The Four Great Errors

_The error of the confusion of cause and effect.—_There is no more dangerous error than to confound the effect with the cause: I call this error the intrinsic perversion of reason. Nevertheless this error is one of the most ancient and most recent habits of mankind. In one part of the world it has even been canonised; and it bears the name of “Religion” and “Morality.” Every postulate formulated by religion and morality contains it. Priests and the promulgators of moral laws are the promoters of this perversion of reason.—Let me give you an example. Everybody knows the book of the famous Cornaro, in which he recommends his slender diet as the recipe for a long, happy and also virtuous life. Few books have been so widely read, and to this day many thousand copies of it are still printed annually in England. I do not doubt that there is scarcely a single book (the Bible of course excepted) that has worked more mischief, shortened more lives, than this well-meant curiosity. The reason of this is the confusion of effect and cause. This worthy Italian saw the cause of his long life in his diet: whereas the prerequisites of long life, which are exceptional slowness of molecular change, and a low rate of expenditure in energy, were the cause of his meagre diet He was not at liberty to eat a small or a great amount. His frugality was not the result of free choice, he would have been ill had he eaten more. He who does not happen to be a carp, however, is not only wise to eat well, but is also compelled to do so. A scholar of the present day, with his rapid consumption of nervous energy, would soon go to the dogs on Cornaro’s diet. Crede experto.—

The error of confusing cause and effect. There is no more dangerous error than confusing effect with cause. I call this error the inherent perversion of reason. Yet it is one of humanity’s oldest habits, and one of its newest. In one part of the world, this error has even been declared sacred. It goes by the names “Religion” and “Morality.” Every principle laid down by religion and morality contains it. Priests and those who proclaim moral laws promote this perversion of reason. Let me give you an example. Everyone knows the book by the famous Cornaro. In it, he recommends his meager diet as the recipe for a long, happy, and virtuous life. Few books have been so widely read. Even today, many thousands of copies are printed each year in England. I doubt that any other book, except the Bible, has caused more harm or shortened more lives than this well-meaning curiosity. The reason is the confusion of effect and cause. This worthy Italian saw his diet as the cause of his long life. But it was the conditions for a long life that caused his meager diet. These were an exceptionally slow rate of molecular change and a low rate of energy expenditure. He was not free to choose whether to eat little or much. His restraint was not a matter of free choice. He would have been ill if he had eaten more. But anyone who is not a carp is not only wise to eat well, but also compelled to do so. A scholar today, with his rapid consumption of nervous energy, would soon go to ruin on Cornaro’s diet. Believe one who has tried it.

The most general principle lying at the root of every religion and morality, is this: “Do this and that and avoid this and that—and thou wilt be happy. Otherwise——.” Every morality and every religion is this Imperative—I call it the great original sin of reason,—immortal unreason. In my mouth this principle is converted into its opposite—first example of my “Transvaluation of all Values”: a well-constituted man, a man who is one of “Nature’s lucky strokes,” must perform certain actions and instinctively fear other actions; he introduces the element of order, of which he is the physiological manifestation, into his relations with men and things. In a formula: his virtue is the consequence of his good constitution. Longevity and plentiful offspring are not the reward of virtue, virtue itself is on the contrary that retardation of the metabolic process which, among other things, results in a long life and in plentiful offspring, in short in Cornarism. The Church and morality say: “A race, a people perish through vice and luxury.” My reinstated reason says: when a people are going to the dogs, when they are degenerating physiologically, vice and luxury (that is to say, the need of ever stronger and more frequent stimuli such as all exhausted natures are acquainted with) are bound to result. Such and such a young man grows pale and withered prematurely. His friends say this or that illness is the cause of it I say: the fact that he became ill, the fact that he did not resist illness, was in itself already the outcome of impoverished life, of hereditary exhaustion. The newspaper reader says: such and such a party by committing such an error will meet its death. My superior politics say: a party that can make such mistakes, is in its last agony—it no longer possesses any certainty of instinct. Every mistake is in every sense the sequel to degeneration of the instincts, to disintegration of the will. This is almost the definition of evil, Everything valuable is instinct—and consequently easy, necessary, free. Exertion is an objection, the god is characteristically different from the hero (in my language: light feet are the first attribute of divinity).

