What was the ultimate outcome of
this philosophic eroticism of Plato's?
this philosophic eroticism of Plato's?
Nietzsche - v16 - Twilight of the Idols
66 (#86) ##############################################
66
THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS
æsthetic mode of action and of observation may ex-
ist, a certain preliminary physiological state is indis-
pensable: ecstasy. * This state of ecstasy must first
have intensified the susceptibility of the whole ma-
chine: otherwise, no art is possible. All kinds of
ecstasy, however differently produced, have this
power to create art, and above all the state depend-
ent upon sexual excitement — this most venerable
and primitive form of ecstasy. The same applies to
that ecstasy which is the outcome of all great desires,
all strong passions; the ecstasy of the feast of the
arena, of the act of bravery, of victory, of all extreme
action; the ecstasy of cruelty ; the ecstasy of de-
struction; the ecstasy following upon certain mete-
orological influences, as for instance that of spring-
time, or upon the use of narcotics; and finally the
ecstasy of will, that ecstasy which results from ac-
cumulated and surging will-power. —The essential
feature of ecstasy is the feeling of increased strength
and abundance. Actuated by this feeling a man
gives of himself to things, he forces them to partake
of his riches, he does violence to them—this proceed-
ing is called idealising. Let us rid ourselves of a pre-
judice here: idealising does not consist, as is gener-
ally believed, in a suppression or an elimination of
detail or of unessential features. A stupendous
accentuation of the principal characteristics is by far
the most decisive factor at work, and in consequence
the minor characteristics vanish.
* The German word Rausch as used by Nietzsche here,
suggests a blend of our two English words “intoxication
and “elation. ”_TR.
## p. 67 (#87) ##############################################
SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE 67
9
In this state a man enriches everything from out
his own abundance: what he sees, what he wills,
he sees distended, compressed, strong, overladen
with power. He transfigures things until they reflect
his power,—until they are stamped with his perfec-
tion. This compulsion to transfigure into the beauti-
ful is—Art. Everything—even that which he is not,
-is nevertheless to such a man a means of rejoicing
over himself; in Art man rejoices over himself as
perfection. —It is possible to imagine a contrary
state, a specifically anti-artistic state of the instincts,
-a state in which a man impoverishes, attenuates,
and draws the blood from everything. And, truth
to tell, history is full of such anti-artists, of such
creatures of low vitality who have no choice but to
appropriate everything they see and to suck its
blood and make it thinner. This is the case with
the genuine Christian, Pascal for instance. There
is no such thing as a Christian who is also an artist.
. . . Let no one be so childish as to suggest Raphael
or any homeopathic Christian of the nineteenth
century as an objection to this statement : Raphael
said Yea, Raphael did Yea,-consequently Raphael
was no Christian.
IO
What is the meaning of the antithetical concepts
Apollonian and Dionysian which I have introduced
into the vocabulary of Æsthetic, as representing
two distinct modes of ecstasy ? —Apollonian ecstasy
acts above all as a force stimulating the eye, so that
it acquires the power of vision. The painter, the
## p. 68 (#88) ##############################################
68
THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS
sculptor, the epic poet are essentially visionaries.
In the Dionysian state, on the other hand, the whole
system of passions is stimulated and intensified, so
that it discharges itself by all the means of expres-
sion at once, and vents all its power of representa-
tion, of imitation, of transfiguration, of transforma-
tion, together with every kind of mimicry and
histrionic display at the same time. The essential
feature remains the facility in transforming, the in-
ability to refrain from reaction (-a similar state to
that of certain hysterical patients, who at the slightest
hint assume any rôle). It is impossible for the
Dionysian artist not to understand any suggestion;
no outward sign of emotion escapes him, he pos-
sesses the instinct of comprehension and of divina-
tion in the highest degree, just as he is capable of
the most perfect art of communication. He enters
into every skin, into every passion : he is continually
changing himself. Music as we understand it to-
day is likewise a general excitation and discharge
of the emotions; but, notwithstanding this, it is only
the remnant of a much richer world of emotional
expression, a mere residuum of Dionysian histrion-
ism. For music to be made possible as a special
art, quite a number of senses, and particularly the
muscular sense, had to be paralysed (at least re-
latively: for all rhythm still appeals to our muscles
to a certain extent): and thus man no longer imi-
tates and represents physically everything he feels,
as soon as he feels it. Nevertheless that is the
normal Dionysian state, and in any case its primitive
state. Music is the slowly attained specialisatio
of this state at the cost of kindred capacities.
## p. 69 (#89) ##############################################
SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE 69
II
The actor, the inime, the dancer, the musician, and
the lyricist, are in their instincts fundamentally re-
lated; but they have gradually specialised in their
particular branch, and become separated—even to
the point of contradiction. The lyricist remained
united with the musician for the longest period of
time; and the actor with the dancer. The architect
manifests neither a Dionysian nor an Apollonian
state: In his case it is the great act of will, the will
that moveth mountains, the ecstasy of the great will
which aspires to art. The most powerful men have
always inspired architects; the architect has always
been under the suggestion of power. In the archi-
tectural structure, man's pride, man's triumph over
gravitation, man's will to power, assume a visible
form. Architecture is a sort of oratory of power by
a
means of forms. Now it is persuasive, even flatter-
ing, and at other times merely commanding. The
highest sensation of power and security finds ex-
pression in grandeur of style. That power which no
longer requires to be proved, which scorns to please ;
which responds only with difficulty; which feels no
witnesses around it; which is oblivious of the fact
that it is being opposed; which relies on itself
fatalistically, and is a law among laws:-such power
expresses itself quite naturally in grandeur of style.
12
I have been reading the life of Thomas Carlyle,
that unconscious and involuntary farce, that heroico-
moral interpretation of dyspeptic moods. -Carlyle,
a man of strong words and attitudes, a rhetorician
## p. 70 (#90) ##############################################
70
THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS
a
by necessity, who seems ever to be tormented by
the desire of finding some kind of strong faith, and
by his inability to do so (-in this respect a typical
Romanticist ! ). To yearn for a strong faith is not
the proof of a strong faith, but rather the reverse.
If a man have a strong faith he can indulge in the
luxury of scepticism; he is strong enough, firm
enough, well-knit enough for such a luxury. Carlyle
stupefies something in himself by means of the
fortissimo of his reverence for men of a strong faith,
and his rage over those who are less foolish : he is
in sore need of noise. An attitude of constant
and passionate dishonesty towards himself—this is
his proprium ; by virtue of this he is and remains
interesting. –Of course, in England he is admired
precisely on account of his honesty. Well, that is
English; and in view of the fact that the English are
the nation of consummate cant, it is not only com-
prehensible but also very natural. At bottom, Carlyle
is an English atheist who makes it a point of honour
not to be one.
13
Emerson. He is much more enlightened, much
broader, more versatile,and more subtle than Carlyle;
but above all, he is happier. He is one who in-
stinctively lives on ambrosia and who leaves the
indigestible parts of things on his plate. Compared
with Carlyle he is a man of taste. -Carlyle, who
was very fond of him, nevertheless declared that
“he does not give us enough to chew. ” This is
perfectly true but it is not unfavourable to Emerson.
-Emerson possesses that kindly intellectual cheer-
fulness which deprecates overmuch seriousness; he
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SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE 71
has absolutely no idea of how old he is already,
and how young he will yet be,-he could have said
of himself, in Lope de Vega's words : “yo me sucedo
a mi mismo. " His mind is always finding reasons
for being contented and even thankful; and at times
he gets preciously near to that serene superiority of
theworthy bourgeois who returning from an amorous
rendezvous tamquam re bene gesta, said gratefully
“ Ut desint vires, tamen est laudanda voluptas. ”—
14
Anti-Darwin. —As to the famous “struggle for
existence,” it seems to me, for the present, to be
more of an assumption than a fact. It does occur,
but as an exception. The general condition of life
is not one of want or famine, but rather of riches,
of lavish luxuriance, and even of absurd prodigality,
-where there is a struggle, it is a struggle for power.
