The "Improvers" of Humanity
Original German
1 Man kennt meine Forderung an den Philosophen, sich jenseits von Gut und Böse zu stellen, - die Illusion des moralischen Urtheils unter sich zu haben. Diese Forderung folgt aus einer Einsicht, die von mir zum ersten Male formulirt worden ist: dass es gar keine moralischen Thatsachen giebt. Das moralische Urtheil hat Das mit dem religiösen gemein, dass es an Realitäten glaubt, die keine sind. Moral ist nur eine Ausdeutung gewisser Phänomene, bestimmter geredet, eine Missdeutung. Das moralische Urtheil gehört, wie das religiöse, einer Stufe der Unwissenheit zu, auf der selbst der Begriff des Realen, die Unterscheidung des Realen und Imaginären noch fehlt: so dass "Wahrheit" auf solcher Stufe lauter Dinge bezeichnet, die wir heute "Einbildungen" nennen. Das moralische Urtheil ist insofern nie wörtlich zu nehmen: als solches enthält es immer nur Widersinn. Aber es bleibt als Semiotik unschätzbar: es offenbart, für den Wissenden wenigstens, die werthvollsten Realitäten von Culturen und Innerlichkeiten, die nicht genug wussten, um sich selbst zu "verstehn". Moral ist bloss Zeichenrede, bloss Symptomatologie: man muss bereits wissen, worum es sich handelt, um von ihr Nutzen zu ziehen.
2 Ein erstes Beispiel und ganz vorläufig. Zu allen Zeiten hat man die Menschen "verbessern" wollen: dies vor Allem hiess Moral. Aber unter dem gleichen Wort ist das Allerverschiedenste von Tendenz versteckt. Sowohl die Zähmung der Bestie Mensch als die Züchtung einer bestimmten Gattung Mensch ist "Besserung" genannt worden: erst diese zoologischen termini drücken Realitäten aus - Realitäten freilich, von denen der typische "Verbesserer", der Priester, Nichts weiss - Nichts wissen will… Die Zähmung eines Thieres seine "Besserung" nennen ist in unsren Ohren beinahe ein Scherz. Wer weiss, was in Menagerien geschieht, zweifelt daran, dass die Bestie daselbst "verbessert" wird. Sie wird geschwächt, sie wird weniger schädlich gemacht, sie wird durch den depressiven Affekt der Furcht, durch Schmerz, durch Wunden, durch Hunger zur krankhaften Bestie. - Nicht anders steht es mit dem gezähmten Menschen, den der Priester "verbessert" hat. Im frühen Mittelalter, wo in der That die Kirche vor Allem eine Menagerie war, machte man allerwärts auf die schönsten Exemplare der "blonden Bestie" Jagd, - man "verbesserte" zum Beispiel die vornehmen Germanen. Aber wie sah hinterdrein ein solcher "verbesserter", in's Kloster verführter Germane aus? Wie eine Caricatur des Menschen, wie eine Missgeburt: er war zum "Sünder" geworden, er stak im Käfig, man hatte ihn zwischen lauter schreckliche Begriffe eingesperrt… Da lag er nun, krank, kümmerlich, gegen sich selbst böswillig; voller Hass gegen die Antriebe zum Leben, voller Verdacht gegen Alles, was noch stark und glücklich war. Kurz, ein "Christ"… Physiologisch geredet: im Kampf mit der Bestie kann Krank machen das einzige Mittel sein, sie schwach zu machen. Das verstand die Kirche: sie verdarb den Menschen, sie schwächte ihn, - aber sie nahm in Anspruch, ihn "verbessert" zu haben…
3 Nehmen wir den andern Fall der sogenannten Moral, den Fall der Züchtung einer bestimmten Rasse und Art. Das grossartigste Beispiel dafür giebt die indische Moral, als "Gesetz des Manu" zur Religion sanktionirt. Hier ist die Aufgabe gestellt, nicht weniger als vier Rassen auf einmal zu züchten: eine priesterliche, eine kriegerische, eine händler- und ackerbauerische, endlich eine Dienstboten-Rasse, die Sudras. Ersichtlich sind wir hier nicht mehr unter Thierbändigern: eine hundert Mal mildere und vernünftigere Art Mensch ist die Voraussetzung, um auch nur den Plan einer solchen Züchtung zu concipiren. Man athmet auf, aus der christlichen Kranken- und Kerkerluft in diese gesündere, höhere, weitere Welt einzutreten. Wie armselig ist das "neue Testament" gegen Manu, wie schlecht riecht es! - Aber auch diese Organisation hatte nöthig, furchtbar zu sein, - nicht dies Mal im Kampf mit der Bestie, sondern mit ihrem Gegensatz-Begriff, dem Nicht-Zucht-Menschen, dem Mischmasch-Menschen, dem Tschandala. Und wieder hatte sie kein andres Mittel, ihn