09 - What is Noble? - Beyond Good and Evil - Friedrich Nietzsche

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter nine, What is Noble Paragraph two hundred fifty seven.
Every elevation of the type man has hitherto been the
work of an aristocratic society, and so it will always
be a society believing in a long scale of gradations
of rank and differences of worth among human beings, and

(00:23):
requiring slavery in some form or other, without the pathos
of distance, such as grows out of the incarnated differences
of classes, out of the constant outlooking and down looking
of the ruling caste on subordinates and instruments, and out
of their equally constant practice of obeying and commanding, of

(00:43):
keeping down and keeping at a distance that other more
mysterious pathos could never have arisen, the longing for an
ever new widening of distance within the soul itself, the
formation of ever higher rarer further more extended, more comprehensive states.
In short, just the elevation of the type man, the

(01:04):
continued self surmounting of man. To use a moral formula
in a supermoral sense, to be sure, one must not
resign oneself to any humanitarian illusions about the history of
the origin of an aristocratic society, that is to say,
of the preliminary condition for the elevation of the type man.

(01:25):
The truth is hard. Let us acknowledge, unprejudicedly, how every
higher civilization hitherto has originated men with a still natural nature,
barbarians in every terrible sense of the word, men of prey,
still in possession of unbroken strength of will and desire
for power, threw themselves upon weaker, more moral, more peaceful races,

(01:49):
perhaps trading or cattle rearing communities, or upon old, mellow
civilizations in which the final vital force was flickering out
in brilliant fireworks of wit and gravity. At the commencement.
The noble caste was always the barbarian cast Their superiority
did not consist, first of all, in their physical but
in their psychical power. They were more complete men, which

(02:13):
at every point also implies the same as more complete beasts. Corruption,
as the indication that anarchy threatens to break out among
the instincts, and that the foundation of the emotions called
life is convulsed, is something radically different according to the
organization in which it manifests itself. When, for instance, an

(02:34):
aristocracy like that of France at the beginning of the
Revolution flung away its privileges with sublime disgust, and sacrificed
itself to an excess of its moral sentiments. It was corruption.
It was really only the closing act of the corruption
that had existed for centuries, by virtue of which that
aristocracy had abdicated, step by step its lordly prerogatives, and

(02:57):
lowered itself to a function of royalty, in the end,
even to its decoration and parade dress. The essential thing, however,
in a good and healthy aristocracy, is that it should
not regard itself as a function either of the kingship
or the commonwealth, but as the significance and highest justification
thereof That it should therefore accept with a good conscience

(03:20):
the sacrifice of a legion of individuals, who, for its
sake must be suppressed and reduced to imperfect men, to
slaves and instruments. Its fundamental belief must be precisely that
society is not allowed to exist for its own sake,
but only as a foundation and scaffolding, by means of
which a select class of beings may be able to

(03:43):
elevate themselves to their higher duties, and in general, to
a higher existence. Like those sun seeking climbing plants, in Java,
they are called sipomatador, which encircle an oak so long
and so often with their arms, until at last high
above it, but so ported by it, they can unfold
their tops in the open light and exhibit their happiness

(04:07):
to refrain mutually from injury, from violence, from exploitation, and
put one's will on a par with that of others.
This may result in a certain rough sense in good
conduct among individuals, when the necessary conditions are given, namely
the actual similarity of the individuals in amount of force
and degree of worth, and their correlation within one organization.

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As soon, however, as one wished to take this principle
more generally, and if possible, even as the fundamental principle
of society, it would immediately disclose what it really is, namely,
of will to the denial of life, a principle of
dissolution and decay. Here one must think profoundly to the

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very basis and resist all sentimental weakness. Life itself is
essentially appropriation, injury, conquest of the strange and weak, suppression, severity,
obtrusion of peculiar forms, incorporation, and at the very least
putting it mildest exploitation. But why should one forever use

(05:14):
precisely these words on which for ages a disparaging purpose
has been stamped. Even the organization within which, as was
previously supposed, the individuals treat each other as equal it
takes place in every healthy aristocracy, must itself, if it
be a living and not a dying organization, do all
that towards other bodies that the individuals within it refrain

(05:37):
from doing to each other. It will have to be
the incarnated will to power. It will endeavor to grow,
to gain ground, attract to itself, and acquire ascendency, not
owing to any morality or immorality, but because it lives,
and because life is precisely will to power. On no point, however,

(05:58):
is the ordinary consciousness of Europeans more unwilling to be
corrected than on this matter. People now rave everywhere, even
under the guise of science, about coming conditions of society
in which the exploiting character is to be absent. That
sounds to my ears as if they promised to invent
a mode of life that should refrain from all organic functions.

(06:20):
Exploitation does not belong to a depraved or imperfect and
primitive society. It belongs to the nature of the living
being as a primary organic function. It is a consequence
of the intrinsic will to power, which is precisely the
will to life. Granting that as a theory this is
a novelty, as a reality, it is the fundamental fact

(06:41):
of all history. Let us be so far honest towards ourselves.
In a tour through the many finer and coarser moralities,
that if hitherto prevailed or still prevail on the earth,
I found certain traits recurring regularly together and connected with
one another, until finally two primary type apes revealed themselves
to me, and a radical distinction was brought to light.

(07:05):
There is master morality and slave morality. I would at
once add, however, that in all higher and mixed civilizations
there are also attempts at the reconciliation of the two moralities.
But one finds still oftener the confusion and mutual misunderstanding
of them, indeed sometimes their close juxtaposition, even in the

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same man within one soul. The distinctions of moral values
have either originated in a ruling cast pleasantly conscious of
being different from the rule, or among the ruled class
the slaves and dependents of all sorts. In the first case,
when it is the rulers who determine the conception good,
it is the exalted, proud disposition that is regarded as

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the distinguishing feature, and that that determines the order of rank.
The noble type of man separates from himself the beings
in whom the opposite of this exalted, proud disposition displays itself,
he despises them. Let it at once be noted that
in this first kind of morality, the antithesis good and

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bad means practically the same as noble and despicable. The
antithesis good and evil is of a different origin. The cowardly,
the timid, the insignificant, and those thinking merely of narrow
utility are despised. Moreover, also the distrustful, with their constrained glances,
the self abasing, the doglike kind of men who let

