45. The human soul and its limits, the range of man's inner experiences hitherto attained, the heights, depths, and distances of these experiences, the entire history of the soul UP TO THE PRESENT TIME, and its still unexhausted possibilities: this is the preordained hunting-domain for a born psychologist and lover of a "big hunt". But how often must he say despairingly to himself: "A single individual! alas, only a single individual! and this great forest, this virgin forest!" So he would like to have some hundreds of hunting assistants, and fine trained hounds, that he could send into the history of the human soul, to drive HIS game together. In vain: again and again he experiences, profoundly and bitterly, how difficult it is to find assistants and dogs for all the things that directly excite his curiosity. The evil of sending scholars into new and dangerous hunting-domains, where courage, sagacity, and subtlety in every sense are required, is that they are no longer serviceable just when the "BIG hunt," and also the great danger commences,—it is precisely then that they lose their keen eye and nose. In order, for instance, to divine and determine what sort of history the problem of KNOWLEDGE AND CONSCIENCE has hitherto had in the souls of homines religiosi, a person would perhaps himself have to possess as profound, as bruised, as immense an experience as the intellectual conscience of Pascal; and then he would still require that wide-spread heaven of clear, wicked spirituality, which, from above, would be able to oversee, arrange, and effectively formulize this mass of dangerous and painful experiences.—But who could do me this service! And who would have time to wait for such servants!—they evidently appear too rarely, they are so improbable at all times! Eventually one must do everything ONESELF in order to know something; which means that one has MUCH to do!—But a curiosity like mine is once for all the most agreeable of vices—pardon me! I mean to say that the love of truth has its reward in heaven, and already upon earth.
45. The human soul and its limits. The range of human inner experience so far, its heights, depths, and distances. The soul’s entire history UP TO THE PRESENT TIME, and its possibilities, still far from exhausted. All this is the destined hunting ground of a born psychologist and lover of a "big hunt". But how often must he tell himself in despair: "One person! Alas, only one person! And this vast forest, this untouched forest!" So he would like hundreds of hunting assistants and well-trained hounds. He could send them into the history of the human soul to drive HIS game together. But in vain. Again and again, he feels deeply and bitterly how hard it is to find assistants and dogs. They are so hard to find for all the things that directly arouse his curiosity. The trouble with sending scholars into new and dangerous hunting grounds is that courage, insight, and subtlety are needed everywhere. Yet scholars become useless just when the "BIG hunt" and the great danger begin. That is precisely when they lose their sharp eyes and keen noses. Consider the history of KNOWLEDGE AND CONSCIENCE as a problem in the souls of homines religiosi, or religious people. To sense and establish that history, perhaps one would need inner experience as deep, wounded, and vast as Pascal’s intellectual conscience. Even then, one would still need a vast, clear sky of wicked intelligence. From above, that intelligence could survey, organize, and effectively give shape to this mass of dangerous and painful experiences. But who could do this work for me! And who would have time to wait for such helpers! Clearly, they appear too rarely. Their appearance is so unlikely at any time! In the end, you must do everything YOURSELF to know anything. And that means you have MUCH to do! But a curiosity like mine is, once and for all, the most pleasant of vices. Forgive me! I mean that the love of truth has its reward in heaven, and already here on earth.
46. Faith, such as early Christianity desired, and not infrequently achieved in the midst of a skeptical and southernly free-spirited world, which had centuries of struggle between philosophical schools behind it and in it, counting besides the education in tolerance which the Imperium Romanum gave—this faith is NOT that sincere, austere slave-faith by which perhaps a Luther or a Cromwell, or some other northern barbarian of the spirit remained attached to his God and Christianity, it is much rather the faith of Pascal, which resembles in a terrible manner a continuous suicide of reason—a tough, long-lived, worm-like reason, which is not to be slain at once and with a single blow. The Christian faith from the beginning, is sacrifice the sacrifice of all freedom, all pride, all self-confidence of spirit, it is at the same time subjection, self-derision, and self-mutilation. There is cruelty and religious Phoenicianism in this faith, which is adapted to a tender, many-sided, and very fastidious conscience, it takes for granted that the subjection of the spirit is indescribably PAINFUL, that all the past and all the habits of such a spirit resist the absurdissimum, in the form of which "faith" comes to it. Modern men, with their obtuseness as regards all Christian nomenclature, have no longer the sense for the terribly superlative conception which was implied to an antique taste by the paradox of the formula, "God on the Cross". Hitherto there had never and nowhere been such boldness in inversion, nor anything at once so dreadful, questioning, and questionable as this formula: it promised a transvaluation of all ancient values—It was the Orient, the PROFOUND Orient, it was the Oriental slave who thus took revenge on Rome and its noble, light-minded toleration, on the Roman "Catholicism" of non-faith, and it was always not the faith, but the freedom from the faith, the half-stoical and smiling indifference to the seriousness of the faith, which made the slaves indignant at their masters and revolt against them. "Enlightenment" causes revolt, for the slave desires the unconditioned, he understands nothing but the tyrannous, even in morals, he loves as he hates, without NUANCE, to the very depths, to the point of pain, to the point of sickness—his many HIDDEN sufferings make him revolt against the noble taste which seems to DENY suffering. The skepticism with regard to suffering, fundamentally only an attitude of aristocratic morality, was not the least of the causes, also, of the last great slave-insurrection which began with the French Revolution.
46. Early Christianity sought faith in a skeptical world with the free spirit of the South, and often achieved it. That world had centuries of struggle between philosophical schools both behind it and still alive within it. It had also learned tolerance from the Imperium Romanum. This faith is NOT the sincere, austere faith of slaves. Such a faith perhaps kept a Luther, a Cromwell, or some other northern barbarian of the spirit attached to his God and Christianity. Rather, early Christian faith resembles Pascal’s faith. In a terrible way, Pascal’s faith resembles reason continually committing suicide. Yet this reason is tough, long-lived, and worm-like. It cannot be killed all at once with a single blow. From the beginning, Christian faith is sacrifice: the sacrifice of all spiritual freedom, all pride, and all self-confidence. At the same time, Christian faith is submission, self-mockery, and self-mutilation. This faith contains cruelty and religious Phoenicianism, the spirit of sacrificial worship. It suits a sensitive, many-sided, and extremely exacting conscience. It assumes that making the spirit submit is indescribably PAINFUL. Everything in such a spirit’s past, and all its habits, resist the absurdissimum, the supreme absurdity through which "faith" approaches it. Modern people have grown dull to the meaning of all Christian terminology. They no longer grasp the terribly extreme idea that ancient sensibilities found in the paradoxical formula "God on the Cross". Never before, anywhere, had there been such a bold reversal. Nor had anything been at once so dreadful, so challenging, and so questionable as this formula. It promised a revaluation of all ancient values. This was the Orient, the PROFOUND Orient. Through this formula, the Oriental slave took revenge on Rome and its noble, easygoing tolerance. The slave took revenge on the Roman "Catholicism" of unbelief. What angered slaves and drove them to revolt against their masters was never the masters’ faith. It was always their freedom from faith, their half-Stoic, smiling indifference to faith’s seriousness. "Enlightenment" causes revolt, because the slave wants the absolute. The slave understands nothing but tyranny, even in morality. He loves as he hates, without NUANCE, to the very depths, to the point of pain and sickness. His many HIDDEN sufferings drive him to revolt against the noble taste that seems to DENY suffering. Skepticism toward suffering is fundamentally only an attitude of aristocratic morality. Such skepticism was also no small cause of the last great slave revolt, which began with the French Revolution.