We should not confound Malthus with nature. -
Supposing, however, that this struggle exists,-and
it does indeed occur,-its result is unfortunately the
very reverse of that which the Darwinian school
seems to desire, and of that which in agreement with
them we also might desire: that is to say, it is always
to the disadvantage of the strong, the privileged,
and the happy exceptions. Species do not evolve
towards perfection: the weak always prevail over
the strong-simply because they are the majority,
and because they are also the more crafty. Darwin
forgot the intellect (that is English ! ), the weak
have more intellect. In order to acquire intellect,
one must be in need of it. One loses it when one
no longer needs it. He who possesses strength
## p. 72 (#92) ##############################################
72
THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS
Alings intellect to the deuce (“let it go hence! "*
say the Germans of the present day, “the Empire
will remain ”). As you perceive, intellect to me
means caution, patience, craft, dissimulation, great
self-control, and everything related to mimicry (what
is praised nowadays as virtue is very closely related
to the latter).
15
Casuistry of a Psychologist. —This man knows
mankind: to what purpose does he study his fellows?
He wants to derive some small or even great ad-
vantages from them,—he is a politician! . . . That
man yonder is also well versed in human nature:
and ye tell me that he wishes to draw no personal
profit from his knowledge, that he is a thoroughly
disinterested person ? Examine him a little more
closely! Maybe he wishes to derive a more wicked
advantage from his possession ; namely, to feel
superior to men, to be able to look down upon them,
no longer to feel one of them. This “disinterested
person” is a despiser of mankind; and the former
is of a more humane type, whatever appearances may
seem to say to the contrary. At least he considers
himself the equal of those about him, at least he
classifies himself with them.
"
16
The psychological tact of Germans seems to me to
have been set in doubt by a whole series of cases
* An allusion to a verse in Luther's hymn : “Lass fahren
dahin. das Reich muss uns doch bleiben," which Nietzsche
applies to the German Empire. -TR.
1
!
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SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE
73
which my modesty forbids me to enumerate. In one
case at least I shall not let the occasion slip for
substantiating my contention : I bear the Germans
a grudge for having made a mistake about Kant
and his “backstairs philosophy,” as I call it. Such
a man was not the type of intellectual uprightness.
Another thing I hate to hear is a certain infamous
“and”: the Germans say, “Goethe and Schiller,"
I even fear that they say, “Schiller and Goethe. ”
“
. . Has nobody found Schiller out yet ? —But
there are other “ands” which are even
egregious. With my own ears I have heard-only
among University professors, it is true ! —men speak
of “Schopenhauer and Hartmann. ”
17
The most intellectual men, provided they are
also the most courageous, experience the most ex-
cruciating tragedies : but on that very account they
honour life, because it confronts them with its most
formidable antagonism.
18
Concerning “the Conscience of the Intellect. ”-
Nothing seems to me more uncommon to-day than
genuine hypocrisy. I strongly suspect that this
growth is unable to flourish in the mild climate of
our culture. Hypocrisy belongs to an age of strong
faith,—one in which one does not lose one's own
faith in spite of the fact that one has to make an out-
* A disciple of Schopenhauer who blunted the sharpness of
his master's Pessimism and who watered it down for modern
requirements. —TR.
## p. 74 (#94) ##############################################
74
THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS
ward show of holding another faith. Nowadays a
man gives it up; or, what is still more common, he
acquires a second faith,in any case, however, he
remains honest. Without a doubt it is possible to
have a much larger number of convictions at present,
than it was formerly: possible—that is to say, allow-
able,—that is to say, harmless. From this there
arises an attitude of toleration towards one's self.
Toleration towards one's self allows of a greater
number of convictions: the latter live comfortably
side by side, and they take jolly good care, as all
the world does to-day, not to compromise them-
selves. How does a man compromise himself to-
day? When he is consistent; when he pursues a
straight course; when he has anything less than
five faces; when he is genuine. . . . I very greatly
fear that modern man is much too fond of comfort
for certain vices; and the consequence is that the
latter are dying out. Everything evil which is the
outcome of strength of will—and maybe there is
nothing evil without the strengh of will,—degen-
erates, in our muggy atmosphere, into virtue. The
few hypocrites I have known only imitated hypoc-
risy: like almost every tenth man to-day, they were
actors.
19
Beautiful and Ugly :—Nothing is more relative,
let us say, more restricted, than our sense of the
beautiful. He who would try to divorce it from the
delight man finds in his fellows, would immediately
lose his footing. “Beauty in itself,” is simply a
word, it is not even a concept. In the beautiful,
man postulates himself as the standard of perfec-
## p. 75 (#95) ##############################################
SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE
75
.
.
tion; in exceptional cases he worships himself as
that standard. A species has no other alternative
than to say “yea” to itself alone, in this way. Its
,
lowest instinct, the instinct of self-preservation and
self-expansion, still radiates in such sublimities.
Man imagines the world itself to be overflowing
with beauty,—he forgets that he is the cause of it
all. He alone has endowed it with beauty. Alas!
and only with human all-too-human beauty! Truth
to tell man reflects himself in things, he thinks
everything beautiful that throws his own image back
at him. The judgment“ beautiful” is the “vanity
of his species. ” A little demon of suspicion
may well whisper into the sceptic's ear: is the
world really beautified simply because man thinks it
beautiful? He has only humanised it—that is all.
But nothing, absolutely nothing proves to us that it
is precisely man who is the proper model of beauty.
Who knows what sort of figure he would cut in the
eyes of a higher judge of taste? He might seem
a little outré ? perhaps even somewhat amusing ?
perhaps a trifle arbitrary? "O Dionysus, thou divine
one, why dost thou pull mine ears? ” Ariadne asks
on one occasion of her philosophic lover, during one
of those famous conversations on the island of
Naxos. “I find a sort of humour in thine ears,
Ariadne: why are they not a little longer ? ”
20
Nothing is beautiful; man alone is beautiful : all
æsthetic rests on this piece of ingenuousness, it is the
first axiom of this science. And now let us straight-
way add the second to it: nothing is ugly save the
.
## p. 76 (#96) ##############################################
76
THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS
degenerate man,—within these two first principles
the realm of astheticjudgmentsisconfined. From the
physiological standpoint, everything ugly weakens
and depresses man. It reminds him of decay, danger,
impotence; he literally loses strength in its presence.
The effect of ugliness may be gauged by the dyna-
mometer. Whenever man's spirits are downcast, it
is a sign that he scents the proximity of something
“ugly. ” His feeling of power, his will to power,
his courage
and his pride— these things collapse at
the sight of what is ugly, and rise at the sight of
what is beautiful. In both cases an inference is
drawn; the premises to which are stored with extra
ordinary abundance in the instincts. Ugliness is
understood to signify a hint and a symptom of de-
generation: that which reminds us however remotely
of degeneracy, impels us to the judgment "ugly. ”
Every sign of exhaustion, of gravity, of age, of
fatigue; every kind of constraint, such as cramp, or
paralysis ; and above all the smells, colours and
forms associated with decomposition and putrefaç-
tion, however much they may have been attenuated
into symbols,-all these things provoke the same
reaction which is the judgment“ ugly. ” A certain
hatred expresses itself here: what is it that man
hates? Without a doubt it is the decline of his
type. In this regard his hatred springs from the
deepest instincts of the race: there is horror, caution,
profundity and far-reaching vision in this hatred,
it is the most profound hatred that exists. On its
account alone Art is profound.
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SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE 77
21
Schopenhauer. —Schopenhauer, the last German
who is to be reckoned with (who is a European
event like Goethe, Hegel, or Heinrich Heine, and
who is not merely local, national), is for a psycholo-
gist a case of the first rank: I mean as a malicious
though masterly attempt to enlist on the side of a
general nihilistic depreciation of life, the very forces
which are opposed to such a movement,—that is to
say, the great self-affirming powers of the “will to
live," the exuberant forms of life itself. He inter-
preted Art, heroism, genius, beauty, great sympathy,
knowledge, the will to truth, and tragedy, one after
the other, as the results of the denial, or of the need
of the denial, of the “will ”—the greatest forgery,
Christianity always excepted, which history has to
show. Examined more carefully, he is in this respect
simply the heir of the Christian interpretation ; ex-
cept that he knew how to approve in a Christian
fashion (i. e. , nihilistically) even of the great facts of
human culture, which Christianity completely re-
pudiates. (He approved of them as paths to “salva-
tion,” as preliminary stages to "salvation,” as appe-
tisers calculated to arouse the desire for “salvation. ")
22
Let me point to one singleinstance. Schopenhauer
speaks of beauty with melancholy ardour,—why in
sooth does he do this? Because in beauty he sees
a bridge on which one can travel further, or which
stimulates one's desire to travel further. According
to him it constitutes a momentary emancipation from
## p. 78 (#98) ##############################################
78
THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS
the “will ”-it lures to eternal salvation. He values
it more particularly as a deliverance from the“ burn-
ing core of the will ” which is sexuality,-in beauty
he recognises the negation of the procreative instinct.
