The Genealogy of Morals The Complete Works, Volume Thirteen, edited by Dr. Oscar Levy.

By Friedrich Nietzsche

Page 87

but admire the counterfeiter dexterity with which the stamp
of virtue, even the ring, the golden ring of virtue, is here imitated.
They have taken a lease of virtue absolutely for themselves, have these
weaklings and wretched invalids, there is no doubt of it; "We alone are
the good, the righteous," so do they speak, "we alone are the _homines
bonæ voluntatis_." They stalk about in our midst as living reproaches,
as warnings to us--as though health, fitness, strength, pride, the
sensation of power, were really vicious things in themselves, for
which one would have some day to do penance, bitter penance. Oh, how
they themselves are ready in their hearts to exact penance, how they
thirst after being _hangmen_!

Among them is an abundance of revengeful ones disguised as judges,
who ever mouth the word righteousness like a venomous spittle--with
mouth, I say, always pursed, always ready to spit at everything,
which does not wear a discontented look, but is of good cheer as it
goes on its way. Among them, again, is that most loathsome species
of the vain, the lying abortions, who make a point of representing
"beautiful souls," and perchance of bringing to the market as "purity
of heart" their distorted sensualism swathed in verses and other
bandages; the species of "self-comforters" and masturbators of their
own souls. The sick man's will to represent _some_ form or other of
superiority, his instinct for crooked paths, which lead to a tyranny
over the healthy--where can it not be found, this will to power of
the very weakest? The sick woman especially: no one surpasses her
in refinements for ruling, oppressing, tyrannising. The sick woman,
moreover, spares nothing living, nothing dead; she grubs up again the
most buried things (the Bogos say, "Woman is a hyena"). Look into
the background of every family, of every body, of every community:
everywhere the fight of the sick against the healthy--a silent fight
for the most part with minute poisoned powders, with pin-pricks, with
spiteful grimaces of patience, but also at times with that diseased
pharisaism of _pure_ pantomime, which plays for choice the rôle of
"righteous indignation." Right into the hallowed chambers of knowledge
can it make itself heard, can this hoarse yelping of sick hounds, this
rabid lying and frenzy of such "noble" Pharisees (I remind readers, who
have ears, once more of that Berlin apostle of revenge, Eugen Dühring,
who makes the most disreputable and revolting use in all present-day
Germany of moral refuse; Dühring, the paramount moral blusterer that
there is to-day, even among his own kidney, the Anti-Semites). They
are all men of resentment, are

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