25. After such a cheerful commencement, a serious word would fain be heard; it appeals to the most serious minds. Take care, ye philosophers and friends of knowledge, and beware of martyrdom! Of suffering "for the truth's sake"! even in your own defense13! It spoils all the innocence14 and fine neutrality of your conscience; it makes you headstrong against objections and red rags; it stupefies, animalizes, and brutalizes, when in the struggle with danger, slander15, suspicion, expulsion, and even worse consequences of enmity, ye have at last to play your last card as protectors of truth upon earth—as though "the Truth" were such an innocent and incompetent16 creature as to require protectors! and you of all people, ye knights17 of the sorrowful countenance18, Messrs Loafers and Cobweb-spinners of the spirit! Finally, ye know sufficiently19 well that it cannot be of any consequence if YE just carry your point; ye know that hitherto no philosopher has carried his point, and that there might be a more laudable truthfulness20 in every little interrogative mark which you place after your special words and favourite doctrines21 (and occasionally after yourselves) than in all the solemn pantomime and trumping23 games before accusers and law-courts! Rather go out of the way! Flee into concealment25! And have your masks and your ruses26, that ye may be mistaken for what you are, or somewhat feared! And pray, don't forget the garden, the garden with golden trellis-work! And have people around you who are as a garden—or as music on the waters at eventide, when already the day becomes a memory. Choose the GOOD solitude28, the free, wanton, lightsome solitude, which also gives you the right still to remain good in any sense whatsoever29! How poisonous, how crafty30, how bad, does every long war make one, which cannot be waged openly by means of force! How PERSONAL does a long fear make one, a long watching of enemies, of possible enemies! These pariahs31 of society, these long-pursued, badly-persecuted ones—also the compulsory32 recluses33, the Spinozas or Giordano Brunos—always become in the end, even under the most intellectual masquerade, and perhaps without being themselves aware of it, refined vengeance34-seekers and poison-Brewers (just lay bare the foundation of Spinoza's ethics35 and theology!), not to speak of the stupidity of moral indignation, which is the unfailing sign in a philosopher that the sense of philosophical36 humour has left him. The martyrdom of the philosopher, his "sacrifice for the sake of truth," forces into the light whatever of the agitator37 and actor lurks38 in him; and if one has hitherto contemplated39 him only with artistic40 curiosity, with regard to many a philosopher it is easy to understand the dangerous desire to see him also in his deterioration41 (deteriorated into a "martyr," into a stage-and-tribune-bawler). Only, that it is necessary with such a desire to be clear WHAT spectacle one will see in any case—merely a satyric play, merely an epilogue farce43, merely the continued proof that the long, real tragedy IS AT AN END, supposing that every philosophy has been a long tragedy in its origin.
26. Every select man strives instinctively44 for a citadel46 and a privacy, where he is FREE from the crowd, the many, the majority—where he may forget "men who are the rule," as their exception;—exclusive only of the case in which he is pushed straight to such men by a still stronger instinct, as a discerner in the great and exceptional sense. Whoever, in intercourse47 with men, does not occasionally glisten48 in all the green and grey colours of distress49, owing to disgust, satiety50, sympathy, gloominess, and solitariness51, is assuredly not a man of elevated tastes; supposing, however, that he does not voluntarily take all this burden and disgust upon himself, that he persistently52 avoids it, and remains53, as I said, quietly and proudly hidden in his citadel, one thing is then certain: he was not made, he was not predestined for knowledge. For as such, he would one day have to say to himself: "The devil take my good taste! but 'the rule' is more interesting than the exception—than myself, the exception!" And he would go DOWN, and above all, he would go "inside." The long and serious study of the AVERAGE man—and consequently much disguise, self-overcoming, familiarity, and bad intercourse (all intercourse is bad intercourse except with one's equals):—that constitutes a necessary part of the life-history of every philosopher; perhaps the most disagreeable, odious56, and disappointing part. If he is fortunate, however, as a favourite child of knowledge should be, he will meet with suitable auxiliaries57 who will shorten and lighten his task; I mean so-called cynics, those who simply recognize the animal, the commonplace and "the rule" in themselves, and at the same time have so much spirituality and ticklishness58 as to make them talk of themselves and their like BEFORE WITNESSES—sometimes they wallow, even in books, as on their own dung-hill. Cynicism is the only form in which base souls approach what is called honesty; and the higher man must open his ears to all the coarser or finer cynicism, and congratulate himself when the clown becomes shameless right before him, or the scientific satyr speaks out. There are even cases where enchantment60 mixes with the disgust—namely, where by a freak of nature, genius is bound to some such indiscreet billy-goat and ape, as in the case of the Abbe Galiani, the profoundest, acutest, and perhaps also filthiest61 man of his century—he was far profounder than Voltaire, and consequently also, a good deal more silent. It happens more frequently, as has been hinted, that a scientific head is placed on an ape's body, a fine exceptional understanding in a base soul, an occurrence by no means rare, especially among doctors and moral physiologists64. And whenever anyone speaks without bitterness, or rather quite innocently, of man as a belly65 with two requirements, and a head with one; whenever any one sees, seeks, and WANTS to see only hunger, sexual instinct, and vanity as the real and only motives66 of human actions; in short, when any one speaks "badly"—and not even "ill"—of man, then ought the lover of knowledge to hearken attentively67 and diligently68; he ought, in general, to have an open ear wherever there is talk without indignation. For the indignant man, and he who perpetually tears and lacerates himself with his own teeth (or, in place of himself, the world, God, or society), may indeed, morally speaking, stand higher than the laughing and self-satisfied satyr, but in every other sense he is the more ordinary, more indifferent, and less instructive case. And no one is such a LIAR55 as the indignant man.
