these: a thing exists, therefore it has a right to exist. Here there
is inference from the ability to live to its suitability; from its
suitability to its rightfulness. Then: an opinion brings happiness;
therefore it is the true opinion. Its effect is good; therefore it is
itself good and true. To the effect is here assigned the predicate
beneficent, good, in the sense of the useful, and the cause is then
furnished with the same predicate good, but here in the sense of the
logically valid. The inversion of the sentences would read thus: an
affair cannot be carried through, or maintained, therefore it is
wrong; an opinion causes pain or excites, therefore it is false. The
free spirit who learns only too often the faultiness of this mode
of reasoning, and has to suffer from its consequences, frequently
gives way to the temptation to draw the very opposite conclusions,
which, in general, are naturally just as false: an affair cannot be
carried through, therefore it is good; an opinion is distressing and
disturbing, therefore it is true.
31.
THE ILLOGICAL NECESSARY.--One of those things that may drive a thinker
into despair is the recognition of the fact that the illogical is
necessary for man, and that out of the illogical comes much that is
good. It is so firmly rooted in the passions, in language, in art,
in religion, and generally in everything that gives value to life,
that it cannot be withdrawn without thereby hopelessly injuring these
beautiful things. It is only the all-too-naïve people who can believe
that the nature of man can be changed into a purely logical one; but
if there were degrees of proximity to this goal, how many things would
not have to be lost on this course! Even the most rational man has need
of nature again from time to time, _i.e._ his _illogical fundamental
attitude_ towards all things.
32.
INJUSTICE NECESSARY.--All judgments on the value of life are
illogically developed, and therefore unjust. The inexactitude of
the judgment lies, firstly, in the manner in which the material is
presented, namely very imperfectly; secondly, in the manner in which
the conclusion is formed out of it; and thirdly, in the fact that every
separate element of the material is again the result of vitiated
recognition, and this, too, of necessity. For instance, no experience
of an individual, however near he may stand to us, can be perfect, so
that we could have a logical right to make a complete estimate of him;
all estimates are rash, and must be so. Finally, the standard by which
we measure, our nature, is not of unalterable dimensions,--we have
moods and vacillations, and yet we should have to recognise ourselves
as a fixed standard in order to estimate correctly the relation of any
thing whatever to ourselves. From this it will, perhaps, follow that
we should make no judgments at all; if one could only live without
making estimations, without having likes and dislikes! For all dislike
is connected with an estimation, as well as all inclination. An
impulse towards or away from anything without a feeling that something
advantageous is desired, something injurious avoided, an impulse
without any kind of conscious valuation of the worth of the aim does
not exist in man. We are from the beginning illogical, and therefore
unjust beings, _and can recognise this_; it is one of the greatest and
most inexplicable discords of existence.
33.
ERROR ABOUT LIFE NECESSARY FOR LIFE.--Every belief in the value and
worthiness of life is based on vitiated thought; it is only possible
through the fact that sympathy for the general life and suffering of
mankind is very weakly developed in the individual. Even the rarer
people who think outside themselves do not contemplate this general
life, but only a limited part of it. If one understands how to direct
one's attention chiefly to the exceptions,--I mean to the highly gifted
and the rich souls,--if one regards the production of these as the aim
of the whole world-development and rejoices in its operation, then
one may believe in the value of life, because one thereby _overlooks_
the other men--one consequently thinks fallaciously. So too, when
one directs one's attention to all mankind, but only considers _one_
species of impulses in them, the less egoistical ones, and excuses
them with regard to the other instincts, one may then again entertain
hopes of mankind in general and believe so far in the value of life,
consequently in this case also through fallaciousness of thought. Let
one, however, behave in this or that manner: with such behaviour one
is an _exception_ amongst men. Now, most people bear life without any
considerable grumbling, and consequently _believe_ in the value of
existence, but precisely because each one is solely self-seeking and
self-affirming, and does not step out of himself like those exceptions;
everything extra-personal is imperceptible to them, or at most seems
only a faint shadow. Therefore on this alone is based the value of
life for the ordinary everyday man, that he regards himself as more
important than the world. The great lack of imagination from which
he suffers is the reason why he cannot enter into the feelings of
other beings, and therefore sympathises as little as possible with
their fate and suffering. He, on the other hand, who really _could_
sympathise therewith, would have to despair of the value of life; were
he to succeed in comprehending and feeling in himself the general
consciousness of mankind, he would collapse with a curse on existence;
for mankind as a whole has _no_ goals, consequently man, in considering
his whole course, cannot find in it his comfort and support, but his
despair. If, in all that he does, he considers the final aimlessness
of man, his own activity assumes in his eyes the character of
wastefulness. But to feel one's self just as much wasted as humanity
(and not only as an individual) as we see the single blossom of nature
wasted, is a feeling above all other feelings. But who is capable
of it? Assuredly only a poet, and poets always know how to console
themselves.