(08:30):
themselves be abused, the mendicant flatterers, and above all the liars.
It is a fundamental belief of all aristocrats that the
common people are untruthful. We truthful ones the nobility in
ancient Greece called themselves. It is obvious that everywhere the
designations of moral value were at first applied to men,

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and were only derivatively and at a later period applied
to actions. It is a gross mistake therefore, when historians
of morals start with questions like why have sympathetic actions
been praised? The noble type of man regards himself as
a determiner of values. He does not require to be
approved of. He passes the judgment what is injurious to

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me is injurious in itself. He knows that it is
he himself only who confers honor on things. He is
a creator of values. He honors whatever he recognizes in himself.
Such morality equals self glorification. In the foreground, there is
the feeling of plenitude, of power which seeks to overflow,

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the happiness of high tension, the consciousness of a wealth
that would fain give and bestow. The noble man also
helps the unfortunate, but not or scarcely out of pity,
but rather from an impulse generated by the superabundance of power.
The noble man honors in himself the powerful one him also,
who has power over himself, who knows how to speak

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and how to keep silence, who takes pleasure in subjecting
himself to severity and hardness, and has reverence for all
that is severe and hard. Woton placed a hard heart
in my breasts, ays an old Scandinavian saga. It is
thus rightly expressed from the soul of a proud Viking.
Such a type of man is even proud of not

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being made for sympathy. The hero of the saga therefore
adds warningly, he who has not a hard heart when young,
will never have one. The noble and brave who think
thus are the furthest removed from the morality that sees
precisely in sympathy or enacting for the good of others,
or in desent terrassment, the characteristic of the moral faith

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in oneself, pride in oneself, a radical enmity and irony
towards selflessness belong as definitely to noble morality as do
a careless scorn and precaution. In presence of sympathy and
the warm heart. It is the powerful who know how
to honor. It is their art, their domain for invention,

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the profound reverence for age and for tradition. All law
rests on this double reverence. The belief and prejudice in
favor of ancestors and unfavorable to newcomers is typical in
the morality of the powerful, and if reversely, men of
modern ideas believe almost instinctively in progress and the future,

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and are more and more lacking in respect for old age.
The ignoble origin of these ideas has complacently betrayed itself thereby.
A morality of the ruling class, however, is more specifically
foreign and irritating to present day taste, in the sternness
of its principle that one has duties only to one's equals,
that one may act towards beings of a lower rank,

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towards all that is foreign, just as seems good to one,
or as the heart desires, and in any case beyond
good and evil. It is here that sympathy and similar
sentiments have a place, the ability and obligation to exercise
prolonged gratitude and prolonged revenge, both only within the circle

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of equals, artfulness and retaliation. Alfinmont the idea in friendship
a certain necessity to have enemies as outlets for the
emotions of envy, quarrelsomeness, arrogance. In fact, in order to
be a good friend. All these are typical characteristics of
the noble morality, which, as has been pointed out, is
not the morality of modern ideas, and is therefore at

(12:31):
present difficult to realize and also to on earth and disclose.
It is otherwise with the second type of morality, slave morality.
Supposing that the abused, the oppressed, the suffering, the unemancipated,
the weary, and those uncertain of themselves should moralize, what

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will be the common element in their moral estimates, probably
a pessimistic suspicion with regard to the entire situation man
will find expression, perhaps a condemnation of man together with
his situation. The slave has an unfavorable eye for the
virtues of the powerful. He has a skepticism and distrust,
a refinement of distrust of everything good that is there honored.

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He would fain persuade himself that the very happiness there
is not genuine. On the other hand, those qualities that
serve to alleviate the existence of sufferers are brought into
prominence and flooded with light. It is here that sympathy,
the kind helping hand, the warm heart, patience, diligence, humility,

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and friendliness attained to honor. For here these the most
useful qualities and almost the only means of supporting the
burden of existence. Slave morality is essentially the morality of utility.
Here is the seat of the origin of the famous
antithesis good and evil. Power and dangerousness are assumed to

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reside in the evil a certain dreadfulness, subtlety, and strength,
which do not admit of being despised according to slave morality. Therefore,
the evil man arouses fear. According to master morality, it
is precisely the good man who arouses fear and seeks
to arouse it, while the bad man is regarded as

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the despicable being. The contrast attains its maximum when in
accordance with the logical consequences of slave morality. A shade
of depreciation, it may be slight and well intentioned at last,
attaches itself to the good man of this morality, because
according to the servile mode of thought, the good man

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must in any case be the safe man. He is
good natured, easily deceived, perhaps a little stupid. Ampunon everywhere
that slave morality gains the ascendency. Language shows a tendency
to approximate the significations of the word good and stupid.
A last fundamental difference. The desire for freeom, the instinct

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for happiness, and the refinements of the feeling of liberty
belong as necessarily to slave morals and morality as artifice
and enthusiasm in reverence and devotion are the regular symptoms
of an aristocratic mode of thinking and estimating. Hence we
can understand without further detail why love, as a passion
it is our European specialty, must absolutely be a noble origin.

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As is well known, its invention is due to the
provence are poet cavaliers, those brilliant, ingenious men of the
gay sabert to whom Europe owes so much and almost
owes itself. Vanity is one of the things that are
perhaps most difficult for a noble man to understand. He
will be tempted to deny it where another kind of

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man thinks he sees itself. Evidently, the problem for him
is to represent to his mind beings who seek to
arouse a good opinion of themselves that they themselves do
not possess, and consequence also do not deserve, and who
yet believe in this good opinion afterwards. This seems to him,
on the one hand, such bad taste and so self disrespectful,

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and on the other hand, so grotesquely unreasonable, that he
would like to consider vanity and exception, and is doubtful
about it. In most cases, when it is spoken of,
he will say, for instance, I may be mistaken about
my value, and on the other hand may nevertheless demand
that my value should be acknowledged by others precisely as
I rate it. That, however, is not vanity, but self

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conceit or in most cases that which is called humility,
and also modesty. Or he will even say, for many reasons,
I can delight in the good opinion of others, perhaps
because I love and honor them and rejoice in all
their joys. Perhaps also because their good opinion endorses and
strengthens my belief in my own good opinion. Perhaps because

