Beyond Good and Evil: "Prelude to a Future Philosophy"

My work for the years that followed was prescribed as distinctly as possible. 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. Meanwhile, I had slowly to look about me for my peers, for those who, out of strength, would proffer me a helping hand in my work of destruction. From that time onward, all my writings are so much bait: maybe I understand as much about fishing as most people? If nothing was caught, it was not I who was at fault There were no fish to come and bite.

My work for the years that followed was laid out as clearly as possible. The life-affirming part of my task was complete. Now came the negative part, in both words and deeds: the transvaluation of all existing values, the great war. I had to bring on the day when the fateful outcome of the struggle would be decided. Meanwhile, I had to look patiently for my peers, for those who would offer me help in my work of destruction out of strength. From then on, all my writings are bait. Perhaps I know as much about fishing as most people? If nothing was caught, it was not my fault. There were no fish to bite.

In all its essential points, this book (1886) is a criticism of modernity, embracing the modern sciences, arts, even politics, together with certain indications as to a type which would be the reverse of modern man, or as little like him as possible, a noble and yea-saying type. In this last respect the book is a school for gentlemen—the term gentleman being understood here in a much more spiritual and radical sense than it has implied hitherto. All those things of which the age is proud,—as, for instance, far-famed "objectivity," "sympathy with all that suffers," "the historical sense," with its subjection to foreign tastes, with its lying-in-the-dust before petits faits, and the rage for science,—are shown to be the contradiction of the type recommended, and are regarded as almost ill-bred. If you remember that this book follows upon Zarathustra, you may possibly guess to what system of diet it owes its life. The eye which, owing to tremendous constraint, has become accustomed to see at a great distance,—Zarathustra is even more far-sighted than the Tsar,—is here forced to focus sharply that which is close at hand, the present time, the things that lie about him. In all the aphorisms and more particularly in the form of this book, the reader will find the same voluntary turning away from those instincts which made a Zarathustra a possible feat. Refinement in form, in aspiration, and in the art of keeping silent, are its more or less obvious qualities; psychology is handled with deliberate hardness and cruelty,—the whole book does not contain one single good-natured word.... All this sort of thing refreshes a man. Who can guess the kind of recreation that is necessary after such an expenditure of goodness as is to be found in Zarathustra? From a theological standpoint—now pay ye heed; for it is but on rare occasions that I speak as a theologian—it was God Himself who, at the end of His great work, coiled Himself up in the form of a serpent at the foot of the tree of knowledge. It was thus that He recovered from being a God.... He had made everything too beautiful.... The devil is simply God's moment of idleness, on that seventh day.

In all its essential points, this book (1886) criticizes modernity. It takes on modern science, art, and even politics. It also offers some indications of a type that would be the opposite of modern man, or as unlike him as possible: a noble, life-affirming type. In this last respect, the book is a school for gentlemen. Here, gentleman is meant in a much more spiritual and radical sense than it has had until now. The book shows that everything the age prides itself on contradicts the type it recommends. It treats these things as almost bad manners. They include the much-praised "objectivity," "sympathy with all that suffers," and "the historical sense," with its submission to foreign tastes and its groveling before petits faits. They also include the craze for science. If you remember that this book follows Zarathustra, you may be able to guess what kind of diet gave it life. Through tremendous effort, the eye has grown used to seeing great distances. Zarathustra is even more farsighted than the Tsar. Here, that eye is forced to focus sharply on what is close at hand: the present day and the things around it. Throughout the aphorisms, and especially in the book's form, the reader will find the same voluntary turning away from the instincts that made an achievement like Zarathustra possible. Its more or less obvious qualities are refinement of form, refinement of ambition, and refinement in the art of keeping silent. Psychology is treated with deliberate hardness and cruelty. The whole book does not contain a single good-natured word.... All this refreshes a person. Who can guess what kind of recreation is needed after such an expenditure of goodness as we find in Zarathustra? From a theological standpoint, and listen carefully now, for I rarely speak as a theologian, it was God himself who, at the end of his great work, coiled himself into a serpent at the foot of the tree of knowledge. This was how he recovered from being a God.... He had made everything too beautiful.... The devil is simply God's moment of idleness on that seventh day.