47. Wherever the religious neurosis has appeared on the earth so far, we find it connected with three dangerous prescriptions as to regimen: solitude, fasting, and sexual abstinence—but without its being possible to determine with certainty which is cause and which is effect, or IF any relation at all of cause and effect exists there. This latter doubt is justified by the fact that one of the most regular symptoms among savage as well as among civilized peoples is the most sudden and excessive sensuality, which then with equal suddenness transforms into penitential paroxysms, world-renunciation, and will-renunciation, both symptoms perhaps explainable as disguised epilepsy? But nowhere is it MORE obligatory to put aside explanations around no other type has there grown such a mass of absurdity and superstition, no other type seems to have been more interesting to men and even to philosophers—perhaps it is time to become just a little indifferent here, to learn caution, or, better still, to look AWAY, TO GO AWAY—Yet in the background of the most recent philosophy, that of Schopenhauer, we find almost as the problem in itself, this terrible note of interrogation of the religious crisis and awakening. How is the negation of will POSSIBLE? how is the saint possible?—that seems to have been the very question with which Schopenhauer made a start and became a philosopher. And thus it was a genuine Schopenhauerian consequence, that his most convinced adherent (perhaps also his last, as far as Germany is concerned), namely, Richard Wagner, should bring his own life-work to an end just here, and should finally put that terrible and eternal type upon the stage as Kundry, type vecu, and as it loved and lived, at the very time that the mad-doctors in almost all European countries had an opportunity to study the type close at hand, wherever the religious neurosis—or as I call it, "the religious mood"—made its latest epidemical outbreak and display as the "Salvation Army"—If it be a question, however, as to what has been so extremely interesting to men of all sorts in all ages, and even to philosophers, in the whole phenomenon of the saint, it is undoubtedly the appearance of the miraculous therein—namely, the immediate SUCCESSION OF OPPOSITES, of states of the soul regarded as morally antithetical: it was believed here to be self-evident that a "bad man" was all at once turned into a "saint," a good man. The hitherto existing psychology was wrecked at this point, is it not possible it may have happened principally because psychology had placed itself under the dominion of morals, because it BELIEVED in oppositions of moral values, and saw, read, and INTERPRETED these oppositions into the text and facts of the case? What? "Miracle" only an error of interpretation? A lack of philology?
47. Wherever religious neurosis has appeared on earth, we find three dangerous rules for living: solitude, fasting, and sexual abstinence. But we cannot determine with certainty which is cause and which is effect. We cannot even say IF any cause-and-effect relationship exists. One of the most common symptoms, among both so-called savage and civilized peoples, justifies this doubt. Sudden, excessive sensuality gives way just as suddenly to fits of repentance, rejection of the world, and rejection of willing. Could both symptoms perhaps be explained as disguised epilepsy? But nowhere is it MORE necessary to set explanations aside. No other type has attracted such a mass of nonsense and superstition. No other type seems to have interested people, even philosophers, more. Perhaps it is time to become a little indifferent here, to learn caution. Better still, perhaps we should look AWAY, GO AWAY. Yet behind the most recent philosophy, Schopenhauer's, stands the terrifying question of religious crisis and awakening. This question appears almost as the fundamental problem itself. How is the denial of the will POSSIBLE? How is the saint possible? These seem to be the very questions that set Schopenhauer on his path and made him a philosopher. So it followed naturally from Schopenhauer's philosophy that his most devoted follower, Richard Wagner, should end his life's work here. Wagner was perhaps also his last follower, at least in Germany. Wagner finally brought that terrifying, eternal type onto the stage as Kundry, type vecu, a type that lived and loved. At that very time, psychiatrists in almost every European country had the chance to study this type close up. They found it wherever religious neurosis, or what I call "the religious mood," had its latest epidemic outbreak. This outbreak took the form of the "Salvation Army." But what has so deeply interested people of every kind, in every age, even philosophers, about the saint? Undoubtedly, the apparent miracle involved: the immediate SUCCESSION OF OPPOSITES, of states of mind considered moral opposites. People thought it obvious that a "bad man" had suddenly become a "saint," a good man. Psychology as it then existed broke down at this point. Could this have happened mainly because psychology had submitted to morality's rule? Because psychology BELIEVED in opposing moral values, and saw, read, and INTERPRETED those opposites into the text and the facts? What? Could the "Miracle" be only a misinterpretation? A failure to read closely?
48. It seems that the Latin races are far more deeply attached to their Catholicism than we Northerners are to Christianity generally, and that consequently unbelief in Catholic countries means something quite different from what it does among Protestants—namely, a sort of revolt against the spirit of the race, while with us it is rather a return to the spirit (or non-spirit) of the race.
48. The Latin races seem far more deeply attached to Catholicism than we Northerners are to Christianity in general. Consequently, unbelief seems to mean something quite different in Catholic countries than among Protestants. In Catholic countries, unbelief is a kind of revolt against the spirit of the race. Among us, by contrast, unbelief is more a return to the spirit (or non-spirit) of the race.
