{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_1998/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_1998","id":"gutenberg_1998","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1998","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Classics of Literature","Category: German Literature","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Philosophy","Philosophy, German","Superman (Philosophical concept)"],"text":"THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA\n\nA BOOK FOR ALL AND NONE\n\n\nBy Friedrich Nietzsche\n\n\nTranslated By Thomas Common\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n     INTRODUCTION BY MRS FORSTER-NIETZSCHE.\n\n\n     THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA.\n\n     FIRST PART.\n\n     Zarathustra\u2019s Prologue.\n\n     Zarathustra\u2019s Discourses.\n\n     I.  The Three Metamorphoses.\n\n     II.  The Academic Chairs of Virtue.\n\n     III.  Backworldsmen.\n\n     IV.  The Despisers of the Body.\n\n     V.  Joys and Passions.\n\n     VI.  The Pale Criminal.\n\n     VII.  Reading and Writing.\n\n     VIII.  The Tree on the Hill.\n\n     IX.  The Preachers of Death.\n\n     X.  War and Warriors.\n\n     XI.  The New Idol.\n\n     XII.  The Flies in the Market-place.\n\n     XIII.  Chastity.\n\n     XIV.  The Friend.\n\n     XV.  The Thousand and One Goals.\n\n     XVI.  Neighbour-Love.\n\n     XVII.  The Way of the Creating One.\n\n     XVIII.  Old and Young Women.\n\n     XIX.  The Bite of the Adder.\n\n     XX.  Child and Marriage.\n\n     XXI.  Voluntary Death.\n\n     XXII.  The Bestowing Virtue.\n\n\n     SECOND PART.\n\n     XXIII.  The Child with the Mirror.\n\n     XXIV.  In the Happy Isles.\n\n     XXV.  The Pitiful.\n\n     XXVI.  The Priests.\n\n     XXVII.  The Virtuous.\n\n     XXVIII.  The Rabble.\n\n     XXIX.  The Tarantulas.\n\n     XXX.  The Famous Wise Ones.\n\n     XXXI.  The Night-Song.\n\n     XXXII.  The Dance-Song.\n\n     XXXIII.  The Grave-Song.\n\n     XXXIV.  Self-Surpassing.\n\n     XXXV.  The Sublime Ones.\n\n     XXXVI.  The Land of Culture.\n\n     XXXVII.  Immaculate Perception.\n\n     XXXVIII.  Scholars.\n\n     XXXIX.  Poets.\n\n     XL.  Great Events.\n\n     XLI.  The Soothsayer.\n\n     XLII.  Redemption.\n\n     XLIII.  Manly Prudence.\n\n     XLIV.  The Stillest Hour.\n\n\n     THIRD PART.\n\n     XLV.  The Wanderer.\n\n     XLVI.  The Vision and the Enigma.\n\n     XLVII.  Involuntary Bliss.\n\n     XLVIII.  Before Sunrise.\n\n     XLIX.  The Bedwarfing Virtue.\n\n     L.  On the Olive-Mount.\n\n     LI.  On Passing-by.\n\n     LII.  The Apostates.\n\n     LIII.  The Return Home.\n\n     LIV.  The Three Evil Things.\n\n     LV.  The Spirit of Gravity.\n\n     LVI.  Old and New Tables.\n\n     LVII.  The Convalescent.\n\n     LVIII.  The Great Longing.\n\n     LIX.  The Second Dance-Song.\n\n     LX.  The Seven Seals.\n\n\n     FOURTH AND LAST PART.\n\n     LXI.  The Honey Sacrifice.\n\n     LXII.  The Cry of Distress.\n\n     LXIII.  Talk with the Kings.\n\n     LXIV.  The Leech.\n\n     LXV.  The Magician.\n\n     LXVI.  Out of Service.\n\n     LXVII.  The Ugliest Man.\n\n     LXVIII.  The Voluntary Beggar.\n\n     LXIX.  The Shadow.\n\n     LXX.  Noon-Tide.\n\n     LXXI.  The Greeting.\n\n     LXXII.  The Supper.\n\n     LXXIII.  The Higher Man.\n\n     LXXIV.  The Song of Melancholy.\n\n     LXXV.  Science.\n\n     LXXVI.  Among Daughters of the Desert.\n\n     LXXVII.  The Awakening.\n\n     LXXVIII.  The Ass-Festival.\n\n     LXXIX.  The Drunken Song.\n\n     LXXX.  The Sign.\n\n\n     APPENDIX.\n\n     Notes on \u201cThus Spake Zarathustra\u201d by Anthony M. Ludovici.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION BY MRS FORSTER-NIETZSCHE.\n\nHOW ZARATHUSTRA CAME INTO BEING.\n\n\n\u201cZarathustra\u201d is my brother\u2019s most personal work; it is the history of\nhis most individual experiences, of his friendships, ideals, raptures,\nbitterest disappointments and sorrows. Above it all, however, there\nsoars, transfiguring it, the image of his greatest hopes and remotest\naims. My brother had the figure of Zarathustra in his mind from his very\nearliest youth: he once told me that even as a child he had dreamt of\nhim. At different periods in his life, he would call this haunter of his\ndreams by different names; \u201cbut in the end,\u201d he declares in a note on\nthe subject, \u201cI had to do a PERSIAN the honour of identifying him with\nthis creature of my fancy. Persians were the first to take a broad and\ncomprehensive view of history. Every series of evolutions, according\nto them, was presided over by a prophet; and every prophet had his\n\u2018Hazar,\u2019\u2014his dynasty of a thousand years.\u201d\n\nAll Zarathustra\u2019s views, as also his personality, were early conceptions\nof my brother\u2019s mind. Whoever reads his posthumously published writings\nfor the years 1869\u201382 with care, will constantly meet with passages\nsuggestive of Zarathustra\u2019s thoughts and doctrines. For instance, the\nideal of the Superman is put forth quite clearly in all his writings\nduring the years 1873\u201375; and in \u201cWe Philologists\u201d, the following\nremarkable observations occur:\u2014\n\n\u201cHow can one praise and glorify a nation as a whole?\u2014Even among the\nGreeks, it was the INDIVIDUALS that counted.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Greeks are interesting and extremely important because they reared\nsuch a vast number of great individuals. How was this possible? The\nquestion is one which ought to be studied.\n\n\u201cI am interested only in the relations of a people to the rearing of\nthe individual man, and among the Greeks the conditions were unusually\nfavourable for the development of the individual; not by any means owing\nto the goodness of the people, but because of the struggles of their\nevil instincts.\n\n\u201cWITH THE HELP OF FAVOURABLE MEASURES GREAT INDIVIDUALS MIGHT BE REARED\nWHO WOULD BE BOTH DIFFERENT FROM AND HIGHER THAN THOSE WHO HERETOFORE\nHAVE OWED THEIR EXISTENCE TO MERE CHANCE. Here we may still be hopeful:\nin the rearing of exceptional men.\u201d\n\nThe notion of rearing the Superman is only a new form of an ideal\nNietzsche already had in his youth, that \u201cTHE OBJECT OF MANKIND SHOULD\nLIE IN ITS HIGHEST INDIVIDUALS\u201d (or, as he writes in \u201cSchopenhauer as\nEducator\u201d: \u201cMankind ought constantly to be striving to produce great\nmen\u2014this and nothing else is its duty.\u201d) But the ideals he most revered\nin those days are no longer held to be the highest types of men. No,\naround this future ideal of a coming humanity\u2014the Superman\u2014the poet\nspread the veil of becoming. Who can tell to what glorious heights man\ncan still ascend? That is why, after having tested the worth of our\nnoblest ideal\u2014that of the Saviour, in the light of the new valuations,\nthe poet cries with passionate emphasis in \u201cZarathustra\u201d:\n\n\u201cNever yet hath there been a Superman. Naked have I seen both of them,\nthe greatest and the smallest man:\u2014\n\nAll-too-similar are they still to each other. Verily even the greatest\nfound I\u2014all-too-human!\u201d\u2014\n\nThe phrase \u201cthe rearing of the Superman,\u201d has very often been\nmisunderstood. By the word \u201crearing,\u201d in this case, is meant the act of\nmodifying by means of new and higher values\u2014values which, as laws and\nguides of conduct and opinion, are now to rule over mankind. In general\nthe doctrine of the Superman can only be understood correctly in\nconjunction with other ideas of the author\u2019s, such as:\u2014the Order\nof Rank, the Will to Power, and the Transvaluation of all Values. He\nassumes that Christianity, as a product of the resentment of the botched\nand the weak, has put in ban all that is beautiful, strong, proud, and\npowerful, in fact all the qualities resulting from strength, and that,\nin consequence, all forces which tend to promote or elevate life have\nbeen seriously undermined. Now, however, a new table of valuations\nmust be placed over mankind\u2014namely, that of the strong, mighty, and\nmagnificent man, overflowing with life and elevated to his zenith\u2014the\nSuperman, who is now put before us with overpowering passion as the\naim of our life, hope, and will. And just as the old system of valuing,\nwhich only extolled the qualities favourable to the weak, the suffering,\nand the oppressed, has succeeded in producing a weak, suffering, and\n\u201cmodern\u201d race, so this new and reversed system of valuing ought to rear\na healthy, strong, lively, and courageous type, which would be a glory\nto life itself. Stated briefly, the leading principle of this new system\nof valuing would be: \u201cAll that proceeds from power is good, all that\nsprings from weakness is bad.\u201d\n\nThis type must not be regarded as a fanciful figure: it is not a\nnebulous hope which is to be realised at some indefinitely remote\nperiod, thousands of years hence; nor is it a new species (in the\nDarwinian sense) of which we can know nothing, and which it would\ntherefore be somewhat absurd to strive after. But it is meant to be\na possibility which men of the present could realise with all their\nspiritual and physical energies, provided they adopted the new values.\n\nThe author of \u201cZarathustra\u201d never lost sight of that egregious example\nof a transvaluation of all values through Christianity, whereby the\nwhole of the deified mode of life and thought of the Greeks, as well as\nstrong Romedom, was almost annihilated or transvalued in a comparatively\nshort time. Could not a rejuvenated Graeco-Roman system of valuing (once\nit had been refined and made more profound by the schooling which\ntwo thousand years of Christianity had provided) effect another such\nrevolution within a calculable period of time, until that glorious type\nof manhood shall finally appear which is to be our new faith and hope,\nand in the creation of which Zarathustra exhorts us to participate?\n\nIn his private notes on the subject the author uses the expression\n\u201cSuperman\u201d (always in the singular, by-the-bye), as signifying \u201cthe most\nthoroughly well-constituted type,\u201d as opposed to \u201cmodern man\u201d; above\nall, however, he designates Zarathustra himself as an example of the\nSuperman. In \u201cEcco Homo\u201d he is careful to enlighten us concerning the\nprecursors and prerequisites to the advent of this highest type, in\nreferring to a certain passage in the \u201cGay Science\u201d:\u2014\n\n\u201cIn order to understand this type, we must first be quite clear in\nregard to the leading physiological condition on which it depends: this\ncondition is what I call GREAT HEALTHINESS. I know not how to express my\nmeaning more plainly or more personally than I have done already in\none of the last chapters (Aphorism 382) of the fifth book of the \u2018Gaya\nScienza\u2019.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe, the new, the nameless, the hard-to-understand,\u201d\u2014it says\nthere,\u2014\u201cwe firstlings of a yet untried future\u2014we require for a new end\nalso a new means, namely, a new healthiness, stronger, sharper, tougher,\nbolder and merrier than all healthiness hitherto. He whose soul\nlongeth to experience the whole range of hitherto recognised values\nand desirabilities, and to circumnavigate all the coasts of this ideal\n\u2018Mediterranean Sea\u2019, who, from the adventures of his most personal\nexperience, wants to know how it feels to be a conqueror, and discoverer\nof the ideal\u2014as likewise how it is with the artist, the saint, the\nlegislator, the sage, the scholar, the devotee, the prophet, and the\ngodly non-conformist of the old style:\u2014requires one thing above all\nfor that purpose, GREAT HEALTHINESS\u2014such healthiness as one not only\npossesses, but also constantly acquires and must acquire, because one\nunceasingly sacrifices it again, and must sacrifice it!\u2014And now, after\nhaving been long on the way in this fashion, we Argonauts of the ideal,\nmore courageous perhaps than prudent, and often enough shipwrecked\nand brought to grief, nevertheless dangerously healthy, always healthy\nagain,\u2014it would seem as if, in recompense for it all, that we have a\nstill undiscovered country before us, the boundaries of which no one\nhas yet seen, a beyond to all countries and corners of the ideal known\nhitherto, a world so over-rich in the beautiful, the strange, the\nquestionable, the frightful, and the divine, that our curiosity as well\nas our thirst for possession thereof, have got out of hand\u2014alas! that\nnothing will now any longer satisfy us!\u2014\n\n\u201cHow could we still be content with THE MAN OF THE PRESENT DAY\nafter such outlooks, and with such a craving in our conscience and\nconsciousness? Sad enough; but it is unavoidable that we should look\non the worthiest aims and hopes of the man of the present-day with\nill-concealed amusement, and perhaps should no longer look at them.\nAnother ideal runs on before us, a strange, tempting ideal full of\ndanger, to which we should not like to persuade any one, because we\ndo not so readily acknowledge any one\u2019s RIGHT THERETO: the ideal of\na spirit who plays naively (that is to say involuntarily and from\noverflowing abundance and power) with everything that has hitherto\nbeen called holy, good, intangible, or divine; to whom the loftiest\nconception which the people have reasonably made their measure of value,\nwould already practically imply danger, ruin, abasement, or at least\nrelaxation, blindness, or temporary self-forgetfulness; the ideal of\na humanly superhuman welfare and benevolence, which will often enough\nappear INHUMAN, for example, when put alongside of all past seriousness\non earth, and alongside of all past solemnities in bearing, word, tone,\nlook, morality, and pursuit, as their truest involuntary parody\u2014and\nWITH which, nevertheless, perhaps THE GREAT SERIOUSNESS only commences,\nwhen the proper interrogative mark is set up, the fate of the soul\nchanges, the hour-hand moves, and tragedy begins...\u201d\n\nAlthough the figure of Zarathustra and a large number of the leading\nthoughts in this work had appeared much earlier in the dreams and\nwritings of the author, \u201cThus Spake Zarathustra\u201d did not actually come\ninto being until the month of August 1881 in Sils Maria; and it was the\nidea of the Eternal Recurrence of all things which finally induced my\nbrother to set forth his new views in poetic language. In regard to his\nfirst conception of this idea, his autobiographical sketch, \u201cEcce Homo\u201d,\nwritten in the autumn of 1888, contains the following passage:\u2014\n\n\u201cThe fundamental idea of my work\u2014namely, the Eternal Recurrence of\nall things\u2014this highest of all possible formulae of a Yea-saying\nphilosophy, first occurred to me in August 1881. I made a note of the\nthought on a sheet of paper, with the postscript: 6,000 feet beyond\nmen and time! That day I happened to be wandering through the woods\nalongside of the lake of Silvaplana, and I halted beside a huge,\npyramidal and towering rock not far from Surlei. It was then that the\nthought struck me. Looking back now, I find that exactly two months\nprevious to this inspiration, I had had an omen of its coming in the\nform of a sudden and decisive alteration in my tastes\u2014more particularly\nin music. It would even be possible to consider all \u2018Zarathustra\u2019 as a\nmusical composition. At all events, a very necessary condition in its\nproduction was a renaissance in myself of the art of hearing. In a small\nmountain resort (Recoaro) near Vicenza, where I spent the spring of\n1881, I and my friend and Maestro, Peter Gast\u2014also one who had been\nborn again\u2014discovered that the phoenix music that hovered over us, wore\nlighter and brighter plumes than it had done theretofore.\u201d\n\nDuring the month of August 1881 my brother resolved to reveal the\nteaching of the Eternal Recurrence, in dithyrambic and psalmodic form,\nthrough the mouth of Zarathustra. Among the notes of this period, we\nfound a page on which is written the first definite plan of \u201cThus Spake\nZarathustra\u201d:\u2014\n\n\u201cMIDDAY AND ETERNITY.\u201d\n\n\u201cGUIDE-POSTS TO A NEW WAY OF LIVING.\u201d\n\nBeneath this is written:\u2014\n\n\u201cZarathustra born on lake Urmi; left his home in his thirtieth year,\nwent into the province of Aria, and, during ten years of solitude in the\nmountains, composed the Zend-Avesta.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe sun of knowledge stands once more at midday; and the serpent\nof eternity lies coiled in its light\u2014: It is YOUR time, ye midday\nbrethren.\u201d\n\nIn that summer of 1881, my brother, after many years of steadily\ndeclining health, began at last to rally, and it is to this first gush\nof the recovery of his once splendid bodily condition that we owe not\nonly \u201cThe Gay Science\u201d, which in its mood may be regarded as a prelude\nto \u201cZarathustra\u201d, but also \u201cZarathustra\u201d itself. Just as he was\nbeginning to recuperate his health, however, an unkind destiny brought\nhim a number of most painful personal experiences. His friends caused\nhim many disappointments, which were the more bitter to him, inasmuch as\nhe regarded friendship as such a sacred institution; and for the first\ntime in his life he realised the whole horror of that loneliness to\nwhich, perhaps, all greatness is condemned. But to be forsaken is\nsomething very different from deliberately choosing blessed loneliness.\nHow he longed, in those days, for the ideal friend who would thoroughly\nunderstand him, to whom he would be able to say all, and whom he\nimagined he had found at various periods in his life from his earliest\nyouth onwards. Now, however, that the way he had chosen grew ever more\nperilous and steep, he found nobody who could follow him: he therefore\ncreated a perfect friend for himself in the ideal form of a majestic\nphilosopher, and made this creation the preacher of his gospel to the\nworld.\n\nWhether my brother would ever have written \u201cThus Spake Zarathustra\u201d\n according to the first plan sketched in the summer of 1881, if he\nhad not had the disappointments already referred to, is now an idle\nquestion; but perhaps where \u201cZarathustra\u201d is concerned, we may also say\nwith Master Eckhardt: \u201cThe fleetest beast to bear you to perfection is\nsuffering.\u201d\n\nMy brother writes as follows about the origin of the first part of\n\u201cZarathustra\u201d:\u2014\u201cIn the winter of 1882\u201383, I was living on the charming\nlittle Gulf of Rapallo, not far from Genoa, and between Chiavari and\nCape Porto Fino. My health was not very good; the winter was cold and\nexceptionally rainy; and the small inn in which I lived was so close\nto the water that at night my sleep would be disturbed if the sea were\nhigh. These circumstances were surely the very reverse of favourable;\nand yet in spite of it all, and as if in demonstration of my belief that\neverything decisive comes to life in spite of every obstacle, it was\nprecisely during this winter and in the midst of these unfavourable\ncircumstances that my \u2018Zarathustra\u2019 originated. In the morning I used to\nstart out in a southerly direction up the glorious road to Zoagli, which\nrises aloft through a forest of pines and gives one a view far out into\nthe sea. In the afternoon, as often as my health permitted, I walked\nround the whole bay from Santa Margherita to beyond Porto Fino. This\nspot was all the more interesting to me, inasmuch as it was so dearly\nloved by the Emperor Frederick III. In the autumn of 1886 I chanced to\nbe there again when he was revisiting this small, forgotten world\nof happiness for the last time. It was on these two roads that all\n\u2018Zarathustra\u2019 came to me, above all Zarathustra himself as a type;\u2014I\nought rather to say that it was on these walks that these ideas waylaid\nme.\u201d\n\nThe first part of \u201cZarathustra\u201d was written in about ten days\u2014that is\nto say, from the beginning to about the middle of February 1883. \u201cThe\nlast lines were written precisely in the hallowed hour when Richard\nWagner gave up the ghost in Venice.\u201d\n\nWith the exception of the ten days occupied in composing the first part\nof this book, my brother often referred to this winter as the hardest\nand sickliest he had ever experienced. He did not, however, mean thereby\nthat his former disorders were troubling him, but that he was suffering\nfrom a severe attack of influenza which he had caught in Santa\nMargherita, and which tormented him for several weeks after his arrival\nin Genoa. As a matter of fact, however, what he complained of most was\nhis spiritual condition\u2014that indescribable forsakenness\u2014to which he\ngives such heartrending expression in \u201cZarathustra\u201d. Even the reception\nwhich the first part met with at the hands of friends and acquaintances\nwas extremely disheartening: for almost all those to whom he presented\ncopies of the work misunderstood it. \u201cI found no one ripe for many of my\nthoughts; the case of \u2018Zarathustra\u2019 proves that one can speak with the\nutmost clearness, and yet not be heard by any one.\u201d My brother was very\nmuch discouraged by the feebleness of the response he was given, and as\nhe was striving just then to give up the practice of taking hydrate\nof chloral\u2014a drug he had begun to take while ill with influenza,\u2014the\nfollowing spring, spent in Rome, was a somewhat gloomy one for him.\nHe writes about it as follows:\u2014\u201cI spent a melancholy spring in Rome,\nwhere I only just managed to live,\u2014and this was no easy matter. This\ncity, which is absolutely unsuited to the poet-author of \u2018Zarathustra\u2019,\nand for the choice of which I was not responsible, made me inordinately\nmiserable. I tried to leave it. I wanted to go to Aquila\u2014the opposite\nof Rome in every respect, and actually founded in a spirit of enmity\ntowards that city (just as I also shall found a city some day), as a\nmemento of an atheist and genuine enemy of the Church\u2014a person very\nclosely related to me,\u2014the great Hohenstaufen, the Emperor Frederick\nII. But Fate lay behind it all: I had to return again to Rome. In the\nend I was obliged to be satisfied with the Piazza Barberini, after I had\nexerted myself in vain to find an anti-Christian quarter. I fear that\non one occasion, to avoid bad smells as much as possible, I actually\ninquired at the Palazzo del Quirinale whether they could not provide a\nquiet room for a philosopher. In a chamber high above the Piazza just\nmentioned, from which one obtained a general view of Rome and could\nhear the fountains plashing far below, the loneliest of all songs\nwas composed\u2014\u2018The Night-Song\u2019. About this time I was obsessed by an\nunspeakably sad melody, the refrain of which I recognised in the words,\n\u2018dead through immortality.\u2019\u201d\n\nWe remained somewhat too long in Rome that spring, and what with the\neffect of the increasing heat and the discouraging circumstances already\ndescribed, my brother resolved not to write any more, or in any case,\nnot to proceed with \u201cZarathustra\u201d, although I offered to relieve him\nof all trouble in connection with the proofs and the publisher. When,\nhowever, we returned to Switzerland towards the end of June, and he\nfound himself once more in the familiar and exhilarating air of the\nmountains, all his joyous creative powers revived, and in a note to me\nannouncing the dispatch of some manuscript, he wrote as follows: \u201cI have\nengaged a place here for three months: forsooth, I am the greatest fool\nto allow my courage to be sapped from me by the climate of Italy. Now\nand again I am troubled by the thought: WHAT NEXT? My \u2018future\u2019 is the\ndarkest thing in the world to me, but as there still remains a great\ndeal for me to do, I suppose I ought rather to think of doing this than\nof my future, and leave the rest to THEE and the gods.\u201d\n\nThe second part of \u201cZarathustra\u201d was written between the 26th of June\nand the 6th July. \u201cThis summer, finding myself once more in the sacred\nplace where the first thought of \u2018Zarathustra\u2019 flashed across my mind,\nI conceived the second part. Ten days sufficed. Neither for the second,\nthe first, nor the third part, have I required a day longer.\u201d\n\nHe often used to speak of the ecstatic mood in which he wrote\n\u201cZarathustra\u201d; how in his walks over hill and dale the ideas would crowd\ninto his mind, and how he would note them down hastily in a note-book\nfrom which he would transcribe them on his return, sometimes working\ntill midnight. He says in a letter to me: \u201cYou can have no idea of the\nvehemence of such composition,\u201d and in \u201cEcce Homo\u201d (autumn 1888) he\ndescribes as follows with passionate enthusiasm the incomparable mood in\nwhich he created Zarathustra:\u2014\n\n\u201c\u2014Has any one at the end of the nineteenth century any distinct notion\nof what poets of a stronger age understood by the word inspiration? If\nnot, I will describe it. If one had the smallest vestige of superstition\nin one, it would hardly be possible to set aside completely the idea\nthat one is the mere incarnation, mouthpiece or medium of an almighty\npower. The idea of revelation in the sense that something becomes\nsuddenly visible and audible with indescribable certainty and accuracy,\nwhich profoundly convulses and upsets one\u2014describes simply the matter\nof fact. One hears\u2014one does not seek; one takes\u2014one does not ask\nwho gives: a thought suddenly flashes up like lightning, it comes with\nnecessity, unhesitatingly\u2014I have never had any choice in the matter.\nThere is an ecstasy such that the immense strain of it is sometimes\nrelaxed by a flood of tears, along with which one\u2019s steps either rush\nor involuntarily lag, alternately. There is the feeling that one is\ncompletely out of hand, with the very distinct consciousness of an\nendless number of fine thrills and quiverings to the very toes;\u2014there\nis a depth of happiness in which the painfullest and gloomiest do not\noperate as antitheses, but as conditioned, as demanded in the sense of\nnecessary shades of colour in such an overflow of light. There is an\ninstinct for rhythmic relations which embraces wide areas of forms\n(length, the need of a wide-embracing rhythm, is almost the measure of\nthe force of an inspiration, a sort of counterpart to its pressure and\ntension). Everything happens quite involuntarily, as if in a tempestuous\noutburst of freedom, of absoluteness, of power and divinity. The\ninvoluntariness of the figures and similes is the most remarkable\nthing; one loses all perception of what constitutes the figure and\nwhat constitutes the simile; everything seems to present itself as\nthe readiest, the correctest and the simplest means of expression.\nIt actually seems, to use one of Zarathustra\u2019s own phrases, as if all\nthings came unto one, and would fain be similes: \u2018Here do all things\ncome caressingly to thy talk and flatter thee, for they want to ride\nupon thy back. On every simile dost thou here ride to every truth. Here\nfly open unto thee all being\u2019s words and word-cabinets; here all being\nwanteth to become words, here all becoming wanteth to learn of thee how\nto talk.\u2019 This is MY experience of inspiration. I do not doubt but that\none would have to go back thousands of years in order to find some one\nwho could say to me: It is mine also!\u2014\u201d\n\nIn the autumn of 1883 my brother left the Engadine for Germany and\nstayed there a few weeks. In the following winter, after wandering\nsomewhat erratically through Stresa, Genoa, and Spezia, he landed in\nNice, where the climate so happily promoted his creative powers that\nhe wrote the third part of \u201cZarathustra\u201d. \u201cIn the winter, beneath the\nhalcyon sky of Nice, which then looked down upon me for the first time\nin my life, I found the third \u2018Zarathustra\u2019\u2014and came to the end of my\ntask; the whole having occupied me scarcely a year. Many hidden corners\nand heights in the landscapes round about Nice are hallowed to me by\nunforgettable moments. That decisive chapter entitled \u2018Old and New\nTables\u2019 was composed in the very difficult ascent from the station\nto Eza\u2014that wonderful Moorish village in the rocks. My most creative\nmoments were always accompanied by unusual muscular activity. The body\nis inspired: let us waive the question of the \u2018soul.\u2019 I might often have\nbeen seen dancing in those days. Without a suggestion of fatigue I could\nthen walk for seven or eight hours on end among the hills. I slept well\nand laughed well\u2014I was perfectly robust and patient.\u201d\n\nAs we have seen, each of the three parts of \u201cZarathustra\u201d was written,\nafter a more or less short period of preparation, in about ten days.\nThe composition of the fourth part alone was broken by occasional\ninterruptions. The first notes relating to this part were written while\nhe and I were staying together in Zurich in September 1884. In the\nfollowing November, while staying at Mentone, he began to elaborate\nthese notes, and after a long pause, finished the manuscript at Nice\nbetween the end of January and the middle of February 1885. My brother\nthen called this part the fourth and last; but even before, and shortly\nafter it had been privately printed, he wrote to me saying that he still\nintended writing a fifth and sixth part, and notes relating to these\nparts are now in my possession. This fourth part (the original MS. of\nwhich contains this note: \u201cOnly for my friends, not for the public\u201d)\nis written in a particularly personal spirit, and those few to whom he\npresented a copy of it, he pledged to the strictest secrecy concerning\nits contents. He often thought of making this fourth part public also,\nbut doubted whether he would ever be able to do so without considerably\naltering certain portions of it. At all events he resolved to distribute\nthis manuscript production, of which only forty copies were printed,\nonly among those who had proved themselves worthy of it, and it speaks\neloquently of his utter loneliness and need of sympathy in those days,\nthat he had occasion to present only seven copies of his book according\nto this resolution.\n\nAlready at the beginning of this history I hinted at the reasons which\nled my brother to select a Persian as the incarnation of his ideal of\nthe majestic philosopher. His reasons, however, for choosing Zarathustra\nof all others to be his mouthpiece, he gives us in the following\nwords:\u2014\u201cPeople have never asked me, as they should have done, what the\nname Zarathustra precisely means in my mouth, in the mouth of the first\nImmoralist; for what distinguishes that philosopher from all others\nin the past is the very fact that he was exactly the reverse of an\nimmoralist. Zarathustra was the first to see in the struggle between\ngood and evil the essential wheel in the working of things. The\ntranslation of morality into the metaphysical, as force, cause, end in\nitself, was HIS work. But the very question suggests its own answer.\nZarathustra CREATED the most portentous error, MORALITY, consequently he\nshould also be the first to PERCEIVE that error, not only because he\nhas had longer and greater experience of the subject than any other\nthinker\u2014all history is the experimental refutation of the theory of\nthe so-called moral order of things:\u2014the more important point is that\nZarathustra was more truthful than any other thinker. In his teaching\nalone do we meet with truthfulness upheld as the highest virtue\u2014i.e.:\nthe reverse of the COWARDICE of the \u2018idealist\u2019 who flees from reality.\nZarathustra had more courage in his body than any other thinker before\nor after him. To tell the truth and TO AIM STRAIGHT: that is the first\nPersian virtue. Am I understood?... The overcoming of morality through\nitself\u2014through truthfulness, the overcoming of the moralist through his\nopposite\u2014THROUGH ME\u2014: that is what the name Zarathustra means in my\nmouth.\u201d\n\nELIZABETH FORSTER-NIETZSCHE.\n\nNietzsche Archives,\n\nWeimar, December 1905.\n\n\n\n\nTHUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA.\n\n\n\n\nFIRST PART. ZARATHUSTRA\u2019S DISCOURSES.\n\n\n\n\nZARATHUSTRA\u2019S PROLOGUE.\n\n\n1.