# Nietzsche the thinker/Chapter XVII

CHAPTER XVII
CRITICISM OF MORALITY (Cont.). THE SOCIAL FUNCTION AND MEANING OF MORALITY
I
Criticism has for its presupposition a certain detachment from the object criticised; it is a curious look at it from the outside, unbiased by personal feeling—at least it is in this sense that Nietzsche criticises morality. "In order for once to get a view of our European morality from a distance, to measure it by other moralities, past or to come, we must do as a traveler does who wishes to know how high the towers of a city are: to that end he leaves the city. 'Thoughts about moral prejudices,' if they are not to be prejudices about prejudices, presuppose a position outside morality, some kind of a beyond good and evil, to which we must climb, clamber, or take a flight—and, at all events in the instance supposed a beyond our good and evil, a liberation from all 'Europe,' this being understood as a sum of valuations of mandatory character, which have passed over into our flesh and blood." Nietzsche is aware that there may be a little madness in proposing to do this, and that the question is whether we really can. He answers half-playfully that it is in the main a question of how light or how heavy we are, the problem of our "specific gravity"; we must be very light to rise to a height from which we can survey millenniums and besides have pure heaven in our eyes, must have freed ourselves from much that weighs just us Europeans down, must first of all have overcome our own time—yes, and our hostility to the time, our disharmony with it, our romanticism.
In describing the critical attitude Nietzsche uses the term "immoralist." The word does not occur, so far as I know, in the dictionaries (e.g., in Muret-Sanders' Wörterbuch or the Century Dictionary), and by Nietzsche it is first used in The Wanderer and his Shadow (1879). He there says, "Moralists must ​now allow themselves to be reproachfully called immoralists, because they dissect morality. Whosever wishes to dissect must kill; however, only in order that better knowledge, better judgment, better life arise, not that all the world is to dissect." Dissection, he explains in the succeeding aphorism, does not mean denial or depreciation, and he distinguishes the great moralists from the smaller sort by his token. The great ones, when they analyze the grand manner of thought, say of a hero of Plutarch's or the illumined state of the really good men and women, and find complications of motive in what is apparently simple, delicate illusions playing a part have simply the sense of a difficult problem of knowledge before them; but the small moralists say, "here are deceivers and deceptions"—that is, they deny the existence of just what the other are seeking to explain. It is the intellectual motive that makes the moralist, and in another place he compares the lesser sort, who are without the love of knowledge and know only the pleasure of hurting, to small boys who are not happy save as they are pursuing and mistreating the living and the dead. At the same time the genuine moralist is too preoccupied with his special work to be a preacher of morality. The older moralists, he says, apparently to mark off the new kind, who merely dissect and hence incur the suspicion of being anti-moral, that he consents to the application of the label "immoralists" to them. He speaks of it to himself somewhat as one would pick up a gauntlet. One may, or even must, question the wisdom of his doing this, since the ordinary person, unaware of nice distinctions and thinking that "immoralist" must imply some sort of advocacy of immorality, as "moralist" does of morality, infers that Nietzche was on the side of license and vice. I need not say after the foregoing that this is a mistaken view. Neither ​moralists nor immoralists are advocates, as he uses the terms, but critics, analysts. The scientific motive characterizes both alike, and apparently, as just stated, it was to emphasize this fact that he took up with the more unusual term. That he does not become, any more than he had been, an advocate of license and vice, will probably be sufficiently clear in future pages. Indeed, we shall find him saying strongly, "we immoralists" are "men of duty," "also to us speaks a 'thou oughtst,'" "we also obey a strict law above us." All the same it must be frankly admitted that at times Nietzsche veers from this purely critical conception of the immoralist and uses the term in a more or less doctrinal, partisan sense. He confuses, one might say, an attitude, a method with a result—at least with what was the result in his own case. From being "outside" European morality, a simple observer and critic of it, he came to be against it—and perhaps the truth is that he was against it from the start, however unclearly or undecidedly. Even so, he was not against morality, but against a certain type of morality—and within limits he recognized the usefulness and validity of this type, as we shall later see.
