Lo, I teach you the Overman: he is that sea; in him can your great contempt be submerged. What is the greatest thing ye can experience? It is the hour of great contempt. The hour in which even your happiness becometh loathsome unto you, and so also your reason and virtue. The hour when ye say: "What good is my happiness! It is poverty and pollution and wretched self-complacency. But my happiness should justify existence itself!" The hour when ye say: "What good is my reason! Doth it long for knowledge as the lion for his food? It is poverty and pollution and wretched self-complacency!" The hour when ye say: "What good is my virtue! As yet it hath not made me passionate. How weary I am of my good and my bad! It is all poverty and pollution and wretched self-complacency!" The hour when ye say: "What good is my justice! I do not see that I am fervour and fuel. The just, however, are fervour and fuel!" The hour when we say: "What good is my pity! Is not pity the cross on which he is nailed who loveth man? But my pity is not a crucifixion." Have ye ever spoken thus? Have ye ever cried thus? Ah! would that I had heard you crying thus! It is not your sin- it is your self-satisfaction that crieth unto heaven; your very sparingness in sin crieth unto heaven! Where is the lightning to lick you with its tongue? Where is the frenzy with which ye should be inoculated? Lo, I teach you the Overman: he is that lightning, he is that frenzy!
You scored as Ubermensch, You are Friedrich Nietzscheâ€,,s ideal overman. Challenging conventional morality and beliefs you overcome the nihilism of a world without god by utilising the will-to-power to create your own values. An artist by nature you express yourself in a distinctly Dionysian (creative) way.
Philosopher King
100%
The Prince
100%
Ubermensch
100%
Absurd Hero
80%
Ellsworth Toohey
60%
The Underground Man
60%
Sadean Libertine
60%
The Fountainhead
60%
The Last Man
0%
What philosophical archetype are you?
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You can find a biography and a quick overview of thoughts by clicking here . But it is just one scholarly interpretation.
Philologists are men who exploit the hollow feeling of personal inadequacy in modern man in order to earn a living. I know them, I am one of them myself. -- Spring-Summer 1875
From The Twilight of the Idols:
Anti-Darwin. — As for the famous "struggle for existence," so far it seems to me to be asserted rather than proved. It occurs, but as an exception; the total appearance of life is not the extremity, not starvation, but rather riches, profusion, even absurd squandering — and where there is struggle, it is a struggle for power. One should not mistake Malthus for nature.
Assuming, however, that there is such a struggle for existence — and, indeed, it occurs — its result is unfortunately the opposite of what Darwin's school desires, and of what one might perhaps desire with them — namely, in favor of the strong, the privileged, the fortunate exceptions. The species do not grow in perfection: the weak prevail over the strong again and again, for they are the great majority — and they are also more intelligent. Darwin forgot the spirit (that is English!); the weak have more spirit. One must need spirit to acquire spirit; one loses it when one no longer needs it. Whoever has strength dispenses with the spirit ("Let it go!" they think in Germany today; "the Reich must still remain to us"). It will be noted that by "spirit" I mean care, patience, cunning, simulation, great self-control, and everything that is mimicry (the latter includes a great deal of so-called virtue).
From: Ecce Homo:
I know my fate. One day my name will be associated with the memory of something tremendous—a crisis without equal on earth, the most profound collision of conscience, a decision that was conjured up against everything that had been believed, demanded, hallowed so far.
I am no man, I am dynamite.— Yet for all that, there is nothing in me of a founder of a religion—religions are affairs of the rabble, I find it necessary to wash my hands after I have come into contact with religious people ...
I want no "believers"; I think I am too malicious to believe in myself; I never speak to masses ... I have a terrible fear that one day I will be pronounced holy: you will guess why I publish this book before, it shall prevent people from doing mischief with me ...
I do not want to be a holy man; sooner even a buffoon ... Perhaps I am a buffoon ...
And in spite of that or rather not in spite of it, because so far nobody has been more mendacious than holy men—the truth speaks out of me.— But my truth is terrible: for so far one has called lies truth.— Revaluation of all values: that is my formula for an act of supreme self-examination on the part of humanity, become flesh and genius in me. It is my fate that I have to be the first decent human being, that I know myself to stand in opposition to the mendaciousness of millennia ...
I was the first to discover the truth by being the first to experience lies as lies—smelling them out ... My genius is in my nostrils ...
I contradict as has never been contradicted before and am nevertheless the opposite of a No-saying spirit. I am a joyful ambassador like no one before me, I know tasks of such elevation that any notion of them has been lacking so far; only beginning with me are there hopes again. For all that, I am necessarily also the man of calamity. For when truth enters into a fight with the lies of millennia, we shall have upheavals, a convulsion of earthquakes, a moving of mountains and valleys, the like of which has never been dreamed of.
The concept of politics will have merged entirely with a war of spirits, all power structures of the old society will have been exploded—all of them are based on lies: there will be wars the like of which have never yet been seen on earth. It is only beginning with me that the earth knows great politics.
It still lies ahead of me to express opinions that are deemed to be shameful by the one who entertains them; since even friends and acquaintances will become timorous and apprehensive. I must pass through this fire too. Then I will belong to myself more than ever.-- Spring-Summer 1875