27. It is difficult to be understood, especially when one thinks and lives gangasrotogati [Footnote: Like the river Ganges: presto69.] among those only who think and live otherwise—namely, kurmagati [Footnote: Like the tortoise: lento.], or at best "froglike," mandeikagati [Footnote: Like the frog: staccato.] (I do everything to be "difficultly understood" myself!)—and one should be heartily70 grateful for the good will to some refinement of interpretation71. As regards "the good friends," however, who are always too easy-going, and think that as friends they have a right to ease, one does well at the very first to grant them a play-ground and romping-place for misunderstanding—one can thus laugh still; or get rid of them altogether, these good friends—and laugh then also!
28. What is most difficult to render from one language into another is the TEMPO72 of its style, which has its basis in the character of the race, or to speak more physiologically73, in the average TEMPO of the assimilation of its nutriment. There are honestly meant translations, which, as involuntary vulgarizations, are almost falsifications of the original, merely because its lively and merry TEMPO (which overleaps and obviates74 all dangers in word and expression) could not also be rendered. A German is almost incapacitated for PRESTO in his language; consequently also, as may be reasonably inferred, for many of the most delightful75 and daring NUANCES of free, free-spirited thought. And just as the buffoon77 and satyr are foreign to him in body and conscience, so Aristophanes and Petronius are untranslatable for him. Everything ponderous78, viscous79, and pompously80 clumsy, all long-winded and wearying species of style, are developed in profuse81 variety among Germans—pardon me for stating the fact that even Goethe's prose, in its mixture of stiffness and elegance82, is no exception, as a reflection of the "good old time" to which it belongs, and as an expression of German taste at a time when there was still a "German taste," which was a rococo-taste in moribus et artibus. Lessing is an exception, owing to his histrionic nature, which understood much, and was versed83 in many things; he who was not the translator of Bayle to no purpose, who took refuge willingly in the shadow of Diderot and Voltaire, and still more willingly among the Roman comedy-writers—Lessing loved also free-spiritism in the TEMPO, and flight out of Germany. But how could the German language, even in the prose of Lessing, imitate the TEMPO of Machiavelli, who in his "Principe" makes us breathe the dry, fine air of Florence, and cannot help presenting the most serious events in a boisterous84 allegrissimo, perhaps not without a malicious85 artistic sense of the contrast he ventures to present—long, heavy, difficult, dangerous thoughts, and a TEMPO of the gallop86, and of the best, wantonest humour? Finally, who would venture on a German translation of Petronius, who, more than any great musician hitherto, was a master of PRESTO in invention, ideas, and words? What matter in the end about the swamps of the sick, evil world, or of the "ancient world," when like him, one has the feet of a wind, the rush, the breath, the emancipating87 scorn of a wind, which makes everything healthy, by making everything RUN! And with regard to Aristophanes—that transfiguring, complementary genius, for whose sake one PARDONS all Hellenism for having existed, provided one has understood in its full profundity88 ALL that there requires pardon and transfiguration; there is nothing that has caused me to meditate89 more on PLATO'S secrecy90 and sphinx-like nature, than the happily preserved petit fait that under the pillow of his death-bed there was found no "Bible," nor anything Egyptian, Pythagorean, or Platonic—but a book of Aristophanes. How could even Plato have endured life—a Greek life which he repudiated—without an Aristophanes!
29. It is the business of the very few to be independent; it is a privilege of the strong. And whoever attempts it, even with the best right, but without being OBLIGED to do so, proves that he is probably not only strong, but also daring beyond measure. He enters into a labyrinth93, he multiplies a thousandfold the dangers which life in itself already brings with it; not the least of which is that no one can see how and where he loses his way, becomes isolated94, and is torn piecemeal95 by some minotaur of conscience. Supposing such a one comes to grief, it is so far from the comprehension of men that they neither feel it, nor sympathize with it. And he cannot any longer go back! He cannot even go back again to the sympathy of men!
