master-task and supremacy of philosophy After all, how could it be otherwise?  Science flourishes nowadays and has the good conscience clearly visible on its countenance, while that to which the entire modern philosophy has gradually sunk, the remnant of philosophy of the present day, excites distrust and displeasure, if not scorn and pity Philosophy reduced to a “theory of knowledge,” no more in fact than a diffident science of epochs and doctrine of forbearance a philosophy that never even gets beyond the threshold, and rigorously denies itself the right to enter—­that is philosophy in its last throes, an end, an agony, something that awakens pity.  How could such a philosophy—­rule!

205.  The dangers that beset the evolution of the philosopher are, in fact, so manifold nowadays, that one might doubt whether this fruit could still come to maturity.  The extent and towering structure of the sciences have increased enormously, and therewith also the probability that the philosopher will grow tired even as a learner, or will attach himself somewhere and “specialize” so that he will no longer attain to his elevation, that is to say, to his superspection, his circumspection, and his DESPECTION.  Or he gets aloft too late, when the best of his maturity and strength is past, or when he is impaired, coarsened, and deteriorated, so that his view, his general estimate of things, is no longer of much importance.  It is perhaps just the refinement of his intellectual conscience that makes him hesitate and linger on the way, he dreads the temptation to become a dilettante, a millepede, a milleantenna, he knows too well that as a discerner, one who has lost his self-respect no longer commands, no longer leads, unless he should aspire to become a great play-actor, a philosophical Cagliostro and spiritual rat-catcher—­in short, a misleader.  This is in the last instance a question of taste, if it has not really been a question of conscience.  To double once more the philosopher’s difficulties, there is also the fact that he demands from himself a verdict, a Yea or Nay, not concerning science, but concerning life and the worth of life—­he learns unwillingly to believe that it is his right and even his duty to obtain this verdict, and he has to seek his way to the right and the belief only through the most extensive (perhaps disturbing and destroying) experiences, often hesitating, doubting, and dumbfounded.  In fact, the philosopher has long been mistaken and confused by the multitude, either with the scientific man and ideal scholar, or with the religiously elevated, desensualized, desecularized visionary and God-intoxicated man; and even yet when one hears anybody praised, because he lives “wisely,” or “as a philosopher,” it hardly means anything more than “prudently and apart.”  Wisdom:  that seems to the populace to be a kind of flight, a means and artifice for withdrawing successfully from a bad game; but the genuine philosopher—­does it not seem so to us, my friends?—­lives “unphilosophically” and “unwisely,” above all, imprudently, and feels the obligation and burden of a hundred attempts and temptations of life—­he risks himself constantly, he plays this bad game.