Undoubtedly Nietzsche has injured himself in the eyes of the general public by using the obnoxious term, and yet it is probable that he would have excited prejudice anyway by the detached critical attitude toward morality which he assumed. Society can hardly look on with indifference when any of its number stand outside the common agreements and look questioningly at them, least of all at an agreement so central and deep as morality. A morality is not unlike a God who wishes no other Gods beside him: it resents, Nietzsche says, the idea of many moralities, wants no comparison, no criticism, but unconditional faith in itself. It is hence in its nature anti-scientific, and the perfect moralist must be outside it (unmoralisch), beyond its good and evil. "Plato has splendidly described how the philosophical thinker in the midst of every de facto society has to pass as the quintessence of all that is impious; for as critic of all mores he is the antithesis of the moral man, ​and if he does not carry things so far as to become a legislator of new mores, he remains in the recollection of men as an instance of 'the evil principle.'" That is, it irritates men to have one question what all believe, and if he is a good man, they do not see why he should. But whether Nietzsche made matters worse for himself by using the term "immoralist" or not, his meaning (at least his initial and fundamental meaning) in using it is clear—and we may now pass on to a detailed consideration of the dissection or critical analysis he gives. The analysis, it must be confessed, is rarely pure—exhibitions of personal feeling, anticipations of his own positive views are frequent; really the distinction between his criticism and his construction in this realm is a more or less arbitrary one—and yet it is convenient and is suggested by himself, and I shall regard it as far as the material to be dealt with will allow.
II
Taking then our stand with Nietzsche outside morality for the time, looking at it with as much of the purely scientific spirit as we can command, what do we find—that is, what does he find?
First, in continuation of the view we have already come upon in considering the second period, morality reveals itself as a phenomenon of society, something strictly social in nature. The classical passage in this connection is Dawn of Day, § 9, which bears the title, "Begriff der Sittlichkeit der Sitte." Every student of Nietzsche should read it carefully, if only to see how much of scientific analysis he can compress on occasion into three or four pages. The ground marks of morality here appear, as not individual utility, but authority on the one hand and obedience on the other. The authority, however, is general or social; and the obedience, like the fear or reverence deepening to superstition from which it springs, is not to any person. The central thing is the Sitten (mores) of the social group, ​morality, in the subjective sense, being definable as action according to them. A Sitte or mos is a long-established social habit or rule—one that may be followed or not, and that has gravity because it is believed to be vitally related to the welfare of the group. Individuals may impose commands, but only societies can have mores; and because no one knows just whence they come, superstition has free range in accounting for them. The mores were of a wide range in early communities; they covered health, marriage, medicine, war, agriculture, religion—so that morality was almost co-extensive with the whole of life. On the other hand, in things where no tradition commanded, there was no morality; and the less life was determined by tradition the smaller the circle of morality became—so that with this in mind Nietzsche can say that we now live in a relatively unmoral time, so many things being left to individual judgment or inclination. The opposite of the moral man was one who acted (or was disposed to) according to his own ideas—almost inevitably he seemed evil to the rest of the community; indeed in all primitive conditions of mankind "evil" was practically equivalent to "individual," "free," "arbitrary," "unusual," "unforeseen," "unreckonable." Even if the individual did what was moral, yet not because tradition commanded it, but for other reasons, say for personal advantage, or if in varying from tradition he acted from the very motives of the general advantage which established the tradition in the first place, but of his own motion purely, he was liable to be esteemed unmoral and might view himself in this light—morality being a matter of conformity and obedience altogether. The only way in which one could rise to independence of the mores was to become a lawgiver oneself, a medicine-man or half-God—that is, to make mores, a fearful enterprise in which one risked one's own life. ​Brahman, took the consciousness of it everywhere and into each smallest fraction of time, so that he even invented occasions for fulfilling it; or else he who fulfilled it in the most difficult cases, who sacrificed most of it—at least these were the principal measurements. And where sacrifice was the thing exalted, the motive for it should not be mistaken. The mastery of self implied was not for the individual's benefit, but that the law might stand out sovereign, even against the individual's interest and desire. It is true that in the course of time, some, following in the footsteps of Socrates, took self-mastery and self-denial as the individual's most real advantage and key to happiness, but they were the exception—something we only fail to realize today because we have been educated under their influence; they all went on a new way and encountered the highest disapproval of representatives of the old morality—they were really separatists, and so far unmoral, and, in the deepest sense, evil (böse). To a virtuous Roman of the old stamp, the Christian who "sought first for his own salvation" seemed evil in just the same way.
