191.  The old theological problem of “Faith” and “Knowledge,” or more plainly, of instinct and reason—­the question whether, in respect to the valuation of things, instinct deserves more authority than rationality, which wants to appreciate and act according to motives, according to a “Why,” that is to say, in conformity to purpose and utility—­it is always the old moral problem that first appeared in the person of Socrates, and had divided men’s minds long before Christianity.  Socrates himself, following, of course, the taste of his talent—­that of a surpassing dialectician—­took first the side of reason; and, in fact, what did he do all his life but laugh at the awkward incapacity of the noble Athenians, who were men of instinct, like all noble men, and could never give satisfactory answers concerning the motives of their actions?  In the end, however, though silently and secretly, he laughed also at himself:  with his finer conscience and introspection, he found in himself the same difficulty and incapacity.  “But why”—­he said to himself—­ “should one on that account separate oneself from the instincts!  One must set them right, and the reason also—­one must follow the instincts, but at the same time persuade the reason to support them with good arguments.”  This was the real falseness of that great and mysterious ironist; he brought his conscience up to the point that he was satisfied with a kind of self-outwitting:  in fact, he perceived the irrationality in the moral judgment.—­ Plato, more innocent in such matters, and without the craftiness of the plebeian, wished to prove to himself, at the expenditure of all his strength—­the greatest strength a philosopher had ever expended—­that reason and instinct lead spontaneously to one goal, to the good, to “God”; and since Plato, all theologians and philosophers have followed the same path—­which means that in matters of morality, instinct (or as Christians call it, “Faith,” or as I call it, “the herd”) has hitherto triumphed.  Unless one should make an exception in the case of Descartes, the father of rationalism (and consequently the grandfather of the Revolution), who recognized only the authority of reason:  but reason is only a tool, and Descartes was superficial.

192.  Whoever has followed the history of a single science, finds in its development a clue to the understanding of the oldest and commonest processes of all “knowledge and cognizance”:  there, as here, the premature hypotheses, the fictions, the good stupid will to “belief,” and the lack of distrust and patience are first developed—­our senses learn late, and never learn completely, to be subtle, reliable, and cautious organs of knowledge.  Our eyes find it easier on a given occasion to produce a picture already often produced, than to seize upon the divergence and novelty of an impression:  the latter requires more force, more “morality.”  It is difficult and painful for the ear to listen to anything new; we hear strange music badly.  When