ungefährlich, ihn schwach zu machen, als ihn krank zu machen, - es war der Kampf mit der "grossen Zahl". Vielleicht giebt es nichts unserm Gefühle Widersprechenderes als diese Schutzmaassregeln der indischen Moral. Das dritte Edikt zum Beispiel (Avadana-Sastra 1), das "von den unreinen Gemüsen", ordnet an, dass die einzige Nahrung, die den Tschandala erlaubt ist, Knoblauch und Zwiebeln sein sollen, in Anbetracht, dass die heilige Schrift verbietet, ihnen Korn oder Früchte, die Körner tragen, oder Wasser oder Feuer zu geben. Dasselbe Edikt setzt fest, dass das Wasser, welches sie nöthig haben, weder aus den Flüssen, noch aus den Quellen, noch aus den Teichen genommen werden dürfe, sondern nur aus den Zugängen zu Sümpfen und aus Löchern, welche durch die Fusstapfen der Thiere entstanden sind. Insgleichen wird ihnen verboten, ihre Wäsche zu waschen und sich selbst zu waschen, da das Wasser, das ihnen aus Gnade zugestanden wird, nur benutzt werden darf, den Durst zu löschen. Endlich ein Verbot an die Sudra-Frauen, den Tschandala-Frauen bei der Geburt beizustehen, insgleichen noch eins für die letzteren, einander dabei beizustehen… - Der Erfolg einer solchen Sanitäts-Polizei blieb nicht aus: mörderische Seuchen, scheussliche Geschlechtskrankheiten und darauf hin wieder "das Gesetz des Messers", die Beschneidung für die männlichen, die Abtragung der kleinen Schamlippen für die weiblichen Kinder anordnend. - Manu selbst sagt: "die Tschandala sind die Frucht von Ehebruch, Incest und Verbrechen (- dies die nothwendige Consequenz des Begriffs Züchtung). Sie sollen zu Kleidern nur die Lumpen von Leichnamen haben, zum Geschirr zerbrochne Töpfe, zum Schmuck altes Eisen, zum Gottesdienst nur die bösen Geister; sie sollen ohne Ruhe von einem Ort zum andern schweifen. Es ist ihnen verboten, von links nach rechts zu schreiben und sich der rechten Hand zum Schreiben zu bedienen: der Gebrauch der rechten Hand und des von Links nach Rechts ist bloss den Tugendhaften vorbehalten, den Leuten von Rasse." -
4 Diese Verfügungen sind lehrreich genug: in ihnen haben wir einmal die arische Humanität, ganz rein, ganz ursprünglich, - wir lernen, dass der Begriff "reines Blut" der Gegensatz eines harmlosen Begriffs ist. Andrerseits wird klar, in welchem Volk sich der Hass, der Tschandala-Hass gegen diese "Humanität" verewigt hat, wo er Religion, wo er Genie geworden ist…Unter diesem Gesichtspunkte sind die Evangelien eine Urkunde ersten Ranges; noch mehr das Buch Henoch. - Das Christenthum, aus jüdischer Wurzel und nur verständlich als Gewächs dieses Bodens, stellt die Gegenbewegung gegen jede Moral der Züchtung, der Rasse, des Privilegiums dar: - es ist die antiarische Religion par excellence: das Christenthum die Umwerthung aller arischen Werthe, der Sieg der Tschandala Werthe, das Evangelium den Armen, den Niedrigen gepredigt, der Gesammt-Aufstand alles Niedergetretenen, Elenden, Missrathenen, Schlechtweggekommenen gegen die "Rasse", - die unsterbliche Tschandala-Rache als Religion der Liebe…
5 Die Moral der Züchtung und die Moral der Zähmung sind in den Mitteln, sich durchzusetzen, vollkommen einander würdig: wir dürfen als obersten Satz hinstellen, dass, um Moral zu machen, man den unbedingten Willen zum Gegentheil haben muss. Dies ist das grosse, das unheimliche Problem, dem ich am längsten nachgegangen bin: die Psychologie der "Verbesserer" der Menschheit. Eine kleine und im Grunde bescheidne Thatsache, die der sogenannten pia fraus, gab mir den ersten Zugang zu diesem Problem: die pia fraus, das Erbgut aller Philosophen und Priester, die die Menschheit "verbesserten". Weder Manu, noch Plato, noch Confucius, noch die jüdischen und christlichen Lehrer haben je an ihrem Recht zur Lüge gezweifelt. Sie haben an ganz andren Rechten nicht gezweifelt… In Formel ausgedrückt dürfte man sagen: alle Mittel, wodurch bisher die Menschheit moralisch gemacht werden sollte, waren von Grund aus unmoralisch. -
Musean translation
A complete machine-assisted Musean translation, made directly from the German in independent chapter tasks. Includes all 44 Maxims and Arrows and The Hammer Speaks.
