-like flights in cold heights. What a
good thing that he did not always stay " at home,"
"by himself," like a sensitive, stupid tenderling.
He has been beside himself, there is no doubt. He
now sees himself for the first time,—and what sur-
prises he feels thereby! What thrills unexperienced
hitherto! What joy even in the weariness, in the
old illness, in the relapses of the convalescent!
How he likes to sit still and suffer, to practise
patience, to lie in the sun! Who is as familiar as
he with the joy of winter, with the patch of sun-
shine upon the wall! They are the most grateful
animals in the world, and also the most un-
assuming, these lizards of convalescents with
their faces half-turned towards life once more:—
there are those amongst them who never let a
day pass without hanging a little hymn of praise
on its trailing fringe. And, speaking seriously, it
## p. 9 (#35) ###############################################
PREFACE. 9
is a radical cure for all pessimism (the well-known
disease of old idealists and falsehood-mongers) to
become ill after the manner of these free spirits,
to remain ill a good while, and then grow well (I
mean "better") for a still longer period. It is
wisdom, practical wisdom, to prescribe even health
for one's self for a long time only in small doses.
About this time it may at last happen, under
the sudden illuminations of still disturbed and
changing health, that the enigma of that great
emancipation begins to reveal itself to the free,
and ever freer, spirit,—that enigma which had
hitherto lain obscure, questionable, and almost
intangible, in his memory. If for a long time he
scarcely dared to ask himself, "Why so apart?
So alone? denying everything that I revered?
denying reverence itself? Why this hatred, this
suspicion, this severity towards my own virtues? "
—he now dares and asks the questions aloud, and
already hears something like an answer to them—
"Thou shouldst become master over thyself and
master also of thine own virtues. Formerly they
were thy masters; but they are only entitled to
be thy tools amongst other tools. Thou shouldst
obtain power over thy pro and contra, and learn
how to put them forth and withdraw them again
in accordance with thy higher purpose. Thou
shouldst learn how to take the proper perspective
of every valuation—the shifting, distortion, and
apparent teleology of the horizons and everything
## p. 10 (#36) ##############################################
IO PREFACE.
/
that belongs to perspective; also the amount of
stupidity which opposite values involve, and all
the intellectual loss with which every pro and every
contra has to be paid for.
Find more books at https://www. hathitrust. org.
Title: The complete works of Friedrich Nietzsche. The first complete
and authorized English translation, edited by Dr. Oscar Levy.
Author: Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm, 1844-1900.
Publisher: [Edinburgh and London : T. N. Foulis, 1909-1913. ]
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THE COMPLETE WORKS
OF
FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE
The First Complete and Authorised English Translation
EDITED BY
Dr. OSCAR LEVY
VOLUME SEVEN
HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN
PART ONE
## p. ii (#10) ##############################################
Of the First Edition of
One Thousand Copies
this is
------------------------------
## p. iii (#11) #############################################
FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE
HUMAN
ALL-TOO-HUMAN
A BOOK FOR FREE SPIRITS
PART I
TRANSLATED BY
HELEN ZIMMERN
WITH INTRODUCTION BY
J. M. KENNEDY
T. N. FOULIS
13 & IS FREDERICK STREET
EDINBURGH: and LONDON
1909
## p. iv (#12) ##############################################
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Printed by Morrison & Gibb Limited, Edinburgh
## p. v (#13) ###############################################
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Introduction - - - - - vii
Author's Preface i
-First Division: First and Last Things - 13
Second Division: The History of the Moral
Sentiments - - - - - S3
Third Division: The Religious Life- hi
Fourth Division: Concerning the Soul of
Artists and Authors- - - 153
"Fifth Division: The Signs of Higher and
Lower Culture - 207
Sixth Division: Man in Society - 267
Seventh Division: Wife and Child - - 295
Eighth Division: A Glance at the State - 317
Ninth Division: Man alone by Himself - 355
An Epode—Among Friends - - - 409
y
207594
## p. vi (#14) ##############################################
## p. vii (#15) #############################################
INTRODUCTION.
Nietzsche's essay, Richard Wagner in Bayreuth,
appeared in 1876, and his next publication was
his present work, which was issued in 1878. A
comparison of the books will show that the two
years of meditation intervening had brought about
a great change in Nietzsche's views, his style of
expressing them, and the form in which they were
cast. The Dionysian, overflowing with life, gives
way to an Apollonian thinker with a touch of
pessimism. The long essay form is abandoned,
and instead we have a series of aphorisms, some
tinged with melancholy, others with satire, several,
especially towards the end, with Nietzschian wit
at its best, and a few at the beginning so very
abstruse as to require careful study.
Since the Bayreuth festivals of 1876, Nietzsche
had gradually come to see Wagner as he really
was. The ideal musician that Nietzsche had pic-
tured in his own mind turned out to be nothing
more than a rather dilettante philosopher, an
opportunistic decadent with a suspicious tendency
towards Christianity. The young philosopher
thereupon proceeded to shake off the influence
which the musician had exercised upon him.
