The “Improvers” of Mankind

You are aware of my demand upon philosophers, that they should take up a stand Beyond Good and Evil,—that they should have the illusion of the moral judgment beneath them. This demand is the result of a point of view which I was the first to formulate: that there are no such things as moral facts. Moral judgment has this in common with the religious one, that it believes in realities which are not real. Morality is only an interpretation of certain phenomena: or, more strictly speaking, a misinterpretation of them. Moral judgment, like the religious one, belongs to a stage of ignorance in which even the concept of reality, the distinction between real and imagined things, is still lacking: so that truth, at such a stage, is applied to a host of things which to-day we call “imaginary.” That is why the moral judgment must never be taken quite literally: as such it is sheer nonsense. As a sign code, however, it is invaluable: to him at least who knows, it reveals the most valuable facts concerning cultures and inner conditions, which did not know enough to “understand” themselves. Morality is merely a sign-language, simply symptomatology: one must already know what it is all about in order to turn it to any use.

You know what I demand of philosophers. They must take a stand Beyond Good and Evil. They must leave the illusion of moral judgment beneath them. This demand follows from a view I was the first to formulate: there are no such things as moral facts. Moral judgment has something in common with religious judgment. Both believe in realities that are not real. Morality is only an interpretation of certain phenomena. More precisely, it is a misinterpretation of them. Moral judgment, like religious judgment, belongs to a stage of ignorance. At that stage, even the concept of reality is missing, as is the distinction between real and imagined things. As a result, truth is applied to many things we now call “imaginary.” That is why moral judgment must never be taken quite literally. Taken literally, it is sheer nonsense. As a sign code, however, it is invaluable, at least to someone who knows how to read it. It reveals the most valuable facts about cultures and inner conditions that did not know enough to “understand” themselves. Morality is merely a sign language, simply a study of symptoms. You must already know what it is all about to make any use of it.

Let me give you one example, quite provisionally. In all ages there have been people who wished to “improve” mankind: this above all is what was called morality. But the most different tendencies are concealed beneath the same word. Both the taming of the beast man, and the rearing of a particular type of man, have been called “improvement”: these zoological termini, alone, represent real things—real things of which the typical “improver,” the priest, naturally knows nothing, and will know nothing. To call the taming of an animal “improving” it, sounds to our ears almost like a joke. He who knows what goes on in menageries, doubts very much whether an animal is improved in such places. It is certainly weakened, it is made less dangerous, and by means of the depressing influence of fear, pain, wounds, and hunger, it is converted into a sick animal. And the same holds good of the tamed man whom the priest has “improved.” In the early years of the Middle Ages, during which the Church was most distinctly and above all a menagerie, the most beautiful examples of the “blond beast” were hunted down in all directions,—the noble Germans, for instance, were “improved.” But what did this “improved” German, who had been lured to the monastery look like after the process? He looked like a caricature of man, like an abortion: he had become a “sinner,” he was caged up, he had been imprisoned behind a host of apparling notions. He now lay there, sick, wretched, malevolent even toward himself: full of hate for the instincts of life, full of suspicion in regard to all that is still strong and happy. In short a “Christian.” In physiological terms: in a fight with an animal, the only way of making it weak may be to make it sick. The Church undersood this: it ruined man, it made him weak,—but it laid claim to having “improved” him.

Let me give you one example, for now. In every age, people have wanted to “improve” mankind. Above all, this is what was called morality. But the same word conceals very different aims. Both the taming of the beast man and the breeding of a particular type of man have been called “improvement.” Only these zoological terms describe real things. And the typical “improver,” the priest, naturally knows nothing about these real things and wants to know nothing about them. To call the taming of an animal “improving” it sounds almost like a joke to us. Anyone who knows what happens in menageries has serious doubts that animals are improved there. An animal is certainly weakened and made less dangerous. Fear, pain, wounds, and hunger wear it down and turn it into a sick animal. The same is true of the tamed man whom the priest has “improved.” In the early Middle Ages, the Church was most clearly and above all a menagerie. The finest examples of the “blond beast” were hunted down everywhere. The noble Germans, for example, were “improved.” But what did an “improved” German look like after being lured into a monastery and put through this process? He looked like a caricature of a man, like an abortion. He had become a “sinner.” He was caged up, imprisoned behind a host of appalling ideas. He lay there sick, wretched, and even hostile to himself. He was full of hatred for the instincts of life and suspicious of everything still strong and happy. In short, he was a “Christian.” In physiological terms, when fighting an animal, making it sick may be the only way to weaken it. The Church understood this. It ruined man and made him weak, but it claimed to have “improved” him.