The most general principle behind every religion and morality is this: “Do this and that, avoid this and that, and you will be happy. Otherwise....” Every morality and every religion is this command. I call it the great original sin of reason, immortal unreason. I turn this principle into its opposite. This is the first example of my “Transvaluation of all Values”: a well-constituted man, one of “Nature’s lucky strokes,” must perform certain actions and instinctively fear others. His body is an expression of order, and he brings this order into his relations with people and things. In short, his virtue is the result of his sound constitution. Long life and plentiful offspring are not the reward of virtue. On the contrary, virtue itself is that slowing of the metabolic process which produces, among other things, long life and plentiful offspring, in short, Cornarism. The Church and morality say: “A race, a people perish through vice and luxury.” My restored reason says: when a people are going to the dogs, when they are degenerating physically, vice and luxury are bound to follow. By vice and luxury, I mean the need for stronger and more frequent stimulation, which all exhausted natures know. A young man grows pale and withered before his time. His friends say that this or that illness caused it. I say that his illness, and his failure to resist it, were already the result of weakened life and inherited exhaustion. The newspaper reader says: a party will meet its death by making such an error. My superior politics say: a party capable of making such mistakes is in its death throes. It no longer has any certainty of instinct. Every mistake is in every sense the result of degenerated instincts and a disintegrating will. This is almost the definition of evil. Everything valuable is instinctive and therefore easy, necessary, and free. The need for effort counts against something. The god is characteristically different from the hero. In my language, light feet are the first attribute of divinity.

The error of false causality. In all ages men have believed that they knew what a cause was: but whence did we derive this knowledge, or more accurately, this faith in the fact that we know? Out of the realm of the famous “inner facts of consciousness,” not one of which has yet proved itself to be a fact We believed ourselves to be causes even in the action of the will; we thought that in this matter at least we caught causality red-handed. No one doubted that all the antecedentia of an action were to be sought in consciousness, and could be discovered there—as “motive”—if only they were sought. Otherwise we should not be free to perform them, we should not have been responsible for them. Finally who would have questioned that a thought is caused? that the ego causes the thought? Of these three “facts of inner consciousness” by means of which causality seemed to be guaranteed, the first and most convincing is that of the will as cause; the conception of consciousness (“spirit”) as a cause, and subsequently that of the ego (the “subject”) as a cause, were merely born afterwards, once the causality of the will stood established as “given,” as a fact of experience. Meanwhile we have come to our senses. To-day we no longer believe a word of all this. The “inner world” is full of phantoms and will-o’-the-wisps: the will is one of these. The will no longer actuates, consequently it no longer explains anything—all it does is to accompany processes; it may even be absent. The so-called “motive” is another error. It is merely a ripple on the surface of consciousness, a side issue of the action, which is much more likely to conceal than to reveal the antecedentia of the latter. And as for the ego! It has become legendary, fictional, a play upon words: it has ceased utterly and completely from thinking, feeling, and willing! What is the result of it all? There are no such things as spiritual causes. The whole of popular experience on this subject went to the devil! That is the result of it all. For we had blissfully abused that experience, we had built the world upon it as a world of causes, as a world of will, as a world of spirit. The most antiquated and most traditional psychology has been at work here, it has done nothing else: all phenomena were deeds in the light of this psychology, and all deeds were the result of will; according to it the world was a complex mechanism of agents, an agent (a “subject”) lay at the root of all things. Man projected his three “inner facts of consciousness,” the will, the spirit, and the ego in which he believed most firmly, outside himself. He first deduced the concept Being out of the concept Ego, he supposed “things” to exist as he did himself, according to his notion of the ego as cause. Was it to be wondered at that later on he always found in things only that which he had laid in them?—The thing itself, I repeat, the concept thing was merely a reflex of the belief in the ego as cause. And even your atom, my dear good Mechanists and Physicists, what an amount of error, of rudimentary psychology still adheres to it!—Not to speak of the “thing-in-itself,” of the horrendum pudendum of the metaphysicians! The error of spirit regarded as a cause, confounded with reality! And made the measure of reality! And called God!

