Part 22

--We are convinced that we only have duties to our equals, to others we do as we think best: we know that justice is only to be expected among equals (alas! this will not be realised for some time to come),

--We are ironical towards the "gifted"; we hold the belief that no morality is possible without good birth.

--We always feel as if we were those who had to dispense honours: while he is not found too frequently who would be worthy of honouring us.

--We are always disguised: the higher a man's nature the more is he in need of remaining incognito. If there be a God, then out of sheer decency He ought only to show Himself on earth in the form of a man.

--We are capable of _otium,_ of the unconditional conviction that although a handicraft does not shame one in any sense, it certainly reduces one's rank. However much we may respect "industry," and know how to give it its due, we do not appreciate it in a bourgeois sense, or after the manner of those insatiable and cackling artists who, like hens, cackle and lay eggs, and cackle again.

--We protect artists and poets and any one who happens to be a master in something; but as creatures of a higher order than those, who only know how to do something, who are only "productive men," we do not confound ourselves with them.

--We find joy in all _forms_ and ceremonies; we would fain foster everything formal, and we are convinced that courtesy is one of the greatest virtues; we feel suspicious of every kind of _laisser aller,_ including the freedom of the press and of thought; because, under such conditions, the intellect grows easy-going and coarse, and stretches its limbs.

--We take pleasure in women as in a perhaps daintier, more delicate, and more ethereal kind of creature. What a treat it is to meet creatures who have only dancing and nonsense and finery in their minds! They have always been the delight of every tense and profound male soul, whose life is burdened with heavy responsibilities.

--We take pleasure in princes and in priests, because in big things, as in small, they actually uphold the belief in the difference of human values, even in the estimation of the past, and at least symbolically.

--We are able to keep silence _i_ but we do not breathe a word of this in the presence of listeners.

--We are able to endure long enmities: we lack the power of easy reconciliations.

--We have a loathing of demagogism, of enlightenment, of amiability, and plebeian familiarity.

--We collect precious things, the needs of higher and fastidious souls; we wish to possess nothing in common. We want to have our own books, our _own_ landscapes.

--We protest against evil and fine experiences, and take care not to generalise too quickly. The individual case: how ironically we regard it when it has the bad taste to put on the airs of a rule!

--We love that which is _naïf,_ and _naïf_ people, but as spectators and higher creatures; we think Faust is just as simple as his Margaret.

--We have a low estimation of good people, because they are gregarious animals: we know how often an invaluable golden drop of goodness lies concealed beneath the most evil, the most malicious, and the hardest exterior, and that this single grain outweighs all the mere goody-goodiness of milk-and-watery souls.

--We don't regard a man of our kind as refuted by his vices, nor by his tomfooleries. We are well aware that we are not recognised with ease, and that we have every reason to make our foreground very prominent.

944.

_What is noble?_--The fact that one is constantly forced to be playing a part. That one is constantly searching for situations in which one is forced to put on airs. That one leaves happiness to the _greatest number:_ the happiness which consists of inner peacefulness, of virtue, of comfort, and of Anglo-angelic-back-parlour-smugness, _à la_ Spencer. That one instinctively seeks for heavy responsibilities. That one knows how to create enemies everywhere, at a pinch even in one's self. That one contradicts the _greatest number,_ not in words at all, but by continually behaving differently from them.

945.

Virtue (for instance, truthfulness) is _our_ most noble and most dangerous luxury. We must not decline the disadvantages which it brings in its train.

946.

We refuse to be _praised:_ we do what serves our purpose, what gives us pleasure, or what we are obliged to do.

947.

What is chastity in a man? It means that his taste in sex has remained noble; that _in eroticis_ he likes neither the brutal, the morbid, nor the clever.

948.

The concept of honour is founded upon the belief in select society, in knightly excellences, in the obligation of having continually to play a part. In essentials it means that one does not take one's life too seriously, that one adheres unconditionally to the most dignified manners in one's dealings with everybody (at least in so far as they do not belong to "us"); that one is neither familiar, nor good-natured, nor hearty, nor modest, except _inter pares_; that one is _always playing a part._

949.

The fact that one sets one's life, one's health, and one's honour at stake, is the result of high spirits and of an overflowing and spendthrift will: it is not the result of philanthropy, but of the fact that every danger kindles our curiosity concerning the measure of our strength, and provokes our courage.

950.

Eagles swoop down straight nobility of soul is best revealed by the magnificent and proud foolishness with which it makes its _attacks._

951.

