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The Will to Truth, which still tempts us to take so many risks, that famous truthfulness of which all philosophers so far have spoken with respect: what questions has this will to truth already laid before us! What strange, perplexing, questionable questions! That is a long story even now, — and yet it seems as if it has scarcely begun? Is it any wonder if we at last grow distrustful, lose patience, and turn impatiently away? That on our part we should at last learn from this Sphinx to ask questions? Who is it really that puts questions to us here? what in us really wants this “truth”? Indeed we came to a long halt at the question about the cause of this will — until before a yet more fundamental question we finally came to an absolute standstill. We asked about the value of this will. Granted we did want the truth: why not rather untruth? And uncertainty? Even ignorance? The problem of the value of truth presented itself before us — or was it we who presented ourselves before the problem? Which of us is the Oedipus here? Who the Sphinx? It is a rendezvous, it seems, of questions and question marks. And though it scarcely seems credible, it finally also seems to us as if the problem had never even been offered for consideration before — as if we were to see it for the first time, get a sight of it, dared it? For there is risk in raising it, and perhaps there is no greater risk than that.The will to truth which will still tempt us to many a venture, that famous truthfulness of which all philosphers 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”? Indeed we came to a long halt at the question about the cause of this will—until we finally came to a complete stop before a still more basic question. We asked about the value of this will. Suppose we want truth: why not rather untruth? and uncertainty? even ignorance? The problem of the value of truth came before us—or was it we who came before the problem? Who of us is Oedipus here? Who the Sphinx? IT is a rendezvous, it seems, of questions and question marks. And though it scarcely seems credible, it finally almost seems to us as if the problem had never even been put so far—as if we were the first to see it, fix it with our eyes, and risk it. For it does involve a risk, and perhaps there is none that is greater.
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