ECCE HOMO NIETZSCHE PDF

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Project Gutenberg · 59, free ebooks · 41 by Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche. Ecce Homo by Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche. Book Cover. Ecce Homo is the last prose work that Nietzsche wrote. It is true that the pamphlet Nietzsche contra Wagner was prepared a month later than the Autobiography;. oxford world's classics. ECCE HOMO. Friedrich Nietzsche (–) was born in Röcken, Saxony, and educated at the universities of Bonn and Leipzig.


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Ecce Homo, Nietzsche's autobiography, is the hardest case of all. Even. R. J. Hollingdale subtitle to Ecce Homo, he calls becoming 'what you are'. Indeed. seems to be an expression of the feeling that in this book Nietzsche gives .. In Ecce Homo Nietzsche even presents an explanation as to why he believes this. Texts in the. History of. Philosophy. Nietzsche. The Anti-Christ, Ecce. Homo, Twilight of the. Idols. And Other Writings. Edited by. Aaron Ridley and Judith Norman.

{PDF} Friedrich Nietzsche - Ecce homo (Português) {eBook}

Long experience, acquired in the course of such wanderings in what is forbidden, taught me to regard the causes that so far have prompted moralizing and idealizing in a very different light from what may seem desirable: the hidden history of the philosophers, the psychology of the great names, came to light for me. How much truth does a spirit endure, how much truth does it dare?

More and more that became for me the real measure of value. Error faith in the ideal is not blindness, error is cowardice. Every attainment, every step forward in knowledge, follows from courage, from hardness against oneself, from cleanliness in relation to oneself.

I do not refute ideals, I merely put on gloves before them.

Among my writings my Zarathustra stands to my mind by itself. With that I have given mankind the greatest present that has ever been made to it so far.

This book, with a voice bridging centuries, is not only the highest book there is, the book that is truly characterized by the air of the heights—the whole fact of man lies beneath it at a tremendous distance—it is also the deepest, born out of the innermost wealth of truth, an inexhaustible well to which no pail descends without coming up again filled with gold and goodness. Here no "prophet" is speaking, none of those gruesome hybrids of sickness and will to power whom people call founders of religions.

Above all, one must hear aright the tone that comes from this mouth, the halcyon tone, lest one should do wretched injustice to the meaning of its wisdom. Thoughts that come on doves' feet guide the world. I am a north wind to ripe figs. Thus, like figs, these teachings fall to you, my friends: now consume their juice and their sweet meat.

The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche (Vol. 17) - Ecce Homo

It is fall around us, and pure sky and afternoon. Such things reach only the most select. It is a privilege without equal to be a listener here.

Nobody is free to have ears for Zarathustra. Is not Zarathustra in view of all this a seducer? Precisely the opposite of everything that any "sage," "saint," "world-redeemer," or any other decadent would say in such a case. You, too, go now, alone.

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Such things reach only the most select. It is a privilege without equal to be a listener here. Nobody is free to have ears for Zarathustra. Is not Zarathustra in view of all this a seducer?

Precisely the opposite of everything that any "sage," "saint," "world-redeemer," or any other decadent would say in such a case. You, too, go now, alone. Thus I want it.

Go away from me and resist Zarathustra!

And even better: be ashamed of him! Perhaps he deceived you. The man of knowledge must not only love his enemies, he must also be able to hate his friends. One repays a teacher badly if one always remains nothing but a pupil. And why do you not want to pluck at my wreath? You revere me; but what if your reverence tumbles one day?

Beware lest a statue slay you. You say that you believe in Zarathustra? But what matters Zarathustra? You are my believers—but what matter all believers? You had not yet sought yourselves; and you found me.

Thus do all believers; therefore all faith amounts to so little. Now I bid you lose me and find yourselves; and only when you have all denied me will I return to you.

I never attack persons; I merely avail myself of the person as of a strong magnifying glass that allows one to make visible a general but creeping and elusive calamity. I caught this culture in the act.

