Faithful vows concerning that which one wishes to do or to leave
undone; complete and definite abstention from many things. Tests as to
whether one is _ripe_ for such discipline.
915.
It is my desire to _naturalise asceticism:_ I would substitute the
old intention of asceticism, "self-denial," by my own intention,
_self-strengthening:_ a gymnastic of the will; a period of abstinence
and occasional fasting of every kind, even in things intellectual; a
casuistry in deeds, in regard to the opinions which we derive from our
powers; we should try our hand at adventure and at deliberate dangers.
(_Dîners chez Magny:_ all intellectual gourmets with spoilt stomachs.)
_Tests_ ought also to be devised for discovering a man's power in
keeping his word.
916.
The things which have become _spoilt_ through having been abused by the
Church:--
(1) _Asceticism._--People have scarcely got the courage yet to bring to
light the natural utility and necessity of asceticism for the purpose
of the _education of the will._ Our ridiculous world of education,
before whose eyes the useful State official hovers as an ideal to
be striven for, believes that it has completed its duty when it has
instructed or trained the brain; it never even suspects that something
else is first of all necessary --the education of _will-power;_ tests
are devised for everything except for the most important thing of all:
whether a man can _will,_ whether he can _promise;_ the young man
completes his education without a question or an inquiry having been
made concerning the problem of the highest value of his nature.
(2) _Fasting:_--In every sense--even as a means of maintaining the
capacity for taking pleasure in all good things (for instance, to give
up reading for a while, to hear no music for a while, to cease from
being amiable for a while: one ought also to have fast days for one's
virtues).
(3) _The monastery._--Temporary isolation with severe seclusion from
all letters, for instance; a kind of profound introspection and
self-recovery, which does not go out of the way of "temptations," but
out of the way of "duties"; a stepping out of the daily round of one's
environment; a detachment from the tyranny of stimuli and external
influences, which condemns us to expend our power only in reactions,
and does not allow it to gather volume until it bursts into spontaneous
activity (let anybody examine our scholars closely: they only think
reflexively, _i.e._ they must first read before they can think).
(4) _Feasts._--A man must be very coarse in order not to feel the
presence of Christians and Christian values as oppressive, so
oppressive as to send all festive moods to the devil. By feasts we
understand: pride, high-spirits, exuberance; scorn of all kinds of
seriousness and Philistinism; a divine saying of Yea to one's self, as
the result of physical plenitude and perfection--all states to which
the Christian cannot honestly say Yea. _A feast is a pagan thing par
excellence._
(5) The _courage of ones own nature: dressing-up in morality,_--To be
able to call one's passions good without the help of a moral formula:
this is the standard which measures the extent to which a man is able
to say Yea to his own nature, namely, how much or how little he has to
have recourse to morality.
(6) _Death._--The foolish physiological fact must be converted into a
moral necessity. One should live in such a way that _one may have the
will to die at the right time_!
917.
_To feel ones self stronger_ or, expressed otherwise: happiness always
presupposes a comparison (not necessarily with others, but with one's
self, in the midst of a state of growth, and without being conscious
that one is comparing).
_Artificial_ accentuation: whether by means of exciting chemicals or
exciting errors ("hallucinations.")
Take, for instance, the Christian's feeling of _security_; he feels
himself strong in his confidence, in his patience, and his resignation:
this artificial accentuation he owes to the fancy that he is protected
by a God. Take the feeling of _superiority,_ for instance: as when the
Caliph of Morocco sees only globes on which his three united kingdoms
cover four-fifths of the space. Take the feeling of _uniqueness,_
for instance: as when the European imagines that culture belongs to
Europe alone, and when he regards himself as a sort of abridged cosmic
process; or, as when the Christian makes all existence revolve round
the "Salvation of man."
The question is, where does one begin to feel the pressure of
constraint: it is thus that different degrees are ascertained. A
philosopher for instance, in the midst of the coolest and most
transmontane feats of abstraction feels like a fish that enters its
element: while colours and tones oppress him; not to speak of those
dumb desires--of that which others call "the ideal."