We Northerners undoubtedly derive our origin from barbarous races, even as regards our talents for religion—we have POOR talents for it. One may make an exception in the case of the Celts, who have theretofore furnished also the best soil for Christian infection in the North: the Christian ideal blossomed forth in France as much as ever the pale sun of the north would allow it. How strangely pious for our taste are still these later French skeptics, whenever there is any Celtic blood in their origin! How Catholic, how un-German does Auguste Comte's Sociology seem to us, with the Roman logic of its instincts! How Jesuitical, that amiable and shrewd cicerone of Port Royal, Sainte-Beuve, in spite of all his hostility to Jesuits! And even Ernest Renan: how inaccessible to us Northerners does the language of such a Renan appear, in whom every instant the merest touch of religious thrill throws his refined voluptuous and comfortably couching soul off its balance! Let us repeat after him these fine sentences—and what wickedness and haughtiness is immediately aroused by way of answer in our probably less beautiful but harder souls, that is to say, in our more German souls!—"DISONS DONC HARDIMENT QUE LA RELIGION EST UN PRODUIT DE L'HOMME NORMAL, QUE L'HOMME EST LE PLUS DANS LE VRAI QUANT IL EST LE PLUS RELIGIEUX ET LE PLUS ASSURE D'UNE DESTINEE INFINIE.... C'EST QUAND IL EST BON QU'IL VEUT QUE LA VIRTU CORRESPONDE A UN ORDER ETERNAL, C'EST QUAND IL CONTEMPLE LES CHOSES D'UNE MANIERE DESINTERESSEE QU'IL TROUVE LA MORT REVOLTANTE ET ABSURDE. COMMENT NE PAS SUPPOSER QUE C'EST DANS CES MOMENTS-LA, QUE L'HOMME VOIT LE MIEUX?"... These sentences are so extremely ANTIPODAL to my ears and habits of thought, that in my first impulse of rage on finding them, I wrote on the margin, "LA NIAISERIE RELIGIEUSE PAR EXCELLENCE!"—until in my later rage I even took a fancy to them, these sentences with their truth absolutely inverted! It is so nice and such a distinction to have one's own antipodes!
We Northerners undoubtedly come from barbarous peoples, even in our talent for religion. We have POOR talents for religion. We may make an exception for the Celts. Until now, they have also provided the most fertile ground for Christian infection in the North. The Christian ideal blossomed in France as fully as the pale northern sun would ever allow. How strangely devout those later French skeptics still seem to us whenever they have any Celtic blood! How Catholic, how un-German Auguste Comte's Sociology seems to us, with the Roman logic of its instincts! How Jesuitical Sainte-Beuve seems, that charming, shrewd guide to Port Royal, despite all his hostility to Jesuits! And even Ernest Renan: how inaccessible his language seems to us Northerners! At every moment, the slightest religious thrill unsettles his refined, pleasure-loving soul, reclining in comfort. Let us repeat these fine sentences after him. What malice and arrogance they immediately stir in response in our probably less beautiful but harder souls! In other words, in our more German souls! "LET US SAY BOLDLY, THEN, THAT RELIGION IS A PRODUCT OF NORMAL HUMAN NATURE. PEOPLE ARE CLOSEST TO THE TRUTH WHEN THEY ARE MOST RELIGIOUS AND MOST CERTAIN OF AN INFINITE DESTINY.... WHEN PEOPLE ARE GOOD, THEY WANT VIRTUE TO CORRESPOND TO AN ETERNAL ORDER. WHEN THEY CONTEMPLATE THINGS WITHOUT SELF-INTEREST, THEY FIND DEATH OUTRAGEOUS AND ABSURD. HOW CAN WE NOT SUPPOSE THAT PEOPLE SEE MOST CLEARLY AT SUCH MOMENTS?"... These sentences sound so utterly OPPOSED to my ears and habits of thought. In my first burst of rage upon finding them, I wrote in the margin, "RELIGIOUS STUPIDITY AT ITS PUREST!" Later, my rage even made me take a liking to these sentences, with their truth turned completely upside down! How delightful, and what a distinction, to have one's own polar opposites!
49. That which is so astonishing in the religious life of the ancient Greeks is the irrestrainable stream of GRATITUDE which it pours forth—it is a very superior kind of man who takes SUCH an attitude towards nature and life.—Later on, when the populace got the upper hand in Greece, FEAR became rampant also in religion; and Christianity was preparing itself.
49. What is so astonishing about ancient Greek religious life is the unstoppable stream of GRATITUDE it pours out. It takes a far superior kind of person to have SUCH an attitude toward nature and life. Later, when the common people gained the upper hand in Greece, FEAR also spread unchecked in religion. And Christianity was taking shape.
50. The passion for God: there are churlish, honest-hearted, and importunate kinds of it, like that of Luther—the whole of Protestantism lacks the southern DELICATEZZA. There is an Oriental exaltation of the mind in it, like that of an undeservedly favoured or elevated slave, as in the case of St. Augustine, for instance, who lacks in an offensive manner, all nobility in bearing and desires. There is a feminine tenderness and sensuality in it, which modestly and unconsciously longs for a UNIO MYSTICA ET PHYSICA, as in the case of Madame de Guyon. In many cases it appears, curiously enough, as the disguise of a girl's or youth's puberty; here and there even as the hysteria of an old maid, also as her last ambition. The Church has frequently canonized the woman in such a case.
50. Passion for God takes crude, honest-hearted, and pushy forms, like Luther’s. The whole of Protestantism lacks the southern DELICATEZZA, or delicacy. This passion can show an Oriental exaltation of mind, like that of a slave undeservedly favored or raised in rank. St. Augustine, for instance, shows this passion. He offensively lacks all nobility in his bearing and desires. Passion for God can also show a feminine tenderness and sensuality, as in Madame de Guyon. This tenderness and sensuality modestly and unconsciously long for a UNIO MYSTICA ET PHYSICA, a mystical and physical union. In many cases, curiously enough, passion for God appears as a disguise for a girl’s or young man’s puberty. Here and there, it even appears as an old maid’s hysteria, or as her last ambition. The Church has frequently canonized women in such cases.
51. The mightiest men have hitherto always bowed reverently before the saint, as the enigma of self-subjugation and utter voluntary privation—why did they thus bow? They divined in him—and as it were behind the questionableness of his frail and wretched appearance—the superior force which wished to test itself by such a subjugation; the strength of will, in which they recognized their own strength and love of power, and knew how to honour it: they honoured something in themselves when they honoured the saint. In addition to this, the contemplation of the saint suggested to them a suspicion: such an enormity of self-negation and anti-naturalness will not have been coveted for nothing—they have said, inquiringly. There is perhaps a reason for it, some very great danger, about which the ascetic might wish to be more accurately informed through his secret interlocutors and visitors? In a word, the mighty ones of the world learned to have a new fear before him, they divined a new power, a strange, still unconquered enemy:—it was the "Will to Power" which obliged them to halt before the saint. They had to question him.
51. Until now, the mightiest men have always bowed reverently before the saint. He embodied the mystery of self-mastery and complete, voluntary self-denial. Why did they bow? Behind his frail and miserable appearance, which seemed to cast doubt on him, they sensed a superior force. That force wanted to test itself through such self-mastery. They recognized their own strength and love of power in his strength of will, and knew how to honor it. By honoring the saint, they honored something in themselves. Besides, contemplating the saint stirred a suspicion in them. They wondered: such extreme self-denial and opposition to nature cannot have been sought for nothing. Perhaps there is a reason, some very great danger? Perhaps the ascetic hopes to learn more about that danger from his secret conversation partners and visitors? In short, the powerful men of the world learned a new fear in the saint’s presence. They sensed a new power, a strange enemy, still unconquered. It was the "Will to Power" that forced them to stop before the saint. They had to question him.