He was successful in doing so, but not without a
## p. viii (#16) ############################################
. Vlll INTRODUCTION.
struggle, just as he had formerly shaken off the
influence of Schopenhauer. Hence he writes in
his autobiography: * "Human, all-too-Human, is
the monument of a crisis. It is entitled: 'A
book for free spirits,' and almost every line in it
represents a victory—in its pages I freed myself
from everything foreign to my real nature. Ideal-
ism is foreign to me: the title says,' Where you see
ideal things, I see things which are only—human,
alas! all-too-human! ' I know man better—the
term ' free spirit' must here be understood in no
other sense than this: a. freed man, who has once
more taken possession of himself. "
The form of this book will be better under-
stood when it is remembered that at this period
Nietzsche was beginning to suffer from stomach
trouble and headaches. As a cure for his com-
plaints, he spent his time in travel when he could
get a few weeks' respite from his duties at Basel
University; and it was in the course of his solitary
walks and hill-climbing tours that the majority of
these thoughts occurred to him and were jotted
down there and then. A few of them, however,
date further back, as he tells us in the preface to
the second part of this work. Many of them, he
says, occupied his mind even before he published
his first book, The Birth of Tragedy, and several
others, as we learn from his notebooks and post-
humous writings, date from the period of the
Thoughts out of Season.
It must be clearly understood, however, that
* Ecce Homo, p. 75.
## p. ix (#17) ##############################################
INTRODUCTION. IX
Nietzsche's disease must not be looked upon in
the same way as that of an ordinary man. People
are inclined to regard a sick man as rancorous;
but any one who fights with and conquers his
disease, and even exploits it, as Nietzsche did,
benefits thereby to an extraordinary degree. In
the first place, he has passed through several stages
of human psychology with which a healthy man
is entirely unacquainted; for he has learnt by
introspection the spiteful and revengeful spirit of
the sick man and his religion. Secondly, in his
moments of freedom from pain and gloom his
thoughts will be all the more brilliant.
In support of this last statement, one instance
may be selected out of hundreds that could be
adduced. Heinrich Heine spent the greater
part of his life in exile from his native country,
tortured by headaches, and finally dying in a
foreign land as the result of a spinal disease.
His splendid works were composed in his moments
of respite from illness, and during the last years
of his life, when his health was at its worst, he
gave to the world his famous Romancero. We
would likewise do well to recollect Goethe's
saying:
Zart Gedicht, wie Regenbogen,
Wird nur auf dunkelm Grund gezogen.
Previously to writing this book, then, Nietzsche
had travelled a great deal. He had come into
contact with men and women of many nation-
* " Tender poetry, like rainbows, can appear only on a
dark and sombre background. "—J. M. K.
## p. x (#18) ###############################################
X INTRODUCTION.
alities, and had surveyed many human institu-
tions: states, religions, schools, parliaments, stand-
ing armies; he had weighed modern problems on
the scales of Hellenic thought, and had, by a
strong effort of will, raised himself above what
were, in his opinion, the petty squabbles of politics,
whether local or international. Hence in the
following pages all matters pertaining to the State
are judged merely in the abstract, and without
reference to any particular country.
The reader of these aphorisms can hardly fail
to be struck by their remarkable exactness; and
it says much for the breadth and keenness of
Nietzsche's psychological insight that the book was
published before he was thirty-four years of age.
It would be well to point out that the present
work—like all Nietzsche's writings—is not in-
tended for those who are gradually becoming
exhausted by the modern commercial death-and-
life struggle for existence. The aphorisms in this
volume are essentially for minds of a higher
order. Nietzsche's dislike of modern time-serving
institutions may be seen, to take one instance,
from aphorism 442. Here he complains that
national armies, so large and important at the
present day, are, philosophically speaking, a
waste; for they absorb intellects of a calibre fit
for something better than the drilling of troops.
Applying this principle a little further, we can
see that it gives us an answer to a question which
is often asked: Why is England so poor in great
artists of all kinds? May it not be because such
## p. xi (#19) ##############################################
INTRODUCTION. XI
men are earlly in life caught in the net of politics,
and waste lives which might be devoted to philo-
sophy, art, and literature, in the much less con-
genial tasks of administering Egyptian finance or
governing Hindoos?
The reader will be amply repaid if he submits
every aphorism to a similar analysis, and gives it
the practical application which Nietzsche had in
mind.
Again, take aphorism 434, containing the now
celebrated dictum that women always intrigue in
secret against the higher souls of their husbands.
While this statement is correct as applied to artists,
it is obviously not intended for business-men, whose
wives in many instances spur them on—not to
philosophy or art, but to money, comfort, and
worldly success.
Even politicians and statesmen will find much
to interest them here. Socialists will be especially
pleased with and interested in aphorism 451.