30. Our deepest insights must—and should—appear as follies96, and under certain circumstances as crimes, when they come unauthorizedly to the ears of those who are not disposed and predestined for them. The exoteric and the esoteric, as they were formerly97 distinguished98 by philosophers—among the Indians, as among the Greeks, Persians, and Mussulmans, in short, wherever people believed in gradations of rank and NOT in equality and equal rights—are not so much in contradistinction to one another in respect to the exoteric class, standing62 without, and viewing, estimating, measuring, and judging from the outside, and not from the inside; the more essential distinction is that the class in question views things from below upwards—while the esoteric class views things FROM ABOVE DOWNWARDS99. There are heights of the soul from which tragedy itself no longer appears to operate tragically100; and if all the woe101 in the world were taken together, who would dare to decide whether the sight of it would NECESSARILY seduce102 and constrain103 to sympathy, and thus to a doubling of the woe?... That which serves the higher class of men for nourishment104 or refreshment105, must be almost poison to an entirely106 different and lower order of human beings. The virtues107 of the common man would perhaps mean vice109 and weakness in a philosopher; it might be possible for a highly developed man, supposing him to degenerate110 and go to ruin, to acquire qualities thereby111 alone, for the sake of which he would have to be honoured as a saint in the lower world into which he had sunk. There are books which have an inverse112 value for the soul and the health according as the inferior soul and the lower vitality113, or the higher and more powerful, make use of them. In the former case they are dangerous, disturbing, unsettling books, in the latter case they are herald-calls which summon the bravest to THEIR bravery. Books for the general reader are always ill-smelling books, the odour of paltry114 people clings to them. Where the populace eat and drink, and even where they reverence115, it is accustomed to stink116. One should not go into churches if one wishes to breathe PURE air.
31. In our youthful years we still venerate117 and despise without the art of NUANCE76, which is the best gain of life, and we have rightly to do hard penance118 for having fallen upon men and things with Yea and Nay119. Everything is so arranged that the worst of all tastes, THE TASTE FOR THE UNCONDITIONAL120, is cruelly befooled and abused, until a man learns to introduce a little art into his sentiments, and prefers to try conclusions with the artificial, as do the real artists of life. The angry and reverent121 spirit peculiar122 to youth appears to allow itself no peace, until it has suitably falsified men and things, to be able to vent27 its passion upon them: youth in itself even, is something falsifying and deceptive123. Later on, when the young soul, tortured by continual disillusions124, finally turns suspiciously against itself—still ardent125 and savage126 even in its suspicion and remorse127 of conscience: how it upbraids128 itself, how impatiently it tears itself, how it revenges itself for its long self-blinding, as though it had been a voluntary blindness! In this transition one punishes oneself by distrust of one's sentiments; one tortures one's enthusiasm with doubt, one feels even the good conscience to be a danger, as if it were the self-concealment and lassitude of a more refined uprightness; and above all, one espouses129 upon principle the cause AGAINST "youth."—A decade later, and one comprehends that all this was also still—youth!
32. Throughout the longest period of human history—one calls it the prehistoric130 period—the value or non-value of an action was inferred from its CONSEQUENCES; the action in itself was not taken into consideration, any more than its origin; but pretty much as in China at present, where the distinction or disgrace of a child redounds131 to its parents, the retro-operating power of success or failure was what induced men to think well or ill of an action. Let us call this period the PRE-MORAL period of mankind; the imperative132, "Know thyself!" was then still unknown.—In the last ten thousand years, on the other hand, on certain large portions of the earth, one has gradually got so far, that one no longer lets the consequences of an action, but its origin, decide with regard to its worth: a great achievement as a whole, an important refinement of vision and of criterion, the unconscious effect of the supremacy133 of aristocratic values and of the belief in "origin," the mark of a period which may be designated in the narrower sense as the MORAL one: the first attempt at self-knowledge is thereby made. Instead of the consequences, the origin—what an inversion134 of perspective! And assuredly an inversion effected only after long struggle and wavering! To be sure, an ominous135 new superstition136, a peculiar narrowness of interpretation, attained138 supremacy precisely thereby: the origin of an action was interpreted in the most definite sense possible, as origin out of an INTENTION; people were agreed in the belief that the value of an action lay in the value of its intention. The intention as the sole origin and antecedent history of an action: under the influence of this prejudice moral praise and blame have been bestowed139, and men have judged and even philosophized almost up to the present day.—Is it not possible, however, that the necessity may now have arisen of again making up our minds with regard to the reversing and fundamental shifting of values, owing to a new self-consciousness and acuteness in man—is it not possible that we may be standing on the threshold of a period which to begin with, would be distinguished negatively as ULTRA-MORAL: nowadays when, at least among us immoralists, the suspicion arises that the decisive value of an action lies precisely in that which is NOT INTENTIONAL140, and that all its intentionalness, all that is seen, sensible, or "sensed" in it, belongs to its surface or skin—which, like every skin, betrays something, but CONCEALS141 still more? In short, we believe that the intention is only a sign or symptom, which first requires an explanation—a sign, moreover, which has too many interpretations142, and consequently hardly any meaning in itself alone: that morality, in the sense in which it has been understood hitherto, as intention-morality, has been a prejudice, perhaps a prematureness or preliminariness, probably something of the same rank as astrology and alchemy, but in any case something which must be surmounted143. The surmounting144 of morality, in a certain sense even the self-mounting of morality—let that be the name for the long-secret labour which has been reserved for the most refined, the most upright, and also the most wicked consciences of today, as the living touchstones of the soul.
