Human, All-Too-Human: A Book for Free Spirits, Part 1 Complete Works, Volume Six

By Friedrich Nietzsche

Page 82

kind of delight that he covets, perhaps
that delight in which all others are united. Novalis, an authority on
questions of holiness through experience and instinct, tells the whole
secret with naïve joy: "It is strange enough that the association of
lust, religion, and cruelty did not long ago draw men's attention to
their close relationship and common tendency."


That which gives the saint his historical value is not the thing he
_is,_ but the thing he _represents_ in the eyes of the unsaintly. It
was through the fact that errors were made about him, that the state
of his soul was _falsely interpreted,_ that men separated themselves
from him as much as possible, as from something incomparable and
strangely superhuman, that he acquired the extraordinary power which
he exercised over the imagination of whole nations and whole ages. He
did not know himself; he himself interpreted the writing of his moods,
inclinations, and actions according to an art of interpretation which
was as exaggerated and artificial as the spiritual interpretation
of the Bible. The distorted and diseased in his nature, with its
combination of intellectual poverty, evil knowledge, ruined health, and
over-excited nerves, remained hidden from his own sight as well as from
that of his spectators. He was not a particularly good man, and still
less was he a particularly wise one; but he _represented_ something
that exceeded the human standard in goodness and wisdom. The belief in
him supported the belief in the divine and miraculous, in a religious
meaning of all existence, in an impending day of judgment. In the
evening glory of the world's sunset, which glowed over the Christian
nations, the shadowy form of the saint grew to vast dimensions, it grew
to such a height that even in our own age, which no longer believes in
God, there are still thinkers who believe in the saint.


It need not be said that to this description of the saint which has
been made from an average of the whole species, there may be opposed
many a description which could give a more agreeable impression.
Certain exceptions stand out from among this species, it may be through
great mildness and philanthropy, it may be through the magic of unusual
energy; others are attractive in the highest degree, because certain
wild ravings have poured streams of light on their whole being, as is
the case, for instance, with the famous founder of Christianity, who
thought he was the Son of God and therefore felt himself sinless--so
that through this idea--which we must not judge too hardly because the
whole antique world swarms with sons

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Text Comparison with Ecce Homo Complete Works, Volume Seventeen

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into the domain of the menu, where their efforts at rendering the meaning of French dishes are extremely comical.
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The question concerning the origin of moral valuations is therefore a matter of the highest importance to me because it determines the future of mankind.
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"Light am I: would that I were night! But this is my loneliness, that I am begirt with light.
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Now that the yea-saying part of my life-task was accomplished, there came the turn of the negative portion, both in word and deed: the transvaluation of all values that had existed hitherto, the great war,--the conjuring-up of the day when the fatal outcome of the struggle would be decided.
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Turin is the only suitable place for me, and it shall be my home henceforward.
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When I was last in Germany, I found German taste striving to grant Wagner and the _Trumpeter of Sakkingen_[2] equal rights; while I myself witnessed the attempts of the people of Leipzig to do honour to one of the most genuine and most German of musicians,--using German here in the old sense of the word,--a man who was no mere German of the Empire, the master Heinrich Schütz, by founding a Liszt Society, the object of which was to cultivate and spread artful (_listige_[3]) Church music.
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only "_unconscious_" swindlers (this word applies to Fichte, Schelling, Schopenhauer, Hegel, and Schleiermacher, just as well as to Kant or Leibniz; they were all mere _Schleiermachers_).
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The first thing I ask myself when I begin analysing a man, is, whether he has a feeling for distance in him; whether he sees rank, gradation, and order everywhere between man and man; whether he makes distinctions; for this is what constitutes a gentleman.
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Thus oft thou saw'st me,--yesterday, at least,-- Full in the morning sun and its hot beaming, While, visioning the carrion of his feast, .
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Song upon trembling song by starts and fits I chant, in rhythm all my thought unfolding, The black ink flows, the pointed goose-quill spits, O goddess, goddess--leave me to my scolding! AFTER A NIGHT STORM[2] To-day in misty veils thou hangest dimly, Gloomy goddess, o'er my window-pane.
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What does your heart deplore? And who, pray, would not fain, If you loved him, adore?-- You're mute, but from your eye, The tear-drop is not far, You're mute: you'll yearn and die, Amorosissima? THE LITTLE BRIG NAMED "LITTLE ANGEL"[6] "Little Angel" call they me!-- Now a ship, but once a girl, Ah, and still too much a girl! My steering-wheel, so bright to see, But for sake of love doth whirl.
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" He spoke, but in the swiftest skiff .
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The mouse that gave a mountain birth Is you yourself confessed! You're all and naught, you're inn and wine, You're phœnix, mountain, mouse.
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Wherefore so steadfast? --Mocks he so cruel: He must have wings, who loves the abyss, He must not stay on the cliff, As thou who hangest there!-- O Zarathustra, Cruellest Nimrod! Of late still a hunter of God, A spider's web to capture virtue, An arrow of evil! Now Hunted by thyself, Thine own prey Caught in the grip of thine own soul.
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They will "solve" thee, They hunger already for thy "solution," They flutter already about their "riddle," About thee, the doomed one! O Zarathustra, Self-knower! Self-hangman! THE SUN SINKS I Not much longer thirstest thou, O burnt-up heart! Promise is in the air, From unknown mouths I feel a breath, --The great coolness comes.
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I alone do love: thou art inviolate To strokes of change and time, of fates the fate! 'Tis only thou, O dire Necessity, Canst kindle everlasting love in me! * * * * O loftiest crown of Life! O shield of Fate! That no desire can reach to invocate, That ne'er defiled or sullied is by Nay, Eternal Yea of life, for e'er am I thy Yea: For I love thee, Eternity! [Footnote 1: Translated by Dr.