The ruling classes, says Nietzsche, can, if they
choose, treat all men as equals, and proclaim the
establishment of equal rights:
so far a socialistic mode of thought which is based on
justice is possible ; but, as has been said, only within the
ranks of the governing classes. . . . On the other hand, to
demand equality of rights, as do the Socialists of the subject
caste, is by no means the outcome of justice, but of covetous-
ness. If you expose bloody pieces of flesh to a beast, and
withdraw them again until it finally begins to roar, do you
think that the roaring implies justice?
Theologians, to mention another example of
Nietzsche's acuteness, will also find much to in-
## p. xii (#20) #############################################
Xll INTRODUCTION.
i
terest them—though possibly not to please them
— in aphorism 630, dealing with convictions and
their origin. In fact, there is no paragraph in the
book that does not deserve careful siudy by all
serious thinkers.
Those who are accustomed to Nietzsche the
classical scholar, and those who are, on the other
hand, accustomed to Nietzsche the outspoken Im-
moralist, may be somewhat astonished at the calm
tone of the present volume. The explanation is
that Nietzsche was now just beginning to walk on
his own philosophical path. His lifelong aim, the
uplifting of the type man, was still in view, but
the way leading towards it was once more un-
certain. Hence the peculiarly calm, even melan-
cholic, and what Nietzsche himself would call
Apollonian, tinge of many of these aphorisms, so
different from the style of his earlier and later
writings. For this very reason, however, the book
may appeal all the more to English readers, who
are of course more Apollonian than Dionysian.
Nietzsche is feeling his way, and these aphorisms
represent his first steps. As such—besides having
a high intrinsic value of themselves—they are
enormous aids to the study of his character and
temperament.
J. M. KENNEDY.
## p. xiii (#21) ############################################
PREFACE.
i.
I HAVE been told frequently, and always with
great surprise, that there is something common
and distinctive in all my writings, from the Birth
of Tragedy to the latest published Prelude to a
Philosophy of the Future. They all contain, I have
been told, snares and nets for unwary birds, and
an almost perpetual unconscious demand for. the
inversion of customary valuations''and valued
customs. ( What? Everything only — human —
all-too-human? ) People lay down my writings
with this sigh, not without a certain dread and
distrust of morality itself, indeed almost tempted
and encouraged to become advocates of the worst
things: as being perhaps only the best dis-
paraged? My writings have been called a school
of suspicion and especially of disdain, more happily,
also, a school of courage and even of audacity.
Indeed, I myself do not think that any one has
ever looked at the world with such a profound
suspicion; and not only as occasional Devil's
Advocate, but equally also, to speak theologically,
as enemy and impeacher of God; and he who
realises something of the consequences involved,
## p. xiv (#22) #############################################
xii INTRODUCTION.
terest them—though possibly not to please them
—in aphorism 630, dealing with convictions and
their origin. In fact, there is no paragraph in the
book that does not deserve careful study by all
serious thinkers.
Those who are accustomed to Nietzsche the
classical scholar, and those who are, on the other
hand, accustomed to Nietzsche the outspoken Im-
moralist, may be somewhat astonished at the calm
tone of the present volume. The explanation is
that Nietzsche was now just beginning to walk on
his own philosophical path. His lifelong aim, the
uplifting of the type man, was still in view, but
the way leading towards it was once more un-
certain. Hence the peculiarly calm, even melan-
cholic, and what Nietzsche himself would call
Apollonian, tinge of many of these aphorisms, so
different from the style of his earlier and later
writings. For this very reason, however, the book
may appeal all the more to English readers, who
are of course more Apollonian than Dionysian.
Nietzsche is feeling his way, and these aphorisms
represent his first steps. As such—besides having
a high intrinsic value of themselves—they are
enormous aids to the study of his character and
temperament
.
J. M. KENNEDY.
## p. 1 (#23) ###############################################
PREFACE.
I HAVE been told frequently, and always with
great surprise, that there is something common
and distinctive in all my writings, from the Birth
of Tragedy to the latest published Prelude to a
Philosophy of the Future. They all contain, I have
been told, snares and nets for unwary birds, and
an almost perpetual unconscious demand for the
inversion of customary valuations and valued
customs. ( What? Everything only — human —
all-too-human? ) People lay down my writings
with this sigh, not without a certain dread and
distrust of morality itself, indeed almost tempted
and encouraged to become advocates of the worst
things: as being perhaps only the best dis-
paraged? My writings have been called a school
of suspicion and especially of disdain, more happily,
also, a school of courage and even of audacity.