Such were the original ground-lines of morality, as Nietzsche conceives the matter. As to whether men always existed in groups, his opinion appears to vary. So far as a view anywise approaching consistency can be made out, it was as follows: There may have been a time when men (or some men) existed independently and had to be brought forcibly under social restraint and rule; but practically it is a negligible time, groups, flocks, or herds of some kind having existed as far back in history as we can go, so that properly we can only speak of higher and stronger forms of social organization imposing themselves on lower and weaker forms, with a comparatively weak and relatively unsocial state as a hypothetical beginning. These groups (Heerden is the term Nietzsche often uses, not unmindful of its association with animal phenomena, and partly just for this reason) were veritable entities or wholes—an individual had a feeling for his group out of all proportion to that which he had for a neighbor. Strictly personal relations ​were only gradually brought under the rule of morality; Nietzsche even ventures to say that in the best Roman period a pitying action was neither good nor bad, neither moral nor unmoral, or, if praised, was valued slightly in comparison with an action that affected the res publica. Down to the present day he finds morality's prescriptions vague, crude, unfine for personal well-being. And yet there was something elevated in this group-morality despite or rather just because of its taking so little account of individuals; fashioned in this way the individual became a public being, or, as Nietzsche puts it, a collective individual. So organically was he a part of the group, so little did he have a separate life of his own, that he was ready to risk his life for it on occasion. As animals, in whom the social impulses overrule individual ones, perform actions that are to their own hurt, though useful to their herd or flock, so is it with men.
Nietzsche sometimes speaks as if the state [some kind of authoritative organized social existence] were prior to individuals—they arising at the end of the social process rather than existing at the beginning. Older, he says, is the pleasure in the herd than the pleasure in the I; the crafty and loveless I that seeks its own advantage in the advantage of many is not the origin of the herd, but the ruin of it. Society does not form itself out of individuals, does not arise from contracts between them. Peoples created before individuals; indeed the individual himself is the latest creation. Nietzsche roundly asserts, as against Paul Rée, that the herd-instinct was originally the stronger and more powerful thing, and that when one presumed to act separately and individually (i.e., not ​according to the herd-law), he seemed to the rest evil. On so deep and ancient a foundation does morality rest, in his view. He virtually defines moral actions as organic functions of individuals, in which not the individual, but a higher principle is the aim. Still more concisely, "Morality is the herd-instinct [ruling] in the individual."
III
As to the content of morality, Nietzsche goes little beyond what we have already found him saying in his second period. The mores of different groups vary widely, and superficially nothing may seem constant in morality but its form. Yet there are certain mores which tend to arise everywhere. While any mos is better than none—a great proposition with which, Nietzsche says, civilization begins—some kinds of behavior are so necessary to social life that norms corresponding to them are practically universal. If men injure one another, lie to one another, if they do not to some extent help one another, they can hardly form a group at all. Animal society itself rests on something like love, constancy of affection, education of the young, labor, economy, courage, obedience on the part of the weaker, protecting care on the part of the stronger, sacrifice among all. No society can maintain itself without such qualities, and in those continuing the impulses become hereditary. Sympathy (Mitgefühl) a factor in social formations, the readiness of men to aid one another and have understandings a condition of life—such is Nietzsche's point of view. To however slight an extent, rudiments of "mutual consideration, pity, reasonableness, mildness, reciprocity of services" make their appearance. "Peaceable, reasonable, moderate, modest, considerate, chaste, honest, true, loyal, pitiful, dutiful, obedient, ​unselfish, industrious"—such is another list of the qualities and impulses that tend to be praised; all not on their own account, but as means to the group's ends, as necessary for its preservation and advancement One might call them essential morality—as distinguished from the morality that varies from one people to another; Nietzsche does not use the phrase, but his view seems to warrant it. Everywhere there is a tendency toward the exaltation of virtues of this description, i.e., within each group and as conditions of the group's life.