Now let us consider the other case which is called morality, the case of the rearing of a particular race and species. The most magnificent example of this is offered by Indian morality, and is sanctioned religiously as the “Law of Manu.” In this book the task is set of rearing no less than four races at once: a priestly race, a warrior race, a merchant and agricultural race, and finally a race of servants—the Sudras. It is quite obvious that we are no longer in a circus watching tamers of wild animals in this book. To have conceived even the plan of such a breeding scheme, presupposes the existence of a man who is a hundred times milder and more reasonable than the mere lion-tamer. One breathes more freely, after stepping out of the Christian atmosphere of hospitals and prisons, into this more salubrious, loftier and more spacious world. What a wretched thing the New Testament is beside Manu, what an evil odour hangs around it!—But even this organisation found it necessary to be terrible,—not this time in a struggle with the animal-man, but with his opposite, the non-caste man, the hotch-potch man, the Chandala. And once again it had no other means of making him weak and harmless, than by making him sick,—it was the struggle with the greatest “number.” Nothing perhaps is more offensive to our feelings than these measures of security on the part of Indian morality. The third edict, for instance (Avadana-Sastra I.), which treats “of impure vegetables,” ordains that the only nourishment that the Chandala should be allowed must consist of garlic and onions, as the holy scriptures forbid their being given corn or grain-bearing fruit, water and fire. The same edict declares that the water which they need must be drawn neither out of rivers, wells or ponds, but only out of the ditches leading to swamps and out of the holes left by the footprints of animals. They are likewise forbidden to wash either their linen or themselves since the water which is graciously granted to them must only be used for quenching their thirst. Finally Sudra women are forbidden to assist Chandala women at their confinements, while Chandala women are also forbidden to assist each other at such times. The results of sanitary regulations of this kind could not fail to make themselves felt; deadly epidemics and the most ghastly venereal diseases soon appeared, and in consequence of these again “the Law of the Knife,”—that is to say circumcision, was prescribed for male children and the removal of the small labia from the females. Manu himself says: “the Chandala are the fruit of adultery, incest, and crime (—this is the necessary consequence of the idea of breeding). Their clothes shall consist only of the rags torn from corpses, their vessels shall be the fragments of broken pottery, their ornaments shall be made of old iron, and their religion shall be the worship of evil spirits; without rest they shall wander from place to place. They are forbidden to write from left to right or to use their right hand in writing: the use of the right hand and writing from left to right are reserved to people of virtue, to people of race.”

Now let us consider the other case called morality: the breeding of a particular race and species. Indian morality offers the most magnificent example, with religious sanction in the “Law of Manu.” This book sets out to breed no fewer than four races at once: a priestly race, a warrior race, a merchant and agricultural race, and finally a race of servants, the Sudras. Clearly, this book no longer takes us into a circus to watch wild animal tamers. Even to conceive such a breeding plan requires a man a hundred times gentler and more reasonable than a mere lion-tamer. One breathes more freely on leaving the Christian atmosphere of hospitals and prisons for this healthier, loftier, more spacious world. What a wretched thing the New Testament is beside Manu, and what a foul smell hangs around it! But even this system found it necessary to be terrible. This time it was not fighting the animal-man, but his opposite: the man outside the caste system, the mixed-up man, the Chandala. Once again, it had no means of making him weak and harmless except by making him sick. It was a struggle against the greatest “number.” Perhaps nothing offends our feelings more than these security measures of Indian morality. Take the third edict, for example (Avadana-Sastra I.), which deals with “impure vegetables.” It orders that the Chandala be allowed to eat only garlic and onions. The holy scriptures forbid giving them corn or grain-bearing fruit, water or fire. The same edict says that they must not draw the water they need from rivers, wells, or ponds. They may draw it only from ditches leading to swamps and from holes left by animal footprints. They are also forbidden to wash their clothes or themselves. The water graciously granted to them may be used only to quench their thirst. Finally, Sudra women are forbidden to help Chandala women during childbirth. Chandala women are also forbidden to help one another at such times. Health regulations like these were bound to have consequences. Deadly epidemics and the most ghastly venereal diseases soon appeared. These in turn led to the prescription of “the Law of the Knife”: circumcision for male children and removal of the small labia from females. Manu himself says: “The Chandala are the offspring of adultery, incest, and crime (this follows necessarily from the idea of breeding). Their clothes shall consist only of rags torn from corpses. Their vessels shall be fragments of broken pottery, their ornaments made of old iron, and their religion the worship of evil spirits. They shall wander from place to place without rest. They are forbidden to write from left to right or to use their right hand for writing. Writing with the right hand and from left to right is reserved for people of virtue, people of race.”

