First Essay – “Good and Evil,” “Good and Bad”

The purpose of the first essay of On the Genealogy of Morals is to explain how the morality of pity (throughout this essay referred to as “slave morality”) arose as a victorious challenger to another, more classical morality. However, Nietzsche begins the essay by presenting his theory as an alternative to that of so-called “English psychologists.” The way Nietzsche talks about the English psychologists (of whom Rée, we have already learned, is a member) conveys both a sense of respect and a sense of disappointment. Nietzsche finds them interesting and worthy of respect because they, like himself, are “investigators and microscopists of the soul” whom he prefers to consider “brave, proud, and magnanimous animals” (GM, 25). To a certain extent, he views them as kindred spirits because “they have trained themselves to sacrifice all desirability to truth, every truth” (GM, 25). Furthermore, they too have attempted to “arrive at a history of the origin of morality” (GM, 24). However, Nietzsche locates a main fault in all of them: they are not historical enough despite their attempts at historical philosophy. As Nietzsche puts it, “the historical spirit itself is lacking in them” and “the thinking of all of them is by nature unhistorical” (GM, 25). While metaphysics is perhaps the most unhistorical type of philosophy, his comments are not meant to suggest that the English are metaphysicians á la Schopenhauer; after all, it was Schopenhauer’s metaphysical basis for compassion that Rée rejected. Rather, his labeling of the English as “unhistorical” reflects a belief that they fail to address the evidence for historical developments in morality that is preserved by records of human events. While Nietzsche fails to provide concrete historical evidence for many aspects of his own theory, he does base his argument in the first essay of On the Genealogy of Morals on much textual and linguistic evidence, which he interprets to reveal a particular development in morality that occurred over the last two millennia. The English, according to Nietzsche, fail to interpret events within the era of recorded history and instead focus exclusively on highly speculative and generalized developments in human psychology, developments that took place during an undeterminable period in the 94 distant past. Therefore, they overlook the importance of recorded events in fairly recent history for the understanding of modern morality. Nietzsche does not elaborate on the faults of any particular English psychologist’s theory of morality. Rather, he speaks of the English generally and portrays the standard

English theory of morality in the following way: “Originally”—so they decree—“one approved unegoistic actions and called them good from the point of view of those to whom they were done, that is to say, those to whom they were useful; later one forgot how this approval originated and, simply because unegoistic actions were always habitually praised as good, one also felt them to be good—as if they were something good in themselves.” (GM, 25) This summary of their theories might as well be a summary of Rée’s in particular. Consequently, it is not readily apparent whether he has only Rée in mind, although his later mention of Herbert Spencer suggests that this probably is not the case. Regardless, Rée’s theory, as a model of the English type, is the only one that needs to be understood. Nietzsche claims that such a theory is characterized by “all the typical traits of the idiosyncrasy of the English psychologists—we have ‘utility,’ forgetting,’ ‘habit,’ and finally ‘error’” (GM, 25). Interestingly, all of these traits appear in Nietzsche’s theory of morality as presented in Human, All Too Human. In Daybreak, he downplays the role of habit but emphasizes that of error. While he shies away from using the term utility, his idea that morality is meant to preserve and advance the community suggests a utilitarianism of sorts as well. Furthermore, while he calls the process of forgetting the utility of unegoistic actions “a psychological absurdity,” he stresses the active and 95 repressive strength of forgetfulness at the beginning of the second essay of On the Genealogy of Morals, which suggests that he has not given up on the instrumentality of forgetfulness either. All in all, it is unclear how immune Nietzsche himself is to criticisms that his theory also possesses several of these traits. If we are to assume that with On the Genealogy of Morals Nietzsche abandons everything about his theory (as developed in Human, All Too Human and Daybreak) that is characteristically English, then his entire pre-Genealogy theory is prone to crumble as it is rife with these traits. There is another way to interpret these remarks that does not assume rashly that Nietzsche is abandoning the early articulations of his theory. This way is to view Nietzsche’s criticism of these traits as limited to their use in explaining the morality of pity, not morality in general. As we will see shortly, Nietzsche argues that the morality of pity arose in a particularly peculiar way. The origin of this type of morality, he suggests, demands a greater sense of history than English psychologists had given it precisely because it is so peculiar. Therefore, we ought to view Nietzsche’s disagreement with the English psychologists’ method as concerned primarily, if not exclusively, with the case of the morality of pity and not with morality qua morality.