34.
FOR TRANQUILLITY.--But does not our philosophy thus become a tragedy?
Does not truth become hostile to life, to improvement? A question seems
to weigh upon our tongue and yet hesitate to make itself heard: whether
one _can_ consciously remain in untruthfulness? or, supposing one were
_obliged_ to do this, would not death be preferable? For there is no
longer any "must"; morality, in so far as it had any "must" or "shalt",
has been destroyed by our mode of contemplation, just as religion has
been destroyed. Knowledge can only allow pleasure and pain, benefit and
injury to subsist as motives; but how will these motives agree with
the sense of truth? They also contain errors (for, as already said,
inclination and aversion, and their very incorrect determinations,
practically regulate our pleasure and pain). The whole of human life
is deeply immersed in untruthfulness; the individual cannot draw it
up out of this well, without thereby taking a deep dislike to his
whole past, without finding his present motives--those of honour,
for instance--inconsistent, and without opposing scorn and disdain
to the passions which conduce to happiness in the future. Is it true
that there remains but one sole way of thinking which brings after it
despair as a personal experience, as a theoretical result, a philosophy
of dissolution, disintegration, and self-destruction? I believe that
the decision with regard to the after-effects of the knowledge will
be given through the _temperament_ of a man; I could imagine another
after-effect, just as well as that one described, which is possible in
certain natures, by means of which a life would arise much simpler,
freer from emotions than is the present one, so that though at first,
indeed, the old motives of passionate desire might still have strength
from old hereditary habit, they would gradually become weaker under
the influence--of purifying knowledge. One would live at last amongst
men, and with one's self as with _Nature,_ without praise, reproach,
or agitation, feasting one's eyes, as if it were a _play,_ upon much
of which one was formerly afraid. One would be free from the emphasis,
and would no longer feel the goading, of the thought that one is not
only nature or more than nature. Certainly, as already remarked, a
good temperament would be necessary for this, an even, mild, and
naturally joyous soul, a disposition which would not always need to be
on its guard against spite and sudden outbreaks, and would not convey
in its utterances anything of a grumbling or sudden nature,--those
well-known vexatious qualities of old dogs and men who have been long
chained up. On the contrary, a man from whom the ordinary fetters of
life have so far fallen that he continues to live only for the sake of
ever better knowledge must be able to renounce without envy and regret:
much, indeed almost everything that is precious to other men, he must
regard as the _all-sufficing_ and the most desirable condition; the
free, fearless soaring over men, customs, laws, and the traditional
valuations of things. The joy of this condition he imparts willingly,
and he _has_ perhaps nothing else to impart,--wherein, to be sure,
there is more privation and renunciation. If, nevertheless, more is
demanded from him, he will point with a friendly shake of his head to
his brother, the free man of action, and will perhaps not conceal a
little derision, for as regards this "freedom" it is a very peculiar
case.
SECOND DIVISION.
THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL SENTIMENTS.
35.
ADVANTAGES OF PSYCHOLOGICAL OBSERVATION.--That reflection on the human,
all-too-human--or, according to the learned expression, psychological
observation--is one of the means by which one may lighten the burden
of life, that exercise in this art produces presence of mind in
difficult circumstances, in the midst of tiresome surroundings, even
that from the most thorny and unpleasant periods of one's own life
one may gather maxims and thereby feel a little better: all this
was believed, was known in former centuries. Why was it forgotten
by our century, when in Germany at least, even in all Europe, the
poverty of psychological observation betrays itself by many signs? Not
exactly in novels, tales, and philosophical treatises,--they are the
work of exceptional individuals,--rather in the judgments on public
events and personalities; but above all there is a lack of the art of
psychological analysis and summing-up in every rank of society, in
which a great deal is talked about men, but nothing about _man._ Why
do we allow the richest and most harmless subject of conversation to
escape us? Why are not the great masters of psychological maxims more
read? For, without any exaggeration, the educated man in Europe who has
read La Rochefoucauld and his kindred in mind and art, is rarely found,
and still more rare is he who knows them and does not blame them. It
is probable, however, that even this exceptional reader will find much
less pleasure in them than the form of this artist should afford him;
for even the clearest head is not capable of rightly estimating the
art of shaping and polishing maxims unless he has really been brought
up to it and has competed in it. Without this practical teaching one
deems this shaping and polishing to be easier than it is; one has not
a sufficient perception of fitness and charm. For this reason the
present readers of maxims find in them a comparatively small pleasure,
hardly a mouthful of pleasantness, so that they resemble the people who
generally look at cameos, who praise because they cannot love, and are
very ready to admire, but still more ready to run away.
36.
