No More Learning

Temperate men who are resting from
their passions no longer understand the morality
of those moments; but the general admiration of
those who had the same experiences upholds them;
pride is their consolation when affection and the
understanding of their deed vanish. Therefore,
at bottom even those actions of self-denial are not
moral, inasmuch as they are not done strictly
with regard to others; rather the other only pro-
vides the highly-strung temperament with an
opportunity of relieving itself through that
denial.


## p. 142 (#206) ############################################

142 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
139-
In many respects the ascetic seeks to make life
easy for himself, usually by complete subordination
to a strange will or a comprehensive law and
ritual; something like the way a Brahmin leaves
nothing whatever to his own decision but refers
every moment to holy precepts. This submission
is a powerful means of attaining self-mastery:
man is occupied and is therefore not bored, and
yet has no incitement to self-will or passion ; after a
completed deed there is no feeling of responsibility
and with it no tortures of remorse. We have
renounced our own will once and for ever, and
this is easier than only renouncing it occasionally;
as it is also easier to give up a desire entirely than
to keep it within bounds. When we remember
the present relation of man to the State, we find
that, even here, unconditional obedience is more
convenient than conditional. The saint, therefore,
makes his life easier by absolute renunciation of
his personality, and we are mistaken if in that
phenomenon we admire the loftiest heroism of
morality. In any case it is more difficult to carry
one's personality through without vacillation and
unclearness than to liberate one's self from it in
the above-mentioned manner; moreover, it requires
far more spirit and consideration.
140.
After having found in many of the less easily
explicable actions manifestations of that pleasure



## p. 143 (#207) ############################################

THE RELIGIOUS LIFE. I43
in emotion per se, I should like to recognise also in
self-contempt, which is one of the signs of holiness,
and likewise in the deeds of self-torture (through
hunger and scourging, mutilation of limbs, feigning
of madness) a means by which those natures fight
against the general weariness of their life-will
(their nerves); they employ the most painful
irritants and cruelties in order to emerge for a
time, at all events, from that dulness and boredom
into which they so frequently sink through their
great mental indolence and that submission to a
strange will already described.
141.
The commonest means which the ascetic and
saint employs to render life still endurable and
amusing consists in occasional warfare with
alternate victory and defeat. For this he requires
an opponent, and finds it in the so-called "inward
enemy. " He principally makes use of his inclina- ^~)
tion to vanity, love of honour and rule, and of his
sensual desires, that he may be permitted to regard
his life as a perpetual battle and himself as a battle-
field upon which good and evil spirits strive with
alternating success. It is well known that sensual
imagination is moderated, indeed almost dispelled,
by regular sexual intercourse, whereas, on the
contrary, it is rendered unfettered and wild by
abstinence or irregularity. The imagination of
many Christian saints was filthy to an extra-
ordinary degree; by virtue of those theories that I
these desires were actual demons raging within


## p. 144 (#208) ############################################

144 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
them they did not feel themselves to be too
responsible; to this feeling we owe the very
instructive frankness of their self-confessions. It
was to their interest that this strife should always
be maintained in one degree or another, because,
as we have already said, their empty life was thereby
entertained. But in order that the strife might
seem sufficiently important and arouse the enduring
sympathy and admiration of non-saints, it was
necessary that sensuality should be ever more
reviled and branded, the danger of eternal
damnation was so tightly bound up with these
things that it is highly probable that for whole
centuries Christians generated children with a
bad conscience, wherewith humanity has certainly
suffered a great injury. And yet here truth is
all topsy-turvy, which is particularly unsuitable
for truth. Certainly Christianity had said that
every man is conceived and born in sin, and
in the insupportable superlative-Christianity of
/ Calderon this thought again appears, tied up and
twisted, as the most distorted paradox there is, in
the well-known lines —
"The greatest sin of man
Is that he was ever born. "
In all pessimistic religions the act of generation
was looked upon as evil in itself. This is by no
means the verdict of all mankind, not even of
all pessimists. For instance, Empedocles saw in
all erotic things nothing shameful, diabolical, or
sinful; but rather, in the great plain of disaster,
he saw only one hopeful and redeeming figure, that
i
x


## p. 145 (#209) ############################################

THE RELIGIOUS LIFE. 145
of Aphrodite; she appeared to him as a guarantee
that the strife should not endure eternally, but
that the sceptre should one day be given over to
a gentler dcemon. The actual Christian pessimists
had, as has been said, an interest in the dominance
of a diverse opinion; for the solitude and spiritual
wilderness of their lives they required an ever
living enemy, and a generally recognised enemy,
through whose fighting and overcoming they could
constantly represent themselves to the non-saints
as incomprehensible, half - supernatural beings.
But when at last this enemy took to flight for ever
in consequence of their mode of life and their
impaired health, they immediately understood how
to populate their interior with new daemons.
The rising and falling of the scales of pride and
humility sustained their brooding minds as well
as the alternations of desire and peace of soul.
At that time psychology served not only to cast
suspicion upon everything human, but to oppress,
to scourge, to crucify; people wished to find
themselves as bad and wicked as possible, they
sought anxiety for the salvation of their souls,
despair of their own strength. Everything natural
with which man has connected the idea of evil and
sin (as, for instance, he is still accustomed to do
with regard to the erotic) troubles and clouds the
imagination, causes a frightened glance, makes
man quarrel with himself and uncertain and dis-
trustful of himself. Even his dreams have the
flavour of a restless conscience. And yet in the
reality of things this suffering from what is natural
is entirely without foundation, it is only the
vol. 1. K