918.
A healthy and vigorous little boy will look up sarcastically if he be
asked: "Wilt thou become virtuous?"--but he immediately becomes eager
if he be asked: "Wilt thou become stronger than thy comrades?"
***
How does one become stronger?--By deciding slowly; and by holding
firmly to the decision once it is made. Everything else follows
of itself. Spontaneous and changeable natures: both species of
the weak. We must not confound ourselves with them; we must feel
distance--betimes!
Beware of good-natured people!. Dealings with them make one torpid.
All environment is good which makes one exercise those defensive and;
aggressive powers which are instinctive in man. All one's inventiveness
should apply itself to putting one's power of will to the test....
_Here_ the determining factor must be recognised as something which is
not knowledge, astuteness, or wit.
One must learn to command betimes,--likewise to obey. A man must learn
modesty and tact in modesty: he must learn to distinguish and to
honour where modesty is displayed; he must likewise distinguish and
honour wherever he bestows his confidence.
What does one repent most? One's modesty; the fact that one has not
lent an ear to one's most individual needs; the fact that one has
mistaken one's self; the fact that one has esteemed one's self low;
the fact that one has lost all delicacy of hearing in regard to one's
instincts.--This want of reverence in regard to one's self is avenged
by all sorts of losses: in health, friendship, well-being, pride,
cheerfulness, freedom, determination, courage. A man never forgives
himself, later on, for this want of genuine egoism: he regards it as an
objection and as a cause of doubt concerning his real ego.
919.
I should like man to begin by _respecting_ himself: everything else
follows of itself. Naturally a man ceases from being anything to others
in this way: for this is precisely what they are least likely to
forgive. "What? a man who respects himself?"[4] This is something quite
different from the blind instinct to _love_ one's self. Nothing is more
common in the love of the sexes or in that duality which is called
ego, than a certain contempt for that which is loved the fatalism of
love.
[Footnote 4: Cf. Disraeli in _Tancred:_ "Self-respect, too, is a
superstition of past ages.... It is not suited to these times; it
is much too arrogant, too self-conceited, too egoistical. No one is
important enough to have self-respect nowadays" (book iii. chap.
v.).--Tr.]
920.
"I will have this or that"; "I would that this or that were so"; "I
know that this or that is so the degrees of power: the man of _will,_
the man of _desire,_ the man of _fate._
921.
_The means by which a strong species maintains itself_:--
It grants itself the right of exceptional actions, as a test of the
power of self-control and of freedom.
It abandons itself to states in which a man is not allowed to be
anything else than a barbarian.
It tries to acquire strength of will by every kind of asceticism.
It is not expansive, it practises silence; it is cautious in regard to
all charms.
It learns to obey in such a way that obedience provides a test of
self-maintenance. Casuistry is carried to its highest pitch in regard
to points of honour.
It never argues, "What is sauce for the goose is sauce for the
gander,"--but conversely! it regards reward, and the ability to repay,
as a privilege, as a distinction.
It does not covet _other_ people's virtues.
922.
The way in which one has to treat raw savages and the impossibility of
dispensing with barbarous methods, becomes obvious, in practice, when
one is transplanted, with all one's European pampering, to a spot such
as the Congo, or anywhere else where it is necessary to maintain one's
mastery over barbarians.
923.
_Warlike and peaceful people._--Art thou a man who has the instincts of
a warrior in thy blood? If this be so, another question must be put. Do
thy instincts impel thee to attack or to defend? The rest of mankind,
all those whose instincts are not warlike, desire peace, concord,
freedom, "equal rights": these things are but names and steps for one
and the same thing. Such men only wish to go where it is not necessary
for them to defend themselves,--such men become discontented with
themselves when they are obliged to offer resistance: they would fain
create circumstances in which war is no longer necessary. If the worst
came to the worst, they would resign themselves, obey, and submit: all
these things are better than waging war--thus does the Christian's
instinct, for instance, whisper to him. In the born warrior's
character there is something of armour, likewise in the choice of his
circumstances and in the development of every one of his qualities,
weapons are best evolved by the latter type, shields are best devised
by the former.