Morality thus comes to be seen in a certain perspective, and we understand the gravity which has always been attached to it. As a condition of life for the group, it is supremely important; if it is not respected, the group structure becomes loose, the group itself is liable to be dissolved. From the latter's most intimate instincts of self-preservation come affirmation and negation, approval and disapproval, praise and blame accordingly. The group may of course err in making particular judgments—may regard things as necessary to its well-being which are not, may treat individuals as responsible when they are not, but judge as best it can it must. If it will live, it must value, i.e., look at things in relation to itself and its needs, and pronounce accordingly; it must have tables of good and evil, must love and hate, praise and blame, reward and punish. The good is good for it, the evil evil for it—it is indeed the first creator of good and evil, individual estimates coming later.
At the same time good, being good for the group, is not a good over it. It makes categories of good and evil which bind its members, but in the nature of the case they do not apply to itself. Morality has its meaning as the conduct that serves it, but the group is not in the relation of service to something beyond itself; nor as creator of good and evil is it subject ​to its own creation. The group simply does what it must do to live, taking itself as a fact of nature. To bring it somehow under the moral categories, we may say it has a right to exist, but even this language is inexact in Nietzsche's view, for, as has already been hinted and we shall see more clearly later, he finds rights arising by contract or under a general system of law, and it is not in this way that social groups arise or maintain themselves (save in exceptional circumstances)—they are spontaneous natural formations and are guided purely by instincts of self-preservation. Instead of having a right to exist, we can only truthfully say that they will exist—this will being shown indeed in the imperatives they put on their members, the rules they require them to obey: it is their will to be and to rule that is the explanation of morality. In other words, the group itself is outside morality, and the virtues serve an instinct which is fundamentally different in character from themselves. As imperative and binding as morality is upon individuals, as necessary to the very life of the community as it may be, so that the latter stands or falls with it, it is not good on its own account or as an end in itself, but as means to an end beyond it—an end that can only be described in non-moral terms.
How true the last remark is to Nietzsche's thought, though the language is my own, is shown in what he says of the relation of social groups to one another. On occasion they feel and act in a way which is the exact opposite of what they require of their members in their conduct to one another. They may be mutually hostile, selfish, unmerciful, full of the desire to dominate—and all in good conscience. The members of one group may deceive, rob, kill those of another group without the slightest self-reproach. In a famous passage ("infamous," some would say) Nietzsche describes a highly moralized race, its members self-restrained in their dealings with one another and showing all manner of mutual considerateness, delicacy of ​feeling, loyalty, and friendship, falling on a stranger race, murdering, burning, ravishing, torturing, and with no graver feelings than those of students on a lark. Even today the groups we call nations or states have a double stardard: they forbid violence within and allow or even command it on occasion without—the very acts which are offenses, crimes in the one case, meeting with general approval or applause in the other. Inconsistent, we may say—but really so only to a confused perception. Moral conduct (in the historic sense of "moral") is the conduct becoming to members of a social whole and in furtherance of the ends of the social whole—but it is no wider than the social whole, and where there is no social whole, it has in the nature of the case no application. If some of us today condemn certain acts of nations or states as immoral, we do so in the name of a sentiment or idea to which no reality as yet corresponds; we imply a society, a social whole, which has no existence, but which, if it existed, would of necessity put this brand on the acts in question. It is surely inept to speak of the society of the human race at present; it is even inept to speak of Europe as a society—it is a collection of independent societies, of separate sovereign wholes. The only way in which separate wholes can be properly amenable to morality is to cease to be separate wholes, to merge themselves in one another or in some greater unity—then the law by which the larger whole lives becomes the law for each individual one. Independent societies already do this to a limited extent, namely so far as they make contracts or treaties with one another or have common understandings: to this extent they part with their individual sovereignty and become subject to moral rule. A society that breaks a treaty, that violates a common understanding, commits ipso facto an immoral act. But societies which have no treaties or understandings—independent, sovereign social groups—are in the nature of the case non-moral beings.
