The man who knows best/says it best says that saying "domesticates to the point of disease." The dilemma being whether he should say or not say. Is that about right? Or not?

Imo, the linchpin of the dllemma is the "should." And the easiest-to-hand way of dealing with that is to ask why he should, or should not? Who says, on what basis, to what end or purpose?

I assume you have in mind N's ubermensch. Two questions: isn't that an ideal? And, is there anyone in the world you think is or was an ubermensch?

My own notion is of that person acting in accord with Emerson's stricture about foolish consistency: to have nothing to do with it. Applying that here, I see Emerson's ubermensch saying (or not) as seems best to him whenever he deems it best for him to say it (or not).

2nd Position Held: "We should bring back man before any extinct animals. — Unnamed

Could you explain this? I don't understand the context.

It was in response to the Time Magazine "The dire wolf is back." ... they were trying to say something philosophically deep.

will respond, a bit occupied atm.

Nothing to do with the Ubermensch.

Philosopher X says two things...

1. He who says it best knows it best.

2. We ought to restore man before we restore extinct animals. (He's suggeating men have grown weak)

Since Philosopher X says those 2 things and Nietzsche is lauded by the intellectual elite as "he who says it best" (and thus by Philosopher X first statement, knows it best)...

Then Nietzsche stating that Philosophy domesticates man signifies that Philosopher X's "we ought to restore man" would mean that Philosopher X ought to stop domesticating himself through philosophy if he wants to actually restore man.

Because to Nietzsche (he who says it best) to restore man would be to leave philosophy behind.

In other words, you can't truly restore man (the man in ones self) and be a philosopher (because philosophy domesticates man away from his natural state).

I'm curious about a dilemma I noticed from someone that is generally too afraid of confrontation, they practice stoicism in the sense of being too afraid to comment back at something that challenges them. In otherwords, they choose flight vs fight. — DifferentiatingEgg

I think you're doing an injustice to stoicism to suggest it is based on cowardice. Self-control isn't fear.

In any event, the lack of manliness (which seems to be the way you're using "animal" here) exists in your dilemma because your friend is a fraidy cat. But fear doesn't have to be one's motivator when exercising self control. In fact, someone who is diabolical and manipulative would be far from afraid, and he would be far from an urge driven animal. He'd be a sociopath, which would be far from stoic as well. The point being that smashing one's head into an enemy is not the only way to fight back, and lacking that response doesn't make one a domesticated philosopher. It also doesn't make one not a philosopher either, assuming you subscribe to the philosophy of fucking up your enemies in the most complete way possible, far beyond what a mere animal would do.

To address a few things:

I think you're doing an injustice to stoicism to suggest it is based on cowardice. Self-control isn't fear. — Hanover

First, flight in this case, I only use in the sense of turning away from the self, not necessarily fear though that could also be the case.

We see things differently, is all. I don't see natural spontaneous acts of stoicism the same as a stoic who makes a systematic dogma out of stoicism even if it is solely for themselves.

Systematic stoicism is done out of a compulsion towards stoicism towards an illusion of control, which is a sort of self tyranny of turning away from the self. A turning away from our own humanity. That doesn't mean we don't owe much to these phenomenological systems, for many systems provide methodology to live by and to live for. But for me, stoicism is the spirit of the hermit at the door, at the peep hole, pressing their body up against the gateway of communication, tyrannizing over the locks, bolts, and hinges. Being an anchorite and hermit can bring oneself, much self-awareness, much honey, as Zarathustra might say. But ultimately, I see it as the iron mask, from Man in the Iron Mask, of masks.

It certainly takes more courage to leave the gateway of communication open at all times. And there is control with speech through ones own ability to articulate and express themselves. There is both silence and control in communication. Through one's own light and superabundance of personal power a blinding halo forms, spring-storms that build fields of sentences that a person can vanish within.

To me, systematic stoicism is a compulsory overwriting of impulsion that instills a deeper, more persistent, harder to resist urge that one constantly gravitates back to because it's comfortable there over a shallower brief momentary impulsion that's easier to resist, as it exhausts itself.

In any event, the lack of manliness (which seems to be the way you're using "animal" here) — Hanover

"Manliness" —I detailed nothing of the sort— humans are animals and as such we're scientifically classified under the kingdom of animalia. To be human is to embody both our animal instincts and our higher, rational faculties. It's not about denying our animal nature but integrating it into a more profound and conscious existence. In this sense, stoicism, while offering valuable tools for navigating the complexities of life, risks overlooking the primal, emotional, and spontaneous aspects of being human—those parts of us that cannot simply be controlled or suppressed.

I find that systematic stoicism, by demanding strict control over one's impulses, can sometimes turn our inherent humanity into something abstract, reducing the richness of emotional experience to a set of rules. There’s wisdom in moderation, but there’s also beauty in embracing the full spectrum of what it means to be human—our vulnerability, our passions, and our unpredictable, sometimes messy, impulses. By seeking to overwrite these, one might risk losing touch with the depth of human existence. It’s not cowardice or weakness to feel deeply—it’s part of the very essence of being human.

In conclusion, while stoicism offers much to the self-disciplined and rational person, it should not, in my view, be made into a dogma that dismisses the full range of human experience, including the more instinctual, emotional, and relational aspects. Life is complex and multifaceted, and it’s this complexity that I believe we must not shy away from. The spirit of the hermit at the door can teach us much, but the open door—facing the world and all its unpredictability—can teach us even more.