Part 21

(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._

3. The Noble Man.

935.

_Type._ real goodness, nobility, greatness of soul, as the result of vital wealth: which does not give in order to receive--and which has no desire to _elevate_ itself by being good, _squandering_ is typical of genuine goodness, vital _personal_ wealth is its prerequisite.

936.

_Aristocracy._--Gregarious ideals at present culminating in the highest standard of value for society. It has been attempted to give them a cosmic, yea, and even a metaphysical, value.--I defend _aristocracy_ against them.

Any society which would of itself preserve a feeling of respect and _délicatesse_ in regard to freedom, must consider itself as an exception, and have a force against it from which it distinguishes itself, and upon which it looks down with hostility.

The more rights I surrender and the more I level myself down to others, the more deeply do I sink into the average and ultimately into the greatest number. The first condition which an aristocratic society must have in order to maintain a high degree of freedom among its members, is that extreme tension which arises from the presence of the most _antagonistic_ instincts in all its units: from their will to dominate....

If ye would fain do away with strong contrasts and differences of rank, ye will also abolish, strong love, lofty attitudes of mind, and the feeling of individuality.

***

Concerning the _actual_ psychology of societies based upon freedom and equality.--What is it that tends to _diminish_ in such a society?

The will to be _responsible for ones self_ (the loss of this is a sign of the decline of autonomy); the ability to defend and to attack, even in spiritual matters; the power of command; the sense of reverence, of subservience, the ability to be silent, _great passion,_ great achievements, tragedy and cheerfulness.

937.

In 1814 Augustin Thierry read what Montlosier had said in his work, _De la Monarchie française:_ he answered with a cry of indignation, and set himself to his task. That emigrant had said:

"_Race d'affranchis, race d'esclaves arrachés de nos mains, peuple tributaire, peuple nouveau, licence vous fut octroyée d'être libres, et non pas à nous d'être nobles; pour nous tout est de droit, pour vous tout est de grâce, nous ne sommes point de votre communauté; nous sommes un tout par nous mêmes._"

938.

How constantly the aristocratic world shears and weakens itself ever more and more! By means of its noble instincts it abandons its privileges, and owing to its refined and excessive culture, it takes an interest in the people, the weak, the poor, and the poetry of the lowly, etc.

939.

There is such a thing as a noble and dangerous form of carelessness, which allows of profound conclusions and insight: the carelessness of the self-reliant and over-rich soul, which has never _troubled_ itself about friends, but which knows only hospitality and knows how to practise it; whose heart and house are open to all who will enter--beggar, cripple, or king. This is genuine sociability: he who is capable of it has hundreds of "friends," but probably not one friend.

940.

The teaching μηδὲν ἄγαν applies to men with overflowing strength,--not to the mediocre, ἐγκράτεια and ἄσκησις are only steps to higher things. Above them stands "golden Nature."

_"Thou shalt"_--unconditional obedience in Stoics, in Christian and Arabian Orders, in Kant's philosophy (it is immaterial whether this obedience is shown to a superior or to a concept).

Higher than "Thou shalt" stands "I will" (the heroes); higher than "I will" stands "I am" (the gods of the Greeks).

Barbarian gods express nothing of the pleasure of restraint,--they are neither simple, nor light-hearted, nor moderate.

941.

The essence of our gardens and palaces (and to the same extent the essence of all yearning after riches) is _the desire to rid the eye of disorder and vulgarity, and to build a home for our soul's nobility._

The majority of people certainly believe that they will develop higher natures when those beautiful and peaceful things have operated upon them: hence the exodus to Italy, hence all travelling, etc., and all reading and visits to theatres. _People want to be formed_--that is the kernel of their labours for culture! But the strong, the mighty, would themselves _have a hand in the forming, and would fain have nothing strange about them_!

It is for this reason, too, that men go to open Nature, not to find themselves, but to lose themselves and to forget themselves. The desire "_to get away from one's self_" is proper to all weaklings, and to all those who are discontented with themselves.

942.

The only nobility is that of birth and blood. (I do not refer here to the prefix "Lord" and _L'almanac de Gotha_: this is a parenthesis for donkeys.) Wherever people speak of the "aristocracy of intellect," reasons are generally not lacking for concealing something, it is known to be a password among ambitious Jews. Intellect alone does not ennoble; on the contrary, something is always needed _to ennoble intellect._--What then is needed?--Blood.

943.

What is noble?

--External punctiliousness; because this punctiliousness hedges a man about, keeps him at a distance, saves him from being confounded with somebody else.

A frivolous appearance in word, clothing, and bearing, with which stoical hardness and self-control protect themselves from all prying inquisitiveness or curiosity.

--A slow step and a slow glance. There are not too many valuable things on earth: and these come and wish to come of themselves to him who has value. We are not quick to admire.

--We know how to bear poverty, want, and even illness.

--We avoid small honours owing to our mistrust of all who are over-ready to praise: for the man who praises believes he understands what he praises: but to understand--Balzac, that typical man of ambition, betrayed the fact _comprendre c'est égaler._

--Our doubt concerning the communicativeness of our hearts goes very deep; to us, loneliness is not a matter of choice, it is imposed upon us.