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Beyond Good and Evil

persecuted ones--also the compulsory recluses, the Spinozas or Giordano Brunos--always
become in the end, even under the most intellectual masquerade, and perhaps without
being themselves aware of it, refined vengeance-seekers and poison-Brewers (just lay
bare the foundation of Spinoza's ethics and theology!), not to speak of the stupidity of
moral indignation, which is the unfailing sign in a philosopher that the sense of
philosophical humour has left him. The martyrdom of the philosopher, his "sacrifice for
the sake of truth," forces into the light whatever of the agitator and actor lurks in him; and
if one has hitherto contemplated him only with artistic curiosity, with regard to many a
philosopher it is easy to understand the dangerous desire to see him also in his
deterioration (deteriorated into a "martyr," into a stage-and- tribune-bawler). Only, that it
is necessary with such a desire to be clear WHAT spectacle one will see in any case--
merely a satyric play, merely an epilogue farce, merely the continued proof that the long,
real tragedy IS AT AN END, supposing that every philosophy has been a long tragedy in
its origin.
26. Every select man strives instinctively for a citadel and a privacy, where he is FREE
from the crowd, the many, the majority-- where he may forget "men who are the rule," as
their exception;-- exclusive only of the case in which he is pushed straight to such men by
a still stronger instinct, as a discerner in the great and exceptional sense. Whoever, in
intercourse with men, does not occasionally glisten in all the green and grey colours of
distress, owing to disgust, satiety, sympathy, gloominess, and solitariness, is assuredly
not a man of elevated tastes; supposing, however, that he does not voluntarily take all this
burden and disgust upon himself, that he persistently avoids it, and remains, as I said,
quietly and proudly hidden in his citadel, one thing is then certain: he was not made, he
was not predestined for knowledge. For as such, he would one day have to say to himself:
"The devil take my good taste! but 'the rule' is more interesting than the exception--than
myself, the exception!" And he would go DOWN, and above all, he would go "inside."
The long and serious study of the AVERAGE man--and consequently much disguise,
self-overcoming, familiarity, and bad intercourse (all intercourse is bad intercourse
except with one's equals):--that constitutes a necessary part of the life-history of every
philosopher; perhaps the most disagreeable, odious, and disappointing part. If he is
fortunate, however, as a favourite child of knowledge should be, he will meet with
suitable auxiliaries who will shorten and lighten his task; I mean so- called cynics, those
who simply recognize the animal, the commonplace and "the rule" in themselves, and at
the same time have so much spirituality and ticklishness as to make them talk of
themselves and their like BEFORE WITNESSES--sometimes they wallow, even in
books, as on their own dung-hill. Cynicism is the only form in which base souls approach
what is called honesty; and the higher man must open his ears to all the coarser or finer
cynicism, and congratulate himself when the clown becomes shameless right before him,
or the scientific satyr speaks out. There are even cases where enchantment mixes with the
disgust-- namely, where by a freak of nature, genius is bound to some such indiscreet
billy-goat and ape, as in the case of the Abbe Galiani, the profoundest, acutest, and
perhaps also filthiest man of his century--he was far profounder than Voltaire, and
consequently also, a good deal more silent. It happens more frequently, as has been
hinted, that a scientific head is placed on an ape's body, a fine exceptional understanding
in a base soul, an occurrence by no means rare, especially among doctors and moral
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