Is it....
"Truth! Rapturous delusion of a god! What does truth matter to human beings!
And what was the Heraclitean "truth"!
And where has it gone? A vanished dream, wiped from the faces of men, along with other dreams!--It was not the first!
Of all that we with such proud metaphors call "world history" and "truth" and "fame," a heartless demon might have nothing to say but this:
"In some remote corner of the sprawling universe, twinkling among the countless solar systems, there was once a star on which some clever animals invented 'knowledge.' It was the most mendacious minute in world history, but it was only a minute. After nature caught it's breath a little, the star froze, and the clever animals had to die. And it was time, too: for although they boasted of how much they had come to know, in the end they realized they had gotten it all wrong. They died and in dying cursed truth. Such was the species of doubting animal that had invented knowledge."
This would be man's fate were he nothing more than a thinking animal; truth would drive him to despair and annihilation, truth eternally damned to be untruth. All that is proper to man, however, is faith in the attainable truth, in the ever approaching, confidence-inspiring illusion. Does he not in fact live BY constant deception? Doesn't nature conceal virtually everything from him, even what is nearest, for example, his own body, of which he has only a spurious "consciousness"? He is locked up in this consciousness, and nature has thrown away the key. O fateful curiosity of the philosopher, who longs to peer out just once through a crack in the chamber of consciousness--perhaps then he gains an intimation that man rests in the indifference of his ignorance on the greedy, the insatiable, the disgusting, the merciless, the murderous, suspended in dreams on the back of a tiger.
"Let him hang," cries ART. "Wake him up," cries the philosopher, in the pathos of truth. Yet, even as he believes himself to be shaking the sleeper, he himself sinks into a still deeper magical slumber--perhaps then he dreams of "ideas" or of immortality. Art is mightier than knowledge, for IT wants life, and knowledge attains as its ultimate end only--annihilation."
Nietzsche - On the Pathos of Truth
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