## p. 146 (#210) ############################################

146 HUMAN, AL. L-TOO-HUMAN.
consequence of opinions about things. It is easily
seen how men grow worse by considering the
inevitably-natural as bad, and afterwards always
feeling themselves made thus. It is the trump-
card of religion and metaphysics, which wish to
have man evil and sinful by nature, to cast sus-
picion on nature and thus really to make him bad,
for he learns to feel himself evil since he cannot
divest himself of the clothing of nature. After
living for long a natural life, he gradually comes
to feel himself weighed down by such a burden
of sin that supernatural powers are necessary to
lift this burden, and therewith arises the so-called
need of redemption, which corresponds to no real
but only to an imaginary sinfulness. If we survey
the separate moral demands of the earliest times
of Christianity it will everywhere be found that
requirements are exaggerated in order that man
cannot satisfy them; the intention is not that he
should become more moral, but that he should
feel himself as sinful as possible. If man had not
found this feeling agreeable—why would he have
thought out such an idea and stuck to it so long?
As in the antique world an immeasurable power
of intellect and inventiveness was expended in
multiplying the pleasure of life by festive cults, so
also in the age of Christianity an immeasurable
amount of intellect has been sacrificed to another
endeavour,—man must by all means be made
to feel himself sinful and thereby be excited,
enlivened, ensouled. To excite, enliven, en-soul
at all costs—is not that the watchword of a
relaxed, over-ripe, over-cultured age? The range


## p. 147 (#211) ############################################

THE RELIGIOUS LIFE. 147
of all natural sensations had been gone over a
hundred times, the soul had grown weary, where-
upon the saint and the ascetic invented a new
species of stimulants for life. They presented
themselves before the public eye, not exactly as an
example for the many, but as a terrible and yet
ravishing spectacle, which took place on that
border-land between world and over-world, wherein
at that time all people believed they saw now
rays of heavenly light and now unholy tongues of
flame glowing in the depths. The saint's eye, fixed
upon the terrible meaning of this short earthly life,
upon the nearness of the last decision concerning
endless new spans of existence, this burning eye
in a half-wasted body made men of the old world
tremble to their very depths; to gaze, to turn
shudderingly away, to feel anew the attraction of
the spectacle and to give way to it, to drink deep
of it till the soul quivered with fire and ague,—
that was the last pleasure that antiquity invented
after it had grown blunted even at the sight of
beast-baitings and human combats.
142.
Now to sum up. That condition of soul in
which the saint or embryo saint rejoiced, was
composed of elements which we all know well,
only that under the influence of other than
religious conceptions they exhibit themselves in
other colours and are then accustomed to en-
counter man's blame as fully as, with that
decoration of religion and the ultimate meaning


## p. 148 (#212) ############################################

I48 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
of existence, they may reckon on receiving ad-
miration and even worship,—might reckon, at
least, in former ages. Sometimes the saint
practises that defiance of himself which is a
near relative of domination at any cost and
gives a feeling of power even to the most
lonely; sometimes his swollen sensibility leaps
from the desire to let his passions have full
play into the desire to overthrow them like
wild horses under the mighty pressure of a
proud spirit; sometimes he desires a complete
cessation of all disturbing, tormenting, irritating
sensations, a waking sleep, a lasting rest in the
lap of a dull, animal, and plant-like indolence;
sometimes he seeks strife and arouses it within
himself, because boredom has shown him its
yawning countenance. He scourges his self-
adoration with self-contempt and cruelty, he
rejoices in the wild tumult of his desires and
the sharp pain of sin, even in the idea of being
lost; he understands how to lay a trap for his
emotions, for instance even for his keen love of
ruling, so that he sinks into the most utter
abasement and his tormented soul is thrown out
of joint by this contrast; and finally, if he longs
for visions, conversations with the dead or with
divine beings, it is at bottom a rare kind of de-
light that he covets, perhaps that delight in which
all others are united. Novalis, an authority on
questions of holiness through experience and
instinct, tells the whole secret with naive joy:
, "It is strange enough that the association of
lust, religion, and cruelty did not long ago
"


## p. 149 (#213) ############################################

THE RELIGIOUS LIFE. I49
draw men's attention to their close relationship
and common tendency. "
143.
That which gives the saint his historical value
is not the thing he is, but the thing he represents
in the eyes of the unsaintly. It was through the
fact that errors were made about him, that the
state of his soul wasfa/sefy interpreted, that men
separated themselves from him as much as
possible, as from something incomparable and
strangely superhuman, that he acquired the
extraordinary power which he exercised over
the imagination of whole nations and whole ages.
He did not know himself; he himself interpreted
the writing of his moods, inclinations, and actions
according to an art of interpretation which was
as exaggerated and artificial as the spiritual inter-
pretation of the Bible. The distorted and diseased
in his nature, with its combination of intellectual
poverty, evil knowledge, ruined health, and over-
excited nerves, remained hidden from his own
sight as well as from that of his spectators. He
was not a particularly good man, and still less
was he a particularly wise one; but he represented
something that exceeded the human standard in
goodness and wisdom. The belief in him sup-
ported the belief in the divine and miraculous,
in a religious meaning of all existence, in an
impending day of judgment. In the evening
glory of the world's sunset, which glowed over


## p. 150 (#214) ############################################

150 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
\
the Christian nations, the shadowy form of the
saint grew to vast dimensions, it grew to such
a height that even in our own age, which no
longer believes in God, there are still thinkers
who believe in the saint.
144.
It need not be said that to this description of
the saint which has been made from an average
of the whole species, there may be opposed many
a description which could give a more agreeable
impression. Certain exceptions stand out from
among this species, it may be through great
mildness and philanthropy, it may be through
the magic of unusual energy; others are attrac-
tive in the highest degree, because certain wild
ravings have poured streams of light on their whole
being, as is the case, for instance, with the famous
founder of Christianity, who thought he was the
Son of God and therefore felt himself sinless—so
that through this idea—which we must not judge
too hardly because the whole antique world
swarms with sons of God—he reached that same
goal, that feeling of complete sinlessness, com-
plete irresponsibility, which every one can now
acquire by means of science. Neither have I
mentioned the Indian saints, who stand midway
between the Christian saint and the Greek
philosopher, and in so far represent no pure
type. Knowledge, science—such as existed then
-the uplifting above other men through logical


## p. 151 (#215) ############################################

THE RELIGIOUS LIFE. 151
discipline and training of thought, were as much
fostered by the Buddhists as distinguishing signs
of holiness as the same qualities in the Christian
world are repressed and branded as signs of
unholiness.


