He feels his thoughts. He can fall in love with an idea. An idea can make him ill. Misattributed [ edit ] A moral system valid for all is basically immoral. Generally attributed to Nietzsche, this is a quotation from Curtis Cate's Friedrich Nietzsche: A Biography and is the author's interpretation of Nietzsche's Aphorism Beyond Good and Evil Meaning and morality of one's life come from within oneself. Healthy, strong individuals seek self-expansion by experimenting and by living dangerously. Life consists of an infinite number of possibilities, and the healthy person explores as many of them as possible.
Religions that teach pity, self-contempt, humility, self-restraint and guilt are incorrect. The good life is ever-changing, challenging, devoid of regret, intense, creative, and risky. Attributed to Nietzsche on quotes sites and on social media, the original quotation is from An Introduction to the History of Psychology by B. Hergenhahn , page and is the author's summary of Nietzsche's ideas: "The meaning and morality of one's life come from within oneself.
Healthy, strong individuals seek self-expansion by experimenting, by living dangerously. Life consists of an almost infinite number of possibilities, and the healthy person the superman explores as many of them as possible. Religions or philosophies that teach pity, humility, submissiveness, self-contempt, self-restraint, guilt, or a sense of community are simply incorrect.
Both are products of Nietzsche's last creative year. Yet Ecce Homo is relatively calm and tranquil, while The Antichrist is a jeremiad full of venom and vitriol. In Ecce Homo "Behold the man" - the words used by Pilate when he presented Jesus to the Jews - Nietzsche presents us with an autobiographical tour de force , containing not only some of the finest, most incisive and instructive commentary on his own works, but also his singular comments on the "little things," which are, to him, "the fundamental affairs of life itself": nutrition, climate, locality, and recreation.
His inclination to self-aggrandizement is offset by his comment, "I desire no 'believers,' I think I am too malicious even to believe in myself. I have no wish to be a saint, I would rather be a buffoon. Perhaps I am a buffoon. The Antichrist is in fact one of the most devastating condemnations of Christianity ever; Nietzsche calls it "the one immortal blemish on mankind," the greatest sin possible against reality, against the spirit of the earth.
His analysis of Jesus and Paul as superlative Jewish types and his portrait of Pontius Pilate as a superior Roman type are thought-provoking, to say the least. Just say that; then write whatever else you want, like he would. He helped with my translation of Thus Spake Zarathustra, a four-year-long labor of love, so He helped with my translation of Thus Spake Zarathustra, a four-year-long labor of love, so he knows what he is talking about.
But, for some, the question remains: Why Nietzsche? No one really writes like Nietzsche, though the number of his stylistic apes and imitators is legion especially in the ranks of academe. Nietzsche, by the way, had nothing but contempt for academics; he considered them sterile mediocrities, puffed-up frogs in need of a pinpricking. But pretty good is often not good enough when it comes to Nietzsche. In the new translations that comprise this volume, every sentence, every sentiment is prized: every ellipsis, every parenthesis, every italicized phrase and exclamation point is retained as a part and parcel of his literary notation, his philosophical-musical score, if you will.
Rhythm and word choice are everything. Although he completed them both by the end of , they were considered to be so inflammatory that they were published only years later, in and , respectively. If you are one such, go to the priests, and leave philosophers in peace. To take just a few examples at random, examine the cold and calculating tone of self-analysis in Chapter I. Where one despises one cannot wage war. Where one commands, where one sees something beneath one, one ought not to wage war. My war tactics can be reduced to four principles: First, I attack only things that are triumphant—if necessary I wait until they become triumphant.
Secondly, I attack only those things against which I find no allies, against which I stand alone—against which I compromise nobody but [Pg xi] myself Thirdly, I never make personal attacks—I use a personality merely as a magnifying-glass, by means of which I render a general, but elusive and scarcely noticeable evil, more apparent Fourthly, I attack only those things from which all personal differences are excluded, in which any such thing as a background of disagreeable experiences is lacking.
And now notice the gentleness with which, in Chapter II. Are these the words and the thoughts of a man who Has lost, or who is losing control? And even if we confine ourselves simply to the substance of this work and put the question—Is it a new Nietzsche or the old Nietzsche that we find in these pages?
