You Can’t Have No Fun With an Unloaded Gun (My Dad Says That’s For Pussies)


 The long and serious study of the average man, and consequently much disguise, self-overcoming, familiarity, bad contact—

all contact is bad contact except with one’s equals—:

this 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 favorite child of knowledge should be, he will encounter suitable shortcuts and helps for 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 still have that degree of spirituality and that itch which makes them talk of themselves and their kind before witnesses:—sometimes they even wallow in books, as in their own dung. Cynicism is the only form in which common souls approach honesty; and the higher man must listen closely to every coarse or subtle cynicism, and congratulate himself when a clown without shame or a scientific satyr speaks out precisely in front of him. There are even cases where enchantment mixes with the disgust—namely, where by a freak of nature genius is tied to some such indiscreet billygoat and ape, as in the case of the Abbé Galiani, the profoundest, most clear-sighted, and perhaps also filthiest man of his century—he was far profounder than Voltaire and consequently

also a good deal more taciturn. 

It happens more frequently, as has been implied, that a scientific head is placed on an ape’s body, a subtle exceptional brain above a common soul—an occurrence by no means rare, especially among doctors and physiologists of morality. And whenever anyone speaks without bitterness, quite innocently, of man as a belly with two different requirements, and a head with one; whenever anyone sees, seeks, and wants to see only hunger, sexual desire, and vanity as the real and only motives of human actions; in short, when anyone speaks “badly” about man—and not even wickedly—, the lover of knowledge should listen subtly and diligently, he should altogether have an open ear wherever people talk without indignation. For the indignant and whoever, with his own teeth, perpetually tears and lacerates himself (or as a substitute, the world, or God, or society) may indeed, morally speaking, stand higher than the laughing and self-satisfied satyr, but in every other sense they are a more ordinary, more trivial, more uninstructive case. And

no one lies as much as the indignant do.

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