What expedients and what virtues do the unarmed and the undefended
require in order to survive--and even to conquer?
924.
What will become of a man who no longer has any reasons for either
defence or attack? What will remain of his _passions_ when he has lost
those which form his defence and his weapons?
925.
A marginal note to a _niaiserie anglaise_: "Do not to others that
which you would not that they should do unto you." This stands for
wisdom; this stands for prudence; this stands as the very basis of
morality as "a golden maxim." John Stuart Mill believes in it (and what
Englishman does not?).... But the maxim does not bear investigation.
The argument, Do not as you would not be done by, forbids action
which produce harmful results; the thought behind always is that an
action is invariably requited. What if some one came forward with the
_"Principe"_ in his hands, and said: "We must do those actions alone
which enable us to steal a march on others,--and which deprive others
of the power of doing the same to us"?--On the other hand, let us
remember the Corsican who pledges his honour to vendetta. He too does
not desire to have a bullet through him; but the prospect of one, the
probability of getting one, does not deter him from vindicating his
honour.... And in all really decent actions are we not intentionally
indifferent as to what result they will bring? To avoid an action which
might have harmful results,--that would be tantamount to forbidding all
decent actions in general.
Apart from this, the above maxim is valuable because it betrays a
certain _type of man_: it is the instinct of the herd which formulates
itself through him,--we are equal, we regard each other as equal: as
I am to thee so art thou to me.--In this community equivalence of
actions is really believed in--an equivalence which never under any
circumstances manifests itself in real conditions. It is impossible
to requite every action: among real individuals equal actions do not
exist, consequently there can be no such thing as "requital." ... When
I do anything, I am very far from thinking that any man is able to do
anything at all like it: the action belongs to me.... Nobody can pay
me back for anything I do; the most that can be done is to make me the
victim of another action.
926.
_Against John Stuart Mill._--I abhor the man's vulgarity when he says:
"What is right for one man is right for another"; "Do not to others
that which you would not that they should do unto you. Such principles
would fain establish the whole of human traffic _upon mutual services,_
so that every action would appear to be a cash payment for something
done to us. The hypothesis here is ignoble to the last degree: it
is taken for granted that there is some sort of equivalence in value
between my actions and thine; the most personal value Of an action is
simply cancelled in this manner (that part of an action which has no
equivalent and which cannot be remunerated). "Reciprocity" is a piece
of egregious vulgarity; the mere fact that what I do _cannot_ and _may_
not be done by another, that there is _no such thing as equivalence_
(except in those _very select circles_ where one actually has one's
equal, _inter pares_), that in a really profound sense a man never
requites because he is something _unique_ in himself and can only do
_unique_ things,--this fundamental conviction contains the cause of
_aristocratic aloofness from the mob_, because the latter believes in
equality, and _consequently_ in the feasibility of equivalence and
"reciprocity."
927.
The suburban Philistinism of moral valuations and of its concepts
"useful" and "harmful" is well founded; it is the necessary point of
view of a community which is only able to see and survey _immediate
and proximate_ consequences. The _State_ and the _political man_ are
already in need of a more _super-moral_ attitude of mind: because
they have to calculate concerning a much more complicated tissue
of consequences. An economic policy for the whole world should be
possible which could look at things in such broad perspective that all
its isolated demands would seem for the moment not only unjust, but
arbitrary.
928.
"_Should one follow one's feelings?_"--To set one's life at stake on
the impulse of the moment, and actuated by a generous feeling, has
little worth, and does not even distinguish one. Everybody is alike in
being capable of this--and in behaving in this way with determination,
the criminal, the bandit, and the Corsican certainly outstrip the
honest man.
A higher degree of excellence would be to overcome this impulse, and to
refrain from performing an heroic deed at its bidding--and to remain
cold, _raisonnable_, free from the tempestuous surging of concomitant
sensations of delight.... The same holds good of pity: it must first be
_sifted through_ reason; without this it becomes just as dangerous as
any other passion.