Is it the old countenance with which we are familiar, or are the features distorted, awry, disfigured? What will the answer be? Obviously there is no new or even deformed Nietzsche here, because he is still faithful to the position which he assumed in Thus spake Zarathustra, five years previously, and is perfectly conscious of this fidelity see p. In fact, if anything at all is new in this work, it is its cool certainty, its severe deliberateness, and its extraordinarily incisive vision, as shown, for instance, in the summing up of the genuine import of the third and fourth essays in the Thoughts out of Season pp.
If there are any signs of change, besides those of mere growth, in this work, they certainly succeed in eluding the most careful search, undertaken with a full knowledge of Nietzsche's former opinions, and it would be interesting to know precisely where they are found by those writers whom the titles of the chapters, alone, seem so radically to have perturbed. But the most striking thing of all, the miracle, so to speak, of this autobiography, is the absence from it of that loathing, that suggestion of surfeit, with which a life such as the one Nietzsche had led, would have filled any other man even of power approximate to his own.
This anchorite, who, in the last years of his life as a healthy human being, suffered the experience of seeing even his oldest friends, including Rhode, show the most complete indifference to his lot, this wrestler with Fate, for whom recognition, in the persons of Brandes, Taine, and Strindberg, had come all too late, and whom even support, sympathy, and help, arriving as it did at last, through Deussen and from Madame de Salis Marschlins, could no longer cheer or comfort,—this was the man who was able notwithstanding to inscribe the device amor fati upon his shield on the very eve of his final collapse as a victim of the unspeakable suffering he had endured.
And this final collapse might easily have been foreseen. Nietzsche's sensorium, as his autobiography proves, was probably the most delicate instrument ever possessed by a human being; and with this fragile structure—the prerequisite, by the bye, of all genius,—his terrible will compelled him to confront the most profound and most recondite problems.
Friedrich Nietzsche - Citas de Google Académico
We happen to know from another artist and profound thinker, Benjamin Disraeli, who himself had experienced a dangerous breakdown, what the consequences precisely are of indulging in excessive activity in the sphere of the spirit, more particularly when that spirit is highly organised. Disraeli says in Contarini Fleming Part iv.
And artists are the proper judges of artists,—not Oxford Dons, like Dr. Schiller, who, in his imprudent attempt at dealing with something for which his pragmatic hands are not sufficiently delicate, eagerly av-ails himself of popular help in his article on Nietzsche in the eleventh edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica, and implies the hackneyed and wholly exploded belief that Nietzsche's philosophy is madness in the making. As German philosophies, however, are said to go to Oxford only when they die, we may, perhaps, conclude from this want of appreciation in that quarter, how very much alive Nietzsche's doctrine still is.
Not that Nietzsche went mad so soon, but that he [Pg xiv] went mad so late is the wonder of wonders. Considering the extraordinary amount of work he did, the great task of the transvaluation of all values, which he actually accomplished, and the fact that he endured such long years of solitude, which to him, the sensitive artist to whom friends were everything, must have been a terrible hardship, we can only wonder at his great health, and can well believe his sister's account of the phenomenal longevity and bodily vigour of his ancestors.
No one, however, who is initiated, no one who reads this work with understanding, will be in need of this introductory note of mine; for, to all who know, these pages must speak for themselves. We are no longer in the nineteenth century. We have learned many things since then, and if caution is only one of these things, at least it will prevent us from judging a book such as this one, with all its apparent pontifical pride and surging self-reliance, with undue haste, or with that arrogant assurance with which the ignorance of "the humble" and "the modest" has always confronted everything truly great.
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As it is my intention within a very short time to confront my fellow-men with the very greatest demand that has ever yet been made upon them, it seems to me above all necessary to declare here who and what I am. As a matter of fact, this ought to be pretty well known already, for I have not "held my tongue" about myself.
But the disparity which obtains between the greatness of my task and the smallness of my contemporaries, is revealed by the fact that people have neither heard me nor yet seen me. I live on my own self-made credit, and it is probably only a prejudice to suppose that I am alive at all.