\n\nWhen Zarathustra was thirty years old, he left his home and the lake of\nhis home, and went into the mountains. There he enjoyed his spirit and\nsolitude, and for ten years did not weary of it. But at last his heart\nchanged,\u2014and rising one morning with the rosy dawn, he went before the\nsun, and spake thus unto it:\n\nThou great star! What would be thy happiness if thou hadst not those for\nwhom thou shinest!\n\nFor ten years hast thou climbed hither unto my cave: thou wouldst have\nwearied of thy light and of the journey, had it not been for me, mine\neagle, and my serpent.\n\nBut we awaited thee every morning, took from thee thine overflow and\nblessed thee for it.\n\nLo! I am weary of my wisdom, like the bee that hath gathered too much\nhoney; I need hands outstretched to take it.\n\nI would fain bestow and distribute, until the wise have once more become\njoyous in their folly, and the poor happy in their riches.\n\nTherefore must I descend into the deep: as thou doest in the\nevening, when thou goest behind the sea, and givest light also to the\nnether-world, thou exuberant star!\n\nLike thee must I GO DOWN, as men say, to whom I shall descend.\n\nBless me, then, thou tranquil eye, that canst behold even the greatest\nhappiness without envy!\n\nBless the cup that is about to overflow, that the water may flow golden\nout of it, and carry everywhere the reflection of thy bliss!\n\nLo! This cup is again going to empty itself, and Zarathustra is again\ngoing to be a man.\n\nThus began Zarathustra\u2019s down-going.\n\n2.\n\nZarathustra went down the mountain alone, no one meeting him. When he\nentered the forest, however, there suddenly stood before him an old man,\nwho had left his holy cot to seek roots. And thus spake the old man to\nZarathustra:\n\n\u201cNo stranger to me is this wanderer: many years ago passed he by.\nZarathustra he was called; but he hath altered.\n\nThen thou carriedst thine ashes into the mountains: wilt thou now carry\nthy fire into the valleys? Fearest thou not the incendiary\u2019s doom?\n\nYea, I recognise Zarathustra. Pure is his eye, and no loathing lurketh\nabout his mouth. Goeth he not along like a dancer?\n\nAltered is Zarathustra; a child hath Zarathustra become; an awakened one\nis Zarathustra: what wilt thou do in the land of the sleepers?\n\nAs in the sea hast thou lived in solitude, and it hath borne thee up.\nAlas, wilt thou now go ashore? Alas, wilt thou again drag thy body\nthyself?\u201d\n\nZarathustra answered: \u201cI love mankind.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d said the saint, \u201cdid I go into the forest and the desert? Was it\nnot because I loved men far too well?\n\nNow I love God: men, I do not love. Man is a thing too imperfect for me.\nLove to man would be fatal to me.\u201d\n\nZarathustra answered: \u201cWhat spake I of love! I am bringing gifts unto\nmen.\u201d\n\n\u201cGive them nothing,\u201d said the saint. \u201cTake rather part of their load,\nand carry it along with them\u2014that will be most agreeable unto them: if\nonly it be agreeable unto thee!\n\nIf, however, thou wilt give unto them, give them no more than an alms,\nand let them also beg for it!\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d replied Zarathustra, \u201cI give no alms. I am not poor enough for\nthat.\u201d\n\nThe saint laughed at Zarathustra, and spake thus: \u201cThen see to it that\nthey accept thy treasures! They are distrustful of anchorites, and do\nnot believe that we come with gifts.\n\nThe fall of our footsteps ringeth too hollow through their streets. And\njust as at night, when they are in bed and hear a man abroad long before\nsunrise, so they ask themselves concerning us: Where goeth the thief?\n\nGo not to men, but stay in the forest! Go rather to the animals! Why not\nbe like me\u2014a bear amongst bears, a bird amongst birds?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what doeth the saint in the forest?\u201d asked Zarathustra.\n\nThe saint answered: \u201cI make hymns and sing them; and in making hymns I\nlaugh and weep and mumble: thus do I praise God.\n\nWith singing, weeping, laughing, and mumbling do I praise the God who is\nmy God. But what dost thou bring us as a gift?\u201d\n\nWhen Zarathustra had heard these words, he bowed to the saint and said:\n\u201cWhat should I have to give thee! Let me rather hurry hence lest I take\naught away from thee!\u201d\u2014And thus they parted from one another, the old\nman and Zarathustra, laughing like schoolboys.\n\nWhen Zarathustra was alone, however, he said to his heart: \u201cCould it be\npossible! This old saint in the forest hath not yet heard of it, that\nGOD IS DEAD!\u201d\n\n3.\n\nWhen Zarathustra arrived at the nearest town which adjoineth the forest,\nhe found many people assembled in the market-place; for it had been\nannounced that a rope-dancer would give a performance. And Zarathustra\nspake thus unto the people:\n\nI TEACH YOU THE SUPERMAN. Man is something that is to be surpassed. What\nhave ye done to surpass man?\n\nAll beings hitherto have created something beyond themselves: and ye\nwant to be the ebb of that great tide, and would rather go back to the\nbeast than surpass man?\n\nWhat is the ape to man? A laughing-stock, a thing of shame. And just the\nsame shall man be to the Superman: a laughing-stock, a thing of shame.\n\nYe have made your way from the worm to man, and much within you is still\nworm. Once were ye apes, and even yet man is more of an ape than any of\nthe apes.\n\nEven the wisest among you is only a disharmony and hybrid of plant and\nphantom. But do I bid you become phantoms or plants?\n\nLo, I teach you the Superman!\n\nThe Superman is the meaning of the earth. Let your will say: The\nSuperman SHALL BE the meaning of the earth!\n\nI conjure you, my brethren, REMAIN TRUE TO THE EARTH, and believe not\nthose who speak unto you of superearthly hopes! Poisoners are they,\nwhether they know it or not.\n\nDespisers of life are they, decaying ones and poisoned ones themselves,\nof whom the earth is weary: so away with them!\n\nOnce blasphemy against God was the greatest blasphemy; but God died,\nand therewith also those blasphemers. To blaspheme the earth is now the\ndreadfulest sin, and to rate the heart of the unknowable higher than the\nmeaning of the earth!\n\nOnce the soul looked contemptuously on the body, and then that contempt\nwas the supreme thing:\u2014the soul wished the body meagre, ghastly, and\nfamished. Thus it thought to escape from the body and the earth.\n\nOh, that soul was itself meagre, ghastly, and famished; and cruelty was\nthe delight of that soul!\n\nBut ye, also, my brethren, tell me: What doth your body say about\nyour soul? Is your soul not poverty and pollution and wretched\nself-complacency?\n\nVerily, a polluted stream is man. One must be a sea, to receive a\npolluted stream without becoming impure.\n\nLo, I teach you the Superman: he is that sea; in him can your great\ncontempt be submerged.\n\nWhat is the greatest thing ye can experience? It is the hour of great\ncontempt. The hour in which even your happiness becometh loathsome unto\nyou, and so also your reason and virtue.\n\nThe hour when ye say: \u201cWhat good is my happiness! It is poverty and\npollution and wretched self-complacency. But my happiness should justify\nexistence itself!\u201d\n\nThe hour when ye say: \u201cWhat good is my reason! Doth it long for\nknowledge as the lion for his food? It is poverty and pollution and\nwretched self-complacency!\u201d\n\nThe hour when ye say: \u201cWhat good is my virtue! As yet it hath not made\nme passionate. How weary I am of my good and my bad! It is all poverty\nand pollution and wretched self-complacency!\u201d\n\nThe hour when ye say: \u201cWhat good is my justice! I do not see that I am\nfervour and fuel. The just, however, are fervour and fuel!\u201d\n\nThe hour when ye say: \u201cWhat good is my pity! Is not pity the cross on\nwhich he is nailed who loveth man? But my pity is not a crucifixion.\u201d\n\nHave ye ever spoken thus? Have ye ever cried thus? Ah! would that I had\nheard you crying thus!\n\nIt is not your sin\u2014it is your self-satisfaction that crieth unto\nheaven; your very sparingness in sin crieth unto heaven!\n\nWhere is the lightning to lick you with its tongue? Where is the frenzy\nwith which ye should be inoculated?\n\nLo, I teach you the Superman: he is that lightning, he is that frenzy!\u2014\n\nWhen Zarathustra had thus spoken, one of the people called out: \u201cWe have\nnow heard enough of the rope-dancer; it is time now for us to see him!\u201d\n And all the people laughed at Zarathustra. But the rope-dancer, who\nthought the words applied to him, began his performance.\n\n4.\n\nZarathustra, however, looked at the people and wondered. Then he spake\nthus:\n\nMan is a rope stretched between the animal and the Superman\u2014a rope over\nan abyss.\n\nA dangerous crossing, a dangerous wayfaring, a dangerous looking-back, a\ndangerous trembling and halting.\n\nWhat is great in man is that he is a bridge and not a goal: what is\nlovable in man is that he is an OVER-GOING and a DOWN-GOING.\n\nI love those that know not how to live except as down-goers, for they\nare the over-goers.\n\nI love the great despisers, because they are the great adorers, and\narrows of longing for the other shore.\n\nI love those who do not first seek a reason beyond the stars for going\ndown and being sacrifices, but sacrifice themselves to the earth, that\nthe earth of the Superman may hereafter arrive.\n\nI love him who liveth in order to know, and seeketh to know in\norder that the Superman may hereafter live. Thus seeketh he his own\ndown-going.\n\nI love him who laboureth and inventeth, that he may build the house for\nthe Superman, and prepare for him earth, animal, and plant: for thus\nseeketh he his own down-going.\n\nI love him who loveth his virtue: for virtue is the will to down-going,\nand an arrow of longing.\n\nI love him who reserveth no share of spirit for himself, but wanteth to\nbe wholly the spirit of his virtue: thus walketh he as spirit over the\nbridge.\n\nI love him who maketh his virtue his inclination and destiny: thus, for\nthe sake of his virtue, he is willing to live on, or live no more.\n\nI love him who desireth not too many virtues. One virtue is more of a\nvirtue than two, because it is more of a knot for one\u2019s destiny to cling\nto.\n\nI love him whose soul is lavish, who wanteth no thanks and doth not give\nback: for he always bestoweth, and desireth not to keep for himself.\n\nI love him who is ashamed when the dice fall in his favour, and who then\nasketh: \u201cAm I a dishonest player?\u201d\u2014for he is willing to succumb.\n\nI love him who scattereth golden words in advance of his deeds, and\nalways doeth more than he promiseth: for he seeketh his own down-going.\n\nI love him who justifieth the future ones, and redeemeth the past ones:\nfor he is willing to succumb through the present ones.\n\nI love him who chasteneth his God, because he loveth his God: for he\nmust succumb through the wrath of his God.\n\nI love him whose soul is deep even in the wounding, and may succumb\nthrough a small matter: thus goeth he willingly over the bridge.\n\nI love him whose soul is so overfull that he forgetteth himself, and all\nthings are in him: thus all things become his down-going.\n\nI love him who is of a free spirit and a free heart: thus is his\nhead only the bowels of his heart; his heart, however, causeth his\ndown-going.\n\nI love all who are like heavy drops falling one by one out of the dark\ncloud that lowereth over man: they herald the coming of the lightning,\nand succumb as heralds.\n\nLo, I am a herald of the lightning, and a heavy drop out of the cloud:\nthe lightning, however, is the SUPERMAN.\u2014\n\n5.\n\nWhen Zarathustra had spoken these words, he again looked at the people,\nand was silent. \u201cThere they stand,\u201d said he to his heart; \u201cthere they\nlaugh: they understand me not; I am not the mouth for these ears.\n\nMust one first batter their ears, that they may learn to hear with their\neyes? Must one clatter like kettledrums and penitential preachers? Or do\nthey only believe the stammerer?\n\nThey have something whereof they are proud. What do they call it, that\nwhich maketh them proud? Culture, they call it; it distinguisheth them\nfrom the goatherds.\n\nThey dislike, therefore, to hear of \u2018contempt\u2019 of themselves. So I will\nappeal to their pride.\n\nI will speak unto them of the most contemptible thing: that, however, is\nTHE LAST MAN!\u201d\n\nAnd thus spake Zarathustra unto the people:\n\nIt is time for man to fix his goal. It is time for man to plant the germ\nof his highest hope.\n\nStill is his soil rich enough for it. But that soil will one day be\npoor and exhausted, and no lofty tree will any longer be able to grow\nthereon.\n\nAlas! there cometh the time when man will no longer launch the arrow of\nhis longing beyond man\u2014and the string of his bow will have unlearned to\nwhizz!\n\nI tell you: one must still have chaos in one, to give birth to a dancing\nstar. I tell you: ye have still chaos in you.\n\nAlas! There cometh the time when man will no longer give birth to any\nstar. Alas! There cometh the time of the most despicable man, who can no\nlonger despise himself.\n\nLo! I show you THE LAST MAN.\n\n\u201cWhat is love? What is creation? What is longing? What is a star?\u201d\u2014so\nasketh the last man and blinketh.\n\nThe earth hath then become small, and on it there hoppeth the last man\nwho maketh everything small. His species is ineradicable like that of\nthe ground-flea; the last man liveth longest.\n\n\u201cWe have discovered happiness\u201d\u2014say the last men, and blink thereby.\n\nThey have left the regions where it is hard to live; for they need\nwarmth. One still loveth one\u2019s neighbour and rubbeth against him; for\none needeth warmth.\n\nTurning ill and being distrustful, they consider sinful: they walk\nwarily. He is a fool who still stumbleth over stones or men!\n\nA little poison now and then: that maketh pleasant dreams. And much\npoison at last for a pleasant death.\n\nOne still worketh, for work is a pastime. But one is careful lest the\npastime should hurt one.\n\nOne no longer becometh poor or rich; both are too burdensome. Who still\nwanteth to rule? Who still wanteth to obey? Both are too burdensome.\n\nNo shepherd, and one herd! Every one wanteth the same; every one is\nequal: he who hath other sentiments goeth voluntarily into the madhouse.\n\n\u201cFormerly all the world was insane,\u201d\u2014say the subtlest of them, and\nblink thereby.\n\nThey are clever and know all that hath happened: so there is\nno end to their raillery. People still fall out, but are soon\nreconciled\u2014otherwise it spoileth their stomachs.\n\nThey have their little pleasures for the day, and their little pleasures\nfor the night, but they have a regard for health.\n\n\u201cWe have discovered happiness,\u201d\u2014say the last men, and blink thereby.\u2014\n\nAnd here ended the first discourse of Zarathustra, which is also\ncalled \u201cThe Prologue\u201d: for at this point the shouting and mirth of the\nmultitude interrupted him. \u201cGive us this last man, O Zarathustra,\u201d\u2014they\ncalled out\u2014\u201cmake us into these last men! Then will we make thee a\npresent of the Superman!\u201d And all the people exulted and smacked their\nlips. Zarathustra, however, turned sad, and said to his heart:\n\n\u201cThey understand me not: I am not the mouth for these ears.\n\nToo long, perhaps, have I lived in the mountains; too much have I\nhearkened unto the brooks and trees: now do I speak unto them as unto\nthe goatherds.\n\nCalm is my soul, and clear, like the mountains in the morning. But they\nthink me cold, and a mocker with terrible jests.\n\nAnd now do they look at me and laugh: and while they laugh they hate me\ntoo. There is ice in their laughter.\u201d\n\n6.\n\nThen, however, something happened which made every mouth mute and every\neye fixed. In the meantime, of course, the rope-dancer had commenced his\nperformance: he had come out at a little door, and was going along the\nrope which was stretched between two towers, so that it hung above the\nmarket-place and the people. When he was just midway across, the little\ndoor opened once more, and a gaudily-dressed fellow like a buffoon\nsprang out, and went rapidly after the first one. \u201cGo on, halt-foot,\u201d\n cried his frightful voice, \u201cgo on, lazy-bones, interloper,\nsallow-face!\u2014lest I tickle thee with my heel! What dost thou here\nbetween the towers? In the tower is the place for thee, thou shouldst be\nlocked up; to one better than thyself thou blockest the way!\u201d\u2014And with\nevery word he came nearer and nearer the first one. When, however, he\nwas but a step behind, there happened the frightful thing which made\nevery mouth mute and every eye fixed\u2014he uttered a yell like a devil,\nand jumped over the other who was in his way. The latter, however, when\nhe thus saw his rival triumph, lost at the same time his head and his\nfooting on the rope; he threw his pole away, and shot downwards faster\nthan it, like an eddy of arms and legs, into the depth. The market-place\nand the people were like the sea when the storm cometh on: they all flew\napart and in disorder, especially where the body was about to fall.\n\nZarathustra, however, remained standing, and just beside him fell the\nbody, badly injured and disfigured, but not yet dead. After a while\nconsciousness returned to the shattered man, and he saw Zarathustra\nkneeling beside him. \u201cWhat art thou doing there?\u201d said he at last, \u201cI\nknew long ago that the devil would trip me up. Now he draggeth me to\nhell: wilt thou prevent him?\u201d\n\n\u201cOn mine honour, my friend,\u201d answered Zarathustra, \u201cthere is nothing of\nall that whereof thou speakest: there is no devil and no hell. Thy soul\nwill be dead even sooner than thy body: fear, therefore, nothing any\nmore!\u201d\n\nThe man looked up distrustfully. \u201cIf thou speakest the truth,\u201d said he,\n\u201cI lose nothing when I lose my life. I am not much more than an animal\nwhich hath been taught to dance by blows and scanty fare.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot at all,\u201d said Zarathustra, \u201cthou hast made danger thy calling;\ntherein there is nothing contemptible. Now thou perishest by thy\ncalling: therefore will I bury thee with mine own hands.\u201d\n\nWhen Zarathustra had said this the dying one did not reply further; but\nhe moved his hand as if he sought the hand of Zarathustra in gratitude.\n\n7.\n\nMeanwhile the evening came on, and the market-place veiled itself in\ngloom. Then the people dispersed, for even curiosity and terror become\nfatigued. Zarathustra, however, still sat beside the dead man on the\nground, absorbed in thought: so he forgot the time. But at last it\nbecame night, and a cold wind blew upon the lonely one. Then arose\nZarathustra and said to his heart:\n\nVerily, a fine catch of fish hath Zarathustra made to-day! It is not a\nman he hath caught, but a corpse.\n\nSombre is human life, and as yet without meaning: a buffoon may be\nfateful to it.\n\nI want to teach men the sense of their existence, which is the Superman,\nthe lightning out of the dark cloud\u2014man.\n\nBut still am I far from them, and my sense speaketh not unto their\nsense. To men I am still something between a fool and a corpse.\n\nGloomy is the night, gloomy are the ways of Zarathustra. Come, thou cold\nand stiff companion! I carry thee to the place where I shall bury thee\nwith mine own hands.\n\n8.\n\nWhen Zarathustra had said this to his heart, he put the corpse upon his\nshoulders and set out on his way. Yet had he not gone a hundred steps,\nwhen there stole a man up to him and whispered in his ear\u2014and lo!\nhe that spake was the buffoon from the tower. \u201cLeave this town, O\nZarathustra,\u201d said he, \u201cthere are too many here who hate thee. The\ngood and just hate thee, and call thee their enemy and despiser; the\nbelievers in the orthodox belief hate thee, and call thee a danger to\nthe multitude. It was thy good fortune to be laughed at: and verily thou\nspakest like a buffoon. It was thy good fortune to associate with the\ndead dog; by so humiliating thyself thou hast saved thy life to-day.\nDepart, however, from this town,\u2014or to-morrow I shall jump over thee,\na living man over a dead one.\u201d And when he had said this, the buffoon\nvanished; Zarathustra, however, went on through the dark streets.\n\nAt the gate of the town the grave-diggers met him: they shone their\ntorch on his face, and, recognising Zarathustra, they sorely derided\nhim. \u201cZarathustra is carrying away the dead dog: a fine thing that\nZarathustra hath turned a grave-digger! For our hands are too cleanly\nfor that roast. Will Zarathustra steal the bite from the devil? Well\nthen, good luck to the repast! If only the devil is not a better thief\nthan Zarathustra!\u2014he will steal them both, he will eat them both!\u201d And\nthey laughed among themselves, and put their heads together.\n\nZarathustra made no answer thereto, but went on his way. When he had\ngone on for two hours, past forests and swamps, he had heard too much of\nthe hungry howling of the wolves, and he himself became a-hungry. So he\nhalted at a lonely house in which a light was burning.\n\n\u201cHunger attacketh me,\u201d said Zarathustra, \u201clike a robber. Among forests\nand swamps my hunger attacketh me, and late in the night.\n\n\u201cStrange humours hath my hunger. Often it cometh to me only after a\nrepast, and all day it hath failed to come: where hath it been?\u201d\n\nAnd thereupon Zarathustra knocked at the door of the house. An old man\nappeared, who carried a light, and asked: \u201cWho cometh unto me and my bad\nsleep?\u201d\n\n\u201cA living man and a dead one,\u201d said Zarathustra. \u201cGive me something to\neat and drink, I forgot it during the day. He that feedeth the hungry\nrefresheth his own soul, saith wisdom.\u201d\n\nThe old man withdrew, but came back immediately and offered Zarathustra\nbread and wine. \u201cA bad country for the hungry,\u201d said he; \u201cthat is why\nI live here. Animal and man come unto me, the anchorite. But bid thy\ncompanion eat and drink also, he is wearier than thou.\u201d Zarathustra\nanswered: \u201cMy companion is dead; I shall hardly be able to persuade him\nto eat.\u201d \u201cThat doth not concern me,\u201d said the old man sullenly; \u201che\nthat knocketh at my door must take what I offer him. Eat, and fare ye\nwell!\u201d\u2014\n\nThereafter Zarathustra again went on for two hours, trusting to the path\nand the light of the stars: for he was an experienced night-walker, and\nliked to look into the face of all that slept. When the morning dawned,\nhowever, Zarathustra found himself in a thick forest, and no path was\nany longer visible. He then put the dead man in a hollow tree at his\nhead\u2014for he wanted to protect him from the wolves\u2014and laid himself\ndown on the ground and moss. And immediately he fell asleep, tired in\nbody, but with a tranquil soul.\n\n9.\n\nLong slept Zarathustra; and not only the rosy dawn passed over his head,\nbut also the morning. At last, however, his eyes opened, and amazedly he\ngazed into the forest and the stillness, amazedly he gazed into himself.\nThen he arose quickly, like a seafarer who all at once seeth the land;\nand he shouted for joy: for he saw a new truth. And he spake thus to his\nheart:\n\nA light hath dawned upon me: I need companions\u2014living ones; not dead\ncompanions and corpses, which I carry with me where I will.\n\nBut I need living companions, who will follow me because they want to\nfollow themselves\u2014and to the place where I will.\n\nA light hath dawned upon me. Not to the people is Zarathustra to speak,\nbut to companions! Zarathustra shall not be the herd\u2019s herdsman and\nhound!\n\nTo allure many from the herd\u2014for that purpose have I come. The people\nand the herd must be angry with me: a robber shall Zarathustra be called\nby the herdsmen.\n\nHerdsmen, I say, but they call themselves the good and just. Herdsmen, I\nsay, but they call themselves the believers in the orthodox belief.\n\nBehold the good and just! Whom do they hate most? Him who breaketh up\ntheir tables of values, the breaker, the law-breaker:\u2014he, however, is\nthe creator.\n\nBehold the believers of all beliefs! Whom do they hate most? Him who\nbreaketh up their tables of values, the breaker, the law-breaker\u2014he,\nhowever, is the creator.\n\nCompanions, the creator seeketh, not corpses\u2014and not herds or believers\neither. Fellow-creators the creator seeketh\u2014those who grave new values\non new tables.\n\nCompanions, the creator seeketh, and fellow-reapers: for everything is\nripe for the harvest with him. But he lacketh the hundred sickles: so he\nplucketh the ears of corn and is vexed.\n\nCompanions, the creator seeketh, and such as know how to whet their\nsickles. Destroyers, will they be called, and despisers of good and\nevil. But they are the reapers and rejoicers.\n\nFellow-creators, Zarathustra seeketh; fellow-reapers and\nfellow-rejoicers, Zarathustra seeketh: what hath he to do with herds and\nherdsmen and corpses!\n\nAnd thou, my first companion, rest in peace! Well have I buried thee in\nthy hollow tree; well have I hid thee from the wolves.\n\nBut I part from thee; the time hath arrived. \u2018Twixt rosy dawn and rosy\ndawn there came unto me a new truth.\n\nI am not to be a herdsman, I am not to be a grave-digger. Not any more\nwill I discourse unto the people; for the last time have I spoken unto\nthe dead.\n\nWith the creators, the reapers, and the rejoicers will I associate: the\nrainbow will I show them, and all the stairs to the Superman.\n\nTo the lone-dwellers will I sing my song, and to the twain-dwellers;\nand unto him who hath still ears for the unheard, will I make the heart\nheavy with my happiness.\n\nI make for my goal, I follow my course; over the loitering and tardy\nwill I leap. Thus let my on-going be their down-going!\n\n10.\n\nThis had Zarathustra said to his heart when the sun stood at noontide.\nThen he looked inquiringly aloft,\u2014for he heard above him the sharp call\nof a bird. And behold! An eagle swept through the air in wide circles,\nand on it hung a serpent, not like a prey, but like a friend: for it\nkept itself coiled round the eagle\u2019s neck.\n\n\u201cThey are mine animals,\u201d said Zarathustra, and rejoiced in his heart.\n\n\u201cThe proudest animal under the sun, and the wisest animal under the\nsun,\u2014they have come out to reconnoitre.\n\nThey want to know whether Zarathustra still liveth. Verily, do I still\nlive?\n\nMore dangerous have I found it among men than among animals; in\ndangerous paths goeth Zarathustra. Let mine animals lead me!\u201d\n\nWhen Zarathustra had said this, he remembered the words of the saint in\nthe forest. Then he sighed and spake thus to his heart:\n\n\u201cWould that I were wiser! Would that I were wise from the very heart,\nlike my serpent!\n\nBut I am asking the impossible. Therefore do I ask my pride to go always\nwith my wisdom!\n\nAnd if my wisdom should some day forsake me:\u2014alas! it loveth to fly\naway!\u2014may my pride then fly with my folly!\u201d\n\nThus began Zarathustra\u2019s down-going.\n\n\n\n\nZARATHUSTRA\u2019S DISCOURSES.\n\n\n\n\nI. THE THREE METAMORPHOSES.\n\n\nThree metamorphoses of the spirit do I designate to you: how the spirit\nbecometh a camel, the camel a lion, and the lion at last a child.\n\nMany heavy things are there for the spirit, the strong load-bearing\nspirit in which reverence dwelleth: for the heavy and the heaviest\nlongeth its strength.\n\nWhat is heavy? so asketh the load-bearing spirit; then kneeleth it down\nlike the camel, and wanteth to be well laden.\n\nWhat is the heaviest thing, ye heroes? asketh the load-bearing spirit,\nthat I may take it upon me and rejoice in my strength.\n\nIs it not this: To humiliate oneself in order to mortify one\u2019s pride? To\nexhibit one\u2019s folly in order to mock at one\u2019s wisdom?\n\nOr is it this: To desert our cause when it celebrateth its triumph? To\nascend high mountains to tempt the tempter?\n\nOr is it this: To feed on the acorns and grass of knowledge, and for the\nsake of truth to suffer hunger of soul?\n\nOr is it this: To be sick and dismiss comforters, and make friends of\nthe deaf, who never hear thy requests?\n\nOr is it this: To go into foul water when it is the water of truth, and\nnot disclaim cold frogs and hot toads?\n\nOr is it this: To love those who despise us, and give one\u2019s hand to the\nphantom when it is going to frighten us?\n\nAll these heaviest things the load-bearing spirit taketh upon itself:\nand like the camel, which, when laden, hasteneth into the wilderness, so\nhasteneth the spirit into its wilderness.\n\nBut in the loneliest wilderness happeneth the second metamorphosis: here\nthe spirit becometh a lion; freedom will it capture, and lordship in its\nown wilderness.\n\nIts last Lord it here seeketh: hostile will it be to him, and to its\nlast God; for victory will it struggle with the great dragon.\n\nWhat is the great dragon which the spirit is no longer inclined to call\nLord and God? \u201cThou shalt,\u201d is the great dragon called. But the spirit\nof the lion saith, \u201cI will.\u201d\n\n\u201cThou shalt,\u201d lieth in its path, sparkling with gold\u2014a scale-covered\nbeast; and on every scale glittereth golden, \u201cThou shalt!\u201d\n\nThe values of a thousand years glitter on those scales, and\nthus speaketh the mightiest of all dragons: \u201cAll the values of\nthings\u2014glitter on me.\n\nAll values have already been created, and all created values\u2014do I\nrepresent. Verily, there shall be no \u2018I will\u2019 any more.\u201d Thus speaketh\nthe dragon.\n\nMy brethren, wherefore is there need of the lion in the spirit? Why\nsufficeth not the beast of burden, which renounceth and is reverent?\n\nTo create new values\u2014that, even the lion cannot yet accomplish: but to\ncreate itself freedom for new creating\u2014that can the might of the lion\ndo.\n\nTo create itself freedom, and give a holy Nay even unto duty: for that,\nmy brethren, there is need of the lion.\n\nTo assume the right to new values\u2014that is the most formidable\nassumption for a load-bearing and reverent spirit. Verily, unto such a\nspirit it is preying, and the work of a beast of prey.\n\nAs its holiest, it once loved \u201cThou shalt\u201d: now is it forced to find\nillusion and arbitrariness even in the holiest things, that it may\ncapture freedom from its love: the lion is needed for this capture.\n\nBut tell me, my brethren, what the child can do, which even the lion\ncould not do? Why hath the preying lion still to become a child?\n\nInnocence is the child, and forgetfulness, a new beginning, a game, a\nself-rolling wheel, a first movement, a holy Yea.\n\nAye, for the game of creating, my brethren, there is needed a holy Yea\nunto life: ITS OWN will, willeth now the spirit; HIS OWN world winneth\nthe world\u2019s outcast.\n\nThree metamorphoses of the spirit have I designated to you: how the\nspirit became a camel, the camel a lion, and the lion at last a child.\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra. And at that time he abode in the town which is\ncalled The Pied Cow.\n\n\n\n\nII. THE ACADEMIC CHAIRS OF VIRTUE.\n\n\nPeople commended unto Zarathustra a wise man, as one who could discourse\nwell about sleep and virtue: greatly was he honoured and rewarded for\nit, and all the youths sat before his chair. To him went Zarathustra,\nand sat among the youths before his chair. And thus spake the wise man:\n\nRespect and modesty in presence of sleep! That is the first thing! And\nto go out of the way of all who sleep badly and keep awake at night!\n\nModest is even the thief in presence of sleep: he always stealeth softly\nthrough the night. Immodest, however, is the night-watchman; immodestly\nhe carrieth his horn.\n\nNo small art is it to sleep: it is necessary for that purpose to keep\nawake all day.\n\nTen times a day must thou overcome thyself: that causeth wholesome\nweariness, and is poppy to the soul.\n\nTen times must thou reconcile again with thyself; for overcoming is\nbitterness, and badly sleep the unreconciled.\n\nTen truths must thou find during the day; otherwise wilt thou seek truth\nduring the night, and thy soul will have been hungry.