Yes, individuals themselves, so far as they are agents of the group, acquire a more or less non-moral character. An ​official of the state is without feeling of guilt when he hangs a man (kills), or puts him in prison (enslaves), or takes his money in taxation (robs), or as a policeman or detective deceives and traps him (lies),—though all these things done on his own account would be immoral. The fact that he acts for the group, in the interest of the group, takes away shame. There is a double standard, but no contradiction; as a group-organ, he shares the innocence of the group. It is so with the soldier, so with the head of the state—they cannot be judged as is the private citizen. Nietzsche remarks that the antagonism of duties, comes to a head in the shepherd of the flock—he must be both friendly, peaceable, protecting, i.e., to those within its circle, and hostile, warlike, merciless, i.e., to those without. In this connection I may mention his interesting suggestion (in keeping with his general view of the priority of social to individual life), that some of the feelings which we commonly call individual or even egoistic are not really so, but are social and have been socially trained. For instance, one hates more, more violently, more innocently as a patriot than as an individual; one sacrifices more quickly for one's family or for a church or a party than for oneself; the strongest feeling which many have is honor, and honor is a social standard, meaning at bottom what is honored. So-called egoistic impulses are often really impulses to social formations. Here is a person who is covetous and heaps up property (the impulse of the family); here is another who has markedly the sex-impulse (something which serves the race), and still another who is vain (emphasizes the community by estimating himself according to its measurements). We speak of the egoism of the conqueror, the statesman, and so on—they do think only of themselves, but of "themselves" so far as the ego is developed by an impulse which at the same time builds or fashions a group (cf. the egoism of mothers, of teachers). It may be that the individual, apart from some kind of group-function and training, is a very limited quantity.
And now I come to a kind of paradox in Nietzsche's analysis. Societies, as we have seen, set up, whether ​consciously or unconsciously, moral codes which correspond to the conditions of their existence and power; they say that individuals shall take their standard rather than their own—they shape them after their mold and seem almost to negate a separate and individual being; and yet it is all part of a process by which independent individuals are made. The result may even be opposed—and yet it comes. How it comes is suggested in a passage which takes the form of inquiries, as follows: (1) How far may sympathetic and communal feelings be a lower, preparatory stage, at a time when personal self-feeling and individual initiative in valuing are not yet possible. (2) How far may the elevation of the collective self-feeling, the group's pride of distance, its sense of unlikeness to other groups, its aversion to accommodation and reconciliation be a school for individual self-feeling—particularly to the extent it forces the individual to represent the pride of the whole—for he must speak and act with an extreme self-respect, if he represents the community in person (just as when the individual feels himself an instrument and mouthpiece of the divinity). (3) How far may these forms of depersonalization (Entselbstung) lend to the person in fact an enormous importance—higher powers using him (cf. the religious awe of himself which the prophet or poet feels). (4) How far may responsibility for the whole beget and authorize a wide outlook, a strict and fearful hand, a presence of mind and coolness, a greatness of bearing and demeanor, which the individual could not allow to himself on his own account. Nietzsche's conclusion is that collective self-feelings may be regarded as the great preparatory school for personal sovereignty, and that the higher (vornehme) class in any group is the one which inherits the effect of the training. The point, I need hardly say, is that standing for the organism, the individual comes to share its attributes—its sense of itself and of distinctness from all outside it, its freedom to do what it will, its determination to follow its own law. He has these feelings first representatively, but later on his own account, the distinction between what he is and what he has been made passing out of view. A strong free man, Nietzsche remarks in another passage, feels in himself as over against everything ​else the attributes of an organism, e.g., self-regulation, reparative power, assimilation, secretion and excretion, metabolic power, regeneration, i.e., the equivalents of these physiological processes; but it is a mistake, he adds, to suppose that they belonged to him at the start—he was at first a part of a whole, an organ, and only as such did the first stirrings of the general organic qualities come to him. That is, individuals are not born free and sovereign, they become so [to whatever extent they do become so] as the result of a social process. Hence the state did not originally oppress individuals—they as yet failed to exist. "The amœba-like unity of the individual comes at the end! and the philosophers started with it, as if it was already there!" All the same individuals—organic unities in themselves—do come at last. Society by its own processes breeds those more or less independent of society, and morality itself helps train the future super-moral or autonomous individual—this last we shall see more clearly later on.