Singular Saint! Some one contradicts thee; I fear
it is Nature. Why is there beauty of tone, colour,
aroma, and of rhythmic movement in Nature at all ?
What is it forces beauty to the fore? Fortunately,
too, a certain philosopher contradicts him. No less
an authority than the divine Plato himself (thus
does Schopenhauer call him), upholds another pro-
position : that all beauty lures to procreation,—that
this precisely is the chief characteristic of its effect,
from the lowest sensuality to the highest spirituality.
a
23
Plato goes further.
further. With an innocence for which
a man must be Greek and not “Christian," he
says
that there would be no such thing as Platonic philo-
sophy if there were not such beautiful boys in
Athens : it was the sight of them alone that set the
soul of the philosopher reeling with erotic passion,
and allowed it no rest until it had planted the seeds
of all lofty things in a soil so beautiful. He was also
a singular saint ! -One scarcely believes one's ears,
even supposing one believes Plato. At least one
realises that philosophy was pursued differently in
Athens; above all, publicly. Nothing is less Greek
than the cobweb-spinning with concepts by an
anchorite, amor intellectualis dei after the fashion
of Spinoza. Philosophy according to Plato's style
.
might be defined rather as an erotic competition,
as a continuation and a spiritualisation of the old
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SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE 79
agonal gymnastics and the conditions on which they
depend. . . .
What was the ultimate outcome of
this philosophic eroticism of Plato's? A new art-
form of the Greek Agon, dialectics. —In opposition
to Schopenhauer and to the honour of Plato, I would
remind you that all the higher culture and literature
of classical France, as well, grew up on the soil of
sexual interests. In all its manifestations you may
look for gallantry, the senses, sexual competition,
and “woman,” and you will not look in vain.
24
L'Art pour l'Art. —The struggle against a pur-
pose in art is always a struggle against the moral
tendency in art, against its subordination to morality.
L'art pour l'art means, “let morality go to the devil! ”
-But even this hostility betrays the preponderating
power of the moral prejudice. If art is deprived of
the purpose of preaching morality and of improving
mankind, it does not by any means follow that art
is absolutely pointless, purposeless, senseless, in
short l'art pour l'art—a snake which bites its own
tail. “No purpose at all is better than a moral
purpose! ”—thus does pure passion speak. A psy-
chologist, on the other hand, puts the question :
what does all art do? does it not praise? does it not
glorify? does it not select? does it not bring things
into prominence? In all this it strengthens or
weakens certain valuations. Is this only a secon-
dary matter? an accident? something in which the
artist's instinct has no share? Or is it not rather the
very prerequisite which enables the artist to accom-
## p. 80 (#100) #############################################
80
THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS
plish something? . . . Is his most fundamental
instinct concerned with art? Is it not rather con-
cerned with the purpose of art, with life? with a
certain desirable kind of life? Art is the great
stimulus to life: how can it be regarded as purpose-
less, as pointless, as l'art pour l'art ? —There stil!
remains one question to be answered: Art also re-
veals much that is ugly, hard and questionable in
life,-does it not thus seem to make life intolerable?
-And, as a matter of fact, there have been philo-
sophers who have ascribed this function to art.
According to Schopenhauer's doctrine, the general
object of art was to “ free one from the Will”; and
what he honoured as the great utility of tragedy, was
that it" made people more resigned. ”—But this, as
I have already shown, is a pessimistic standpoint;
it is the “evil eye”: the artist himself must be
appealed to. What is it that the soul of the tragic
artist communicates to others? Is it not precisely
his fearless attitude towards that which is terrible
and questionable? This attitude is in itself a highly
desirable one; he who has once experienced it
honours it above everything else. He communi-
cates it. He must communicate, provided he is an
artist and a genius in the art of communication
A courageous and free spirit, in the presence of a
mighty foe, in the presence of a sublime misfortune,
and face to face with a problem that inspires horror
-this is the triumphant attitude which the tragic
artist selects and which he glorifies. The martial
elements in our soul celebrate their Saturnalia in
tragedy; he who is used to suffering, he who looks
out for suffering, the heroic man, extols his exist-
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SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE
81
ence by means of tragedy,—to him alone does the
tragic artist offer this cup of sweetest cruelty. -
25
To associate in an amiable fashion with any-
body; to keep the house of one's heart open to all, is
certainly liberal : but it is nothing else. One can
recognise the hearts that are capable of noble hos-
pitality, by their wealth of screened windows and
closed shutters: they keep their best rooms empty.
Whatever for ? —Because they are expecting guests
who are somebodies.
26
We no longer value ourselves sufficiently highly
when we communicate our soul's content. Our real
experiences are not at all garrulous. They could
not communicate themselves even if they wished to.
They are at a loss to find words for such con-
fidences. Those things for which we find words, are
things we have already overcome. In all speech there
lies an element of contempt. Speech, it would seem,
was only invented for average, mediocre and com-
municable things. -Every spoken word proclaims
the speaker vulgarised. —(Extract from a moral code
for deaf-and-dumb people and other philosophers. )
27
“This picture is perfectly beautiful ! ” * The dis-
satisfied and exasperated literary woman with a
desert in her heart and in her belly, listening with
* Quotation from the Libretto of Mozart's “ Magic Flute,"
Act 1, Sc. 3. -TR.
6
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82
THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS
agonised curiosity every instant to the imperative
which whispers to her from the very depths of her
being : aut liberi, aut libri : the literary woman,
sufficiently educated to understand the voice of
nature, even when nature speaks Latin, and more-
over enough of a peacock and a goose to speak even
French with herself in secret. “Je me verrai, je me
lirai, je m'extasierai et je dirai : Possible, que j'aie
eu tant d'esprit ? ”
.
.
28
The objective ones speak. —“Nothing comes more
easily to us, than to be wise, patient, superior. We
are soaked in the oil of indulgence and of sympathy,
we are absurdly just, we forgive everything. Pre-
cisely on that account we should be severe with our-
selves; for that very reason we ought from time to
time to go in for a little emotion, a little emotional
vice. It may seem bitter to us; and between our-
selves we may even laugh at the figure which it
makes us cut. But what does it matter? We
have no other kind of self-control left. This is our
asceticism, our manner of performing penance. " To
become personal—the virtues of the “impersonal and
objective one. "
29
Extract from a doctor's examination paper. -
What is the task of all higher schooling? ”—To
make man into a machine. “What are the means
employed ? "-He must learn how to be bored.
“How is this achieved ? "-By means of the concept
duty. “What example of duty has he before his
eyes ? ”—The philologist: it is he who teaches people
--
## p. 83 (#103) #############################################
SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE 83
how to swat. “Who is the perfect man? ”—The
Government official. “Which philosophy furnishes
the highest formula for the Government official ? ”-
Kant's philosophy: the Government official as
thing-in-itself made judge over the Government
official as appearance.
30
The right to Stupidity. —The worn-out worker,
whose breath is slow, whose look is good-natured,
and who lets things slide just as they please : this
typical figure which in this age of labour (and of
“Empire ! ”) is to be met with in all classes of society,
has now begun to appropriate even Art, including
the book, above all the newspaper,—and how much
more so beautiful nature, Italy! This man of the
evening, with his "savage instincts lulled,” as Faust
has it; needs his summer holiday, his sea-baths, his
glacier, his Bayreuth. In such ages Art has the
right to be purely foolish,—as a sort of vacation for
spirit, wit and sentiment. Wagner understood this.
Pure foolishness * is a pick-me-up.