\n\nTen times must thou laugh during the day, and be cheerful; otherwise thy\nstomach, the father of affliction, will disturb thee in the night.\n\nFew people know it, but one must have all the virtues in order to sleep\nwell. Shall I bear false witness? Shall I commit adultery?\n\nShall I covet my neighbour\u2019s maidservant? All that would ill accord with\ngood sleep.\n\nAnd even if one have all the virtues, there is still one thing needful:\nto send the virtues themselves to sleep at the right time.\n\nThat they may not quarrel with one another, the good females! And about\nthee, thou unhappy one!\n\nPeace with God and thy neighbour: so desireth good sleep. And peace also\nwith thy neighbour\u2019s devil! Otherwise it will haunt thee in the night.\n\nHonour to the government, and obedience, and also to the crooked\ngovernment! So desireth good sleep. How can I help it, if power like to\nwalk on crooked legs?\n\nHe who leadeth his sheep to the greenest pasture, shall always be for me\nthe best shepherd: so doth it accord with good sleep.\n\nMany honours I want not, nor great treasures: they excite the spleen.\nBut it is bad sleeping without a good name and a little treasure.\n\nA small company is more welcome to me than a bad one: but they must come\nand go at the right time. So doth it accord with good sleep.\n\nWell, also, do the poor in spirit please me: they promote sleep. Blessed\nare they, especially if one always give in to them.\n\nThus passeth the day unto the virtuous. When night cometh, then take I\ngood care not to summon sleep. It disliketh to be summoned\u2014sleep, the\nlord of the virtues!\n\nBut I think of what I have done and thought during the day. Thus\nruminating, patient as a cow, I ask myself: What were thy ten\novercomings?\n\nAnd what were the ten reconciliations, and the ten truths, and the ten\nlaughters with which my heart enjoyed itself?\n\nThus pondering, and cradled by forty thoughts, it overtaketh me all at\nonce\u2014sleep, the unsummoned, the lord of the virtues.\n\nSleep tappeth on mine eye, and it turneth heavy. Sleep toucheth my\nmouth, and it remaineth open.\n\nVerily, on soft soles doth it come to me, the dearest of thieves, and\nstealeth from me my thoughts: stupid do I then stand, like this academic\nchair.\n\nBut not much longer do I then stand: I already lie.\u2014\n\nWhen Zarathustra heard the wise man thus speak, he laughed in his heart:\nfor thereby had a light dawned upon him. And thus spake he to his heart:\n\nA fool seemeth this wise man with his forty thoughts: but I believe he\nknoweth well how to sleep.\n\nHappy even is he who liveth near this wise man! Such sleep is\ncontagious\u2014even through a thick wall it is contagious.\n\nA magic resideth even in his academic chair. And not in vain did the\nyouths sit before the preacher of virtue.\n\nHis wisdom is to keep awake in order to sleep well. And verily, if\nlife had no sense, and had I to choose nonsense, this would be the\ndesirablest nonsense for me also.\n\nNow know I well what people sought formerly above all else when they\nsought teachers of virtue. Good sleep they sought for themselves, and\npoppy-head virtues to promote it!\n\nTo all those belauded sages of the academic chairs, wisdom was sleep\nwithout dreams: they knew no higher significance of life.\n\nEven at present, to be sure, there are some like this preacher of\nvirtue, and not always so honourable: but their time is past. And not\nmuch longer do they stand: there they already lie.\n\nBlessed are those drowsy ones: for they shall soon nod to sleep.\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nIII. BACKWORLDSMEN.\n\n\nOnce on a time, Zarathustra also cast his fancy beyond man, like all\nbackworldsmen. The work of a suffering and tortured God, did the world\nthen seem to me.\n\nThe dream\u2014and diction\u2014of a God, did the world then seem to me;\ncoloured vapours before the eyes of a divinely dissatisfied one.\n\nGood and evil, and joy and woe, and I and thou\u2014coloured vapours did\nthey seem to me before creative eyes. The creator wished to look away\nfrom himself,\u2014thereupon he created the world.\n\nIntoxicating joy is it for the sufferer to look away from his suffering\nand forget himself. Intoxicating joy and self-forgetting, did the world\nonce seem to me.\n\nThis world, the eternally imperfect, an eternal contradiction\u2019s image\nand imperfect image\u2014an intoxicating joy to its imperfect creator:\u2014thus\ndid the world once seem to me.\n\nThus, once on a time, did I also cast my fancy beyond man, like all\nbackworldsmen. Beyond man, forsooth?\n\nAh, ye brethren, that God whom I created was human work and human\nmadness, like all the Gods!\n\nA man was he, and only a poor fragment of a man and ego. Out of mine own\nashes and glow it came unto me, that phantom. And verily, it came not\nunto me from the beyond!\n\nWhat happened, my brethren? I surpassed myself, the suffering one; I\ncarried mine own ashes to the mountain; a brighter flame I contrived for\nmyself. And lo! Thereupon the phantom WITHDREW from me!\n\nTo me the convalescent would it now be suffering and torment to believe\nin such phantoms: suffering would it now be to me, and humiliation. Thus\nspeak I to backworldsmen.\n\nSuffering was it, and impotence\u2014that created all backworlds; and\nthe short madness of happiness, which only the greatest sufferer\nexperienceth.\n\nWeariness, which seeketh to get to the ultimate with one leap, with\na death-leap; a poor ignorant weariness, unwilling even to will any\nlonger: that created all Gods and backworlds.\n\nBelieve me, my brethren! It was the body which despaired of the body\u2014it\ngroped with the fingers of the infatuated spirit at the ultimate walls.\n\nBelieve me, my brethren! It was the body which despaired of the\nearth\u2014it heard the bowels of existence speaking unto it.\n\nAnd then it sought to get through the ultimate walls with its head\u2014and\nnot with its head only\u2014into \u201cthe other world.\u201d\n\nBut that \u201cother world\u201d is well concealed from man, that dehumanised,\ninhuman world, which is a celestial naught; and the bowels of existence\ndo not speak unto man, except as man.\n\nVerily, it is difficult to prove all being, and hard to make it speak.\nTell me, ye brethren, is not the strangest of all things best proved?\n\nYea, this ego, with its contradiction and perplexity, speaketh most\nuprightly of its being\u2014this creating, willing, evaluing ego, which is\nthe measure and value of things.\n\nAnd this most upright existence, the ego\u2014it speaketh of the body, and\nstill implieth the body, even when it museth and raveth and fluttereth\nwith broken wings.\n\nAlways more uprightly learneth it to speak, the ego; and the more it\nlearneth, the more doth it find titles and honours for the body and the\nearth.\n\nA new pride taught me mine ego, and that teach I unto men: no longer\nto thrust one\u2019s head into the sand of celestial things, but to carry it\nfreely, a terrestrial head, which giveth meaning to the earth!\n\nA new will teach I unto men: to choose that path which man hath followed\nblindly, and to approve of it\u2014and no longer to slink aside from it,\nlike the sick and perishing!\n\nThe sick and perishing\u2014it was they who despised the body and the earth,\nand invented the heavenly world, and the redeeming blood-drops; but even\nthose sweet and sad poisons they borrowed from the body and the earth!\n\nFrom their misery they sought escape, and the stars were too remote for\nthem. Then they sighed: \u201cO that there were heavenly paths by which to\nsteal into another existence and into happiness!\u201d Then they contrived\nfor themselves their by-paths and bloody draughts!\n\nBeyond the sphere of their body and this earth they now fancied\nthemselves transported, these ungrateful ones. But to what did they owe\nthe convulsion and rapture of their transport? To their body and this\nearth.\n\nGentle is Zarathustra to the sickly. Verily, he is not indignant\nat their modes of consolation and ingratitude. May they become\nconvalescents and overcomers, and create higher bodies for themselves!\n\nNeither is Zarathustra indignant at a convalescent who looketh tenderly\non his delusions, and at midnight stealeth round the grave of his God;\nbut sickness and a sick frame remain even in his tears.\n\nMany sickly ones have there always been among those who muse, and\nlanguish for God; violently they hate the discerning ones, and the\nlatest of virtues, which is uprightness.\n\nBackward they always gaze toward dark ages: then, indeed, were delusion\nand faith something different. Raving of the reason was likeness to God,\nand doubt was sin.\n\nToo well do I know those godlike ones: they insist on being believed in,\nand that doubt is sin. Too well, also, do I know what they themselves\nmost believe in.\n\nVerily, not in backworlds and redeeming blood-drops: but in the body\ndo they also believe most; and their own body is for them the\nthing-in-itself.\n\nBut it is a sickly thing to them, and gladly would they get out of their\nskin. Therefore hearken they to the preachers of death, and themselves\npreach backworlds.\n\nHearken rather, my brethren, to the voice of the healthy body; it is a\nmore upright and pure voice.\n\nMore uprightly and purely speaketh the healthy body, perfect and\nsquare-built; and it speaketh of the meaning of the earth.\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nIV. THE DESPISERS OF THE BODY.\n\n\nTo the despisers of the body will I speak my word. I wish them neither\nto learn afresh, nor teach anew, but only to bid farewell to their own\nbodies,\u2014and thus be dumb.\n\n\u201cBody am I, and soul\u201d\u2014so saith the child. And why should one not speak\nlike children?\n\nBut the awakened one, the knowing one, saith: \u201cBody am I entirely, and\nnothing more; and soul is only the name of something in the body.\u201d\n\nThe body is a big sagacity, a plurality with one sense, a war and a\npeace, a flock and a shepherd.\n\nAn instrument of thy body is also thy little sagacity, my brother, which\nthou callest \u201cspirit\u201d\u2014a little instrument and plaything of thy big\nsagacity.\n\n\u201cEgo,\u201d sayest thou, and art proud of that word. But the greater\nthing\u2014in which thou art unwilling to believe\u2014is thy body with its big\nsagacity; it saith not \u201cego,\u201d but doeth it.\n\nWhat the sense feeleth, what the spirit discerneth, hath never its end\nin itself. But sense and spirit would fain persuade thee that they are\nthe end of all things: so vain are they.\n\nInstruments and playthings are sense and spirit: behind them there\nis still the Self. The Self seeketh with the eyes of the senses, it\nhearkeneth also with the ears of the spirit.\n\nEver hearkeneth the Self, and seeketh; it compareth, mastereth,\nconquereth, and destroyeth. It ruleth, and is also the ego\u2019s ruler.\n\nBehind thy thoughts and feelings, my brother, there is a mighty lord,\nan unknown sage\u2014it is called Self; it dwelleth in thy body, it is thy\nbody.\n\nThere is more sagacity in thy body than in thy best wisdom. And who then\nknoweth why thy body requireth just thy best wisdom?\n\nThy Self laugheth at thine ego, and its proud prancings. \u201cWhat are these\nprancings and flights of thought unto me?\u201d it saith to itself. \u201cA by-way\nto my purpose. I am the leading-string of the ego, and the prompter of\nits notions.\u201d\n\nThe Self saith unto the ego: \u201cFeel pain!\u201d And thereupon it suffereth,\nand thinketh how it may put an end thereto\u2014and for that very purpose it\nIS MEANT to think.\n\nThe Self saith unto the ego: \u201cFeel pleasure!\u201d Thereupon it rejoiceth,\nand thinketh how it may ofttimes rejoice\u2014and for that very purpose it\nIS MEANT to think.\n\nTo the despisers of the body will I speak a word. That they despise is\ncaused by their esteem. What is it that created esteeming and despising\nand worth and will?\n\nThe creating Self created for itself esteeming and despising, it created\nfor itself joy and woe. The creating body created for itself spirit, as\na hand to its will.\n\nEven in your folly and despising ye each serve your Self, ye despisers\nof the body. I tell you, your very Self wanteth to die, and turneth away\nfrom life.\n\nNo longer can your Self do that which it desireth most:\u2014create beyond\nitself. That is what it desireth most; that is all its fervour.\n\nBut it is now too late to do so:\u2014so your Self wisheth to succumb, ye\ndespisers of the body.\n\nTo succumb\u2014so wisheth your Self; and therefore have ye become despisers\nof the body. For ye can no longer create beyond yourselves.\n\nAnd therefore are ye now angry with life and with the earth. And\nunconscious envy is in the sidelong look of your contempt.\n\nI go not your way, ye despisers of the body! Ye are no bridges for me to\nthe Superman!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nV. JOYS AND PASSIONS.\n\n\nMy brother, when thou hast a virtue, and it is thine own virtue, thou\nhast it in common with no one.\n\nTo be sure, thou wouldst call it by name and caress it; thou wouldst\npull its ears and amuse thyself with it.\n\nAnd lo! Then hast thou its name in common with the people, and hast\nbecome one of the people and the herd with thy virtue!\n\nBetter for thee to say: \u201cIneffable is it, and nameless, that which is\npain and sweetness to my soul, and also the hunger of my bowels.\u201d\n\nLet thy virtue be too high for the familiarity of names, and if thou\nmust speak of it, be not ashamed to stammer about it.\n\nThus speak and stammer: \u201cThat is MY good, that do I love, thus doth it\nplease me entirely, thus only do _I_ desire the good.\n\nNot as the law of a God do I desire it, not as a human law or a human\nneed do I desire it; it is not to be a guide-post for me to superearths\nand paradises.\n\nAn earthly virtue is it which I love: little prudence is therein, and\nthe least everyday wisdom.\n\nBut that bird built its nest beside me: therefore, I love and cherish\nit\u2014now sitteth it beside me on its golden eggs.\u201d\n\nThus shouldst thou stammer, and praise thy virtue.\n\nOnce hadst thou passions and calledst them evil. But now hast thou only\nthy virtues: they grew out of thy passions.\n\nThou implantedst thy highest aim into the heart of those passions: then\nbecame they thy virtues and joys.\n\nAnd though thou wert of the race of the hot-tempered, or of the\nvoluptuous, or of the fanatical, or the vindictive;\n\nAll thy passions in the end became virtues, and all thy devils angels.\n\nOnce hadst thou wild dogs in thy cellar: but they changed at last into\nbirds and charming songstresses.\n\nOut of thy poisons brewedst thou balsam for thyself; thy cow,\naffliction, milkedst thou\u2014now drinketh thou the sweet milk of her\nudder.\n\nAnd nothing evil groweth in thee any longer, unless it be the evil that\ngroweth out of the conflict of thy virtues.\n\nMy brother, if thou be fortunate, then wilt thou have one virtue and no\nmore: thus goest thou easier over the bridge.\n\nIllustrious is it to have many virtues, but a hard lot; and many a one\nhath gone into the wilderness and killed himself, because he was weary\nof being the battle and battlefield of virtues.\n\nMy brother, are war and battle evil? Necessary, however, is the evil;\nnecessary are the envy and the distrust and the back-biting among the\nvirtues.\n\nLo! how each of thy virtues is covetous of the highest place; it wanteth\nthy whole spirit to be ITS herald, it wanteth thy whole power, in wrath,\nhatred, and love.\n\nJealous is every virtue of the others, and a dreadful thing is jealousy.\nEven virtues may succumb by jealousy.\n\nHe whom the flame of jealousy encompasseth, turneth at last, like the\nscorpion, the poisoned sting against himself.\n\nAh! my brother, hast thou never seen a virtue backbite and stab itself?\n\nMan is something that hath to be surpassed: and therefore shalt thou\nlove thy virtues,\u2014for thou wilt succumb by them.\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nVI. THE PALE CRIMINAL.\n\n\nYe do not mean to slay, ye judges and sacrificers, until the animal hath\nbowed its head? Lo! the pale criminal hath bowed his head: out of his\neye speaketh the great contempt.\n\n\u201cMine ego is something which is to be surpassed: mine ego is to me the\ngreat contempt of man\u201d: so speaketh it out of that eye.\n\nWhen he judged himself\u2014that was his supreme moment; let not the exalted\none relapse again into his low estate!\n\nThere is no salvation for him who thus suffereth from himself, unless it\nbe speedy death.\n\nYour slaying, ye judges, shall be pity, and not revenge; and in that ye\nslay, see to it that ye yourselves justify life!\n\nIt is not enough that ye should reconcile with him whom ye slay. Let\nyour sorrow be love to the Superman: thus will ye justify your own\nsurvival!\n\n\u201cEnemy\u201d shall ye say but not \u201cvillain,\u201d \u201cinvalid\u201d shall ye say but not\n\u201cwretch,\u201d \u201cfool\u201d shall ye say but not \u201csinner.\u201d\n\nAnd thou, red judge, if thou would say audibly all thou hast done in\nthought, then would every one cry: \u201cAway with the nastiness and the\nvirulent reptile!\u201d\n\nBut one thing is the thought, another thing is the deed, and another\nthing is the idea of the deed. The wheel of causality doth not roll\nbetween them.\n\nAn idea made this pale man pale. Adequate was he for his deed when he\ndid it, but the idea of it, he could not endure when it was done.\n\nEvermore did he now see himself as the doer of one deed. Madness, I call\nthis: the exception reversed itself to the rule in him.\n\nThe streak of chalk bewitcheth the hen; the stroke he struck bewitched\nhis weak reason. Madness AFTER the deed, I call this.\n\nHearken, ye judges! There is another madness besides, and it is BEFORE\nthe deed. Ah! ye have not gone deep enough into this soul!\n\nThus speaketh the red judge: \u201cWhy did this criminal commit murder? He\nmeant to rob.\u201d I tell you, however, that his soul wanted blood, not\nbooty: he thirsted for the happiness of the knife!\n\nBut his weak reason understood not this madness, and it persuaded him.\n\u201cWhat matter about blood!\u201d it said; \u201cwishest thou not, at least, to make\nbooty thereby? Or take revenge?\u201d\n\nAnd he hearkened unto his weak reason: like lead lay its words upon\nhim\u2014thereupon he robbed when he murdered. He did not mean to be\nashamed of his madness.\n\nAnd now once more lieth the lead of his guilt upon him, and once more is\nhis weak reason so benumbed, so paralysed, and so dull.\n\nCould he only shake his head, then would his burden roll off; but who\nshaketh that head?\n\nWhat is this man? A mass of diseases that reach out into the world\nthrough the spirit; there they want to get their prey.\n\nWhat is this man? A coil of wild serpents that are seldom at peace among\nthemselves\u2014so they go forth apart and seek prey in the world.\n\nLook at that poor body! What it suffered and craved, the poor soul\ninterpreted to itself\u2014it interpreted it as murderous desire, and\neagerness for the happiness of the knife.\n\nHim who now turneth sick, the evil overtaketh which is now the evil: he\nseeketh to cause pain with that which causeth him pain. But there have\nbeen other ages, and another evil and good.\n\nOnce was doubt evil, and the will to Self. Then the invalid became a\nheretic or sorcerer; as heretic or sorcerer he suffered, and sought to\ncause suffering.\n\nBut this will not enter your ears; it hurteth your good people, ye tell\nme. But what doth it matter to me about your good people!\n\nMany things in your good people cause me disgust, and verily, not their\nevil. I would that they had a madness by which they succumbed, like this\npale criminal!\n\nVerily, I would that their madness were called truth, or fidelity,\nor justice: but they have their virtue in order to live long, and in\nwretched self-complacency.\n\nI am a railing alongside the torrent; whoever is able to grasp me may\ngrasp me! Your crutch, however, I am not.\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nVII. READING AND WRITING.\n\n\nOf all that is written, I love only what a person hath written with his\nblood. Write with blood, and thou wilt find that blood is spirit.\n\nIt is no easy task to understand unfamiliar blood; I hate the reading\nidlers.\n\nHe who knoweth the reader, doeth nothing more for the reader. Another\ncentury of readers\u2014and spirit itself will stink.\n\nEvery one being allowed to learn to read, ruineth in the long run not\nonly writing but also thinking.\n\nOnce spirit was God, then it became man, and now it even becometh\npopulace.\n\nHe that writeth in blood and proverbs doth not want to be read, but\nlearnt by heart.\n\nIn the mountains the shortest way is from peak to peak, but for that\nroute thou must have long legs. Proverbs should be peaks, and those\nspoken to should be big and tall.\n\nThe atmosphere rare and pure, danger near and the spirit full of a\njoyful wickedness: thus are things well matched.\n\nI want to have goblins about me, for I am courageous. The courage which\nscareth away ghosts, createth for itself goblins\u2014it wanteth to laugh.\n\nI no longer feel in common with you; the very cloud which I see\nbeneath me, the blackness and heaviness at which I laugh\u2014that is your\nthunder-cloud.\n\nYe look aloft when ye long for exaltation; and I look downward because I\nam exalted.\n\nWho among you can at the same time laugh and be exalted?\n\nHe who climbeth on the highest mountains, laugheth at all tragic plays\nand tragic realities.\n\nCourageous, unconcerned, scornful, coercive\u2014so wisdom wisheth us; she\nis a woman, and ever loveth only a warrior.\n\nYe tell me, \u201cLife is hard to bear.\u201d But for what purpose should ye have\nyour pride in the morning and your resignation in the evening?\n\nLife is hard to bear: but do not affect to be so delicate! We are all of\nus fine sumpter asses and assesses.\n\nWhat have we in common with the rose-bud, which trembleth because a drop\nof dew hath formed upon it?\n\nIt is true we love life; not because we are wont to live, but because we\nare wont to love.\n\nThere is always some madness in love. But there is always, also, some\nmethod in madness.\n\nAnd to me also, who appreciate life, the butterflies, and soap-bubbles,\nand whatever is like them amongst us, seem most to enjoy happiness.\n\nTo see these light, foolish, pretty, lively little sprites flit\nabout\u2014that moveth Zarathustra to tears and songs.\n\nI should only believe in a God that would know how to dance.\n\nAnd when I saw my devil, I found him serious, thorough, profound,\nsolemn: he was the spirit of gravity\u2014through him all things fall.\n\nNot by wrath, but by laughter, do we slay. Come, let us slay the spirit\nof gravity!\n\nI learned to walk; since then have I let myself run. I learned to fly;\nsince then I do not need pushing in order to move from a spot.\n\nNow am I light, now do I fly; now do I see myself under myself. Now\nthere danceth a God in me.\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nVIII. THE TREE ON THE HILL.\n\n\nZarathustra\u2019s eye had perceived that a certain youth avoided him. And as\nhe walked alone one evening over the hills surrounding the town called\n\u201cThe Pied Cow,\u201d behold, there found he the youth sitting leaning against\na tree, and gazing with wearied look into the valley. Zarathustra\nthereupon laid hold of the tree beside which the youth sat, and spake\nthus:\n\n\u201cIf I wished to shake this tree with my hands, I should not be able to\ndo so.\n\nBut the wind, which we see not, troubleth and bendeth it as it listeth.\nWe are sorest bent and troubled by invisible hands.\u201d\n\nThereupon the youth arose disconcerted, and said: \u201cI hear Zarathustra,\nand just now was I thinking of him!\u201d Zarathustra answered:\n\n\u201cWhy art thou frightened on that account?\u2014But it is the same with man\nas with the tree.\n\nThe more he seeketh to rise into the height and light, the more\nvigorously do his roots struggle earthward, downward, into the dark and\ndeep\u2014into the evil.\u201d\n\n\u201cYea, into the evil!\u201d cried the youth. \u201cHow is it possible that thou\nhast discovered my soul?\u201d\n\nZarathustra smiled, and said: \u201cMany a soul one will never discover,\nunless one first invent it.\u201d\n\n\u201cYea, into the evil!\u201d cried the youth once more.\n\n\u201cThou saidst the truth, Zarathustra. I trust myself no longer since I\nsought to rise into the height, and nobody trusteth me any longer; how\ndoth that happen?\n\nI change too quickly: my to-day refuteth my yesterday. I often overleap\nthe steps when I clamber; for so doing, none of the steps pardons me.\n\nWhen aloft, I find myself always alone. No one speaketh unto me; the\nfrost of solitude maketh me tremble. What do I seek on the height?\n\nMy contempt and my longing increase together; the higher I clamber, the\nmore do I despise him who clambereth. What doth he seek on the height?\n\nHow ashamed I am of my clambering and stumbling! How I mock at my\nviolent panting! How I hate him who flieth! How tired I am on the\nheight!\u201d\n\nHere the youth was silent. And Zarathustra contemplated the tree beside\nwhich they stood, and spake thus:\n\n\u201cThis tree standeth lonely here on the hills; it hath grown up high\nabove man and beast.\n\nAnd if it wanted to speak, it would have none who could understand it:\nso high hath it grown.\n\nNow it waiteth and waiteth,\u2014for what doth it wait? It dwelleth too\nclose to the seat of the clouds; it waiteth perhaps for the first\nlightning?\u201d\n\nWhen Zarathustra had said this, the youth called out with violent\ngestures: \u201cYea, Zarathustra, thou speakest the truth. My destruction\nI longed for, when I desired to be on the height, and thou art the\nlightning for which I waited! Lo! what have I been since thou hast\nappeared amongst us? It is mine envy of thee that hath destroyed\nme!\u201d\u2014Thus spake the youth, and wept bitterly. Zarathustra, however, put\nhis arm about him, and led the youth away with him.\n\nAnd when they had walked a while together, Zarathustra began to speak\nthus:\n\nIt rendeth my heart. Better than thy words express it, thine eyes tell\nme all thy danger.\n\nAs yet thou art not free; thou still SEEKEST freedom. Too unslept hath\nthy seeking made thee, and too wakeful.\n\nOn the open height wouldst thou be; for the stars thirsteth thy soul.\nBut thy bad impulses also thirst for freedom.\n\nThy wild dogs want liberty; they bark for joy in their cellar when thy\nspirit endeavoureth to open all prison doors.\n\nStill art thou a prisoner\u2014it seemeth to me\u2014who deviseth liberty\nfor himself: ah! sharp becometh the soul of such prisoners, but also\ndeceitful and wicked.\n\nTo purify himself, is still necessary for the freedman of the spirit.\nMuch of the prison and the mould still remaineth in him: pure hath his\neye still to become.\n\nYea, I know thy danger. But by my love and hope I conjure thee: cast not\nthy love and hope away!\n\nNoble thou feelest thyself still, and noble others also feel thee still,\nthough they bear thee a grudge and cast evil looks. Know this, that to\neverybody a noble one standeth in the way.\n\nAlso to the good, a noble one standeth in the way: and even when they\ncall him a good man, they want thereby to put him aside.\n\nThe new, would the noble man create, and a new virtue. The old, wanteth\nthe good man, and that the old should be conserved.\n\nBut it is not the danger of the noble man to turn a good man, but lest\nhe should become a blusterer, a scoffer, or a destroyer.\n\nAh! I have known noble ones who lost their highest hope. And then they\ndisparaged all high hopes.\n\nThen lived they shamelessly in temporary pleasures, and beyond the day\nhad hardly an aim.\n\n\u201cSpirit is also voluptuousness,\u201d\u2014said they. Then broke the wings of\ntheir spirit; and now it creepeth about, and defileth where it gnaweth.\n\nOnce they thought of becoming heroes; but sensualists are they now. A\ntrouble and a terror is the hero to them.\n\nBut by my love and hope I conjure thee: cast not away the hero in thy\nsoul! Maintain holy thy highest hope!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nIX. THE PREACHERS OF DEATH.\n\n\nThere are preachers of death: and the earth is full of those to whom\ndesistance from life must be preached.\n\nFull is the earth of the superfluous; marred is life by the\nmany-too-many. May they be decoyed out of this life by the \u201clife\neternal\u201d!\n\n\u201cThe yellow ones\u201d: so are called the preachers of death, or \u201cthe black\nones.\u201d But I will show them unto you in other colours besides.\n\nThere are the terrible ones who carry about in themselves the beast of\nprey, and have no choice except lusts or self-laceration. And even their\nlusts are self-laceration.\n\nThey have not yet become men, those terrible ones: may they preach\ndesistance from life, and pass away themselves!\n\nThere are the spiritually consumptive ones: hardly are they born when\nthey begin to die, and long for doctrines of lassitude and renunciation.\n\nThey would fain be dead, and we should approve of their wish! Let\nus beware of awakening those dead ones, and of damaging those living\ncoffins!\n\nThey meet an invalid, or an old man, or a corpse\u2014and immediately they\nsay: \u201cLife is refuted!\u201d\n\nBut they only are refuted, and their eye, which seeth only one aspect of\nexistence.\n\nShrouded in thick melancholy, and eager for the little casualties that\nbring death: thus do they wait, and clench their teeth.\n\nOr else, they grasp at sweetmeats, and mock at their childishness\nthereby: they cling to their straw of life, and mock at their still\nclinging to it.\n\nTheir wisdom speaketh thus: \u201cA fool, he who remaineth alive; but so far\nare we fools! And that is the foolishest thing in life!\u201d\n\n\u201cLife is only suffering\u201d: so say others, and lie not. Then see to it\nthat YE cease! See to it that the life ceaseth which is only suffering!\n\nAnd let this be the teaching of your virtue: \u201cThou shalt slay thyself!\nThou shalt steal away from thyself!\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cLust is sin,\u201d\u2014so say some who preach death\u2014\u201clet us go apart and beget\nno children!\u201d\n\n\u201cGiving birth is troublesome,\u201d\u2014say others\u2014\u201cwhy still give birth? One\nbeareth only the unfortunate!\u201d And they also are preachers of death.\n\n\u201cPity is necessary,\u201d\u2014so saith a third party. \u201cTake what I have! Take\nwhat I am! So much less doth life bind me!\u201d\n\nWere they consistently pitiful, then would they make their neighbours\nsick of life. To be wicked\u2014that would be their true goodness.\n\nBut they want to be rid of life; what care they if they bind others\nstill faster with their chains and gifts!\u2014\n\nAnd ye also, to whom life is rough labour and disquiet, are ye not very\ntired of life? Are ye not very ripe for the sermon of death?\n\nAll ye to whom rough labour is dear, and the rapid, new, and strange\u2014ye\nput up with yourselves badly; your diligence is flight, and the will to\nself-forgetfulness.\n\nIf ye believed more in life, then would ye devote yourselves less to the\nmomentary. But for waiting, ye have not enough of capacity in you\u2014nor\neven for idling!\n\nEverywhere resoundeth the voices of those who preach death; and the\nearth is full of those to whom death hath to be preached.\n\nOr \u201clife eternal\u201d; it is all the same to me\u2014if only they pass away\nquickly!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nX. WAR AND WARRIORS.\n\n\nBy our best enemies we do not want to be spared, nor by those either\nwhom we love from the very heart. So let me tell you the truth!\n\nMy brethren in war! I love you from the very heart. I am, and was ever,\nyour counterpart. And I am also your best enemy. So let me tell you the\ntruth!\n\nI know the hatred and envy of your hearts. Ye are not great enough not\nto know of hatred and envy. Then be great enough not to be ashamed of\nthem!\n\nAnd if ye cannot be saints of knowledge, then, I pray you, be at least\nits warriors. They are the companions and forerunners of such saintship.\n\nI see many soldiers; could I but see many warriors! \u201cUniform\u201d one\ncalleth what they wear; may it not be uniform what they therewith hide!\n\nYe shall be those whose eyes ever seek for an enemy\u2014for YOUR enemy. And\nwith some of you there is hatred at first sight.