The Joyous Science Page 6

  Pity is the most agreeable sensation in those who have little pride and no prospect of great conquests: for them, easy prey – and that is what all who suffer are – is something enchanting. Pity is the much-vaunted virtue of whores.

  14

  What Is Called Love

  Avarice and love: how differently we feel towards each of these words! And yet it could be the same impulse twice named, in the first case, disparaged by the ‘haves’, in whom the impulse has settled down somewhat and who now fear losing what they have, and in the other, glorified as ‘good’ by the discontented and the thirsty. Love of our neighbour – is it not a hankering after new property? And similarly, our love of knowledge, of truth and even all eagerness for news? We gradually grow weary of the old, familiar things we securely hold, and again stretch forth our hands; even the most beautiful landscape lived in for three months is no longer assured of our love, and some more distant shore excites our avarice: what is had loses much in the having. Our pleasure in ourselves thus seeks to sustain itself by continually transforming something new into ourselves – that is just what possession means. To grow weary with a possession is to grow weary with ourselves. (One can also suffer from an excess of possessions – and then the desire to dispose of or distribute may assume the honorific ‘love’.) When we see a man suffer, we welcome the opportunity to take possession of him; for example, the charitable and compassionate do this, calling the desire for a new possession awakened in them ‘love’, and taking pleasure in it as in a new conquest beckoning to them. However, it is the love of the sexes that most clearly betrays possessiveness: the lover wants the unconditional and exclusive possession of the person he longs for, he wants unconditional power as much over her soul as over her body, he wants to be loved exclusively, and to live and reign in the other soul as what is highest and most desirable. When we consider that this means nothing less than to exclude the whole world from a precious commodity, and from the happiness and enjoyment it affords, that the lover contemplates the deprivation and ruin of all rivals, and would like to be the dragon of his golden hoard, the most inconsiderate and selfish of all ‘conquerors’ and exploiters, and finally that to the lover himself the rest of the world seems pale, indifferent and unprofitable, and that he is ready to make any sacrifice, disturb all existing arrangements, and put his own interests above all others – we are astonished that this ferocious avarice and injustice of sexual love has been glorified and deified to such an extent. Still more astonishing is the fact that the concept of love as the opposite of selfishness has always been modelled on it, when it is perhaps precisely the most candid expression of selfishness! Here apparently the ‘have nots’ and the covetous have determined usage – there were probably always too many of them. Those who have been given to enjoy possession and satiety in this area have perhaps let slip a word here and there about the ‘raging demon’,11 as did the most loveable and beloved of all the Athenians, Sophocles; but the god Eros always laughed at such blasphemers – they were always his greatest favourites.

  Arguably, here and there on earth one comes across a couple in whom one sees a continuation of sorts to love’s avaricious appetite, in whom it has given way to a new desire and new avarice, to a shared thirst for an exalted ideal far above them; but who knows this love? Who has experienced it? Its proper name is friendship.

  15

  From a Distance

  This mountain makes the whole landscape it dominates pregnant with meaning and attractive in every way: after saying this to ourselves for the hundredth time, our appreciation becomes so extravagant and unwarranted that we imagine the source of this attraction to be the most attractive thing in the landscape – and so we climb the mountain and are disappointed. All of a sudden we become disenchanted both with it and with the landscape around and below us; we had forgotten that much greatness, like much goodness, wants to be seen only at a certain distance, and by all means from below, not from above – only in this way is it effective. Perhaps you know some people around you who can only look at themselves from a certain distance to find themselves at all tolerable or pleasing to behold and thus fortify themselves; for them, self-knowledge is ill-advised.

  16

  Across the Bridge

  In dealings with people who are ashamed of their feelings, one must be able to disguise one’s own; for such people take a sudden antipathy to anyone who catches them in a moment of tenderness, or enthusiasm, or intemperate rage, as if their deepest secrets had been discovered. If one wants to do them a kindness in such moments one should make them laugh, and utter some cold, cruel witticism – then their heart turns to ice, and they regain self-possession. But I am giving you the moral before the story.

  There was a time in our lives when we had grown so close to one another in friendship and brotherhood that nothing seemed to stand between us except this little footbridge. Just as you were about to step upon it, I asked you: ‘Do you want to cross this bridge to me?’ But then you no longer wanted to, and when I asked you again, you fell silent. Since then mountains and torrents and all that divides and estranges have come between us, and even if we wanted to be reconciled with one another, it was no longer possible. However, when you think back to that little footbridge, you are at a loss for words – but filled with tears and wonder.

  17

  To Give Reason for One’s Poverty

  To be sure, there is no sleight of hand by which we can make a poor virtue into a rich and abundant one, but perhaps we can make a virtue of necessity and reinterpret its poverty as beautiful. That way, we no longer suffer at the sight of it and feel compelled to frown at our fate. It is the wise gardener who lets his little brook pour from the clasped urn of a nymph; his fountain then gives a reason for his poverty – and who more than he has need of such nymphs?