The error of false causality. In every age, men have believed they knew what a cause was. But where did we get this knowledge? Or, more accurately, where did we get this faith that we know? From the realm of the famous “inner facts of consciousness,” not one of which has yet proved to be a fact. We believed that we ourselves were causes, even when we exercised the will. We thought that here, at least, we caught causality in the act. No one doubted that all the antecedentia of an action were to be found in consciousness. They could be discovered there as “motive,” if only we looked for them. Otherwise, we would not be free to perform our actions, and we would not be responsible for them. Finally, who would have questioned that a thought has a cause? Or that the ego causes the thought? These three “facts of inner consciousness” seemed to guarantee causality. The first and most convincing was the will as cause. The idea of consciousness (“spirit”) as a cause came only afterwards, followed by the idea of the ego (the “subject”) as a cause. Both arose once the causality of the will had been established as “given,” as a fact of experience. Meanwhile, we have come to our senses. Today we no longer believe a word of all this. The “inner world” is full of phantoms and will-o’-the-wisps. The will is one of them. The will no longer sets anything in motion. So it no longer explains anything. It merely accompanies processes, and it may even be absent. The so-called “motive” is another error. It is merely a ripple on the surface of consciousness, a side effect of the action. It is much more likely to conceal the action’s antecedentia than to reveal them. And as for the ego! It has become a legend, a fiction, a play on words. It has stopped thinking, feeling, and willing altogether! What is the result of all this? There are no such things as spiritual causes. All popular experience on this subject has gone to the devil! That is the result of it all. For we had happily misused that experience. We had built the world upon it as a world of causes, a world of will, a world of spirit. The oldest and most traditional psychology has been at work here. It has done nothing else. In the light of this psychology, all phenomena were deeds, and all deeds were the result of will. According to it, the world was a complex mechanism of agents. An agent (a “subject”) lay at the root of all things. Man projected outside himself his three “inner facts of consciousness”: the will, the spirit, and the ego. These were the things he believed in most firmly. He first drew the concept of Being from the concept of Ego. He supposed “things” existed as he himself did, according to his idea of the ego as cause. Was it any wonder that later he always found in things only what he had put into them? The thing itself, I repeat, the concept of a thing, was merely a reflection of the belief in the ego as cause. And even your atom, my dear good Mechanists and Physicists, how much error and rudimentary psychology still clings to it! Not to speak of the “thing-in-itself,” the horrendum pudendum of the metaphysicians! The error of spirit regarded as a cause, confused with reality! And made the measure of reality! And called God!

The Error of imaginary Causes. Starting out from dreamland, we find that to any definite sensation, like that produced by a distant cannon shot for instance, we are wont to ascribe a cause after the fact (very often quite a little romance in which the dreamer himself is, of course, the hero). Meanwhile the sensation becomes protracted like a sort of continuous echo, until, as it were, the instinct of causality allows it to come to the front rank, no longer however as a chance occurrence, but as a thing which has some meaning. The cannon shot presents itself in a causal manner, by means of an apparent reversal in the order of time. That which occurs last, the motivation, is experienced first, often with a hundred details which flash past like lightning, and the shot is the result. What has happened? The ideas suggested by a particular state of our senses, are misinterpreted as the cause of that state. As a matter of fact we proceed in precisely the same manner when we are awake. The greater number of our general sensations—every kind of obstacle, pressure, tension, explosion in the interplay of the organs, and more particularly the condition of the nervus sympathies—stimulate our instinct of causality: we will have a reason which will account for our feeling thus or thus,—for feeling ill or well. We are never satisfied by merely ascertaining the fact that we feel thus or thus: we admit this fact—we become conscious of it—only when we have attributed it to some kind of motivation. Memory, which, in such circumstances unconsciously becomes active, adduces former conditions of a like kind, together with the causal interpretations with which they are associated,—but not their real cause. The belief that the ideas, the accompanying processes of consciousness, have been the causes, is certainly produced by the agency of memory. And in this way we become accustomed to a particular interpretation of causes which, truth to tell, actually hinders and even utterly prevents the investigation of the proper cause.