War should be made against all namby-pamby ideas of _nobility_!--A certain modicum of brutality cannot be dispensed with: no more than we can do without a certain approximation to criminality. "Self-satisfaction" must _not_ be allowed; a man should look upon himself with an adventurous spirit; he should experiment with himself and run risks with himself--no beautiful soul-quackery should be tolerated. I want to give _a more robust ideal_ a chance of prevailing.

952.

"Paradise is under the shadow of a swordsman"--this is also a symbol and a test-word by which souls with noble and warrior-like origin betray and discover themselves.

953.

_The two paths._--There comes a period when man has a surplus amount of power at his disposal. Science aims at establishing the _slavery of nature._

Then man acquires the _leisure_ in which to develop himself into something new and more lofty. _A new aristocracy._ It is then that a large number of virtues which are now _conditions of existence_ are superseded.--Qualities which are no longer needed are on that account lost. We no longer need virtues: _consequently_ we are losing them (likewise the morality of "one thing is needful," of the salvation of the soul, and of immortality: these were means wherewith to make man capable of enormous self-tyranny, through the emotion of great fear!!!).

The different kinds of needs by means of whose discipline man is formed: need teaches work, thought, and self-control.

***

_Physiological_ purification and strengthening. The new aristocracy is in need of an opposing body which it may combat: it must be driven to extremities in order to maintain itself.

_The two futures of mankind_: (1) the consequence of a levelling-down to mediocrity, (2) conscious aloofness and self-development.

A doctrine which would cleave a _gulf:_ it maintains the _highest and the lowest species_ (it destroys the intermediate).

The aristocracies, both spiritual and temporal, which have existed hitherto prove nothing _against_ the necessity of a new aristocracy.

4. The Lords of the Earth.

954.

A certain question constantly recurs to us; it is perhaps a seductive and evil question; may it be whispered into the ears of those who have a right to such doubtful problems--those strong souls of to-day whose dominion over themselves is unswerving: is it not high time, now that the type "gregarious animal" is developing ever more and more in Europe, to set about rearing, thoroughly, artificially, and consciously, an opposite type, and to attempt to establish the latter's virtues? And would not the democratic movement itself find for the first time a sort of goal, salvation, and justification, if some one appeared who availed himself of it--so that at last, beside its new and sublime product, slavery (for this must be the end of European democracy), that higher species of ruling and Cæsarian spirits might also be produced, which would stand upon it, hold to it, and would elevate themselves through it? This new race would climb aloft to new and hitherto impossible things, to a broader vision, and to its task on earth.

955.

The aspect of the European of to-day makes me very hopeful. A daring and ruling race is here building itself up upon the foundation of an extremely intelligent, gregarious mass. It is obvious that the educational movements for the latter are not alone prominent nowadays.

956.

The same conditions which go to develop the gregarious animal also force the development of the leaders.

957.

The question, and at the same time the task, is approaching with hesitation, terrible as Fate, but nevertheless inevitable: how shall the earth as a whole be ruled? And to what end shall man as a whole--no longer as a people or as a race--be reared and trained?