33. It cannot be helped: the sentiment of surrender, of sacrifice for one's neighbour, and all self-renunciation-morality, must be mercilessly called to account, and brought to judgment145; just as the aesthetics146 of "disinterested147 contemplation," under which the emasculation of art nowadays seeks insidiously148 enough to create itself a good conscience. There is far too much witchery and sugar in the sentiments "for others" and "NOT for myself," for one not needing to be doubly distrustful here, and for one asking promptly149: "Are they not perhaps—DECEPTIONS?"—That they PLEASE—him who has them, and him who enjoys their fruit, and also the mere42 spectator—that is still no argument in their FAVOUR, but just calls for caution. Let us therefore be cautious!
34. At whatever standpoint of philosophy one may place oneself nowadays, seen from every position, the ERRONEOUSNESS of the world in which we think we live is the surest and most certain thing our eyes can light upon: we find proof after proof thereof, which would fain allure150 us into surmises151 concerning a deceptive principle in the "nature of things." He, however, who makes thinking itself, and consequently "the spirit," responsible for the falseness of the world—an honourable152 exit, which every conscious or unconscious advocatus dei avails himself of—he who regards this world, including space, time, form, and movement, as falsely DEDUCED, would have at least good reason in the end to become distrustful also of all thinking; has it not hitherto been playing upon us the worst of scurvy153 tricks? and what guarantee would it give that it would not continue to do what it has always been doing? In all seriousness, the innocence of thinkers has something touching154 and respect-inspiring in it, which even nowadays permits them to wait upon consciousness with the request that it will give them HONEST answers: for example, whether it be "real" or not, and why it keeps the outer world so resolutely155 at a distance, and other questions of the same description. The belief in "immediate156 certainties" is a MORAL NAIVETE which does honour to us philosophers; but—we have now to cease being "MERELY moral" men! Apart from morality, such belief is a folly157 which does little honour to us! If in middle-class life an ever-ready distrust is regarded as the sign of a "bad character," and consequently as an imprudence, here among us, beyond the middle-class world and its Yeas and Nays158, what should prevent our being imprudent and saying: the philosopher has at length a RIGHT to "bad character," as the being who has hitherto been most befooled on earth—he is now under OBLIGATION to distrustfulness, to the wickedest squinting159 out of every abyss of suspicion.—Forgive me the joke of this gloomy grimace160 and turn of expression; for I myself have long ago learned to think and estimate differently with regard to deceiving and being deceived, and I keep at least a couple of pokes161 in the ribs162 ready for the blind rage with which philosophers struggle against being deceived. Why NOT? It is nothing more than a moral prejudice that truth is worth more than semblance163; it is, in fact, the worst proved supposition in the world. So much must be conceded: there could have been no life at all except upon the basis of perspective estimates and semblances164; and if, with the virtuous165 enthusiasm and stupidity of many philosophers, one wished to do away altogether with the "seeming world"—well, granted that YOU could do that,—at least nothing of your "truth" would thereby remain! Indeed, what is it that forces us in general to the supposition that there is an essential opposition166 of "true" and "false"? Is it not enough to suppose degrees of seemingness, and as it were lighter167 and darker shades and tones of semblance—different valeurs, as the painters say? Why might not the world WHICH CONCERNS US—be a fiction? And to any one who suggested: "But to a fiction belongs an originator?"—might it not be bluntly replied: WHY? May not this "belong" also belong to the fiction? Is it not at length permitted to be a little ironical168 towards the subject, just as towards the predicate and object? Might not the philosopher elevate himself above faith in grammar? All respect to governesses, but is it not time that philosophy should renounce169 governess-faith?
35. O Voltaire! O humanity! O idiocy170! There is something ticklish59 in "the truth," and in the SEARCH for the truth; and if man goes about it too humanely—"il ne cherche le vrai que pour faire le bien"—I wager171 he finds nothing!
36. Supposing that nothing else is "given" as real but our world of desires and passions, that we cannot sink or rise to any other "reality" but just that of our impulses—for thinking is only a relation of these impulses to one another:—are we not permitted to make the attempt and to ask the question whether this which is "given" does not SUFFICE, by means of our counterparts, for the understanding even of the so-called mechanical (or "material") world? I do not mean as an illusion, a "semblance," a "representation" (in the Berkeleyan and Schopenhauerian sense), but as possessing the same degree of reality as our emotions themselves—as a more primitive172 form of the world of emotions, in which everything still lies locked in a mighty173 unity174, which afterwards branches off and develops itself in organic processes (naturally also, refines and debilitates)—as a kind of instinctive45 life in which all organic functions, including self-regulation, assimilation, nutrition, secretion175, and change of matter, are still synthetically176 united with one another—as a PRIMARY FORM of life?—In the end, it is not only permitted to make this attempt, it is commanded by the conscience of LOGICAL METHOD. Not to assume several kinds of causality, so long as the attempt to get along with a single one has not been pushed to its furthest extent (to absurdity177, if I may be allowed to say so): that is a morality of method which one may not repudiate91 nowadays—it follows "from its definition," as mathematicians178 say. The question is ultimately whether we really recognize the will as OPERATING, whether we believe in the causality of the will; if we do so—and fundamentally our belief IN THIS is just our belief in causality itself—we MUST make the attempt to posit7 hypothetically the causality of the will as the only causality. "Will" can naturally only operate on "will"—and not on "matter" (not on "nerves," for instance): in short, the hypothesis must be hazarded, whether will does not operate on will wherever "effects" are recognized—and whether all mechanical action, inasmuch as a power operates therein, is not just the power of will, the effect of will. Granted, finally, that we succeeded in explaining our entire instinctive life as the development and ramification179 of one fundamental form of will—namely, the Will to Power, as my thesis puts it; granted that all organic functions could be traced back to this Will to Power, and that the solution of the problem of generation and nutrition—it is one problem—could also be found therein: one would thus have acquired the right to define ALL active force unequivocally as WILL TO POWER. The world seen from within, the world defined and designated according to its "intelligible180 character"—it would simply be "Will to Power," and nothing else.