After establishing his opposition to the English explanation of the origin of the morality of pity, Nietzsche proceeds to provide his own account of that morality’s origin, one that is rooted in the caste divisions first suggested in “Twofold prehistory of good and evil” in Human, All Too Human. He recapitulates the suggestions made there and highlights a fundamental difference between his theory and that of the English 96 psychologists by claiming that the “judgment ‘good’ did not originate with those to whom ‘goodness’ was shown! Rather it was ‘the good’ themselves, that is to say, the noble, powerful, high-stationed and high-minded, who felt and established themselves and their actions as good” (GM, 25-26). By this he means that within the hierarchy of a noble class and a plebeian class, the nobles initially attributed everything characteristic of themselves “good” and everything plebeian “bad.” Thus, morality existed in this configuration as the product of the “pathos of distance” and not any overriding consideration of utility (GM, 26). So far, Nietzsche has merely reused his ideas from 7 Human, All Too Human to assert that “the word ‘good’ was definitely not linked from the first and by necessity to ‘unegoistic’ actions” (GM, 26). However, the key development of this essay comes when he contends that “it was only when aristocratic value judgments declined that the whole antithesis ‘egoistic’ ‘unegoistic’ obtruded itself more and more on the human conscience” (GM, 26). This contention that aristocratic value judgments declined appears to flatly contradict his assertion in Human, All Too Human that “our present morality has grown up in the soil of the ruling tribes and castes” (HAH, 37). Nevertheless, the remainder of the essay serves to describe how aristocratic morality declined and became supplanted by the morality of pity. Furthermore, Nietzsche stresses the fundamental differences between the two moralities’ natures to reveal the undesirability of the morality of pity. One is prone to wonder where morality’s concern for the preservation and advancement of the community 7 has gone. However, Nietzsche later suggests this purpose of morality is still relevant, as he asserts that “the salvation and future of the human race [depends on] the unconditional dominance of aristocratic values” (GM, 53). 97 One needs to read the first essay in its entirety to appreciate the richness of Nietzsche’s story of how the morality of pity triumphed over the aristocratic mode of valuation. Given the relatively straightforward manner in which he presents the story, the first essay does not demand the same sort of piecing-together that is required by the previous two aphoristic works that we have considered. Nevertheless, a sketch of his history is required so that a discussion of the characteristics and values of the two moralities in question can be provided.

Nietzsche begins his account by describing how the nobility of Europe originally designated itself as “good” with the use of language. He examines the etymology of many words to suggest that they reveal a distant practice of attributing positive qualities to the noble and negative ones to the common. His (self-evidently) “most convincing example” of how the noble labeled the common “bad” is the “German word schlecht [bad] itself,” which he suggests was derived from schlicht [plain, simple] and therefore demonstrates that “plain” (or “common”) was once equated with “bad” (GM, 28). Conversely, he claims that the Latin word bonus [good] was derived from duonus, which signifies the “man of war” and, therefore, the nobility (GM, 31). As can be seen in these two examples, the nobility’s designations of good and bad often involved “typical character traits” (GM, 29). In addition to traits such as the plainness of the plebeians and the warlike nature of the nobility, Nietzsche suggests that traits were racial when castes formed along such lines. Thus, he claims that the noble Aryans distinguished themselves from the “pre-Aryan occupant[s] of the soil of Italy” by stressing the black hair of the 98 pre-Aryans in contrast to the blond hair of the Aryans (GM, 30). As such, the term melas [black, dark] arose from the term malus [bad]. Having exhibited the etymological evidence of an aristocratic morality, Nietzsche proceeds to distinguish between two types of aristocracies: the knightly-aristocratic type and the priestly type. He characterizes the knightly-aristocratic type’s value judgments as “presuppos[ing] a powerful physicality, a flourishing, abundant, even overflowing health, together with that which serves to preserve it: war, adventure, hunting, dancing, war games, and in general all that involves vigorous, free, joyful activity” (GM, 33). These judgments reflect the fundamental characteristic of the knightly-aristocratic type: physical strength. In contrast to this type, he portrays the priestly type as physically weak and characterized by “something unhealthy” that nevertheless single-handedly makes man “an interesting animal” (GM, 32, 33). He envisions a power struggle between these two types that results in the knightly-aristocratic type apparently achieving physical rule over the priestly type, which in turn develops a “hatred [that] grows to monstrous and uncanny proportions” (GM, 33).

