The will to truth which will still tempt us to many a venture, that famous truthfulness of which all philosophers so far have spoken with respect—what questions has this will to truth not laid before us! What strange, wicked, questionable questions! That is a long story even now—and yet it seems as if it had scarcely begun. Is it any wonder that we should finally become suspicious, lose patience, and turn away impatiently? that we should finally learn from this Sphinx to ask questions, too? Who is it really that puts questions to us here? What in us really wants "truth"?
There is something paradoxical in choosing the idea of beatitude as an introduction to Nietzsche's thought. On the one hand, beatitude never presents itself as an introduction, but as a conclusion; it is not initial or initiating, but terminal or concluding. It is always at the end of a certain itinerary of the soul that we find it—as the recompense, the fine flower or beautiful mirage of a great labor achieved, a slow maturation, an old nostalgia. Logically, then, we should not begin with it; at most we might end with it.
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