31
Yet another problem of diet. —The means with
which Julius Cæsar preserved himself against sick-
ness and headaches : heavy marches, the simplest
mode of living, uninterrupted sojourns in the open
air, continual hardships,-generally speaking these
are the self-preservative and self-defensive measures
against the extreme vulnerability of those subtle
* This alludes to Parsifal. See my note on p. 96, vol. i. ,
“The Will to Power. "-TR.
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84
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machines working at the highest pressure, which are
called geniuses.
32
.
The Immoralist speaks. —Nothing is more distaste-
ful to true philosophers than man when he begins
to wish. . . . If they see man only at his deeds; if
they see this bravest, craftiest and most enduring of
animals even inextricably entangled in disaster, how
admirable he then appears to them! They even
encourage him. . . . But true philosophers despise
the man who wishes, as also the “desirable” man-
and all the desiderata and ideals of man in general.
If a philosopher could be a nihilist, he would be one;
for he finds only nonentity behind all human ideals.
Or, not even nonentity, but vileness, absurdity, sick-
ness, cowardice, fatigue and all sorts of dregs from
out the quaffed goblets of his life. . How is it
that man, who as a reality is so estimable, ceases
from deserving respect the moment he begins to
desire ? Must he pay for being so perfect as a
reality ? Must he make up for his deeds, for the
tension of spirit and will which underlies all his
deeds, by an eclipse of his powers in matters of the
imagination and in absurdity ? Hitherto the history
of his desires has been the partie honteuse of man-
kind: one should take care not to read too deeply
in this history. That which justifies man is his
reality,—it will justify him to all eternity. How
much more valuable is a real man than any other
man who is merely the phantom of desires, of dreams
of stinks and of lies ? —than any kind of ideal man?
. . And the ideal man, alone, is what the philo-
sopher cannot abide.
## p. 85 (#105) #############################################
SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE 85
33
The Natural Value of Egoism. -Selfishness has as
much value as the physiological value of him who
practises it: its worth may be great, or it may be
worthless and contemptible. Every individual may
be classified according to whether he represents the
ascending or the descending line of life. When this
is decided, a canon is obtained by means of which
the value of his selfishness may be determined. If
he represent the ascending line of life, his value is
of course extraordinary—and for the sake of the
collective life which in him makes one step forward,
the concern about his maintenance, about procuring
his optimum of conditions may even be extreme. The
human unit, the “individual,” as the people and the
philosopher have always understood him, is certainly
an error: he is nothing in himself, no atom, no “link
in the chain,” no mere heritage from the past,—he
represents the whole direct line of mankind up to
his own life. . . . If he represent declining develop-
ment, decay, chronic degeneration, sickness (-ill-
nesses are on the whole already the outcome of
decline, and not the cause thereof), he is of little
worth, and the purest equity would have him take
away as little as possible from those who are lucky
strokes of nature. He is then only a parasite upon
.
34
The Christian and the Anarchist. -When the
anarchist, as the mouthpiece of the decaying strata
of society, raises his voice in splendid indignation
for “right,” “justice,” “equal rights,” he is only
them. . . .
## p. 86 (#106) #############################################
86
THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS
a
groaning under the burden of his ignorance, which
cannot understand why he actually suffers,—what
his poverty consists of the poverty of life. An
instinct of causality is active in him: someone must
be responsible for his being so ill at ease. His
“splendid indignation ” alone relieves him some-
what, it is a pleasure for all poor devils to grumble
-it gives them a little intoxicating sensation of
power. The very act of complaining, the mere fact
that one bewails one's lot, may lend such a charm
to life that on that account alone one is ready to
endure it. There is a small dose of revenge in every
lamentation. One casts one's afflictions, and, under
certain circumstances, even one's baseness, in the
teeth of those who are different, as if their condition
were an injustice, an iniquitous privilege. “Since I
am a blackguard you ought to be one too. " It is
upon such reasoning that revolutions are based. -
To bewail one's lot is always despicable: it is always
the outcome of weakness. Whether one ascribes
one's afflictions to others or to one's self, it is all the
The socialist does the former, the Christian,
for instance, does the latter. That which is common
to both attitudes, or rather that which is equally
ignoble in them both, is the fact that somebody
must be to blame if one suffers—in short that the
sufferer drugs himself with the honey of revenge to
allay his anguish. The objects towards which this
lust of vengeance, like a lust of pleasure, are directed,
are purely accidental causes. In all directions the
sufferer finds reasons for cooling his petty passion
for revenge. If he is a Christian, I repeat, he finds
these reasons in himself. The Christian and the
-
same.
## p. 87 (#107) #############################################
SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE 87
Anarchist—both are decadents. But even when the
Christian condemns, slanders, and sullies the world,
he is actuated by precisely the same instinct as that
which leads the socialistic workman to curse, calum-
niate and cast dirt at society. The last "Judg-
ment” itself is still the sweetest solace to revenge-
revolution, as the socialistic workman expects it,
only thought of as a little more remote. The
notion of a “Beyond,” as well—why a Beyond, if it
be not a means of splashing mud over a “Here," over
this world ? . . .
35
A Criticism of the Morality of Decadence. -An
"altruistic” morality, a morality under which selfish-
ness withers, is in all circumstances a bad sign.
This is true of individuals and above all of nations.
The best are lacking when selfishness begins to be
lacking. Instinctively to select that which is harm-
ful to one, to be lured by “disinterested” motives,
—these things almost provide the formula for de-
cadence. “Not to have one's own interests at heart"
- this is simply a moral fig-leaf concealing a very
different fact, a physiological one, to wit:-“I no
longer know how to find what is to
my
interest. ”. . .
Disintegration of the instincts ! -All is up with
man when he becomes altruistic. —Instead of saying
ingenuously “I am no longer any good,” the lie of
morality in the decadent's mouth says: “Nothing is
any good,-life is no good. ”—A judgment of this
kind ultimately becomes a great danger; for it is
infectious, and it soon flourishes on the polluted soil
of society with tropical luxuriance, now as a religion
(Christianity), anon as a philosophy (Schopenhauer-
## p. 88 (#108) #############################################
88
THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS
ism). In certain circumstances the mere effluvia of
such a venomous vegetation, springing as it does out
of the very heart of putrefaction, can poison life for
thousands and thousands of years.
-
a
36
A moral for doctors. —The sick man is a parasite
of society. In certain cases it is indecent to go
on living. To continue to vegetate in a state of
cowardly dependence upon doctors and special
treatments, once the meaning of life, the right to
life, has been lost, ought to be regarded with the
greatest contempt by society. The doctors, for
their part, should be the agents for imparting this
contempt,—they should no longer prepare prescrip-
tions, but should every day administer a fresh dose
of disgust to their patients. A new responsibility
should be created, that of the doctor—the responsi-
bility of ruthlessly suppressing and eliminating de-
generate life, in all cases in which the highest interests
of life itself, of ascending life, demand such a course
- for instance in favour of the right of procreation,
in favour of the right of being born, in favour of the
right to live. One should die proudly when it is no
longer possible to live proudly. Death should be
chosen freely,—death at the right time, faced clearly
and joyfully and embraced while one is surrounded
by one's children and other witnesses. It should be
Saffected in such a way that a proper farewell is still
possible, that he who is about to take leave of us is
still himself, and really capable not only of valuing
what he has achieved and willed in life, but also of
summing-up the value of life itself. Everything
## p. 89 (#109) #############################################
SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE 89
a
precisely the opposite of the ghastly comedy which
Christianity has made of the hour of death. We
should never forgive Christianity for having so abused
the weakness of the dying man as to do violence to
his conscience, or for having used his manner of
dying as a means of valuing both man and his past !
-In spite of all cowardly prejudices, it is our duty,
in this respect, above all to reinstate the proper-
that is to say, the physiological, aspect of so-called
natural death, which after all is perfectly “un-
natural” and nothing else than suicide. One never
perishes through anybody's fault but one's own.
The only thing is that the death which takes place
in the most contemptible circumstances, the death
that is not free, the death which occurs at the wrong
time, is the death of a coward. Out of the very love
one bears to life, one should wish death to be different
from this—that is to say, free, deliberate, and neither
a matter of chance nor of surprise. Finally let me
whisper a word of advice to our friends the pessi-
mists and all other decadents. We have not the
power to prevent ourselves from being born: but
this error-for sometimes it is an error-can be recti-
fied if we choose.
