Nietzsche criticizes the philosophers that came before him not only for their moral biases, but also for the way that these biases prevented them from asking truly difficult and rewarding questions about knowledge, truth, and untruth. Because practically all philosophy has accepted the moral schema of good and evil, it has replicated this binary way of thinking in other areas, too. As Nietzsche rejects good and evil, he wonders to what extent opposites exist at all. Why should the opposite of truth be untruth? Can knowledge come from untruth? Could even truth can be found in untruth? Nietzsche believes that the answer to these questions yes, and that many “false” or “untrue” judgements and other forms of knowledge are desirable or even necessary. Untruth, Nietzsche finds, is a “condition of life.” Nietzsche includes in this category of untrue judgements all synthetic a priori judgements (judgments which are true despite not being proven by either experience or their own terms), and in so doing, he harshly criticizes Kant’s philosophy. To Nietzsche, the question is not how to prove that synthetic judgements are true, but what it means that they cannot be true, and yet at the same time are necessary for human reasoning. Nietzsche applies a similar lens to the question of the soul, finding fault with philosophers or theologians who wish to prove the soul’s existence, or atheists and materialists who wish to disprove it. Instead, he asks why we collectively categorize the diverse and sometimes contradictory drives, impulses, and desires within us as the soul. Separating truth and untruth from their moral connotations of good and evil, and recognizing that they are both essential parts of human knowledge, Nietzsche seeks a philosophy that is prepared to ask more honest questions about the contradictory drives of the human mind—or soul.
Knowledge, Truth, and Untruth ThemeTracker
Knowledge, Truth, and Untruth Quotes in Beyond Good and Evil
Let us not be ungrateful to it, although it must certainly be conceded that the worst, most durable, and most dangerous of all errors so far was a dogmatist’s error—namely, Plato’s invention of the pure spirit and the good as such. But now that it is overcome, now that Europe is breathing freely again after this nightmare and at least can enjoy a healthier sleep, we whose task is wakefulness itself, are the heirs of all that strength which has been fostered by the fight against this error. To be sure, it meant standing truth on her head and denying perspective, the basic condition of all life, when one spoke of spirit and the good as Plato did.
To recognize untruth as a condition of life—that certainly means resisting accustomed value feelings in a dangerous way; and a philosophy that risks this would by that token alone place itself beyond good and evil.
Gradually it has become clear to me what every great philosophy so far has been: namely, the personal confession of its author and a kind of involuntary and unconscious memoir; also that the moral (or immoral) intentions in every philosophy constituted the real germ of life from which the whole plant had grown.
Indeed, what forces as at all to suppose that there is an essential opposition of “true” and “false”? Is it not sufficient to assume degrees of apparentness and, as it were, lighter and darker shadows and shades of appearance—different “values,” to use the language of painters?
Modern philosophy, being an epistemological skepticism, is, covertly or overtly, anti-Christian—although, to say this for the benefit of more refined ears, by no means anti-religious.
There are no moral phenomena at all, but only a moral interpretation of phenomena—
Objections, digressions, gay mistrust, the delight in mockery are signs of health: everything unconditional belongs in pathology.
Every morality is, opposed to laisser aller, a bit of tyranny against “nature”; also against “reason”; but this in itself is no objection, as long as we do not have some other morality which permits us to decree that every kind of tyranny and unreason is impermissible. What is essential and inestimable in every morality is that it constitutes a long compulsion: to understand Stoicism or Port-Royal or Puritanism, one should recall the compulsion under which every language so far has achieved strength and freedom—the metrical compulsion of rhyme and rhythm.
Countless dark bodies are to be inferred near the sun—and we shall never see them. Among ourselves, this is a parable; and a psychologist of morals reads the whole writing of the stars only as a parable—and sign-language which can be used to bury much in silence.
Whoever examines the conscience of the European today will have to pull the same imperative out of a thousand moral folds and hideouts—the imperative of herd timidity: “we want that some day there should be nothing any more to be afraid of!” Some day—throughout Europe, the will and way to this day is now called “progress.”
Let us look more closely: what is the scientific man? To begin with, a type of man that is not noble, with the virtues of a type of man that is not noble, which is to say, a type that does not dominate and is neither authoritative nor self-sufficient: he has industriousness, patient acceptance of his place in rank and file, evenness and moderation in his abilities and needs, an instinct for his equals and for what they need; for example, that bit of independence and green pasture without which there is no quiet work, that claim to honor and recognition (which first of all presupposes literal recognition and recognizability), that sunshine of a good name, that constant attestation of his value and utility which is needed to overcome again and again the internal mistrust which is the sediment in the hearts of all dependent men and herd animals.
Our pity is a higher and more farsighted pity: we see how man makes himself smaller, how you make him smaller—and there are moments when we behold your very pity with indescribable anxiety, when we resist this pity—when we find your seriousness more dangerous than any frivolity. You want, if possible—and there is no more insane “if possible”—to abolish suffering. And we? It really seems that we would rather have it higher and worse than ever. Well-being as you understand it—that is no goal, that seems to us an end, a state that soon makes man ridiculous and contemptible—that makes his destruction desirable.
Finally consider that even the seeker after knowledge forces his spirit to recognize things against the inclination of the spirit, and often enough also against the wishes of his heart—by waying of saying No where he would like to say Yes, and adore—and thus acts as an artist and transfigurer of cruelty. Indeed, any insistence on profundity and thoroughness is a violation, a desire to hurt the basic will of the spirit which unceasingly strives for the apparent and superficial—in all desire to know there is a drop of cruelty.
What Europe owes to the Jews? Many things good and bad, and above all one thing that is both of the best and of the worst: the grand style in morality, the terribleness and majesty of infinite demands, infinite meanings, the whole romanticism and sublimity of moral questionabilities—and hence precisely the most attractive, captious, and choicest part of those plays of color and seductions to life in whose afterglow the sky of our European culture, its evening sky, is burning now—perhaps burning itself out. We artists among the spectators and philosophers are—grateful for this to the Jews.
“Exploitation” does not belong to a corrupt or imperfect and primitive society: it belongs the essence of what lives, as a basic organic function; it is a consequence of the will to power, which is after all the will of life.
If this should be an innovation as a theory—as a reality it is the primordial fact of all history: people ought to be honest with themselves at least that far.
Every philosophy is a foreground philosophy—that is a hermit’s judgement: “There is something arbitrary in his stopping here to look back and look around, in his not digging deeper here but laying his spade aside; there is also something suspicious about it.” Every philosophy also conceals a philosophy; every opinion is also a hideout, every word also a mask.