understands the _improvisation of life,_ and astonishes even the
acutest observers. For it seems that he never makes a mistake,
although he constantly plays the most hazardous games. One is reminded
of the improvising masters of the musical art, to whom even the
listeners would fain ascribe a divine _infallibility_ of the hand,
notwithstanding that they now and then make a mistake, as every mortal
is liable to do. But they are skilled and inventive, and always ready
in a moment to arrange into the structure of the score the most
accidental tone (where the jerk of a finger or a humour brings it
about), and to animate the accident with a fine meaning and soul.--Here
is quite a different man: everything that he intends and plans fails
with him in the long run. That on which he has now and again set his
heart has already brought him several times to the abyss, and to the
very verge of ruin; and if he has as yet got out of the scrape, it
certainly has not been merely with a "black eye." Do you think he is
unhappy over it? He resolved long ago not to regard his own wishes and
plans as of so much importance. "If this does not succeed with me,"
he says to himself, "perhaps that will succeed; and on the whole I do
not know but that I am under more obligation to thank my failures than
any of my successes. Am I made to be headstrong, and to wear the bull's
horns? That which constitutes the worth and the sum of life _for me,_
lies somewhere else; I know more of life, because I have been so often
on the point of losing it; and just on that account I _have_ more of
life than any of you!"
304.
_In Doing we Leave Undone._--In the main all those moral systems are
distasteful to me which say: "Do not do this! Renounce! Overcome
thyself!" On the other hand I am favourable to those moral systems
which stimulate me to do something, and to do it again from morning
till evening, to dream of it at night, and think of nothing else but to
do it _well,_ as well as is possible for _me_ alone! From him who so
lives there fall off one after the other the things that do not pertain
to such a life: without hatred or antipathy, he sees _this_ take leave
of him to-day, and _that_ to-morrow, like the yellow leaves which every
livelier breeze strips from the tree: or he does not see at all that
they take leave of him, so firmly is his eye fixed upon his goal, and
generally forward, not sideways, backward, or downward. "Our doing must
determine what we leave undone; in that we do, we leave undone"--so
it pleases me, so runs _my placitum._ But I do not mean to strive with
open eyes for my impoverishment; I do not like any of the negative
virtues whose very essence is negation and self-renunciation.
305.
_Self-control--_Those moral teachers who first and foremost order man
to get himself into his own power, induce thereby a curious infirmity
in him--namely, a constant sensitiveness with reference to all natural
strivings and inclinations, and as it were, a sort of itching. Whatever
may henceforth drive him, draw him, allure or impel him, whether
internally or externally--it always seems to this sensitive being as if
his self-control were in danger: he is no longer at liberty to trust
himself to any instinct, to any free flight, but stands constantly with
defensive mien, armed against himself, with sharp distrustful eye, the
eternal watcher of his stronghold, to which office he has appointed
himself. Yes, he can be _great_ in that position! But how unendurable
he has now become to others, how difficult even for himself to bear,
how impoverished and cut off from the finest accidents of his soul!
Yea, even from all further _instruction! _ For we must be able to lose
ourselves at times, if we want to learn something of what we have not
in ourselves.
306.
_Stoic and Epicurean._--The Epicurean selects the situations, the
persons, and even the events which suits his extremely sensitive,
intellectual constitution; he renounces the rest--that is to say, by
far the greater part of experience--because it would be too strong and
too heavy fare for him. The Stoic, on the contrary, accustoms himself
to swallow stones and vermin, glass-splinters and scorpions, without
feeling any disgust: his stomach is meant to become indifferent in the
end to all that the accidents of existence cast into it:--he reminds
one of the Arabic sect of the Assaua, with which the French became
acquainted in Algiers; and like those insensible persons, he also likes
well to have an invited public at the exhibition of his insensibility,
the very thing the Epicurean willingly dispenses with:--he has of
course his "garden"! Stoicism may be quite advisable for men with whom
fate improvises, for those who live in violent times and are dependent
on abrupt and changeable individuals. He, however, who _anticipates_
that fate will permit him to spin "a long thread," does well to make
his arrangements in Epicurean fashion; all men devoted to intellectual
labour have done it hitherto! For it would be a supreme loss to them to
forfeit their fine sensibility, and to acquire the hard, stoical hide
with hedgehog prickles in exchange.