## p. 152 (#216) ############################################



## p. 153 (#217) ############################################

FOURTH DIVISION.
CONCERNING THE SOUL OF ARTISTS
AND AUTHORS.
145.
The Perfect should not have Grown. —
With regard to everything that is perfect we
are accustomed to omit the question as to how
perfection has been acquired, and we only rejoice
in the present as if it had sprung out of the
ground by magic. Probably with regard to this
matter we are still under the effects of an ancient
mythological feeling. It still almost seems to
us (in such a Greek temple, for instance, as that
of Paestum) as if one morning a god in sport
had built his dwelling of such enormous masses,
at other times it seems as if his spirit had
suddenly entered into a stone and now desired
to speak through it. The artist knows that his
work is only fully effective if it arouses the
belief in an improvisation, in a marvellous
instantaneousness of origin; and thus he assists
this illusion and introduces into art those elements
of inspired unrest, of blindly groping disorder, of
listening dreaming at the beginning of creation,
as a means of deception, in order so to influence
the soul of the spectator or hearer that it may


## p. 154 (#218) ############################################

154 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
believe in the sudden appearance of the perfect.
It is the business of the science of art to con-
tradict this illusion most decidedly, and to show up
the mistakes and pampering of the intellect, by
means of which it falls into the artist's trap.
146.
The Artist's Sense of Truth. —With
regard to recognition of truths, the artist has
a weaker morality than the thinker; he will
on no account let himself be deprived of brilliant
and profound interpretations of life, and defends
himself against temperate and simple methods
and results. He is apparently fighting for the
higher worthiness and meaning of mankind;
in reality he will not renounce the most effective
suppositions for his art, the fantastical, mythical,
uncertain, extreme, the sense of the symbolical,
the over-valuation of personality, the belief that
genius is something miraculous,—he considers,
therefore, the continuance of his art of creation
as more important than the scientific devotion
to truth in every shape, however simple this
may appear.
147.
Art as Raiser of the Dead. —Art also
fulfils the task of preservation and even of
brightening up extinguished and faded memories;
when it accomplishes this task it weaves a rope
round the ages and causes their spirits to return.
It is, certainly, only a phantom-life that results
■
k.


## p. 155 (#219) ############################################

THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 155
therefrom, as out of graves, or like the return
in dreams of our beloved dead, but for some
moments, at least, the old sensation lives again
and the heart beats to an almost forgotten time.
Hence, for the sake of the general usefulness
of art, the artist himself must be excused if he
does not stand in the front rank of the enlighten-
ment and progressive civilisation of humanity;
all his life long he has remained a child or a
youth, and has stood still at the point where he
was overcome by his artistic impulse; the feelings
of the first years of life, however, are ac-
knowledged to be nearer to those of earlier
times than to those of the present century.
Unconsciously it becomes his mission to make
mankind more childlike; this is his glory and
his limitation.
148.
Poets as the Lighteners of Life. —
Poets, inasmuch as they desire to lighten the
life of man, either divert his gaze from the
wearisome present, or assist the present to
acquire new colours by means of a life which
they cause to shine out of the past. To be
able to do this, they must in many respects
themselves be beings who are turned towards
the past, so that they can be used as bridges
to far distant times and ideas, to dying or dead
religions and cultures. Actually they are always
and of necessity epigoni. There are, however,
certain drawbacks to their means of lightening
life,—they appease and heal only temporarily,


## p. 156 (#220) ############################################

156 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
only for the moment; they even prevent men
from labouring towards a genuine improvement
in their conditions, inasmuch as they remove
and apply palliatives to precisely that passion
of discontent that induces to action.
149.
The Slow Arrow of Beauty. —The noblest
kind of beauty is that which does not transport
us suddenly, which does not make stormy and
intoxicating impressions (such a kind easily
arouses disgust), but that which slowly filters
into our minds, which we take away with us
almost unnoticed, and which we encounter again
in our dreams; but which, however, after having
long lain modestly on our hearts, takes entire
possession of us, fills our eyes with tears and
our hearts with longing. What is it that we
long for at the sight of beauty? We long to
be beautiful, we fancy it must bring much
happiness with it. But that is a mistake.
150.
The Animation of Art. —Art raises its head
where . cjeecis-j^lax. It takes over many feelings
and moods engendered by religion, lays them to
its heart, and itself becomes deeper, more full
of soul, so that it is capable of transmitting
exultation and enthusiasm, which it previously
was not able to do. The abundance of religious
feelings which have grown into a stream are
\


## p. 157 (#221) ############################################

THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 157
always breaking forth again and desire to
conquer new kingdoms, but the growing enlighten-
ment has shaken the dogmas of religion and
inspired a deep mistrust,—thus the feeling, thrust
by enlightenment out of the religious sphere,
throws itself upon art, in a few cases into political
life, even straight into science. Everywhere where
human endeavour wears a loftier, gloomier aspect,
it may be assumed that the fear of spirits, incense,
and church-shadows have remained attached to it.
151.
How Rhythm Beautifies. —Rhythm casts
a veil over reality; it causes various artificialities
of speech and obscurities of thought; by the
shadow it throws upon thought it sometimes
conceals it, and sometimes brings it into
prominence. As shadow is necessary to beauty,
so the "dull" is necessary to lucidity. Art
makes the aspect of life endurable by throwing
over it the veil of obscure thought.
152.
The Art of the Ugly Soul. —Art is
confined within too narrow limits if it be required
that only the orderly, respectable, well-behaved
soul should be allowed to express itself therein.
As in the plastic arts, so also in music and
poetry: there is an art of the ugly soul side
by side with the art of the beautiful soul; and
the mightiest effects of art, the crushing of souls,