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the good opinion of others, even in cases where I
do not share it, is useful to me or gives
promise of you ufulness. All this, however, is not vanity.
The man of noble character must first bring it home
forcibly to his mind, especially with the aid of history,
that from time immemorial, in all social strata in any
way dependent. The ordinary man was only that that he

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passed for. Not being at all accustomed to fix values,
he did not assign even to himself, any other value
than that that his master assigned to him. It is
the peculiar right of masters to create values. It may
be looked upon as an extraordinary activism that the ordinary man,
even at present, is still always waiting for an opinion

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about himself, and then instinctively submitting himself to it. Yet
by no means only to a good opinion, but also
to a bad and unjust one. Think for instance, of
the greater part of the self appreciations and self depreciations
that believing women learn from their confessors, and which in
general the believing Christian learns from his church. In fact,

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conformably to the slow rise of the democratic social order
and its cause the blending of the blood of masters
and slaves, the original noble and rare impulse of the
masters to assign a value to themselves and to think
well of themselves, will now be more and more encouraged
and extended. But it has at all times an older, ampler,

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and more radically ingrained propensity opposed to it, and in
the phenomenon of vanity, this older propensity overmasters the younger.
The vain person rejoices over every good opinion that he
hears about himself, quite apart from the point of view
of its usefulness, and equally regardless of its truth or falsehood,

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just as he suffers from every bad opinion, for he
subjects himself to both. He feels himself subjected to both
by the oldest instinct of subjection that breaks forth in him.
It is the slave in the vain man's blood, the
remains of the slave's craftiness, and how much of the
slave is still left in woman, for instance, which seeks

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to seduce the good opinions of itself. It is the
slave too, who immediately afterwards falls prostrate himself before these opinions,
as though he had not called them forth, and to
repeat it again. Vanity is an atavism. A species originates
and a type becomes established and strong in the long

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struggle with essentially constant unfavorable conditions. On the other hand,
it is known by the experience of breeders that species
that receive superabundant nourishment and in general a surplus of
protection and care immediately tend in the most marked way
to develop variations, and are fertile in prodigies and monstrosities,

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also in monstrous vices. Now look at an aristocratic commonwealth,
say in ancient Greek polus or venice, as a voluntary
or involuntary contrivance for the purpose of rearing human beings.
There are there men, beside one another, thrown upon their
own resources, who want to make their species prevail, chiefly

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because they must prevail or else run the terrible danger
of being exterminated. The favor, the superabundance, the protection are
their lacking, under which variations are fostered. The species needs
itself as species, as something that precisely by virtue of
its hardness, its uniformity, and simplicity of structure, can in

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general prevail and make itself permanent in constant struggle with
its neighbors or with rebellious or rebellion threatening vassals. The
most varied experience teaches it what are the qualities to
which it principally owes the fact that it still exists
in spite of all gods and men, and has hitherto
been victorious. These qualities it calls virtues, and these virtues

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alone it develops to maturity, it does so with severity. Indeed,
it desires severity. Every aristocratic morality is intolerant in the
education of youth, in the control of women, in the
marriage customs, in the relations of old and young, in
the penal laws, which have an eye only for the degenerating.
It counts intolerance itself among the virtues under the name

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of justice. A type with few but very marked features,
a species of severe warlike wisely silent, reserved, and reticent men,
and as such with the most delicate sensibility for the
charm and nuances of society, is thus established, unaffected by
the vicissitudes of generations. The constant struggle with uniform unfavorable

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conditions is, as already remarked, the cause of a type's
becoming stable and hard. Finally, however, a happy state of
things results. The enormous tension is relaxed. There are perhaps
no more enemies among the neighboring peoples, and the means
of life, even of the enjoyment of life, are present
in superabundance. With one stroke, the bond and constraint of

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the old discipline severs. It is no longer regarded as
necessary as a condition of existence. If it would continue,
it can only do so as a form of luxury.
As an archaism. Taste variations, whether they be deviations into
the higher, finer and rarer, or deteriorations and monstrosities, appear

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suddenly on the scene in the greatest exuberance and splendor.
The individual dares to be individual and detach himself. At
this turning point of history, there manifest themselves, side by
side and often mixed and entangled together, a magnificent manifold,
virgin forest like upgrowth and upstriving, a kind of tropical

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tempo in the rivalry of growth, and an extraordinary decay
and self destruction owing to the savagely opposing and seemingly
exploding egoisms, which strive with one another for sun and light,
and can no longer assign any limit, restraint or forbearance
for themselves by means of the hitherto existing morality. It
is this morality itself that piled up the strength so

(23:06):
enormously which bent the bow, and so threatening a manner.
It is now out of date. It is getting out
of date. The dangerous and disquieting point has been reached
when the greater, more manifold, more comprehensive life is lived
beyond the old morality. The individual stands out and is
obliged to have recourse to his own law, giving his

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own arts and artifices for self preservation, self elevation, and
self deliverance. Nothing but new, wise, nothing but new, hows,
no common formulas any longer, misunderstanding and disregard in league
with each other, Decay, deterioration, and the loftiest desires frightfully
entangled the genius of the race overflowing from all the

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cornucopias of good and bad, a portentous simultaneousness of spring
and autumn, full of new charms and mysteries, peculiar to
the fresh, still exhausted, still unwearied. Corruption danger is again present,
the mother of morality, great danger, this time shifted into
the individual, into the neighbor and friend, into the street,

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into their own child, into their own heart, into all
the most personal and secret recesses of their desires and volitions.
What will the moral philosophers who appear at this time
have to preach? They discover, these sharp onlookers and loafers,
that the end is quickly approaching, that everything around them
decays and produces decay that nothing will endure until the

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day after tomorrow except one species of man, the incurably mediocre.
The mediocre alone have a prospect of continuing and propagating themselves.
They will be the men of the future. The sole
survivors be like them become mediocre. Is now the only
morality that has still a significance, which still obtains a hearing.