1 My demand of the philosopher is familiar: to take a position beyond good and evil—to leave the illusion of moral judgment beneath him. This demand follows from an insight that I was the first to formulate: there are no moral facts at all. Moral judgment shares with religious judgment a belief in realities that are not realities. Morality is only an interpretation of certain phenomena—or, more precisely, a misinterpretation. Like religious judgment, moral judgment belongs to a stage of ignorance at which even the concept of the real, the distinction between the real and the imaginary, is still absent: so that “truth” at such a stage designates nothing but things we now call “imaginings.” In this sense moral judgment must never be taken literally: as such, it always contains only absurdity. But as a language of signs it remains invaluable: at least to the knowledgeable, it reveals the most valuable realities of cultures and inner lives that did not know enough to “understand” themselves. Morality is merely speech in signs, merely a study of symptoms: to profit from it, one must already know what is at issue.
2 A first, entirely preliminary example. In every age people have wanted to “improve” human beings: this above all was called morality. But under the same word the most diverse tendencies lie concealed. Both the taming of the human beast and the breeding of a particular kind of human being have been called “improvement”: only these zoological terms express realities—realities, to be sure, of which the typical “improver,” the priest, knows nothing—wants to know nothing… To call an animal’s taming its “improvement” sounds almost like a joke to our ears. Anyone who knows what happens in menageries doubts that the beast is “improved” there. It is weakened, made less dangerous; through the depressing emotion of fear, through pain, wounds, hunger, it becomes a sickly beast.—The case is no different with the tamed human being whom the priest has “improved.” In the early Middle Ages, when the Church was indeed above all a menagerie, the finest specimens of the “blond beast” were hunted everywhere—people “improved” the Germanic nobility, for example. But what did such an “improved” Germanic man, enticed into a monastery, look like afterward? Like a caricature of humanity, like a malformed creature: he had become a “sinner,” he sat in a cage, he had been locked among nothing but terrifying concepts… There he lay, sick, wretched, malicious toward himself; full of hatred for the impulses toward life, full of suspicion of everything still strong and happy. In short, a “Christian”… Physiologically speaking: in a struggle with the beast, making it sick may be the only means of making it weak. The Church understood this: it corrupted the human being, it weakened him—but claimed to have “improved” him…
3 Let us take the other case of so-called morality: the breeding of a particular race and kind. The grandest example is Indian morality, sanctioned as religion in the “Law of Manu.” Here the task is set of breeding no fewer than four races at once: a priestly race, a warrior race, a race of traders and farmers, and finally a servant race, the Shudras. Plainly we are no longer among animal tamers: a hundred times gentler and more rational a kind of person is needed even to conceive the plan of such breeding. One breathes freely on leaving Christianity’s atmosphere of sickroom and dungeon for this healthier, higher, more spacious world. How paltry the “New Testament” is beside Manu, how badly it smells!—But this organization, too, needed to be terrible—not this time in its struggle with the beast, but with the opposite concept, the unbred human being, the human mixture, the Chandala. And again it had no means of making him harmless, making him weak, except to make him sick—it was the struggle with the “great number.” Perhaps nothing is more repugnant to our feelings than these protective measures of Indian morality. The third edict, for example (Avadana-Sastra 1), “on impure vegetables,” orders that the only food permitted to the Chandalas shall be garlic and onions, considering that holy scripture forbids giving them grain, or fruits bearing seeds, or water or fire. The same edict stipulates that the water they need must not be taken from rivers, springs, or ponds, but only from approaches to swamps and from hollows made by animals’ footprints. They are likewise forbidden to wash their clothes or themselves, since the water granted them out of mercy may be used only to quench their thirst. Finally, Shudra women are forbidden to assist Chandala women in childbirth, and the latter are likewise forbidden to assist one another…—The results of such a sanitary police regime were not long in coming: murderous epidemics, hideous venereal diseases, and in their wake “the law of the knife,” ordering circumcision for male children and removal of the inner labia for female children.