## p. 158 (#222) ############################################

158 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
moving of stones and humanising of beasts, have
perhaps been best achieved precisely by that art.
153-
Art makes Heavy the Heart of the
Thinker. —How strong metaphysical need is
and how difficult nature renders our departure
from it may be seen from the fact that even in
the free spirit, when he has cast off everything
metaphysical, the loftiest effects of art can easily
produce a resounding of the long silent, even
broken, metaphysical string,—it may be, for
instance, that at a passage in Beethoven's Ninth
Symphony he feels himself floating above the
earth in a starry dome with the dream of immor-
tality in his heart; all the stars seem to shine
round him, and the earth to sink farther and
farther away. —If he becomes conscious of this
state, he feels a deep pain at his heart, and sighs
for the man who will lead back to him his lost
darling, be it called religion or metaphysics. In
such moments his intellectual character is put to
the test.
154-
Playing with Life. —The lightness and
frivolity of the Homeric imagination was necessary
to calm and occasionally to raise the immoderately
passionate temperament and acute intellect of the
Greeks. If their intellect speaks, how harsh and
cruel does life then appear! They do not deceive
themselves, but they intentionally weave lies round


## p. 159 (#223) ############################################

THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 159
life. Simonides advised his countrymen to look
upon life as a game; earnestness was too well-
known to them as pain (the gods so gladly hear
the misery of mankind made the theme of song),
and they knew that through art alone misery
might be turned into pleasure. As a punishment
for this insight, however, they were so plagued
with the love of romancing that it was difficult
for them in everyday life to keep themselves free
from falsehood and deceit; for all poetic nations
have such a love of falsehood, and yet are innocent
withal. Probably this occasionally drove the neigh-
bouring nations to desperation.
155-
The Belief in Inspiration. —It is to the
interest of the artist that there should be a belief
in sudden suggestions, so-called inspirations; as
if the idea of a work of art, of poetry, the funda-
mental thought of a philosophy shone down from
heaven like a ray of grace. In reality the imagina-
tion of the good artist or thinker constantly pro-
duces good, mediocre, and bad, but his judgment,
most clear and practised, rejects and chooses
and joins together, just as we now learn from
Beethoven's notebooks that he gradually com-
posed the most beautiful melodies, and in a
manner selected them, from many different
attempts. He who makes less severe distinctions,
and willingly abandons himself to imitative
memories, may under certain circumstances be-
come a great improvisatore; but artistic impro-


## p. 159 (#224) ############################################

158 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
moving of stones and humanising of beasts, have
perhaps been best achieved precisely by that art.
153-
Art makes Heavy the Heart of the
Thinker. —How strong metaphysical need is
and how difficult nature renders our departure
from it may be seen from the fact that even in
the free spirit, when he has cast off everything
metaphysical, the loftiest effects of art can easily
produce a resounding of the long silent, even
broken, metaphysical string,—it may be, for
instance, that at a passage in Beethoven's Ninth
Symphony he feels himself floating above the
earth in a starry dome with the dream of immor-
tality in his heart; all the stars seem to shine
round him, and the earth to sink farther and
farther away. —If he becomes conscious of this
state, he feels a deep pain at his heart, and sighs
for the man who will lead back to him his lost
darling, be it called religion or metaphysics. In
such moments his intellectual character is put to
the test.
154.
Playing with Life. —The lightness and
frivolity of the Homeric imagination was necessary
to calm and occasionally to raise the immoderately
passionate temperament and acute intellect of the
Greeks. If their intellect speaks, how harsh and
cruel docs life then appear! They do not deceive
themselves, but they intentionally weave lies round


## p. 159 (#225) ############################################

THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 159
life. Simonides advised his countrymen to look
upon life as a game; earnestness was too well-
known to them as pain (the gods so gladly hear
the misery of mankind made the theme of song),
and they knew that through art alone misery
might be turned into pleasure. As a punishment
for this insight, however, they were so plagued
with the love of romancing that it was difficult
for them in everyday life to keep themselves free
from falsehood and deceit; for all poetic nations
have such a love of falsehood, and yet are innocent
withal. Probably this occasionally drove the neigh-
bouring nations to desperation.
155-
The Belief in Inspiration. —It is to the
interest of the artist that there should be a belief
in sudden suggestions, so-called inspirations; as
if the idea of a work of art, of poetry, the funda-
mental thought of a philosophy shone down from
heaven like a ray of grace. In reality the imagina-
tion of the good artist or thinker constantly pro-
duces good, mediocre, and bad, but his judgment,
most clear and practised, rejects and chooses
and joins together, just as we now learn from
Beethoven's notebooks that he gradually com-
posed the most beautiful melodies, and in a
manner selected them, from many different
attempts. He who makes less severe distinctions,
and willingly abandons himself to imitative
memories, may under certain circumstances be-
come a great improvisatore; but artistic impro-


## p. 160 (#226) ############################################

l6o HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
visation ranks low in comparison with serious and
laboriously chosen artistic thoughts. All great
men were great workers, unwearied not only in
invention but also in rejection, reviewing, trans-
forming, and arranging.
156.
Inspiration Again. —If the productive power
has been suspended for a length of time, and has
been hindered in its outflow by some obstacle,
there comes at last such a sudden out-pouring, as
if an immediate inspiration were taking place
without previous inward working, consequently a
miracle. This constitutes the familiar deception,
in the continuance of which, as we have said, the
interest of all artists is rather too much concerned.
The capital has only accumulated, it has not
suddenly fallen down from heaven. Moreover,
such apparent inspirations are seen elsewhere, for
instance in the realm of goodness, of virtue and
of vice.
157.
The Suffering of Genius and its Value.
—The artistic genius desires to give pleasure, but
if his mind is on a very high plane he does not easily
find any one to share his pleasure; he offers en-
tertainment but nobody accepts it. This gives
him, in certain circumstances, a comically touching
pathos; for he has really no right to force pleasure
on men. He pipes, but none will dance: can that
be tragic? Perhaps. —As compensation for this
deprivation, however, he finds more pleasure in