These regulations are instructive enough: we can see in them the absolutely pure and primeval humanity of the Aryans,—we learn that the notion “pure blood,” is the reverse of harmless. On the other hand it becomes clear among which people the hatred, the Chandala hatred of this humanity has been immortalised, among which people it has become religion and genius. From this point of view the gospels are documents of the highest value; and the Book of Enoch is still more so. Christianity as sprung from Jewish roots and comprehensible only as grown upon this soil, represents the counter-movement against that morality of breeding, of race and of privilege:—it is essentially an anti-Aryan religion: Christianity is the transvaluation of all Aryan values, the triumph of Chandala values, the proclaimed gospel of the poor and of the low, the general insurrection of all the down-trodden, the wretched, the bungled and the botched, against the “race,”—the immortal revenge of the Chandala as the religion of love.

These rules are revealing enough. In them, we see the absolutely pure and ancient humanity of the Aryans. We learn that the idea of “pure blood” is anything but harmless. On the other hand, we see which people made their hatred of this humanity, their Chandala hatred, immortal. We see which people made that hatred into religion and genius. From this point of view, the gospels are documents of the highest value. The Book of Enoch is even more valuable. Christianity sprang from Jewish roots and can be understood only as growing from this soil. It represents the counter-movement against that morality of breeding, race, and privilege. Christianity is essentially an anti-Aryan religion. It is the reversal of all Aryan values and the triumph of Chandala values. It is the proclaimed gospel of the poor and the lowly. It is the general revolt of all the oppressed, the wretched, the bungled and the botched, against the “race”. It is the immortal revenge of the Chandala as the religion of love.

The morality of breeding and the morality of taming, in the means which they adopt in order to prevail, are quite worthy of each other: we may lay down as a leading principle that in order to create morality a man must have the absolute will to immorality. This is the great and strange problem with which I have so long been occupied: the psychology of the “Improvers” of mankind. A small, and at bottom perfectly insignificant fact, known as the “pia fraus,” first gave me access to this problem: the pia fraus, the heirloom of all philosophers and priests who “improve” mankind. Neither Manu, nor Plato, nor Confucius, nor the teachers of Judaism and Christianity, have ever doubted their right to falsehood. They have never doubted their right to quite a number of other things To express oneself in a formula, one might say:—all means which have been used heretofore with the object of making man moral, were through and through immoral.

The morality of breeding and the morality of taming are equally worthy of each other in the means they use to prevail. We may state a guiding principle: to create morality, a person must have an absolute will to immorality. This is the great and strange problem I have been concerned with for so long: the psychology of the “Improvers” of mankind. A small and, at bottom, entirely insignificant fact first gave me access to this problem. It is known as the “pia fraus.” The pia fraus is the inheritance of all philosophers and priests who “improve” mankind. Neither Manu, nor Plato, nor Confucius, nor the teachers of Judaism and Christianity have ever doubted their right to lie. They have never doubted their right to quite a number of other things. We might sum it up in a formula: all the means used so far to make people moral were thoroughly immoral.