\n\nYour enemy shall ye seek; your war shall ye wage, and for the sake of\nyour thoughts! And if your thoughts succumb, your uprightness shall\nstill shout triumph thereby!\n\nYe shall love peace as a means to new wars\u2014and the short peace more\nthan the long.\n\nYou I advise not to work, but to fight. You I advise not to peace, but\nto victory. Let your work be a fight, let your peace be a victory!\n\nOne can only be silent and sit peacefully when one hath arrow and bow;\notherwise one prateth and quarrelleth. Let your peace be a victory!\n\nYe say it is the good cause which halloweth even war? I say unto you: it\nis the good war which halloweth every cause.\n\nWar and courage have done more great things than charity. Not your\nsympathy, but your bravery hath hitherto saved the victims.\n\n\u201cWhat is good?\u201d ye ask. To be brave is good. Let the little girls say:\n\u201cTo be good is what is pretty, and at the same time touching.\u201d\n\nThey call you heartless: but your heart is true, and I love the\nbashfulness of your good-will. Ye are ashamed of your flow, and others\nare ashamed of their ebb.\n\nYe are ugly? Well then, my brethren, take the sublime about you, the\nmantle of the ugly!\n\nAnd when your soul becometh great, then doth it become haughty, and in\nyour sublimity there is wickedness. I know you.\n\nIn wickedness the haughty man and the weakling meet. But they\nmisunderstand one another. I know you.\n\nYe shall only have enemies to be hated, but not enemies to be despised.\nYe must be proud of your enemies; then, the successes of your enemies\nare also your successes.\n\nResistance\u2014that is the distinction of the slave. Let your distinction\nbe obedience. Let your commanding itself be obeying!\n\nTo the good warrior soundeth \u201cthou shalt\u201d pleasanter than \u201cI will.\u201d And\nall that is dear unto you, ye shall first have it commanded unto you.\n\nLet your love to life be love to your highest hope; and let your highest\nhope be the highest thought of life!\n\nYour highest thought, however, ye shall have it commanded unto you by\nme\u2014and it is this: man is something that is to be surpassed.\n\nSo live your life of obedience and of war! What matter about long life!\nWhat warrior wisheth to be spared!\n\nI spare you not, I love you from my very heart, my brethren in war!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXI. THE NEW IDOL.\n\n\nSomewhere there are still peoples and herds, but not with us, my\nbrethren: here there are states.\n\nA state? What is that? Well! open now your ears unto me, for now will I\nsay unto you my word concerning the death of peoples.\n\nA state, is called the coldest of all cold monsters. Coldly lieth\nit also; and this lie creepeth from its mouth: \u201cI, the state, am the\npeople.\u201d\n\nIt is a lie! Creators were they who created peoples, and hung a faith\nand a love over them: thus they served life.\n\nDestroyers, are they who lay snares for many, and call it the state:\nthey hang a sword and a hundred cravings over them.\n\nWhere there is still a people, there the state is not understood, but\nhated as the evil eye, and as sin against laws and customs.\n\nThis sign I give unto you: every people speaketh its language of good\nand evil: this its neighbour understandeth not. Its language hath it\ndevised for itself in laws and customs.\n\nBut the state lieth in all languages of good and evil; and whatever it\nsaith it lieth; and whatever it hath it hath stolen.\n\nFalse is everything in it; with stolen teeth it biteth, the biting one.\nFalse are even its bowels.\n\nConfusion of language of good and evil; this sign I give unto you as\nthe sign of the state. Verily, the will to death, indicateth this sign!\nVerily, it beckoneth unto the preachers of death!\n\nMany too many are born: for the superfluous ones was the state devised!\n\nSee just how it enticeth them to it, the many-too-many! How it\nswalloweth and cheweth and recheweth them!\n\n\u201cOn earth there is nothing greater than I: it is I who am the regulating\nfinger of God\u201d\u2014thus roareth the monster. And not only the long-eared\nand short-sighted fall upon their knees!\n\nAh! even in your ears, ye great souls, it whispereth its gloomy lies!\nAh! it findeth out the rich hearts which willingly lavish themselves!\n\nYea, it findeth you out too, ye conquerors of the old God! Weary ye\nbecame of the conflict, and now your weariness serveth the new idol!\n\nHeroes and honourable ones, it would fain set up around it, the new\nidol! Gladly it basketh in the sunshine of good consciences,\u2014the cold\nmonster!\n\nEverything will it give YOU, if YE worship it, the new idol: thus it\npurchaseth the lustre of your virtue, and the glance of your proud eyes.\n\nIt seeketh to allure by means of you, the many-too-many! Yea, a hellish\nartifice hath here been devised, a death-horse jingling with the\ntrappings of divine honours!\n\nYea, a dying for many hath here been devised, which glorifieth itself as\nlife: verily, a hearty service unto all preachers of death!\n\nThe state, I call it, where all are poison-drinkers, the good and the\nbad: the state, where all lose themselves, the good and the bad: the\nstate, where the slow suicide of all\u2014is called \u201clife.\u201d\n\nJust see these superfluous ones! They steal the works of the inventors\nand the treasures of the wise. Culture, they call their theft\u2014and\neverything becometh sickness and trouble unto them!\n\nJust see these superfluous ones! Sick are they always; they vomit their\nbile and call it a newspaper. They devour one another, and cannot even\ndigest themselves.\n\nJust see these superfluous ones! Wealth they acquire and become poorer\nthereby. Power they seek for, and above all, the lever of power, much\nmoney\u2014these impotent ones!\n\nSee them clamber, these nimble apes! They clamber over one another, and\nthus scuffle into the mud and the abyss.\n\nTowards the throne they all strive: it is their madness\u2014as if happiness\nsat on the throne! Ofttimes sitteth filth on the throne.\u2014and ofttimes\nalso the throne on filth.\n\nMadmen they all seem to me, and clambering apes, and too eager. Badly\nsmelleth their idol to me, the cold monster: badly they all smell to me,\nthese idolaters.\n\nMy brethren, will ye suffocate in the fumes of their maws and appetites!\nBetter break the windows and jump into the open air!\n\nDo go out of the way of the bad odour! Withdraw from the idolatry of the\nsuperfluous!\n\nDo go out of the way of the bad odour! Withdraw from the steam of these\nhuman sacrifices!\n\nOpen still remaineth the earth for great souls. Empty are still many\nsites for lone ones and twain ones, around which floateth the odour of\ntranquil seas.\n\nOpen still remaineth a free life for great souls. Verily, he who\npossesseth little is so much the less possessed: blessed be moderate\npoverty!\n\nThere, where the state ceaseth\u2014there only commenceth the man who is not\nsuperfluous: there commenceth the song of the necessary ones, the single\nand irreplaceable melody.\n\nThere, where the state CEASETH\u2014pray look thither, my brethren! Do ye\nnot see it, the rainbow and the bridges of the Superman?\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXII. THE FLIES IN THE MARKET-PLACE.\n\n\nFlee, my friend, into thy solitude! I see thee deafened with the noise\nof the great men, and stung all over with the stings of the little ones.\n\nAdmirably do forest and rock know how to be silent with thee. Resemble\nagain the tree which thou lovest, the broad-branched one\u2014silently and\nattentively it o\u2019erhangeth the sea.\n\nWhere solitude endeth, there beginneth the market-place; and where the\nmarket-place beginneth, there beginneth also the noise of the great\nactors, and the buzzing of the poison-flies.\n\nIn the world even the best things are worthless without those who\nrepresent them: those representers, the people call great men.\n\nLittle do the people understand what is great\u2014that is to say, the\ncreating agency. But they have a taste for all representers and actors\nof great things.\n\nAround the devisers of new values revolveth the world:\u2014invisibly it\nrevolveth. But around the actors revolve the people and the glory: such\nis the course of things.\n\nSpirit, hath the actor, but little conscience of the spirit. He\nbelieveth always in that wherewith he maketh believe most strongly\u2014in\nHIMSELF!\n\nTo-morrow he hath a new belief, and the day after, one still newer. Sharp\nperceptions hath he, like the people, and changeable humours.\n\nTo upset\u2014that meaneth with him to prove. To drive mad\u2014that meaneth\nwith him to convince. And blood is counted by him as the best of all\narguments.\n\nA truth which only glideth into fine ears, he calleth falsehood and\ntrumpery. Verily, he believeth only in Gods that make a great noise in\nthe world!\n\nFull of clattering buffoons is the market-place,\u2014and the people glory\nin their great men! These are for them the masters of the hour.\n\nBut the hour presseth them; so they press thee. And also from thee\nthey want Yea or Nay. Alas! thou wouldst set thy chair betwixt For and\nAgainst?\n\nOn account of those absolute and impatient ones, be not jealous, thou\nlover of truth! Never yet did truth cling to the arm of an absolute one.\n\nOn account of those abrupt ones, return into thy security: only in the\nmarket-place is one assailed by Yea? or Nay?\n\nSlow is the experience of all deep fountains: long have they to wait\nuntil they know WHAT hath fallen into their depths.\n\nAway from the market-place and from fame taketh place all that is great:\naway from the market-place and from fame have ever dwelt the devisers of\nnew values.\n\nFlee, my friend, into thy solitude: I see thee stung all over by the\npoisonous flies. Flee thither, where a rough, strong breeze bloweth!\n\nFlee into thy solitude! Thou hast lived too closely to the small and the\npitiable. Flee from their invisible vengeance! Towards thee they have\nnothing but vengeance.\n\nRaise no longer an arm against them! Innumerable are they, and it is not\nthy lot to be a fly-flap.\n\nInnumerable are the small and pitiable ones; and of many a proud\nstructure, rain-drops and weeds have been the ruin.\n\nThou art not stone; but already hast thou become hollow by the numerous\ndrops. Thou wilt yet break and burst by the numerous drops.\n\nExhausted I see thee, by poisonous flies; bleeding I see thee, and torn\nat a hundred spots; and thy pride will not even upbraid.\n\nBlood they would have from thee in all innocence; blood their bloodless\nsouls crave for\u2014and they sting, therefore, in all innocence.\n\nBut thou, profound one, thou sufferest too profoundly even from small\nwounds; and ere thou hadst recovered, the same poison-worm crawled over\nthy hand.\n\nToo proud art thou to kill these sweet-tooths. But take care lest it be\nthy fate to suffer all their poisonous injustice!\n\nThey buzz around thee also with their praise: obtrusiveness, is their\npraise. They want to be close to thy skin and thy blood.\n\nThey flatter thee, as one flattereth a God or devil; they whimper before\nthee, as before a God or devil. What doth it come to! Flatterers are\nthey, and whimperers, and nothing more.\n\nOften, also, do they show themselves to thee as amiable ones. But that\nhath ever been the prudence of the cowardly. Yea! the cowardly are wise!\n\nThey think much about thee with their circumscribed souls\u2014thou art\nalways suspected by them! Whatever is much thought about is at last\nthought suspicious.\n\nThey punish thee for all thy virtues. They pardon thee in their inmost\nhearts only\u2014for thine errors.\n\nBecause thou art gentle and of upright character, thou sayest:\n\u201cBlameless are they for their small existence.\u201d But their circumscribed\nsouls think: \u201cBlamable is all great existence.\u201d\n\nEven when thou art gentle towards them, they still feel themselves\ndespised by thee; and they repay thy beneficence with secret\nmaleficence.\n\nThy silent pride is always counter to their taste; they rejoice if once\nthou be humble enough to be frivolous.\n\nWhat we recognise in a man, we also irritate in him. Therefore be on\nyour guard against the small ones!\n\nIn thy presence they feel themselves small, and their baseness gleameth\nand gloweth against thee in invisible vengeance.\n\nSawest thou not how often they became dumb when thou approachedst them,\nand how their energy left them like the smoke of an extinguishing fire?\n\nYea, my friend, the bad conscience art thou of thy neighbours; for they\nare unworthy of thee. Therefore they hate thee, and would fain suck thy\nblood.\n\nThy neighbours will always be poisonous flies; what is great in\nthee\u2014that itself must make them more poisonous, and always more\nfly-like.\n\nFlee, my friend, into thy solitude\u2014and thither, where a rough strong\nbreeze bloweth. It is not thy lot to be a fly-flap.\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXIII. CHASTITY.\n\n\nI love the forest. It is bad to live in cities: there, there are too\nmany of the lustful.\n\nIs it not better to fall into the hands of a murderer, than into the\ndreams of a lustful woman?\n\nAnd just look at these men: their eye saith it\u2014they know nothing better\non earth than to lie with a woman.\n\nFilth is at the bottom of their souls; and alas! if their filth hath\nstill spirit in it!\n\nWould that ye were perfect\u2014at least as animals! But to animals\nbelongeth innocence.\n\nDo I counsel you to slay your instincts? I counsel you to innocence in\nyour instincts.\n\nDo I counsel you to chastity? Chastity is a virtue with some, but with\nmany almost a vice.\n\nThese are continent, to be sure: but doggish lust looketh enviously out\nof all that they do.\n\nEven into the heights of their virtue and into their cold spirit doth\nthis creature follow them, with its discord.\n\nAnd how nicely can doggish lust beg for a piece of spirit, when a piece\nof flesh is denied it!\n\nYe love tragedies and all that breaketh the heart? But I am distrustful\nof your doggish lust.\n\nYe have too cruel eyes, and ye look wantonly towards the sufferers.\nHath not your lust just disguised itself and taken the name of\nfellow-suffering?\n\nAnd also this parable give I unto you: Not a few who meant to cast out\ntheir devil, went thereby into the swine themselves.\n\nTo whom chastity is difficult, it is to be dissuaded: lest it become the\nroad to hell\u2014to filth and lust of soul.\n\nDo I speak of filthy things? That is not the worst thing for me to do.\n\nNot when the truth is filthy, but when it is shallow, doth the\ndiscerning one go unwillingly into its waters.\n\nVerily, there are chaste ones from their very nature; they are gentler\nof heart, and laugh better and oftener than you.\n\nThey laugh also at chastity, and ask: \u201cWhat is chastity?\n\nIs chastity not folly? But the folly came unto us, and not we unto it.\n\nWe offered that guest harbour and heart: now it dwelleth with us\u2014let it\nstay as long as it will!\u201d\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXIV. THE FRIEND.\n\n\n\u201cOne, is always too many about me\u201d\u2014thinketh the anchorite. \u201cAlways once\none\u2014that maketh two in the long run!\u201d\n\nI and me are always too earnestly in conversation: how could it be\nendured, if there were not a friend?\n\nThe friend of the anchorite is always the third one: the third one is\nthe cork which preventeth the conversation of the two sinking into the\ndepth.\n\nAh! there are too many depths for all anchorites. Therefore, do they\nlong so much for a friend, and for his elevation.\n\nOur faith in others betrayeth wherein we would fain have faith in\nourselves. Our longing for a friend is our betrayer.\n\nAnd often with our love we want merely to overleap envy. And often we\nattack and make ourselves enemies, to conceal that we are vulnerable.\n\n\u201cBe at least mine enemy!\u201d\u2014thus speaketh the true reverence, which doth\nnot venture to solicit friendship.\n\nIf one would have a friend, then must one also be willing to wage war\nfor him: and in order to wage war, one must be CAPABLE of being an\nenemy.\n\nOne ought still to honour the enemy in one\u2019s friend. Canst thou go nigh\nunto thy friend, and not go over to him?\n\nIn one\u2019s friend one shall have one\u2019s best enemy. Thou shalt be closest\nunto him with thy heart when thou withstandest him.\n\nThou wouldst wear no raiment before thy friend? It is in honour of thy\nfriend that thou showest thyself to him as thou art? But he wisheth thee\nto the devil on that account!\n\nHe who maketh no secret of himself shocketh: so much reason have ye\nto fear nakedness! Aye, if ye were Gods, ye could then be ashamed of\nclothing!\n\nThou canst not adorn thyself fine enough for thy friend; for thou shalt\nbe unto him an arrow and a longing for the Superman.\n\nSawest thou ever thy friend asleep\u2014to know how he looketh? What is\nusually the countenance of thy friend? It is thine own countenance, in a\ncoarse and imperfect mirror.\n\nSawest thou ever thy friend asleep? Wert thou not dismayed at thy friend\nlooking so? O my friend, man is something that hath to be surpassed.\n\nIn divining and keeping silence shall the friend be a master: not\neverything must thou wish to see. Thy dream shall disclose unto thee\nwhat thy friend doeth when awake.\n\nLet thy pity be a divining: to know first if thy friend wanteth pity.\nPerhaps he loveth in thee the unmoved eye, and the look of eternity.\n\nLet thy pity for thy friend be hid under a hard shell; thou shalt bite\nout a tooth upon it. Thus will it have delicacy and sweetness.\n\nArt thou pure air and solitude and bread and medicine to thy friend?\nMany a one cannot loosen his own fetters, but is nevertheless his\nfriend\u2019s emancipator.\n\nArt thou a slave? Then thou canst not be a friend. Art thou a tyrant?\nThen thou canst not have friends.\n\nFar too long hath there been a slave and a tyrant concealed in woman.\nOn that account woman is not yet capable of friendship: she knoweth only\nlove.\n\nIn woman\u2019s love there is injustice and blindness to all she doth not\nlove. And even in woman\u2019s conscious love, there is still always surprise\nand lightning and night, along with the light.\n\nAs yet woman is not capable of friendship: women are still cats, and\nbirds. Or at the best, cows.\n\nAs yet woman is not capable of friendship. But tell me, ye men, who of\nyou are capable of friendship?\n\nOh! your poverty, ye men, and your sordidness of soul! As much as ye\ngive to your friend, will I give even to my foe, and will not have\nbecome poorer thereby.\n\nThere is comradeship: may there be friendship!\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXV. THE THOUSAND AND ONE GOALS.\n\n\nMany lands saw Zarathustra, and many peoples: thus he discovered the\ngood and bad of many peoples. No greater power did Zarathustra find on\nearth than good and bad.\n\nNo people could live without first valuing; if a people will maintain\nitself, however, it must not value as its neighbour valueth.\n\nMuch that passed for good with one people was regarded with scorn and\ncontempt by another: thus I found it. Much found I here called bad,\nwhich was there decked with purple honours.\n\nNever did the one neighbour understand the other: ever did his soul\nmarvel at his neighbour\u2019s delusion and wickedness.\n\nA table of excellencies hangeth over every people. Lo! it is the table\nof their triumphs; lo! it is the voice of their Will to Power.\n\nIt is laudable, what they think hard; what is indispensable and hard\nthey call good; and what relieveth in the direst distress, the unique\nand hardest of all,\u2014they extol as holy.\n\nWhatever maketh them rule and conquer and shine, to the dismay and envy\nof their neighbours, they regard as the high and foremost thing, the\ntest and the meaning of all else.\n\nVerily, my brother, if thou knewest but a people\u2019s need, its land,\nits sky, and its neighbour, then wouldst thou divine the law of its\nsurmountings, and why it climbeth up that ladder to its hope.\n\n\u201cAlways shalt thou be the foremost and prominent above others: no one\nshall thy jealous soul love, except a friend\u201d\u2014that made the soul of a\nGreek thrill: thereby went he his way to greatness.\n\n\u201cTo speak truth, and be skilful with bow and arrow\u201d\u2014so seemed it alike\npleasing and hard to the people from whom cometh my name\u2014the name which\nis alike pleasing and hard to me.\n\n\u201cTo honour father and mother, and from the root of the soul to do their\nwill\u201d\u2014this table of surmounting hung another people over them, and\nbecame powerful and permanent thereby.\n\n\u201cTo have fidelity, and for the sake of fidelity to risk honour and\nblood, even in evil and dangerous courses\u201d\u2014teaching itself so, another\npeople mastered itself, and thus mastering itself, became pregnant and\nheavy with great hopes.\n\nVerily, men have given unto themselves all their good and bad. Verily,\nthey took it not, they found it not, it came not unto them as a voice\nfrom heaven.\n\nValues did man only assign to things in order to maintain himself\u2014he\ncreated only the significance of things, a human significance!\nTherefore, calleth he himself \u201cman,\u201d that is, the valuator.\n\nValuing is creating: hear it, ye creating ones! Valuation itself is the\ntreasure and jewel of the valued things.\n\nThrough valuation only is there value; and without valuation the nut of\nexistence would be hollow. Hear it, ye creating ones!\n\nChange of values\u2014that is, change of the creating ones. Always doth he\ndestroy who hath to be a creator.\n\nCreating ones were first of all peoples, and only in late times\nindividuals; verily, the individual himself is still the latest\ncreation.\n\nPeoples once hung over them tables of the good. Love which would rule\nand love which would obey, created for themselves such tables.\n\nOlder is the pleasure in the herd than the pleasure in the ego: and as\nlong as the good conscience is for the herd, the bad conscience only\nsaith: ego.\n\nVerily, the crafty ego, the loveless one, that seeketh its advantage in\nthe advantage of many\u2014it is not the origin of the herd, but its ruin.\n\nLoving ones, was it always, and creating ones, that created good and\nbad. Fire of love gloweth in the names of all the virtues, and fire of\nwrath.\n\nMany lands saw Zarathustra, and many peoples: no greater power did\nZarathustra find on earth than the creations of the loving ones\u2014\u201cgood\u201d\n and \u201cbad\u201d are they called.\n\nVerily, a prodigy is this power of praising and blaming. Tell me, ye\nbrethren, who will master it for me? Who will put a fetter upon the\nthousand necks of this animal?\n\nA thousand goals have there been hitherto, for a thousand peoples have\nthere been. Only the fetter for the thousand necks is still lacking;\nthere is lacking the one goal. As yet humanity hath not a goal.\n\nBut pray tell me, my brethren, if the goal of humanity be still lacking,\nis there not also still lacking\u2014humanity itself?\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXVI. NEIGHBOUR-LOVE.\n\n\nYe crowd around your neighbour, and have fine words for it. But I say\nunto you: your neighbour-love is your bad love of yourselves.\n\nYe flee unto your neighbour from yourselves, and would fain make a\nvirtue thereof: but I fathom your \u201cunselfishness.\u201d\n\nThe THOU is older than the _I_; the THOU hath been consecrated, but not\nyet the _I_: so man presseth nigh unto his neighbour.\n\nDo I advise you to neighbour-love? Rather do I advise you to\nneighbour-flight and to furthest love!\n\nHigher than love to your neighbour is love to the furthest and future\nones; higher still than love to men, is love to things and phantoms.\n\nThe phantom that runneth on before thee, my brother, is fairer than\nthou; why dost thou not give unto it thy flesh and thy bones? But thou\nfearest, and runnest unto thy neighbour.\n\nYe cannot endure it with yourselves, and do not love yourselves\nsufficiently: so ye seek to mislead your neighbour into love, and would\nfain gild yourselves with his error.\n\nWould that ye could not endure it with any kind of near ones, or their\nneighbours; then would ye have to create your friend and his overflowing\nheart out of yourselves.\n\nYe call in a witness when ye want to speak well of yourselves; and\nwhen ye have misled him to think well of you, ye also think well of\nyourselves.\n\nNot only doth he lie, who speaketh contrary to his knowledge, but more\nso, he who speaketh contrary to his ignorance. And thus speak ye\nof yourselves in your intercourse, and belie your neighbour with\nyourselves.\n\nThus saith the fool: \u201cAssociation with men spoileth the character,\nespecially when one hath none.\u201d\n\nThe one goeth to his neighbour because he seeketh himself, and the other\nbecause he would fain lose himself. Your bad love to yourselves maketh\nsolitude a prison to you.\n\nThe furthest ones are they who pay for your love to the near ones; and\nwhen there are but five of you together, a sixth must always die.\n\nI love not your festivals either: too many actors found I there, and\neven the spectators often behaved like actors.\n\nNot the neighbour do I teach you, but the friend. Let the friend be the\nfestival of the earth to you, and a foretaste of the Superman.\n\nI teach you the friend and his overflowing heart. But one must know how\nto be a sponge, if one would be loved by overflowing hearts.\n\nI teach you the friend in whom the world standeth complete, a capsule\nof the good,\u2014the creating friend, who hath always a complete world to\nbestow.\n\nAnd as the world unrolled itself for him, so rolleth it together again\nfor him in rings, as the growth of good through evil, as the growth of\npurpose out of chance.\n\nLet the future and the furthest be the motive of thy to-day; in thy\nfriend shalt thou love the Superman as thy motive.\n\nMy brethren, I advise you not to neighbour-love\u2014I advise you to\nfurthest love!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXVII. THE WAY OF THE CREATING ONE.\n\n\nWouldst thou go into isolation, my brother? Wouldst thou seek the way\nunto thyself? Tarry yet a little and hearken unto me.\n\n\u201cHe who seeketh may easily get lost himself. All isolation is wrong\u201d: so\nsay the herd. And long didst thou belong to the herd.\n\nThe voice of the herd will still echo in thee. And when thou sayest,\n\u201cI have no longer a conscience in common with you,\u201d then will it be a\nplaint and a pain.\n\nLo, that pain itself did the same conscience produce; and the last gleam\nof that conscience still gloweth on thine affliction.\n\nBut thou wouldst go the way of thine affliction, which is the way unto\nthyself? Then show me thine authority and thy strength to do so!\n\nArt thou a new strength and a new authority? A first motion? A\nself-rolling wheel? Canst thou also compel stars to revolve around thee?\n\nAlas! there is so much lusting for loftiness! There are so many\nconvulsions of the ambitions! Show me that thou art not a lusting and\nambitious one!\n\nAlas! there are so many great thoughts that do nothing more than the\nbellows: they inflate, and make emptier than ever.\n\nFree, dost thou call thyself? Thy ruling thought would I hear of, and\nnot that thou hast escaped from a yoke.\n\nArt thou one ENTITLED to escape from a yoke? Many a one hath cast away\nhis final worth when he hath cast away his servitude.\n\nFree from what? What doth that matter to Zarathustra! Clearly, however,\nshall thine eye show unto me: free FOR WHAT?\n\nCanst thou give unto thyself thy bad and thy good, and set up thy will\nas a law over thee? Canst thou be judge for thyself, and avenger of thy\nlaw?\n\nTerrible is aloneness with the judge and avenger of one\u2019s own law.\nThus is a star projected into desert space, and into the icy breath of\naloneness.\n\nTo-day sufferest thou still from the multitude, thou individual; to-day\nhast thou still thy courage unabated, and thy hopes.\n\nBut one day will the solitude weary thee; one day will thy pride yield,\nand thy courage quail. Thou wilt one day cry: \u201cI am alone!\u201d\n\nOne day wilt thou see no longer thy loftiness, and see too closely thy\nlowliness; thy sublimity itself will frighten thee as a phantom. Thou\nwilt one day cry: \u201cAll is false!\u201d\n\nThere are feelings which seek to slay the lonesome one; if they do not\nsucceed, then must they themselves die! But art thou capable of it\u2014to\nbe a murderer?\n\nHast thou ever known, my brother, the word \u201cdisdain\u201d? And the anguish of\nthy justice in being just to those that disdain thee?\n\nThou forcest many to think differently about thee; that, charge they\nheavily to thine account. Thou camest nigh unto them, and yet wentest\npast: for that they never forgive thee.\n\nThou goest beyond them: but the higher thou risest, the smaller doth the\neye of envy see thee. Most of all, however, is the flying one hated.\n\n\u201cHow could ye be just unto me!\u201d\u2014must thou say\u2014\u201cI choose your injustice\nas my allotted portion.\u201d\n\nInjustice and filth cast they at the lonesome one: but, my brother, if\nthou wouldst be a star, thou must shine for them none the less on that\naccount!\n\nAnd be on thy guard against the good and just! They would fain crucify\nthose who devise their own virtue\u2014they hate the lonesome ones.\n\nBe on thy guard, also, against holy simplicity! All is unholy to it that\nis not simple; fain, likewise, would it play with the fire\u2014of the fagot\nand stake.\n\nAnd be on thy guard, also, against the assaults of thy love! Too readily\ndoth the recluse reach his hand to any one who meeteth him.\n\nTo many a one mayest thou not give thy hand, but only thy paw; and I\nwish thy paw also to have claws.\n\nBut the worst enemy thou canst meet, wilt thou thyself always be; thou\nwaylayest thyself in caverns and forests.\n\nThou lonesome one, thou goest the way to thyself! And past thyself and\nthy seven devils leadeth thy way!\n\nA heretic wilt thou be to thyself, and a wizard and a soothsayer, and a\nfool, and a doubter, and a reprobate, and a villain.\n\nReady must thou be to burn thyself in thine own flame; how couldst thou\nbecome new if thou have not first become ashes!\n\nThou lonesome one, thou goest the way of the creating one: a God wilt\nthou create for thyself out of thy seven devils!\n\nThou lonesome one, thou goest the way of the loving one: thou lovest\nthyself, and on that account despisest thou thyself, as only the loving\nones despise.\n\nTo create, desireth the loving one, because he despiseth! What knoweth\nhe of love who hath not been obliged to despise just what he loved!\n\nWith thy love, go into thine isolation, my brother, and with thy\ncreating; and late only will justice limp after thee.\n\nWith my tears, go into thine isolation, my brother. I love him who\nseeketh to create beyond himself, and thus succumbeth.\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXVIII. OLD AND YOUNG WOMEN.\n\n\n\u201cWhy stealest thou along so furtively in the twilight, Zarathustra? And\nwhat hidest thou so carefully under thy mantle?\n\nIs it a treasure that hath been given thee? Or a child that hath been\nborn thee? Or goest thou thyself on a thief\u2019s errand, thou friend of the\nevil?\u201d\u2014\n\nVerily, my brother, said Zarathustra, it is a treasure that hath been\ngiven me: it is a little truth which I carry.\n\nBut it is naughty, like a young child; and if I hold not its mouth, it\nscreameth too loudly.\n\nAs I went on my way alone to-day, at the hour when the sun declineth,\nthere met me an old woman, and she spake thus unto my soul:\n\n\u201cMuch hath Zarathustra spoken also to us women, but never spake he unto\nus concerning woman.\u201d\n\nAnd I answered her: \u201cConcerning woman, one should only talk unto men.\u201d\n\n\u201cTalk also unto me of woman,\u201d said she; \u201cI am old enough to forget it\npresently.\u201d\n\nAnd I obliged the old woman and spake thus unto her:\n\nEverything in woman is a riddle, and everything in woman hath one\nsolution\u2014it is called pregnancy.\n\nMan is for woman a means: the purpose is always the child. But what is\nwoman for man?\n\nTwo different things wanteth the true man: danger and diversion.\nTherefore wanteth he woman, as the most dangerous plaything.\n\nMan shall be trained for war, and woman for the recreation of the\nwarrior: all else is folly.