66
THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS
æsthetic mode of action and of observation may ex-
ist, a certain preliminary physiological state is indis-
pensable: ecstasy. * This state of ecstasy must first
have intensified the susceptibility of the whole ma-
chine: otherwise, no art is possible. All kinds of
ecstasy, however differently produced, have this
power to create art, and above all the state depend-
ent upon sexual excitement — this most venerable
and primitive form of ecstasy. The same applies to
that ecstasy which is the outcome of all great desires,
all strong passions; the ecstasy of the feast of the
arena, of the act of bravery, of victory, of all extreme
action; the ecstasy of cruelty ; the ecstasy of de-
struction; the ecstasy following upon certain mete-
orological influences, as for instance that of spring-
time, or upon the use of narcotics; and finally the
ecstasy of will, that ecstasy which results from ac-
cumulated and surging will-power. —The essential
feature of ecstasy is the feeling of increased strength
and abundance. Actuated by this feeling a man
gives of himself to things, he forces them to partake
of his riches, he does violence to them—this proceed-
ing is called idealising. Let us rid ourselves of a pre-
judice here: idealising does not consist, as is gener-
ally believed, in a suppression or an elimination of
detail or of unessential features. A stupendous
accentuation of the principal characteristics is by far
the most decisive factor at work, and in consequence
the minor characteristics vanish.
* The German word Rausch as used by Nietzsche here,
suggests a blend of our two English words “intoxication
and “elation. ”_TR.
## p. 67 (#87) ##############################################
SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE 67
9
In this state a man enriches everything from out
his own abundance: what he sees, what he wills,
he sees distended, compressed, strong, overladen
with power. He transfigures things until they reflect
his power,—until they are stamped with his perfec-
tion. This compulsion to transfigure into the beauti-
ful is—Art. Everything—even that which he is not,
-is nevertheless to such a man a means of rejoicing
over himself; in Art man rejoices over himself as
perfection. —It is possible to imagine a contrary
state, a specifically anti-artistic state of the instincts,
-a state in which a man impoverishes, attenuates,
and draws the blood from everything. And, truth
to tell, history is full of such anti-artists, of such
creatures of low vitality who have no choice but to
appropriate everything they see and to suck its
blood and make it thinner. This is the case with
the genuine Christian, Pascal for instance. There
is no such thing as a Christian who is also an artist.
. . . Let no one be so childish as to suggest Raphael
or any homeopathic Christian of the nineteenth
century as an objection to this statement : Raphael
said Yea, Raphael did Yea,-consequently Raphael
was no Christian.
IO
What is the meaning of the antithetical concepts
Apollonian and Dionysian which I have introduced
into the vocabulary of Æsthetic, as representing
two distinct modes of ecstasy ? —Apollonian ecstasy
acts above all as a force stimulating the eye, so that
it acquires the power of vision. The painter, the
## p. 68 (#88) ##############################################
68
THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS
sculptor, the epic poet are essentially visionaries.
In the Dionysian state, on the other hand, the whole
system of passions is stimulated and intensified, so
that it discharges itself by all the means of expres-
sion at once, and vents all its power of representa-
tion, of imitation, of transfiguration, of transforma-
tion, together with every kind of mimicry and
histrionic display at the same time. The essential
feature remains the facility in transforming, the in-
ability to refrain from reaction (-a similar state to
that of certain hysterical patients, who at the slightest
hint assume any rôle). It is impossible for the
Dionysian artist not to understand any suggestion;
no outward sign of emotion escapes him, he pos-
sesses the instinct of comprehension and of divina-
tion in the highest degree, just as he is capable of
the most perfect art of communication. He enters
into every skin, into every passion : he is continually
changing himself. Music as we understand it to-
day is likewise a general excitation and discharge
of the emotions; but, notwithstanding this, it is only
the remnant of a much richer world of emotional
expression, a mere residuum of Dionysian histrion-
ism. For music to be made possible as a special
art, quite a number of senses, and particularly the
muscular sense, had to be paralysed (at least re-
latively: for all rhythm still appeals to our muscles
to a certain extent): and thus man no longer imi-
tates and represents physically everything he feels,
as soon as he feels it. Nevertheless that is the
normal Dionysian state, and in any case its primitive
state. Music is the slowly attained specialisatio
of this state at the cost of kindred capacities.
## p. 69 (#89) ##############################################
SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE 69
II
The actor, the inime, the dancer, the musician, and
the lyricist, are in their instincts fundamentally re-
lated; but they have gradually specialised in their
particular branch, and become separated—even to
the point of contradiction. The lyricist remained
united with the musician for the longest period of
time; and the actor with the dancer. The architect
manifests neither a Dionysian nor an Apollonian
state: In his case it is the great act of will, the will
that moveth mountains, the ecstasy of the great will
which aspires to art. The most powerful men have
always inspired architects; the architect has always
been under the suggestion of power. In the archi-
tectural structure, man's pride, man's triumph over
gravitation, man's will to power, assume a visible
form. Architecture is a sort of oratory of power by
a
means of forms. Now it is persuasive, even flatter-
ing, and at other times merely commanding. The
highest sensation of power and security finds ex-
pression in grandeur of style. That power which no
longer requires to be proved, which scorns to please ;
which responds only with difficulty; which feels no
witnesses around it; which is oblivious of the fact
that it is being opposed; which relies on itself
fatalistically, and is a law among laws:-such power
expresses itself quite naturally in grandeur of style.
12
I have been reading the life of Thomas Carlyle,
that unconscious and involuntary farce, that heroico-
moral interpretation of dyspeptic moods. -Carlyle,
a man of strong words and attitudes, a rhetorician
## p. 70 (#90) ##############################################
70
THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS
a
by necessity, who seems ever to be tormented by
the desire of finding some kind of strong faith, and
by his inability to do so (-in this respect a typical
Romanticist ! ). To yearn for a strong faith is not
the proof of a strong faith, but rather the reverse.
If a man have a strong faith he can indulge in the
luxury of scepticism; he is strong enough, firm
enough, well-knit enough for such a luxury. Carlyle
stupefies something in himself by means of the
fortissimo of his reverence for men of a strong faith,
and his rage over those who are less foolish : he is
in sore need of noise. An attitude of constant
and passionate dishonesty towards himself—this is
his proprium ; by virtue of this he is and remains
interesting. –Of course, in England he is admired
precisely on account of his honesty. Well, that is
English; and in view of the fact that the English are
the nation of consummate cant, it is not only com-
prehensible but also very natural. At bottom, Carlyle
is an English atheist who makes it a point of honour
not to be one.
13
Emerson. He is much more enlightened, much
broader, more versatile,and more subtle than Carlyle;
but above all, he is happier. He is one who in-
stinctively lives on ambrosia and who leaves the
indigestible parts of things on his plate. Compared
with Carlyle he is a man of taste. -Carlyle, who
was very fond of him, nevertheless declared that
“he does not give us enough to chew. ” This is
perfectly true but it is not unfavourable to Emerson.
-Emerson possesses that kindly intellectual cheer-
fulness which deprecates overmuch seriousness; he
## p. 71 (#91) ##############################################
SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE 71
has absolutely no idea of how old he is already,
and how young he will yet be,-he could have said
of himself, in Lope de Vega's words : “yo me sucedo
a mi mismo. " His mind is always finding reasons
for being contented and even thankful; and at times
he gets preciously near to that serene superiority of
theworthy bourgeois who returning from an amorous
rendezvous tamquam re bene gesta, said gratefully
“ Ut desint vires, tamen est laudanda voluptas. ”—
14
Anti-Darwin. —As to the famous “struggle for
existence,” it seems to me, for the present, to be
more of an assumption than a fact. It does occur,
but as an exception. The general condition of life
is not one of want or famine, but rather of riches,
of lavish luxuriance, and even of absurd prodigality,
-where there is a struggle, it is a struggle for power.