307.
_In Favour of Criticism._--Something now appears to thee as an error
which thou formerly lovedst as a truth, or as a probability: thou
pushest it from thee and imaginest that thy reason has there gained a
victory. But perhaps that error was then, when thou wast still another
person--thou art always another person,--just as necessary to thee as
all thy present "truths," like a skin, as it were, which concealed and
veiled from thee much which thou still mayst not see. Thy new life,
and not thy reason, has slain that opinion for thee: _thou dost not
require it any longer,_ and now it breaks down of its own accord, and
the irrationality crawls out of it as a worm into the light. When we
make use of criticism it is not something arbitrary and impersonal,--it
is, at least very often, a proof that there are lively, active forces
in us, which cast a skin. We deny, and must deny, because something in
us _wants_ to live and affirm itself, something which we perhaps do not
as yet know, do not as yet see!--So much in favour of criticism.
308.
_The History of each Day.--_What is it that constitutes the history
of each day for thee? Look at thy habits of which it consists: are
they the product of numberless little acts of cowardice and laziness,
or of thy bravery and inventive reason? Although the two cases are so
different, it is possible that men might bestow the same praise upon
thee, and that thou mightst also be equally useful to them in the one
case as in the other. But praise and utility and respectability may
suffice for him whose only desire is to have a good conscience,--not
however for thee, the "trier of the reins," who hast a _consciousness
of the conscience!_
309.
_Out of the Seventh Solitude._--One day the wanderer shut a door behind
him, stood still, and wept. Then he said: "Oh, this inclination and
impulse towards the true, the real, the non-apparent, the certain! How
I detest it! Why does this gloomy and passionate taskmaster follow
just _me?_ I should like to rest, but it does not permit me to do so.
Are there not a host of things seducing me to tarry! Everywhere there
are gardens of Armida for me, and therefore there will ever be fresh
separations and fresh bitterness of heart! I must set my foot forward,
my weary wounded foot: and because I feel I must do this, I often cast
grim glances back at the most beautiful things which could not detain
me--_because_ they could not detain me!"
310.
_Will and Wave._--How eagerly this wave comes hither, as if it were
a question of its reaching something! How it creeps with frightful
haste into the innermost corners of the rocky cliff! It seems that
it wants to forestall some one; it seems that something is concealed
there that has value, high value.--And now it retreats somewhat more
slowly, still quite white with excitement,--is it disappointed? Has it
found what it sought? Does it merely pretend to be disappointed?--But
already another wave approaches, still more eager and wild than the
first, and its soul also seems to be full of secrets, and of longing
for treasure-seeking. Thus live the waves,--thus live we who exercise
will!--I do not say more.--But what! Ye distrust me? Ye are angry at
me, ye beautiful monsters? Do ye fear that I will quite betray your
secret? Well! Just be angry with me, raise your green, dangerous
bodies as high as ye can, make a wall between me and the sun--as at
present! Verily, there is now nothing more left of the world save
green twilight and green lightning-flashes. Do as ye will, ye wanton
creatures, roar with delight and wickedness--or dive under again, pour
your emeralds down into the depths, and cast your endless white tresses
of foam and spray over them--it is all the same to me, for all is so
well with you, and I am so pleased with you for it all: how could I
betray _you!_ For--take this to heart!--I know you and your secret, I
know your race! You and I are indeed of one race! You and I have indeed
one secret!
311.