The Error of Imaginary Causes. Let us begin with dreams. When we experience a distinct sensation, such as a distant cannon shot, we tend to invent a cause afterward. Often it is quite a little story, in which the dreamer is, of course, the hero. Meanwhile, the sensation lingers like a continuous echo. Then, as it were, the instinct for causality lets the sensation come to the forefront. But it no longer appears as a chance occurrence. It now seems to have a meaning. The cannon shot appears as part of a causal sequence, with the order of time seemingly reversed. What happens last, the explanation, is experienced first. Often a hundred details flash by like lightning, and the shot is the result. What has happened? The ideas suggested by a particular state of our senses are mistaken for its cause. In fact, we proceed in exactly the same way when we are awake. Most of our general sensations stimulate our instinct for causality. These include every kind of obstruction, pressure, tension, or explosion in the interplay of the organs. They include, above all, the condition of the sympathetic nervous system. We insist on a reason to explain why we feel one way or another, ill or well. We are never satisfied merely to establish how we feel. We acknowledge the fact, becoming conscious of it, only after we have attributed it to some explanation. In such cases, memory unconsciously comes into play. It brings up similar past states, along with the causal interpretations associated with them, but not their real cause. Memory certainly produces the belief that the ideas, the accompanying processes of consciousness, were the causes. In this way, we become accustomed to a particular interpretation of causes. In truth, this interpretation hinders and even completely prevents investigation into the real cause.

The Psychological Explanation of the above Fact. To trace something unfamiliar back to something familiar, is at once a relief, a comfort and a satisfaction, while it also produces a feeling of power. The unfamiliar involves danger, anxiety and care,—the fundamental instinct is to get rid of these painful circumstances. First principle: any explanation is better than none at all. Since, at bottom, it is only a question of shaking one’s self free from certain oppressive ideas, the means employed to this end are not selected with overmuch punctiliousness: the first idea by means of which the unfamiliar is revealed as familiar, produces a feeling of such comfort that it is “held to be true.” The proof of happiness (“of power”) as the criterion of truth. The instinct of causality is therefore conditioned and stimulated by the feeling of fear. Whenever possible, the question “why?” should not only educe the cause as cause, but rather a certain kind of cause—a comforting, liberating and reassuring cause. The first result of this need is that something known or already experienced, and recorded in the memory, is posited as the cause. The new factor, that which has not been experienced and which is unfamiliar, is excluded from the sphere of causes. Not only do we try to find a certain kind of explanation as the cause, but those kinds of explanations are selected and preferred which dissipate most rapidly the sensation of strangeness, novelty and unfamiliarity,—in fact the most ordinary explanations. And the result is that a certain manner of postulating causes tends to predominate ever more and more, becomes concentrated into a system, and finally reigns supreme, to the complete exclusion of all other causes and explanations. The banker thinks immediately of business, the Christian of “sin,” and the girl of her love affair.

The Psychological Explanation of the Fact Above. Tracing something unfamiliar back to something familiar brings relief, comfort, and satisfaction. It also creates a feeling of power. The unfamiliar brings danger, anxiety, and worry. Our basic instinct is to escape these painful conditions. First principle: any explanation is better than none. At bottom, the only aim is to free ourselves from oppressive ideas. So we are not too careful about the means we use. The first idea that makes the unfamiliar seem familiar brings such comfort that it is “held to be true.” Happiness (“power”) is taken as proof of truth. The feeling of fear thus shapes and stimulates the instinct to find causes. Whenever possible, the question “why?” should reveal not just a cause, but a certain kind of cause. It should be comforting, freeing, and reassuring. This need first leads us to name something known or already experienced and stored in memory as the cause. The new element, whatever we have not experienced and find unfamiliar, is excluded from the realm of causes. We do not merely look for a certain kind of explanation as the cause. We also choose and favor explanations that dispel the feeling of strangeness, novelty, and unfamiliarity most quickly. In fact, we favor the most ordinary explanations. As a result, one way of assigning causes comes to dominate more and more. It takes shape as a system and finally rules supreme, completely excluding all other causes and explanations. The banker thinks immediately of business, the Christian of “sin,” and the girl of her love affair.