52. In the Jewish "Old Testament," the book of divine justice, there are men, things, and sayings on such an immense scale, that Greek and Indian literature has nothing to compare with it. One stands with fear and reverence before those stupendous remains of what man was formerly, and one has sad thoughts about old Asia and its little out-pushed peninsula Europe, which would like, by all means, to figure before Asia as the "Progress of Mankind." To be sure, he who is himself only a slender, tame house-animal, and knows only the wants of a house-animal (like our cultured people of today, including the Christians of "cultured" Christianity), need neither be amazed nor even sad amid those ruins—the taste for the Old Testament is a touchstone with respect to "great" and "small": perhaps he will find that the New Testament, the book of grace, still appeals more to his heart (there is much of the odour of the genuine, tender, stupid beadsman and petty soul in it). To have bound up this New Testament (a kind of ROCOCO of taste in every respect) along with the Old Testament into one book, as the "Bible," as "The Book in Itself," is perhaps the greatest audacity and "sin against the Spirit" which literary Europe has upon its conscience.
52. The Jewish "Old Testament," the book of divine justice, contains people, things, and sayings of immense grandeur. Greek and Indian literature have nothing to compare with them. We stand in fear and reverence before these tremendous remains of what humanity once was. And we think sadly of old Asia and Europe, the little peninsula jutting out from it. Europe wants at all costs to present itself to Asia as the "Progress of Mankind." Of course, someone who is merely a frail, tame household animal need feel neither amazement nor sadness among those ruins. Such a person knows only a household animal’s needs. Our cultured people today are like this, including the Christians of "cultured" Christianity. A taste for the Old Testament is a test of what someone considers "great" and "small". Perhaps such a person will find that the New Testament, the book of grace, speaks more to his heart. (Much of it smells of the genuine, tender, stupid prayer-mumbler and the petty soul.) The New Testament is, in every respect, a kind of ROCOCO of taste. Yet literary Europe bound it together with the Old Testament as the "Bible," as "The Book in Itself,". Perhaps this is the greatest act of audacity and "sin against the Spirit" on literary Europe’s conscience.
53. Why Atheism nowadays? "The father" in God is thoroughly refuted; equally so "the judge," "the rewarder." Also his "free will": he does not hear—and even if he did, he would not know how to help. The worst is that he seems incapable of communicating himself clearly; is he uncertain?—This is what I have made out (by questioning and listening at a variety of conversations) to be the cause of the decline of European theism; it appears to me that though the religious instinct is in vigorous growth,—it rejects the theistic satisfaction with profound distrust.
53. Why atheism today? God as "the father" has been thoroughly refuted, as have God as "the judge" and "the rewarder." So has his "free will": he does not hear, and even if he did, he would not know how to help. Worst of all, he seems unable to communicate clearly. Is he uncertain? From asking questions and listening to various conversations, I have gathered that these are the reasons European theism is declining. It seems to me that although the religious instinct is growing strongly, it deeply distrusts satisfaction through belief in God.
54. What does all modern philosophy mainly do? Since Descartes—and indeed more in defiance of him than on the basis of his procedure—an ATTENTAT has been made on the part of all philosophers on the old conception of the soul, under the guise of a criticism of the subject and predicate conception—that is to say, an ATTENTAT on the fundamental presupposition of Christian doctrine. Modern philosophy, as epistemological skepticism, is secretly or openly ANTI-CHRISTIAN, although (for keener ears, be it said) by no means anti-religious. Formerly, in effect, one believed in "the soul" as one believed in grammar and the grammatical subject: one said, "I" is the condition, "think" is the predicate and is conditioned—to think is an activity for which one MUST suppose a subject as cause. The attempt was then made, with marvelous tenacity and subtlety, to see if one could not get out of this net,—to see if the opposite was not perhaps true: "think" the condition, and "I" the conditioned; "I," therefore, only a synthesis which has been MADE by thinking itself. KANT really wished to prove that, starting from the subject, the subject could not be proved—nor the object either: the possibility of an APPARENT EXISTENCE of the subject, and therefore of "the soul," may not always have been strange to him,—the thought which once had an immense power on earth as the Vedanta philosophy.
54. What is the main work of all modern philosophy? Since Descartes, all philosophers have attacked the old idea of the soul. They have done so more in defiance of Descartes than by following his method. The attack has taken the form of criticizing the subject-predicate model. In other words, it attacks the basic assumption of Christian doctrine. Modern philosophy, as skepticism about knowledge, is secretly or openly ANTI-CHRISTIAN. Yet it is by no means anti-religious, a point for those with sharper ears. People once believed in "the soul" just as they believed in grammar and the grammatical subject. They said that "I" is the condition, while "think" is the predicate and depends on "I". Thinking is an activity, so one MUST assume a subject as its cause. Philosophers then tried, with remarkable persistence and subtlety, to escape this net. They asked whether the reverse might be true: "think" is the condition, and "I" depends on it. On this view, "I" is only a synthesis MADE by thinking itself. KANT really wanted to prove that, starting from the subject, one could prove neither the subject nor the object. The possibility that the subject, and therefore "the soul," might only SEEM TO EXIST may not always have been foreign to him. This idea once held immense power on earth in the form of Vedanta philosophy.
55. There is a great ladder of religious cruelty, with many rounds; but three of these are the most important. Once on a time men sacrificed human beings to their God, and perhaps just those they loved the best—to this category belong the firstling sacrifices of all primitive religions, and also the sacrifice of the Emperor Tiberius in the Mithra-Grotto on the Island of Capri, that most terrible of all Roman anachronisms. Then, during the moral epoch of mankind, they sacrificed to their God the strongest instincts they possessed, their "nature"; THIS festal joy shines in the cruel glances of ascetics and "anti-natural" fanatics. Finally, what still remained to be sacrificed? Was it not necessary in the end for men to sacrifice everything comforting, holy, healing, all hope, all faith in hidden harmonies, in future blessedness and justice? Was it not necessary to sacrifice God himself, and out of cruelty to themselves to worship stone, stupidity, gravity, fate, nothingness? To sacrifice God for nothingness—this paradoxical mystery of the ultimate cruelty has been reserved for the rising generation; we all know something thereof already.
