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

By Friedrich Nietzsche

Page 99

to the great nausea--I know quite well the
purpose which all modern books will and can serve (granted that they
last, which I am not afraid of, and granted equally that there is to
be at some future day a generation with a more rigid, more severe,
and _healthier_ taste)--the _function_ which all modernity generally
will serve with posterity: that of an emetic,--and this by reason of
its moral sugariness and falsity, its ingrained feminism, which it is
pleased to call "Idealism," and at any rate believes to be idealism.
Our cultured men of to-day, our "good" men, do not lie--that is true;
but it does _not_ redound to their honour! The real lie, the genuine,
determined, "honest" lie (on whose value you can listen to Plato) would
prove too tough and strong an article for them by a long way; it would
be asking them to do what people have been forbidden to ask them to do,
to open their eyes to their own selves, and to learn to distinguish
between "true" and "false" in their own selves. The dishonest lie alone
suits them: everything which feels a good man is perfectly incapable of
any other attitude to anything than that of a dishonourable liar, an
absolute liar, but none the less an innocent liar, a blue-eyed liar, a
virtuous liar. These "good men," they are all now tainted with morality
through and through, and as far as honour is concerned they are
disgraced and corrupted for all eternity. Which of them _could stand_ a
further truth "about man"? or, put more tangibly, which of them could
put up with a true biography? One or two instances: Lord Byron composed
a most personal autobiography, but Thomas Moore was "too good" for it;
he burnt his friend's papers. Dr. Gwinner, Schopenhauer's executor, is
said to have done the same; for Schopenhauer as well wrote much about
himself, and perhaps also against himself: (εἰς ἑαντόν). The virtuous
American Thayer, Beethoven's biographer, suddenly stopped his work: he
had come to a certain point in that honourable and simple life, and
could stand it no longer. Moral: What sensible man nowadays writes one
honest word about himself? He must already belong to the Order of Holy
Foolhardiness. We are promised an autobiography of Richard Wagner; who
doubts but that it would be a _clever_ autobiography? Think, forsooth,
of the grotesque horror which the Catholic priest Janssen aroused in
Germany with his inconceivably square and harmless pictures of the
German Reformation; what wouldn't people do if some real psychologist
were to tell us about a genuine Luther, tell us, not

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Text Comparison with Dionysos: Valikoima runoja

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SISÄLLYS: Ecce homo.
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SYKSY Tää syksy on: se vielä särkee sydämesi Sa pois pakene! -- Päivä hiipii vuorten taa, se nousemistansa nousee ja lepää askeleen astuttuaan.
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-- Et vastaa -- kaste hieno katsettas sumentaa: -- ol' kuolos kaipuu vieno, _Amorosissima.
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Jos jäisin luoksesi, mun piirittäisit hennoin pilvilinnoin.
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niinkuin myrsky _pauhaa_ onnen ylväin hyrsky, henki vapain, kanssasi.
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"Tuo vanha loihtija antoi jo huonoimpansa meille parhaaksi, ja katso vain, vanhalla hurskaalla paavilla tuolla on kyyneleet silmissä ja hän on jälleen kokonaan laskenut laivansa alakuloisuuden merelle.
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Oi älkää itkekö, taatelisydämet! Maitorinnat! Te lakerijuuri-sydän- sykkeröiset! Ole mies, Suleika! Rohkeutta! Älä itke enää, kalpea Dudu! -- Vai oisko täss' ehkä joku vahvistus-, sydämenvahvistus-tippa nyt paikallaan? joku palsami-lause? joku juhlallinen manaus?.
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Osu syvempään! Osu vielä kerran! Sydän lävistä, särje tää! Miksi kidutat näin väkätylsin nuolin? Miksi katsot jälleen, sa ikiahne inehmotuskan, pahansuovin jumal- salama- silmin? Et tappaa tahdo, vain kiduttaa, kiduttaa? Mitä _minusta_ kidutat, sa pahansuopa, tuntematon jumala? -- Hahaa! Sa hiivit luo, tulet keskellä sydänyön?.
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savu, etkö sa ilmoita taivaltajalle, ett' ystävällinen liesi lähellä loimuaa? Mutkia tehden kulkevat suuret ihmiset, virrat, mutkia tehden, mut maaliinsa: se heidän on parhain rohkeutensa, he teitä polveilevia ei pelkää.