_Broken Lights._--We are not always brave, and when we are weary,
people of our stamp are liable to lament occasionally in this
wise:--"It is so hard to cause pain to men--oh, that it should be
necessary! What good is it to live concealed, when we do not want to
keep to ourselves that which causes vexation? Would it not be more
advisable to live in the madding crowd, and compensate individuals
for sins that are committed, and must be committed, against mankind
in general? Foolish with fools, vain with the vain, enthusiastic
with enthusiasts? Would that not be reasonable when there is such
an inordinate amount of divergence in the main? When I hear of the
malignity of others against me--is not my first feeling that of
satisfaction? It is well that it should be so!--I seem to myself to say
to them--I am so little in harmony with you, and have so much truth
on my side: see henceforth that ye be merry at my expense as often as
ye can! Here are my defects and mistakes, here are my illusions, my
bad taste, my confusion, my tears, my vanity, my owlish concealment,
my contradictions! Here you have something to laugh at! Laugh then,
and enjoy yourselves! I am not averse to the law and nature of things,
which is that defects and errors should give pleasure!--To be sure,
there were once 'more glorious' times, when as soon as any one got
an idea, however moderately new it might be, he would think himself
so _indispensable_ as to go out into the street with it, and call to
everybody: 'Behold! the kingdom of heaven is at hand!'--I should not
miss myself, if I were a-wanting. We are none of us indispensable!"--As
we have said, however, we do not think thus when we are brave; we do
not think _about it_ at all.
312.
_My Dog._--I have given a name to my pain, and call it "a dog,"--it
is just as faithful, just as importunate and shameless, just as
entertaining, just as wise, as any other dog--and I can domineer
over it, and vent my bad humour on it, as others do with their dogs,
servants, and wives.
313.
_No Picture of a Martyr._--I will take my cue from Raphael, and not
paint any more martyr-pictures. There are enough of sublime things
without its being necessary to seek sublimity where it is linked with
cruelty; moreover my ambition would not be gratified in the least if I
aspired to be a sublime executioner.
314.
_New Domestic Animals._--I want to have my lion and my eagle about me,
that I may always have hints and premonitions concerning the amount of
my strength or weakness. Must I look down on them to-day, and be afraid
of them? And will the hour come once more when they will look up to me,
and tremble?--
315.
_The Last Hour._--Storms are my danger. Shall I have my storm in which
I perish, as Oliver Cromwell perished in his storm? Or shall I go out
as a light does, not first blown out by the wind, but grown tired and
weary of itself--a burnt-out light? Or finally, shall I blow myself
out, so as _not to burn out?_
316.
_Prophetic Men._--Ye cannot divine how sorely prophetic men suffer: ye
think only that a fine "gift" has been given to them, and would fain
have it yourselves,--but I will express my meaning by a simile. How
much may not the animals suffer from the electricity of the atmosphere
and the clouds! Some of them, as we see, have a prophetic faculty with
regard to the weather, for example, apes (as one can observe very well
even in Europe,--and not only in menageries, but at Gibraltar). But
it never occurs to us that it is their _sufferings_--that are their
prophets! When strong positive electricity, under the influence of
an approaching cloud not at all visible, is suddenly converted into
negative electricity, and an alteration of the weather is imminent,
these animals then behave as if an enemy were approaching them, and
prepare for defence, or flight: they generally hide themselves,--they
do not think of the bad weather as weather, but as an enemy whose hand
they already _feel!_
317.
_Retrospect._--We seldom become conscious of the real pathos of any
period of life as such, as long as we continue in it, but always
think it is the only possible and reasonable thing for us henceforth,
and that it is altogether _ethos_ and not _pathos_[1]--to speak and
distinguish like the Greeks. A few notes of music to-day recalled a
winter and a house, and a life of utter solitude to my mind, and at the
same time the sentiments in which I then lived: I thought I should be
able to live in such a state always. But now I understand that it was
entirely pathos and passion, something comparable to this painfully
bold and truly comforting music,--it is not one's lot to have these
sensations for years, still less for eternities: otherwise one would
become too "ethereal" for this planet.
[1] The distinction between ethos and pathos in Aristotle is, broadly,
that between internal character and external circumstance.--P. V. C.
318.
_Wisdom in Pain._--In pain there is as much wisdom as in pleasure:
like the latter it is one of the best self-preservatives of a species.