  18

  Ancient Pride

  We cannot fully appreciate the noble cast of mind in antiquity, because we have no sense of the utter degradation of the ancient slave. For a Greek of noble descent, there were so many intermediate strata between his lofty status and that of the slave that from such an immense social distance the slave could no longer be distinctly seen: Plato could no longer see him at all. It is otherwise with us, accustomed as we are to the doctrine of human equality, if not to equality itself. A human being who is not his own man and who lacks leisure is in no way contemptible in our eyes. Perhaps there is too much of that sort of slavishness in each of us, as required by our social order and activities, fundamentally different as they are from those of the ancients.

  The Greek philosopher went through life with a lurking suspicion that there were far more slaves than one might have supposed – to wit, everyone who was not a philosopher. His pride swelled when he considered that even the most powerful men on earth would be his slaves. This pride is also strange to us, and impossible, for we do not feel the full force of the word ‘slave’, not even in simile.

  19

  Evil

  Examine the lives of the best and most fruitful men and peoples, and ask yourself: can a tree grow proud and tall without storms and inclemency? Disregard and opposition, all sorts of obstinacy, cruelty, greed, distrust, jealousy, hatred and violence – are these not among the favourable circumstances without which great growth, even in virtue, is scarcely possible? The poison by which the weaker natures perish strengthens the strong – and they do not call it poison.

  20

  Dignity of Folly

  A few more millennia down the road on which the last century set out, and all that man does will display the greatest prudence; but precisely because of this, prudence will have lost all dignity. To be sure, it will still be necessary to be prudent, but also so ordinary and commonplace that for those with a greater distaste for such things, this necessity will be regarded as vulgar. And just as a tyranny of science and truth could make us prize falsehood all the more, from a tyranny of prudence a new species of noble-mindedness might sprout. To be noble – perhaps then it would mean: to indulge in folly.

  21

  To the Teachers of Unselfishness

  The virtues of a man are called good, not with regard to the results they have for himself, but those we expect for ourselves and for society – all along there has been very little of the unselfish, very little of the ‘unegoistic’ in our praise of the virtues! For otherwise one could not help but see that the virtues (such as diligence, obedience, chastity, piety, justice) are mostly bad for their possessors, who are too much governed by these intensely ardent impulses, impulses which refuse to be put in balance with other impulses by reason. When you have a virtue, a real and complete virtue (and not merely a slight inclination towards virtue!), you are sacrificed to it! But your neighbour praises your virtue for that very reason! We praise the diligent man even though he ruins his eyes, or his mind loses its freshness and originality. We honour a youth while regretting the fact that he ‘worked his fingers to the bone’, because we judge: ‘For society as a whole, even the loss of the best individual is but a small sacrifice! What a pity that sacrifice is needed! Much worse, however, should the individual think otherwise, and regard his own preservation and development as more important than his service to society.’ And so we deplore the fate of this youth, not on his own account, but because a humble instrument – a so-called ‘good man’ – through wanton self-neglect has died and been lost to society. We might perhaps consider whether it would not have been more useful to society if he had worked with less self-neglect, and preserved himself longer – of course we readily admit the advantage in that, but reply that the other advantage – namely that a sacrifice has been made, and that our attitude towards, and treatment of, the sacrificial animal has once again been conspicuously confirmed – is more important and makes a more lasting impression. Therefore when virtue is praised, what is actually being praised is at once the instrumental character of the virtues, and then the blind impulse which governs every virtue and which cannot be reined in by regard for the larger interests of the individual himself: in short, the unreasonableness in virtue whereby the individual allows himself to be converted into a function of the larger whole. The praise of virtue is the praise of some private harm – it is praise of impulses which deprive a man of his noblest selfishness, and the strength to take the greatest care of himself.

  To be sure: we make much of a wide range of effects of virtue, the better to promote the inculcation of virtuous habits, conveying the impression that public virtue and private advantage go hand in hand – and in fact there is a kinship between them! For example, we represent blind and vehement diligence, the typical virtue of an instrument, as the road to wealth and honour and as a most salutary antidote to tedium and the passions; but we omit mentioning the grave danger of it. For this is how inculcation of virtue invariably proceeds: by a variety of stimuli and advantages we seek to induce in the individual a particular way of thinking and acting. Once it has become habit, impulse and passion, it rules in him and over him ‘for the common good’, but ultimately to his own detriment. How often have I observed that a man’s blind and vehement diligence does indeed create wealth and confer honour, only to deprive him of the refinement he needs to enjoy them. Thus the principal remedy for tedium and passion simultaneously dulls the senses and renders the intellect averse to new stimuli! (The most diligent of all ages – our age – can do nothing with its great diligence and money, except make even more money, and exercise even more diligence; for it requires more genius to spend than to acquire! Well, there are always our ‘grandchildren’!) If the inculcation of virtue is successful, every virtue is useful to the public while putting the individual who has it at a private disadvantage – probably some mental atrophy or even an early demise – with respect to his highest aims; consider in this light, one by one, the virtues of obedience, chastity, piety and justice. The praise of the unselfish, self-sacrificing, virtuous person – who therefore does not expend his whole energy and reason for his own preservation, development, ennoblement, advancement and extension of power, but who leads a humble and thoughtless life, perhaps even an indifferent or ironical one – in any case, this praise is not born of the spirit of unselfishness! The ‘neighbour’ praises unselfishness because it redounds to his own advantage! Were the neighbour’s own intentions ‘unselfish’, he would reject this impairment of strength, this injury to others on his behalf, he would counteract such tendencies as they emerge, and above all he would show his unselfishness by the very fact of not calling them good!