OBJECTION.--Or should there be a counter-reckoning to that theory
that places psychological observation amongst the means of charming,
curing, and relieving existence? Should one have sufficiently convinced
one's self of the unpleasant consequences of this art to divert from
it designedly the attention of him who is educating himself in it? As
a matter of fact, a certain blind belief in the goodness of human
nature, an innate aversion to the analysis of human actions, a kind
of shame-facedness with respect to the nakedness of the soul may
really be more desirable for the general well-being of a man than that
quality, useful in isolated cases, of psychological sharp-sightedness;
and perhaps the belief in goodness, in virtuous men and deeds, in an
abundance of impersonal goodwill in the world, has made men better
inasmuch as it has made them less distrustful. When one imitates
Plutarch's heroes with enthusiasm, and turns with disgust from a
suspicious examination of the motives for their actions, it is not
truth which benefits thereby, but the welfare of human society; the
psychological mistake and, generally speaking, the insensibility
on this matter helps humanity forwards, while the recognition of
truth gains more through the stimulating power of hypothesis than La
Rochefoucauld has said in his preface to the first edition of his
"_Sentences et maximes morales." ... "Ce que le monde nomme vertu n'est
d'ordinaire qu'un fantôme formé par nos passions, à qui on donne un
nom honnête pour faire impunément ce qu'on veut."_ La Rochefoucauld
and those other French masters of soul-examination who have lately
been joined by a German, the author of _Psychological Observations_[1]
resemble good marksmen who again and again hit the bull's-eye; but it
is the bull's-eye of human nature. Their art arouses astonishment; but
in the end a spectator who is not led by the spirit of science, but
by humane intentions, will probably execrate an art which appears to
implant in the soul the sense of the disparagement and suspicion of
mankind.
37.
NEVERTHELESS.--However it may be with reckoning and counter-reckoning,
in the present condition of philosophy the awakening of moral
observation is necessary. Humanity can no longer be spared the cruel
sight of the psychological dissecting-table with its knives and
forceps. For here rules that science which inquires into the origin and
history of the so-called moral sentiments, and which, in its progress,
has to draw up and solve complicated sociological problems:--the older
philosophy knows the latter one not at all, and has always avoided the
examination of the origin and history of moral sentiments on any feeble
pretext. With what consequences it is now very easy to see, after
it has been shown by many examples how the mistakes of the greatest
philosophers generally have their starting-point in a wrong explanation
of certain human actions and sensations, just as on the ground of an
erroneous analysis--for instance, that of the so-called unselfish
actions a false ethic is built up; then, to harmonise with this again,
religion and mythological confusion are brought in to assist, and
finally the shades of these dismal spirits fall also over physics and
the general mode of regarding the world. If it is certain, however,
that superficiality in psychological observation has laid, and still
lays, the most dangerous snares for human judgments and conclusions,
then there is need now of that endurance of work which does not grow
weary of piling stone upon stone, pebble on pebble; there is need of
courage not to be ashamed of such humble work and to turn a deaf ear
to scorn. And this is also true,--numberless single observations on
the human and all-too-human have first been discovered, and given
utterance to, in circles of society which were accustomed to offer
sacrifice therewith to a clever desire to please, and not to scientific
knowledge,--and the odour of that old home of the moral maxim, a very
seductive odour, has attached itself almost inseparably to the whole
species, so that on its account the scientific man involuntarily
betrays a certain distrust of this species and its earnestness. But
it is sufficient to point to the consequences, for already it begins
to be seen what results of a serious kind spring from the ground of
psychological observation. What, after all, is the principal axiom
to which the boldest and coldest thinker, the author of the book
_On the Origin of Moral Sensations_[2] has attained by means of his
incisive and decisive analyses of human actions? "The moral man," he
says, "is no nearer to the intelligible (metaphysical) world than
is the physical man." This theory, hardened and sharpened under the
hammer-blow of historical knowledge, may some time or other, perhaps
in some future period, serve as the axe which is applied to the root
of the "metaphysical need" of man,--whether _more_ as a blessing than
a curse to the general welfare it is not easy to say, but in any case
as a theory with the most important consequences, at once fruitful and
terrible, and looking into the world with that Janus-face which all
great knowledge possesses.
38.
HOW FAR USEFUL.--It must remain for ever undecided whether
psychological observation is advantageous or disadvantageous to
man; but it is certain that it is necessary, because science cannot
do without it. Science, however, has no consideration for ultimate
purposes, any more than Nature has, but just as the latter occasionally
achieves things of the greatest suitableness without intending to do
so, so also true science, as the _imitator of nature in ideas,_ will
occasionally and in many ways further the usefulness and welfare of
man,--_but also without intending to do so._
But whoever feels too chilled by the breath of such a reflection has
perhaps too little fire in himself; let him look around him meanwhile
and he will become aware of illnesses which have need of ice-poultices,
and of men who are so "kneaded together" of heat and spirit that
they can hardly find an atmosphere that is cold and biting enough.