Were it not so, pain would long ago have been done away with; that it
is hurtful is no argument against it, for to be hurtful is its very
essence. In pain I hear the commanding call of the ship's captain:
"Take in sail!" "Man," the bold seafarer, must have learned to set
his sails in a thousand different ways, otherwise he could not have
sailed long, for the ocean would soon have swallowed him up. We must
also know how to live with reduced energy: as soon as pain gives its
precautionary signal, it is time to reduce the speed--some great
danger, some storm, is approaching, and we do well to "catch" as little
wind as possible--It is true that there are men who, on the approach of
severe pain, hear the very opposite call of command, and never appear
more proud, more martial, or more happy than when the storm is brewing;
indeed, pain itself provides them with their supreme moments! These
are the heroic men, the great _pain-bringers_ of mankind: those few
and rare ones who need just the same apology as pain generally,--and
verily, it should not be denied them! They are forces of the greatest
importance for preserving and advancing the species, be it only because
they are opposed to smug ease, and do not conceal their disgust at this
kind of happiness.
319.
_As Interpreters of our Experiences._--One form of honesty has always
been lacking among founders of religions and their kin:--they have
never made their experiences a matter of the intellectual conscience.
"What did I really experience? What then took place in me and around
me? Was my understanding clear enough? Was my will directly opposed
to all deception of the senses, and courageous in its defence against
fantastic notions?"--None of them ever asked these questions, nor
to this day do any of the good religious people ask them. They have
rather a thirst for things which are _contrary to reason,_ and they
don't want to have too much difficulty in satisfying this thirst,--so
they experience "miracles" and "regenerations," and hear the voices of
angels! But we who are different, who are thirsty for reason, want to
look as carefully into our experiences as in the case of a scientific
experiment, hour by hour, day by day! We ourselves want to be our own
experiments, and our own subjects of experiment.
320.
_On Meeting Again._--A: Do I quite understand you? You are in search
of something? _Where,_ in the midst of the present, actual world, is
_your_ niche and star? Where can _you_ lay yourself in the sun, so that
you also may have a surplus of well-being, that your existence may
justify itself? Let everyone do that for himself--you seem to say,
--and let him put talk about generalities, concern for others and
society, out of his mind!--B: I want more; I am no seeker. I want to
create my own sun for myself.
321.
_A New Precaution._--Let us no longer think so much about punishing,
blaming, and improving! We shall seldom be able to alter an individual,
and if we should succeed in doing so, something else may also succeed,
perhaps unawares: _we_ may have been altered by him! Let us rather see
to it that our own influence on _all that is to come_ outweighs and
overweighs his influence! Let us not struggle in direct conflict!--all
blaming, punishing, and desire to improve comes under this category.
But let us elevate ourselves all the higher! Let us ever give to our
pattern more shining colours! Let us obscure, the other by our light!
No! We do not mean to become _darker_ ourselves on his account, like
those who punish and are discontented! Let us rather go aside! Let us
look away!
322.
_A Simile._--Those thinkers in whom all the stars move in cyclic
orbits, are not the most profound. He who looks into himself, as into
an immense universe, and carries Milky Ways in himself, knows also
how irregular all Milky Ways are; they lead into the very chaos and
labyrinth of existence.
323.
_Happiness in Destiny._--Destiny confers its greatest distinction
upon us when it has made us fight for a time on the side of our
adversaries. We are thereby _predestined_ to a great victory.
324.
_In Media Vita._--No! Life has not deceived me! On the contrary, from
year to year I find it richer, more desirable and more mysterious--from
the day on which the great liberator broke my fetters, the thought
that life may be an experiment of the thinker--and not a duty, not
a fatality, not a deceit!--And knowledge itself may be for others
something different; for example, a bed of ease, or the path to a
bed of ease, or an entertainment, or a course of idling,--for me
it is a world of dangers and victories, in which even the heroic
sentiments have their arena and dancing-floor. _"Life as a means to
knowledge"_--with this principle in one's heart, one can not only be
brave, but can even _live joyfully and laugh joyfully!_ And who could
know how to laugh well and live well, who did not first understand the
full significance of war and victory?
325.
_What Belongs to Greatness._--Who can attain to anything great if he
does not feel in himself the force and will _to inflict_ great pain?