The _blind yielding_ to a passion, whether it be generosity, pity, or
hostility, is the cause of the greatest evil. Greatness of character
does not consist in not possessing these passions--on the contrary, a
man should possess them to a terrible degree: but he should lead them
by the bridle.. and even this he should not do out of love of control,
but merely because....
929.
"To give up one's life for a cause"--very effective. But there are many
things for which one gives up one's life: the passions, one and all,
will be gratified. Whether one's life be pledged to pity, to anger,
or to revenge--it matters not from the point of view of value. How
many have not sacrificed their lives for pretty girls--and even what
is worse, their health! When one has temperament, one instinctively
chooses the most dangerous things: if one is a philosopher, for
instance, one chooses the adventures of speculation; if one is
virtuous, one chooses immorality. One kind of man will risk nothing,
another kind will risk everything. Are we despisers of life? On the
contrary, what we seek is life raised to a higher power, life in
danger.... But, let me repeat, we do not, on that account, wish to
be more virtuous than others, Pascal, for instance, wished to risk
nothing, and remained a Christian. That perhaps was virtuous.----A man
always sacrifices something.
930.
How many _advantages_ does not a man sacrifice! To how small an extent
does he seek his own profit! All his emotions and passions wish to
assert their rights, and how remote a passion is From that cautious
utility which consists in personal profit!
A man does _not_ strive after "happiness"; one must be an Englishman to
be able to believe that a man is always seeking his own advantage. Our
desires long to violate things with passion--their overflowing strength
seeks obstacles.
931.
All passions are generally _useful,_ some directly, others indirectly;
in regard to utility it is absolutely impossible to fix upon any
gradation of values,--however certainly the forces of nature in general
may be regarded as good (_i.e._ useful), from an economic point of
view, they are still the sources of much that is terrible and much
that is fatally irrevocable. The most one might say would be, that
the mightiest passions are the most valuable: seeing that no stronger
sources of power exist.
932.
All well-meaning, helpful, good-natured attitudes of mind have _not_
come to be honoured on account of their usefulness: but because they
are the conditions peculiar to _rich souls_ who are able to bestow
and whose value consists in their vital exuberance. Look into the
eyes of the benevolent man! In them you will see the exact reverse of
self-denial, of hatred of self, of Pascalism.
933.
_In short,_ what we require is to dominate the passions and not to
weaken or to extirpate them!--The greater the dominating power of the
will, the greater the freedom that may be given to the passions.
The "great man" is so, owing to the free scope which he gives to his
desires, and to the still greater power which knows how to enlist these
magnificent monsters into its service.
The "good man" in every stage of civilisation is at one and the same
time the _least dangerous_ and the _most useful:_ a sort of medium;
the idea formed of such a man by the common mind is that he is some
one _whom one has no reason to fear, but whom one must not therefore
despise._
Education: essentially a means of _ruining_ exceptions in favour of the
rule. Culture: essentially the means of directing taste against the
exceptions in favour of the mediocre.
Only when a culture can dispose of an overflow of force, is it capable
of being a hothouse for the luxurious culture of the exception, of the
experiment, of the danger, of the _nuance: this_ is the tendency of
_every_ aristocratic culture.
934.
All questions of strength: to what extent ought one to try and
prevail against the preservative measures of society and the latter's
prejudices?--to what extent ought one to unfetter _one's terrible
qualities,_ through which so many go to the dogs?--to what extent
ought one to run counter to _truth,_ and take up sides with its most
questionable aspects?--to what extent ought one to oppose suffering,
self-contempt, pity, disease, vice, when it is always open to question
whether one can ever master them (what does not kill us makes us
_stronger..._.)?--and, finally, to what extent ought one to acknowledge
the rights of the rule, of the common-place, of the petty, of the good,
of the upright, in fact of the average man, without thereby allowing
one's self to become vulgar? ... The strongest test of character is to
resist being ruined by the seductiveness of goodness. _Goodness_ must
be regarded as a luxury, as a refinement, as a _vice._