Tradition (n.) is a steadying force. As its fetters loosen, man becomes more inwardly active in their motives and more outwardly restless.
Tradition (n.) turns the fact that something has grown old into the demand that it be immortal: against that heap of accumulated piety, the single newcomer looks arrogant, even wicked.
Tradition (n.) grows more venerable the further away its origin lies and the more that origin is forgotten — until at last it becomes holy.
Tradition (n.) destroys either way: who deviates from it falls victim to the extraordinary; who remains in it becomes its slave.
Tradition (n.) is reordered by every new master — whatever in earlier masters foreshadows him now counts as what was really significant: a fruit with a great worm of error inside.
Tradition (n.) is a higher authority one obeys not because it commands what is useful to us, but because it commands.
Tradition (n.) is the tensing of a will over centuries to dispose of the future — antimodern in the highest degree; today one studies it as "heredity" but does not want it.