Indeed, I myself do not think that any one has
ever looked at the world with such a profound
suspicion; and not only as occasional Devil's
Advocate, but equally also, to speak theologically,
as enemy and impeacher of God; and he who
realises something of the consequences involved,
vOl. I. A
## p. 2 (#24) ###############################################
2 PREFACE.
in every profound suspicion, something of the
chills and anxieties of loneliness to which every
uncompromising difference of outlook condemns
him who is affected therewith, will also understand
how often I sought shelter in some kind of
reverence or hostility, or scientificality or levity
or stupidity, in order to recover from myself, and,
as it were, to obtain temporary self-forgetfulness;
also why, when I did not find what I needed, I
was obliged to manufacture it, to counterfeit and
to imagine it in a suitable manner (and what else
have poets ever done? And for what purpose
has all the art in the world existed ? ). What I
always required most, however, for my cure and
self-recovery, was the belief that I was not isolated
in such circumstances, that I did not see in an
isolated manner—a magic suspicion of relationship
and similarity to others in outlook and desire, a
repose in the confidence of friendship, a blindness
in both parties without suspicion or note of inter-
rogation, an enjoyment of foregrounds, and surfaces
of the near and the nearest, of all that has colour,
epidermis, and outside appearance. Perhaps I
might be reproached in this respect for much " art"
and fine false coinage; for instance, for voluntarily
and knowingly shutting my eyes to Schopenhauer's
blind will to morality at a time when I had become
sufficiently clear-sighted about morality; also for
deceiving myself about Richard Wagner's incurable
romanticism, as if it were a beginning and not an
end ; also about the Greeks, also about the Germans
and their future—and there would still probably
be quite a long list of such alsos? Supposing,
## p. 3 (#25) ###############################################
PREFACE. 3
however, that this were all true and that I were
reproached with good reason, what do you know,
what could you know as to how much artifice of
self-preservation, how much rationality and higher
protection there is in such self-deception,—and
how much falseness I still require in order to allow
myself again apd again the luxury of my sincerity?
. . . In short, I still live; and life, in spite of
ourselves, is not devised by morality; it demands
illusion, it lives by illusion . . . but There!
I am already beginning again and doing what I
have always done, old immoralist and bird-catcher
that I am,—I am talking un-morally, ultra-morally,
"beyond good and evil "? . . .
Thus then, when I found it necessary, I invented
once on a time the " free spirits," to whom this
discouragingly encouraging book with the title
Human, all-too-Human, is dedicated. There are
no such ". free spirits" nor have there been such,
but, as already said, I then required them for
company to keep me cheerful in the midst of evils
(sickness, loneliness, foreignness, — acedia, inac-
tivity) as brave companions and ghosts with whom
I could laugh and gossip when so inclined and send
to the devil when they became bores,—as com-
pensation for the lack of friends. That such free
spirits will be possible some day, that our Europe
will have such bold and cheerful wights amongst
her sons of to-morrow and the day after to-morrow,
actually and bodily, and not merely, as in my case,
## p. 4 (#26) ###############################################
4 PREFACE.
as the shadows of a hermit's phantasmagoria—
/ should be the last to doubt thereof. Already
I see them coming, slowly, slowly; and perhaps I
am doing something to hasten their coming when
I describe in advance under what auspices I see
them originate, and upon what paths I see them
come.
One may suppose that a spirit in which the
type "free spirit" is to become fully mature and
sweet, has had its decisive event in a great emanci-
pation, and that it was all the more fettered pre-
viously and apparently bound for ever to its corner
and pillar. What is it that binds most strongly?
What cords are almost unrendable? In men of
a lofty and select type it will be their duties; the
reverence which is suitable to youth, respect and
tenderness for all that is time-honoured and worthy,
gratitude to the land which bore them, to the hand
which led them, to the sanctuary where they learnt
to adore,—their most exalted moments themselves
will bind them most effectively, will lay upon them
the most enduring obligations. For those who are
thus bound the great emancipation comes suddenly,
like an earthquake; the young soul is all at once
convulsed, unloosened and extricated—it does not
itself know what is happening. An impulsion
and compulsion sway and over-master it like a
command; a will and a wish awaken, to go forth
on their course, anywhere, at any cost; a violent,
dangerous curiosity about an undiscovered world
flames and flares in every sense.
On the other hand, to
demand equality of rights, as do the Socialists of the subject
caste, is by no means the outcome of justice, but of covetous-
ness. If you expose bloody pieces of flesh to a beast, and
withdraw them again until it finally begins to roar, do you
think that the roaring implies justice?
Theologians, to mention another example of
Nietzsche's acuteness, will also find much to in-
## p. xii (#20) #############################################
Xll INTRODUCTION.
i
terest them—though possibly not to please them
— in aphorism 630, dealing with convictions and
their origin. In fact, there is no paragraph in the
book that does not deserve careful siudy by all
serious thinkers.
Those who are accustomed to Nietzsche the
classical scholar, and those who are, on the other
hand, accustomed to Nietzsche the outspoken Im-
moralist, may be somewhat astonished at the calm
tone of the present volume. The explanation is
that Nietzsche was now just beginning to walk on
his own philosophical path. His lifelong aim, the
uplifting of the type man, was still in view, but
the way leading towards it was once more un-
certain. Hence the peculiarly calm, even melan-
cholic, and what Nietzsche himself would call
Apollonian, tinge of many of these aphorisms, so
different from the style of his earlier and later
writings. For this very reason, however, the book
may appeal all the more to English readers, who
are of course more Apollonian than Dionysian.