55. Religious cruelty is a great ladder with many rungs, but three rungs are the most important. Once, people sacrificed human beings to their God, perhaps the very people they loved most. These sacrifices include the firstborn offerings of all primitive religions. They also include the sacrifice of the Emperor Tiberius in the Mithra-Grotto on the Island of Capri. That sacrifice was the most terrible of all Roman anachronisms, a practice out of place in its time. Then, during humanity’s moral age, people sacrificed their strongest instincts, their "nature", to their God. THIS joy of celebration shines in the cruel eyes of ascetics and "anti-natural" fanatics. Finally, what was left to sacrifice? In the end, did people not have to sacrifice everything comforting, holy, and healing? Did they not have to sacrifice all hope and all faith in hidden harmonies, future blessedness, and justice? Did they not have to sacrifice God himself? And, out of cruelty toward themselves, did they not have to worship stone, stupidity, gravity, fate, and nothingness? To sacrifice God for nothingness: this paradoxical mystery of the ultimate cruelty has been reserved for the rising generation. We all already know something of this mystery.
56. Whoever, like myself, prompted by some enigmatical desire, has long endeavoured to go to the bottom of the question of pessimism and free it from the half-Christian, half-German narrowness and stupidity in which it has finally presented itself to this century, namely, in the form of Schopenhauer's philosophy; whoever, with an Asiatic and super-Asiatic eye, has actually looked inside, and into the most world-renouncing of all possible modes of thought—beyond good and evil, and no longer like Buddha and Schopenhauer, under the dominion and delusion of morality,—whoever has done this, has perhaps just thereby, without really desiring it, opened his eyes to behold the opposite ideal: the ideal of the most world-approving, exuberant, and vivacious man, who has not only learnt to compromise and arrange with that which was and is, but wishes to have it again AS IT WAS AND IS, for all eternity, insatiably calling out da capo, not only to himself, but to the whole piece and play; and not only the play, but actually to him who requires the play—and makes it necessary; because he always requires himself anew—and makes himself necessary.—What? And this would not be—circulus vitiosus deus?
56. Suppose someone, like me, has long tried to get to the bottom of pessimism, driven by some mysterious desire. Suppose they have tried to free pessimism from the half-Christian, half-German narrowness and stupidity it has finally assumed in this century. That is the form pessimism takes in Schopenhauer's philosophy. Suppose this person has looked with an Asiatic and super-Asiatic eye into the most world-renouncing of all possible ways of thinking. They have looked beyond good and evil, no longer ruled and deceived by morality, as Buddha and Schopenhauer were. Whoever has done this has perhaps, through that very act, opened their eyes to the opposite ideal, without really wanting to. This is the ideal of the most world-affirming, exuberant, and lively human being. Such a person has not merely learned to compromise and come to terms with what was and is. He wants it all again, AS IT WAS AND IS, for all eternity. He cries out insatiably, da capo, not only to himself but to the whole piece and play. And not only to the play, but to the one who needs the play and makes it necessary. For he always needs himself anew and makes himself necessary. What? And wouldn't this be circulus vitiosus deus?
57. The distance, and as it were the space around man, grows with the strength of his intellectual vision and insight: his world becomes profounder; new stars, new enigmas, and notions are ever coming into view. Perhaps everything on which the intellectual eye has exercised its acuteness and profundity has just been an occasion for its exercise, something of a game, something for children and childish minds. Perhaps the most solemn conceptions that have caused the most fighting and suffering, the conceptions "God" and "sin," will one day seem to us of no more importance than a child's plaything or a child's pain seems to an old man;—and perhaps another plaything and another pain will then be necessary once more for "the old man"—always childish enough, an eternal child!
57. As man's intellectual vision and insight grow stronger, the distance and, so to speak, the space around him expand. His world grows deeper. New stars, new riddles, and new ideas keep coming into view. Perhaps everything the mind's eye has examined so sharply and deeply has merely given that eye a chance to exercise. Perhaps it has been a kind of game, something for children and childish minds. Perhaps the most solemn ideas, "God" and "sin," which have caused the most fighting and suffering, will someday seem trivial. Perhaps they will matter no more to us than a child's toy or a child's pain matters to an old man. And perhaps "the old man" will then need another toy and another pain once again. Still childish enough, an eternal child!
58. Has it been observed to what extent outward idleness, or semi-idleness, is necessary to a real religious life (alike for its favourite microscopic labour of self-examination, and for its soft placidity called "prayer," the state of perpetual readiness for the "coming of God"), I mean the idleness with a good conscience, the idleness of olden times and of blood, to which the aristocratic sentiment that work is DISHONOURING—that it vulgarizes body and soul—is not quite unfamiliar? And that consequently the modern, noisy, time-engrossing, conceited, foolishly proud laboriousness educates and prepares for "unbelief" more than anything else? Among these, for instance, who are at present living apart from religion in Germany, I find "free-thinkers" of diversified species and origin, but above all a majority of those in whom laboriousness from generation to generation has dissolved the religious instincts; so that they no longer know what purpose religions serve, and only note their existence in the world with a kind of dull astonishment. They feel themselves already fully occupied, these good people, be it by their business or by their pleasures, not to mention the "Fatherland," and the newspapers, and their "family duties"; it seems that they have no time whatever left for religion; and above all, it is not obvious to them whether it is a question of a new business or a new pleasure—for it is impossible, they say to themselves, that people should go to church merely to spoil their tempers. They are by no means enemies of religious customs; should certain circumstances, State affairs perhaps, require their participation in such customs, they do what is required, as so many things are done—with a patient and unassuming seriousness, and without much curiosity or discomfort;—they live too much apart and outside to feel even the necessity for a FOR or AGAINST in such matters. Among those indifferent persons may be reckoned nowadays the majority of German Protestants of the middle classes, especially in the great laborious centres of trade and commerce; also the majority of laborious scholars, and the entire University personnel (with the exception of the theologians, whose existence and possibility there always gives psychologists new and more subtle puzzles to solve). On the part of pious, or merely church-going people, there is seldom any idea of HOW MUCH good-will, one might say arbitrary will, is now necessary for a German scholar to take the problem of religion seriously; his whole profession (and as I have said, his whole workmanlike laboriousness, to which he is compelled by his modern conscience) inclines him to a lofty and almost charitable serenity as regards religion, with which is occasionally mingled a slight disdain for the "uncleanliness" of spirit which he takes for granted wherever any one still professes to belong to the Church. It is only with the help of history (NOT through his own personal experience, therefore) that the scholar succeeds in bringing himself to a respectful seriousness, and to a certain timid deference in presence of religions; but even when his sentiments have reached the stage of gratitude towards them, he has not personally advanced one step nearer to that which still maintains itself as Church or as piety; perhaps even the contrary. The practical indifference to religious matters in the midst of which he has been born and brought up, usually sublimates itself in his case into circumspection and cleanliness, which shuns contact with religious men and things; and it may be just the depth of his tolerance and humanity which prompts him to avoid the delicate trouble which tolerance itself brings with it.—Every age has its own divine type of naivete, for the discovery of which other ages may envy it: and how much naivete—adorable, childlike, and boundlessly foolish naivete is involved in this belief of the scholar in his superiority, in the good conscience of his tolerance, in the unsuspecting, simple certainty with which his instinct treats the religious man as a lower and less valuable type, beyond, before, and ABOVE which he himself has developed—he, the little arrogant dwarf and mob-man, the sedulously alert, head-and-hand drudge of "ideas," of "modern ideas"!