We should not confound Malthus with nature. -
Supposing, however, that this struggle exists,-and
it does indeed occur,-its result is unfortunately the
very reverse of that which the Darwinian school
seems to desire, and of that which in agreement with
them we also might desire: that is to say, it is always
to the disadvantage of the strong, the privileged,
and the happy exceptions. Species do not evolve
towards perfection: the weak always prevail over
the strong-simply because they are the majority,
and because they are also the more crafty. Darwin
forgot the intellect (that is English ! ), the weak
have more intellect. In order to acquire intellect,
one must be in need of it. One loses it when one
no longer needs it. He who possesses strength
## p. 72 (#92) ##############################################
72
THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS
Alings intellect to the deuce (“let it go hence! "*
say the Germans of the present day, “the Empire
will remain ”). As you perceive, intellect to me
means caution, patience, craft, dissimulation, great
self-control, and everything related to mimicry (what
is praised nowadays as virtue is very closely related
to the latter).
15
Casuistry of a Psychologist. —This man knows
mankind: to what purpose does he study his fellows?
He wants to derive some small or even great ad-
vantages from them,—he is a politician! . . . That
man yonder is also well versed in human nature:
and ye tell me that he wishes to draw no personal
profit from his knowledge, that he is a thoroughly
disinterested person ? Examine him a little more
closely! Maybe he wishes to derive a more wicked
advantage from his possession ; namely, to feel
superior to men, to be able to look down upon them,
no longer to feel one of them. This “disinterested
person” is a despiser of mankind; and the former
is of a more humane type, whatever appearances may
seem to say to the contrary. At least he considers
himself the equal of those about him, at least he
classifies himself with them.
"
16
The psychological tact of Germans seems to me to
have been set in doubt by a whole series of cases
* An allusion to a verse in Luther's hymn : “Lass fahren
dahin. das Reich muss uns doch bleiben," which Nietzsche
applies to the German Empire. -TR.
1
!
## p. 73 (#93) ##############################################
SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE
73
which my modesty forbids me to enumerate. In one
case at least I shall not let the occasion slip for
substantiating my contention : I bear the Germans
a grudge for having made a mistake about Kant
and his “backstairs philosophy,” as I call it. Such
a man was not the type of intellectual uprightness.
Another thing I hate to hear is a certain infamous
“and”: the Germans say, “Goethe and Schiller,"
I even fear that they say, “Schiller and Goethe. ”
“
. . Has nobody found Schiller out yet ? —But
there are other “ands” which are even
egregious. With my own ears I have heard-only
among University professors, it is true ! —men speak
of “Schopenhauer and Hartmann. ”
17
The most intellectual men, provided they are
also the most courageous, experience the most ex-
cruciating tragedies : but on that very account they
honour life, because it confronts them with its most
formidable antagonism.
18
Concerning “the Conscience of the Intellect. ”-
Nothing seems to me more uncommon to-day than
genuine hypocrisy. I strongly suspect that this
growth is unable to flourish in the mild climate of
our culture. Hypocrisy belongs to an age of strong
faith,—one in which one does not lose one's own
faith in spite of the fact that one has to make an out-
* A disciple of Schopenhauer who blunted the sharpness of
his master's Pessimism and who watered it down for modern
requirements. —TR.
## p. 74 (#94) ##############################################
74
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ward show of holding another faith. Nowadays a
man gives it up; or, what is still more common, he
acquires a second faith,in any case, however, he
remains honest. Without a doubt it is possible to
have a much larger number of convictions at present,
than it was formerly: possible—that is to say, allow-
able,—that is to say, harmless. From this there
arises an attitude of toleration towards one's self.
Toleration towards one's self allows of a greater
number of convictions: the latter live comfortably
side by side, and they take jolly good care, as all
the world does to-day, not to compromise them-
selves. How does a man compromise himself to-
day? When he is consistent; when he pursues a
straight course; when he has anything less than
five faces; when he is genuine. . . . I very greatly
fear that modern man is much too fond of comfort
for certain vices; and the consequence is that the
latter are dying out. Everything evil which is the
outcome of strength of will—and maybe there is
nothing evil without the strengh of will,—degen-
erates, in our muggy atmosphere, into virtue. The
few hypocrites I have known only imitated hypoc-
risy: like almost every tenth man to-day, they were
actors.
19
Beautiful and Ugly :—Nothing is more relative,
let us say, more restricted, than our sense of the
beautiful. He who would try to divorce it from the
delight man finds in his fellows, would immediately
lose his footing. “Beauty in itself,” is simply a
word, it is not even a concept. In the beautiful,
man postulates himself as the standard of perfec-
## p. 75 (#95) ##############################################
SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE
75
.
.
tion; in exceptional cases he worships himself as
that standard. A species has no other alternative
than to say “yea” to itself alone, in this way. Its
,
lowest instinct, the instinct of self-preservation and
self-expansion, still radiates in such sublimities.
Man imagines the world itself to be overflowing
with beauty,—he forgets that he is the cause of it
all. He alone has endowed it with beauty. Alas!
and only with human all-too-human beauty! Truth
to tell man reflects himself in things, he thinks
everything beautiful that throws his own image back
at him. The judgment“ beautiful” is the “vanity
of his species. ” A little demon of suspicion
may well whisper into the sceptic's ear: is the
world really beautified simply because man thinks it
beautiful? He has only humanised it—that is all.
But nothing, absolutely nothing proves to us that it
is precisely man who is the proper model of beauty.
Who knows what sort of figure he would cut in the
eyes of a higher judge of taste? He might seem
a little outré ? perhaps even somewhat amusing ?
perhaps a trifle arbitrary? "O Dionysus, thou divine
one, why dost thou pull mine ears? ” Ariadne asks
on one occasion of her philosophic lover, during one
of those famous conversations on the island of
Naxos. “I find a sort of humour in thine ears,
Ariadne: why are they not a little longer ? ”
20
Nothing is beautiful; man alone is beautiful : all
æsthetic rests on this piece of ingenuousness, it is the
first axiom of this science. And now let us straight-
way add the second to it: nothing is ugly save the
.
## p. 76 (#96) ##############################################
76
THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS
degenerate man,—within these two first principles
the realm of astheticjudgmentsisconfined. From the
physiological standpoint, everything ugly weakens
and depresses man. It reminds him of decay, danger,
impotence; he literally loses strength in its presence.
The effect of ugliness may be gauged by the dyna-
mometer. Whenever man's spirits are downcast, it
is a sign that he scents the proximity of something
“ugly. ” His feeling of power, his will to power,
his courage
and his pride— these things collapse at
the sight of what is ugly, and rise at the sight of
what is beautiful. In both cases an inference is
drawn; the premises to which are stored with extra
ordinary abundance in the instincts. Ugliness is
understood to signify a hint and a symptom of de-
generation: that which reminds us however remotely
of degeneracy, impels us to the judgment "ugly. ”
Every sign of exhaustion, of gravity, of age, of
fatigue; every kind of constraint, such as cramp, or
paralysis ; and above all the smells, colours and
forms associated with decomposition and putrefaç-
tion, however much they may have been attenuated
into symbols,-all these things provoke the same
reaction which is the judgment“ ugly. ” A certain
hatred expresses itself here: what is it that man
hates? Without a doubt it is the decline of his
type. In this regard his hatred springs from the
deepest instincts of the race: there is horror, caution,
profundity and far-reaching vision in this hatred,
it is the most profound hatred that exists. On its
account alone Art is profound.
## p. 77 (#97) ##############################################
SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE 77
21
Schopenhauer. —Schopenhauer, the last German
who is to be reckoned with (who is a European
event like Goethe, Hegel, or Heinrich Heine, and
who is not merely local, national), is for a psycholo-
gist a case of the first rank: I mean as a malicious
though masterly attempt to enlist on the side of a
general nihilistic depreciation of life, the very forces
which are opposed to such a movement,—that is to
say, the great self-affirming powers of the “will to
live," the exuberant forms of life itself. He inter-
preted Art, heroism, genius, beauty, great sympathy,
knowledge, the will to truth, and tragedy, one after
the other, as the results of the denial, or of the need
of the denial, of the “will ”—the greatest forgery,
Christianity always excepted, which history has to
show. Examined more carefully, he is in this respect
simply the heir of the Christian interpretation ; ex-
cept that he knew how to approve in a Christian
fashion (i. e. , nihilistically) even of the great facts of
human culture, which Christianity completely re-
pudiates. (He approved of them as paths to “salva-
tion,” as preliminary stages to "salvation,” as appe-
tisers calculated to arouse the desire for “salvation. ")
22
Let me point to one singleinstance. Schopenhauer
speaks of beauty with melancholy ardour,—why in
sooth does he do this? Because in beauty he sees
a bridge on which one can travel further, or which
stimulates one's desire to travel further. According
to him it constitutes a momentary emancipation from
## p. 78 (#98) ##############################################
78
THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS
the “will ”-it lures to eternal salvation. He values
it more particularly as a deliverance from the“ burn-
ing core of the will ” which is sexuality,-in beauty
he recognises the negation of the procreative instinct.