I do but require to speak to any one of the scholars who come to the Ober-Engadine in the summer in order to convince myself that I am not alive Under these circumstances, it is a duty—and one against which my customary reserve, and to a still greater degree the pride of my instincts, rebel—to say: Listen! For Heaven's sake do not confound me with any one else!
I am, for instance, in no wise a bogey man, or moral monster. On the contrary, I am the very [Pg 2] opposite in nature to the kind of man that has been honoured hitherto as virtuous.
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Between ourselves, it seems to me that this is precisely a matter on which I may feel proud. I am a disciple of the philosopher Dionysus, and I would prefer to be even a satyr than a saint. But just read this book!
Maybe I have here succeeded in expressing this contrast in a cheerful and at the same time sympathetic manner—maybe this is the only purpose of the present work. The very last thing I should promise to accomplish would be to "improve" mankind. I do not set up any new idols; may old idols only learn what it costs to have legs of clay. To overthrow idols idols is the name I give to all ideals is much more like my business. In proportion as an ideal world has been falsely assumed, reality has been robbed of its value, its meaning, and its truthfulness The "true world" and the "apparent world"—in plain English, the fictitious world and reality Hitherto the lie of the ideal has been the curse of reality; by means of it the very source of mankind's instincts has become mendacious and false; so much so that those values have come to be worshipped which are the exact opposite of the ones which would ensure man's prosperity, his future, and his great right to a future.
He who knows how to breathe in the air of my writings is conscious that it is the air of the heights, that it is bracing. A man must be built [Pg 3] for it, otherwise the chances are that it will chill him. The ice is near, the loneliness is terrible—but how serenely everything lies in the sunshine!
Philosophy, as I have understood it hitherto, is a voluntary retirement into regions of ice and mountain-peaks—the seeking—out of everything strange and questionable in existence, everything upon which, hitherto, morality has set its ban. Through long experience, derived from such wanderings in forbidden country, I acquired an opinion very different from that which may seem generally desirable, of the causes which hitherto have led to men's moralising and idealising.
The secret history of philosophers, the psychology of their great names, was revealed to me. How much truth can a certain mind endure; how much truth can it dare? Error the belief in the ideal is not blindness; error is cowardice Every conquest, every step forward in knowledge, is the outcome of courage, of hardness towards one's self, of cleanliness towards one's self.
I do not refute ideals; all I do is to draw on my gloves in their presence Nitimur in vetitum; with this device my philosophy will one day be victorious; for that which has hitherto been most stringently forbidden is, without exception, Truth. In my lifework, my Zarathustra holds a place apart. With it, I gave my fellow-men the greatest [Pg 4] gift that has ever been bestowed upon them. This book, the voice of which speaks out across the ages, is not only the loftiest book on earth, literally the book of mountain air,—the whole phenomenon, mankind, lies at an incalculable distance beneath it,—but it is also the deepest book, born of the inmost abundance of truth; an inexhaustible well, into which no pitcher can be lowered without coming up again laden with gold and with goodness.
Here it is not a "prophet" who speaks, one of those gruesome hybrids of sickness and Will to Power, whom men call founders of religions. If a man would not do a sad wrong to his wisdom, he must, above all give proper heed to the tones—the halcyonic tones—that fall from the lips of Zarathustra:—. No fanatic speaks to you here; this is not a "sermon"; no faith is demanded in these pages. From out an infinite treasure of light and well of joy, drop by drop, my words fall out—a slow and gentle gait is the cadence of these discourses.
Such things can reach only the most elect; it is [Pg 5] a rare privilege to be a listener here; not every? I Is not Zarathustra, because of these things, a seducer?
The Anti-Christ, Ecce Homo, Twilight of the Idols, and Other Writings
But what, indeed, does he himself say, when for the first time he goes back to his solitude? Just the reverse of that which any "Sage," "Saint," "Saviour of the world," and other decadent would say Not only his words, but he himself is other than they. And better still, be ashamed of him! Maybe he hath deceived you. And why would ye not pluck at my wreath? Take heed, lest a statue crush you.