The whole Domain of Morality and Religion may be classified under the Rubric “Imaginary Causes.” The “explanation” of general unpleasant sensations. These sensations are dependent upon certain creatures who are hostile to us (evil spirits: the most famous example of this—the mistaking of hysterical women for witches). These sensations are dependent upon actions which are reprehensible (the feeling of “sin,” “sinfulness” is a manner of accounting for a certain physiological disorder—people always find reasons for being dissatisfied with themselves). These sensations depend upon punishment, upon compensation for something which we ought not to have done, which we ought not to have been (this idea was generalised in a more impudent form by Schopenhauer, into that principle in which morality appears in its real colours,—that is to say, as a veritable poisoner and slanderer of life: “all great suffering, whether mental or physical, reveals what we deserve: for it could not visit us if we did not deserve it,” “The World as Will and Idea,” vol. 2, p. 666). These sensations are the outcome of ill-considered actions, having evil consequences, (—the passions, the senses, postulated as causes, as guilty. By means of other calamities distressing physiological conditions are interpreted as “merited”).—The “explanation” of pleasant sensations. These sensations are dependent upon a trust in God. They may depend upon our consciousness of having done one or two good actions (a so-called “good conscience” is a physiological condition, which may be the outcome of good digestion). They may depend upon the happy issue of certain undertakings (—an ingenuous mistake: the happy issue of an undertaking certainly does not give a hypochondriac or a Pascal any general sensation of pleasure). They may depend upon faith, love and hope,—the Christian virtues. As a matter of fact all these pretended explanations are but the results of certain states, and as it were translations of feelings of pleasure and pain into a false dialect: a man is in a condition of hopefulness because the dominant physiological sensation of his being is again one of strength and wealth; he trusts in God because the feeling of abundance and power gives him a peaceful state of mind. Morality and religion are completely and utterly parts of the psychology of error: in every particular case cause and effect are confounded; as truth is confounded with the effect of that which is believed to be true; or a certain state of consciousness is confounded with the chain of causes which brought it about.

The whole realm of morality and religion can be classified under the heading “Imaginary Causes.” The “explanation” of unpleasant feelings in general: These feelings depend on creatures hostile to us, namely evil spirits. The most famous example is the mistaking of hysterical women for witches. These feelings depend on actions that deserve blame. The feeling of “sin,” of “sinfulness,” is one way of explaining a particular physiological disorder. People always find reasons to be dissatisfied with themselves. These feelings depend on punishment, on paying for something we should not have done or should not have been. Schopenhauer gave this idea a more brazen and general form. His principle reveals morality in its true colors, as a real poisoner and slanderer of life: “all great suffering, whether mental or physical, reveals what we deserve: for it could not visit us if we did not deserve it,” “The World as Will and Idea,” vol. 2, p. 666. These feelings result from careless actions with bad consequences. The passions and the senses are assumed to be the causes and are blamed. Other misfortunes are also used to interpret distressing physiological conditions as “deserved.” The “explanation” of pleasant feelings: These feelings depend on trust in God. They may depend on our awareness of having done one or two good deeds. A so-called “good conscience” is a physiological condition, which may result from good digestion. They may depend on the successful outcome of certain undertakings. This is a naive mistake. A successful undertaking certainly does not give a hypochondriac or a Pascal a general feeling of pleasure. Pleasant feelings may depend on faith, love and hope, the Christian virtues. In fact, all these supposed explanations are only the results of certain states. They are, so to speak, translations of feelings of pleasure and pain into a false dialect. A person is hopeful because the dominant physiological feeling in their body is once again one of strength and abundance. They trust in God because the feeling of abundance and power gives them peace of mind. Morality and religion belong entirely to the psychology of error. In every case, cause and effect are confused. Truth is confused with the effect of what is believed to be true. Or a state of consciousness is confused with the chain of causes that brought it about.

The Error of Free-Will. At present we no longer have any mercy upon the concept “free-will”: we know only too well what it is—the most egregious theological trick that has ever existed for the purpose of making mankind “responsible” in a theological manner,—that is to say, to make mankind dependent upon theologians. I will now explain to you only the psychology of the whole process of inculcating the sense of responsibility. Wherever men try to trace responsibility home to anyone, it is the instinct of punishment and of the desire to judge which is active. Becoming is robbed of its innocence when any particular condition of things is traced to a will, to intentions and to responsible actions. The doctrine of the will was invented principally for the purpose of punishment,—that is to say, with the intention of tracing guilt. The whole of ancient psychology, or the psychology of the will, is the outcome of the fact that its originators, who were the priests at the head of ancient communities, wanted to create for themselves a right to administer punishments—or the right for God to do so. Men were thought of as “free” in order that they might be judged and punished—in order that they might be held guilty: consequently every action had to be regarded as voluntary, and the origin of every action had to be imagined as lying in consciousness(—in this way the most fundamentally fraudulent character of psychology was established as the very principle of psychology itself). Now that we have entered upon the opposite movement, now that we immoralists are trying with all our power to eliminate the concepts of guilt and punishment from the world once more, and to cleanse psychology, history, nature and all social institutions and customs of all signs of those two concepts, we recognise no more radical opponents than the theologians, who with their notion of “a moral order of things,” still continue to pollute the innocence of Becoming with punishment and guilt Christianity is the metaphysics of the hangman.