Out of its hatred, or ressentiment, of the physically victorious knightly-aristocratic type, the priestly type seeks spiritual revenge through “nothing less than a radical revaluation of their enemies’ values” (GM, 33-34). This revaluation involves “invert[ing] the aristocratic value-equation (good = noble = powerful = beautiful = happy = beloved of God)” so that the following value judgments prevail: “the wretched alone are good [and] the powerful and noble are on the contrary evil, the cruel, the lustful, the insatiable godless to all eternity” (GM, 34). 99 Nietzsche claims that this “slave revolt in morality…has a history of two thousand years behind it,” which places its beginning at the time of the Roman Empire and the life of Christ (GM, 34). Consequently, he characterizes the struggle as “‘Rome against Judea,’ ‘Judea against Rome’” (GM, 52). The Jews are cast as the priestly type and the Roman ruling class as the knightly-aristocratic type. Jesus is portrayed as a “seduction in its most uncanny and irresistible form,” a “bait” presented by the Jews to tempt the world into accepting their inverted values (GM, 35). The result of the slave revolt is that “Rome has been defeated beyond all doubt,” as Roman values have perished in the face of Christian morality (GM, 53). While the Renaissance signified “an uncanny and glittering reawakening of the classical ideal,” the Reformation and the French Revolution ensured that “Judea once again triumphed over the classical ideal” (GM, 54). Thus, our present morality is that which was produced by Jewish and Christian priests to strip the physically powerful of their moral value. Furthermore, Nietzsche believes that this morality will remain prevalent until “the ancient fire…someday flare[s] up” again (GM, 54). In Nietzsche’s previous works, we saw how he criticizes the morality of pity without the use of much explicit comparison to other moralities. In this first essay, he criticizes the morality of pity by comparing it to the knightly-aristocratic morality that it superseded. Maudemarie Clark has suggested that “Nietzsche’s ‘good/bad’ is not actually a moral distinction” and consequently “the essay compares not two moralities, but two different ways of determining who is good and who isn’t.” However, her argument that 8 Maudemarie Clark, “Nietzsche’s Immoralism and the Concept of Morality,” in Nietzsche, Genealogy, 8 Morality, ed. Richard Schacht (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), 23. 100 the knightly-aristocratic mode of valuation does not constitute a morality relies on the use of a definition of morality that differs significantly from Nietzsche’s—namely, one that requires the relevant negative label, such as “bad” or “evil,” to be inculpatory (i.e. to imply responsibility and accountability), which the knightly-aristocratic term “bad” admittedly is not. However, Nietzsche in no place specifies that moral terms need to be inculpatory. Furthermore, he himself calls the knightly-aristocratic mode of valuation a morality in several places. Thus, we can treat the knightly-aristocratic mode of valuation 9 as a morality with confidence. His comparison of these two moralities gives rise to the idea that certain moralities can be better than others, although, as we have seen, Nietzsche finds all moralities ultimately undesirable (at least for modern man). His demonstration of the great inferiority of the morality of pity to the knightly-aristocratic morality is meant to undermine our faith in the former. Nietzsche specifically locates the inferiority of the morality of pity in its origin as the product of ressentiment and contrasts that origin and its implications with the origin of the knightly-aristocratic morality and its implications. He asserts that “while every noble morality develops from a triumphant affirmation of itself, slave morality from the outset says No to what is ‘outside,’ what is ‘different,’ what is ‘not itself’” (GM, 36). Thus, he claims that the creation of the morality of pity out of ressentiment “ i s fundamentally reaction” whereas the knightly-aristocratic type “acts and grows spontaneously, it seeks its opposite only so as to affirm itself more gratefully and triumphantly” (GM, 37). This representation of the morality of pity as born out of a See the first paragraph of On the Genealogy of Morals section 11 and the first paragraph of Beyond Good 9 and Evil section 260 in which he refers to this mode of valuation as “master morality.” 101 reflexive impulse, in addition to its representation as the product of “the profoundest and sublimest kind of hatred,” is meant to implicitly portray the morality of pity as inferior to that which is born out of spontaneity or purely active impulses (GM, 36). His value judgment in this regard is made explicit later on in the second essay when he claims that “truly active affects…are of even greater biological value than…reactive affects” (GM, 74). However, this point does not even need to be made explicit as the overall tone of his discussion about the implications of active and reactive origins makes it clear that reactive tendencies breed detestable qualities. Consider the benign qualities that Nietzsche attributes to the knightly-aristocratic type, qualities that appear to spring from an active mode of existence and valuation. He claims that the nobility cannot bring itself to look too harshly upon the rabble because there is “too much carelessness, too much taking lightly, too much looking away and impatience involved in [its] contempt” (GM, 37). The nobility is not only disinclined to censure the rabble but is actually magnanimous toward the lower class, as is shown by its practice of bestowing “benevolent nuances…on all the words it employs to distinguish the lower orders from itself,” as is the case with its use of the word “unhappy” interchangeably with the word “bad” (GM, 37, 38). In addition to this kindly disposition toward members of the rabble, the nobleman has the capacity to “live in trust and openness with himself” and exists as the only type of man capable of exhibiting “genuine ‘love of one’s enemies’…supposing [such love] to be possible at all on earth” (GM, 39). Nietzsche describes all of these qualities as if they are possible because of the nobility’s inborn physical strength. If one understands such strength as the necessary precondition 102 for an active mode of existence and valuation, as he seems to understand it, then it follows that all of these pleasant qualities are rooted in activity as opposed to reactivity. Now consider the vicious qualities that Nietzsche attributes to the priestly type, qualities that appear to result from the reactivity of ressentiment. As revealed by his account of the Jews’ grand act of spiritual revenge against the Roman ruling class, the priestly type and the common type (understanding these two groups to share the same disposition) view the nobility with great contempt and hatred, which are feelings that contrast sharply with the nobility’s magnanimity. Instead of employing benevolent nuances to describe the opposing caste, the priestly type designates each nobleman with the spiteful term “the Evil One” (GM, 39). In addition to this mean disposition, the priest and commoner are each “neither upright nor naïve nor honest and straightforward with himself” (GM, 38). Nietzsche describes these qualities as if they spring from ressentiment, which is in turn the result of the priestly type and the common type’s shared physical weakness. Since ressentiment is clearly a reactive feeling, all of these unpleasant qualities of the “man of ressentiment” are rooted in reactivity as opposed to activity (GM, 39).