  Here we see the fundamental contradiction in the morality now held in high regard: its motives are opposed to its principle! The benefit to others with which this morality wants to demonstrate its worth is belied by its own criterion of morality! The injunction ‘You shall renounce yourself and offer yourself as a sacrifice’, lest it contradict its own morality, could only be decreed by a being who had renounced his own advantage and who, in the individual self-sacrifice required, perhaps even brought about his own demise. However, as soon as the neighbour (or society) exhorts us to altruism on account of its utility, the very opposite proposition, ‘You shall pursue your advantage even at everyone else’s expense’, applies; and therefore ‘thou shalt’ and ‘thou shalt not’ are preached in the same breath!

  22

  L’Ordre du Jour pour le Roi12

  The day begins; let us begin to arrange the day’s affairs and amusements for our most gracious lord, whom it pleases to remain recumbent. His Majesty has bad weather today; we will take care not to call it bad; we will not speak of the weather – but we will conduct the day’s affairs somewhat more formally and the amusements somewhat more amusingly than would otherwise be necessary. Perhaps His Majesty will even be ill; at breakfast, we will give the good news from the night before, the arrival of Monsieur Montaigne, who bears his illness with such good humour, joking about it – he suffers from a stone. We will receive several personages (personages! – what would that puffed-up old frog,13 who will be among them, say, if he heard this word! ‘I am no personage,’ he would say, ‘rather, I myself am always the occasion’) and the reception will last longer than is agreeable; which is reason enough to tell of the poet who wrote over his door: ‘Whoever enters does me an honour: and whoever does not – a kindness.’14 Truly a discourtesy courteously said! And for his part, perhaps this poet is quite right to be discourteous: it is said that the verses are better than the versifier. Well, may he make many more, and withdraw as much as possible from the world; and that no doubt is the point of his elegant effrontery! Conversely, a prince is always worth more than his poetry, even when – but what are we doing? Here we are indulging in small talk, when the whole court thinks that we have been working and racking our brains; no light in the window is seen burning earlier than ours.

  Hark! Was that not the morning bell? The devil! The day and the dance begin, and we do not know what is on the programme! Then we must improvise – as all the world improvises. For once, let us do as all the world does! And with that my whimsical dream this morning vanished, probably due to the tower clock which, with its own stern significance, had just struck five. It seems to me that on this occasion the god of dreams wanted to mock my habits – my habit is to begin the day by arranging it to make it tolerable for myself, and it may be that I often do this too formally and in too princely a manner.

  23

  The Signs of Corruption

  Consider the following signs of that occasionally necessary condition of society called ‘corruption’. As soon as corruption sets in anywhere, a motley array of superstitions becomes prevalent, and the earlier shared faith of a people becomes pale and powerless against it; however, superstition is a lesser species of free-thinking – he who gives himself over to it selects certain congenial forms and formulae and exercises some discretion in doing so. Compared to the religious man, the superstitious man is always much more of a ‘person’, and a superstitious society is one in which there are already more individuals and more delight in individuality. Seen from this standpoint, superstition is always an advance upon faith and a sign of the intellect becoming independent and asserting its rights. The devotees of the ancient religion and its religiosity complain then about corruption – until now they have determined linguistic usage, and have brought superstition into ill-repute even among the freest of free-thinkers. Let us learn that it is a symptom of enlightenment.

  Second, a society in which corruption takes place is charged with a lack of moral fibre: its approval of and delight in war perceptibly diminish, and the comforts of life are now as ardently sought after as athletic and military honours had once been. But it is customary to overlook the fact that the old passion and energy of the people, which became splendidly conspicuous through sport and war, has now transformed itself into a multitude of private passions, and has only become less conspicuous. Indeed, the force and violence with which a ‘corrupt’ people expends energy is probably greater than ever; the individual squanders his own as never before – in the past, he could ill afford to do so. And so the times that ‘lack moral fibre’ are precisely those in which great love and great hatred are born, tragedy spreads from house to house and knowledge is set ablaze, its flame rising into the sky.