## p. 161 (#227) ############################################

THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. l6l
creating than the rest of mankind experiences in
all other species of activity. His sufferings are con-
sidered as exaggerated, because the sound of his
complaints is louder and his tongue more eloquent;
and yet sometimes his sufferings are really very
great; but only because his ambition and his envy
are so great. The learned genius, like Kepler
and Spinoza, is usually not so covetous and does
not make such an exhibition of his really greater
sufferings and deprivations. He can reckon with
greater certainty on future fame and can afford to
do without the present, whilst an artist who does
this always plays a desperate game that makes
his heart ache.
In very rare cases, when in one
and the same individual are combined the genius
of power and of knowledge and the moral genius,
there is added to the above-mentioned pains that
species of pain which must be regarded as the
most curious exception in the world; those extra-
and super-personal sensations which are experienced
on behalf of a nation, of humanity, of all civili-
sation, all suffering existence, which acquire their
value through the connection with particularly
difficult and remote perceptions (pity in itself is
worth but little). But what standard, what proof
is there for its genuineness? Is it not almost
imperative to be mistrustful of all who talk of
feeling sensations of this kind?
f 158.
The Destiny of Greatness. —Every great
phenomenon is followed by degeneration, especially


## p. 162 (#228) ############################################

l62 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
in the world of art. The example of the great
tempts vainer natures to superficial imitation or
exaggeration; all great gifts have the fatality of
crushing many weaker forces and germs, and
of laying waste all nature around them. The
happiest arrangement in the development of an
art is for several geniuses mutually to hold one
another within bounds; in this strife it generally
happens that light and air are also granted to the
weaker and more delicate natures.
159.
Art Dangerous for the Artist. —When
art takes strong hold of an individual it draws
him back to the contemplation of those times
when art flourished best, and it has then a retro-
grade effect. The artist grows more and more
to reverence sudden inspirations; he believes in
gods and daemons, he spiritualises all nature,
hates science, is changeable in his moods like the
ancients, and longs for an overthrow of all exist-
ing conditions which are not favourable to art,
and does this with the impetuosity and unreason-
ableness of a child. Now, in himself, the artist
is already a backward nature, because he halts at
a game that belongs properly to youth and child-
hood; to this is added the fact that he is educated
back into former times. Thus there gradually
arises a fierce antagonism between him and his
contemporaries, and a sad ending; according to
the accounts of the ancients, Homer and ^Eschylus
spent their last years, and died, in melancholy.



## p. 163 (#229) ############################################

THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 163
160.
Created Individuals. —When it is said that
the dramatist (and the artist above all) creates real
characters, it is a fine deception and exaggeration,
in the existence and propagation of which art cele-
brates one of its unconscious but at the same time
abundant triumphs. As a matter of fact, we do
not understand much about a real, living man, and
we generalise very superficially when we ascribe to
him this and that character; this very imperfect
attitude of ours towards man is represented by
the poet, inasmuch as he makes into men (in
this sense " creates ") outlines as superficial as our
knowledge of man is superficial. There is a great
deal of delusion about these created characters of
artists; they are by no means living productions
of nature, but are like painted men, somewhat too
thin, they will not bear a close inspection. And
when it is said that the character of the ordinary
living being contradicts itself frequently, and that
the one created by the dramatist is the original
model conceived by nature, this is quite wrong.
A genuine man is something absolutely necessary
(even in those so-called contradictions), but we
do not always recognise this necessity. The
imaginary man, the phantasm, signifies something
necessary, but only to those who understand a real
man only in a crude, unnatural simplification, so
that a few strong, oft-repeated traits, with a great
deal of light and shade and half-light about them,
amply satisfy their notions. They are, therefore,
ready to treat the phantasm as a genuine, necessary


## p. 164 (#230) ############################################

164 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
man, because with real men they are accustomed
to regard a phantasm, an outline, an intentional
abbreviation as the whole. That the painter and
the sculptor express the "idea" of man is a vain
imagination and delusion; whoever says this is in
subjection to the eye, for this only sees the
surface, the epidermis of the human body,—the
inward body, however, is equally a part of the
idea. Plastic art wishes to make character visible!
on the surface ; . histrionic art employs speech for'
the same purpose, it reflects character in sounds.
Art starts from the natural ignorance of man about
his interior condition (in body and character); it is
not meant for philosophers or natural scientists.
161.
The Over-valuation of Self in the
Belief in Artists and Philosophers. —We
are all prone to think that the excellence of a
work of art or of an artist is proved when it moves
and touches us. But there our own excellence in
judgment and sensibility must have been proved
first, which is not the case. In all plastic art, who
had greater power to effect a charm than Bernini,
who made a greater effect than the orator that
appeared after Demosthenes introduced the Asiatic
style and gave it a predominance which lasted
throughout two centuries? This predominance
during whole centuries is not a proof of the
excellence and enduring validity of a style;
therefore we must not be too certain in our good
opinion of any artist,—this is not only belief