Nietzsche is feeling his way, and these aphorisms
represent his first steps. As such—besides having
a high intrinsic value of themselves—they are
enormous aids to the study of his character and
temperament.
J. M. KENNEDY.
## p. xiii (#21) ############################################
PREFACE.
i.
I HAVE been told frequently, and always with
great surprise, that there is something common
and distinctive in all my writings, from the Birth
of Tragedy to the latest published Prelude to a
Philosophy of the Future. They all contain, I have
been told, snares and nets for unwary birds, and
an almost perpetual unconscious demand for. the
inversion of customary valuations''and valued
customs. ( What? Everything only — human —
all-too-human? ) People lay down my writings
with this sigh, not without a certain dread and
distrust of morality itself, indeed almost tempted
and encouraged to become advocates of the worst
things: as being perhaps only the best dis-
paraged? My writings have been called a school
of suspicion and especially of disdain, more happily,
also, a school of courage and even of audacity.
Indeed, I myself do not think that any one has
ever looked at the world with such a profound
suspicion; and not only as occasional Devil's
Advocate, but equally also, to speak theologically,
as enemy and impeacher of God; and he who
realises something of the consequences involved,
## p. xiv (#22) #############################################
xii INTRODUCTION.
terest them—though possibly not to please them
—in aphorism 630, dealing with convictions and
their origin. In fact, there is no paragraph in the
book that does not deserve careful study by all
serious thinkers.
Those who are accustomed to Nietzsche the
classical scholar, and those who are, on the other
hand, accustomed to Nietzsche the outspoken Im-
moralist, may be somewhat astonished at the calm
tone of the present volume. The explanation is
that Nietzsche was now just beginning to walk on
his own philosophical path. His lifelong aim, the
uplifting of the type man, was still in view, but
the way leading towards it was once more un-
certain. Hence the peculiarly calm, even melan-
cholic, and what Nietzsche himself would call
Apollonian, tinge of many of these aphorisms, so
different from the style of his earlier and later
writings. For this very reason, however, the book
may appeal all the more to English readers, who
are of course more Apollonian than Dionysian.
Nietzsche is feeling his way, and these aphorisms
represent his first steps. As such—besides having
a high intrinsic value of themselves—they are
enormous aids to the study of his character and
temperament
.
J. M. KENNEDY.
## p. 1 (#23) ###############################################
PREFACE.
I HAVE been told frequently, and always with
great surprise, that there is something common
and distinctive in all my writings, from the Birth
of Tragedy to the latest published Prelude to a
Philosophy of the Future. They all contain, I have
been told, snares and nets for unwary birds, and
an almost perpetual unconscious demand for the
inversion of customary valuations and valued
customs. ( What? Everything only — human —
all-too-human? ) People lay down my writings
with this sigh, not without a certain dread and
distrust of morality itself, indeed almost tempted
and encouraged to become advocates of the worst
things: as being perhaps only the best dis-
paraged? My writings have been called a school
of suspicion and especially of disdain, more happily,
also, a school of courage and even of audacity.
Indeed, I myself do not think that any one has
ever looked at the world with such a profound
suspicion; and not only as occasional Devil's
Advocate, but equally also, to speak theologically,
as enemy and impeacher of God; and he who
realises something of the consequences involved,
vOl. I. A
## p. 2 (#24) ###############################################
2 PREFACE.
in every profound suspicion, something of the
chills and anxieties of loneliness to which every
uncompromising difference of outlook condemns
him who is affected therewith, will also understand
how often I sought shelter in some kind of
reverence or hostility, or scientificality or levity
or stupidity, in order to recover from myself, and,
as it were, to obtain temporary self-forgetfulness;
also why, when I did not find what I needed, I
was obliged to manufacture it, to counterfeit and
to imagine it in a suitable manner (and what else
have poets ever done? And for what purpose
has all the art in the world existed ? ). What I
always required most, however, for my cure and
self-recovery, was the belief that I was not isolated
in such circumstances, that I did not see in an
isolated manner—a magic suspicion of relationship
and similarity to others in outlook and desire, a
repose in the confidence of friendship, a blindness
in both parties without suspicion or note of inter-
rogation, an enjoyment of foregrounds, and surfaces
of the near and the nearest, of all that has colour,
epidermis, and outside appearance. Perhaps I
might be reproached in this respect for much " art"
and fine false coinage; for instance, for voluntarily
and knowingly shutting my eyes to Schopenhauer's
blind will to morality at a time when I had become
sufficiently clear-sighted about morality; also for
deceiving myself about Richard Wagner's incurable
romanticism, as if it were a beginning and not an
end ; also about the Greeks, also about the Germans
and their future—and there would still probably
be quite a long list of such alsos? Supposing,
## p. 3 (#25) ###############################################
PREFACE. 3
however, that this were all true and that I were
reproached with good reason, what do you know,
what could you know as to how much artifice of
self-preservation, how much rationality and higher
protection there is in such self-deception,—and
how much falseness I still require in order to allow
myself again apd again the luxury of my sincerity?
