reiner der gesunde Leib, der vollkommne und
rechtwinklige: und er redet vom Sinn der Erde.
Also sprach Zarathustra.
Von den Verächtern des Leibes
Den Verächtern des Leibes will ich mein Wort sagen. Nicht umlernen und
umlehren sollen sie mir, sondern nur ihrem eignen Leibe Lebewohl sagen
- und also stumm werden.
"Leib bin ich und Seele" - so redet das Kind. Und warum sollte man
nicht wie die Kinder reden?
Aber der Erwachte, der Wissende sagt: Leib bin ich ganz und gar, und
Nichts ausserdem; und Seele ist nur ein Wort für ein Etwas am Leibe.
Der Leib ist eine grosse Vernunft, eine Vielheit mit Einem Sinne, ein
Krieg und ein Frieden, eine Heerde und ein Hirt.
Werkzeug deines Leibes ist auch deine kleine Vernunft, mein Bruder,
die du "Geist" nennst, ein kleines Werk- und Spielzeug deiner grossen
"Ich" sagst du und bist stolz auf diess Wort. Aber das Grössere ist,
woran du nicht glauben willst, - dein Leib und seine grosse Vernunft:
die sagt nicht Ich, aber thut Ich.
Was der Sinn fühlt, was der Geist erkennt, das hat niemals in sich
sein Ende. Aber Sinn und Geist möchten dich überreden, sie seien aller
Dinge Ende: so eitel sind sie.
Werk- und Spielzeuge sind Sinn und Geist: hinter ihnen liegt noch das
Selbst. Das Selbst sucht auch mit den Augen der Sinne, es horcht auch
mit den Ohren des Geistes.
Immer horcht das Selbst und sucht: es vergleicht, bezwingt, erobert,
zerstört. Es herrscht und ist auch des Ich's Beherrscher.
Hinter deinen Gedanken und Gefühlen, mein Bruder, steht ein mächtiger
Gebieter, ein unbekannter Weiser - der heisst Selbst. In deinem Leibe
wohnt er, dein Leib ist er.
Es ist mehr Vernunft in deinem Leibe, als in deiner besten Weisheit.
Und wer weiss denn, wozu dein Leib gerade deine beste Weisheit nöthig
Dein Selbst lacht über dein Ich und seine stolzen Sprünge. "Was sind
mir diese Sprünge und Flüge des Gedankens? sagt es sich. Ein Umweg
zu meinem Zwecke. Ich bin das Gängelband des Ich's und der Einbläser
Das Selbst sagt zum Ich: "hier fühle Schmerz!" Und da leidet es und
denkt nach, wie es nicht mehr leide - und dazu eben _soll_ es denken.
Das Selbst sagt zum Ich: "hier fühle Lust!" Da freut es sich und denkt
nach, wie es noch oft sich freue - und dazu eben _soll_ es denken.
Den Verächtern des Leibes will ich ein Wort sagen. Dass sie verachten,
das macht ihr Achten. Was ist es, das Achten und Verachten und Werth
und Willen schuf?