This sample of favorable remarks about the noble and unfavorable remarks about the common helps to reveal the preference Nietzsche has for active tendencies over reactive ones and, in turn, so-called “master morality” (i.e. knightly-aristocratic morality) over so-called “slave morality” (i.e. priestly morality, or the morality of pity). A closer look at what the label sets “‘good’ and ‘bad’” and “‘good’ and ‘evil’” respectively mean 103 for the nobility and rabble reveals two specific reasons for why he considers slave morality inferior to master morality. The first reason involves the emphasis that each morality places on its terms. Nietzsche suggests that the following applies to the noble mode of valuation—“its negative concept ‘low,’ ‘common,’ ‘bad’ is only a subsequently-invented pale, contrasting image in relation to its positive basic concept…‘we noble ones, we good, beautiful, happy ones’” (GM, 37). Thus, the term of approval precedes and takes precedence over the term of disapproval in master morality. On the other hand, the following describes the priestly mode of valuation—the man of ressentiment conceives “‘the evil enemy’…and this in fact is his basic concept, from which he then evolves, as an afterthought, and pendant, a ‘good one’—himself” (GM, 39). Thus, the term of disapproval precedes and takes precedence over the term of approval in slave morality. Nietzsche does not explicitly denounce slave morality for its unique emphasis on the negative term “evil”; however, I take it as evident from the general condemnation of the morality of pity in this essay that he provides this distinction as a criticism. Moreover, such a criticism of a particular morality for its preoccupation with negation resonates with Nietzsche’s more pervasive concern with the negation of life.

