Beyond Good and Evil, Friedrich Nietzsche [best love story novels in english .TXT] 📗

propagators and panegyrists, the apostles of “modern ideas,” would least care to reckon. The same new conditions under which on an average a levelling and mediocrising of man will take place⁠—a useful, industrious, variously serviceable, and clever gregarious man⁠—are in the highest degree suitable to give rise to exceptional men of the most dangerous and attractive qualities. For, while the capacity for adaptation, which is every day trying changing conditions, and begins a new work with every generation, almost with every decade, makes the powerfulness of the type impossible; while the collective impression of such future Europeans will probably be that of numerous, talkative, weak-willed, and very handy workmen who require a master, a commander, as they require their daily bread; while, therefore, the democratising of Europe will tend to the production of a type prepared for slavery in the most subtle sense of the term: the strong man will necessarily in individual and exceptional cases, become stronger and richer than he has perhaps ever been before⁠—owing to the unprejudicedness of his schooling, owing to the immense variety of practice, art, and disguise. I meant to say that the democratising of Europe is at the same time an involuntary arrangement for the rearing of tyrants⁠—taking the word in all its meanings, even in its most spiritual sense. 243

I hear with pleasure that our sun is moving rapidly towards the constellation Hercules: and I hope that the men on this earth will do like the sun. And we foremost, we good Europeans!

244

There was a time when it was customary to call Germans “deep” by way of distinction; but now that the most successful type of new Germanism is covetous of quite other honours, and perhaps misses “smartness” in all that has depth, it is almost opportune and patriotic to doubt whether we did not formerly deceive ourselves with that commendation: in short, whether German depth is not at bottom something different and worse⁠—and something from which, thank God, we are on the point of successfully ridding ourselves. Let us try, then, to relearn with regard to German depth; the only thing necessary for the purpose is a little vivisection of the German soul.⁠—The German soul is above all manifold, varied in its source, aggregated and superimposed, rather than actually built: this is owing to its origin. A German who would embolden himself to assert: “Two souls, alas, dwell in my breast,” would make a bad guess at the truth, or, more correctly, he would come far short of the truth about the number of souls. As a people made up of the most extraordinary mixing and mingling of races, perhaps even with a preponderance of the pre-Aryan element as the “people of the centre” in every sense of the term, the Germans are more intangible, more ample, more contradictory, more unknown, more incalculable, more surprising, and even more terrifying than other peoples are to themselves:⁠—they escape definition, and are thereby alone the despair of the French. It is characteristic of the Germans that the question: “What is German?” never dies out among them. Kotzebue certainly knew his Germans well enough: “We are known,” they cried jubilantly to him⁠—but Sand also thought he knew them. Jean Paul knew what he was doing when he declared himself incensed at Fichte’s lying but patriotic flatteries and exaggerations⁠—but it is probable that Goethe thought differently about Germans from Jean Paul, even though he acknowledged him to be right with regard to Fichte. It is a question what Goethe really thought about the Germans?⁠—But about many things around him he never spoke explicitly, and all his life he knew how to keep an astute silence⁠—probably he had good reason for it. It is certain that it was not the “Wars of Independence” that made him look up more joyfully, any more than it was the French Revolution⁠—the event on account of which he reconstructed his Faust, and indeed the whole problem of “man,” was the appearance of Napoleon. There are words of Goethe in which he condemns with impatient severity, as from a foreign land, that which Germans take a pride in, he once defined the famous German turn of mind as “Indulgence towards its own and others’ weaknesses.” Was he wrong? it is characteristic of Germans that one is seldom entirely wrong about them. The German soul has passages and galleries in it, there are caves, hiding-places, and dungeons therein, its disorder has much of the charm of the mysterious, the German is well acquainted with the bypaths to chaos. And as everything loves its symbol, so the German loves the clouds and all that is obscure, evolving, crepuscular, damp, and shrouded, it seems to him that everything uncertain, undeveloped, self-displacing, and growing is “deep.” The German himself does not exist, he is becoming, he is “developing himself.” “Development” is therefore the essentially German discovery and hit in the great domain of philosophical formulas⁠—a ruling idea, which, together with German beer and German music, is labouring to Germanise all Europe. Foreigners are astonished and attracted by the riddles which the conflicting nature at the basis of the German soul propounds to them (riddles which Hegel systematised and Richard Wagner has in the end set to music). “Good-natured and spiteful”⁠—such a juxtaposition, preposterous in the case of every other people, is unfortunately only too often justified in Germany one has only to live for a while among Swabians to know this! The clumsiness of the German scholar and his social distastefulness agree alarmingly well with his physical rope-dancing and nimble boldness, of which all the Gods have learnt to be afraid. If anyone wishes to see the “German soul” demonstrated ad oculos, let him only look at German taste, at German arts and manners what boorish indifference to “taste”! How the noblest and the commonest stand there in juxtaposition! How disorderly and how rich is the whole constitution of this soul! The German drags at his soul, he