## p. 165 (#231) ############################################

THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 165
in the truthfulness of our sensations but also in
the infallibility of our judgment, whereas judgment
or sensation, or even both, may be too coarse or
too fine, exaggerated or crude. Neither are the
blessings and blissfulness of a philosophy or of a
religion proofs of its truth; just as little as the
happiness which an insane person derives from his
fixed idea is a proof of the reasonableness of this
idea.
162.
The Cult of Genius for the sake of
Vanity. —Because we think well of ourselves, but
nevertheless do not imagine that we are capable
of the conception of one of Raphael's pictures or
of a scene such as those of one of Shakespeare's
dramas, we persuade ourselves that the faculty
for doing this is quite extraordinarily wonderful, a
very rare case, or, if we are religiously inclined, a
grace from above. Thus the cult of genius fosters
our vanity, our self-love, for it is only when we
think of it as very far removed from us, as a
miraculum, that it does not wound us (even
Goethe, who was free from envy, called Shakespeare
a star of the farthest heavens, whereby we are
reminded of the line " die Sterne, die begehrt man
nicht" *). But, apart from those suggestions of our
* The allusion is to Goethe's lines:
Die Sterne, die begehrt man nicht,
Man freut sich ihrer Pracht.
We do not want the stars themselves,
Their brilliancy delights our hearts. —J. M. K.


## p. 166 (#232) ############################################

l66 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
vanity, the activity of a genius does not seem so
radically different from the activity of a mechanical
inventor, of an astronomer or historian or strategist.
All these forms of activity are explicable if we
realise men whose minds are active in one special
direction, who make use of everything as material,
who always eagerly study their own inward life
and that of others, who find types and incitements
everywhere, who never weary in the employment
of their means. Genius does nothing but learn
how to lay stones, then to build, always to seek for
material and always to work upon it. Every
human activity is marvellously complicated, and
not only that of genius, but it is no " miracle. "
Now whence comes the belief that genius is found
only in artists, orators, and philosophers, that they
alone have "intuition" (by which we credit them
with a kind of magic glass by means of which
they see straight into one's "being ")? It is clear
that men only speak of genius where the workings
of a great intellect are most agreeable to them
and they have no desire to feel envious. To call
any one " divine" is as much as saying "here we
have no occasion for rivalry. " Thus it is that
everything completed and perfect is stared at,
and everything incomplete is undervalued. Now
nobody can see how the work of an artist has
developed; that is its advantage, for everything of
which the development is seen is looked on coldly.
The perfected art of representation precludes all
thought of its development, it tyrannises as a
present perfection. For this reason artists of
representation are especially held to be possessed


## p. 167 (#233) ############################################

THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 167
of genius, but not scientific men. In reality,
however, the former valuation and the latter
under-valuation are only puerilities of reason.
163.
The Earnestness of Handicraft. — Do
not talk of gifts, of inborn talents! We could
mention great men of all kinds who were but
little gifted. But they obtained greatness, became
"geniuses " (as they are called), through qualities
of the lack of which nobody who is conscious of
them likes to speak. They all had that thorough
earnestness for work which learns first how to
form the different parts perfectly before it ventures
to make a great whole; they gave themselves time
for this, because they took more pleasure in doing
small, accessory things well than in the effect of
a dazzling whole. For instance, the recipe for
becoming a good novelist is easily given, but the
carrying out of the recipe presupposes qualities
which we are in the habit of overlooking when we
say, "I have not sufficient talent. " Make a
hundred or more sketches of novel-plots, none
more than two pages long, but of such clearness
that every word in them is necessary; write down
anecdotes every day until you learn to find the
most pregnant, most effective form; never weary
of collecting and delineating human types and
characters; above all, narrate things as often as
possible and listen to narrations with a sharp
eye and ear for the effect upon other people
present; travel like a landscape painter and a


## p. 167 (#234) ############################################

l66 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
vanity, the activity of a genius does not seem so
radically different from the activity of a mechanical
inventor, of an astronomer or historian or strategist.
All these forms of activity are explicable if we
realise men whose minds are active in one special
direction, who make use of everything as material,
who always eagerly study their own inward life
and that of others, who find types and incitements
everywhere, who never weary in the employment
of their means. Genius does nothing but learn
how to lay stones, then to build, always to seek for
material and always to work upon it. Every
human activity is marvellously complicated, and
not only that of genius, but it is no " miracle. "
Now whence comes the belief that genius is found
only in artists, orators, and philosophers, that they
alone have "intuition" (by which we credit them
with a kind of magic glass by means of which
they see straight into one's " being ")? It is clear
that men only speak of genius where the workings
of a great intellect are most agreeable to them
and they have no desire to feel envious. To call
any one " divine" is as much as saying " here we
have no occasion for rivalry. " Thus it is that
everything completed and perfect is stared at,
and everything incomplete is undervalued. Now
nobody can see how the work of an artist has
developed; that is its advantage, for everything of
which the development is seen is looked on coldly.
The perfected art of representation precludes all
thought of its development, it tyrannises as a
present perfection. For this reason artists of
representation are especially held to be possessed


## p. 167 (#235) ############################################

THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. \6j
F genius, but not scientific men. In reality,
owever, the former valuation and the latter
der-valuation are only puerilities of reason.
"
163.
The Earnestness of Handicraft. — Do
iot talk of gifts, of inborn talents! We could
mention great men of all kinds who were but
little gifted. But they obtained greatness, became
"geniuses " (as they are called), through qualities
of the lack of which nobody who is conscious of
them likes to speak. They all had that thorough
earnestness for work which learns first how to
form the different parts perfectly before it ventures
to make a great whole; they gave themselves time
for this, because they took more pleasure in doing
small, accessory things well than in the effect of
a dazzling whole. For instance, the recipe for
becoming a good novelist is easily given, but the
carrying out of the recipe presupposes qualities
which we are in the habit of overlooking when we
say, "I have not sufficient talent. " Make a
hundred or more sketches of novel-plots, none
more than two pages long, but of such clearness
that every word in them is necessary; write down
anecdotes every day until you learn to find the
most pregnant, most effective form; never weary
of collecting and delineating human types and
characters; above all, narrate things as often as
possible and listen to narrations with a sharp
eye and ear for the effect upon other people
present; travel like a landscape painter and a