58. Has anyone noticed how much outward idleness, or near-idleness, a genuine religious life requires? Such leisure supports religion’s favorite task: examining oneself in microscopic detail. It also supports the gentle calm called "prayer," the constant readiness for the "coming of God." I mean idleness with a clear conscience, the ancient, inherited kind of idleness. Such idleness is still somewhat familiar with the aristocratic feeling that work is DISHONOURING, that it cheapens body and soul. And has anyone noticed the consequence? Modern industriousness does more than anything else to train and prepare people for "unbelief." That industriousness is noisy, consumes people’s time, and is conceited and foolishly proud. Consider those in Germany who now live apart from religion. Among them I find "free-thinkers" of many kinds and backgrounds. But most are people whose religious instincts have dissolved through generations of constant work. They no longer know what purpose religions serve. They merely register religion’s existence in the world with a kind of dull astonishment. These good people already feel fully occupied, whether by business or pleasure. Then there are the "Fatherland," the newspapers, and their "family duties." Apparently, they have no time left for religion. Above all, they cannot tell whether religion is another business or another pleasure. Surely, they tell themselves, people cannot go to church merely to put themselves in a bad mood. They are by no means hostile to religious customs. If circumstances, perhaps affairs of State, require them to participate, they do what is required. They approach these customs as they approach so many other things: with patient, unassuming seriousness, without much curiosity or discomfort. They live too far outside religion even to feel any need to be FOR or AGAINST it. Today, these indifferent people include most middle-class German Protestants, especially in the great, hardworking centers of trade and commerce. They also include most hardworking scholars and the entire University staff. The theologians are the exception. Their presence at universities, and how that presence is even possible, always give psychologists new and subtler puzzles to solve. Devout people, or those who merely attend church, seldom understand HOW MUCH goodwill a German scholar now needs to take religion seriously. One might even call this goodwill an arbitrary act of will. His whole profession inclines him toward a lofty, almost charitable calm about religion. So does his whole workerlike industriousness, which, as I have said, his modern conscience forces upon him. Occasionally, that calm includes a slight contempt for spiritual "uncleanliness." He takes such uncleanliness for granted wherever anyone still claims to belong to the Church. Only history enables the scholar to approach religions with respectful seriousness and a certain timid deference. His own personal experience does NOT bring him there. But even when he comes to feel grateful toward religions, he has personally moved no closer to existing churches or piety. Perhaps he has even moved further away. He was born and raised amid practical indifference to religious matters. In him, that indifference usually becomes a refined caution and cleanliness that avoids contact with religious people and things. Indeed, the very depth of his tolerance and humanity may lead him to avoid the delicate difficulties that tolerance itself brings. Every age has its own divine kind of naivety, whose discovery other ages may envy. And how much naivety there is in the scholar’s belief in his own superiority! How adorable, childlike, and boundlessly foolish is his clear conscience about his tolerance! How naively certain his instinct is that religious people belong to a lower, less valuable type! He assumes, without a moment’s suspicion, that he has developed beyond them, ahead of them, and ABOVE them. He, the arrogant little dwarf, the man of the mob, the tirelessly vigilant drudge! He labors with head and hand in the service of "ideas," of "modern ideas"!
59. Whoever has seen deeply into the world has doubtless divined what wisdom there is in the fact that men are superficial. It is their preservative instinct which teaches them to be flighty, lightsome, and false. Here and there one finds a passionate and exaggerated adoration of "pure forms" in philosophers as well as in artists: it is not to be doubted that whoever has NEED of the cult of the superficial to that extent, has at one time or another made an unlucky dive BENEATH it. Perhaps there is even an order of rank with respect to those burnt children, the born artists who find the enjoyment of life only in trying to FALSIFY its image (as if taking wearisome revenge on it), one might guess to what degree life has disgusted them, by the extent to which they wish to see its image falsified, attenuated, ultrified, and deified,—one might reckon the homines religiosi among the artists, as their HIGHEST rank. It is the profound, suspicious fear of an incurable pessimism which compels whole centuries to fasten their teeth into a religious interpretation of existence: the fear of the instinct which divines that truth might be attained TOO soon, before man has become strong enough, hard enough, artist enough.... 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. Perhaps there has hitherto been no more effective means of beautifying man than piety, by means of it man can become so artful, so superficial, so iridescent, and so good, that his appearance no longer offends.
59. Anyone who has looked deeply into the world has surely sensed the wisdom in human superficiality. The instinct for self-preservation teaches people to be flighty, carefree, and false. Here and there, philosophers and artists show a passionate, exaggerated worship of "pure forms". Anyone who has such NEED to worship the surface has undoubtedly, at some point, taken an unfortunate dive BENEATH it. Perhaps there is even a ranking among these burned children, these born artists. They find pleasure in life only by trying to FALSIFY its image, as if taking weary revenge on life. We might guess how deeply life has disgusted them by how much they want its image falsified. How much do they want it softened, made otherworldly, and turned divine? We might count religious people, the homines religiosi, among these artists, as their HIGHEST rank. A deep, suspicious fear of incurable pessimism drives entire centuries to sink their teeth into a religious interpretation of existence. This instinctive fear senses that truth might be reached TOO soon, before humanity has become strong enough, tough enough, artistic enough.... Seen this way, piety, the "Life in God," would seem the most elaborate and ultimate product of the FEAR of truth. It would be an artist's worship and intoxication before the most logical of all falsifications. It would be the will to turn truth upside down, to embrace untruth at any price. Perhaps nothing has yet proved more effective than piety at making human beings beautiful. Through piety, people can become so artful, so superficial, so shimmering, and so good that their appearance no longer offends.
60. To love mankind FOR GOD'S SAKE—this has so far been the noblest and remotest sentiment to which mankind has attained. That love to mankind, without any redeeming intention in the background, is only an ADDITIONAL folly and brutishness, that the inclination to this love has first to get its proportion, its delicacy, its gram of salt and sprinkling of ambergris from a higher inclination—whoever first perceived and "experienced" this, however his tongue may have stammered as it attempted to express such a delicate matter, let him for all time be holy and respected, as the man who has so far flown highest and gone astray in the finest fashion!