\n\nToo sweet fruits\u2014these the warrior liketh not. Therefore liketh he\nwoman;\u2014bitter is even the sweetest woman.\n\nBetter than man doth woman understand children, but man is more childish\nthan woman.\n\nIn the true man there is a child hidden: it wanteth to play. Up then, ye\nwomen, and discover the child in man!\n\nA plaything let woman be, pure and fine like the precious stone,\nillumined with the virtues of a world not yet come.\n\nLet the beam of a star shine in your love! Let your hope say: \u201cMay I\nbear the Superman!\u201d\n\nIn your love let there be valour! With your love shall ye assail him who\ninspireth you with fear!\n\nIn your love be your honour! Little doth woman understand otherwise\nabout honour. But let this be your honour: always to love more than ye\nare loved, and never be the second.\n\nLet man fear woman when she loveth: then maketh she every sacrifice, and\neverything else she regardeth as worthless.\n\nLet man fear woman when she hateth: for man in his innermost soul is\nmerely evil; woman, however, is mean.\n\nWhom hateth woman most?\u2014Thus spake the iron to the loadstone: \u201cI hate\nthee most, because thou attractest, but art too weak to draw unto thee.\u201d\n\nThe happiness of man is, \u201cI will.\u201d The happiness of woman is, \u201cHe will.\u201d\n\n\u201cLo! now hath the world become perfect!\u201d\u2014thus thinketh every woman when\nshe obeyeth with all her love.\n\nObey, must the woman, and find a depth for her surface. Surface, is\nwoman\u2019s soul, a mobile, stormy film on shallow water.\n\nMan\u2019s soul, however, is deep, its current gusheth in subterranean\ncaverns: woman surmiseth its force, but comprehendeth it not.\u2014\n\nThen answered me the old woman: \u201cMany fine things hath Zarathustra said,\nespecially for those who are young enough for them.\n\nStrange! Zarathustra knoweth little about woman, and yet he is right\nabout them! Doth this happen, because with women nothing is impossible?\n\nAnd now accept a little truth by way of thanks! I am old enough for it!\n\nSwaddle it up and hold its mouth: otherwise it will scream too loudly,\nthe little truth.\u201d\n\n\u201cGive me, woman, thy little truth!\u201d said I. And thus spake the old\nwoman:\n\n\u201cThou goest to women? Do not forget thy whip!\u201d\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXIX. THE BITE OF THE ADDER.\n\n\nOne day had Zarathustra fallen asleep under a fig-tree, owing to the\nheat, with his arms over his face. And there came an adder and bit him\nin the neck, so that Zarathustra screamed with pain. When he had\ntaken his arm from his face he looked at the serpent; and then did it\nrecognise the eyes of Zarathustra, wriggled awkwardly, and tried to get\naway. \u201cNot at all,\u201d said Zarathustra, \u201cas yet hast thou not received\nmy thanks! Thou hast awakened me in time; my journey is yet long.\u201d\n \u201cThy journey is short,\u201d said the adder sadly; \u201cmy poison is fatal.\u201d\n Zarathustra smiled. \u201cWhen did ever a dragon die of a serpent\u2019s\npoison?\u201d\u2014said he. \u201cBut take thy poison back! Thou art not rich enough\nto present it to me.\u201d Then fell the adder again on his neck, and licked\nhis wound.\n\nWhen Zarathustra once told this to his disciples they asked him:\n\u201cAnd what, O Zarathustra, is the moral of thy story?\u201d And Zarathustra\nanswered them thus:\n\nThe destroyer of morality, the good and just call me: my story is\nimmoral.\n\nWhen, however, ye have an enemy, then return him not good for evil: for\nthat would abash him. But prove that he hath done something good to you.\n\nAnd rather be angry than abash any one! And when ye are cursed, it\npleaseth me not that ye should then desire to bless. Rather curse a\nlittle also!\n\nAnd should a great injustice befall you, then do quickly five small ones\nbesides. Hideous to behold is he on whom injustice presseth alone.\n\nDid ye ever know this? Shared injustice is half justice. And he who can\nbear it, shall take the injustice upon himself!\n\nA small revenge is humaner than no revenge at all. And if the punishment\nbe not also a right and an honour to the transgressor, I do not like\nyour punishing.\n\nNobler is it to own oneself in the wrong than to establish one\u2019s right,\nespecially if one be in the right. Only, one must be rich enough to do\nso.\n\nI do not like your cold justice; out of the eye of your judges there\nalways glanceth the executioner and his cold steel.\n\nTell me: where find we justice, which is love with seeing eyes?\n\nDevise me, then, the love which not only beareth all punishment, but\nalso all guilt!\n\nDevise me, then, the justice which acquitteth every one except the\njudge!\n\nAnd would ye hear this likewise? To him who seeketh to be just from the\nheart, even the lie becometh philanthropy.\n\nBut how could I be just from the heart! How can I give every one his\nown! Let this be enough for me: I give unto every one mine own.\n\nFinally, my brethren, guard against doing wrong to any anchorite. How\ncould an anchorite forget! How could he requite!\n\nLike a deep well is an anchorite. Easy is it to throw in a stone: if\nit should sink to the bottom, however, tell me, who will bring it out\nagain?\n\nGuard against injuring the anchorite! If ye have done so, however, well\nthen, kill him also!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXX. CHILD AND MARRIAGE.\n\n\nI have a question for thee alone, my brother: like a sounding-lead, cast\nI this question into thy soul, that I may know its depth.\n\nThou art young, and desirest child and marriage. But I ask thee: Art\nthou a man ENTITLED to desire a child?\n\nArt thou the victorious one, the self-conqueror, the ruler of thy\npassions, the master of thy virtues? Thus do I ask thee.\n\nOr doth the animal speak in thy wish, and necessity? Or isolation? Or\ndiscord in thee?\n\nI would have thy victory and freedom long for a child. Living monuments\nshalt thou build to thy victory and emancipation.\n\nBeyond thyself shalt thou build. But first of all must thou be built\nthyself, rectangular in body and soul.\n\nNot only onward shalt thou propagate thyself, but upward! For that\npurpose may the garden of marriage help thee!\n\nA higher body shalt thou create, a first movement, a spontaneously\nrolling wheel\u2014a creating one shalt thou create.\n\nMarriage: so call I the will of the twain to create the one that is\nmore than those who created it. The reverence for one another, as those\nexercising such a will, call I marriage.\n\nLet this be the significance and the truth of thy marriage. But that\nwhich the many-too-many call marriage, those superfluous ones\u2014ah, what\nshall I call it?\n\nAh, the poverty of soul in the twain! Ah, the filth of soul in the\ntwain! Ah, the pitiable self-complacency in the twain!\n\nMarriage they call it all; and they say their marriages are made in\nheaven.\n\nWell, I do not like it, that heaven of the superfluous! No, I do not\nlike them, those animals tangled in the heavenly toils!\n\nFar from me also be the God who limpeth thither to bless what he hath\nnot matched!\n\nLaugh not at such marriages! What child hath not had reason to weep over\nits parents?\n\nWorthy did this man seem, and ripe for the meaning of the earth: but\nwhen I saw his wife, the earth seemed to me a home for madcaps.\n\nYea, I would that the earth shook with convulsions when a saint and a\ngoose mate with one another.\n\nThis one went forth in quest of truth as a hero, and at last got for\nhimself a small decked-up lie: his marriage he calleth it.\n\nThat one was reserved in intercourse and chose choicely. But one time he\nspoilt his company for all time: his marriage he calleth it.\n\nAnother sought a handmaid with the virtues of an angel. But all at once\nhe became the handmaid of a woman, and now would he need also to become\nan angel.\n\nCareful, have I found all buyers, and all of them have astute eyes. But\neven the astutest of them buyeth his wife in a sack.\n\nMany short follies\u2014that is called love by you. And your marriage\nputteth an end to many short follies, with one long stupidity.\n\nYour love to woman, and woman\u2019s love to man\u2014ah, would that it were\nsympathy for suffering and veiled deities! But generally two animals\nalight on one another.\n\nBut even your best love is only an enraptured simile and a painful\nardour. It is a torch to light you to loftier paths.\n\nBeyond yourselves shall ye love some day! Then LEARN first of all to\nlove. And on that account ye had to drink the bitter cup of your love.\n\nBitterness is in the cup even of the best love: thus doth it cause\nlonging for the Superman; thus doth it cause thirst in thee, the\ncreating one!\n\nThirst in the creating one, arrow and longing for the Superman: tell me,\nmy brother, is this thy will to marriage?\n\nHoly call I such a will, and such a marriage.\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXXI. VOLUNTARY DEATH.\n\n\nMany die too late, and some die too early. Yet strange soundeth the\nprecept: \u201cDie at the right time!\u201d\n\nDie at the right time: so teacheth Zarathustra.\n\nTo be sure, he who never liveth at the right time, how could he ever die\nat the right time? Would that he might never be born!\u2014Thus do I advise\nthe superfluous ones.\n\nBut even the superfluous ones make much ado about their death, and even\nthe hollowest nut wanteth to be cracked.\n\nEvery one regardeth dying as a great matter: but as yet death is not\na festival. Not yet have people learned to inaugurate the finest\nfestivals.\n\nThe consummating death I show unto you, which becometh a stimulus and\npromise to the living.\n\nHis death, dieth the consummating one triumphantly, surrounded by hoping\nand promising ones.\n\nThus should one learn to die; and there should be no festival at which\nsuch a dying one doth not consecrate the oaths of the living!\n\nThus to die is best; the next best, however, is to die in battle, and\nsacrifice a great soul.\n\nBut to the fighter equally hateful as to the victor, is your grinning\ndeath which stealeth nigh like a thief,\u2014and yet cometh as master.\n\nMy death, praise I unto you, the voluntary death, which cometh unto me\nbecause _I_ want it.\n\nAnd when shall I want it?\u2014He that hath a goal and an heir, wanteth\ndeath at the right time for the goal and the heir.\n\nAnd out of reverence for the goal and the heir, he will hang up no more\nwithered wreaths in the sanctuary of life.\n\nVerily, not the rope-makers will I resemble: they lengthen out their\ncord, and thereby go ever backward.\n\nMany a one, also, waxeth too old for his truths and triumphs; a\ntoothless mouth hath no longer the right to every truth.\n\nAnd whoever wanteth to have fame, must take leave of honour betimes, and\npractise the difficult art of\u2014going at the right time.\n\nOne must discontinue being feasted upon when one tasteth best: that is\nknown by those who want to be long loved.\n\nSour apples are there, no doubt, whose lot is to wait until the last\nday of autumn: and at the same time they become ripe, yellow, and\nshrivelled.\n\nIn some ageth the heart first, and in others the spirit. And some are\nhoary in youth, but the late young keep long young.\n\nTo many men life is a failure; a poison-worm gnaweth at their heart.\nThen let them see to it that their dying is all the more a success.\n\nMany never become sweet; they rot even in the summer. It is cowardice\nthat holdeth them fast to their branches.\n\nFar too many live, and far too long hang they on their branches. Would\nthat a storm came and shook all this rottenness and worm-eatenness from\nthe tree!\n\nWould that there came preachers of SPEEDY death! Those would be the\nappropriate storms and agitators of the trees of life! But I hear only\nslow death preached, and patience with all that is \u201cearthly.\u201d\n\nAh! ye preach patience with what is earthly? This earthly is it that\nhath too much patience with you, ye blasphemers!\n\nVerily, too early died that Hebrew whom the preachers of slow death\nhonour: and to many hath it proved a calamity that he died too early.\n\nAs yet had he known only tears, and the melancholy of the Hebrews,\ntogether with the hatred of the good and just\u2014the Hebrew Jesus: then\nwas he seized with the longing for death.\n\nHad he but remained in the wilderness, and far from the good and just!\nThen, perhaps, would he have learned to live, and love the earth\u2014and\nlaughter also!\n\nBelieve it, my brethren! He died too early; he himself would have\ndisavowed his doctrine had he attained to my age! Noble enough was he to\ndisavow!\n\nBut he was still immature. Immaturely loveth the youth, and immaturely\nalso hateth he man and earth. Confined and awkward are still his soul\nand the wings of his spirit.\n\nBut in man there is more of the child than in the youth, and less of\nmelancholy: better understandeth he about life and death.\n\nFree for death, and free in death; a holy Naysayer, when there is no\nlonger time for Yea: thus understandeth he about death and life.\n\nThat your dying may not be a reproach to man and the earth, my friends:\nthat do I solicit from the honey of your soul.\n\nIn your dying shall your spirit and your virtue still shine like an\nevening after-glow around the earth: otherwise your dying hath been\nunsatisfactory.\n\nThus will I die myself, that ye friends may love the earth more for my\nsake; and earth will I again become, to have rest in her that bore me.\n\nVerily, a goal had Zarathustra; he threw his ball. Now be ye friends the\nheirs of my goal; to you throw I the golden ball.\n\nBest of all, do I see you, my friends, throw the golden ball! And so\ntarry I still a little while on the earth\u2014pardon me for it!\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXXII. THE BESTOWING VIRTUE.\n\n\n1.\n\nWhen Zarathustra had taken leave of the town to which his heart was\nattached, the name of which is \u201cThe Pied Cow,\u201d there followed him many\npeople who called themselves his disciples, and kept him company. Thus\ncame they to a crossroad. Then Zarathustra told them that he now wanted\nto go alone; for he was fond of going alone. His disciples, however,\npresented him at his departure with a staff, on the golden handle of\nwhich a serpent twined round the sun. Zarathustra rejoiced on account\nof the staff, and supported himself thereon; then spake he thus to his\ndisciples:\n\nTell me, pray: how came gold to the highest value? Because it is\nuncommon, and unprofiting, and beaming, and soft in lustre; it always\nbestoweth itself.\n\nOnly as image of the highest virtue came gold to the highest value.\nGoldlike, beameth the glance of the bestower. Gold-lustre maketh peace\nbetween moon and sun.\n\nUncommon is the highest virtue, and unprofiting, beaming is it, and soft\nof lustre: a bestowing virtue is the highest virtue.\n\nVerily, I divine you well, my disciples: ye strive like me for the\nbestowing virtue. What should ye have in common with cats and wolves?\n\nIt is your thirst to become sacrifices and gifts yourselves: and\ntherefore have ye the thirst to accumulate all riches in your soul.\n\nInsatiably striveth your soul for treasures and jewels, because your\nvirtue is insatiable in desiring to bestow.\n\nYe constrain all things to flow towards you and into you, so that they\nshall flow back again out of your fountain as the gifts of your love.\n\nVerily, an appropriator of all values must such bestowing love become;\nbut healthy and holy, call I this selfishness.\u2014\n\nAnother selfishness is there, an all-too-poor and hungry kind, which\nwould always steal\u2014the selfishness of the sick, the sickly selfishness.\n\nWith the eye of the thief it looketh upon all that is lustrous; with the\ncraving of hunger it measureth him who hath abundance; and ever doth it\nprowl round the tables of bestowers.\n\nSickness speaketh in such craving, and invisible degeneration; of a\nsickly body, speaketh the larcenous craving of this selfishness.\n\nTell me, my brother, what do we think bad, and worst of all? Is it not\nDEGENERATION?\u2014And we always suspect degeneration when the bestowing\nsoul is lacking.\n\nUpward goeth our course from genera on to super-genera. But a horror to\nus is the degenerating sense, which saith: \u201cAll for myself.\u201d\n\nUpward soareth our sense: thus is it a simile of our body, a simile of\nan elevation. Such similes of elevations are the names of the virtues.\n\nThus goeth the body through history, a becomer and fighter. And the\nspirit\u2014what is it to the body? Its fights\u2019 and victories\u2019 herald, its\ncompanion and echo.\n\nSimiles, are all names of good and evil; they do not speak out, they\nonly hint. A fool who seeketh knowledge from them!\n\nGive heed, my brethren, to every hour when your spirit would speak in\nsimiles: there is the origin of your virtue.\n\nElevated is then your body, and raised up; with its delight, enraptureth\nit the spirit; so that it becometh creator, and valuer, and lover, and\neverything\u2019s benefactor.\n\nWhen your heart overfloweth broad and full like the river, a blessing\nand a danger to the lowlanders: there is the origin of your virtue.\n\nWhen ye are exalted above praise and blame, and your will would command\nall things, as a loving one\u2019s will: there is the origin of your virtue.\n\nWhen ye despise pleasant things, and the effeminate couch, and cannot\ncouch far enough from the effeminate: there is the origin of your\nvirtue.\n\nWhen ye are willers of one will, and when that change of every need is\nneedful to you: there is the origin of your virtue.\n\nVerily, a new good and evil is it! Verily, a new deep murmuring, and the\nvoice of a new fountain!\n\nPower is it, this new virtue; a ruling thought is it, and around it a\nsubtle soul: a golden sun, with the serpent of knowledge around it.\n\n2.\n\nHere paused Zarathustra awhile, and looked lovingly on his disciples.\nThen he continued to speak thus\u2014and his voice had changed:\n\nRemain true to the earth, my brethren, with the power of your virtue!\nLet your bestowing love and your knowledge be devoted to be the meaning\nof the earth! Thus do I pray and conjure you.\n\nLet it not fly away from the earthly and beat against eternal walls with\nits wings! Ah, there hath always been so much flown-away virtue!\n\nLead, like me, the flown-away virtue back to the earth\u2014yea, back\nto body and life: that it may give to the earth its meaning, a human\nmeaning!\n\nA hundred times hitherto hath spirit as well as virtue flown away\nand blundered. Alas! in our body dwelleth still all this delusion and\nblundering: body and will hath it there become.\n\nA hundred times hitherto hath spirit as well as virtue attempted and\nerred. Yea, an attempt hath man been. Alas, much ignorance and error\nhath become embodied in us!\n\nNot only the rationality of millenniums\u2014also their madness, breaketh\nout in us. Dangerous is it to be an heir.\n\nStill fight we step by step with the giant Chance, and over all mankind\nhath hitherto ruled nonsense, the lack-of-sense.\n\nLet your spirit and your virtue be devoted to the sense of the earth,\nmy brethren: let the value of everything be determined anew by you!\nTherefore shall ye be fighters! Therefore shall ye be creators!\n\nIntelligently doth the body purify itself; attempting with intelligence\nit exalteth itself; to the discerners all impulses sanctify themselves;\nto the exalted the soul becometh joyful.\n\nPhysician, heal thyself: then wilt thou also heal thy patient. Let it be\nhis best cure to see with his eyes him who maketh himself whole.\n\nA thousand paths are there which have never yet been trodden; a thousand\nsalubrities and hidden islands of life. Unexhausted and undiscovered is\nstill man and man\u2019s world.\n\nAwake and hearken, ye lonesome ones! From the future come winds with\nstealthy pinions, and to fine ears good tidings are proclaimed.\n\nYe lonesome ones of to-day, ye seceding ones, ye shall one day be a\npeople: out of you who have chosen yourselves, shall a chosen people\narise:\u2014and out of it the Superman.\n\nVerily, a place of healing shall the earth become! And already is a new\nodour diffused around it, a salvation-bringing odour\u2014and a new hope!\n\n3.\n\nWhen Zarathustra had spoken these words, he paused, like one who had not\nsaid his last word; and long did he balance the staff doubtfully in his\nhand. At last he spake thus\u2014and his voice had changed:\n\nI now go alone, my disciples! Ye also now go away, and alone! So will I\nhave it.\n\nVerily, I advise you: depart from me, and guard yourselves against\nZarathustra! And better still: be ashamed of him! Perhaps he hath\ndeceived you.\n\nThe man of knowledge must be able not only to love his enemies, but also\nto hate his friends.\n\nOne requiteth a teacher badly if one remain merely a scholar. And why\nwill ye not pluck at my wreath?\n\nYe venerate me; but what if your veneration should some day collapse?\nTake heed lest a statue crush you!\n\nYe say, ye believe in Zarathustra? But of what account is Zarathustra!\nYe are my believers: but of what account are all believers!\n\nYe had not yet sought yourselves: then did ye find me. So do all\nbelievers; therefore all belief is of so little account.\n\nNow do I bid you lose me and find yourselves; and only when ye have all\ndenied me, will I return unto you.\n\nVerily, with other eyes, my brethren, shall I then seek my lost ones;\nwith another love shall I then love you.\n\nAnd once again shall ye have become friends unto me, and children of one\nhope: then will I be with you for the third time, to celebrate the great\nnoontide with you.\n\nAnd it is the great noontide, when man is in the middle of his course\nbetween animal and Superman, and celebrateth his advance to the evening\nas his highest hope: for it is the advance to a new morning.\n\nAt such time will the down-goer bless himself, that he should be an\nover-goer; and the sun of his knowledge will be at noontide.\n\n\u201cDEAD ARE ALL THE GODS: NOW DO WE DESIRE THE SUPERMAN TO LIVE.\u201d\u2014Let\nthis be our final will at the great noontide!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nTHUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA. SECOND PART.\n\n\n\u201c\u2014and only when ye have all denied me, will I return unto you.\n\nVerily, with other eyes, my brethren, shall I then seek my lost ones;\nwith another love shall I then love you.\u201d\u2014ZARATHUSTRA, I., \u201cThe\nBestowing Virtue.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXXIII. THE CHILD WITH THE MIRROR.\n\n\nAfter this Zarathustra returned again into the mountains to the solitude\nof his cave, and withdrew himself from men, waiting like a sower who\nhath scattered his seed. His soul, however, became impatient and full of\nlonging for those whom he loved: because he had still much to give them.\nFor this is hardest of all: to close the open hand out of love, and keep\nmodest as a giver.\n\nThus passed with the lonesome one months and years; his wisdom meanwhile\nincreased, and caused him pain by its abundance.\n\nOne morning, however, he awoke ere the rosy dawn, and having meditated\nlong on his couch, at last spake thus to his heart:\n\nWhy did I startle in my dream, so that I awoke? Did not a child come to\nme, carrying a mirror?\n\n\u201cO Zarathustra\u201d\u2014said the child unto me\u2014\u201clook at thyself in the\nmirror!\u201d\n\nBut when I looked into the mirror, I shrieked, and my heart throbbed:\nfor not myself did I see therein, but a devil\u2019s grimace and derision.\n\nVerily, all too well do I understand the dream\u2019s portent and monition:\nmy DOCTRINE is in danger; tares want to be called wheat!\n\nMine enemies have grown powerful and have disfigured the likeness of\nmy doctrine, so that my dearest ones have to blush for the gifts that I\ngave them.\n\nLost are my friends; the hour hath come for me to seek my lost ones!\u2014\n\nWith these words Zarathustra started up, not however like a person in\nanguish seeking relief, but rather like a seer and a singer whom the\nspirit inspireth. With amazement did his eagle and serpent gaze upon\nhim: for a coming bliss overspread his countenance like the rosy dawn.\n\nWhat hath happened unto me, mine animals?\u2014said Zarathustra. Am I not\ntransformed? Hath not bliss come unto me like a whirlwind?\n\nFoolish is my happiness, and foolish things will it speak: it is still\ntoo young\u2014so have patience with it!\n\nWounded am I by my happiness: all sufferers shall be physicians unto me!\n\nTo my friends can I again go down, and also to mine enemies! Zarathustra\ncan again speak and bestow, and show his best love to his loved ones!\n\nMy impatient love overfloweth in streams,\u2014down towards sunrise and\nsunset. Out of silent mountains and storms of affliction, rusheth my\nsoul into the valleys.\n\nToo long have I longed and looked into the distance. Too long hath\nsolitude possessed me: thus have I unlearned to keep silence.\n\nUtterance have I become altogether, and the brawling of a brook from\nhigh rocks: downward into the valleys will I hurl my speech.\n\nAnd let the stream of my love sweep into unfrequented channels! How\nshould a stream not finally find its way to the sea!\n\nForsooth, there is a lake in me, sequestered and self-sufficing; but the\nstream of my love beareth this along with it, down\u2014to the sea!\n\nNew paths do I tread, a new speech cometh unto me; tired have I become\u2014\nlike all creators\u2014of the old tongues. No longer will my spirit walk on\nworn-out soles.\n\nToo slowly runneth all speaking for me:\u2014into thy chariot, O storm, do I\nleap! And even thee will I whip with my spite!\n\nLike a cry and an huzza will I traverse wide seas, till I find the Happy\nIsles where my friends sojourn;\u2014\n\nAnd mine enemies amongst them! How I now love every one unto whom I may\nbut speak! Even mine enemies pertain to my bliss.\n\nAnd when I want to mount my wildest horse, then doth my spear always\nhelp me up best: it is my foot\u2019s ever ready servant:\u2014\n\nThe spear which I hurl at mine enemies! How grateful am I to mine\nenemies that I may at last hurl it!\n\nToo great hath been the tension of my cloud: \u2018twixt laughters of\nlightnings will I cast hail-showers into the depths.\n\nViolently will my breast then heave; violently will it blow its storm\nover the mountains: thus cometh its assuagement.\n\nVerily, like a storm cometh my happiness, and my freedom! But mine\nenemies shall think that THE EVIL ONE roareth over their heads.\n\nYea, ye also, my friends, will be alarmed by my wild wisdom; and perhaps\nye will flee therefrom, along with mine enemies.\n\nAh, that I knew how to lure you back with shepherds\u2019 flutes! Ah, that\nmy lioness wisdom would learn to roar softly! And much have we already\nlearned with one another!\n\nMy wild wisdom became pregnant on the lonesome mountains; on the rough\nstones did she bear the youngest of her young.\n\nNow runneth she foolishly in the arid wilderness, and seeketh and\nseeketh the soft sward\u2014mine old, wild wisdom!\n\nOn the soft sward of your hearts, my friends!\u2014on your love, would she\nfain couch her dearest one!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXXIV. IN THE HAPPY ISLES.\n\n\nThe figs fall from the trees, they are good and sweet; and in falling\nthe red skins of them break. A north wind am I to ripe figs.\n\nThus, like figs, do these doctrines fall for you, my friends: imbibe\nnow their juice and their sweet substance! It is autumn all around, and\nclear sky, and afternoon.\n\nLo, what fulness is around us! And out of the midst of superabundance,\nit is delightful to look out upon distant seas.\n\nOnce did people say God, when they looked out upon distant seas; now,\nhowever, have I taught you to say, Superman.\n\nGod is a conjecture: but I do not wish your conjecturing to reach beyond\nyour creating will.\n\nCould ye CREATE a God?\u2014Then, I pray you, be silent about all Gods! But\nye could well create the Superman.\n\nNot perhaps ye yourselves, my brethren! But into fathers and forefathers\nof the Superman could ye transform yourselves: and let that be your best\ncreating!\u2014\n\nGod is a conjecture: but I should like your conjecturing restricted to\nthe conceivable.\n\nCould ye CONCEIVE a God?\u2014But let this mean Will to Truth unto you,\nthat everything be transformed into the humanly conceivable, the humanly\nvisible, the humanly sensible! Your own discernment shall ye follow out\nto the end!\n\nAnd what ye have called the world shall but be created by you: your\nreason, your likeness, your will, your love, shall it itself become! And\nverily, for your bliss, ye discerning ones!\n\nAnd how would ye endure life without that hope, ye discerning ones?\nNeither in the inconceivable could ye have been born, nor in the\nirrational.\n\nBut that I may reveal my heart entirely unto you, my friends: IF there\nwere gods, how could I endure it to be no God! THEREFORE there are no\nGods.\n\nYea, I have drawn the conclusion; now, however, doth it draw me.\u2014\n\nGod is a conjecture: but who could drink all the bitterness of this\nconjecture without dying? Shall his faith be taken from the creating\none, and from the eagle his flights into eagle-heights?\n\nGod is a thought\u2014it maketh all the straight crooked, and all that\nstandeth reel. What? Time would be gone, and all the perishable would be\nbut a lie?\n\nTo think this is giddiness and vertigo to human limbs, and even vomiting\nto the stomach: verily, the reeling sickness do I call it, to conjecture\nsuch a thing.\n\nEvil do I call it and misanthropic: all that teaching about the one, and\nthe plenum, and the unmoved, and the sufficient, and the imperishable!\n\nAll the imperishable\u2014that\u2019s but a simile, and the poets lie too much.\u2014\n\nBut of time and of becoming shall the best similes speak: a praise shall\nthey be, and a justification of all perishableness!\n\nCreating\u2014that is the great salvation from suffering, and life\u2019s\nalleviation. But for the creator to appear, suffering itself is needed,\nand much transformation.\n\nYea, much bitter dying must there be in your life, ye creators! Thus are\nye advocates and justifiers of all perishableness.\n\nFor the creator himself to be the new-born child, he must also\nbe willing to be the child-bearer, and endure the pangs of the\nchild-bearer.\n\nVerily, through a hundred souls went I my way, and through a hundred\ncradles and birth-throes. Many a farewell have I taken; I know the\nheart-breaking last hours.\n\nBut so willeth it my creating Will, my fate. Or, to tell you it more\ncandidly: just such a fate\u2014willeth my Will.\n\nAll FEELING suffereth in me, and is in prison: but my WILLING ever\ncometh to me as mine emancipator and comforter.\n\nWilling emancipateth: that is the true doctrine of will and\nemancipation\u2014so teacheth you Zarathustra.\n\nNo longer willing, and no longer valuing, and no longer creating! Ah,\nthat that great debility may ever be far from me!\n\nAnd also in discerning do I feel only my will\u2019s procreating and evolving\ndelight; and if there be innocence in my knowledge, it is because there\nis will to procreation in it.\n\nAway from God and Gods did this will allure me; what would there be to\ncreate if there were\u2014Gods!\n\nBut to man doth it ever impel me anew, my fervent creative will; thus\nimpelleth it the hammer to the stone.\n\nAh, ye men, within the stone slumbereth an image for me, the image of my\nvisions! Ah, that it should slumber in the hardest, ugliest stone!\n\nNow rageth my hammer ruthlessly against its prison. From the stone fly\nthe fragments: what\u2019s that to me?\n\nI will complete it: for a shadow came unto me\u2014the stillest and lightest\nof all things once came unto me!\n\nThe beauty of the Superman came unto me as a shadow. Ah, my brethren! Of\nwhat account now are\u2014the Gods to me!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXXV. THE PITIFUL.\n\n\nMy friends, there hath arisen a satire on your friend: \u201cBehold\nZarathustra! Walketh he not amongst us as if amongst animals?\u201d\n\nBut it is better said in this wise: \u201cThe discerning one walketh amongst\nmen AS amongst animals.\u201d\n\nMan himself is to the discerning one: the animal with red cheeks.\n\nHow hath that happened unto him? Is it not because he hath had to be\nashamed too oft?\n\nO my friends! Thus speaketh the discerning one: shame, shame,\nshame\u2014that is the history of man!\n\nAnd on that account doth the noble one enjoin upon himself not to abash:\nbashfulness doth he enjoin on himself in presence of all sufferers.