IV
The conception of morality as entirely a social thing is perhaps still the dominant one. Nietzsche remarks that the early ages of mankind have done more to fix its character than the later historical epochs—and this appears to hold of its intellectual conceptions as well. Hegel speaks entirely in the spirit of the antique conception of morality, when he says that "the individual has his truth, real existence, and ethical status only in being a member of the state," that "the striving for a morality of one's own is futile and by its very nature impossible of attainment"; and again when he says, "In respect to morality, the saying of one of the wisest men of antiquity is the true one—to be moral is to live in accordance with the moral tradition of one's country." The latest, or, at least, best book which America has produced on ethics—Dewey and Tufts Ethics—has, if not the same, a similar conception. We read there of "moral, i.e., socialized interests"; we hear that in ​progressive as truly as in stationary society "the moral and the social are one"; that though the virtues of the individual in a progressive society are more reflective than in customary society, "they are just as socially conditioned in their origin and as socially directed in their manifestations"; that there is no attitude "which does not need to be socially valued or judged"; that the reconstructed individual, who is necessary in a time of individuals, is one "who is individual in choice, in feeling, in responsibility, and at the same time social in what he regards as good, in his sympathies and in his purposes," that "otherwise individualism means progress toward the immoral." According to such a view, the action of an individual who pursued a good not primarily social, but personal, who looked upon society not as an end, but rather as a means to his own ends, and who marked out his own path in pursuing those ends, would hardly come under the head of morality at all. Professor Sumner, in his significantly entitled book, Folkways, holds even more strictly to the primitive and historic conception, and doubts whether morality in any other sense can be made out. He observes, "The modern peoples have made morals and morality a separate domain, by the side of religion, philosophy, and politics. In that sense morals is an impossible and unreal category. It has no existence and can have none. The word 'moral' means what belongs or appertains to the mores. Therefore the category of morals can never be defined without reference to Op. cit., p. 37. something outside of itself." It is important for us to keep in mind this older meaning of the term, for when Nietzsche makes animadversions on morality, as he so frequently does, it is this kind of morality—what he calls Heerden-Moral—that he has primarily in mind. In another, shall I say? more ideal, certainly more general sense, he so little attacks morality, that he offers a morality of his own. Because of these varying senses in which he uses the word, he easily confuses us, if we do not take a little trouble to see what he means. Sometimes he attacks morality without qualification, but this is only because already in common speech—and often in that of scholars as well—morality and social morality are absolutely identified.
​The fact is that not merely the historic conception, but the feelings going along with it still dominate among us. Most of us, Nietzsche notes, still follow social standards rather than our own. A cold look, a wry mouth, from those among whom we are educated, is still feared by the strongest; and what is it really that we fear? Isolation. We get on with a bad conscience better than with a bad reputation. Indeed, conscience itself was originally of social shaping—one condemned in himself what others condemned; and it is still largely so. Professor Dewey even says, "All men require social standards in their conduct: the consent of their kind. No man ever lived with the exclusive approval of his own conscience." If it is urged that men have stood alone with God approving, this would not be an exception, for God is the socius in this case, and the question may be raised how far the social needs of those who felt obliged to stand alone have tended to create, or at least sustain, the faith in this invisible society.
* ↑ Joyful Science, § 380.
* ↑ The Wanderer etc., §§ 19, 20.
* ↑ Dawn of Day, § 357.
* ↑ The Wanderer etc., § 20. Also in Beyond Good and Evil, § 228 (cf. Werke, XIII, 114, § 255) he contrasts the moral preacher or Puritan with the moralist. There is the same intellectualist meaning in the reference to the "old varied moralistic culture" of the French,—a respect in which they far surpassed, he thinks, the Germans (Beyond Good and Evil, § 254).
* ↑ Beyond Good and Evil, § 226; Dawn of Day, preface, § 4.
* ↑ Cf., for example, Will to Power, §§ 116, 132, 211, 235, 374.
* ↑ Werke, XIII, 114-5, § 256.
* ↑ Dawn of Day, § 496.
* ↑ See ante, pp. 120-3.
* ↑ It will be simpler hereafter to use the Latin mores as an equivalent for Sitten—our English word "customs" failing, without some qualifying adjective, to indicate the weight and authority which attach to them. W. G. Sumner was perhaps the first to make extended use of the term in scientific discussion of the subject—see his Folkways, particularly pp. 36-7; cf. also ch. iv of Dewey and Tufts' Ethics.