60. To love humanity FOR GOD'S SAKE has so far been the noblest and most exalted feeling humanity has reached. Love for humanity, without any underlying intention to redeem, is only an ADDITIONAL form of folly and brutality. The impulse toward such love must first gain its balance, delicacy, grain of salt, and sprinkling of ambergris from a higher impulse. Whoever first saw and "experienced" this deserves to be held holy and respected forever. However much his tongue may have stumbled as he tried to express so delicate a matter, honor him. He is the man who has so far flown highest and gone astray in the finest way!
61. The philosopher, as WE free spirits understand him—as the man of the greatest responsibility, who has the conscience for the general development of mankind,—will use religion for his disciplining and educating work, just as he will use the contemporary political and economic conditions. The selecting and disciplining influence—destructive, as well as creative and fashioning—which can be exercised by means of religion is manifold and varied, according to the sort of people placed under its spell and protection. For those who are strong and independent, destined and trained to command, in whom the judgment and skill of a ruling race is incorporated, religion is an additional means for overcoming resistance in the exercise of authority—as a bond which binds rulers and subjects in common, betraying and surrendering to the former the conscience of the latter, their inmost heart, which would fain escape obedience. And in the case of the unique natures of noble origin, if by virtue of superior spirituality they should incline to a more retired and contemplative life, reserving to themselves only the more refined forms of government (over chosen disciples or members of an order), religion itself may be used as a means for obtaining peace from the noise and trouble of managing GROSSER affairs, and for securing immunity from the UNAVOIDABLE filth of all political agitation. The Brahmins, for instance, understood this fact. With the help of a religious organization, they secured to themselves the power of nominating kings for the people, while their sentiments prompted them to keep apart and outside, as men with a higher and super-regal mission. At the same time religion gives inducement and opportunity to some of the subjects to qualify themselves for future ruling and commanding the slowly ascending ranks and classes, in which, through fortunate marriage customs, volitional power and delight in self-control are on the increase. To them religion offers sufficient incentives and temptations to aspire to higher intellectuality, and to experience the sentiments of authoritative self-control, of silence, and of solitude. Asceticism and Puritanism are almost indispensable means of educating and ennobling a race which seeks to rise above its hereditary baseness and work itself upwards to future supremacy. And finally, to ordinary men, to the majority of the people, who exist for service and general utility, and are only so far entitled to exist, religion gives invaluable contentedness with their lot and condition, peace of heart, ennoblement of obedience, additional social happiness and sympathy, with something of transfiguration and embellishment, something of justification of all the commonplaceness, all the meanness, all the semi-animal poverty of their souls. Religion, together with the religious significance of life, sheds sunshine over such perpetually harassed men, and makes even their own aspect endurable to them, it operates upon them as the Epicurean philosophy usually operates upon sufferers of a higher order, in a refreshing and refining manner, almost TURNING suffering TO ACCOUNT, and in the end even hallowing and vindicating it. There is perhaps nothing so admirable in Christianity and Buddhism as their art of teaching even the lowest to elevate themselves by piety to a seemingly higher order of things, and thereby to retain their satisfaction with the actual world in which they find it difficult enough to live—this very difficulty being necessary.
61. The philosopher, as WE free spirits understand him, bears the greatest responsibility. His conscience holds him accountable for humanity’s overall development. He will use religion in his work of discipline and education, just as he uses current political and economic conditions. Religion can select and discipline people in many ways, both destroying and creating and shaping. Its effects vary according to the people brought under its spell and protection. For strong, independent people, religion offers another way to overcome resistance to their authority. These people are destined and trained to command. They embody the judgment and skill of a ruling race. Religion binds rulers and subjects together. In doing so, religion exposes and hands over the subjects’ consciences to their rulers. It surrenders their innermost hearts, which would gladly escape obedience. There are also exceptional people of noble birth who, through superior spirituality, may prefer a secluded, contemplative life. They may reserve for themselves only the more refined forms of rule, over chosen disciples or members of an order. If so, religion itself can free them from the noise and trouble of managing GROSSER affairs. Religion can also shield them from the UNAVOIDABLE filth of all political agitation. The Brahmins, for instance, understood this. Through a religious organization, they secured the power to nominate kings for the people. Yet their inclinations led them to remain separate and outside, as men with a higher mission, above kingship. At the same time, religion encourages and enables some subjects to prepare themselves for future rule and command. These are the slowly rising ranks and classes whose favorable marriage customs strengthen willpower and the pleasure of self-control. Religion gives these people enough incentives and temptations to aspire to a higher intellectual life. It also encourages them to experience the feelings of commanding themselves, of silence, and of solitude. Asceticism and Puritanism are almost essential tools for educating and ennobling a race seeking to overcome its inherited baseness. Such a race works its way upward toward future supremacy. Finally, religion gives ordinary people, the majority, an invaluable contentment with their lot and circumstances. These people exist to serve and be generally useful, and only to that extent are they entitled to exist. Religion gives them peace of heart, dignifies obedience, and adds to their social happiness and fellow feeling. It also lends some radiance, beauty, and justification to their souls’ utter ordinariness, pettiness, and half-animal poverty. Religion, together with the religious meaning of life, casts sunshine over these constantly harassed people. It makes even their own appearance bearable to them. Religion refreshes and refines them, just as Epicurean philosophy usually refreshes and refines sufferers of a higher order. It almost TURNS suffering TO ACCOUNT, and finally even makes suffering sacred and justifies it. Perhaps nothing in Christianity and Buddhism is so admirable as their skill in teaching even the lowest to elevate themselves. Through piety, these people rise to a seemingly higher order of things. In this way, they remain satisfied with the actual world, where living is difficult enough for them. And this very difficulty is necessary.