. . . In short, I still live; and life, in spite of
ourselves, is not devised by morality; it demands
illusion, it lives by illusion . . . but There!
I am already beginning again and doing what I
have always done, old immoralist and bird-catcher
that I am,—I am talking un-morally, ultra-morally,
"beyond good and evil "? . . .
Thus then, when I found it necessary, I invented
once on a time the " free spirits," to whom this
discouragingly encouraging book with the title
Human, all-too-Human, is dedicated. There are
no such ". free spirits" nor have there been such,
but, as already said, I then required them for
company to keep me cheerful in the midst of evils
(sickness, loneliness, foreignness, — acedia, inac-
tivity) as brave companions and ghosts with whom
I could laugh and gossip when so inclined and send
to the devil when they became bores,—as com-
pensation for the lack of friends. That such free
spirits will be possible some day, that our Europe
will have such bold and cheerful wights amongst
her sons of to-morrow and the day after to-morrow,
actually and bodily, and not merely, as in my case,
## p. 4 (#26) ###############################################
4 PREFACE.
as the shadows of a hermit's phantasmagoria—
/ should be the last to doubt thereof. Already
I see them coming, slowly, slowly; and perhaps I
am doing something to hasten their coming when
I describe in advance under what auspices I see
them originate, and upon what paths I see them
come.
One may suppose that a spirit in which the
type "free spirit" is to become fully mature and
sweet, has had its decisive event in a great emanci-
pation, and that it was all the more fettered pre-
viously and apparently bound for ever to its corner
and pillar. What is it that binds most strongly?
What cords are almost unrendable? In men of
a lofty and select type it will be their duties; the
reverence which is suitable to youth, respect and
tenderness for all that is time-honoured and worthy,
gratitude to the land which bore them, to the hand
which led them, to the sanctuary where they learnt
to adore,—their most exalted moments themselves
will bind them most effectively, will lay upon them
the most enduring obligations. For those who are
thus bound the great emancipation comes suddenly,
like an earthquake; the young soul is all at once
convulsed, unloosened and extricated—it does not
itself know what is happening. An impulsion
and compulsion sway and over-master it like a
command; a will and a wish awaken, to go forth
on their course, anywhere, at any cost; a violent,
dangerous curiosity about an undiscovered world
flames and flares in every sense. "Better to
## p. 5 (#27) ###############################################
PREFACE. 5
die than live here "—says the imperious voice and
seduction, and this "here," this "at home" is all
that the soul has hitherto loved! A sudden fear
and suspicion of that which it loved, a flash of
disdain for what was called its " duty," a rebellious,
arbitrary, volcanically throbbing longing for travel,
foreignness, estrangement, coldness, disenchant-
ment, glaciation, a hatred of love, perhaps a sacri-
legious clutch and look backwards, to where it
hitherto adored and loved, perhaps a glow of
shame at what it was just doing, and at the same
time a rejoicing that it was doing it, an intoxicated,
internal, exulting thrill which betrays a triumph
—a triumph? Over what? Over whom? An
enigmatical, questionable, doubtful triumph, but
the first triumph nevertheless ;—such evil and
painful incidents belong to . the history of the great
emancipation. It is, at the same time, a disease
which may destroy the man, this first outbreak of
power and will to self-decision, self-valuation, this
will to free will; and how much disease is mani-
fested in the wild attempts and eccentricities by
which the liberated and emancipated one now
seeks to demonstrate his mastery over things! He
roves about raging with unsatisfied longing; what-
ever he captures has to suffer for the dangerous
tension of his pride; he tears to pieces whatever
attracts him. With a malicious laugh he twirls'
round whatever he finds veiled or guarded by a
sense of shame; he tries how these things look
when turned upside down. It is a matter of
arbitrariness with him, and pleasure in arbitrariness,
if he now perhaps bestow his favour on what
## p. 6 (#28) ###############################################
6 PREFACE.
had hitherto a bad repute,—if he inquisitively
and temptingly haunt what is specially forbidden.
In the background of his activities and wanderings
—for he is restless and aimless in his course as in
a desert—stands the note of interrogation of an
increasingly dangerous curiosity. "Cannot all
valuations be reversed? And is good perhaps
evil? And God only an invention and artifice
of the devil? Is everything, perhaps, radically
false? And if we are the deceived, are we not
thereby also deceivers? Must we not also be
|__deceivers ? "—Such thoughts lead and mislead
r<" him more and more, onward and away. Solitude
li=- encircles and engirdles him, always more threaten-
ing, more throttling, more heart-oppressing, that
terrible goddess and mater sceva cupidinum—but
who knows nowadays what solitude is? . . .