## p. 168 (#236) ############################################

168 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
!
designer of costumes; take from different sciences
everything that is artistically effective, if it be
well represented; finally, meditate on the motives
for human actions, scorn not even the smallest
point of instruction on this subject, and collect
similar matters by day and night. Spend some
ten years in these various exercises: then the
creations of your study may be allowed to see the
light of day. But what do most people do, on
the contrary? They do not begin with the part,
but with the whole. Perhaps they make one
good stroke, excite attention, and ever afterwards
their work grows worse and worse, for good,
natural reasons. But sometimes, when intellect
and character are lacking for the formation of
such an artistic career, fate and necessity take
the place of these qualities and lead the future
master step by step through all the phases of his
craft.
164.
The Danger and the Gain in the Cult
OF GENIUS. —The belief in great, superior, fertile
minds is not necessarily, but still very frequently,
connected with that wholly or partly religious
superstition that those spirits are of superhuman
origin and possess certain marvellous faculties,
by means of which they obtained their knowledge
in ways quite different from the rest of mankind.
They are credited with having an immediate
insight into the nature of the world, through
a peep-hole in the mantle of the phenomenon as
it were, and it is believed that, without the


## p. 169 (#237) ############################################

THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 169
trouble and severity of science, by virtue of
this marvellous prophetic sight, they could
impart something final and decisive about man-
kind and the world. So long as there are
still believers in miracles in the world of
knowledge it may perhaps be admitted that
the believers themselves derive a benefit therefrom,
inasmuch as by their absolute subjection to great
minds they obtain the best discipline and schooling
for their own minds during the period of develop-
ment. On the other hand, it may at least be
questioned whether the superstition of genius,
of its privileges and special faculties, is useful
for a genius himself when it implants itself in
him. In any case it is a dangerous sign when
man shudders at his own self, be it that famous
Caesarian shudder or the shudder of genius which
applies to this case, when the incense of sacrifice,
which by rights is offered to a God alone,
penetrates into the brain of the genius, so that
he begins to waver and to look upon himself
as something superhuman. The slow conse-
quences are: the feeling of irresponsibility, the
exceptional rights, the belief that mere inter-
course with him confers a favour, and frantic rage
at any attempt to compare him with others or
even to place him below them and to bring into
prominence whatever is unsuccessful in his work.
Through the fact that he ceases to criticise
himself one pinion after another falls out of
his plumage,—that superstition undermines the
foundation of his strength and even makes
him a hypocrite after his power has failed him.


## p. 170 (#238) ############################################

^mmM^m-tmimm*

170 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
For great minds it is, therefore, perhaps better
when they come to an understanding about their
strength and its source, when they comprehend
what purely human qualities are mingled in them,
what a combination they are of fortunate
conditions: thus once it was continual energy,
a decided application to individual aims, great
personal courage, and then the good fortune of
an education, which at an early period provided
the best teachers, examples, and methods.
Assuredly, if its aim is to make tne greatest
possible effect, abstruseness has always done
much for itself and that gift of partial insanity;
for at all times that power has been admired
and envied by means of which men were deprived
of will and imbued with the fancy that they
were preceded by supernatural leaders. Truly,
men are exalted and inspired by the belief that
some one among them is endowed with super-
natural powers, and in this respect insanity, as
Plato says, has brought the greatest blessings
to mankind. In a few rare cases this form of
insanity may also have been the means by which
an all-round exuberant nature was kept within
bounds; in individual life the imaginings of
frenzy frequently exert the virtue of remedies
which are poisons in themselves; but in every
"genius" that believes in his own divinity the
poison shows itself at last in the same proportion
as the "genius" grows old; we need but
recollect the example of Napoleon, for it was
most assuredly through his faith in himself and his
star, and through his scorn of mankind, that he


## p. 171 (#239) ############################################

THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 171
grew to that mighty unity which distinguished
him from all modern men, until at last, however,
fthis faith developed into an almost insane
fatalism, robbed him of his quickness of compre-
hension and penetration, and was the cause of
his downfall.
165.
Genius and Nullity. —It is precisely the
original artists, those who create out of their
own heads, who in certain circumstances can
bring forth complete emptiness and husk, whilst
the more dependent natures, the so-called talented
ones, are full of memories of all manner of good-
ness, and even in a state of weakness produce
something tolerable. But if the original ones are
abandoned by themselves, memory renders them
no assistance; they become empty.
166. I
The Public. —The people really demands
nothing more from tragedy than to be deeply
affected, in order to have a good cry occasionally;
the artist, on the contrary, who sees the new
tragedy, takes pleasure in the clever technical
inventions and tricks, in the management and
distribution of the material, in the novel arrange-
ment of old motives and old ideas. His
attitude is the aesthetic attitude towards a work
of art, that of the creator; the one first described,
with regard solely to the material, is that of
the people. Of the individual who stands between


## p. 172 (#240) ############################################

172 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
168 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
the two nothing need be said: he is neither
"people" nor artist, and does not know what
he wants—therefore his pleasure is also clouded
and insignificant.
167.
The Artistic Education of the Public. —
If the same motif is not employed in a hundred
ways by different masters, the public never learns
to get beyond their interest in the subject; but
at last, when it is well acquainted with the
motif through countless different treatments, and
no longer finds in it any charm of novelty or
excitement, it will then begin to grasp and enjoy
the various shades and delicate new inventions
in its treatment.
168.
The Artist and his Followers must
KEEP IN Step. —The progress from one grade
of style to another must be so slow that not
only the artists but also the auditors and
spectators can follow it and know exactly what
is going on. Otherwise there will suddenly appear
that great chasm between the artist, who creates
his work upon a height apart, and the public,
who cannot rise up to that height and finally
sinks discontentedly deeper. For when the
artist no longer raises his public it rapidly sinks
downwards, and its fall is the deeper and more
dangerous in proportion to the height to which
genius has carried it, like the eagle, out of
whose talons a tortoise that has been borne up
into the clouds falls to its destruction.
"


