over the very pity of which we Christians are so proud, which does not see the place and necessity of suffering and sacrifice in the world—so pity, he says, against pity![1] Oh, for a glimpse now and then, he exclaims, of something perfect, wrought out to the end, happy, mighty, triumphant, in which there is still something to fear—of a man who justifies man, a complementary and redeeming instance, in view of whom we dare hold our faith in man! But what he sees has a wearying effect upon him. We modern creatures, indeed, want nothing to fear, we want great men only as they serve us, as they make themselves one with us—no, they must not harm us or the least thing that lives! And yet for Nietzsche to lose the fear of man, is also to lose the love of him, reverence for him, hope in him, yes, the wish for him—it is the way to satiety with the umana commedia, to nihilism.[2]