37. "What? Does not that mean in popular language: God is disproved, but not the devil?"—On the contrary! On the contrary, my friends! And who the devil also compels you to speak popularly!
38. As happened finally in all the enlightenment of modern times with the French Revolution (that terrible farce, quite superfluous181 when judged close at hand, into which, however, the noble and visionary spectators of all Europe have interpreted from a distance their own indignation and enthusiasm so long and passionately182, UNTIL THE TEXT HAS DISAPPEARED UNDER THE INTERPRETATION), so a noble posterity183 might once more misunderstand the whole of the past, and perhaps only thereby make ITS aspect endurable.—Or rather, has not this already happened? Have not we ourselves been—that "noble posterity"? And, in so far as we now comprehend this, is it not—thereby already past?
39. Nobody will very readily regard a doctrine22 as true merely because it makes people happy or virtuous—excepting, perhaps, the amiable184 "Idealists," who are enthusiastic about the good, true, and beautiful, and let all kinds of motley, coarse, and good-natured desirabilities swim about promiscuously185 in their pond. Happiness and virtue108 are no arguments. It is willingly forgotten, however, even on the part of thoughtful minds, that to make unhappy and to make bad are just as little counter-arguments. A thing could be TRUE, although it were in the highest degree injurious and dangerous; indeed, the fundamental constitution of existence might be such that one succumbed186 by a full knowledge of it—so that the strength of a mind might be measured by the amount of "truth" it could endure—or to speak more plainly, by the extent to which it REQUIRED truth attenuated187, veiled, sweetened, damped, and falsified. But there is no doubt that for the discovery of certain PORTIONS of truth the wicked and unfortunate are more favourably188 situated189 and have a greater likelihood of success; not to speak of the wicked who are happy—a species about whom moralists are silent. Perhaps severity and craft are more favourable190 conditions for the development of strong, independent spirits and philosophers than the gentle, refined, yielding good-nature, and habit of taking things easily, which are prized, and rightly prized in a learned man. Presupposing always, to begin with, that the term "philosopher" be not confined to the philosopher who writes books, or even introduces HIS philosophy into books!—Stendhal furnishes a last feature of the portrait of the free-spirited philosopher, which for the sake of German taste I will not omit to underline—for it is OPPOSED to German taste. "Pour etre bon philosophe," says this last great psychologist, "il faut etre sec, clair, sans illusion. Un banquier, qui a fait fortune, a une partie du caractere requis pour faire des decouvertes en philosophie, c'est-a-dire pour voir clair dans ce qui est."
40. Everything that is profound loves the mask: the profoundest things have a hatred191 even of figure and likeness192. Should not the CONTRARY only be the right disguise for the shame of a God to go about in? A question worth asking!—it would be strange if some mystic has not already ventured on the same kind of thing. There are proceedings193 of such a delicate nature that it is well to overwhelm them with coarseness and make them unrecognizable; there are actions of love and of an extravagant194 magnanimity after which nothing can be wiser than to take a stick and thrash the witness soundly: one thereby obscures his recollection. Many a one is able to obscure and abuse his own memory, in order at least to have vengeance on this sole party in the secret: shame is inventive. They are not the worst things of which one is most ashamed: there is not only deceit behind a mask—there is so much goodness in craft. I could imagine that a man with something costly195 and fragile to conceal24, would roll through life clumsily and rotundly like an old, green, heavily-hooped wine-cask: the refinement of his shame requiring it to be so. A man who has depths in his shame meets his destiny and his delicate decisions upon paths which few ever reach, and with regard to the existence of which his nearest and most intimate friends may be ignorant; his mortal danger conceals itself from their eyes, and equally so his regained196 security. Such a hidden nature, which instinctively employs speech for silence and concealment, and is inexhaustible in evasion197 of communication, DESIRES and insists that a mask of himself shall occupy his place in the hearts and heads of his friends; and supposing he does not desire it, his eyes will some day be opened to the fact that there is nevertheless a mask of him there—and that it is well to be so. Every profound spirit needs a mask; nay, more, around every profound spirit there continually grows a mask, owing to the constantly false, that is to say, SUPERFICIAL interpretation of every word he utters, every step he takes, every sign of life he manifests.