The Error of Free Will. Today we no longer show any mercy to the concept of “free will.” We know only too well what it is. It is the most outrageous theological trick ever devised to make humanity “responsible” in a theological sense. That is, it makes humanity dependent on theologians. I will explain only the psychology behind the whole process of instilling a sense of responsibility. Whenever people try to pin responsibility on someone, the instinct to punish and the desire to judge are at work. Becoming is robbed of its innocence when any state of affairs is attributed to a will, to intentions, and to responsible actions. The doctrine of the will was invented mainly to enable punishment, that is, to establish guilt. All ancient psychology, or the psychology of the will, arose from a desire of its creators. These creators were the priests who led ancient communities. They wanted to give themselves, or God, the right to punish. People were thought of as “free” so that they could be judged and punished, so that they could be held guilty. As a result, every action had to be seen as voluntary. Every action also had to be imagined as originating in consciousness. (In this way, psychology’s most fundamentally fraudulent feature became its very foundation.) Now we have begun to move in the opposite direction. We immoralists are doing all we can to rid the world of the concepts of guilt and punishment once more. We are trying to cleanse psychology, history, nature, and all social institutions and customs of every trace of both concepts. And we recognize no more radical opponents than the theologians. With their notion of “a moral order of things,” they still pollute the innocence of Becoming with punishment and guilt. Christianity is the metaphysics of the hangman.

What then, alone, can our teaching be?—That no one gives man his qualities, neither God, society, his parents, his ancestors, nor himself (—this non-sensical idea which is at last refuted here, was taught as “intelligible freedom” by Kant, and perhaps even as early as Plato himself). No one is responsible for the fact that he exists at all, that he is constituted as he is, and that he happens to be in certain circumstances and in a particular environment. The fatality of his being cannot be divorced from the fatality of all that which has been and will be. This is not the result of an individual intention, of a will, of an aim, there is no attempt at attaining to any “ideal man,” or “ideal happiness” or “ideal morality” with him,—it is absurd to wish him to be careering towards some sort of purpose. We invented the concept “purpose”; in reality purpose is altogether lacking. One is necessary, one is a piece of fate, one belongs to the whole, one is in the whole,—there is nothing that could judge, measure, compare, and condemn our existence, for that would mean judging, measuring, comparing and condemning the whole. But there is nothing outside the whole! The fact that no one shall any longer be made responsible, that the nature of existence may not be traced to a causa prima, that the world is an entity neither as a sensorium nor as a spirit—this alone is the great deliverance,—thus alone is the innocence of Becoming restored.... The concept “God” has been the greatest objection to existence hitherto.... We deny God, we deny responsibility in God: thus alone do we save the world.—

What, then, can our teaching be? It can only be this: no one gives a person his qualities. Not God, society, his parents, his ancestors, or he himself. (Kant taught this absurd idea, which is finally refuted here, as “intelligible freedom.” Perhaps Plato himself taught it even earlier.) No one is responsible for the fact that he exists, that he is as he is, or that he finds himself in particular circumstances and surroundings. The necessity of his being cannot be separated from the necessity of everything that has been and will be. His being is not the result of anyone’s intention, will, or aim. No one is trying to use him to achieve an “ideal man,” “ideal happiness” or “ideal morality.” It is absurd to imagine him rushing toward some kind of purpose. We invented the concept of “purpose.” In reality, there is no purpose at all. Each of us is necessary, a piece of fate. Each of us belongs to the whole and is part of it. Nothing could judge, measure, compare, or condemn our existence. To do so would mean judging, measuring, comparing, and condemning the whole. But there is nothing outside the whole! No one is to be held responsible any longer. The nature of existence cannot be traced to a causa prima. The world is not a single being, whether as a sensorium or as a spirit. This alone is the great liberation. Only in this way is the innocence of Becoming restored.... The concept of “God” has until now been the greatest objection to existence.... We deny God. We deny that God bears responsibility. Only in this way do we save the world.