(25:00):
But it is difficult to preach this morality of mediocrity.
It can never avow what it is and what it desires.
It has to talk of moderation and dignity, and duty
and brotherly love. It will have difficulty in concealing its irony.
There is an instinct for rank, which, more than anything else,

(25:20):
is already the sign of a high rank. There is
a delight in the nuances of reverence that leads one
to infer noble origin and habits. The refinement, goodness, and
loftiness of a soul are put to a perilous test
when something passes by that is of the highest rank,
but is not yet protected by the awe of the

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authority from obtrusive touches and incivilities. Something that goes its
way like a living touchstone, undistinguished, undiscovered and tentative, perhaps
voluntarily veiled and disguised. He whose task and practice is
to investigate souls will avail himself of many varieties of
this very are to determine the ultimate value of a soul,

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the unalterable, innate order of rank to which it belongs.
He will test it by its instinct for reverence, differences
and gender. N that's French hate. There the vulgarity of
many a nature spurts up suddenly like dirty water when
any holy vessel, any jewel from closed shrines, any book

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bearing the marks of great destiny, is brought before it,
while on the other hand, there is an involuntary silence,
a hesitation of the eye, a cessation of all gestures,
by which it is indicated that a soul feels the
nearness of what is worthiest of respect. The way in
which on the whole the reverence for the Bible has
hitherto been maintained in Europe is perhaps the best example

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of discipline and refinement of manners that Europe owes to Christianity.
Books of such profoundness and supreme significance require for their
protection and external tear yuranny of authority in order to
acquire the period of thousands of years that is necessary
to exhaust and unriddle them. Much has been achieved when
the sentiment has been at last instilled into the masses,

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the shallow pates, and the boobies of every kind, that
they are not allowed to touch everything, that there are
holy experiences before which they must take off their shoes
and keep away the unclean hand. It is almost their
highest advance towards humanity. On the contrary, and the so
called cultured classes, the believers in modern ideas, nothing is

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perhaps so repulsive as their lack of shame, their easy
insolence of eye and hand with which they touch, taste,
and finger everything. And it is possible that even yet
there is more relative nobility of taste, and more tact
for reverence among the people, among the lower classes of
the people, especially among peasants, than among the newspaper reading

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de memundees of intellect the cultured class. It cannot be
effaced from a man's soul what his ancestors have preferably
and most constantly done, Whether they were perhaps diligent economizers
attached to a desk and a cash box, modest and
citizen like in their desires, modest also in their virtues,
or whether they were accustomed to commanding from morning till night,

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fond of rude pleasures and probably of still ruder duties
and responsibilities, or whether finally, at one time or another,
they have sacrificed old privileges of birth and possession in
order to live wholly for their faith for their God.
As men of an inexorable and sensitive conscience, which blushes
at every compromise, it is quite possible for a man

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not to have the qualities and predilections of his parents
and ancestors in his constitution, whatever appearances may suggest to
the contrary. This is the problem of race. Granted that
one knows something of the parents, it is admissible to
draw a conclusion about the child any kind of offensive incontinence,
any kind of sordid envy, or of clumsy self vaunting,

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three things that together have constituted the genuine plebeian type.
In all times. Such must pass over to the child
as surely as bad blood. And with the help of
the best education and culture, one will only succeed in deceiving.
With regard to such eretity. And what else do education
and culture try to do nowadays in our very democratic,

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or rather very Plebeian age, education and culture must be
essentially the art of deceiving, deceiving with regard to origin,
with regard to the inherited Plebeianism in body and soul.
An educator who nowadays preaches truthfulness above everything else, and
called out constantly to his pupils, be true, be natural,

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show yourselves as you are. Even such a virtuous and
sincere ass would learn in a short time to have
recourse to the furka of Horace, not rum experre with
what results Plebeianism usque recurret footnote Horace's Epistles one ten

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twenty four. At the risk of displeasing innocent ears, I
submit that egoism belongs to the essence of a noble soul.
I mean the unalterable belief that to a being such
as we, other beings must naturally be in subjection and
have to sacrifice themselves. The noble soul accepts the fact

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of his egoism without question, and also without consciousness of harshness, constraint,
or arbitrariness therein, but rather is something that may have
its basis in the primary law of things. If he
sought a designation for it, he would say it is
justice itself. He acknowledges under certain circumstances which made him

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hesitate at first, that there are other equally privileged ones.
As soon as he has settled this question of rank,
he moves among those equals and equally privileged ones with
the same assurance as regards modesty and delicate respect that
he enjoys in intercourse with himself, in accordance with an innate,
heavenly mechanism, that all the stars understand. It is an

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additional instance of his egoism. This artfulness and self limitation
in intercourse with his equals. Every star is a similar egoist.
He honors himself in them, and in the rite that
he concedes to them. He has no doubt that the
exchange of honors and rights, as the essence of all intercourse,
belongs also to the natural condition of things. The noble

(31:30):
soul gives as he takes, prompted by the passionate and
sensitive instinct of recquittal, which is at the root of
his nature. The notion of favor has interparis neither significance
nor good repute. There may be a sublime way of
letting gifts, as it were, light upon one from above,
and of drinking them thirstily like dew drops. But for

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those arts and displays, the noble soul has no aptitude.
His egoism hinders him here. In general, he looks aloft unwillingly.
He looks either forward, horizontally and deliberately, or downwards. He
knows that he is on a height. One can only
truly esteem him who does not look out for himself.

(32:13):
Gooda to hart Schlosso. The Chinese have a proverb that
mothers even teach their children Shao shin, make thy heart small.
This is the essentially fundamental tendency in latter day civilizations.
I have no doubt that an ancient Greek also would
first of all remark the self dwarfing in us Europeans

(32:34):
of to day in this respect alone, should we immediately
be distasteful to him? What, after all, is nobleness. Words
are vocal symbols for ideas. Ideas, however, are more or
less definite mental symbols for frequently returning and concurring sensations.
For groups of sensations, it is not sufficient to use

(32:56):
the same words in order to understand one another. We
must also so employ the same words for the same
kind of internal experiences. We must, in the end, have
experiences in common. On this account, the people of one
nation understand one another better than those belonging to different nations,
even when they use the same language, or rather when

(33:18):
people have lived long together under similar conditions of climate, soil, danger,
requirement toil. There originates therefrom an entity that understands itself,
namely a nation. In all souls, a like number of
frequently recurring experiences have gained the upper hand over those

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occurring more rarely. About these matters, people understand one another rapidly,
and always more rapidly. The history of language is the
history of a process of abbreviation. On the basis of
this quick comprehension, people always unite closer and closer the
greater the danger. The greater is the need of agreeing
quickly and readily about what is necessary not to misunderstand