41. One must subject oneself to one's own tests that one is destined54 for independence and command, and do so at the right time. One must not avoid one's tests, although they constitute perhaps the most dangerous game one can play, and are in the end tests made only before ourselves and before no other judge. Not to cleave198 to any person, be it even the dearest—every person is a prison and also a recess199. Not to cleave to a fatherland, be it even the most suffering and necessitous—it is even less difficult to detach one's heart from a victorious200 fatherland. Not to cleave to a sympathy, be it even for higher men, into whose peculiar torture and helplessness chance has given us an insight. Not to cleave to a science, though it tempt92 one with the most valuable discoveries, apparently201 specially63 reserved for us. Not to cleave to one's own liberation, to the voluptuous202 distance and remoteness of the bird, which always flies further aloft in order always to see more under it—the danger of the flier. Not to cleave to our own virtues, nor become as a whole a victim to any of our specialties203, to our "hospitality" for instance, which is the danger of dangers for highly developed and wealthy souls, who deal prodigally204, almost indifferently with themselves, and push the virtue of liberality so far that it becomes a vice. One must know how TO CONSERVE205 ONESELF—the best test of independence.
42. A new order of philosophers is appearing; I shall venture to baptize them by a name not without danger. As far as I understand them, as far as they allow themselves to be understood—for it is their nature to WISH to remain something of a puzzle—these philosophers of the future might rightly, perhaps also wrongly, claim to be designated as "tempters." This name itself is after all only an attempt, or, if it be preferred, a temptation.
43. Will they be new friends of "truth," these coming philosophers? Very probably, for all philosophers hitherto have loved their truths. But assuredly they will not be dogmatists. It must be contrary to their pride, and also contrary to their taste, that their truth should still be truth for every one—that which has hitherto been the secret wish and ultimate purpose of all dogmatic efforts. "My opinion is MY opinion: another person has not easily a right to it"—such a philosopher of the future will say, perhaps. One must renounce the bad taste of wishing to agree with many people. "Good" is no longer good when one's neighbour takes it into his mouth. And how could there be a "common good"! The expression contradicts itself; that which can be common is always of small value. In the end things must be as they are and have always been—the great things remain for the great, the abysses for the profound, the delicacies206 and thrills for the refined, and, to sum up shortly, everything rare for the rare.
44. Need I say expressly after all this that they will be free, VERY free spirits, these philosophers of the future—as certainly also they will not be merely free spirits, but something more, higher, greater, and fundamentally different, which does not wish to be misunderstood and mistaken? But while I say this, I feel under OBLIGATION almost as much to them as to ourselves (we free spirits who are their heralds207 and forerunners), to sweep away from ourselves altogether a stupid old prejudice and misunderstanding, which, like a fog, has too long made the conception of "free spirit" obscure. In every country of Europe, and the same in America, there is at present something which makes an abuse of this name a very narrow, prepossessed, enchained class of spirits, who desire almost the opposite of what our intentions and instincts prompt—not to mention that in respect to the NEW philosophers who are appearing, they must still more be closed windows and bolted doors. Briefly208 and regrettably, they belong to the LEVELLERS, these wrongly named "free spirits"—as glib-tongued and scribe-fingered slaves of the democratic taste and its "modern ideas" all of them men without solitude, without personal solitude, blunt honest fellows to whom neither courage nor honourable conduct ought to be denied, only, they are not free, and are ludicrously superficial, especially in their innate209 partiality for seeing the cause of almost ALL human misery210 and failure in the old forms in which society has hitherto existed—a notion which happily inverts211 the truth entirely! What they would fain attain137 with all their strength, is the universal, green-meadow happiness of the herd212, together with security, safety, comfort, and alleviation213 of life for every one, their two most frequently chanted songs and doctrines are called "Equality of Rights" and "Sympathy with All Sufferers"—and suffering itself is looked upon by them as something which must be DONE AWAY WITH. We opposite ones, however, who have opened our eye and conscience to the question how and where the plant "man" has hitherto grown most vigorously, believe that this has always taken place under the opposite conditions, that for this end the dangerousness of his situation had to be increased enormously, his inventive faculty214 and dissembling power (his "spirit") had to develop into subtlety215 and daring under long oppression and compulsion, and his Will to Life had to be increased to the unconditioned Will to Power—we believe that severity, violence, slavery, danger in the street and in the heart, secrecy, stoicism, tempter's art and devilry of every kind,—that everything wicked, terrible, tyrannical, predatory, and serpentine216 in man, serves as well for the elevation217 of the human species as its opposite—we do not even say enough when we only say THIS MUCH, and in any case we find ourselves here, both with our speech and our silence, at the OTHER extreme of all modern ideology218 and gregarious219 desirability, as their antipodes perhaps? What wonder that we "free spirits" are not exactly the most communicative spirits? that we do not wish to betray in every respect WHAT a spirit can free itself from, and WHERE perhaps it will then be driven? And as to the import of the dangerous formula, "Beyond Good and Evil," with which we at least avoid confusion, we ARE something else than "libres-penseurs," "liben pensatori" "free-thinkers," and whatever these honest advocates of "modern ideas" like to call themselves. Having been at home, or at least guests, in many realms of the spirit, having escaped again and again from the gloomy, agreeable nooks in which preferences and prejudices, youth, origin, the accident of men and books, or even the weariness of travel seemed to confine us, full of malice220 against the seductions of dependency which he concealed221 in honours, money, positions, or exaltation of the senses, grateful even for distress and the vicissitudes222 of illness, because they always free us from some rule, and its "prejudice," grateful to the God, devil, sheep, and worm in us, inquisitive223 to a fault, investigators224 to the point of cruelty, with unhesitating fingers for the intangible, with teeth and stomachs for the most indigestible, ready for any business that requires sagacity and acute senses, ready for every adventure, owing to an excess of "free will", with anterior225 and posterior souls, into the ultimate intentions of which it is difficult to pry226, with foregrounds and backgrounds to the end of which no foot may run, hidden ones under the mantles227 of light, appropriators, although we resemble heirs and spendthrifts, arrangers and collectors from morning till night, misers228 of our wealth and our full-crammed drawers, economical in learning and forgetting, inventive in scheming, sometimes proud of tables of categories, sometimes pedants229, sometimes night-owls of work even in full day, yea, if necessary, even scarecrows—and it is necessary nowadays, that is to say, inasmuch as we are the born, sworn, jealous friends of SOLITUDE, of our own profoundest midnight and midday solitude—such kind of men are we, we free spirits! And perhaps ye are also something of the same kind, ye coming ones? ye NEW philosophers?