62. To be sure—to make also the bad counter-reckoning against such religions, and to bring to light their secret dangers—the cost is always excessive and terrible when religions do NOT operate as an educational and disciplinary medium in the hands of the philosopher, but rule voluntarily and PARAMOUNTLY, when they wish to be the final end, and not a means along with other means. Among men, as among all other animals, there is a surplus of defective, diseased, degenerating, infirm, and necessarily suffering individuals; the successful cases, among men also, are always the exception; and in view of the fact that man is THE ANIMAL NOT YET PROPERLY ADAPTED TO HIS ENVIRONMENT, the rare exception. But worse still. The higher the type a man represents, the greater is the improbability that he will SUCCEED; the accidental, the law of irrationality in the general constitution of mankind, manifests itself most terribly in its destructive effect on the higher orders of men, the conditions of whose lives are delicate, diverse, and difficult to determine. 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. However highly we may esteem this indulgent and preservative care (inasmuch as in applying to others, it has applied, and applies also to the highest and usually the most suffering type of man), the hitherto PARAMOUNT religions—to give a general appreciation of them—are among the principal causes which have kept the type of "man" upon a lower level—they have preserved too much THAT WHICH SHOULD HAVE PERISHED. One has to thank them for invaluable services; and who is sufficiently rich in gratitude not to feel poor at the contemplation of all that the "spiritual men" of Christianity have done for Europe hitherto! But when they had given comfort to the sufferers, courage to the oppressed and despairing, a staff and support to the helpless, and when they had allured from society into convents and spiritual penitentiaries the broken-hearted and distracted: what else had they to do in order to work systematically in that fashion, and with a good conscience, for the preservation of all the sick and suffering, which means, in deed and in truth, to work for the DETERIORATION OF THE EUROPEAN RACE? To REVERSE all estimates of value—THAT is what they had to do! And to shatter the strong, to spoil great hopes, to cast suspicion on the delight in beauty, to break down everything autonomous, manly, conquering, and imperious—all instincts which are natural to the highest and most successful type of "man"—into uncertainty, distress of conscience, and self-destruction; forsooth, to invert all love of the earthly and of supremacy over the earth, into hatred of the earth and earthly things—THAT is the task the Church imposed on itself, and was obliged to impose, until, according to its standard of value, "unworldliness," "unsensuousness," and "higher man" fused into one sentiment. If one could observe the strangely painful, equally coarse and refined comedy of European Christianity with the derisive and impartial eye of an Epicurean god, I should think one would never cease marvelling and laughing; does it not actually seem that some single will has ruled over Europe for eighteen centuries in order to make a SUBLIME ABORTION of man? He, however, who, with opposite requirements (no longer Epicurean) and with some divine hammer in his hand, could approach this almost voluntary degeneration and stunting of mankind, as exemplified in the European Christian (Pascal, for instance), would he not have to cry aloud with rage, pity, and horror: "Oh, you bunglers, presumptuous pitiful bunglers, what have you done! Was that a work for your hands? How you have hacked and botched my finest stone! What have you presumed to do!"—I should say that Christianity has hitherto been the most portentous of presumptions. Men, not great enough, nor hard enough, to be entitled as artists to take part in fashioning MAN; men, not sufficiently strong and far-sighted to ALLOW, with sublime self-constraint, the obvious law of the thousandfold failures and perishings to prevail; men, not sufficiently noble to see the radically different grades of rank and intervals of rank that separate man from man:—SUCH men, with their "equality before God," have hitherto swayed the destiny of Europe; until at last a dwarfed, almost ludicrous species has been produced, a gregarious animal, something obliging, sickly, mediocre, the European of the present day.
62. To be fair, we must also weigh the case against such religions and expose their hidden dangers. The cost is always excessive and terrible when religions do NOT serve as tools of education and discipline for philosophers. Instead, they rule on their own authority and ABOVE ALL ELSE. They want to be the final goal, not one means among others. Among humans, as among all other animals, defective, diseased, degenerating, weak, and necessarily suffering individuals are overabundant. Successful specimens are always the exception among humans too. Indeed, they are rare exceptions, since man is THE ANIMAL NOT YET PROPERLY ADAPTED TO HIS ENVIRONMENT. But worse follows. The higher the type a person represents, the less likely that person is to SUCCEED. Chance, the law of irrationality in humanity's overall makeup, reveals itself most terribly by destroying higher types of people. The conditions those people need to live are delicate, varied, and hard to determine. How, then, do the two greatest religions mentioned above regard this SURPLUS of failures in life? They try to preserve and keep alive whatever can be preserved. Indeed, as religions FOR SUFFERERS, they take the sufferers' side on principle. They always favor those who experience life as a disease. They would like to dismiss every other experience of life as false and impossible. We may deeply value this gentle, protective care. After all, such care has also benefited, and still benefits, the highest and usually most suffering type of person. Nevertheless, the religions that have so far held SUPREME POWER deserve this general judgment: they are among the main causes that have kept the human type at a lower level. They have preserved too much THAT SHOULD HAVE PERISHED. We owe them thanks for invaluable services. Who has enough gratitude not to feel poor when contemplating everything Christianity's "spiritual men" have done for Europe so far? But they had comforted sufferers and given courage to the oppressed and despairing. They had given the helpless a staff to lean on and support. They had drawn the brokenhearted and mentally troubled away from society into convents and spiritual prisons. What else did they need to do to preserve all the sick and suffering systematically and with a clear conscience? Such preservation meant, in actual fact, working for the DETERIORATION OF THE EUROPEAN RACE. They had to REVERSE every judgment of value. THAT was what they had to do! They had to shatter the strong, ruin great hopes, and cast suspicion on delight in beauty. They had to undermine everything independent, manly, conquering, and commanding. These instincts are all natural to the highest and most successful type of "man". They had to reduce those instincts to uncertainty, a troubled conscience, and self-destruction. Indeed, they had to turn all love of earthly life and mastery over the earth into hatred of earthly things. THAT was the task the Church set itself, and had to set itself. It continued until, by the Church's standard of value, "unworldliness," "freedom from sensuality," and "higher man" became a single feeling. Suppose someone could watch the strangely painful comedy of European Christianity, a comedy both crude and refined. Suppose the observer had the mocking, impartial eye of an Epicurean god. I think such an observer would never stop marveling and laughing. Doesn't it really seem that one single will has ruled Europe for eighteen centuries? And that its purpose was to turn man into a SUBLIME FAILED CREATION? But imagine someone approaching this almost voluntary degeneration and stunting of humanity with opposite demands, no longer Epicurean. Imagine that person holding some divine hammer, confronting the European Christian as an example of this degeneration (Pascal, for instance). Wouldn't that person have to cry out in rage, pity, and horror: "Oh, you bunglers, you arrogant, pitiful bunglers, what have you done! Was this work fit for your hands? How you have hacked at and ruined my finest stone! What have you dared to do!" I would say Christianity has so far been the most ominous act of presumption. These men were neither great enough nor hard enough to deserve a part, as artists, in shaping MAN. They lacked the strength and foresight to ALLOW the obvious law of countless failures and deaths to prevail. To allow that law would have required magnificent self-restraint. They were not noble enough to see the radically different ranks, and distances between ranks, separating one person from another. SUCH men, with their "equality before God," have so far controlled Europe's destiny. At last they have produced a stunted, almost ridiculous species, a herd animal. Something accommodating, sickly, and mediocre: the European of today.