(34:02):
one another in danger, that is, what cannot at all
be dispensed with in intercourse. Also, in all loves and friendships,
one has the experience that nothing of the kind continues
when the discovery has been made that in using the
same words. One of the two parties has feelings, thoughts, intuitions,
wishes or fears different from those of the other. The

(34:25):
fear of the eternal misunderstanding, that is, the good genius
that so often keeps persons of different sexes from too
hasty attachments to which sense and heart prompt them, and
not some SCHOPENHAUERI and genius of the species. Whichever groups
of sensations within a soul awaken most readily begin to
speak and give the word of command. These decide as

(34:47):
to the general order of rank of its values, and
determine ultimately its list of desirable things. A man's estimates
of value betray something of the structure of his soul,
and wherein its seas ease its conditions of life, its
intrinsic needs. Supposing now that necessity has from all time
drawn together only such men as could express similar requirements

(35:10):
and similar experiences by similar symbols, it results on the
whole that the easy communicability of need, which implies ultimately
the undergoing only of average and common experiences, must have
been the most potent of all the forces that have
hitherto operated upon mankind. The more similar, the more ordinary

(35:30):
people have always had and are still having the advantage.
The more select, more refined, more unique, and difficultly comprehensible
are liable to stand alone. They succumb to accidents in
their isolation, and seldom propagate themselves. One must appeal to
immense opposing forces in order to thwart this natural, all
too natural progressusincimilee, the evolution of man to the similar,

(35:56):
the ordinary, the average, the gregarious, to the ignoble. The
intellectual haughtiness and loathing of every man who has suffered deeply.
It almost determines the order of rank how deeply men
can suffer. The chilling certainty with which he is thoroughly
imbued and colored, that by virtue of his suffering he

(36:16):
knows more than the shrewdest and wisest can ever know.
That he has been familiar with and at home in
many distant, dreadful worlds of which you know nothing. This
silent intellectual haughtiness of the sufferer, this pride of the
elective knowledge, of the initiated, of the almost sacrificed, finds
all forms of disguise necessary to protect itself from contact

(36:40):
with officious and sympathizing hands, and in general from all
that is not its equal. In suffering. Profound suffering makes noble,
it separates. One of the most refined forms of disguise
is epicurism, along with a certain ostentatious boldness of taste,
which takes suffering lightly and puts itself on the defensive

(37:01):
against all that is sorrowful and profound. They are gay
men who make use of gayety because they are misunderstood.
On account of it, they wish to be misunderstood. There
are scientific minds who make use of science because it
gives a gay appearance, and because scientificness leads to the
conclusion that a person is superficial, they wish to mislead

(37:23):
to a false conclusion. There are free, insolent minds which
would fain, conceal, and deny that they are broken, proud,
incurable hearts, the cynicism of Hamlet, the case of Galiani,
and occasionally folly itself as the mask of an unfortunate,
over assured knowledge, from which it follows that it is
the part of a more refined humanity to have reverence

(37:46):
for the mask, and not to make use of psychology
and curiosity in the wrong place. That which separates two
men most profoundly is a different sense and grade of purity.
What does it matter about all their honesty and reciprocal usefulness,
What does it matter about all their mutual good will?
The fact still remains they cannot smell each other. The

(38:10):
highest instinct for purity places him who is affected with
it in the most extraordinary and dangerous isolation as a saint,
For it is just holiness, the highest spiritualization of the instinct.
In question any kind of cognizance of an indescribable excess
in the joy of the bath, any kind of ardor
or thirst which perpetually impels the soul out of night

(38:33):
into the morning, and out of gloom, out of affliction,
into clearness, brightness, depth, and refinement. Just as much as
such a tendency distinguishes, it is a notable tendency, it
also separates. The pity of the saint is pity for
the filth of the human all too human. And there
are grades and heights where pity itself is regarded by

(38:54):
him as impurity, as filth signs of nobility. Never to
think of lowering our duties to the rank of duties.
For everybody to be unwilling to renounce, or to share
our responsibilities, to count our prerogatives and the exercise of
them among our duties. A man who strives after great

(39:15):
things looks upon every one whom he encounters on his way,
either as a means of advance or a delay and hindrance,
or a temporary resting place, or as a temporary resting place.
His peculiar, lofty bounty to his fellow men is only
possible when he attains his elevation and dominates impatience and
the consciousness of being always condemned to comedy up to

(39:37):
that time, For even strife is a comedy and conceals
the end, as every means does spoil all intercourse with him.
This kind of man is acquainted with solitude, and what
is most poisonous in it the problem of those who wait.
Happy chances are necessary and many incalculable elements in order
that a hire man in whom the solution of a

(39:59):
problem is dormant, and may yet take action or break forth,
as one might say, at the right moment. On an
average it does not happen. And in all corners of
the earth there are waiting ones sitting who hardly know
to what extent they are waiting, and still less that
they wait in vain. Occasionally to the waking call comes

(40:19):
too late, the chance which gives permission to take action,
when their best youth and strength for action have been
used up in sitting still. And how many a one,
just as he sprang up, has found with horror that
his limbs are benumbed, and his spirits are now too heavy.
It is too late, he has said to himself, and
has become self distrustful, and henceforth forever useless in the

(40:43):
domain of genius. May not the raphael without hands, taking
the expression in its widest sense, perhaps not be the exception,
but the rule. Perhaps genius is by no means so rare,
but rather the five hundred hands which it requires in
order to tyrannize over the right time, in order to
take chance by the forelock, he who does not wish

(41:04):
to see the height of a man looks all the
more sharply at what is low in him and in
the foreground, and thereby betrays himself in all kinds of
injury and loss. The lower and coarser soul is better
off than the nobler soul. The dangers of the latter
must be greater. The probability that it will come to
grief and perish is in fact immense, considering the multiplicity

(41:27):
of the conditions of its existence. In a lizard, a
finger grows again which has been lost. Not so in man.
It is too bad, always the old story. When a
man has finished building his house, he finds that he
has learnt unawares, something which he ought absolutely to have
known before he began to build, The eternal fatal too late,

(41:49):
the melancholia of everything completed. Wanderer, Who art thou? I
see THEE follow thy path without scorn, without love, without
unfathomable eyes, wet and sad, as a plummet which is
returned to the light, insatiated out of every depth? What
did it seek? Down there? With a bosom that never sighs,
with lips that conceal their loathing, with a head which

(42:10):
only slowly grasps. Who art thou? What hast thou done?
Rest thee? Here? This place has hospitality for everyone. Refresh thyself,
and whoever thou art, What is it that now pleasest thee?
What will serve to refresh thee? Only name it? Whatever
I have I offer THEE to refresh me to refresh me.