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1
beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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pranks
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| n.玩笑，恶作剧( prank的名词复数 ) | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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solidified
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| （使）成为固体，（使）变硬，（使）变得坚固( solidify的过去式和过去分词 )； 使团结一致； 充实，巩固； 具体化 | |
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posit
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| v.假定，认为 | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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refinements
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| n.（生活）风雅；精炼( refinement的名词复数 )；改良品；细微的改良；优雅或高贵的动作 | |
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incarnated
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| v.赋予（思想、精神等）以人的形体( incarnate的过去式和过去分词 )；使人格化；体现；使具体化 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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13
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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incompetent
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| adj.无能力的，不能胜任的 | |
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knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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18
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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truthfulness
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| n. 符合实际 | |
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doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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trumping
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| v.（牌戏）出王牌赢（一牌或一墩）( trump的现在分词 )；吹号公告，吹号庆祝；吹喇叭；捏造 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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ruses
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| n.诡计，计策( ruse的名词复数 ) | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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29
whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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30
crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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pariahs
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| n.被社会遗弃者( pariah的名词复数 )；贱民 | |
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compulsory
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| n.强制的，必修的；规定的，义务的 | |
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recluses
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| n.隐居者，遁世者，隐士( recluse的名词复数 ) | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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agitator
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| n.鼓动者；搅拌器 | |
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38
lurks
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| n.潜在，潜伏；（lurk的复数形式）vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的第三人称单数形式） | |
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39
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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41
deterioration
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| n.退化；恶化；变坏 | |
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42
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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43
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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44
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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45
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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46
citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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47
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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48
glisten
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| vi.（光洁或湿润表面等）闪闪发光，闪闪发亮 | |
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49
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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50
satiety
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| n.饱和；(市场的)充分供应 | |
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51
solitariness
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| n.隐居；单独 | |
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52
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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53
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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54
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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55
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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56
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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57
auxiliaries
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| n.助动词 ( auxiliary的名词复数 )；辅助工，辅助人员 | |
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58
ticklishness
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| n.怕痒，小心处理 | |
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59
ticklish
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| adj.怕痒的；问题棘手的；adv.怕痒地；n.怕痒，小心处理 | |
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60
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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61
filthiest
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| filthy（肮脏的，污秽的）的最高级形式 | |
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62
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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63
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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64
physiologists
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| n.生理学者( physiologist的名词复数 )；生理学( physiology的名词复数 )；生理机能 | |
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65
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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66
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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67
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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68
diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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69
presto
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| adv.急速地；n.急板乐段；adj.急板的 | |
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70
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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71
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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72
tempo
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| n.(音乐的)速度；节奏，行进速度 | |
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73
physiologically
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| ad.生理上，在生理学上 | |
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74
obviates
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| v.避免，消除（贫困、不方便等）( obviate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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75
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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76
nuance
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| n.(意义、意见、颜色)细微差别 | |
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77
buffoon
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| n.演出时的丑角 | |
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78
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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79
viscous
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| adj.粘滞的，粘性的 | |
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80
pompously
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| adv.傲慢地，盛大壮观地；大模大样 | |
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81
profuse
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| adj.很多的，大量的，极其丰富的 | |
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82
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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83
versed
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| adj. 精通，熟练 | |
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84
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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85
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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86
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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87
emancipating
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| v.解放某人（尤指摆脱政治、法律或社会的束缚）( emancipate的现在分词 ) | |
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88
profundity
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| n.渊博；深奥，深刻 | |
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89
meditate
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| v.想，考虑，（尤指宗教上的）沉思，冥想 | |
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90
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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91
repudiate
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| v.拒绝，拒付，拒绝履行 | |
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92
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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93
labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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94
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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95
piecemeal
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| adj.零碎的；n.片，块；adv.逐渐地；v.弄成碎块 | |
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96
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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97
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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98
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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99
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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100
tragically
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| adv. 悲剧地，悲惨地 | |
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101
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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102
seduce
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| vt.勾引，诱奸，诱惑，引诱 | |
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103
constrain
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| vt.限制，约束；克制，抑制 | |
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104
nourishment
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| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
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105
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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106
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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107
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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108
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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109
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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110
degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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111
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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112
inverse
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| adj.相反的，倒转的，反转的；n.相反之物；v.倒转 | |
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113
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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114
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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115
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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116
stink
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| vi.发出恶臭；糟透，招人厌恶；n.恶臭 | |
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117
venerate
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| v.尊敬，崇敬，崇拜 | |
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118
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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119
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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120
unconditional
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| adj.无条件的，无限制的，绝对的 | |
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121
reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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122
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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123
deceptive
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| adj.骗人的，造成假象的，靠不住的 | |
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124
disillusions
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| 使不再抱幻想，使理想破灭( disillusion的第三人称单数 ) | |