## p. 173 (#241) ############################################

THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 173
169.
The Source of the Comic Element. —If
we consider that for many thousands of years
man was an animal that was susceptible in the
highest degree to fear, and that everything sudden
and unexpected had to find him ready for battle,
perhaps even ready for death; that even later,
in social relations, all security was based on
the expected, on custom in thought and action,
we need not be surprised that at everything
sudden and unexpected in word and deed, if
it occurs without danger or injury, man becomes
exuberant and passes over into the very opposite
of fear—the terrified, trembling, crouching being
shoots upward, stretches itself: man laughs.
This transition from momentary fear into short-
lived exhilaration is called the Comic. On the
other hand, in the tragic phenomenon, man passes
quickly from great enduring exuberance into
great fear; but as amongst mortals great and
lasting exuberance is much rarer than the cause
for fear, there is far more comedy than tragedy
in the world; we laugh much oftener than we
are agitated.
170.
The Artist's Ambition. —The Greek artists,
the tragedians for instance, composed in order to
conquer; their whole art cannot be imagined
without rivalry,—the good Hesiodian Eris,
Ambition, gave wings to their genius. This
ambition further demanded that their work


## p. 174 (#242) ############################################

168 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
174 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
should achieve the greatest excellence in their
own eyes, as they understood excellence, without
any regard for the reigning taste and the general
opinion about excellence in a work of art; and
thus it was long before ^Eschylus and Euripides
achieved any success, until at last they educated
judges of art, who valued their work according to
the standards which they themselves appointed.
Hence they strove for victory over rivals accord-
ing to their own valuation, they really wished to
be more excellent; they demanded assent from
without to this self-valuation, the confirmation of
this verdict. To achieve honour means in this
case "to make one's self superior to others, and
to desire that this should be recognised publicly. "
Should the former condition be wanting, and the
latter nevertheless desired, it is then called vanity.
Should the latter be lacking and not missed, then
it is named pride.
171.
What is Needful to a Work of Art. —
Those who talk so much about the needful
factors of a' work of art exaggerate; if they are
artists they do so in major em artis gloriavi, if they
are laymen, from ignorance. The form of a
work of art, which gives speech to their thoughts
and is, therefore^their mode of talking, is always
somewhat uncertain, like all kinds of speech.
The sculptor can add or omit many little traits,
as can also the exponent, be he an actor or, in
music, a performer or conductor. These many
little traits and finishing touches afford him


## p. 175 (#243) ############################################

THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 175
pleasure one day and none the next, they exist
more for the sake of the artist than the art; for
he also has occasionally need of sweetmeats and
playthings to prevent him from becoming morose
with the severity and self-restraint which the
representation of the dominant idea demands
from him.
172.
To Cause the Master to be Forgotten.
—The pianoforte player who executes the work
of a master will have played best if he has made
his audience forget the master, and if it seemed
as if he were relating a story from his own
life or just passing through some experience.
Assuredly, if he is of no importance, every one
will abhor the garrulity with which he talks
about his own life. Therefore he must know
how to influence his hearer's imagination favour-
ably towards himself. Hereby are explained all
the weaknesses and follies of " the virtuoso. "
173-
Corriger la Fortune. —There are unfortunate
accidents in the lives of great artists, which
compel the painter, for instance, to sketch out
his most important picture only as a passing
thought, or such as obliged Beethoven to leave
behind him only the insufficient pianoforte score
of many great sonatas (as in the great B flat).
In these cases the artist of a later day must
endeavour to fill out the life of the great man,—
what, for instance, he would do who, as master


## p. 175 (#244) ############################################

174 HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.
should achieve the greatest excellence in their
own eyes, as they understood excellence, without
any regard for the reigning taste and the general
opinion about excellence in a work of art; and
thus it was long before ^Eschylus and Euripides
achieved any success, until at last they educated
judges of art, who valued their work according to
the standards which they themselves appointed.
Hence they strove for victory over rivals accord-
ing to their own valuation, they really wished to
be more excellent; they demanded assent from
without to this self-valuation, the confirmation of
this verdict. To achieve honour means in this
case "to make one's self superior to others, and
to desire that this should be recognised publicly. "
Should the former condition be wanting, and the
latter nevertheless desired, it is then called vanity.
Should the latter be lacking and not missed, then
it is named pride.
171.
What is Needful to a Work of Art. —
Those who talk so much about the needful
factors of a work of art exaggerate; if they are
artists they do so in majorem artis gloriam, if they
are laymen, from ignorance. The form of a
work of art, which gives speech to their thoughts
and is, thereforeutheir mode of talking, is always
somewhat uncertain, like all kinds of speech.
The sculptor can add or omit many little traits,
as can also the exponent, be he an actor or, in
music, a performer or conductor. These many
little traits and finishing touches afford him


## p. 175 (#245) ############################################

THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. 175
pleasure one day and none the next, they exist
more for the sake of the artist than the art; for
he also has occasionally need of sweetmeats and
playthings to prevent him from becoming morose
with the severity and self-restraint which the
representation of the dominant idea demands
from him.
172.
To Cause the Master to be Forgotten.
—The pianoforte player who executes the work
of a master will have played best if he has made
his audience forget the master, and if it seemed
as if he were relating a story from his own
life or just passing through some experience.
Assuredly, if he is of no importance, every one
will abhor the garrulity with which he talks
about his own life. Therefore he must know
how to influence his hearer's imagination favour-
ably towards himself. Hereby are explained all
the weaknesses and follies of " the virtuoso.