54.
Do not let yourself be deceived: great intellects are sceptical.
Zarathustra is a sceptic. The strength, the freedom which proceed
from intellectual power, from a superabundance of intellectual power, manifest
themselves as scepticism. Men of fixed convictions do not count when
it comes to determining what is fundamental in values and lack of values.
Men of convictions are prisoners. They do not see far enough, they do not
see what is below them: whereas a man who would talk to any
purpose about value and non-value must be able to see five hundred
convictions beneath him—and behind him. . . . A mind that
aspires to great things, and that wills the means thereto, is
necessarily sceptical. Freedom from any sort of conviction belongs
to strength, and to an independent point of view. . . That grand
passion which is at once the foundation and the power of a sceptic's
existence, and is both more enlightened and more despotic than he is
himself, drafts the whole of his intellect into its service; it makes him
unscrupulous; it gives him courage to employ unholy means; under certain
circumstances it does not begrudge him even convictions. Conviction
as a means: one may achieve a good deal by means of a conviction. A grand
passion makes use of and uses up convictions; it does not yield to them—it
knows itself to be sovereign.—On the contrary, the need of faith, of some
thing unconditioned by yea or nay, of Carlylism, if I may be allowed the word,
is a need of weakness. The man of faith, the “believer” of
any sort, is necessarily a dependent man—such a man cannot posit himself
as a goal, nor can he find goals within himself. The “believer” does
not belong to himself; he can only be a means to an end; he must be used up;
he needs some one to use him up. His instinct gives the highest honours to an ethic
of self-effacement; he is prompted to embrace it by everything: his prudence, his
experience, his vanity. Every sort of faith is in itself an evidence of self-effacement,
of self-estrangement. . . When one reflects how necessary it is to the great majority
that there be regulations to restrain them from without and hold them fast, and to
what extent control, or, in a higher sense, slavery, is the one and only
condition which makes for the well-being of the weak-willed man, and especially
woman, then one at once understands conviction and “faith.” To the man
with convictions they are his backbone. To avoid seeing many things, to be
impartial about nothing, to be a party man through and through, to estimate all values
strictly and infallibly—these are conditions necessary to the existence of such
a man. But by the same token they are antagonists of the truthful man—of
the truth. . . . The believer is not free to answer the question, “true” or
“not true,” according to the dictates of his own conscience: integrity
on this point would work his instant downfall. The pathological limitations
of his vision turn the man of convictions into a fanatic—Savonarola, Luther,
Rousseau, Robespierre, Saint-Simon—these types stand in opposition to the strong,
emancipated spirit. But the grandiose attitudes of these sick intellects,
these intellectual epileptics, are of influence upon the great masses—fanatics are
picturesque, and mankind prefers observing poses to listening to reasons. . . .