\n\nVerily, I like them not, the merciful ones, whose bliss is in their\npity: too destitute are they of bashfulness.\n\nIf I must be pitiful, I dislike to be called so; and if I be so, it is\npreferably at a distance.\n\nPreferably also do I shroud my head, and flee, before being recognised:\nand thus do I bid you do, my friends!\n\nMay my destiny ever lead unafflicted ones like you across my path, and\nthose with whom I MAY have hope and repast and honey in common!\n\nVerily, I have done this and that for the afflicted: but something\nbetter did I always seem to do when I had learned to enjoy myself\nbetter.\n\nSince humanity came into being, man hath enjoyed himself too little:\nthat alone, my brethren, is our original sin!\n\nAnd when we learn better to enjoy ourselves, then do we unlearn best to\ngive pain unto others, and to contrive pain.\n\nTherefore do I wash the hand that hath helped the sufferer; therefore do\nI wipe also my soul.\n\nFor in seeing the sufferer suffering\u2014thereof was I ashamed on account\nof his shame; and in helping him, sorely did I wound his pride.\n\nGreat obligations do not make grateful, but revengeful; and when a small\nkindness is not forgotten, it becometh a gnawing worm.\n\n\u201cBe shy in accepting! Distinguish by accepting!\u201d\u2014thus do I advise those\nwho have naught to bestow.\n\nI, however, am a bestower: willingly do I bestow as friend to friends.\nStrangers, however, and the poor, may pluck for themselves the fruit\nfrom my tree: thus doth it cause less shame.\n\nBeggars, however, one should entirely do away with! Verily, it annoyeth\none to give unto them, and it annoyeth one not to give unto them.\n\nAnd likewise sinners and bad consciences! Believe me, my friends: the\nsting of conscience teacheth one to sting.\n\nThe worst things, however, are the petty thoughts. Verily, better to\nhave done evilly than to have thought pettily!\n\nTo be sure, ye say: \u201cThe delight in petty evils spareth one many a great\nevil deed.\u201d But here one should not wish to be sparing.\n\nLike a boil is the evil deed: it itcheth and irritateth and breaketh\nforth\u2014it speaketh honourably.\n\n\u201cBehold, I am disease,\u201d saith the evil deed: that is its honourableness.\n\nBut like infection is the petty thought: it creepeth and hideth, and\nwanteth to be nowhere\u2014until the whole body is decayed and withered by\nthe petty infection.\n\nTo him however, who is possessed of a devil, I would whisper this word\nin the ear: \u201cBetter for thee to rear up thy devil! Even for thee there\nis still a path to greatness!\u201d\u2014\n\nAh, my brethren! One knoweth a little too much about every one! And many\na one becometh transparent to us, but still we can by no means penetrate\nhim.\n\nIt is difficult to live among men because silence is so difficult.\n\nAnd not to him who is offensive to us are we most unfair, but to him who\ndoth not concern us at all.\n\nIf, however, thou hast a suffering friend, then be a resting-place for\nhis suffering; like a hard bed, however, a camp-bed: thus wilt thou\nserve him best.\n\nAnd if a friend doeth thee wrong, then say: \u201cI forgive thee what thou\nhast done unto me; that thou hast done it unto THYSELF, however\u2014how\ncould I forgive that!\u201d\n\nThus speaketh all great love: it surpasseth even forgiveness and pity.\n\nOne should hold fast one\u2019s heart; for when one letteth it go, how\nquickly doth one\u2019s head run away!\n\nAh, where in the world have there been greater follies than with the\npitiful? And what in the world hath caused more suffering than the\nfollies of the pitiful?\n\nWoe unto all loving ones who have not an elevation which is above their\npity!\n\nThus spake the devil unto me, once on a time: \u201cEven God hath his hell:\nit is his love for man.\u201d\n\nAnd lately, did I hear him say these words: \u201cGod is dead: of his pity\nfor man hath God died.\u201d\u2014\n\nSo be ye warned against pity: FROM THENCE there yet cometh unto men a\nheavy cloud! Verily, I understand weather-signs!\n\nBut attend also to this word: All great love is above all its pity: for\nit seeketh\u2014to create what is loved!\n\n\u201cMyself do I offer unto my love, AND MY NEIGHBOUR AS MYSELF\u201d\u2014such is\nthe language of all creators.\n\nAll creators, however, are hard.\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXXVI. THE PRIESTS.\n\n\nAnd one day Zarathustra made a sign to his disciples, and spake these\nwords unto them:\n\n\u201cHere are priests: but although they are mine enemies, pass them quietly\nand with sleeping swords!\n\nEven among them there are heroes; many of them have suffered too much\u2014:\nso they want to make others suffer.\n\nBad enemies are they: nothing is more revengeful than their meekness.\nAnd readily doth he soil himself who toucheth them.\n\nBut my blood is related to theirs; and I want withal to see my blood\nhonoured in theirs.\u201d\u2014\n\nAnd when they had passed, a pain attacked Zarathustra; but not long had\nhe struggled with the pain, when he began to speak thus:\n\nIt moveth my heart for those priests. They also go against my taste; but\nthat is the smallest matter unto me, since I am among men.\n\nBut I suffer and have suffered with them: prisoners are they unto me,\nand stigmatised ones. He whom they call Saviour put them in fetters:\u2014\n\nIn fetters of false values and fatuous words! Oh, that some one would\nsave them from their Saviour!\n\nOn an isle they once thought they had landed, when the sea tossed them\nabout; but behold, it was a slumbering monster!\n\nFalse values and fatuous words: these are the worst monsters for\nmortals\u2014long slumbereth and waiteth the fate that is in them.\n\nBut at last it cometh and awaketh and devoureth and engulfeth whatever\nhath built tabernacles upon it.\n\nOh, just look at those tabernacles which those priests have built\nthemselves! Churches, they call their sweet-smelling caves!\n\nOh, that falsified light, that mustified air! Where the soul\u2014may not\nfly aloft to its height!\n\nBut so enjoineth their belief: \u201cOn your knees, up the stair, ye\nsinners!\u201d\n\nVerily, rather would I see a shameless one than the distorted eyes of\ntheir shame and devotion!\n\nWho created for themselves such caves and penitence-stairs? Was it not\nthose who sought to conceal themselves, and were ashamed under the clear\nsky?\n\nAnd only when the clear sky looketh again through ruined roofs, and down\nupon grass and red poppies on ruined walls\u2014will I again turn my heart\nto the seats of this God.\n\nThey called God that which opposed and afflicted them: and verily, there\nwas much hero-spirit in their worship!\n\nAnd they knew not how to love their God otherwise than by nailing men to\nthe cross!\n\nAs corpses they thought to live; in black draped they their corpses;\neven in their talk do I still feel the evil flavour of charnel-houses.\n\nAnd he who liveth nigh unto them liveth nigh unto black pools, wherein\nthe toad singeth his song with sweet gravity.\n\nBetter songs would they have to sing, for me to believe in their\nSaviour: more like saved ones would his disciples have to appear unto\nme!\n\nNaked, would I like to see them: for beauty alone should preach\npenitence. But whom would that disguised affliction convince!\n\nVerily, their Saviours themselves came not from freedom and freedom\u2019s\nseventh heaven! Verily, they themselves never trod the carpets of\nknowledge!\n\nOf defects did the spirit of those Saviours consist; but into every\ndefect had they put their illusion, their stop-gap, which they called\nGod.\n\nIn their pity was their spirit drowned; and when they swelled and\no\u2019erswelled with pity, there always floated to the surface a great\nfolly.\n\nEagerly and with shouts drove they their flock over their foot-bridge;\nas if there were but one foot-bridge to the future! Verily, those\nshepherds also were still of the flock!\n\nSmall spirits and spacious souls had those shepherds: but, my brethren,\nwhat small domains have even the most spacious souls hitherto been!\n\nCharacters of blood did they write on the way they went, and their folly\ntaught that truth is proved by blood.\n\nBut blood is the very worst witness to truth; blood tainteth the purest\nteaching, and turneth it into delusion and hatred of heart.\n\nAnd when a person goeth through fire for his teaching\u2014what doth that\nprove! It is more, verily, when out of one\u2019s own burning cometh one\u2019s\nown teaching!\n\nSultry heart and cold head; where these meet, there ariseth the\nblusterer, the \u201cSaviour.\u201d\n\nGreater ones, verily, have there been, and higher-born ones, than those\nwhom the people call Saviours, those rapturous blusterers!\n\nAnd by still greater ones than any of the Saviours must ye be saved, my\nbrethren, if ye would find the way to freedom!\n\nNever yet hath there been a Superman. Naked have I seen both of them,\nthe greatest man and the smallest man:\u2014\n\nAll-too-similar are they still to each other. Verily, even the greatest\nfound I\u2014all-too-human!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXXVII. THE VIRTUOUS.\n\n\nWith thunder and heavenly fireworks must one speak to indolent and\nsomnolent senses.\n\nBut beauty\u2019s voice speaketh gently: it appealeth only to the most\nawakened souls.\n\nGently vibrated and laughed unto me to-day my buckler; it was beauty\u2019s\nholy laughing and thrilling.\n\nAt you, ye virtuous ones, laughed my beauty to-day. And thus came its\nvoice unto me: \u201cThey want\u2014to be paid besides!\u201d\n\nYe want to be paid besides, ye virtuous ones! Ye want reward for virtue,\nand heaven for earth, and eternity for your to-day?\n\nAnd now ye upbraid me for teaching that there is no reward-giver,\nnor paymaster? And verily, I do not even teach that virtue is its own\nreward.\n\nAh! this is my sorrow: into the basis of things have reward and\npunishment been insinuated\u2014and now even into the basis of your souls,\nye virtuous ones!\n\nBut like the snout of the boar shall my word grub up the basis of your\nsouls; a ploughshare will I be called by you.\n\nAll the secrets of your heart shall be brought to light; and when ye\nlie in the sun, grubbed up and broken, then will also your falsehood be\nseparated from your truth.\n\nFor this is your truth: ye are TOO PURE for the filth of the words:\nvengeance, punishment, recompense, retribution.\n\nYe love your virtue as a mother loveth her child; but when did one hear\nof a mother wanting to be paid for her love?\n\nIt is your dearest Self, your virtue. The ring\u2019s thirst is in you: to\nreach itself again struggleth every ring, and turneth itself.\n\nAnd like the star that goeth out, so is every work of your virtue: ever\nis its light on its way and travelling\u2014and when will it cease to be on\nits way?\n\nThus is the light of your virtue still on its way, even when its work\nis done. Be it forgotten and dead, still its ray of light liveth and\ntravelleth.\n\nThat your virtue is your Self, and not an outward thing, a skin, or\na cloak: that is the truth from the basis of your souls, ye virtuous\nones!\u2014\n\nBut sure enough there are those to whom virtue meaneth writhing under\nthe lash: and ye have hearkened too much unto their crying!\n\nAnd others are there who call virtue the slothfulness of their vices;\nand when once their hatred and jealousy relax the limbs, their \u201cjustice\u201d\n becometh lively and rubbeth its sleepy eyes.\n\nAnd others are there who are drawn downwards: their devils draw them.\nBut the more they sink, the more ardently gloweth their eye, and the\nlonging for their God.\n\nAh! their crying also hath reached your ears, ye virtuous ones: \u201cWhat I\nam NOT, that, that is God to me, and virtue!\u201d\n\nAnd others are there who go along heavily and creakingly, like carts\ntaking stones downhill: they talk much of dignity and virtue\u2014their drag\nthey call virtue!\n\nAnd others are there who are like eight-day clocks when wound up; they\ntick, and want people to call ticking\u2014virtue.\n\nVerily, in those have I mine amusement: wherever I find such clocks I\nshall wind them up with my mockery, and they shall even whirr thereby!\n\nAnd others are proud of their modicum of righteousness, and for the sake\nof it do violence to all things: so that the world is drowned in their\nunrighteousness.\n\nAh! how ineptly cometh the word \u201cvirtue\u201d out of their mouth! And when\nthey say: \u201cI am just,\u201d it always soundeth like: \u201cI am just\u2014revenged!\u201d\n\nWith their virtues they want to scratch out the eyes of their enemies;\nand they elevate themselves only that they may lower others.\n\nAnd again there are those who sit in their swamp, and speak thus from\namong the bulrushes: \u201cVirtue\u2014that is to sit quietly in the swamp.\n\nWe bite no one, and go out of the way of him who would bite; and in all\nmatters we have the opinion that is given us.\u201d\n\nAnd again there are those who love attitudes, and think that virtue is a\nsort of attitude.\n\nTheir knees continually adore, and their hands are eulogies of virtue,\nbut their heart knoweth naught thereof.\n\nAnd again there are those who regard it as virtue to say: \u201cVirtue\nis necessary\u201d; but after all they believe only that policemen are\nnecessary.\n\nAnd many a one who cannot see men\u2019s loftiness, calleth it virtue to see\ntheir baseness far too well: thus calleth he his evil eye virtue.\u2014\n\nAnd some want to be edified and raised up, and call it virtue: and\nothers want to be cast down,\u2014and likewise call it virtue.\n\nAnd thus do almost all think that they participate in virtue; and at\nleast every one claimeth to be an authority on \u201cgood\u201d and \u201cevil.\u201d\n\nBut Zarathustra came not to say unto all those liars and fools: \u201cWhat do\nYE know of virtue! What COULD ye know of virtue!\u201d\u2014\n\nBut that ye, my friends, might become weary of the old words which ye\nhave learned from the fools and liars:\n\nThat ye might become weary of the words \u201creward,\u201d \u201cretribution,\u201d\n \u201cpunishment,\u201d \u201crighteous vengeance.\u201d\u2014\n\nThat ye might become weary of saying: \u201cThat an action is good is because\nit is unselfish.\u201d\n\nAh! my friends! That YOUR very Self be in your action, as the mother is\nin the child: let that be YOUR formula of virtue!\n\nVerily, I have taken from you a hundred formulae and your virtue\u2019s\nfavourite playthings; and now ye upbraid me, as children upbraid.\n\nThey played by the sea\u2014then came there a wave and swept their\nplaythings into the deep: and now do they cry.\n\nBut the same wave shall bring them new playthings, and spread before\nthem new speckled shells!\n\nThus will they be comforted; and like them shall ye also, my friends,\nhave your comforting\u2014and new speckled shells!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXXVIII. THE RABBLE.\n\n\nLife is a well of delight; but where the rabble also drink, there all\nfountains are poisoned.\n\nTo everything cleanly am I well disposed; but I hate to see the grinning\nmouths and the thirst of the unclean.\n\nThey cast their eye down into the fountain: and now glanceth up to me\ntheir odious smile out of the fountain.\n\nThe holy water have they poisoned with their lustfulness; and when they\ncalled their filthy dreams delight, then poisoned they also the words.\n\nIndignant becometh the flame when they put their damp hearts to the\nfire; the spirit itself bubbleth and smoketh when the rabble approach\nthe fire.\n\nMawkish and over-mellow becometh the fruit in their hands: unsteady, and\nwithered at the top, doth their look make the fruit-tree.\n\nAnd many a one who hath turned away from life, hath only turned away\nfrom the rabble: he hated to share with them fountain, flame, and fruit.\n\nAnd many a one who hath gone into the wilderness and suffered thirst\nwith beasts of prey, disliked only to sit at the cistern with filthy\ncamel-drivers.\n\nAnd many a one who hath come along as a destroyer, and as a hailstorm\nto all cornfields, wanted merely to put his foot into the jaws of the\nrabble, and thus stop their throat.\n\nAnd it is not the mouthful which hath most choked me, to know that life\nitself requireth enmity and death and torture-crosses:\u2014\n\nBut I asked once, and suffocated almost with my question: What? is the\nrabble also NECESSARY for life?\n\nAre poisoned fountains necessary, and stinking fires, and filthy dreams,\nand maggots in the bread of life?\n\nNot my hatred, but my loathing, gnawed hungrily at my life! Ah, ofttimes\nbecame I weary of spirit, when I found even the rabble spiritual!\n\nAnd on the rulers turned I my back, when I saw what they now call\nruling: to traffic and bargain for power\u2014with the rabble!\n\nAmongst peoples of a strange language did I dwell, with stopped ears: so\nthat the language of their trafficking might remain strange unto me, and\ntheir bargaining for power.\n\nAnd holding my nose, I went morosely through all yesterdays and to-days:\nverily, badly smell all yesterdays and to-days of the scribbling rabble!\n\nLike a cripple become deaf, and blind, and dumb\u2014thus have I lived long;\nthat I might not live with the power-rabble, the scribe-rabble, and the\npleasure-rabble.\n\nToilsomely did my spirit mount stairs, and cautiously; alms of delight\nwere its refreshment; on the staff did life creep along with the blind\none.\n\nWhat hath happened unto me? How have I freed myself from loathing?\nWho hath rejuvenated mine eye? How have I flown to the height where no\nrabble any longer sit at the wells?\n\nDid my loathing itself create for me wings and fountain-divining powers?\nVerily, to the loftiest height had I to fly, to find again the well of\ndelight!\n\nOh, I have found it, my brethren! Here on the loftiest height bubbleth\nup for me the well of delight! And there is a life at whose waters none\nof the rabble drink with me!\n\nAlmost too violently dost thou flow for me, thou fountain of delight!\nAnd often emptiest thou the goblet again, in wanting to fill it!\n\nAnd yet must I learn to approach thee more modestly: far too violently\ndoth my heart still flow towards thee:\u2014\n\nMy heart on which my summer burneth, my short, hot, melancholy,\nover-happy summer: how my summer heart longeth for thy coolness!\n\nPast, the lingering distress of my spring! Past, the wickedness of my\nsnowflakes in June! Summer have I become entirely, and summer-noontide!\n\nA summer on the loftiest height, with cold fountains and blissful\nstillness: oh, come, my friends, that the stillness may become more\nblissful!\n\nFor this is OUR height and our home: too high and steep do we here dwell\nfor all uncleanly ones and their thirst.\n\nCast but your pure eyes into the well of my delight, my friends! How\ncould it become turbid thereby! It shall laugh back to you with ITS\npurity.\n\nOn the tree of the future build we our nest; eagles shall bring us lone\nones food in their beaks!\n\nVerily, no food of which the impure could be fellow-partakers! Fire,\nwould they think they devoured, and burn their mouths!\n\nVerily, no abodes do we here keep ready for the impure! An ice-cave to\ntheir bodies would our happiness be, and to their spirits!\n\nAnd as strong winds will we live above them, neighbours to the eagles,\nneighbours to the snow, neighbours to the sun: thus live the strong\nwinds.\n\nAnd like a wind will I one day blow amongst them, and with my spirit,\ntake the breath from their spirit: thus willeth my future.\n\nVerily, a strong wind is Zarathustra to all low places; and this counsel\ncounselleth he to his enemies, and to whatever spitteth and speweth:\n\u201cTake care not to spit AGAINST the wind!\u201d\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXXIX. THE TARANTULAS.\n\n\nLo, this is the tarantula\u2019s den! Wouldst thou see the tarantula itself?\nHere hangeth its web: touch this, so that it may tremble.\n\nThere cometh the tarantula willingly: Welcome, tarantula! Black on thy\nback is thy triangle and symbol; and I know also what is in thy soul.\n\nRevenge is in thy soul: wherever thou bitest, there ariseth black scab;\nwith revenge, thy poison maketh the soul giddy!\n\nThus do I speak unto you in parable, ye who make the soul giddy,\nye preachers of EQUALITY! Tarantulas are ye unto me, and secretly\nrevengeful ones!\n\nBut I will soon bring your hiding-places to the light: therefore do I\nlaugh in your face my laughter of the height.\n\nTherefore do I tear at your web, that your rage may lure you out of your\nden of lies, and that your revenge may leap forth from behind your word\n\u201cjustice.\u201d\n\nBecause, FOR MAN TO BE REDEEMED FROM REVENGE\u2014that is for me the bridge\nto the highest hope, and a rainbow after long storms.\n\nOtherwise, however, would the tarantulas have it. \u201cLet it be\nvery justice for the world to become full of the storms of our\nvengeance\u201d\u2014thus do they talk to one another.\n\n\u201cVengeance will we use, and insult, against all who are not like\nus\u201d\u2014thus do the tarantula-hearts pledge themselves.\n\n\u201cAnd \u2018Will to Equality\u2019\u2014that itself shall henceforth be the name of\nvirtue; and against all that hath power will we raise an outcry!\u201d\n\nYe preachers of equality, the tyrant-frenzy of impotence crieth thus in\nyou for \u201cequality\u201d: your most secret tyrant-longings disguise themselves\nthus in virtue-words!\n\nFretted conceit and suppressed envy\u2014perhaps your fathers\u2019 conceit and\nenvy: in you break they forth as flame and frenzy of vengeance.\n\nWhat the father hath hid cometh out in the son; and oft have I found in\nthe son the father\u2019s revealed secret.\n\nInspired ones they resemble: but it is not the heart that inspireth\nthem\u2014but vengeance. And when they become subtle and cold, it is not\nspirit, but envy, that maketh them so.\n\nTheir jealousy leadeth them also into thinkers\u2019 paths; and this is the\nsign of their jealousy\u2014they always go too far: so that their fatigue\nhath at last to go to sleep on the snow.\n\nIn all their lamentations soundeth vengeance, in all their eulogies is\nmaleficence; and being judge seemeth to them bliss.\n\nBut thus do I counsel you, my friends: distrust all in whom the impulse\nto punish is powerful!\n\nThey are people of bad race and lineage; out of their countenances peer\nthe hangman and the sleuth-hound.\n\nDistrust all those who talk much of their justice! Verily, in their\nsouls not only honey is lacking.\n\nAnd when they call themselves \u201cthe good and just,\u201d forget not, that for\nthem to be Pharisees, nothing is lacking but\u2014power!\n\nMy friends, I will not be mixed up and confounded with others.\n\nThere are those who preach my doctrine of life, and are at the same time\npreachers of equality, and tarantulas.\n\nThat they speak in favour of life, though they sit in their den, these\npoison-spiders, and withdrawn from life\u2014is because they would thereby\ndo injury.\n\nTo those would they thereby do injury who have power at present: for\nwith those the preaching of death is still most at home.\n\nWere it otherwise, then would the tarantulas teach otherwise: and they\nthemselves were formerly the best world-maligners and heretic-burners.\n\nWith these preachers of equality will I not be mixed up and confounded.\nFor thus speaketh justice UNTO ME: \u201cMen are not equal.\u201d\n\nAnd neither shall they become so! What would be my love to the Superman,\nif I spake otherwise?\n\nOn a thousand bridges and piers shall they throng to the future, and\nalways shall there be more war and inequality among them: thus doth my\ngreat love make me speak!\n\nInventors of figures and phantoms shall they be in their hostilities;\nand with those figures and phantoms shall they yet fight with each other\nthe supreme fight!\n\nGood and evil, and rich and poor, and high and low, and all names of\nvalues: weapons shall they be, and sounding signs, that life must again\nand again surpass itself!\n\nAloft will it build itself with columns and stairs\u2014life itself: into\nremote distances would it gaze, and out towards blissful beauties\u2014\nTHEREFORE doth it require elevation!\n\nAnd because it requireth elevation, therefore doth it require steps, and\nvariance of steps and climbers! To rise striveth life, and in rising to\nsurpass itself.\n\nAnd just behold, my friends! Here where the tarantula\u2019s den is, riseth\naloft an ancient temple\u2019s ruins\u2014just behold it with enlightened eyes!\n\nVerily, he who here towered aloft his thoughts in stone, knew as well as\nthe wisest ones about the secret of life!\n\nThat there is struggle and inequality even in beauty, and war for power\nand supremacy: that doth he here teach us in the plainest parable.\n\nHow divinely do vault and arch here contrast in the struggle: how with\nlight and shade they strive against each other, the divinely striving\nones.\u2014\n\nThus, steadfast and beautiful, let us also be enemies, my friends!\nDivinely will we strive AGAINST one another!\u2014\n\nAlas! There hath the tarantula bit me myself, mine old enemy! Divinely\nsteadfast and beautiful, it hath bit me on the finger!\n\n\u201cPunishment must there be, and justice\u201d\u2014so thinketh it: \u201cnot\ngratuitously shall he here sing songs in honour of enmity!\u201d\n\nYea, it hath revenged itself! And alas! now will it make my soul also\ndizzy with revenge!\n\nThat I may NOT turn dizzy, however, bind me fast, my friends, to this\npillar! Rather will I be a pillar-saint than a whirl of vengeance!\n\nVerily, no cyclone or whirlwind is Zarathustra: and if he be a dancer,\nhe is not at all a tarantula-dancer!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXXX. THE FAMOUS WISE ONES.\n\n\nThe people have ye served and the people\u2019s superstition\u2014NOT the\ntruth!\u2014all ye famous wise ones! And just on that account did they pay\nyou reverence.\n\nAnd on that account also did they tolerate your unbelief, because it\nwas a pleasantry and a by-path for the people. Thus doth the master give\nfree scope to his slaves, and even enjoyeth their presumptuousness.\n\nBut he who is hated by the people, as the wolf by the dogs\u2014is the free\nspirit, the enemy of fetters, the non-adorer, the dweller in the woods.\n\nTo hunt him out of his lair\u2014that was always called \u201csense of right\u201d by\nthe people: on him do they still hound their sharpest-toothed dogs.\n\n\u201cFor there the truth is, where the people are! Woe, woe to the seeking\nones!\u201d\u2014thus hath it echoed through all time.\n\nYour people would ye justify in their reverence: that called ye \u201cWill to\nTruth,\u201d ye famous wise ones!\n\nAnd your heart hath always said to itself: \u201cFrom the people have I come:\nfrom thence came to me also the voice of God.\u201d\n\nStiff-necked and artful, like the ass, have ye always been, as the\nadvocates of the people.\n\nAnd many a powerful one who wanted to run well with the people, hath\nharnessed in front of his horses\u2014a donkey, a famous wise man.\n\nAnd now, ye famous wise ones, I would have you finally throw off\nentirely the skin of the lion!\n\nThe skin of the beast of prey, the speckled skin, and the dishevelled\nlocks of the investigator, the searcher, and the conqueror!\n\nAh! for me to learn to believe in your \u201cconscientiousness,\u201d ye would\nfirst have to break your venerating will.\n\nConscientious\u2014so call I him who goeth into God-forsaken wildernesses,\nand hath broken his venerating heart.\n\nIn the yellow sands and burnt by the sun, he doubtless peereth thirstily\nat the isles rich in fountains, where life reposeth under shady trees.\n\nBut his thirst doth not persuade him to become like those comfortable\nones: for where there are oases, there are also idols.\n\nHungry, fierce, lonesome, God-forsaken: so doth the lion-will wish\nitself.\n\nFree from the happiness of slaves, redeemed from Deities and adorations,\nfearless and fear-inspiring, grand and lonesome: so is the will of the\nconscientious.\n\nIn the wilderness have ever dwelt the conscientious, the free spirits,\nas lords of the wilderness; but in the cities dwell the well-foddered,\nfamous wise ones\u2014the draught-beasts.\n\nFor, always, do they draw, as asses\u2014the PEOPLE\u2019S carts!\n\nNot that I on that account upbraid them: but serving ones do they\nremain, and harnessed ones, even though they glitter in golden harness.\n\nAnd often have they been good servants and worthy of their hire. For\nthus saith virtue: \u201cIf thou must be a servant, seek him unto whom thy\nservice is most useful!\n\nThe spirit and virtue of thy master shall advance by thou being his\nservant: thus wilt thou thyself advance with his spirit and virtue!\u201d\n\nAnd verily, ye famous wise ones, ye servants of the people! Ye\nyourselves have advanced with the people\u2019s spirit and virtue\u2014and the\npeople by you! To your honour do I say it!\n\nBut the people ye remain for me, even with your virtues, the people with\npurblind eyes\u2014the people who know not what SPIRIT is!\n\nSpirit is life which itself cutteth into life: by its own torture doth\nit increase its own knowledge,\u2014did ye know that before?\n\nAnd the spirit\u2019s happiness is this: to be anointed and consecrated with\ntears as a sacrificial victim,\u2014did ye know that before?\n\nAnd the blindness of the blind one, and his seeking and groping, shall\nyet testify to the power of the sun into which he hath gazed,\u2014did ye\nknow that before?\n\nAnd with mountains shall the discerning one learn to BUILD! It is\na small thing for the spirit to remove mountains,\u2014did ye know that\nbefore?\n\nYe know only the sparks of the spirit: but ye do not see the anvil which\nit is, and the cruelty of its hammer!\n\nVerily, ye know not the spirit\u2019s pride! But still less could ye endure\nthe spirit\u2019s humility, should it ever want to speak!\n\nAnd never yet could ye cast your spirit into a pit of snow: ye are not\nhot enough for that! Thus are ye unaware, also, of the delight of its\ncoldness.\n\nIn all respects, however, ye make too familiar with the spirit; and out\nof wisdom have ye often made an almshouse and a hospital for bad poets.\n\nYe are not eagles: thus have ye never experienced the happiness of the\nalarm of the spirit. And he who is not a bird should not camp above\nabysses.\n\nYe seem to me lukewarm ones: but coldly floweth all deep knowledge.\nIce-cold are the innermost wells of the spirit: a refreshment to hot\nhands and handlers.\n\nRespectable do ye there stand, and stiff, and with straight backs, ye\nfamous wise ones!\u2014no strong wind or will impelleth you.\n\nHave ye ne\u2019er seen a sail crossing the sea, rounded and inflated, and\ntrembling with the violence of the wind?\n\nLike the sail trembling with the violence of the spirit, doth my wisdom\ncross the sea\u2014my wild wisdom!\n\nBut ye servants of the people, ye famous wise ones\u2014how COULD ye go with\nme!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXXXI. THE NIGHT-SONG.\n\n\n\u2018Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak louder. And my soul also\nis a gushing fountain.\n\n\u2018Tis night: now only do all songs of the loving ones awake. And my soul\nalso is the song of a loving one.\n\nSomething unappeased, unappeasable, is within me; it longeth to find\nexpression. A craving for love is within me, which speaketh itself the\nlanguage of love.\n\nLight am I: ah, that I were night! But it is my lonesomeness to be\nbegirt with light!\n\nAh, that I were dark and nightly! How would I suck at the breasts of\nlight!\n\nAnd you yourselves would I bless, ye twinkling starlets and glow-worms\naloft!\u2014and would rejoice in the gifts of your light.\n\nBut I live in mine own light, I drink again into myself the flames that\nbreak forth from me.\n\nI know not the happiness of the receiver; and oft have I dreamt that\nstealing must be more blessed than receiving.\n\nIt is my poverty that my hand never ceaseth bestowing; it is mine envy\nthat I see waiting eyes and the brightened nights of longing.\n\nOh, the misery of all bestowers! Oh, the darkening of my sun! Oh, the\ncraving to crave! Oh, the violent hunger in satiety!\n\nThey take from me: but do I yet touch their soul? There is a gap \u2018twixt\ngiving and receiving; and the smallest gap hath finally to be bridged\nover.\n\nA hunger ariseth out of my beauty: I should like to injure those I\nillumine; I should like to rob those I have gifted:\u2014thus do I hunger\nfor wickedness.