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125
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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126
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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127
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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128
upbraids
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| v.责备，申斥，谴责( upbraid的第三人称单数 ) | |
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129
espouses
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| v.（决定）支持，拥护（目标、主张等）( espouse的第三人称单数 ) | |
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130
prehistoric
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| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
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131
redounds
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| v.有助益( redound的第三人称单数 )；及于；报偿；报应 | |
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132
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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133
supremacy
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| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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134
inversion
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| n.反向，倒转，倒置 | |
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135
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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136
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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137
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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138
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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139
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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140
intentional
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| adj.故意的，有意（识）的 | |
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141
conceals
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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142
interpretations
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| n.解释( interpretation的名词复数 )；表演；演绎；理解 | |
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143
surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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144
surmounting
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| 战胜( surmount的现在分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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145
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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146
aesthetics
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| n.(尤指艺术方面之)美学，审美学 | |
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147
disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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148
insidiously
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| 潜在地，隐伏地，阴险地 | |
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149
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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150
allure
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| n.诱惑力，魅力；vt.诱惑，引诱，吸引 | |
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151
surmises
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的第三人称单数 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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152
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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153
scurvy
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| adj.下流的，卑鄙的，无礼的；n.坏血病 | |
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154
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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155
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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156
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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157
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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158
nays
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| n.反对票，投反对票者( nay的名词复数 ) | |
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159
squinting
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| 斜视( squint的现在分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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160
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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161
pokes
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| v.伸出( poke的第三人称单数 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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162
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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163
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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164
semblances
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| n.外表，外观（semblance的复数形式） | |
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165
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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166
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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167
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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168
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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169
renounce
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| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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170
idiocy
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| n.愚蠢 | |
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171
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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172
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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173
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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174
unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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175
secretion
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| n.分泌 | |
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176
synthetically
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| adv. 综合地，合成地 | |
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177
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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178
mathematicians
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| 数学家( mathematician的名词复数 ) | |
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179
ramification
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| n.分枝，分派，衍生物 | |
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180
intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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181
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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182
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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183
posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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184
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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185
promiscuously
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| adv.杂乱地，混杂地 | |
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186
succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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187
attenuated
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| v.（使）变细( attenuate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）变薄；（使）变小；减弱 | |
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188
favourably
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| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
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189
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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190
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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191
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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192
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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193
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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194
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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195
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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196
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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197
evasion
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| n.逃避，偷漏(税) | |
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198
cleave
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| v．(clave；cleaved)粘着，粘住；坚持；依恋 | |
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199
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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200
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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201
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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202
voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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203
specialties
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| n.专门，特性，特别；专业( specialty的名词复数 )；特性；特制品；盖印的契约 | |
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204
prodigally
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| adv.浪费地，丰饶地 | |
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205
conserve
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| vt.保存，保护，节约，节省，守恒，不灭 | |
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206
delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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207
heralds
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| n.使者( herald的名词复数 )；预报者；预兆；传令官v.预示( herald的第三人称单数 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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208
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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209
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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210
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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211
inverts
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| v.使倒置，使反转( invert的第三人称单数 ) | |
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212
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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213
alleviation
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| n. 减轻，缓和，解痛物 | |
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214
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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215
subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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216
serpentine
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| adj.蜿蜒的，弯曲的 | |
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217
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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218
ideology
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| n.意识形态，(政治或社会的)思想意识 | |
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219
gregarious
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| adj.群居的，喜好群居的 | |
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220
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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221
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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222
vicissitudes
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| n.变迁，世事变化；变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 )；盛衰兴废 | |
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223
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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224
investigators
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| n.调查者，审查者( investigator的名词复数 ) | |
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225
anterior
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| adj.较早的；在前的 | |
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226
pry
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| vi.窥(刺)探，打听；vt.撬动(开，起) | |
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227
mantles
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| vt.&vi.覆盖（mantle的第三人称单数形式） | |
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228
misers
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| 守财奴，吝啬鬼( miser的名词复数 ) | |
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229
pedants
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| n.卖弄学问的人，学究，书呆子( pedant的名词复数 ) | |
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