The second reason Nietzsche considers slave morality as inferior to master morality involves the presupposition that the priestly type makes about the freedom of the will. He contends that slave morality, unlike master morality, maintains the notion that there is such thing as free will. The way in which slave morality does so can be seen in either a comparison of the terms “bad” and “evil” or a comparison between the 104 alternative uses of the term “good.” Characterizing the noble as birds of prey and the common as lambs, he asserts that lambs exploit “the belief that the strong man is free to be weak and the bird of prey to be a lamb” and consequently “make the bird of prey accountable for being a bird of prey” (GM, 45). Thus, when a lamb calls a bird of prey “evil,” there is the implication that the bird of prey is blameworthy for having opted for his badness. The noble type’s use of the term “bad” carries no such connotation of blame; therefore, the terms “bad” and “evil” reflect a fundamental difference in how each morality treats accountability.

Similarly, the common type employs the term “good” with a connotation of accountability whereas the noble type does not. Those of the common type regard their “weakness…—that is to say, their essence, their effects, their sole ineluctable, irremovable reality—[as if it] were a voluntary achievement, willed, chosen, a deed a meritorious act” (GM, 46). As the common type considers its weakness “good,” it views itself as praiseworthy for its character and behavior. In contrast, the noble type takes no such credit for its goodness. As we saw most clearly in Human, All Too Human, Nietzsche vehemently refutes the notion of free will. Therefore, his attribution of the notion of free will to slave morality serves as a criticism of that morality.

These comparisons of the morality of pity to the knightly-aristocratic morality continue the tradition developed in Human, All Too Human and Daybreak of devaluing the morality of pity by criticizing its various aspects. Through his criticisms of the morality of pity as harmful to the individual and community, we have developed the sense that Nietzsche believes the morality of pity is generally an undesirable mode of 105 valuation. However, it is not until On the Genealogy of Morals that he elaborates on just how bad that morality is for culture. Starting in section 9, he begins to interweave his explanation of the origin and nature of the morality of pity with an explicit discussion of the cultural value of that morality. He launches this discussion with the use of a hypothetical listener as a foil. This listener, whom Nietzsche calls a “free spirit,” “an honest animal,” and “a democrat, moreover,” interrupts Nietzsche’s explanation of the emergence of slave morality to doubt whether it was such a bad thing that modern man came to possess such a morality (GM, 36). He is ready to accept “the progress of [the mob] poison through the entire body of mankind” and appreciates the Church’s role as something against which free spirits can rebel (GM, 36). While at the end of this section Nietzsche says he has “much to be silent about” regarding the listener’s point, he provides a forceful response to this point that begins near the end of section 11 and continues into section 12 (GM, 36). Although he does not provide an explicit definition of “culture” in this essay, Nietzsche argues that the morality of pity embodies substantial anti-cultural tendencies. He rejects the notion that “the meaning of all culture is the reduction of the beast of prey ‘man’ to a tame and civilized animal, a domestic animal” (GM, 42). Were this the meaning of culture, he suggests, the morality of pity would signal a rise in culture as the effect of that morality is to produce more harmless, unegoistic creatures. Rather, he contends that “these bearers of the oppressive instincts that thirst for reprisal…represent the regression of mankind” and are “an accusation and counter-argument against ‘culture’ 106 in general” (GM, 43). Thus, we see that Nietzsche believes the morality produced by ressentiment actually diminishes culture.