From this morbid solitariness, from the desert
of such years of experiment, it is still a long way
to the copious, overflowing safety and soundness
which does not care to dispense with disease
itself as an instrument and angling-hook of
knowledge;—to that mature freedom of spirit
which is equally self-control and discipline of
the heart, and gives access to many and opposed
modes of thought;—to that inward comprehen-
siveness and daintiness of superabundance, which
excludes any danger of the spirit's becoming
enamoured and lost in its own paths, and
## p. 7 (#29) ###############################################
PREFACE. 7
lying intoxicated in some corner or other; to that
excess of plastic, healing, formative, and restorative
powers, which is exactly the sign of splendid
health, that excess which gives the free spirit
the dangerous prerogative of being entitled to
live by experiments and offer itself to adventure;
the free spirit's prerogative of mastership! Long
years of convalescence may lie in between, years
full of many-coloured, painfully-enchanting magi-
cal transformations, curbed and led by a tough
will to health, which often dares to dress and
disguise itself as actual health. There is a middle
condition therein, which a man of such a fate
never calls to mind later on without emotion; a
pale, delicate light and a sunshine-happiness are
peculiar to him, a feeling of bird-like freedom,
prospect, and haughtiness, a tertium quid in
which curiosity and gentle disdain are combined.
A "free spirit"—this cool expression does good
in every condition, it almost warms. One no
longer lives, in the fetters of love and hatred,
without Yea, without Nay, voluntarily near,
voluntarily distant, preferring to escape, to turn
aside, to flutter forth, to fly up and away; one
is fastidious like every one who has once seen
an immense variety beneath him,—and one has
become the opposite of those who trouble them-
selves about things which do not concern them.
In fact, it is nothing but things which now
concern the free spirit,—and how many things ! —
which no longer trouble him!
## p. 7 (#30) ###############################################
6 PREFACE.
I
had hitherto a bad repute,—if he inquisitively
and temptingly haunt what is specially forbidden.
In the background of his activities and wanderings
—for he is restless and aimless in his course as in
a desert—stands the note of interrogation of an
increasingly dangerous curiosity. "Cannot all
valuations be reversed? And is good perhaps
evil? And God only an invention and artifice
of the devil? Is everything, perhaps, radically
false? And if we are the deceived, are we not
thereby also deceivers? Must we not also be
I deceivers ? "—Such thoughts lead and mislead
him more and more, onward and away. Solitude
encircles and engirdles him, always more threaten-
ing, more throttling, more heart-oppressing, that
terrible goddess and mater s<Eva cupidinunt—but
who knows nowadays what solitude is? . . .
From this morbid solitariness, from the desert
of such years of experiment, it is still a long way
to the copious, overflowing safety and soundness
which does not care to dispense with disease
itself as an instrument and angling-hook of
knowledge;—to that mature freedom of spirit
which is equally self-control and discipline of
the heart, and gives access to many and opposed
modes of thought ;—to that inward comprehen-
siveness and daintiness of superabundance, which
excludes any danger of the spirit's becoming
enamoured and lost in its own paths, and
## p. 7 (#31) ###############################################
PREFACE. 7
lying intoxicated in some corner or other; to that
excess of plastic, healing, formative, and restorative
powers, which is exactly the sign of splendid
health, that excess which gives the free spirit
the dangerous prerogative of being entitled to
live by experiments and offer itself to adventure;
the free spirit's prerogative of mastership! Long
years of convalescence may lie in between, years
full of many-coloured, painfully-enchanting magi-
cal transformations, curbed and led by a tough
will to health, which often dares to dress and
disguise itself as actual health. There is a middle
condition therein, which a man of such a fate
never calls to mind later on without emotion; a
pale, delicate light and a sunshine-happiness are
peculiar to him, a feeling of bird-like freedom,
prospect, and haughtiness, a tertium quid in
which curiosity and gentle disdain are combined.
A "free spirit"—this cool expression does good
in every condition, it almost warms. One no
longer lives, in the fetters of love and hatred,
without Yea, without Nay, voluntarily near,
voluntarily distant, preferring to escape, to turn
aside, to flutter forth, to fly up and away; one
is fastidious like every one who has once seen
an immense variety beneath him,—and one has
become the opposite of those who trouble them-
selves about things which do not concern them.
In fact, it is nothing but things which now
concern the free spirit,—and how many things ! —
which no longer trouble him!
## p. 7 (#32) ###############################################
6 PREFACE.
I
L
had hitherto a bad repute,—if he inquisitively
and temptingly haunt what is specially forbidden.
In the background of his activities and wanderings
—for he is restless and aimless in his course as in
a desert—stands the note of interrogation of an
increasingly dangerous curiosity. "Cannot all
valuations be reversed? And is good perhaps
evil? And God only an invention and artifice
of the devil? Is everything, perhaps, radically
false? And if we are the deceived, are we not
thereby also deceivers? Must we not also be
I deceivers ? "—Such thoughts lead and mislead
him more and more, onward and away. Solitude
encircles and engirdles him, always more threaten-
ing, more throttling, more heart-oppressing, that
terrible goddess and mater sceva cupidinum—but
who knows nowadays what solitude is? . . .