Legislative moralities are the principal means by which one can form mankind, according to the fancy of a creative and profound will: provided, of course, that such an artistic will of the first order gets the power into its own hands, and can make its creative will prevail over long periods in the form of legislation, religions, and morals. At present, and probably for some time to come, one will seek such colossally creative men, such really great men, as I understand them, in vain: they will be lacking, until, after many disappointments, we are forced to begin to understand why it is they are lacking, and that nothing bars with greater hostility their rise and development, at present and for some time to come, than that which is now called _the_ morality in Europe. Just as if there were no other kind of morality, and could be no other kind, than the one we have already characterised as herd-morality. It is this morality which is now striving with all its power to attain to that green-meadow happiness on earth, which consists in security, absence of danger, ease, facilities for livelihood, and, last but not least, "if all goes well," even hopes to dispense with all kinds of shepherds and bell-wethers. The two doctrines which it preaches most universally are "equality of rights" and "pity for all sufferers"--and it even regards suffering itself as something which must be got rid of absolutely. That such ideas may be modern leads one to think very poorly of modernity. He, however, who has reflected deeply concerning the question, how and where the plant man has hitherto grown most vigorously, is forced to believe that this has always taken place under the opposite conditions; that to this end the danger of the situation has to increase enormously, his inventive faculty and dissembling powers have to fight their way up under long oppression and compulsion, and his will to life has to be increased to the unconditioned will to power, to over-power: he believes that danger, severity, violence, peril in the street and in the heart, inequality of rights, secrecy, stoicism, seductive art, and devilry of every kind--in short, the opposite of all gregarious desiderata--are necessary for the elevation of man. Such a morality with opposite designs, which would rear man upwards instead of to comfort and mediocrity; such a morality, with the intention of producing a ruling caste--the future lords of the earth--must, in order to be taught at all, introduce itself as if it were in some way correlated to the prevailing moral law, and must come forward under the cover of the latter's words and forms. But seeing that, to this end, a host of transitionary and deceptive measures must be discovered, and that the life of a single individual stands for almost nothing in view of the accomplishment of such lengthy tasks and aims, the first thing that must be done is to rear _a new kind_ of man in whom the duration of the necessary will and the necessary instincts is guaranteed for many generations. This must be a new kind of ruling species and caste--this ought to be quite as clear as the somewhat lengthy and not easily expressed consequences of this thought. The aim should be to prepare a _transvaluation of values_ for a particularly strong kind of man, most highly gifted in intellect and will, and, to this end, slowly and cautiously to liberate in him a whole host of slandered instincts hitherto held in check: whoever meditates about this problem belongs to us, the free spirits--certainly not to that kind of "free spirit" which has existed hitherto: for these desired practically the reverse. To this order, it seems to me, belong, above all, the pessimists of Europe, the poets and thinkers of a revolted idealism, in so far as their discontent with existence in general must _consistently_ at least have led them to be dissatisfied with the man of the present; the same applies to certain insatiably ambitious artists who courageously and unconditionally fight against the gregarious animal for the special rights of higher men, and subdue all herd-instincts and precautions of more exceptional minds by their seductive art. Thirdly and lastly, we should include in this group all those critics and historians by whom the discovery of the Old World, which has begun so happily--this was the work of the _new_ Columbus, of German intellect--will be courageously _continued_ (for we still stand in the very first stages of this conquest). For in the Old World, as a matter of fact, a different and more lordly morality ruled than that of to-day; and the man of antiquity, under the educational ban of his morality, was a stronger and deeper man than the man of to-day--up to the present he has been the only well-constituted man. The temptation, however, which from antiquity to the present day has always exercised its power on such lucky strokes of Nature, _i.e._ on strong and enterprising souls, is, even at the present day, the most subtle and most effective of anti-democratic and anti-Christian powers, just as it was in the time of the Renaissance.

958.

I am writing for a race of men which does not yet exist: for "the lords of the earth."

In Plato's _Theages_ the following passage will be found: "Every one of us would like if possible to be master of mankind; if possible, a _God!" This_ attitude of mind must be reinstated in our midst.

Englishmen, Americans, and Russians.

959.

That primeval forest-plant Man always appears where the struggle for power has been waged longest. _Great_ men.

Primeval forest creatures, the _Romans._

960.

From now henceforward there will be such favourable first conditions for greater ruling powers as have never yet been found on earth. And this is by no means the most important point. The establishment has been made possible of international race unions which will set themselves the task of rearing a ruling race, the future "lords of the earth"--a new, vast aristocracy based upon the most severe self-discipline, in which the will of philosophical men of power and artist-tyrants will be stamped upon thousands of years: a higher species of men which, thanks to their preponderance of will, knowledge, riches, and influence, will avail themselves of democratic Europe as the most suitable and supple instrument they can have for taking the fate of the earth into their own hands, and working as artists upon man himself. Enough! The time is coming for us to transform all our views on politics.

5. The Great Man.

961.

I will endeavour to see at which periods in history great men arise. The significance of despotic moralities that have lasted a long time: they strain the bow, provided they do not break it.

962.

A great man,--a man whom Nature has built up and invented in a grand style,--What is such a man? _First,_ in his general course of action his consistency is so broad that owing to its very breadth it can be surveyed only with difficulty, and consequently misleads; he possesses the capacity of extending his will over great stretches of his life, and of despising and rejecting all small things, whatever most beautiful and "divine" things of the world there may be among them. _Secondly,_ he is _colder, harder, less cautious and more free from the fear of "public opinion";_ he does not possess the virtues which are compatible with respectability and with being respected, nor any of those things which are counted among the "virtues of the herd." If he is unable to _lead_, he walks alone; he may then perchance grunt at many things which he meets on his way. _Thirdly_, he asks for no "compassionate" heart, but servants, instruments; in his dealings with men his one aim is _to make_ something out of them. He knows that he cannot reveal himself to anybody: he thinks it bad taste to become familiar; and as a rule he is not familiar when people think he is. When he is not talking to his soul, he wears a mask. He would rather lie than tell the truth, because lying requires more spirit and _will_. There is a loneliness within his heart which neither praise nor blame can reach, because he is his own judge from whom is no appeal.

963.