Das schaffende Selbst schuf sich Achten und Verachten, es schuf sich
Lust und Weh. Der schaffende Leib schuf sich den Geist
All psychology hitherto has run aground on moral prejudices and timidities, it has not dared to launch out into the depths.Page 20
truthfulness in every little interrogative mark which you place after your special words and favourite doctrines (and occasionally after yourselves) than in all the solemn pantomime and trumping games before accusers and law-courts! Rather go out of the way! Flee into concealment! And have your masks and your ruses, that ye may be mistaken for what you are, or somewhat feared! And pray, don't forget the garden, the garden with golden trellis-work! And have people around you who are as a garden--or as music on the waters at eventide, when already the day becomes a memory.Page 21
And whenever anyone speaks without bitterness, or rather quite innocently, of man as a belly with two requirements, and a head with one; whenever any one sees, seeks, and WANTS to see only hunger, sexual instinct, and vanity as the real and only motives of human actions; in short, when any one speaks "badly"--and not even "ill"--of man, then ought the lover of knowledge to hearken attentively and diligently; he ought, in general, to have an open ear wherever there is talk without indignation.Page 26
Everything that is profound loves the mask: the profoundest things have a hatred even of figure and likeness.Page 40
may not always have been strange to him,--the thought which once had an immense power on earth as the Vedanta philosophy.Page 43
Piety, the "Life in God," regarded in this light, would appear as the most elaborate and ultimate product of the FEAR of truth, as artist-adoration and artist-intoxication in presence of the most logical of all falsifications, as the will to the inversion of truth, to untruth at any price.Page 45
What, then, is the attitude of the two greatest religions above-mentioned to the SURPLUS of failures in life? They endeavour to preserve and keep alive whatever can be preserved; in fact, as the religions FOR SUFFERERS, they take the part of these upon principle; they are always in favour of those who suffer from life as from a disease, and they would fain treat every other experience of life as false and impossible.Page 47
" A third, however, has not even here got to the limit of his distrust and his desire for possession: he asks himself whether the woman, when she gives up everything for him, does not perhaps do so for a phantom of him; he wishes first to be thoroughly, indeed, profoundly well known; in order to be loved at all he ventures to let himself be found out.Page 68
Here also the instinct of the populace cries, "Freedom from all masters!" and after science has, with the happiest results, resisted theology, whose "hand-maid" it had been too long, it now proposes in its wantonness and indiscretion to lay down laws for philosophy, and in its turn to play the "master"--what am I saying! to play the PHILOSOPHER on its own account.Page 82
Of what use is it for nimble, everyday intellects, or clumsy, honest mechanics and empiricists to press, in their plebeian ambition, close to such problems, and as it were into this "holy of holies"--as so often happens nowadays! But coarse feet must never tread upon such carpets: this is provided for in the primary law of things; the doors remain closed to those intruders, though they may dash and break their heads thereon.Page 92
I perhaps risk something when I allow such a truth to escape; let others capture it again and give it so much "milk of pious sentiment" [FOOTNOTE: An expression from Schiller's William Tell, Act IV, Scene 3.Page 96
But she does not want truth--what does woman care for truth? From the very first, nothing is more foreign, more repugnant, or more hostile to woman than truth--her great art is falsehood, her chief concern is appearance and beauty.Page 103
There was a time when it was customary to call Germans "deep" by way of distinction; but now that the most successful type of new Germanism is covetous of quite other honours, and perhaps misses "smartness" in all that has depth, it is almost opportune and patriotic to doubt whether we did not formerly deceive ourselves with that commendation: in short, whether German depth is not at bottom something different and worse--and something from which, thank God, we are on the point of successfully ridding ourselves.Page 107
--These were my thoughts when I noticed how clumsily and unintuitively two masters in the art of prose-writing have been confounded: one, whose words drop down hesitatingly and coldly, as from the roof of a damp cave--he counts on their dull sound and echo; and another who manipulates his language like a flexible sword, and from his arm down into his toes feels the dangerous bliss of the quivering, over-sharp blade, which wishes to bite, hiss, and cut.Page 108
In a loud voice: that is to say, with all the swellings, inflections, and variations of key and changes of TEMPO, in which the ancient PUBLIC world took delight.Page 114
--The SECOND thing whereby the French can lay claim to a superiority over Europe is their ancient, many-sided, MORALISTIC culture, owing to which one finds on an average, even in the petty ROMANCIERS of the newspapers and chance BOULEVARDIERS DE PARIS, a psychological sensitiveness and curiosity, of which, for example, one has no conception (to say nothing of the thing itself!) in Germany.Page 115
--There is also still in France a pre-understanding and ready welcome for those rarer and rarely gratified men, who are too comprehensive to find satisfaction in any kind of fatherlandism, and know how to love the South when in the North and the North when in the South--the born Midlanders, the "good Europeans.Page 134
--Wanderer, who art thou? I see thee follow thy path without scorn, without love, with unfathomable eyes, wet and sad as a plummet which has returned to the light insatiated out of every depth--what did it seek down there?--with a bosom that never sighs, with lips that conceal their loathing, with a hand which only slowly grasps: who art thou? what hast thou done? Rest thee here: this place has hospitality for every one--refresh thyself! And whoever thou art, what is it that now pleases thee? What will serve to refresh thee? Only name it, whatever I have I offer thee! "To refresh me? To refresh me? Oh, thou prying one, what sayest thou! But give me, I pray thee---" What? what? Speak out! "Another mask! A second mask!" 279.