(42:31):
Oh thou prying one? What sayest thou? But give me?
I pray thee what what speak out? Another mask? A
second mask. Men of profound sadness betray themselves when they
are happy. They have a mode of seizing upon happiness,
as though they would choke and strangle it out of jealousy. Ah,
they know only too well that it will flee from them, bad, bad.

(42:54):
What does he not go back? Yes, but you misunderstand him.
When you complain of it, he goes back like everyone
who is about to make a big spring? Will people
believe it of me? But I insist that they believe
it of me. I have always thought very unsatisfactorily of myself,
and about myself only in very rare cases, only compulsorily,

(43:15):
always without delight in the subject, ready to digress from myself,
and always without faith in the result, owing to the
unconquerable distrust of the possibility of self knowledge, which has
led me so far to feel a contradictio in adetto
even in the idea of direct knowledge which theorists allow themselves.
This matter of fact is almost the most certain thing

(43:37):
I know about myself. There must be a sort of
repugnance in me to believe anything definite about myself? Is
there perhaps some enigma therein? Probably, but fortunately nothing for
my own teeth. Perhaps it betrays the species to which
I belong, but not to myself, as it is sufficiently
agreeable to me. But what has happened to you? I

(43:59):
do not know, he said hesitatingly. Perhaps the harpies have
flown over my table. It sometimes happens nowadays that a gentle, sober,
retiring man becomes suddenly mad, breaks the plates, upsets the table, shrieks,
raves and shocks everybody, and finally withdraws, ashamed and raging
at himself. Whither for what purpose to famish a part,

(44:22):
to suffocate with his memories, To him who has the
desires of a lofty and dainty soul, and only seldom
finds his table laid and his food prepared, the danger
will always be great nowadays, however, it is extraordinarily so
thrown into the midst of a noisy and plebeian age
with which he does not like to eat out of

(44:42):
the same dish, he may readily perish of hunger and thirst,
or should he nevertheless finally fall to of sudden nausea.
We have probably all sat at tables to which we
did not belong, and precisely the most spiritual of us
who are most difficult to nourish though the dangerous dyspepsia

(45:04):
that originates from a sudden insight in disillusionment about our
food and our messmates the after dinner nausea. If one
wishes to praise at all, it is a delicate and
at the same time a noble self control who praise
only where one does not agree otherwise, In fact, one
would praise oneself, which is contrary to good taste, a

(45:25):
self control, to be sure, which offers excellent opportunity and
provocation to constant misunderstanding. To be able to allow oneself
this veritable luxury of taste and morality, one must not
live among intellectual imbeciles, but rather among men whose misunderstandings
and mistakes amuse by their refinement, or one will have
to pay dearly for it. He praises me, therefore he

(45:48):
acknowledges me to be right. This asinine method of inference
spoils half of the life of us recluses, for it
brings the asses into our neighborhood and friendship to live
in a vast and proud tranquility, always beyond to have
or not to have one's emotions, one's fore and against
according to choice, to lower one's self to them for hours,

(46:11):
to seat one's self on them as upon horses, and
often as upon asses. For one must know how to
make use of their stupidity as well as of their fire.
To conserve one's three hundred foregrounds, also one's black spectacles.
For there are circumstances when nobody must look into our eyes,
still less into our motives, and to choose for company

(46:32):
that roguish and cheerful vice, politeness, And to remain master
of one's four virtues courage, insight, sympathy, and solitude. For
solitude is a virtue with us as a sublime, bent
and biased to purity, which divines that in the contact
of man and man in society, it must be unavoidably impure.
All society makes one, somehow, somewhere or sometime commonplace the

(46:59):
greatest events and thoughts. The greatest thoughts, however, are the
greatest events, are longest in being comprehended. The generations which
are contemporary with them do not experience such events. They
live past them. Something happens. There is in the realm
of stars. The light of the furthest stars is longest

(47:19):
in reaching man, and before it has arrived man denies
that there are stars there? How many centuries does mind
require to be understood? That is also a standard. One
also makes a gradation of rank and an etiquette therewith
such as is necessary for mind and for star. Here
is the prospect, free, the mind exalted footnote good as Faust,

(47:40):
Part two, Act five, the words of doctor Marianus. But
there is a reverse kind of man, who is also
upon a height, and has also a free prospect, but
looks downwards? What is noble? What does the word noble
still mean for us? Nowadays? How does the noble man
betray himself? How is he recognized it? Under this heavy,

(48:02):
overcast sky of the commencing Plebeianism, by which everything is
rendered opaque and leaden. It is not his actions which
establish his claim. Actions are always ambiguous, always inscrutable. Neither
is it his works. One finds nowadays among artists and
scholars putty of those who betray by their works, that
a profound longing for nobleness impels them. But this very

(48:25):
need of nobleness is radically different from the needs of
the noble soul itself, and it is in fact the
eloquent and dangerous sign of the lack thereof. It is
not the works, but the belief, which is here decisive
and determines the order of rank. And to employ once
more an old religious formula with a new and deeper meaning.
It is some fundamental certainty which a noble soul has

(48:48):
about itself. Something which is not to be sought, is
not to be found, and perhaps also is not to
be lost. The noble soul has reverence for itself. There
are men who are unavoidably intellectual. Let them turn and
twist themselves as they will, and hold their hands before
their treacherous eyes, as though the hand were not a betrayer.

(49:10):
It always comes out at last that they have something
which they hide, namely intellect. One of the subtlest means
of deceiving, at least as long as possible, and of
successfully representing oneself to be stupider than one really is,
which in every day life is often as desirable as
an umbrella. Is called enthusiasm, including what belongs to it,

(49:30):
for instance, virtue. For as Galiani said, ertu est enthusiasmy.
In the writings of a recluse, one always hears something
of the echo of the wilderness, something of the murmuring
tones and timid vigilance of solitude in his strongest words,
even in his cry itself, their sounds a new and

(49:51):
more dangerous kind of silence, of concealment. He who has
sat day and night from year's end to year's end
alone with his soul and familiar discord and discourse, He
who has become a cave bear, or a treasure seeker,
or a treasure guardian and dragon. In his cave it
may be a labyrinth, but can also be a gold mine.