Singular Saint! Some one contradicts thee; I fear
it is Nature. Why is there beauty of tone, colour,
aroma, and of rhythmic movement in Nature at all ?
What is it forces beauty to the fore? Fortunately,
too, a certain philosopher contradicts him. No less
an authority than the divine Plato himself (thus
does Schopenhauer call him), upholds another pro-
position : that all beauty lures to procreation,—that
this precisely is the chief characteristic of its effect,
from the lowest sensuality to the highest spirituality.
a
23
Plato goes further.
further. With an innocence for which
a man must be Greek and not “Christian," he
says
that there would be no such thing as Platonic philo-
sophy if there were not such beautiful boys in
Athens : it was the sight of them alone that set the
soul of the philosopher reeling with erotic passion,
and allowed it no rest until it had planted the seeds
of all lofty things in a soil so beautiful. He was also
a singular saint ! -One scarcely believes one's ears,
even supposing one believes Plato. At least one
realises that philosophy was pursued differently in
Athens; above all, publicly. Nothing is less Greek
than the cobweb-spinning with concepts by an
anchorite, amor intellectualis dei after the fashion
of Spinoza. Philosophy according to Plato's style
.
might be defined rather as an erotic competition,
as a continuation and a spiritualisation of the old
## p. 79 (#99) ##############################################
SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE 79
agonal gymnastics and the conditions on which they
depend. . . .
What was the ultimate outcome of
this philosophic eroticism of Plato's? A new art-
form of the Greek Agon, dialectics. —In opposition
to Schopenhauer and to the honour of Plato, I would
remind you that all the higher culture and literature
of classical France, as well, grew up on the soil of
sexual interests. In all its manifestations you may
look for gallantry, the senses, sexual competition,
and “woman,” and you will not look in vain.
24
L'Art pour l'Art. —The struggle against a pur-
pose in art is always a struggle against the moral
tendency in art, against its subordination to morality.
L'art pour l'art means, “let morality go to the devil! ”
-But even this hostility betrays the preponderating
power of the moral prejudice. If art is deprived of
the purpose of preaching morality and of improving
mankind, it does not by any means follow that art
is absolutely pointless, purposeless, senseless, in
short l'art pour l'art—a snake which bites its own
tail. “No purpose at all is better than a moral
purpose! ”—thus does pure passion speak. A psy-
chologist, on the other hand, puts the question :
what does all art do? does it not praise? does it not
glorify? does it not select? does it not bring things
into prominence? In all this it strengthens or
weakens certain valuations. Is this only a secon-
dary matter? an accident? something in which the
artist's instinct has no share? Or is it not rather the
very prerequisite which enables the artist to accom-
## p. 80 (#100) #############################################
80
THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS
plish something? . . . Is his most fundamental
instinct concerned with art? Is it not rather con-
cerned with the purpose of art, with life? with a
certain desirable kind of life? Art is the great
stimulus to life: how can it be regarded as purpose-
less, as pointless, as l'art pour l'art ? —There stil!
remains one question to be answered: Art also re-
veals much that is ugly, hard and questionable in
life,-does it not thus seem to make life intolerable?
-And, as a matter of fact, there have been philo-
sophers who have ascribed this function to art.
According to Schopenhauer's doctrine, the general
object of art was to “ free one from the Will”; and
what he honoured as the great utility of tragedy, was
that it" made people more resigned. ”—But this, as
I have already shown, is a pessimistic standpoint;
it is the “evil eye”: the artist himself must be
appealed to. What is it that the soul of the tragic
artist communicates to others? Is it not precisely
his fearless attitude towards that which is terrible
and questionable? This attitude is in itself a highly
desirable one; he who has once experienced it
honours it above everything else. He communi-
cates it. He must communicate, provided he is an
artist and a genius in the art of communication
A courageous and free spirit, in the presence of a
mighty foe, in the presence of a sublime misfortune,
and face to face with a problem that inspires horror
-this is the triumphant attitude which the tragic
artist selects and which he glorifies. The martial
elements in our soul celebrate their Saturnalia in
tragedy; he who is used to suffering, he who looks
out for suffering, the heroic man, extols his exist-
## p. 81 (#101) #############################################
SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE
81
ence by means of tragedy,—to him alone does the
tragic artist offer this cup of sweetest cruelty. -
25
To associate in an amiable fashion with any-
body; to keep the house of one's heart open to all, is
certainly liberal : but it is nothing else. One can
recognise the hearts that are capable of noble hos-
pitality, by their wealth of screened windows and
closed shutters: they keep their best rooms empty.
Whatever for ? —Because they are expecting guests
who are somebodies.
26
We no longer value ourselves sufficiently highly
when we communicate our soul's content. Our real
experiences are not at all garrulous. They could
not communicate themselves even if they wished to.
They are at a loss to find words for such con-
fidences. Those things for which we find words, are
things we have already overcome. In all speech there
lies an element of contempt. Speech, it would seem,
was only invented for average, mediocre and com-
municable things. -Every spoken word proclaims
the speaker vulgarised. —(Extract from a moral code
for deaf-and-dumb people and other philosophers. )
27
“This picture is perfectly beautiful ! ” * The dis-
satisfied and exasperated literary woman with a
desert in her heart and in her belly, listening with
* Quotation from the Libretto of Mozart's “ Magic Flute,"
Act 1, Sc. 3. -TR.
6
## p. 82 (#102) #############################################
82
THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS
agonised curiosity every instant to the imperative
which whispers to her from the very depths of her
being : aut liberi, aut libri : the literary woman,
sufficiently educated to understand the voice of
nature, even when nature speaks Latin, and more-
over enough of a peacock and a goose to speak even
French with herself in secret. “Je me verrai, je me
lirai, je m'extasierai et je dirai : Possible, que j'aie
eu tant d'esprit ? ”
.
.
28
The objective ones speak. —“Nothing comes more
easily to us, than to be wise, patient, superior. We
are soaked in the oil of indulgence and of sympathy,
we are absurdly just, we forgive everything. Pre-
cisely on that account we should be severe with our-
selves; for that very reason we ought from time to
time to go in for a little emotion, a little emotional
vice. It may seem bitter to us; and between our-
selves we may even laugh at the figure which it
makes us cut. But what does it matter? We
have no other kind of self-control left. This is our
asceticism, our manner of performing penance. " To
become personal—the virtues of the “impersonal and
objective one. "
29
Extract from a doctor's examination paper. -
What is the task of all higher schooling? ”—To
make man into a machine. “What are the means
employed ? "-He must learn how to be bored.
“How is this achieved ? "-By means of the concept
duty. “What example of duty has he before his
eyes ? ”—The philologist: it is he who teaches people
--
## p. 83 (#103) #############################################
SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE 83
how to swat. “Who is the perfect man? ”—The
Government official. “Which philosophy furnishes
the highest formula for the Government official ? ”-
Kant's philosophy: the Government official as
thing-in-itself made judge over the Government
official as appearance.
30
The right to Stupidity. —The worn-out worker,
whose breath is slow, whose look is good-natured,
and who lets things slide just as they please : this
typical figure which in this age of labour (and of
“Empire ! ”) is to be met with in all classes of society,
has now begun to appropriate even Art, including
the book, above all the newspaper,—and how much
more so beautiful nature, Italy! This man of the
evening, with his "savage instincts lulled,” as Faust
has it; needs his summer holiday, his sea-baths, his
glacier, his Bayreuth. In such ages Art has the
right to be purely foolish,—as a sort of vacation for
spirit, wit and sentiment. Wagner understood this.
Pure foolishness * is a pick-me-up.
31
Yet another problem of diet. —The means with
which Julius Cæsar preserved himself against sick-
ness and headaches : heavy marches, the simplest
mode of living, uninterrupted sojourns in the open
air, continual hardships,-generally speaking these
are the self-preservative and self-defensive measures
against the extreme vulnerability of those subtle
* This alludes to Parsifal. See my note on p. 96, vol. i. ,
“The Will to Power. "-TR.