* ↑ On the range of the mores, cf. Wundt, Ethics (Eng. tr.), I, 265-6; Lazarus, Zeitschrift für Völkerpsychologie, I, 452.
* ↑ In this circle of conceptions who was the most moral? It was either he who fulfilled the law most often, and so, like the The word here is böse—see the full explanation in the following chapter.
* ↑ He uses the term sometimes, however, in the widest sense, covering family-alliances, communities, tribes, peoples, states, churches" (Beyond Good and Evil, § 199).
* ↑ Werke, XII, 97, § 197.
* ↑ Beyond Good and Evil, § 201. If altruistic actions in these unitary primitive societies had an I-feeling as a presupposition, it was a collective I,—they were quite other than our actions from pity (Werke, XIII, 188, § 417).
* ↑ Werke, XI, 243, § 203; Dawn of Day, § 107; Joyful Science, § 335.
* ↑ Werke, XII, 97, § 197; Human, etc., § 94.
* ↑ Werke, XIII, 187.
* ↑ Ibid., XII, 112; 113-4, § 226.
* ↑ Cf. Werke, XIII, 213, § 500 ("Love of the community is older than selfishness, in any case for a long time stronger").
* ↑ Werke, XII, 111.
* ↑ Zarathustra, I, xv.
* ↑ Werke, XIII, 111, § 253.
* ↑ Ibid., XIII, 173, § 397; cf. XII, 109, § 223.
* ↑ Joyful Science, § 116.
* ↑ See ante, pp. 120 ff.
* ↑ Dawn of Day, § 16. Cf. a remark in another connection, "Only within confines established by tradition, fixed custom, circumscribed horizons (Beschränkung) is there comfort in the world" (Werke, XI, 144).
* ↑ Werke, XIII, 187.
* ↑ See, for instance, incidental remarks in Werke, XIV, 323-4.
* ↑ Beyond Good and Evil, § 201.
* ↑ Will to Power, § 284.
* ↑ The expression "life-conditions," or its equivalent, appears repeatedly; cf. Will to Power, §§ 204, 216, 256; Werke, XIII, 139, §§ 320-3; XIV, 67, § 132; 338, § 188.
* ↑ Zarathustra, I, xv; Werke, XIII, 197, § 435; Will to Power, §§ 216, 293.
* ↑ Zarathustra, I, xv. Dewey and Tufts speak of man as "an active and organizing judge and creator of values" (op. cit., p. 184), but appear to have in mind individuals rather than groups.
* ↑ Cf. the suggestions of Werke, XIII, 214, § 500.
* ↑ Will to Power, § 728.
* ↑ This will not merely to be, but to rule is asserted in Will to Power, § 275; Werke, XIll, 197, § 435; XIV, 90-1, § 184.
* ↑ Will to Power, § 284.
* ↑ Ibid., § 284.
* ↑ Genealogy etc., I, § 11.
* ↑ This was written before the present war.
* ↑ The statements here are my own—but I think I follow the logic of Nietzsche's thought.
* ↑ Werke, XIII, 195-6; cf. XII, 115.
* ↑ Werke, XII, 116, § 229.
* ↑ Will to Power, § 284.
* ↑ Ibid., XII, 117, § 230.
* ↑ Will to Power, § 773; cf. Werke, XII, 114-6, § 228.
* ↑ Werke, XII, 110-2.
* ↑ Ibid., XII, 113-4, § 226.
* ↑ In the first part of Chapter XX.
* ↑ Dawn of Day, § 18; cf. Genealogy etc.. III, § 9.
* ↑ Philosophy of Right (tr. by Dyde), Part III, 150, and Werke, I, 389. I borrow these references from Dewey and Tufts, op. cit., pp. 225-6.
* ↑ Op. cit., pp. 300, 434-5, 427, 75-6.
* ↑ footnote
* ↑ Dawn of Day, § 104.
* ↑ Joyful Science, § 50.
* ↑ Ibid., § 52.
* ↑ Cf. Mixed Opinions, etc., § 90, and the close of Joyful Science, § 149.
* ↑ The Influence of Darwiniam on Philosophy and Other Essays, p. 75.