4.
From this morbid solitariness, from the desert
of such years of experiment, it is still a long way
to the copious, overflowing safety and soundness
which does not care to dispense with disease
itself as an instrument and angling-hook of
knowledge;—to that mature freedom of spirit
which is equally self-control and discipline of
the heart, and gives access to many and opposed
modes of thought ;—to that inward comprehen-
siveness and daintiness of superabundance, which
excludes any danger of the spirit's becoming
enamoured and lost in its own paths, and
## p. 7 (#33) ###############################################
PREFACE. 7
lying intoxicated in some corner or other; to that
excess of plastic, healing, formative, and restorative
powers, which is exactly the sign of splendid
health, that excess which gives the free spirit
the dangerous prerogative of being entitled to
live by experiments and offer itself to adventure;
the free spirit's prerogative of mastership! Long
years of convalescence may lie in between, years
full of many-coloured, painfully-enchanting magi-
cal transformations, curbed and led by a tough
will to health, which often dares to dress and
disguise itself as actual health. There is a middle
condition therein, which a man of such a fate
never calls to mind later on without emotion; a
pale, delicate light and a sunshine-happiness are
peculiar to him, a feeling of bird-like freedom,
prospect, and haughtiness, a tertium quid in
which curiosity and gentle disdain are combined.
A "free spirit"—this cool expression does good
in every condition, it almost warms. One no
longer lives, in the fetters of love and hatred,
without Yea, without Nay, voluntarily near,
voluntarily distant, preferring to escape, to turn
aside, to flutter forth, to fly up and away; one
is fastidious like every one who has once seen
an immense variety beneath him,—and one has
become the opposite of those who trouble them-
selves about things which do not concern them.
In fact, it is nothing but things which now
concern the free spirit,—and how many things ! —
which no longer trouble him!
## p. 8 (#34) ###############################################
PREFACE.
5-
A step further towards recovery, and the free
spirit again draws near to life; - slowly, it is
true, and almost stubbornly, almost distrustfully.
Again it grows warmer around him, and, as it
were, yellower; feeling and sympathy gain depth,
thawing winds of every kind pass lightly over him.
He almost feels as if his eyes were now first opened
to what is near. He marvels and is still; where
has he been? The near and nearest things, how
changed they appear to him! What a bloom and
magic they have acquired meanwhile! He looks
back gratefully,—grateful to his wandering, his
austerity and self-estrangement, his far-sightedness
and his bird-like flights in cold heights. What a
good thing that he did not always stay " at home,"
"by himself," like a sensitive, stupid tenderling.
He has been beside himself, there is no doubt. He
now sees himself for the first time,—and what sur-
prises he feels thereby! What thrills unexperienced
hitherto! What joy even in the weariness, in the
old illness, in the relapses of the convalescent!
How he likes to sit still and suffer, to practise
patience, to lie in the sun! Who is as familiar as
he with the joy of winter, with the patch of sun-
shine upon the wall! They are the most grateful
animals in the world, and also the most un-
assuming, these lizards of convalescents with
their faces half-turned towards life once more:—
there are those amongst them who never let a
day pass without hanging a little hymn of praise
on its trailing fringe. And, speaking seriously, it
## p. 9 (#35) ###############################################
PREFACE. 9
is a radical cure for all pessimism (the well-known
disease of old idealists and falsehood-mongers) to
become ill after the manner of these free spirits,
to remain ill a good while, and then grow well (I
mean "better") for a still longer period. It is
wisdom, practical wisdom, to prescribe even health
for one's self for a long time only in small doses.
About this time it may at last happen, under
the sudden illuminations of still disturbed and
changing health, that the enigma of that great
emancipation begins to reveal itself to the free,
and ever freer, spirit,—that enigma which had
hitherto lain obscure, questionable, and almost
intangible, in his memory. If for a long time he
scarcely dared to ask himself, "Why so apart?
So alone? denying everything that I revered?
denying reverence itself? Why this hatred, this
suspicion, this severity towards my own virtues? "
—he now dares and asks the questions aloud, and
already hears something like an answer to them—
"Thou shouldst become master over thyself and
master also of thine own virtues. Formerly they
were thy masters; but they are only entitled to
be thy tools amongst other tools. Thou shouldst
obtain power over thy pro and contra, and learn
how to put them forth and withdraw them again
in accordance with thy higher purpose. Thou
shouldst learn how to take the proper perspective
of every valuation—the shifting, distortion, and
apparent teleology of the horizons and everything
## p. 10 (#36) ##############################################
IO PREFACE.
/
that belongs to perspective; also the amount of
stupidity which opposite values involve, and all
the intellectual loss with which every pro and every
contra has to be paid for.