## p. 84 (#104) #############################################
84
THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS
machines working at the highest pressure, which are
called geniuses.
32
.
The Immoralist speaks. —Nothing is more distaste-
ful to true philosophers than man when he begins
to wish. . . . If they see man only at his deeds; if
they see this bravest, craftiest and most enduring of
animals even inextricably entangled in disaster, how
admirable he then appears to them! They even
encourage him. . . . But true philosophers despise
the man who wishes, as also the “desirable” man-
and all the desiderata and ideals of man in general.
If a philosopher could be a nihilist, he would be one;
for he finds only nonentity behind all human ideals.
Or, not even nonentity, but vileness, absurdity, sick-
ness, cowardice, fatigue and all sorts of dregs from
out the quaffed goblets of his life. . How is it
that man, who as a reality is so estimable, ceases
from deserving respect the moment he begins to
desire ? Must he pay for being so perfect as a
reality ? Must he make up for his deeds, for the
tension of spirit and will which underlies all his
deeds, by an eclipse of his powers in matters of the
imagination and in absurdity ? Hitherto the history
of his desires has been the partie honteuse of man-
kind: one should take care not to read too deeply
in this history. That which justifies man is his
reality,—it will justify him to all eternity. How
much more valuable is a real man than any other
man who is merely the phantom of desires, of dreams
of stinks and of lies ? —than any kind of ideal man?
. . And the ideal man, alone, is what the philo-
sopher cannot abide.
## p. 85 (#105) #############################################
SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE 85
33
The Natural Value of Egoism. -Selfishness has as
much value as the physiological value of him who
practises it: its worth may be great, or it may be
worthless and contemptible. Every individual may
be classified according to whether he represents the
ascending or the descending line of life. When this
is decided, a canon is obtained by means of which
the value of his selfishness may be determined. If
he represent the ascending line of life, his value is
of course extraordinary—and for the sake of the
collective life which in him makes one step forward,
the concern about his maintenance, about procuring
his optimum of conditions may even be extreme. The
human unit, the “individual,” as the people and the
philosopher have always understood him, is certainly
an error: he is nothing in himself, no atom, no “link
in the chain,” no mere heritage from the past,—he
represents the whole direct line of mankind up to
his own life. . . . If he represent declining develop-
ment, decay, chronic degeneration, sickness (-ill-
nesses are on the whole already the outcome of
decline, and not the cause thereof), he is of little
worth, and the purest equity would have him take
away as little as possible from those who are lucky
strokes of nature. He is then only a parasite upon
.
34
The Christian and the Anarchist. -When the
anarchist, as the mouthpiece of the decaying strata
of society, raises his voice in splendid indignation
for “right,” “justice,” “equal rights,” he is only
them. . . .
## p. 86 (#106) #############################################
86
THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS
a
groaning under the burden of his ignorance, which
cannot understand why he actually suffers,—what
his poverty consists of the poverty of life. An
instinct of causality is active in him: someone must
be responsible for his being so ill at ease. His
“splendid indignation ” alone relieves him some-
what, it is a pleasure for all poor devils to grumble
-it gives them a little intoxicating sensation of
power. The very act of complaining, the mere fact
that one bewails one's lot, may lend such a charm
to life that on that account alone one is ready to
endure it. There is a small dose of revenge in every
lamentation. One casts one's afflictions, and, under
certain circumstances, even one's baseness, in the
teeth of those who are different, as if their condition
were an injustice, an iniquitous privilege. “Since I
am a blackguard you ought to be one too. " It is
upon such reasoning that revolutions are based. -
To bewail one's lot is always despicable: it is always
the outcome of weakness. Whether one ascribes
one's afflictions to others or to one's self, it is all the
The socialist does the former, the Christian,
for instance, does the latter. That which is common
to both attitudes, or rather that which is equally
ignoble in them both, is the fact that somebody
must be to blame if one suffers—in short that the
sufferer drugs himself with the honey of revenge to
allay his anguish. The objects towards which this
lust of vengeance, like a lust of pleasure, are directed,
are purely accidental causes. In all directions the
sufferer finds reasons for cooling his petty passion
for revenge. If he is a Christian, I repeat, he finds
these reasons in himself. The Christian and the
-
same.
## p. 87 (#107) #############################################
SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE 87
Anarchist—both are decadents. But even when the
Christian condemns, slanders, and sullies the world,
he is actuated by precisely the same instinct as that
which leads the socialistic workman to curse, calum-
niate and cast dirt at society. The last "Judg-
ment” itself is still the sweetest solace to revenge-
revolution, as the socialistic workman expects it,
only thought of as a little more remote. The
notion of a “Beyond,” as well—why a Beyond, if it
be not a means of splashing mud over a “Here," over
this world ? . . .
35
A Criticism of the Morality of Decadence. -An
"altruistic” morality, a morality under which selfish-
ness withers, is in all circumstances a bad sign.
This is true of individuals and above all of nations.
The best are lacking when selfishness begins to be
lacking. Instinctively to select that which is harm-
ful to one, to be lured by “disinterested” motives,
—these things almost provide the formula for de-
cadence. “Not to have one's own interests at heart"
- this is simply a moral fig-leaf concealing a very
different fact, a physiological one, to wit:-“I no
longer know how to find what is to
my
interest. ”. . .
Disintegration of the instincts ! -All is up with
man when he becomes altruistic. —Instead of saying
ingenuously “I am no longer any good,” the lie of
morality in the decadent's mouth says: “Nothing is
any good,-life is no good. ”—A judgment of this
kind ultimately becomes a great danger; for it is
infectious, and it soon flourishes on the polluted soil
of society with tropical luxuriance, now as a religion
(Christianity), anon as a philosophy (Schopenhauer-
## p. 88 (#108) #############################################
88
THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS
ism). In certain circumstances the mere effluvia of
such a venomous vegetation, springing as it does out
of the very heart of putrefaction, can poison life for
thousands and thousands of years.
-
a
36
A moral for doctors. —The sick man is a parasite
of society. In certain cases it is indecent to go
on living. To continue to vegetate in a state of
cowardly dependence upon doctors and special
treatments, once the meaning of life, the right to
life, has been lost, ought to be regarded with the
greatest contempt by society. The doctors, for
their part, should be the agents for imparting this
contempt,—they should no longer prepare prescrip-
tions, but should every day administer a fresh dose
of disgust to their patients. A new responsibility
should be created, that of the doctor—the responsi-
bility of ruthlessly suppressing and eliminating de-
generate life, in all cases in which the highest interests
of life itself, of ascending life, demand such a course
- for instance in favour of the right of procreation,
in favour of the right of being born, in favour of the
right to live. One should die proudly when it is no
longer possible to live proudly. Death should be
chosen freely,—death at the right time, faced clearly
and joyfully and embraced while one is surrounded
by one's children and other witnesses. It should be
Saffected in such a way that a proper farewell is still
possible, that he who is about to take leave of us is
still himself, and really capable not only of valuing
what he has achieved and willed in life, but also of
summing-up the value of life itself. Everything
## p. 89 (#109) #############################################
SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE AGE 89
a
precisely the opposite of the ghastly comedy which
Christianity has made of the hour of death. We
should never forgive Christianity for having so abused
the weakness of the dying man as to do violence to
his conscience, or for having used his manner of
dying as a means of valuing both man and his past !
-In spite of all cowardly prejudices, it is our duty,
in this respect, above all to reinstate the proper-
that is to say, the physiological, aspect of so-called
natural death, which after all is perfectly “un-
natural” and nothing else than suicide. One never
perishes through anybody's fault but one's own.
The only thing is that the death which takes place
in the most contemptible circumstances, the death
that is not free, the death which occurs at the wrong
time, is the death of a coward. Out of the very love
one bears to life, one should wish death to be different
from this—that is to say, free, deliberate, and neither
a matter of chance nor of surprise. Finally let me
whisper a word of advice to our friends the pessi-
mists and all other decadents. We have not the
power to prevent ourselves from being born: but
this error-for sometimes it is an error-can be recti-
fied if we choose.