—Manu himself says: “The Chandalas are the fruit of adultery, incest, and crime—this is the necessary consequence of the concept of breeding. Their only clothes shall be rags from corpses, their vessels broken pots, their ornaments old iron, their worship only of evil spirits; they shall wander restlessly from place to place. They are forbidden to write from left to right and to use the right hand in writing: the use of the right hand and of writing from left to right is reserved solely for the virtuous, for people of race.”—
4 These provisions are instructive enough: in them, for once, we have Aryan humanity quite pure, quite original—we learn that the concept of “pure blood” is the opposite of a harmless concept. On the other hand, it becomes clear among which people hatred, Chandala hatred of this “humanity,” has perpetuated itself, where it has become religion, where it has become genius… From this perspective the Gospels are a document of the first rank; still more so the Book of Enoch.—Christianity, sprung from Jewish roots and intelligible only as a growth from that soil, represents the countermovement against every morality of breeding, race, privilege—it is the anti-Aryan religion above all: Christianity, the revaluation of all Aryan values, the victory of Chandala values, the Gospel preached to the poor and lowly, the general uprising of everything downtrodden, miserable, ill-formed, disadvantaged against “race”—immortal Chandala revenge as a religion of love…
5 The morality of breeding and the morality of taming are perfectly worthy of each other in the means they use to prevail: we may set down as the supreme proposition that to make morality one must possess the unconditional will to its opposite. This is the great, uncanny problem I have pursued longest: the psychology of humanity’s “improvers.” A small and fundamentally modest fact, that of the so-called pious fraud, gave me my first access to this problem: pious fraud, the inheritance of every philosopher and priest who “improved” humanity. Neither Manu, nor Plato, nor Confucius, nor the Jewish and Christian teachers ever doubted their right to lie. There were quite other rights they did not doubt… Put into a formula, one might say: all the means by which humanity has so far been meant to become moral were immoral to the core.—
Plain English translation
A complete machine-assisted Plain English translation made independently and directly from the German, not from the Musean edition or an existing English translation.
1 People know my demand that the philosopher place himself beyond good and evil—that he put the illusion of moral judgment beneath him. This demand follows from an insight that I was the first to put into words: there are no moral facts at all. Moral judgment has this in common with religious judgment: it believes in realities that are not real. Morality is only an interpretation of certain phenomena—or, to be more precise, a misinterpretation. Like religious judgment, moral judgment belongs to a stage of ignorance that does not yet even have the idea of reality, the distinction between what is real and what is imaginary. At that stage, “truth” refers entirely to things we now call “fantasies.” So moral judgment must never be taken literally. Taken that way, it always contains nothing but nonsense. But it remains priceless as a system of signs. At least to someone who knows how to read it, it reveals the most valuable realities of cultures and inner lives that did not know enough to “understand” themselves. Morality is only a language of signs, only a system of symptoms. You have to know what is going on already to get any use out of it.