\n\nWithdrawing my hand when another hand already stretcheth out to it;\nhesitating like the cascade, which hesitateth even in its leap:\u2014thus do\nI hunger for wickedness!\n\nSuch revenge doth mine abundance think of: such mischief welleth out of\nmy lonesomeness.\n\nMy happiness in bestowing died in bestowing; my virtue became weary of\nitself by its abundance!\n\nHe who ever bestoweth is in danger of losing his shame; to him who ever\ndispenseth, the hand and heart become callous by very dispensing.\n\nMine eye no longer overfloweth for the shame of suppliants; my hand hath\nbecome too hard for the trembling of filled hands.\n\nWhence have gone the tears of mine eye, and the down of my heart? Oh,\nthe lonesomeness of all bestowers! Oh, the silence of all shining ones!\n\nMany suns circle in desert space: to all that is dark do they speak with\ntheir light\u2014but to me they are silent.\n\nOh, this is the hostility of light to the shining one: unpityingly doth\nit pursue its course.\n\nUnfair to the shining one in its innermost heart, cold to the\nsuns:\u2014thus travelleth every sun.\n\nLike a storm do the suns pursue their courses: that is their travelling.\nTheir inexorable will do they follow: that is their coldness.\n\nOh, ye only is it, ye dark, nightly ones, that extract warmth from the\nshining ones! Oh, ye only drink milk and refreshment from the light\u2019s\nudders!\n\nAh, there is ice around me; my hand burneth with the iciness! Ah, there\nis thirst in me; it panteth after your thirst!\n\n\u2018Tis night: alas, that I have to be light! And thirst for the nightly!\nAnd lonesomeness!\n\n\u2018Tis night: now doth my longing break forth in me as a fountain,\u2014for\nspeech do I long.\n\n\u2018Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak louder. And my soul also\nis a gushing fountain.\n\n\u2018Tis night: now do all songs of loving ones awake. And my soul also is\nthe song of a loving one.\u2014\n\nThus sang Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXXXII. THE DANCE-SONG.\n\n\nOne evening went Zarathustra and his disciples through the forest; and\nwhen he sought for a well, lo, he lighted upon a green meadow peacefully\nsurrounded with trees and bushes, where maidens were dancing together.\nAs soon as the maidens recognised Zarathustra, they ceased dancing;\nZarathustra, however, approached them with friendly mien and spake these\nwords:\n\nCease not your dancing, ye lovely maidens! No game-spoiler hath come to\nyou with evil eye, no enemy of maidens.\n\nGod\u2019s advocate am I with the devil: he, however, is the spirit of\ngravity. How could I, ye light-footed ones, be hostile to divine dances?\nOr to maidens\u2019 feet with fine ankles?\n\nTo be sure, I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not\nafraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.\n\nAnd even the little God may he find, who is dearest to maidens: beside\nthe well lieth he quietly, with closed eyes.\n\nVerily, in broad daylight did he fall asleep, the sluggard! Had he\nperhaps chased butterflies too much?\n\nUpbraid me not, ye beautiful dancers, when I chasten the little God\nsomewhat! He will cry, certainly, and weep\u2014but he is laughable even\nwhen weeping!\n\nAnd with tears in his eyes shall he ask you for a dance; and I myself\nwill sing a song to his dance:\n\nA dance-song and satire on the spirit of gravity my supremest,\npowerfulest devil, who is said to be \u201clord of the world.\u201d\u2014\n\nAnd this is the song that Zarathustra sang when Cupid and the maidens\ndanced together:\n\nOf late did I gaze into thine eye, O Life! And into the unfathomable did\nI there seem to sink.\n\nBut thou pulledst me out with a golden angle; derisively didst thou\nlaugh when I called thee unfathomable.\n\n\u201cSuch is the language of all fish,\u201d saidst thou; \u201cwhat THEY do not\nfathom is unfathomable.\n\nBut changeable am I only, and wild, and altogether a woman, and no\nvirtuous one:\n\nThough I be called by you men the \u2018profound one,\u2019 or the \u2018faithful one,\u2019\n\u2018the eternal one,\u2019 \u2018the mysterious one.\u2019\n\nBut ye men endow us always with your own virtues\u2014alas, ye virtuous\nones!\u201d\n\nThus did she laugh, the unbelievable one; but never do I believe her and\nher laughter, when she speaketh evil of herself.\n\nAnd when I talked face to face with my wild Wisdom, she said to me\nangrily: \u201cThou willest, thou cravest, thou lovest; on that account alone\ndost thou PRAISE Life!\u201d\n\nThen had I almost answered indignantly and told the truth to the angry\none; and one cannot answer more indignantly than when one \u201ctelleth the\ntruth\u201d to one\u2019s Wisdom.\n\nFor thus do things stand with us three. In my heart do I love only\nLife\u2014and verily, most when I hate her!\n\nBut that I am fond of Wisdom, and often too fond, is because she\nremindeth me very strongly of Life!\n\nShe hath her eye, her laugh, and even her golden angle-rod: am I\nresponsible for it that both are so alike?\n\nAnd when once Life asked me: \u201cWho is she then, this Wisdom?\u201d\u2014then said\nI eagerly: \u201cAh, yes! Wisdom!\n\nOne thirsteth for her and is not satisfied, one looketh through veils,\none graspeth through nets.\n\nIs she beautiful? What do I know! But the oldest carps are still lured\nby her.\n\nChangeable is she, and wayward; often have I seen her bite her lip, and\npass the comb against the grain of her hair.\n\nPerhaps she is wicked and false, and altogether a woman; but when she\nspeaketh ill of herself, just then doth she seduce most.\u201d\n\nWhen I had said this unto Life, then laughed she maliciously, and shut\nher eyes. \u201cOf whom dost thou speak?\u201d said she. \u201cPerhaps of me?\n\nAnd if thou wert right\u2014is it proper to say THAT in such wise to my\nface! But now, pray, speak also of thy Wisdom!\u201d\n\nAh, and now hast thou again opened thine eyes, O beloved Life! And into\nthe unfathomable have I again seemed to sink.\u2014\n\nThus sang Zarathustra. But when the dance was over and the maidens had\ndeparted, he became sad.\n\n\u201cThe sun hath been long set,\u201d said he at last, \u201cthe meadow is damp, and\nfrom the forest cometh coolness.\n\nAn unknown presence is about me, and gazeth thoughtfully. What! Thou\nlivest still, Zarathustra?\n\nWhy? Wherefore? Whereby? Whither? Where? How? Is it not folly still to\nlive?\u2014\n\nAh, my friends; the evening is it which thus interrogateth in me.\nForgive me my sadness!\n\nEvening hath come on: forgive me that evening hath come on!\u201d\n\nThus sang Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIII. THE GRAVE-SONG.\n\n\n\u201cYonder is the grave-island, the silent isle; yonder also are the graves\nof my youth. Thither will I carry an evergreen wreath of life.\u201d\n\nResolving thus in my heart, did I sail o\u2019er the sea.\u2014\n\nOh, ye sights and scenes of my youth! Oh, all ye gleams of love, ye\ndivine fleeting gleams! How could ye perish so soon for me! I think of\nyou to-day as my dead ones.\n\nFrom you, my dearest dead ones, cometh unto me a sweet savour,\nheart-opening and melting. Verily, it convulseth and openeth the heart\nof the lone seafarer.\n\nStill am I the richest and most to be envied\u2014I, the lonesomest one!\nFor I HAVE POSSESSED you, and ye possess me still. Tell me: to whom hath\nthere ever fallen such rosy apples from the tree as have fallen unto me?\n\nStill am I your love\u2019s heir and heritage, blooming to your memory with\nmany-hued, wild-growing virtues, O ye dearest ones!\n\nAh, we were made to remain nigh unto each other, ye kindly strange\nmarvels; and not like timid birds did ye come to me and my longing\u2014nay,\nbut as trusting ones to a trusting one!\n\nYea, made for faithfulness, like me, and for fond eternities, must I now\nname you by your faithlessness, ye divine glances and fleeting gleams:\nno other name have I yet learnt.\n\nVerily, too early did ye die for me, ye fugitives. Yet did ye not flee\nfrom me, nor did I flee from you: innocent are we to each other in our\nfaithlessness.\n\nTo kill ME, did they strangle you, ye singing birds of my hopes! Yea, at\nyou, ye dearest ones, did malice ever shoot its arrows\u2014to hit my heart!\n\nAnd they hit it! Because ye were always my dearest, my possession and my\npossessedness: ON THAT ACCOUNT had ye to die young, and far too early!\n\nAt my most vulnerable point did they shoot the arrow\u2014namely, at you,\nwhose skin is like down\u2014or more like the smile that dieth at a glance!\n\nBut this word will I say unto mine enemies: What is all manslaughter in\ncomparison with what ye have done unto me!\n\nWorse evil did ye do unto me than all manslaughter; the irretrievable\ndid ye take from me:\u2014thus do I speak unto you, mine enemies!\n\nSlew ye not my youth\u2019s visions and dearest marvels! My playmates took ye\nfrom me, the blessed spirits! To their memory do I deposit this wreath\nand this curse.\n\nThis curse upon you, mine enemies! Have ye not made mine eternal short,\nas a tone dieth away in a cold night! Scarcely, as the twinkle of divine\neyes, did it come to me\u2014as a fleeting gleam!\n\nThus spake once in a happy hour my purity: \u201cDivine shall everything be\nunto me.\u201d\n\nThen did ye haunt me with foul phantoms; ah, whither hath that happy\nhour now fled!\n\n\u201cAll days shall be holy unto me\u201d\u2014so spake once the wisdom of my youth:\nverily, the language of a joyous wisdom!\n\nBut then did ye enemies steal my nights, and sold them to sleepless\ntorture: ah, whither hath that joyous wisdom now fled?\n\nOnce did I long for happy auspices: then did ye lead an owl-monster\nacross my path, an adverse sign. Ah, whither did my tender longing then\nflee?\n\nAll loathing did I once vow to renounce: then did ye change my nigh ones\nand nearest ones into ulcerations. Ah, whither did my noblest vow then\nflee?\n\nAs a blind one did I once walk in blessed ways: then did ye cast\nfilth on the blind one\u2019s course: and now is he disgusted with the old\nfootpath.\n\nAnd when I performed my hardest task, and celebrated the triumph of\nmy victories, then did ye make those who loved me call out that I then\ngrieved them most.\n\nVerily, it was always your doing: ye embittered to me my best honey, and\nthe diligence of my best bees.\n\nTo my charity have ye ever sent the most impudent beggars; around my\nsympathy have ye ever crowded the incurably shameless. Thus have ye\nwounded the faith of my virtue.\n\nAnd when I offered my holiest as a sacrifice, immediately did your\n\u201cpiety\u201d put its fatter gifts beside it: so that my holiest suffocated in\nthe fumes of your fat.\n\nAnd once did I want to dance as I had never yet danced: beyond all\nheavens did I want to dance. Then did ye seduce my favourite minstrel.\n\nAnd now hath he struck up an awful, melancholy air; alas, he tooted as a\nmournful horn to mine ear!\n\nMurderous minstrel, instrument of evil, most innocent instrument!\nAlready did I stand prepared for the best dance: then didst thou slay my\nrapture with thy tones!\n\nOnly in the dance do I know how to speak the parable of the highest\nthings:\u2014and now hath my grandest parable remained unspoken in my limbs!\n\nUnspoken and unrealised hath my highest hope remained! And there have\nperished for me all the visions and consolations of my youth!\n\nHow did I ever bear it? How did I survive and surmount such wounds? How\ndid my soul rise again out of those sepulchres?\n\nYea, something invulnerable, unburiable is with me, something that would\nrend rocks asunder: it is called MY WILL. Silently doth it proceed, and\nunchanged throughout the years.\n\nIts course will it go upon my feet, mine old Will; hard of heart is its\nnature and invulnerable.\n\nInvulnerable am I only in my heel. Ever livest thou there, and art like\nthyself, thou most patient one! Ever hast thou burst all shackles of the\ntomb!\n\nIn thee still liveth also the unrealisedness of my youth; and as life\nand youth sittest thou here hopeful on the yellow ruins of graves.\n\nYea, thou art still for me the demolisher of all graves: Hail to thee,\nmy Will! And only where there are graves are there resurrections.\u2014\n\nThus sang Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIV. SELF-SURPASSING.\n\n\n\u201cWill to Truth\u201d do ye call it, ye wisest ones, that which impelleth you\nand maketh you ardent?\n\nWill for the thinkableness of all being: thus do _I_ call your will!\n\nAll being would ye MAKE thinkable: for ye doubt with good reason whether\nit be already thinkable.\n\nBut it shall accommodate and bend itself to you! So willeth your will.\nSmooth shall it become and subject to the spirit, as its mirror and\nreflection.\n\nThat is your entire will, ye wisest ones, as a Will to Power; and even\nwhen ye speak of good and evil, and of estimates of value.\n\nYe would still create a world before which ye can bow the knee: such is\nyour ultimate hope and ecstasy.\n\nThe ignorant, to be sure, the people\u2014they are like a river on which a\nboat floateth along: and in the boat sit the estimates of value, solemn\nand disguised.\n\nYour will and your valuations have ye put on the river of becoming; it\nbetrayeth unto me an old Will to Power, what is believed by the people\nas good and evil.\n\nIt was ye, ye wisest ones, who put such guests in this boat, and gave\nthem pomp and proud names\u2014ye and your ruling Will!\n\nOnward the river now carrieth your boat: it MUST carry it. A small\nmatter if the rough wave foameth and angrily resisteth its keel!\n\nIt is not the river that is your danger and the end of your good and\nevil, ye wisest ones: but that Will itself, the Will to Power\u2014the\nunexhausted, procreating life-will.\n\nBut that ye may understand my gospel of good and evil, for that purpose\nwill I tell you my gospel of life, and of the nature of all living\nthings.\n\nThe living thing did I follow; I walked in the broadest and narrowest\npaths to learn its nature.\n\nWith a hundred-faced mirror did I catch its glance when its mouth was\nshut, so that its eye might speak unto me. And its eye spake unto me.\n\nBut wherever I found living things, there heard I also the language of\nobedience. All living things are obeying things.\n\nAnd this heard I secondly: Whatever cannot obey itself, is commanded.\nSuch is the nature of living things.\n\nThis, however, is the third thing which I heard\u2014namely, that commanding\nis more difficult than obeying. And not only because the commander\nbeareth the burden of all obeyers, and because this burden readily\ncrusheth him:\u2014\n\nAn attempt and a risk seemed all commanding unto me; and whenever it\ncommandeth, the living thing risketh itself thereby.\n\nYea, even when it commandeth itself, then also must it atone for its\ncommanding. Of its own law must it become the judge and avenger and\nvictim.\n\nHow doth this happen! so did I ask myself. What persuadeth the living\nthing to obey, and command, and even be obedient in commanding?\n\nHearken now unto my word, ye wisest ones! Test it seriously, whether\nI have crept into the heart of life itself, and into the roots of its\nheart!\n\nWherever I found a living thing, there found I Will to Power; and even\nin the will of the servant found I the will to be master.\n\nThat to the stronger the weaker shall serve\u2014thereto persuadeth he his\nwill who would be master over a still weaker one. That delight alone he\nis unwilling to forego.\n\nAnd as the lesser surrendereth himself to the greater that he may have\ndelight and power over the least of all, so doth even the greatest\nsurrender himself, and staketh\u2014life, for the sake of power.\n\nIt is the surrender of the greatest to run risk and danger, and play\ndice for death.\n\nAnd where there is sacrifice and service and love-glances, there also\nis the will to be master. By by-ways doth the weaker then slink into\nthe fortress, and into the heart of the mightier one\u2014and there stealeth\npower.\n\nAnd this secret spake Life herself unto me. \u201cBehold,\u201d said she, \u201cI am\nthat WHICH MUST EVER SURPASS ITSELF.\n\nTo be sure, ye call it will to procreation, or impulse towards a goal,\ntowards the higher, remoter, more manifold: but all that is one and the\nsame secret.\n\nRather would I succumb than disown this one thing; and verily, where\nthere is succumbing and leaf-falling, lo, there doth Life sacrifice\nitself\u2014for power!\n\nThat I have to be struggle, and becoming, and purpose, and\ncross-purpose\u2014ah, he who divineth my will, divineth well also on what\nCROOKED paths it hath to tread!\n\nWhatever I create, and however much I love it,\u2014soon must I be adverse\nto it, and to my love: so willeth my will.\n\nAnd even thou, discerning one, art only a path and footstep of my will:\nverily, my Will to Power walketh even on the feet of thy Will to Truth!\n\nHe certainly did not hit the truth who shot at it the formula: \u2018Will to\nexistence\u2019: that will\u2014doth not exist!\n\nFor what is not, cannot will; that, however, which is in existence\u2014how\ncould it still strive for existence!\n\nOnly where there is life, is there also will: not, however, Will to\nLife, but\u2014so teach I thee\u2014Will to Power!\n\nMuch is reckoned higher than life itself by the living one; but out of\nthe very reckoning speaketh\u2014the Will to Power!\u201d\u2014\n\nThus did Life once teach me: and thereby, ye wisest ones, do I solve you\nthe riddle of your hearts.\n\nVerily, I say unto you: good and evil which would be everlasting\u2014it\ndoth not exist! Of its own accord must it ever surpass itself anew.\n\nWith your values and formulae of good and evil, ye exercise power,\nye valuing ones: and that is your secret love, and the sparkling,\ntrembling, and overflowing of your souls.\n\nBut a stronger power groweth out of your values, and a new surpassing:\nby it breaketh egg and egg-shell.\n\nAnd he who hath to be a creator in good and evil\u2014verily, he hath first\nto be a destroyer, and break values in pieces.\n\nThus doth the greatest evil pertain to the greatest good: that, however,\nis the creating good.\u2014\n\nLet us SPEAK thereof, ye wisest ones, even though it be bad. To be\nsilent is worse; all suppressed truths become poisonous.\n\nAnd let everything break up which\u2014can break up by our truths! Many a\nhouse is still to be built!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXXXV. THE SUBLIME ONES.\n\n\nCalm is the bottom of my sea: who would guess that it hideth droll\nmonsters!\n\nUnmoved is my depth: but it sparkleth with swimming enigmas and\nlaughters.\n\nA sublime one saw I to-day, a solemn one, a penitent of the spirit: Oh,\nhow my soul laughed at his ugliness!\n\nWith upraised breast, and like those who draw in their breath: thus did\nhe stand, the sublime one, and in silence:\n\nO\u2019erhung with ugly truths, the spoil of his hunting, and rich in torn\nraiment; many thorns also hung on him\u2014but I saw no rose.\n\nNot yet had he learned laughing and beauty. Gloomy did this hunter\nreturn from the forest of knowledge.\n\nFrom the fight with wild beasts returned he home: but even yet a wild\nbeast gazeth out of his seriousness\u2014an unconquered wild beast!\n\nAs a tiger doth he ever stand, on the point of springing; but I do not\nlike those strained souls; ungracious is my taste towards all those\nself-engrossed ones.\n\nAnd ye tell me, friends, that there is to be no dispute about taste and\ntasting? But all life is a dispute about taste and tasting!\n\nTaste: that is weight at the same time, and scales and weigher; and alas\nfor every living thing that would live without dispute about weight and\nscales and weigher!\n\nShould he become weary of his sublimeness, this sublime one, then only\nwill his beauty begin\u2014and then only will I taste him and find him\nsavoury.\n\nAnd only when he turneth away from himself will he o\u2019erleap his own\nshadow\u2014and verily! into HIS sun.\n\nFar too long did he sit in the shade; the cheeks of the penitent of the\nspirit became pale; he almost starved on his expectations.\n\nContempt is still in his eye, and loathing hideth in his mouth. To be\nsure, he now resteth, but he hath not yet taken rest in the sunshine.\n\nAs the ox ought he to do; and his happiness should smell of the earth,\nand not of contempt for the earth.\n\nAs a white ox would I like to see him, which, snorting and lowing,\nwalketh before the ploughshare: and his lowing should also laud all\nthat is earthly!\n\nDark is still his countenance; the shadow of his hand danceth upon it.\nO\u2019ershadowed is still the sense of his eye.\n\nHis deed itself is still the shadow upon him: his doing obscureth the\ndoer. Not yet hath he overcome his deed.\n\nTo be sure, I love in him the shoulders of the ox: but now do I want to\nsee also the eye of the angel.\n\nAlso his hero-will hath he still to unlearn: an exalted one shall he\nbe, and not only a sublime one:\u2014the ether itself should raise him, the\nwill-less one!\n\nHe hath subdued monsters, he hath solved enigmas. But he should also\nredeem his monsters and enigmas; into heavenly children should he\ntransform them.\n\nAs yet hath his knowledge not learned to smile, and to be without\njealousy; as yet hath his gushing passion not become calm in beauty.\n\nVerily, not in satiety shall his longing cease and disappear, but in\nbeauty! Gracefulness belongeth to the munificence of the magnanimous.\n\nHis arm across his head: thus should the hero repose; thus should he\nalso surmount his repose.\n\nBut precisely to the hero is BEAUTY the hardest thing of all.\nUnattainable is beauty by all ardent wills.\n\nA little more, a little less: precisely this is much here, it is the\nmost here.\n\nTo stand with relaxed muscles and with unharnessed will: that is the\nhardest for all of you, ye sublime ones!\n\nWhen power becometh gracious and descendeth into the visible\u2014I call\nsuch condescension, beauty.\n\nAnd from no one do I want beauty so much as from thee, thou powerful\none: let thy goodness be thy last self-conquest.\n\nAll evil do I accredit to thee: therefore do I desire of thee the good.\n\nVerily, I have often laughed at the weaklings, who think themselves good\nbecause they have crippled paws!\n\nThe virtue of the pillar shalt thou strive after: more beautiful doth\nit ever become, and more graceful\u2014but internally harder and more\nsustaining\u2014the higher it riseth.\n\nYea, thou sublime one, one day shalt thou also be beautiful, and hold up\nthe mirror to thine own beauty.\n\nThen will thy soul thrill with divine desires; and there will be\nadoration even in thy vanity!\n\nFor this is the secret of the soul: when the hero hath abandoned it,\nthen only approacheth it in dreams\u2014the superhero.\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVI. THE LAND OF CULTURE.\n\n\nToo far did I fly into the future: a horror seized upon me.\n\nAnd when I looked around me, lo! there time was my sole contemporary.\n\nThen did I fly backwards, homewards\u2014and always faster. Thus did I come\nunto you, ye present-day men, and into the land of culture.\n\nFor the first time brought I an eye to see you, and good desire: verily,\nwith longing in my heart did I come.\n\nBut how did it turn out with me? Although so alarmed\u2014I had yet to\nlaugh! Never did mine eye see anything so motley-coloured!\n\nI laughed and laughed, while my foot still trembled, and my heart as\nwell. \u201cHere forsooth, is the home of all the paintpots,\u201d\u2014said I.\n\nWith fifty patches painted on faces and limbs\u2014so sat ye there to mine\nastonishment, ye present-day men!\n\nAnd with fifty mirrors around you, which flattered your play of colours,\nand repeated it!\n\nVerily, ye could wear no better masks, ye present-day men, than your own\nfaces! Who could\u2014RECOGNISE you!\n\nWritten all over with the characters of the past, and these characters\nalso pencilled over with new characters\u2014thus have ye concealed\nyourselves well from all decipherers!\n\nAnd though one be a trier of the reins, who still believeth that ye have\nreins! Out of colours ye seem to be baked, and out of glued scraps.\n\nAll times and peoples gaze divers-coloured out of your veils; all\ncustoms and beliefs speak divers-coloured out of your gestures.\n\nHe who would strip you of veils and wrappers, and paints and gestures,\nwould just have enough left to scare the crows.\n\nVerily, I myself am the scared crow that once saw you naked, and without\npaint; and I flew away when the skeleton ogled at me.\n\nRather would I be a day-labourer in the nether-world, and among the\nshades of the bygone!\u2014Fatter and fuller than ye, are forsooth the\nnether-worldlings!\n\nThis, yea this, is bitterness to my bowels, that I can neither endure\nyou naked nor clothed, ye present-day men!\n\nAll that is unhomelike in the future, and whatever maketh strayed birds\nshiver, is verily more homelike and familiar than your \u201creality.\u201d\n\nFor thus speak ye: \u201cReal are we wholly, and without faith and\nsuperstition\u201d: thus do ye plume yourselves\u2014alas! even without plumes!\n\nIndeed, how would ye be ABLE to believe, ye divers-coloured ones!\u2014ye\nwho are pictures of all that hath ever been believed!\n\nPerambulating refutations are ye, of belief itself, and a dislocation of\nall thought. UNTRUSTWORTHY ONES: thus do _I_ call you, ye real ones!\n\nAll periods prate against one another in your spirits; and the dreams\nand pratings of all periods were even realer than your awakeness!\n\nUnfruitful are ye: THEREFORE do ye lack belief. But he who had to\ncreate, had always his presaging dreams and astral premonitions\u2014and\nbelieved in believing!\u2014\n\nHalf-open doors are ye, at which grave-diggers wait. And this is YOUR\nreality: \u201cEverything deserveth to perish.\u201d\n\nAlas, how ye stand there before me, ye unfruitful ones; how lean your\nribs! And many of you surely have had knowledge thereof.\n\nMany a one hath said: \u201cThere hath surely a God filched something from\nme secretly whilst I slept? Verily, enough to make a girl for himself\ntherefrom!\n\n\u201cAmazing is the poverty of my ribs!\u201d thus hath spoken many a present-day\nman.\n\nYea, ye are laughable unto me, ye present-day men! And especially when\nye marvel at yourselves!\n\nAnd woe unto me if I could not laugh at your marvelling, and had to\nswallow all that is repugnant in your platters!\n\nAs it is, however, I will make lighter of you, since I have to carry\n_what is heavy;_ and what matter if beetles and May-bugs also alight on\nmy load!\n\nVerily, it shall not on that account become heavier to me! And not from\nyou, ye present-day men, shall my great weariness arise.\u2014\n\nAh, whither shall I now ascend with my longing! From all mountains do I\nlook out for fatherlands and motherlands.\n\nBut a home have I found nowhere: unsettled am I in all cities, and\ndecamping at all gates.\n\nAlien to me, and a mockery, are the present-day men, to whom of late my\nheart impelled me; and exiled am I from fatherlands and motherlands.\n\nThus do I love only my CHILDREN\u2019S LAND, the undiscovered in the remotest\nsea: for it do I bid my sails search and search.\n\nUnto my children will I make amends for being the child of my fathers:\nand unto all the future\u2014for THIS present-day!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVII. IMMACULATE PERCEPTION.\n\n\nWhen yester-eve the moon arose, then did I fancy it about to bear a sun:\nso broad and teeming did it lie on the horizon.\n\nBut it was a liar with its pregnancy; and sooner will I believe in the\nman in the moon than in the woman.\n\nTo be sure, little of a man is he also, that timid night-reveller.\nVerily, with a bad conscience doth he stalk over the roofs.\n\nFor he is covetous and jealous, the monk in the moon; covetous of the\nearth, and all the joys of lovers.\n\nNay, I like him not, that tom-cat on the roofs! Hateful unto me are all\nthat slink around half-closed windows!\n\nPiously and silently doth he stalk along on the star-carpets:\u2014but I\nlike no light-treading human feet, on which not even a spur jingleth.\n\nEvery honest one\u2019s step speaketh; the cat however, stealeth along over\nthe ground. Lo! cat-like doth the moon come along, and dishonestly.\u2014\n\nThis parable speak I unto you sentimental dissemblers, unto you, the\n\u201cpure discerners!\u201d You do _I_ call\u2014covetous ones!\n\nAlso ye love the earth, and the earthly: I have divined you well!\u2014but\nshame is in your love, and a bad conscience\u2014ye are like the moon!\n\nTo despise the earthly hath your spirit been persuaded, but not your\nbowels: these, however, are the strongest in you!\n\nAnd now is your spirit ashamed to be at the service of your bowels, and\ngoeth by-ways and lying ways to escape its own shame.\n\n\u201cThat would be the highest thing for me\u201d\u2014so saith your lying spirit\nunto itself\u2014\u201cto gaze upon life without desire, and not like the dog,\nwith hanging-out tongue:\n\nTo be happy in gazing: with dead will, free from the grip and greed\nof selfishness\u2014cold and ashy-grey all over, but with intoxicated\nmoon-eyes!\n\nThat would be the dearest thing to me\u201d\u2014thus doth the seduced one seduce\nhimself,\u2014\u201cto love the earth as the moon loveth it, and with the eye\nonly to feel its beauty.\n\nAnd this do I call IMMACULATE perception of all things: to want nothing\nelse from them, but to be allowed to lie before them as a mirror with a\nhundred facets.\u201d\u2014\n\nOh, ye sentimental dissemblers, ye covetous ones! Ye lack innocence in\nyour desire: and now do ye defame desiring on that account!\n\nVerily, not as creators, as procreators, or as jubilators do ye love the\nearth!\n\nWhere is innocence? Where there is will to procreation. And he who\nseeketh to create beyond himself, hath for me the purest will.\n\nWhere is beauty? Where I MUST WILL with my whole Will; where I will love\nand perish, that an image may not remain merely an image.\n\nLoving and perishing: these have rhymed from eternity. Will to love:\nthat is to be ready also for death. Thus do I speak unto you cowards!\n\nBut now doth your emasculated ogling profess to be \u201ccontemplation!\u201d\n And that which can be examined with cowardly eyes is to be christened\n\u201cbeautiful!\u201d Oh, ye violators of noble names!\n\nBut it shall be your curse, ye immaculate ones, ye pure discerners, that\nye shall never bring forth, even though ye lie broad and teeming on the\nhorizon!\n\nVerily, ye fill your mouth with noble words: and we are to believe that\nyour heart overfloweth, ye cozeners?\n\nBut MY words are poor, contemptible, stammering words: gladly do I pick\nup what falleth from the table at your repasts.\n\nYet still can I say therewith the truth\u2014to dissemblers! Yea, my\nfish-bones, shells, and prickly leaves shall\u2014tickle the noses of\ndissemblers!\n\nBad air is always about you and your repasts: your lascivious thoughts,\nyour lies, and secrets are indeed in the air!\n\nDare only to believe in yourselves\u2014in yourselves and in your inward\nparts! He who doth not believe in himself always lieth.\n\nA God\u2019s mask have ye hung in front of you, ye \u201cpure ones\u201d: into a God\u2019s\nmask hath your execrable coiling snake crawled.\n\nVerily ye deceive, ye \u201ccontemplative ones!\u201d Even Zarathustra was once\nthe dupe of your godlike exterior; he did not divine the serpent\u2019s coil\nwith which it was stuffed.\n\nA God\u2019s soul, I once thought I saw playing in your games, ye pure\ndiscerners! No better arts did I once dream of than your arts!\n\nSerpents\u2019 filth and evil odour, the distance concealed from me: and that\na lizard\u2019s craft prowled thereabouts lasciviously.\n\nBut I came NIGH unto you: then came to me the day,\u2014and now cometh it to\nyou,\u2014at an end is the moon\u2019s love affair!\n\nSee there! Surprised and pale doth it stand\u2014before the rosy dawn!\n\nFor already she cometh, the glowing one,\u2014HER love to the earth cometh!\nInnocence and creative desire, is all solar love!\n\nSee there, how she cometh impatiently over the sea! Do ye not feel the\nthirst and the hot breath of her love?\n\nAt the sea would she suck, and drink its depths to her height: now\nriseth the desire of the sea with its thousand breasts.\n\nKissed and sucked WOULD it be by the thirst of the sun; vapour WOULD it\nbecome, and height, and path of light, and light itself!\n\nVerily, like the sun do I love life, and all deep seas.\n\nAnd this meaneth TO ME knowledge: all that is deep shall ascend\u2014to my\nheight!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVIII. SCHOLARS.