Ecce Homo

At this point the real answer to the question, how one becomes what one is, can no longer be avoided. And thus I touch on the masterpiece of the art of self-preservation--of selfishness.

For let us assume that the task, the destiny, the fate of the task transcends the average very significantly: in that case, nothing could be more dangerous than catching sight of oneself with this task. To become what one is, one must not have the faintest notion what one is. From this point of view even the blunders of life have their own meaning and value--the occasional side roads and wrong roads, the delays, "modesties," seriousness wasted on tasks that are remote from the task. All this can express a great prudence, even the supreme prudence: where "know thyself" would be the recipe for ruin, forgetting oneself, misunderstanding oneself, making oneself smaller, narrower, mediocre, become reason itself. Morally speaking: neighbor love, living for others, and other things can be a protective measure for preserving measure for preserving the hardest self-concern. This is the exception where, against my wont and conviction, I side with the "selfless" drives: here they work in the service of self-love, of self-discipline.

The whole surface of consciousness--consciousness is a surface--must be kept clear of all great imperatives. Beware even of every great word, every great pose! So many dangers that the instinct comes too soon to "understand itself"--. Meanwhile the organizing "idea" that is destined to rule keeps growing deep down--it begins to command; slowly it leads us back from side roads and wrong roads; it prepares single qualities and fitnesses that will one day prove to be indispensable as means toward a whole--one by one, it trains all subservient capacities before giving any hint of the dominant task, "goal,""aim," or "meaning."

Considered in this way, my life is simply wonderful. For the task of a revaluation of all values more capacities may have been needed than have ever dwelt together in a single individual--above all, even contrary capacities that had to be kept from disturbing, destroying one another. An order of rank among those capacities; distance; the art of separating without setting against one another; to mix nothing, to "reconcile" nothing; a tremendous variety that is nevertheless the opposite of chaos--this was the precondition, the long, secret work and artistry of my instinct. Its higher protection manifested itself to such a high degree that I never even suspected what was growing in me--and one day all my capacities, suddenly ripe, leaped forth in their ultimate perfection.