2 A first, entirely preliminary example. In every age, people have wanted to “improve” human beings. Above all, this was what morality meant. But the same word hides the most widely different aims. Both taming the human beast and breeding a particular kind of human being have been called “improvement.” Only these terms from zoology express realities—realities that the typical “improver,” the priest, knows nothing about—and wants to know nothing about… To our ears, calling the taming of an animal its “improvement” sounds almost like a joke. Anyone who knows what happens in menageries doubts that the beast is “improved” there. It is weakened, made less harmful. Through the depressing emotion of fear, through pain, wounds, and hunger, it becomes a sick beast.—It is no different with the tamed human being whom the priest has “improved.” In the early Middle Ages, when the Church really was above all a menagerie, people everywhere hunted down the finest specimens of the “blond beast.” They “improved” Germanic nobles, for example. But what did one of these “improved” Germanic men, lured into a monastery, look like afterward? Like a caricature of a human being, like a malformed creature. He had become a “sinner.” He was stuck in a cage; he had been locked up among nothing but terrifying ideas… There he lay, sick, miserable, spiteful toward himself, full of hatred for the drives toward life, full of suspicion toward everything that was still strong and happy. In short, a “Christian”… In physical terms: when fighting the beast, making it sick may be the only way to make it weak. The Church understood this. It ruined human beings, it weakened them—but it claimed to have “improved” them…
3 Let’s take the other case of so-called morality: breeding a particular race and type. Indian morality provides the grandest example. It was given religious authority as the “Law of Manu.” Here the task is to breed no fewer than four races at once: a priestly race, a warrior race, a race of traders and farmers, and finally a servant race, the Shudras. Clearly, we are no longer among animal tamers. It takes a kind of person a hundred times gentler and more reasonable even to conceive the plan for such breeding. We breathe more freely as we leave the Christian air of sickrooms and prisons and enter this healthier, higher, wider world. How pitiful the “New Testament” is beside Manu, how bad it smells!—But this organization, too, needed to be terrifying. This time it was fighting not the beast but the opposite idea: the unbred human being, the mixed-breed human being, the Chandala. And again, it had no other means of making him harmless, of making him weak, than making him sick. It was a fight against the “great mass.” Perhaps nothing offends our feelings more than these protective measures of Indian morality. The third edict, for example (Avadana-Sastra 1), the one “on impure vegetables,” orders that the only food allowed to the Chandala is garlic and onions. The reason given is that sacred scripture forbids giving them grain, fruits that contain seeds, water, or fire. The same edict lays down that the water they need must not come from rivers, springs, or ponds. It may come only from the approaches to swamps and from holes made by animals’ footprints. They are also forbidden to wash their clothes or themselves, since the water granted to them out of mercy may be used only to quench thirst. Finally, Shudra women are forbidden to help Chandala women give birth, and Chandala women are also forbidden to help one another…—The results of such health policing were inevitable: deadly epidemics and hideous sexually transmitted diseases. These in turn led to the “law of the knife,” ordering circumcision for male children and removal of the inner labia for female children.—Manu himself says: “The Chandala are the fruit of adultery, incest, and crime”—this is the necessary consequence of the idea of breeding. “For clothes they shall have only rags from corpses, for dishes broken pots, for ornaments old iron, and for worship only evil spirits. They shall wander restlessly from one place to another. They are forbidden to write from left to right or to use their right hand for writing. The use of the right hand and of writing from left to right is reserved for the virtuous alone, for people of good stock.”—
4 These rules are instructive enough. Here, for once, we have Aryan humaneness, completely pure, in its original form. We learn that the idea of “pure blood” is the opposite of a harmless idea. On the other hand, it becomes clear among which people hatred—the Chandala’s hatred of this “humaneness”—has been made everlasting, where it has become religion, where it has become genius… From this point of view, the Gospels are a document of the first rank; the Book of Enoch even more so.—Christianity has Jewish roots and can only be understood as a growth from that soil. It represents the countermovement against every morality of breeding, race, and privilege. It is the anti-Aryan religion above all others: Christianity as the revaluation of all Aryan values, the victory of Chandala values, the gospel preached to the poor and the lowly, the united revolt of all the downtrodden, the miserable, the malformed, and the disadvantaged against the “race”—the Chandala’s undying revenge as the religion of love…
5 The morality of breeding and the morality of taming are entirely worthy of each other in the means they use to establish themselves. We can state this as the highest principle: to make morality, you must have an unconditional will to its opposite. This is the great, disturbing problem I have pursued the longest: the psychology of the “improvers” of humanity. A small and basically modest fact, the so-called pious fraud, first gave me access to this problem: pious fraud, the inheritance of all the philosophers and priests who “improved” humanity. Neither Manu nor Plato nor Confucius nor the Jewish and Christian teachers ever doubted their right to lie. They had no doubts about quite different rights either… Put as a formula, we could say: all the means by which people have so far tried to make humanity moral were immoral from the ground up.—
About this section
The "Improvers" of Humanity is part of Twilight of the Idols by Friedrich Nietzsche. This page sets the German original beside 2 direct-source translations, so any line can be checked against the source. It is chapter 8 of 12 in the work, which is kept in the European tradition.
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