Nietzsche’s conception of culture can actually be better understood through his claim that the morality of pity is antithetical to culture. In particular, his elaboration of this claim shows us his belief that culture involves the predominance of nobility. He effectively weighs the desirability of two potential cultures in the following passage: One may be quite justified in continuing to fear the blond beast at the core of all noble races and in being on one’s guard against it: but who would not a hundred times sooner fear where one can also admire than not fear but be permanently condemned to the repellent sight of the ill-constituted, dwarfed, atrophied, and poisoned? (GM, 43) His reverence for the nobility and disgust at the rabble emanates from this passage, and his preference for the nobility leads him to define “culture” as the predominance of the “blond beast” (or nobleman) rather than that of “maggot man” (GM, 43). Nietzsche takes his criticism of the morality of pity one step further by blaming it not only for the decline of culture but also for the disappearance of an ideal type of man —one that is, like culture, identified with nobility. He locates within modern man “an ill- constituted soul” that results from the prevailing morality (GM, 44). In contrast with this lowly type of man, he openly yearns for “a man who justifies man,” one who is “perfect, wholly achieved, happy, mighty, triumphant, [and] still capable of arousing fear” (GM, 44). This description is one of a nobleman; therefore, it is evident that Nietzsche believes the knightly-aristocratic man is an ideal man. Protesting the disappearance of such an ideal man, he proclaims that “the diminution and leveling of European man constitutes 107 our greatest danger, for the sight of him makes us weary” (GM, 44). By “our” he presumably refers to people who, like himself, appreciate the same noble conceptions of culture and man. Thus, when he claims that “we are weary of man” and suggests that the current, despicable state of man inspires nihilist thoughts, he is addressing those who are capable of understanding the threat of the morality of pity and who share his profound concern about the state of mankind (GM, 44). This final point about who he is referring to when speaking in the plural nominative reveals Nietzsche’s appreciation of how oblivious most people are to the true nature of morality. In contrast to the “we” who he speaks about here, he refers to the common man whom he describes as “the hopelessly mediocre and insipid man [who] has already learned to feel himself as the goal and zenith, as the meaning of history, as ‘higher man’” (GM, 43). This belief that the current morality, culture, and general state of man constitute something desirable reflects, according to Nietzsche’s view, an ignorance of the actual origin and value of the morality of pity and its implications for culture and man. In his previous works, he attributed the prevalent lack of understanding of morality to forgetfulness and the acceptance of erroneous notions. In On the Genealogy of Morals, he does something similar by suggesting that “all protracted things are hard to see, to see whole” (GM, 34). Furthermore, he claims that man “no longer see[s the slave revolt in morality] because it—has been victorious” (GM, 34). Thus, the long history behind the development of the morality of pity and its successful culmination in a comprehensive and universally accepted mode of valuation are the reasons for the widespread ignorance concerning that morality. While the explanation for the morality of pity in On the 108 Genealogy of Morals is less abstract than the explanation of morality qua morality in his previous works, Nietzsche believes he needs to produce both explanations because obfuscation has prevented men from determining the human, all-too-human origins of moral phenomena on their own. In this sense, the purposes of Human, All Too Human, Daybreak, and On the Genealogy of Morals are all the same even if each attempts to shed light on different aspects of morality. The sum of the investigations in these works can therefore be seen to constitute a coherent, naturalistic theory of morality that seeks to inform modern man of the origin and value of morality. I should note, however, that Nietzsche does not believe his investigations into the origin and value of morality form a complete theory of morality. As his theory is fundamentally an historical one, he appreciates the potential for others to develop and expand his theory as they make further historical insights. Accordingly, he implores scholars to “advance historical studies of morality through a series of academic prize- essays” in which professionals from a wide range of scientific disciplines would investigate “the history of the evolution of moral concepts” and determine the “order of rank among values” (GM, 55, 56). His solicitation of help in this regard distinguishes him from all three of the other moral philosophers we have previously considered—Kant,

Schopenhauer, and Rée—who believe that their explanations of morality and their determinations of its value are virtually complete.

Before discussing the contributions that the second essay of On the Genealogy of Morals makes to his theory of morality, I would like to point out the attitude Nietzsche takes toward the future in the first essay. In Human, All Too Human and Daybreak, he 109 expresses a rather optimistic view that science is inexorably moving mankind away from both morality qua morality and the morality of pity. In On the Genealogy of Morals, he conveys a similarly optimistic message but not without first expressing a certain level of concern that mankind may never redeem itself from morality. This concern is expressed by statements such as the following: “We can see nothing today that wants to grow greater, we suspect that things will continue to go down, down, to become thinner, more good-natured, more comfortable, more mediocre, more indifferent, more Chinese, more Christian” (GM, 49). However, near the end of the essay he asks rhetorically, “Must the ancient fire [between Rome and Judea] not some day flare up much more terribly, after longer preparation?” (GM, 54) Thus, he does not consider the morality of pity a necessarily settled matter despite his awareness of many indications that suggest society has become complacent about it. This attitude, while marginally optimistic, differs greatly from his presumption in earlier works that the immorality of mankind is inevitable. As a consequence of this new attitude, he openly recognizes the central role of his philosophy in the counter-struggle against slave morality, and he suggests that the aim of his books is to help mankind move “Beyond Good and Evil”—an aim which formed the “dangerous slogan” of the work that preceded On the Genealogy of Morals (GM, 55).