The conception of the work which lies right in the background of this
book, is extraordinarily gloomy and unpleasant: among all the types
of pessimism which have ever been known hitherto, none seems to have
attained to this degree of malice. The contrast of a true and of an
apparent world is entirely absent here: there is but one world, and it
is false, cruel, contradictory, seductive, and without sense. A world,
thus constituted is the true world. We are in need of lies in order to
rise superior to this reality, to this truth--that is to say, in order
to live.... That lies should be necessary to life is part and parcel of
the terrible and questionable character of existence.
Metaphysics, morality, religion, science, in this book, all these
things are regarded merely as different forms of falsehood: by means of
them we are led to believe in life. "Life, must inspire confidence";
the task which this imposes upon us is enormous. In order to solve,
this problem man must already be a liar in his heart, but he must above
all else be an artist. And he is that. Metaphysics, religion, morality,
science, all these things are but the offshoot of his will to art,
to falsehood, to a flight from "truth," to a denial of "truth." This
ability, this artistic capacity _par excellence_ of man--thanks to
which he overcomes reality with lies,--is a quality which he has in
common with all other forms of existence. He himself is indeed a piece
of reality, of truth, of nature: how could he help being also a piece
of genius in prevarication!
The fact that the character of existence is misunderstood, is the
profoundest and the highest secret motive behind everything relating
to virtue, science, piety, and art. To be blind to many things, to
see many things falsely, to fancy many things: Oh, how clever man has
been in those circumstances in which he believed he was anything but
clever! Love, enthusiasm, "God"--are but subtle forms of ultimate
Self-deception; they are but seductions to life and to the belief in
life! In those moments when man was deceived, when he had befooled
himself and when he believed in life: Oh, how his spirit swelled within
him! Oh, what ecstasies he had! What power he felt! And what artistic
triumphs in the feeling of power! ... Man had once more become master
of "matter,"--master of truth! ... And whenever man rejoices it is
always in the same way: he rejoices as an artist, his power is his joy,
he enjoys falsehood as his power....