I only attack things when every personal quarrel is excluded, when any background of bad experiences is lacking. On the contrary, attack is in my case a proof of good will, sometimes even of gratitude. I honor, I distinguish by associating my name with that of a cause or a person: When I wage war against Christianity I am entitled to this because I have never experienced misfortunes and frustrations from that quarter- the most serious Christians have always been well disposed toward me.

I myself, an opponent of Christianity de rigueur? Fortunately not on pure foolishness? Those who have eyes for colors will compare it to a diamond. Do you want to hear the words in which Zarathustra speaks of the redemption from nausea? I am too inquisitive, too questionable, too exuberant to stand for any gross answer.

For ordinary use, one may formulate it thus: That he condescended to the Germans- that he became reichsdeutsch.

As far as Germany extends, she corrupts culture. Not to see many things, not to hear many things, not to permit many things to come close—first imperative of prudence, first proof that one is no mere accident but a necessity. The usual word for this instinct of self-defense is taste. To detach oneself, to separate oneself from anything that would make it necessary to keep saying No.

The reason in this is that when defensive expenditures, be they ever so small, become the rule and a habit, they entail an extraordinary and entirely superfluous impoverishment. Our great expenses are composed of the most frequent small ones. Warding off, not letting things come close, involves an expenditure—let nobody deceive himself about this—energy wasted on negative ends.

Merely through the constant need to ward off, one can become weak enough to be unable to defend oneself any longer.

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Suppose I stepped out of my house and found, instead of quiet, aristocratic Turin, a small German town: Or I found a German big city—this built-up vice where nothing grows, where everything, good or bad, is imported. But having quills is a waste, even a double luxury when one can choose not to have quills but open hands. As a parable I choose association with books.

Scholars who at bottom do little nowadays but thumb books—philologists, at a moderate estimate, about a day—ultimately lose entirely their capacity to think for themselves. They respond to a stimulus a thought they have read whenever they think—in the end, they do nothing but react. Scholars spend all of their energies on saying Yes and No, on criticism of what others have thought—they themselves no longer think.

The instinct of self-defense has become worn-out in them; otherwise they would resist books. The scholar—a decadent.

I have seen this with my own eyes: I only harm myself, the more so if I am destined to represent great tasks. Precisely here one must begin to relearn. When I now compare myself with the men who have so far been honored as the first, the difference is palpable. I want to be their opposite: There is no pathological trait in me; even in periods of severe sickness I never became pathological; in vain would one seek for a trait of fanaticism in my character.

There is not a moment in my life to which one could point to convict me of a presumptuous and pathetic posture. The pathos of poses does not belong to greatness; whoever needs poses at all is false. Whoever saw me during the seventy days this fall when, without interruption, I did several things of the first rank the like of which nobody will do after me—or impose on me—with a responsibility for all millennia after me, will not have noticed any trace of tension in me; but rather an overflowing freshness and cheerfulness.

I never ate with more pleasant feelings; I never slept better. I do not know any other way of associating with great tasks than play: The least compulsion, a gloomy mien, or any harsh tone in the throat are all objections to a man; how much more against his work! To this day I still have the same affability for everyone; I even treat with special respect those who are lowliest: If I despise a man, he guesses that I despise him: My formula for greatness in a human being is amor fati: Not merely bear what is necessary, still less conceal it—all idealism is mendaciousness in the face of what is necessary—but love it.

For what one lacks access to from experience one will have no ear.There is no pathological trait in me; even in periods of severe sickness I never became pathological; in vain would one seek for a trait of fanaticism in my character. If you wish to understand his work, you should, of course, read it for yourself. Fortunately not on pure foolishness?

Ecce homo pdf

Hear me! He wrote: "Under these circumstances I have a duty against which my habits, even more the pride of my instincts, revolt at bottom — namely, to say: Hear me! But this question itself is at bottom its own answer.

The scholar—a decadent. Not merely bear what is necessary, still less conceal it—all idealism is mendaciousness in the face of what is necessary—but love it.