(50:13):
His ideas themselves eventually acquire a twilight color of their own,
and an odor as much of the depth as of
the mold, something uncommunicative and repulsive, which blows chilly upon
every passer by. The recluse does not believe that a philosopher,
supposing that a philosopher has always, in the first place
been a recluse, ever expressed his actual and ultimate opinions

(50:35):
in books, are not books written precisely to hide what
is in us. Indeed, he will doubt whether a philosopher
can have ultimate and actual opinions at all, Whether behind
every cave in him there is not, and must necessarily
be a still deeper cave, an ampler, stranger, richer world

(50:55):
beyond the surface, an abyss behind every bottom, beneath every
fare foundation. Every philosophy is a foreground philosophy. This is
a reclusive verdict. There is something arbitrary in the fact
that the philosopher came to a stand here, took a
retrospect and looked around, that he here laid his spade aside,
and did not dig any deeper. There is also something

(51:18):
suspicious in it. Every philosophy also conceals a philosophy. Every
opinion is also a lurking place. Every word is also
a mask. Every deep thinker is more afraid of being
understood than of being misunderstood. The latter perhaps wounds his vanity,

(51:40):
but the former wounds his heart, his sympathy, which always says, ah,
why would you also have as hard a time of
it as I have? Man a complex, mendacious, artful, and
inscrutable animal, uncanny to the other animals by his artifice
and sagacity rather than by his strength. As an invented

(52:00):
the good conscience in order finally to enjoy his soul
as something simple, and the whole of morality is a long,
audacious falsification by virtue, of which generally employment at the
sight of the soul becomes impossible. From this point of view,
there is perhaps much more in the conception of art
than is generally believed. A philosopher, that is, a man

(52:23):
who constantly experiences, sees, hears, suspects, hopes, and dreams extraordinary things,
who is struck by his own thoughts as if they
came from the outside, from above and below, as a
species of events, and lightning flashes peculiar to him, who
is perhaps himself a storm pregnant with new lightnings. A
portentous man around whom there is always rumbling and mumbling

(52:46):
and gaping, and something uncanny going on. A philosopher alas
a being who often runs away from himself, is often
afraid of himself, but whose curiosity always makes him come
to himself again. A man who says, I like that,
I take it for my own, and mean to guard
and protect it from every one. A man who can

(53:08):
conduct a case, carry out a resolution, remain true to
an opinion, keep hold of a woman, punish and overthrow insolence,
a man who has his indignation and his sword, and
to whom the weak, the suffering, the oppressive, and even
the animals willingly submit and naturally belong. In short, a
man who is in master by nature. When such a
man has sympathy, well, that sympathy has value. But of

(53:33):
what account is the sympathy of those who suffer, or
of those even who preach sympathy? There is nowadays, throughout
almost the whole of Europe, a sickly irritability and sensitiveness
towards pain, and a repulsive irrestrainableness in complaining, an effeminizing which,
with the aid of religion and philosophical nonsense, seeks to

(53:55):
deck itself out as something superior. There is a regular
cult of suffering, the unmanliness of that which is called
sympathy by such groups of visionaries. As always, I believe
the first thing that strikes the eye one must resolutely
and radically taboo this latest form of bad taste. And finally,
I wish people to put the good amulet, guise, abert

(54:18):
gay science in ordinary language on heart and neck as
a protection against it. The olympian vice. Despite the philosopher who,
as a genuine Englishman, tried to bring laughter into bad
repute in all thinking minds. Laughing is a bad infirmity
of human nature, which every thinking mind will strive to overcome. Hobbes.

(54:42):
I would even allow myself to rank philosophers according to
the quality of their laughing, up to those who are
capable of golden laughter. And supposing that gods also philosophies,
which I am strongly inclined to believe, owing to many reasons,
I have no doubt that they also know how to laugh.
Thereby and an overman like in new fashion, and at
the expense of all serious things. Gods are fond of ridicule.

(55:07):
It seems that they cannot refrain from laughter, even in
holy matters. The genius of the heart, as that great
mysterious one possesses it, the tempter god and born rat
catcher of consciences, whose voice can descend into the nether
world of every soul who neither speaks a word nor
casts a glance in which there may not be some
motive or touch of allurement, to whose perfection it pertains

(55:30):
that he knows how to appear not as he is,
but in a guise which acts as an additional constraint
on his followers, to press ever closer to him, to
follow him more cordially and thoroughly. The genius of the heart,
which imposes silence and attention on everything loud and self conceited,
which smooths rough souls and makes them taste a new longing,
to lie placid, as a mirror that the deep heavens

(55:53):
may be reflected in them. The genius of the heart,
and to grasp more delicately, which sends the hidden and
forgotten trea measure the drop of goodness and sweet spirituality
under thick dark ice, and is a divining rod for
every grain of gold long buried and imprisoned in mud
and sand. The genius of the heart, from contact with

(56:13):
which everyone goes away richer, not favored or surprised, not
as though gratified and oppressed by the good things of others,
but richer in himself, newer than before, broken up, blown
upon and sounded by a thawing wind, more uncertain, perhaps
more delicate, more fragile, more bruised, but full of hopes,
which is yet lack names, full of a new will
and current, full of a new ill will and countercurrent.