Moreover, as individuals and nations that are too serious have need of
frivolities, as others too mobile and excitable have need occasionally
of heavily oppressing burdens for the sake of their health, should not
we, the more _intellectual_ people of this age, that grows visibly more
and more inflamed, seize all quenching and cooling means that exist, in
order that we may at least remain as constant, harmless, and moderate
as we still are, and thus, perhaps, serve some time or other as mirror
and self-contemplation for this age?
39.
THE FABLE OF INTELLIGIBLE FREEDOM.--The history of the sentiments by
means of which we make a person responsible consists of the following
principal phases. First, all single actions are called good or bad
without any regard to their motives, but only on account of the useful
or injurious consequences which result for the community. But soon the
origin of these distinctions is forgotten, and it is deemed that the
qualities "good" or "bad" are contained in the action itself without
regard to its consequences, by the same error according to which
language describes the stone as hard, the tree as green,--with which,
in short, the result is regarded as the cause. Then the goodness or
badness is implanted in the motive, and the action in itself is looked
upon as morally ambiguous. Mankind even goes further, and applies
the predicate good or bad no longer to single motives, but to the
whole nature of an individual, out of whom the motive grows as the
plant grows out of the earth. Thus, in turn, man is made responsible
for his operations, then for his actions, then for his motives, and
finally for his nature. Eventually it is discovered that even this
nature cannot be responsible, inasmuch as it is an absolutely necessary
consequence concreted out of the elements and influences of past and
present things,--that man, therefore, cannot be made responsible for
anything, neither for his nature, nor his motives, nor his actions, nor
his effects. It has therewith come to be recognised that the history
of moral valuations is at the same time the history of an error, the
error of responsibility, which is based upon the error of the freedom
of will. Schopenhauer thus decided against it: because certain actions
bring ill humour ("consciousness of guilt") in their train, there
must be a responsibility; for there would be _no reason_ for this ill
humour if not only all human actions were not done of necessity,--which
is actually the case and also the belief of this philosopher,--but
man himself from the same necessity is precisely the _being_ that
he is--which Schopenhauer denies. From the fact of that ill humour
Schopenhauer thinks he can prove a liberty which man must somehow
have had, not with regard to actions, but with regard to nature;
liberty, therefore, to _be_ thus or otherwise, not to _act_ thus or
otherwise. From the _esse,_ the sphere of freedom and responsibility,
there results, in his opinion, the _operari,_ the sphere of strict
causality, necessity, and irresponsibility. This ill humour is
apparently directed to the _operari,_--in so far it is erroneous,--but
in reality it is directed to the _esse,_ which is the deed of a free
will, the fundamental cause of the existence of an individual, man
becomes that which he _wishes_ to be, his will is anterior to his
existence. Here the mistaken conclusion is drawn that from the fact
of the ill humour, the justification, the reasonable _admissableness_
of this ill humour is presupposed; and starting from this mistaken
conclusion, Schopenhauer arrives at his fantastic sequence of the
so-called intelligible freedom. But the ill humour after the deed is
not necessarily reasonable, indeed it is assuredly not reasonable, for
it is based upon the erroneous presumption that the action need _not_
have inevitably followed. Therefore, it is only because man _believes_
himself to be free, not because he is free, that he experiences remorse
and pricks of conscience. Moreover, this ill humour is a habit that can
be broken off; in many people it is entirely absent in connection with
actions where others experience it. It is a very changeable thing, and
one which is connected with the development of customs and culture,
and probably only existing during a comparatively short period of the
world's history. Nobody is responsible for his actions, nobody for his
nature; to judge is identical with being unjust. This also applies when
an individual judges himself. The theory is as clear as sunlight, and
yet every one prefers to go back into the shadow and the untruth, for
fear of the consequences.
40.
THE SUPER-ANIMAL.--The beast in us wishes to be deceived; morality is
a lie of necessity in order that we may not be torn in pieces by it.
Without the errors which lie in the assumption of morality, man would
have remained an animal. Thus, however, he has considered himself as
something higher and has laid strict laws upon himself. Therefore he
hates the grades which have remained nearer to animalness, whereby the
former scorn of the slave, as a not-yet-man, is to be explained as a
fact.
41.
THE UNCHANGEABLE CHARACTER.--That the character is unchangeable is
not true in a strict sense; this favourite theory means, rather, that
during the short lifetime of an individual the new influencing motives
cannot penetrate deeply enough to destroy the ingrained marks of many
thousands of years. But if one were to imagine a man of eighty thousand
years, one would have in him an absolutely changeable character, so
that a number of different individuals would gradually develop out
of him. The shortness of human life misleads us into forming many
erroneous ideas about the qualities of man.
42.