The great man is necessarily a sceptic (I do not mean to say by this that he must appear to be one), provided that greatness consists in this: to _will_ something great, together with the means thereto. Freedom from any kind of conviction is a factor in his _strength of will_. And thus it is in keeping with that "enlightened form of despotism" which every great passion exercises. Such a passion enlists intellect in its service; it even has the courage for unholy means; it creates without hesitation; it allows itself convictions, it even _uses_ them, but it never submits to them. The need of faith and of anything unconditionally negative or affirmative is a proof of weakness; all weakness is weakness of will. The man of faith, the believer, is necessarily an inferior species of man. From this it follows that "all freedom of spirit," _i.e._ instinctive scepticism, is the prerequisite of greatness.

964.

The great man is conscious of his power over a people, and of the fact that he coincides temporarily with a people or with a century--this _magnifying_ of his self-consciousness as _causa_ and _voluntas_ is _misunderstood_ as "altruism": he feels driven to _means_ of communication: all great men are _inventive_ in such means. They want to form great communities in their own image; they would fain give multiformity and disorder definite shape; it stimulates them to behold chaos.

The misunderstanding of love. There is a _slavish_ love which subordinates itself and gives itself away--which idealises and deceives itself; there is a _divine_ species of love which despises and loves at the same time, and which _remodels_ and _elevates_ the thing it loves.

The object is to attain that enormous _energy of greatness_ which can model the man of the future by means of discipline and also by means of the annihilation of millions of the bungled and botched, and which can yet avoid _going to ruin_ at the sight of the suffering _created_ thereby, the like of which has never been seen before.

965.

The revolution, confusion, and distress of whole peoples is in my opinion of less importance than _the misfortunes which attend great individuals in their development._ We must not allow ourselves to be deceived: the many misfortunes of all these small folk do not together constitute a sum-total, except in the feelings of _mighty_ men.--To think of one's self in moments of great danger, and to draw ones own advantage from the calamities of thousands in the case of the man who differs very much from the common ruck--may be a sign of a great character which is able to master its feeling of pity and justice.

966.

In contradistinction to the animal, man has developed such a host of _antagonistic_ instincts and impulses in himself, that he has become master of the earth by means of this synthesis.--Moralities are only the expression of local and limited _orders of rank in_ this multifarious world of instincts which prevent man from perishing through their _antagonism._ Thus a masterful instinct so weakens and subtilises the instinct which opposes it that it becomes an _impulse_ which provides the _stimulus_ for the activity of the principal instinct.

The highest man would have the greatest multifariousness in his instincts, and he would _possess_ these in the relatively strongest degree in which he is able to endure them. As a matter of fact, wherever the plant, man, is found strong, mighty instincts are to be found opposing each other (_e.g._ Shakespeare), but they are subdued.

967.

Would one not be justified in reckoning all great men among the _wicked?_ This is not so easy to demonstrate in the case of individuals. They are so frequently capable of masterly dissimulation that they very often assume the airs and forms of great virtues. Often, too, they seriously reverence virtues, and in such a way as to be passionately hard towards themselves; but as the result of cruelty. Seen from a distance such things are liable to deceive. Many, on the other hand, misunderstand themselves; not infrequently, too, a great mission will call forth great qualities, _e.g._ justice. The essential fact is: the greatest men may also perhaps have great virtues, but then they also have the opposites of these virtues. I believe that it is precisely out of the presence of these opposites and of the feelings they suscitate, that the great man arises,--for the great man is the broad arch which spans two banks lying far apart.

968.

In _great men_ we find the specific qualities of life in their highest manifestation: injustice, falsehood, exploitation. But inasmuch as their effect has always been _overwhelming,_ their essential nature has been most thoroughly misunderstood, and interpreted as goodness. The type of such an interpreter would be Carlyle.[5]

[Footnote 5: This not only refers to _Heroes and Hero-Worship,_ but doubtless to Carlyle's prodigious misunderstanding of Goethe a misunderstanding which still requires to be put right by a critic untainted by Puritanism.--Tr.]

969.

Generally speaking, everything _is worth no more and no less than one has paid for it._ This of course does not hold good in the case of an isolated individual; the great capacities of the individual have no relation whatsoever to that which he has done, sacrificed, and suffered for them. But if one should examine the previous history of his race one would be sure to find the record of an extraordinary storing up and capitalising of power by means of all kinds of abstinence, struggle, industry, and determination. It is because the great man has cost so much, and not because he stands there as a miracle, as a gift from heaven, or as an accident, that he became great: "Heredity" is a false notion. A man's ancestors have always paid the price of what he is.

970.