(56:38):
But what am I doing, my friends? Of whom am
I talking to you? Have I forgotten myself so far
that I have not even told you his name, unless
it be that you have already divined of your own accord,
who this questionable god and spirit is that wishes to
be praised in such a manner. For, as it happens
to everyone who, from childhood onward has always been on

(56:59):
his legs and in foreign lands, I have also encountered
on my path many strange and dangerous spirits. Above all, however,
and again and again, the one whom I have just spoken,
in fact no less a personage than the God Dionysus,
the great equivocator and tempter, to whom, as you know,
I once offered in all secrecy and reverence my first fruits,

(57:23):
the last, as it seems to me, who has offered
a sacrifice to him, For I have found no one
who could understand what I was then doing. In the meantime, however,
I have learned much, far too much about the philosophy
of this God. And as I said from mouth to mouth,
I the last disciple and initiate of the God Dionysus.
And perhaps I might at last begin to give you,

(57:45):
my friends, as far as I am allowed, a little
taste of this philosophy in a hushed voice, as is
but seemly, for it has to do with much that
is secret, new, strange, wonderful, and uncanny. The very fact
that Dionysia is a philosopher, and that therefore gods also philosophize,
seems to me a novelty that is not unensnaring, and

(58:08):
might perhaps arouse suspicion precisely among philosophers. Among you, my friends,
there is less to be said against it, except that
it comes too late and not at the right time.
For as it has been disclosed to me, you are
loath nowadays to believe in God and gods. It may
happen too, that, in the frankness of my story I

(58:28):
must go further than is agreeable to the strict usages
of your ears. Certainly, the god in question went further,
very much further in such dialogs, and was always many
paces ahead of me. Indeed, if it were allowed, I
should have to give him, according to human usage, fine
ceremonious tides of luster and merit. I should have to

(58:50):
extol his courage as investigator and discoverer, his fearless honesty, truthfulness,
and love of wisdom. But such a god does not
know what to do with all that respectable trumpery and
pomp keep that he would say, for thyself and those
like THEE, and whoever else require it, I have no
reason to cover my nakedness. One suspects that this kind

(59:14):
of divinity and philosopher perhaps lacks shame. He once said,
under certain circumstances, I love mankind, and referred thereby to Ariadne,
who is present. In my opinion, man is an agreeable, brave,
inventive animal that is not his equal upon earth. He
makes his way even through all labyrinths. I like man,

(59:35):
and often think how I can still further advance him,
and make him stronger, more evil and more profound. Stronger,
more evil, and more profound, I asked, in horror. Yes,
he said again, stronger, more evil, and more profound, also
more beautiful. And thereby the tempter God smiled with his
halcyon smile, as though he had just paid some charming compliment.

(59:58):
One here sees at once that it is not only
shame that this divinity lacks, And in general there are
good grounds for supposing that in some things the gods
could all of them come to us men for instruction?
We men are more human Alas what are you, after all,

(01:00:18):
my written and painted thoughts? Not long ago you were
so variegated, young and malicious, so full of thorns and
secret spices, that you made me sneeze and laugh. And
now you have already doffed your novelty. And some of you,
I fear, are ready to become truths so immortal do
they look so pathetically honest, so tedious? And was it

(01:00:40):
ever otherwise? What then do we write and paint, we
mandarins with Chinese brush, We immortalizers of things which lend
themselves to writing? What are we alone capable of painting?
Alas only that which is just about to fade and
begins to lose its odor? Alas only exhausted and departing

(01:01:00):
storms and belated yellow sentiments, Alas only birds strayed and
fatigued by flight, which now let themselves be captured with
the hand. With our hand, we immortalize what cannot live
and fly much longer, things only which are exhausted and mellow.
And it is only for your afternoon, you, my written

(01:01:21):
and painted thoughts, for which alone I have colors, many colors,
perhaps many variegated softenings, and fifty yellows and browns, and
greens and reds. But nobody will divine thereby. How ye
look'd in your mourning, you sudden sparks and marvels of
my solitude, you, my old beloved evil Thoughts from the

(01:01:46):
Heights by f. Ve Nietzsche, translated by L. A. Manus.
Mid Day of life, O season of delight, my summer's park,
unceaseful joy, to look, to, lurk, to hark, I peer
for friends, and ready day and night where linger, ye,
my friends, the time is right? Is not the glaciers

(01:02:08):
gray to day for you? Rose garlanded, the brooklet seeks you,
wind cloud with longing thread, and thrust themselves yet higher
to the blue to spy for you from farthest eagle's view.
My table was spread out for you on high Who
dwelleth so star near so near the grisly pit below
my realm? What realm hath wider boundary? My honey, who

(01:02:32):
hath sipped its fragrancy? Friends, he are there, woe me?
Yet I am not he whom ye seek. Ye stare
and stop better your wrath could speak. I am not
I hand gait, face changed, and what I am to you?
My friends? Now? Am I not? Am I another? Strange?

(01:02:54):
Am I to me? Yet from me sprung a wrestler
by himself too oft, self wrung, hindering too oft, my
own self's potency wounded and hampered by self victory. I
sought whereso the wind's blow keenest There I learned to
dwell where no man dwells, unlonesome, icelorn fell and unlearned man,

(01:03:18):
and God and curse and prayer became a ghost haunting
the glacier's bear. Yes, my old friend's look ye turned pale,
filled oar with love and fear. Go, Yet not in wrath,
ye could ne'er live here here in the farthest realm
of ice and scar A huntsman. Must one be like

(01:03:39):
Chamis Sore, an evil huntsman? Was I see how taut
my bow was bent? Strongest was he by whom such
bolt were sent? Woe? Now that arrow is with peril, fraught,
perilous as none have yon safe home. Ye sought ye
go thou didst endure in n o heart? Strong was

(01:04:01):
thy hope unto new friends, thy portals widely ope, let
old ones be bid, memory depart, whilst thou young then
now better young? Thou art what linked us once together?
One hope's tie? Who now doth con those lines? Now fading?

(01:04:21):
Love once wrote thereon is like a parchment which the
hand is shy to touch, Like crackling leaves, all seared,
all dry, Oh friends, no more? They are? What name
for those friend's phantom flight knocking at my heart's window
pane at night, gazing on me, that speaks we were

(01:04:43):
and goes, oh withered words, once fragrant as the rose
pinings of youth that might not understand, for which I pined,
which I deemed changed with me, kin of my kind.
But they grew old, and thus were doomed and banned,
none but new kith, native of my land, mid day
of life, my second youth's delight, my summer's park, unrestful joy,

(01:05:07):
to long, to lurk, to hark, I peer for friends,
am ready day and night for my new friends, Come come.
The time is right, This song is done. The sweet
sad cry of rue sang out its end. A wizard
wrought it, he the timely friend, the mid day, friend, No,
do not ask me who at mid day. Twas when
one became us two, we keep our feast of feasts,

(01:05:30):
sure of our born, our aims self saying the guest
of guests, friend, Zarathustra came the world now laughs. The
grisly veil was torn, and light and dark were one
that wedding morn, end of Frederic nietzsche'z Beyond Good and
Evil