The ability to suffer is a small matter: in that line, weak women and
even slaves often attain masterliness. But not to perish from internal
distress and doubt when one inflicts great suffering and hears the cry
of it--that is great, that belongs to greatness.
326.
_Physicians of the Soul and Pain._--All preachers of morality, as
also all theologians, have a bad habit in common: all of them try to
persuade man that he is very ill, and that a severe, final, radical
cure is necessary. And because mankind as a whole has for centuries
listened too eagerly to those teachers, something of the superstition
that the human race is in a very bad way has actually come over men:
so that they are now far too ready to sigh; they find nothing more
in life and make melancholy faces at each other, as if life were
indeed very hard _to endure._ In truth, they are inordinately assured
of their life and in love with it, and full of untold intrigues and
subtleties for suppressing everything disagreeable, and for extracting
the thorn from pain and misfortune. It seems to me that people always
speak _with exaggeration_ about pain and misfortune, as if it were a
matter of good behaviour to exaggerate here: on the other hand people
are intentionally silent in regard to the number of expedients for
alleviating pain; as for instance, the deadening of it, feverish
flurry of thought, a peaceful position, or good and bad reminiscences,
intentions, and hopes,--also many kinds of pride and fellow-feeling,
which have almost the effect of anæsthetics: while in the greatest
degree of pain fainting takes place of itself. We understand very well
how to pour sweetness on our bitterness, especially on the bitterness
of our soul; we find a remedy in our bravery and sublimity, as well
as in the nobler delirium of submission and resignation. A loss
scarcely remains a loss for an hour: in some way or other a gift from
heaven has always fallen into our lap at the same moment--a new form
of strength, for example: be it but a new opportunity for the exercise
of strength! What have the preachers of morality not dreamt concerning
the inner "misery" of evil men! What _lies_ have they not told us
about the misfortunes of impassioned men! Yes, lying is here the right
word: they were only too well aware of the overflowing happiness of
this kind of man, but they kept silent as death about it; because it
was a refutation of their theory, according to which happiness only
originates through the annihilation of the passions and the silencing
of the will! And finally, as regards the recipe of all those physicians
of the soul and their recommendation of a severe radical cure, we may
be allowed to ask: Is our life really painful and burdensome enough
for us to exchange it with advantage for a Stoical mode of living, and
Stoical petrification? We do _not_ feel _sufficiently miserable_ to
have to feel ill in the Stoical fashion!
327.
_Taking Things Seriously._--The intellect is with most people an
awkward, obscure and creaking machine, which is difficult to set in
motion: they call it "_taking a thing seriously_" when they work with
this machine and want to think well--oh, how burdensome must good
thinking be to them! That delightful animal, man, seems to lose his
good-humour whenever he thinks well; he becomes "serious"! And "where
there is laughing and gaiety, thinking cannot be worth anything:
"--so speaks the prejudice of this serious animal against all "Joyful
Wisdom."--Well, then! Let us show that it is prejudice!
328.
_Doing Harm to Stupidity._--It is certain that the belief in the
reprehensibility of egoism, preached with such stubbornness and
conviction, has on the whole done harm to egoism (_in favour of the
herd-instinct,_ as I shall repeat a hundred times!), especially by
depriving it of a good conscience, and by bidding us seek in it the
source of all misfortune. "Thy selfishness is the bane of thy life"--so
rang the preaching for millenniums: it did harm, as we have said,
to selfishness, and deprived it of much spirit, much cheerfulness,
much ingenuity, and much beauty; it stultified and deformed and
poisoned selfishness!--Philosophical antiquity, on the other hand,
taught that there was another principal source of evil: from Socrates
downwards, the thinkers were never weary of preaching that "your
thoughtlessness and stupidity, your unthinking way of living according
to rule, and your subjection to the opinion of your neighbour, are
the reasons why you so seldom attain to happiness,--we thinkers are,
as thinkers, the happiest of mortals." Let us not decide here whether
this preaching against stupidity was more sound than the preaching
against selfishness; it is certain, however, that stupidity was thereby
deprived of its good conscience:--those philosophers _did harm to
stupidity._
329.