\n\n\nWhen I lay asleep, then did a sheep eat at the ivy-wreath on my\nhead,\u2014it ate, and said thereby: \u201cZarathustra is no longer a scholar.\u201d\n\nIt said this, and went away clumsily and proudly. A child told it to me.\n\nI like to lie here where the children play, beside the ruined wall,\namong thistles and red poppies.\n\nA scholar am I still to the children, and also to the thistles and red\npoppies. Innocent are they, even in their wickedness.\n\nBut to the sheep I am no longer a scholar: so willeth my lot\u2014blessings\nupon it!\n\nFor this is the truth: I have departed from the house of the scholars,\nand the door have I also slammed behind me.\n\nToo long did my soul sit hungry at their table: not like them have I got\nthe knack of investigating, as the knack of nut-cracking.\n\nFreedom do I love, and the air over fresh soil; rather would I sleep on\nox-skins than on their honours and dignities.\n\nI am too hot and scorched with mine own thought: often is it ready to\ntake away my breath. Then have I to go into the open air, and away from\nall dusty rooms.\n\nBut they sit cool in the cool shade: they want in everything to be\nmerely spectators, and they avoid sitting where the sun burneth on the\nsteps.\n\nLike those who stand in the street and gape at the passers-by: thus do\nthey also wait, and gape at the thoughts which others have thought.\n\nShould one lay hold of them, then do they raise a dust like flour-sacks,\nand involuntarily: but who would divine that their dust came from corn,\nand from the yellow delight of the summer fields?\n\nWhen they give themselves out as wise, then do their petty sayings and\ntruths chill me: in their wisdom there is often an odour as if it came\nfrom the swamp; and verily, I have even heard the frog croak in it!\n\nClever are they\u2014they have dexterous fingers: what doth MY simplicity\npretend to beside their multiplicity! All threading and knitting and\nweaving do their fingers understand: thus do they make the hose of the\nspirit!\n\nGood clockworks are they: only be careful to wind them up properly!\nThen do they indicate the hour without mistake, and make a modest noise\nthereby.\n\nLike millstones do they work, and like pestles: throw only seed-corn\nunto them!\u2014they know well how to grind corn small, and make white dust\nout of it.\n\nThey keep a sharp eye on one another, and do not trust each other the\nbest. Ingenious in little artifices, they wait for those whose knowledge\nwalketh on lame feet,\u2014like spiders do they wait.\n\nI saw them always prepare their poison with precaution; and always did\nthey put glass gloves on their fingers in doing so.\n\nThey also know how to play with false dice; and so eagerly did I find\nthem playing, that they perspired thereby.\n\nWe are alien to each other, and their virtues are even more repugnant to\nmy taste than their falsehoods and false dice.\n\nAnd when I lived with them, then did I live above them. Therefore did\nthey take a dislike to me.\n\nThey want to hear nothing of any one walking above their heads; and so\nthey put wood and earth and rubbish betwixt me and their heads.\n\nThus did they deafen the sound of my tread: and least have I hitherto\nbeen heard by the most learned.\n\nAll mankind\u2019s faults and weaknesses did they put betwixt themselves and\nme:\u2014they call it \u201cfalse ceiling\u201d in their houses.\n\nBut nevertheless I walk with my thoughts ABOVE their heads; and even\nshould I walk on mine own errors, still would I be above them and their\nheads.\n\nFor men are NOT equal: so speaketh justice. And what I will, THEY may\nnot will!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIX. POETS.\n\n\n\u201cSince I have known the body better\u201d\u2014said Zarathustra to one of his\ndisciples\u2014\u201cthe spirit hath only been to me symbolically spirit; and all\nthe \u2018imperishable\u2019\u2014that is also but a simile.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo have I heard thee say once before,\u201d answered the disciple, \u201cand then\nthou addedst: \u2018But the poets lie too much.\u2019 Why didst thou say that the\npoets lie too much?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy?\u201d said Zarathustra. \u201cThou askest why? I do not belong to those who\nmay be asked after their Why.\n\nIs my experience but of yesterday? It is long ago that I experienced the\nreasons for mine opinions.\n\nShould I not have to be a cask of memory, if I also wanted to have my\nreasons with me?\n\nIt is already too much for me even to retain mine opinions; and many a\nbird flieth away.\n\nAnd sometimes, also, do I find a fugitive creature in my dovecote, which\nis alien to me, and trembleth when I lay my hand upon it.\n\nBut what did Zarathustra once say unto thee? That the poets lie too\nmuch?\u2014But Zarathustra also is a poet.\n\nBelievest thou that he there spake the truth? Why dost thou believe it?\u201d\n\nThe disciple answered: \u201cI believe in Zarathustra.\u201d But Zarathustra shook\nhis head and smiled.\u2014\n\nBelief doth not sanctify me, said he, least of all the belief in myself.\n\nBut granting that some one did say in all seriousness that the poets lie\ntoo much: he was right\u2014WE do lie too much.\n\nWe also know too little, and are bad learners: so we are obliged to lie.\n\nAnd which of us poets hath not adulterated his wine? Many a poisonous\nhotchpotch hath evolved in our cellars: many an indescribable thing hath\nthere been done.\n\nAnd because we know little, therefore are we pleased from the heart with\nthe poor in spirit, especially when they are young women!\n\nAnd even of those things are we desirous, which old women tell one\nanother in the evening. This do we call the eternally feminine in us.\n\nAnd as if there were a special secret access to knowledge, which CHOKETH\nUP for those who learn anything, so do we believe in the people and in\ntheir \u201cwisdom.\u201d\n\nThis, however, do all poets believe: that whoever pricketh up his ears\nwhen lying in the grass or on lonely slopes, learneth something of the\nthings that are betwixt heaven and earth.\n\nAnd if there come unto them tender emotions, then do the poets always\nthink that nature herself is in love with them:\n\nAnd that she stealeth to their ear to whisper secrets into it, and\namorous flatteries: of this do they plume and pride themselves, before\nall mortals!\n\nAh, there are so many things betwixt heaven and earth of which only the\npoets have dreamed!\n\nAnd especially ABOVE the heavens: for all Gods are poet-symbolisations,\npoet-sophistications!\n\nVerily, ever are we drawn aloft\u2014that is, to the realm of the clouds:\non these do we set our gaudy puppets, and then call them Gods and\nSupermen:\u2014\n\nAre not they light enough for those chairs!\u2014all these Gods and\nSupermen?\u2014\n\nAh, how I am weary of all the inadequate that is insisted on as actual!\nAh, how I am weary of the poets!\n\nWhen Zarathustra so spake, his disciple resented it, but was silent. And\nZarathustra also was silent; and his eye directed itself inwardly, as if\nit gazed into the far distance. At last he sighed and drew breath.\u2014\n\nI am of to-day and heretofore, said he thereupon; but something is in me\nthat is of the morrow, and the day following, and the hereafter.\n\nI became weary of the poets, of the old and of the new: superficial are\nthey all unto me, and shallow seas.\n\nThey did not think sufficiently into the depth; therefore their feeling\ndid not reach to the bottom.\n\nSome sensation of voluptuousness and some sensation of tedium: these\nhave as yet been their best contemplation.\n\nGhost-breathing and ghost-whisking, seemeth to me all the\njingle-jangling of their harps; what have they known hitherto of the\nfervour of tones!\u2014\n\nThey are also not pure enough for me: they all muddle their water that\nit may seem deep.\n\nAnd fain would they thereby prove themselves reconcilers: but mediaries\nand mixers are they unto me, and half-and-half, and impure!\u2014\n\nAh, I cast indeed my net into their sea, and meant to catch good fish;\nbut always did I draw up the head of some ancient God.\n\nThus did the sea give a stone to the hungry one. And they themselves may\nwell originate from the sea.\n\nCertainly, one findeth pearls in them: thereby they are the more like\nhard molluscs. And instead of a soul, I have often found in them salt\nslime.\n\nThey have learned from the sea also its vanity: is not the sea the\npeacock of peacocks?\n\nEven before the ugliest of all buffaloes doth it spread out its tail;\nnever doth it tire of its lace-fan of silver and silk.\n\nDisdainfully doth the buffalo glance thereat, nigh to the sand with its\nsoul, nigher still to the thicket, nighest, however, to the swamp.\n\nWhat is beauty and sea and peacock-splendour to it! This parable I speak\nunto the poets.\n\nVerily, their spirit itself is the peacock of peacocks, and a sea of\nvanity!\n\nSpectators, seeketh the spirit of the poet\u2014should they even be\nbuffaloes!\u2014\n\nBut of this spirit became I weary; and I see the time coming when it\nwill become weary of itself.\n\nYea, changed have I seen the poets, and their glance turned towards\nthemselves.\n\nPenitents of the spirit have I seen appearing; they grew out of the\npoets.\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXL. GREAT EVENTS.\n\n\nThere is an isle in the sea\u2014not far from the Happy Isles of\nZarathustra\u2014on which a volcano ever smoketh; of which isle the people,\nand especially the old women amongst them, say that it is placed as a\nrock before the gate of the nether-world; but that through the volcano\nitself the narrow way leadeth downwards which conducteth to this gate.\n\nNow about the time that Zarathustra sojourned on the Happy Isles, it\nhappened that a ship anchored at the isle on which standeth the smoking\nmountain, and the crew went ashore to shoot rabbits. About the noontide\nhour, however, when the captain and his men were together again, they\nsaw suddenly a man coming towards them through the air, and a voice said\ndistinctly: \u201cIt is time! It is the highest time!\u201d But when the figure\nwas nearest to them (it flew past quickly, however, like a shadow, in\nthe direction of the volcano), then did they recognise with the greatest\nsurprise that it was Zarathustra; for they had all seen him before\nexcept the captain himself, and they loved him as the people love: in\nsuch wise that love and awe were combined in equal degree.\n\n\u201cBehold!\u201d said the old helmsman, \u201cthere goeth Zarathustra to hell!\u201d\n\nAbout the same time that these sailors landed on the fire-isle, there\nwas a rumour that Zarathustra had disappeared; and when his friends were\nasked about it, they said that he had gone on board a ship by night,\nwithout saying whither he was going.\n\nThus there arose some uneasiness. After three days, however, there came\nthe story of the ship\u2019s crew in addition to this uneasiness\u2014and\nthen did all the people say that the devil had taken Zarathustra. His\ndisciples laughed, sure enough, at this talk; and one of them said even:\n\u201cSooner would I believe that Zarathustra hath taken the devil.\u201d But at\nthe bottom of their hearts they were all full of anxiety and longing: so\ntheir joy was great when on the fifth day Zarathustra appeared amongst\nthem.\n\nAnd this is the account of Zarathustra\u2019s interview with the fire-dog:\n\nThe earth, said he, hath a skin; and this skin hath diseases. One of\nthese diseases, for example, is called \u201cman.\u201d\n\nAnd another of these diseases is called \u201cthe fire-dog\u201d: concerning HIM\nmen have greatly deceived themselves, and let themselves be deceived.\n\nTo fathom this mystery did I go o\u2019er the sea; and I have seen the truth\nnaked, verily! barefooted up to the neck.\n\nNow do I know how it is concerning the fire-dog; and likewise concerning\nall the spouting and subversive devils, of which not only old women are\nafraid.\n\n\u201cUp with thee, fire-dog, out of thy depth!\u201d cried I, \u201cand confess how\ndeep that depth is! Whence cometh that which thou snortest up?\n\nThou drinkest copiously at the sea: that doth thine embittered eloquence\nbetray! In sooth, for a dog of the depth, thou takest thy nourishment\ntoo much from the surface!\n\nAt the most, I regard thee as the ventriloquist of the earth: and ever,\nwhen I have heard subversive and spouting devils speak, I have found\nthem like thee: embittered, mendacious, and shallow.\n\nYe understand how to roar and obscure with ashes! Ye are the best\nbraggarts, and have sufficiently learned the art of making dregs boil.\n\nWhere ye are, there must always be dregs at hand, and much that is\nspongy, hollow, and compressed: it wanteth to have freedom.\n\n\u2018Freedom\u2019 ye all roar most eagerly: but I have unlearned the belief in\n\u2018great events,\u2019 when there is much roaring and smoke about them.\n\nAnd believe me, friend Hullabaloo! The greatest events\u2014are not our\nnoisiest, but our stillest hours.\n\nNot around the inventors of new noise, but around the inventors of new\nvalues, doth the world revolve; INAUDIBLY it revolveth.\n\nAnd just own to it! Little had ever taken place when thy noise and smoke\npassed away. What, if a city did become a mummy, and a statue lay in the\nmud!\n\nAnd this do I say also to the o\u2019erthrowers of statues: It is certainly\nthe greatest folly to throw salt into the sea, and statues into the mud.\n\nIn the mud of your contempt lay the statue: but it is just its law, that\nout of contempt, its life and living beauty grow again!\n\nWith diviner features doth it now arise, seducing by its suffering; and\nverily! it will yet thank you for o\u2019erthrowing it, ye subverters!\n\nThis counsel, however, do I counsel to kings and churches, and to all\nthat is weak with age or virtue\u2014let yourselves be o\u2019erthrown! That ye\nmay again come to life, and that virtue\u2014may come to you!\u2014\u201d\n\nThus spake I before the fire-dog: then did he interrupt me sullenly, and\nasked: \u201cChurch? What is that?\u201d\n\n\u201cChurch?\u201d answered I, \u201cthat is a kind of state, and indeed the most\nmendacious. But remain quiet, thou dissembling dog! Thou surely knowest\nthine own species best!\n\nLike thyself the state is a dissembling dog; like thee doth it like\nto speak with smoke and roaring\u2014to make believe, like thee, that it\nspeaketh out of the heart of things.\n\nFor it seeketh by all means to be the most important creature on earth,\nthe state; and people think it so.\u201d\n\nWhen I had said this, the fire-dog acted as if mad with envy. \u201cWhat!\u201d\n cried he, \u201cthe most important creature on earth? And people think it\nso?\u201d And so much vapour and terrible voices came out of his throat, that\nI thought he would choke with vexation and envy.\n\nAt last he became calmer and his panting subsided; as soon, however, as\nhe was quiet, I said laughingly:\n\n\u201cThou art angry, fire-dog: so I am in the right about thee!\n\nAnd that I may also maintain the right, hear the story of another\nfire-dog; he speaketh actually out of the heart of the earth.\n\nGold doth his breath exhale, and golden rain: so doth his heart desire.\nWhat are ashes and smoke and hot dregs to him!\n\nLaughter flitteth from him like a variegated cloud; adverse is he to thy\ngargling and spewing and grips in the bowels!\n\nThe gold, however, and the laughter\u2014these doth he take out of the heart\nof the earth: for, that thou mayst know it,\u2014THE HEART OF THE EARTH IS\nOF GOLD.\u201d\n\nWhen the fire-dog heard this, he could no longer endure to listen to me.\nAbashed did he draw in his tail, said \u201cbow-wow!\u201d in a cowed voice, and\ncrept down into his cave.\u2014\n\nThus told Zarathustra. His disciples, however, hardly listened to him:\nso great was their eagerness to tell him about the sailors, the rabbits,\nand the flying man.\n\n\u201cWhat am I to think of it!\u201d said Zarathustra. \u201cAm I indeed a ghost?\n\nBut it may have been my shadow. Ye have surely heard something of the\nWanderer and his Shadow?\n\nOne thing, however, is certain: I must keep a tighter hold of it;\notherwise it will spoil my reputation.\u201d\n\nAnd once more Zarathustra shook his head and wondered. \u201cWhat am I to\nthink of it!\u201d said he once more.\n\n\u201cWhy did the ghost cry: \u2018It is time! It is the highest time!\u2019\n\n_For what_ is it then\u2014the highest time?\u201d\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXLI. THE SOOTHSAYER.\n\n\n\u201c\u2014And I saw a great sadness come over mankind. The best turned weary of\ntheir works.\n\nA doctrine appeared, a faith ran beside it: \u2018All is empty, all is alike,\nall hath been!\u2019\n\nAnd from all hills there re-echoed: \u2018All is empty, all is alike, all\nhath been!\u2019\n\nTo be sure we have harvested: but why have all our fruits become rotten\nand brown? What was it fell last night from the evil moon?\n\nIn vain was all our labour, poison hath our wine become, the evil eye\nhath singed yellow our fields and hearts.\n\nArid have we all become; and fire falling upon us, then do we turn dust\nlike ashes:\u2014yea, the fire itself have we made aweary.\n\nAll our fountains have dried up, even the sea hath receded. All the\nground trieth to gape, but the depth will not swallow!\n\n\u2018Alas! where is there still a sea in which one could be drowned?\u2019 so\nsoundeth our plaint\u2014across shallow swamps.\n\nVerily, even for dying have we become too weary; now do we keep awake\nand live on\u2014in sepulchres.\u201d\n\nThus did Zarathustra hear a soothsayer speak; and the foreboding touched\nhis heart and transformed him. Sorrowfully did he go about and wearily;\nand he became like unto those of whom the soothsayer had spoken.\u2014\n\nVerily, said he unto his disciples, a little while, and there cometh the\nlong twilight. Alas, how shall I preserve my light through it!\n\nThat it may not smother in this sorrowfulness! To remoter worlds shall\nit be a light, and also to remotest nights!\n\nThus did Zarathustra go about grieved in his heart, and for three days\nhe did not take any meat or drink: he had no rest, and lost his speech.\nAt last it came to pass that he fell into a deep sleep. His disciples,\nhowever, sat around him in long night-watches, and waited anxiously to\nsee if he would awake, and speak again, and recover from his affliction.\n\nAnd this is the discourse that Zarathustra spake when he awoke; his\nvoice, however, came unto his disciples as from afar:\n\nHear, I pray you, the dream that I dreamed, my friends, and help me to\ndivine its meaning!\n\nA riddle is it still unto me, this dream; the meaning is hidden in it\nand encaged, and doth not yet fly above it on free pinions.\n\nAll life had I renounced, so I dreamed. Night-watchman and\ngrave-guardian had I become, aloft, in the lone mountain-fortress of\nDeath.\n\nThere did I guard his coffins: full stood the musty vaults of those\ntrophies of victory. Out of glass coffins did vanquished life gaze upon\nme.\n\nThe odour of dust-covered eternities did I breathe: sultry and\ndust-covered lay my soul. And who could have aired his soul there!\n\nBrightness of midnight was ever around me; lonesomeness cowered beside\nher; and as a third, death-rattle stillness, the worst of my female\nfriends.\n\nKeys did I carry, the rustiest of all keys; and I knew how to open with\nthem the most creaking of all gates.\n\nLike a bitterly angry croaking ran the sound through the long corridors\nwhen the leaves of the gate opened: ungraciously did this bird cry,\nunwillingly was it awakened.\n\nBut more frightful even, and more heart-strangling was it, when it again\nbecame silent and still all around, and I alone sat in that malignant\nsilence.\n\nThus did time pass with me, and slip by, if time there still was: what\ndo I know thereof! But at last there happened that which awoke me.\n\nThrice did there peal peals at the gate like thunders, thrice did the\nvaults resound and howl again: then did I go to the gate.\n\nAlpa! cried I, who carrieth his ashes unto the mountain? Alpa! Alpa! who\ncarrieth his ashes unto the mountain?\n\nAnd I pressed the key, and pulled at the gate, and exerted myself. But\nnot a finger\u2019s-breadth was it yet open:\n\nThen did a roaring wind tear the folds apart: whistling, whizzing, and\npiercing, it threw unto me a black coffin.\n\nAnd in the roaring, and whistling, and whizzing the coffin burst up, and\nspouted out a thousand peals of laughter.\n\nAnd a thousand caricatures of children, angels, owls, fools, and\nchild-sized butterflies laughed and mocked, and roared at me.\n\nFearfully was I terrified thereby: it prostrated me. And I cried with\nhorror as I ne\u2019er cried before.\n\nBut mine own crying awoke me:\u2014and I came to myself.\u2014\n\nThus did Zarathustra relate his dream, and then was silent: for as yet\nhe knew not the interpretation thereof. But the disciple whom he loved\nmost arose quickly, seized Zarathustra\u2019s hand, and said:\n\n\u201cThy life itself interpreteth unto us this dream, O Zarathustra!\n\nArt thou not thyself the wind with shrill whistling, which bursteth open\nthe gates of the fortress of Death?\n\nArt thou not thyself the coffin full of many-hued malices and\nangel-caricatures of life?\n\nVerily, like a thousand peals of children\u2019s laughter cometh\nZarathustra into all sepulchres, laughing at those night-watchmen and\ngrave-guardians, and whoever else rattleth with sinister keys.\n\nWith thy laughter wilt thou frighten and prostrate them: fainting and\nrecovering will demonstrate thy power over them.\n\nAnd when the long twilight cometh and the mortal weariness, even then\nwilt thou not disappear from our firmament, thou advocate of life!\n\nNew stars hast thou made us see, and new nocturnal glories: verily,\nlaughter itself hast thou spread out over us like a many-hued canopy.\n\nNow will children\u2019s laughter ever from coffins flow; now will a strong\nwind ever come victoriously unto all mortal weariness: of this thou art\nthyself the pledge and the prophet!\n\nVerily, THEY THEMSELVES DIDST THOU DREAM, thine enemies: that was thy\nsorest dream.\n\nBut as thou awokest from them and camest to thyself, so shall they\nawaken from themselves\u2014and come unto thee!\u201d\n\nThus spake the disciple; and all the others then thronged around\nZarathustra, grasped him by the hands, and tried to persuade him to\nleave his bed and his sadness, and return unto them. Zarathustra,\nhowever, sat upright on his couch, with an absent look. Like one\nreturning from long foreign sojourn did he look on his disciples, and\nexamined their features; but still he knew them not. When, however, they\nraised him, and set him upon his feet, behold, all on a sudden his eye\nchanged; he understood everything that had happened, stroked his beard,\nand said with a strong voice:\n\n\u201cWell! this hath just its time; but see to it, my disciples, that we\nhave a good repast; and without delay! Thus do I mean to make amends for\nbad dreams!\n\nThe soothsayer, however, shall eat and drink at my side: and verily, I\nwill yet show him a sea in which he can drown himself!\u201d\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra. Then did he gaze long into the face of the\ndisciple who had been the dream-interpreter, and shook his head.\u2014\n\n\n\n\nXLII. REDEMPTION.\n\n\nWhen Zarathustra went one day over the great bridge, then did the\ncripples and beggars surround him, and a hunchback spake thus unto him:\n\n\u201cBehold, Zarathustra! Even the people learn from thee, and acquire faith\nin thy teaching: but for them to believe fully in thee, one thing is\nstill needful\u2014thou must first of all convince us cripples! Here hast\nthou now a fine selection, and verily, an opportunity with more than one\nforelock! The blind canst thou heal, and make the lame run; and from\nhim who hath too much behind, couldst thou well, also, take away a\nlittle;\u2014that, I think, would be the right method to make the cripples\nbelieve in Zarathustra!\u201d\n\nZarathustra, however, answered thus unto him who so spake: When one\ntaketh his hump from the hunchback, then doth one take from him his\nspirit\u2014so do the people teach. And when one giveth the blind man eyes,\nthen doth he see too many bad things on the earth: so that he curseth\nhim who healed him. He, however, who maketh the lame man run, inflicteth\nupon him the greatest injury; for hardly can he run, when his vices\nrun away with him\u2014so do the people teach concerning cripples. And why\nshould not Zarathustra also learn from the people, when the people learn\nfrom Zarathustra?\n\nIt is, however, the smallest thing unto me since I have been amongst\nmen, to see one person lacking an eye, another an ear, and a third a\nleg, and that others have lost the tongue, or the nose, or the head.\n\nI see and have seen worse things, and divers things so hideous, that I\nshould neither like to speak of all matters, nor even keep silent about\nsome of them: namely, men who lack everything, except that they have\ntoo much of one thing\u2014men who are nothing more than a big eye, or a big\nmouth, or a big belly, or something else big,\u2014reversed cripples, I call\nsuch men.\n\nAnd when I came out of my solitude, and for the first time passed over\nthis bridge, then I could not trust mine eyes, but looked again and\nagain, and said at last: \u201cThat is an ear! An ear as big as a man!\u201d I\nlooked still more attentively\u2014and actually there did move under the ear\nsomething that was pitiably small and poor and slim. And in truth this\nimmense ear was perched on a small thin stalk\u2014the stalk, however, was a\nman! A person putting a glass to his eyes, could even recognise further\na small envious countenance, and also that a bloated soullet dangled at\nthe stalk. The people told me, however, that the big ear was not only a\nman, but a great man, a genius. But I never believed in the people when\nthey spake of great men\u2014and I hold to my belief that it was a reversed\ncripple, who had too little of everything, and too much of one thing.\n\nWhen Zarathustra had spoken thus unto the hunchback, and unto those of\nwhom the hunchback was the mouthpiece and advocate, then did he turn to\nhis disciples in profound dejection, and said:\n\nVerily, my friends, I walk amongst men as amongst the fragments and\nlimbs of human beings!\n\nThis is the terrible thing to mine eye, that I find man broken up, and\nscattered about, as on a battle- and butcher-ground.\n\nAnd when mine eye fleeth from the present to the bygone, it findeth ever\nthe same: fragments and limbs and fearful chances\u2014but no men!\n\nThe present and the bygone upon earth\u2014ah! my friends\u2014that is MY most\nunbearable trouble; and I should not know how to live, if I were not a\nseer of what is to come.\n\nA seer, a purposer, a creator, a future itself, and a bridge to the\nfuture\u2014and alas! also as it were a cripple on this bridge: all that is\nZarathustra.\n\nAnd ye also asked yourselves often: \u201cWho is Zarathustra to us? What\nshall he be called by us?\u201d And like me, did ye give yourselves questions\nfor answers.\n\nIs he a promiser? Or a fulfiller? A conqueror? Or an inheritor? A\nharvest? Or a ploughshare? A physician? Or a healed one?\n\nIs he a poet? Or a genuine one? An emancipator? Or a subjugator? A good\none? Or an evil one?\n\nI walk amongst men as the fragments of the future: that future which I\ncontemplate.\n\nAnd it is all my poetisation and aspiration to compose and collect into\nunity what is fragment and riddle and fearful chance.\n\nAnd how could I endure to be a man, if man were not also the composer,\nand riddle-reader, and redeemer of chance!\n\nTo redeem what is past, and to transform every \u201cIt was\u201d into \u201cThus would\nI have it!\u201d\u2014that only do I call redemption!\n\nWill\u2014so is the emancipator and joy-bringer called: thus have I taught\nyou, my friends! But now learn this likewise: the Will itself is still a\nprisoner.\n\nWilling emancipateth: but what is that called which still putteth the\nemancipator in chains?\n\n\u201cIt was\u201d: thus is the Will\u2019s teeth-gnashing and lonesomest tribulation\ncalled. Impotent towards what hath been done\u2014it is a malicious\nspectator of all that is past.\n\nNot backward can the Will will; that it cannot break time and time\u2019s\ndesire\u2014that is the Will\u2019s lonesomest tribulation.\n\nWilling emancipateth: what doth Willing itself devise in order to get\nfree from its tribulation and mock at its prison?\n\nAh, a fool becometh every prisoner! Foolishly delivereth itself also the\nimprisoned Will.\n\nThat time doth not run backward\u2014that is its animosity: \u201cThat which\nwas\u201d: so is the stone which it cannot roll called.\n\nAnd thus doth it roll stones out of animosity and ill-humour, and taketh\nrevenge on whatever doth not, like it, feel rage and ill-humour.\n\nThus did the Will, the emancipator, become a torturer; and on all\nthat is capable of suffering it taketh revenge, because it cannot go\nbackward.\n\nThis, yea, this alone is REVENGE itself: the Will\u2019s antipathy to time,\nand its \u201cIt was.\u201d\n\nVerily, a great folly dwelleth in our Will; and it became a curse unto\nall humanity, that this folly acquired spirit!\n\nTHE SPIRIT OF REVENGE: my friends, that hath hitherto been man\u2019s best\ncontemplation; and where there was suffering, it was claimed there was\nalways penalty.\n\n\u201cPenalty,\u201d so calleth itself revenge. With a lying word it feigneth a\ngood conscience.\n\nAnd because in the willer himself there is suffering, because he cannot\nwill backwards\u2014thus was Willing itself, and all life, claimed\u2014to be\npenalty!\n\nAnd then did cloud after cloud roll over the spirit, until at last\nmadness preached: \u201cEverything perisheth, therefore everything deserveth\nto perish!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd this itself is justice, the law of time\u2014that he must devour his\nchildren:\u201d thus did madness preach.\n\n\u201cMorally are things ordered according to justice and penalty. Oh, where\nis there deliverance from the flux of things and from the \u2018existence\u2019 of\npenalty?\u201d Thus did madness preach.\n\n\u201cCan there be deliverance when there is eternal justice? Alas,\nunrollable is the stone, \u2018It was\u2019: eternal must also be all penalties!\u201d\n Thus did madness preach.\n\n\u201cNo deed can be annihilated: how could it be undone by the penalty!\nThis, this is what is eternal in the \u2018existence\u2019 of penalty, that\nexistence also must be eternally recurring deed and guilt!\n\nUnless the Will should at last deliver itself, and Willing become\nnon-Willing\u2014:\u201d but ye know, my brethren, this fabulous song of madness!\n\nAway from those fabulous songs did I lead you when I taught you: \u201cThe\nWill is a creator.\u201d\n\nAll \u201cIt was\u201d is a fragment, a riddle, a fearful chance\u2014until the\ncreating Will saith thereto: \u201cBut thus would I have it.\u201d\u2014\n\nUntil the creating Will saith thereto: \u201cBut thus do I will it! Thus\nshall I will it!\u201d\n\nBut did it ever speak thus? And when doth this take place? Hath the Will\nbeen unharnessed from its own folly?\n\nHath the Will become its own deliverer and joy-bringer? Hath it\nunlearned the spirit of revenge and all teeth-gnashing?\n\nAnd who hath taught it reconciliation with time, and something higher\nthan all reconciliation?\n\nSomething higher than all reconciliation must the Will will which is the\nWill to Power\u2014: but how doth that take place? Who hath taught it also\nto will backwards?\n\n\u2014But at this point in his discourse it chanced that Zarathustra\nsuddenly paused, and looked like a person in the greatest alarm. With\nterror in his eyes did he gaze on his disciples; his glances pierced as\nwith arrows their thoughts and arrear-thoughts. But after a brief space\nhe again laughed, and said soothedly:\n\n\u201cIt is difficult to live amongst men, because silence is so difficult\u2014\nespecially for a babbler.\u201d\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra. The hunchback, however, had listened to the\nconversation and had covered his face during the time; but when he heard\nZarathustra laugh, he looked up with curiosity, and said slowly:\n\n\u201cBut why doth Zarathustra speak otherwise unto us than unto his\ndisciples?\u201d\n\nZarathustra answered: \u201cWhat is there to be wondered at! With hunchbacks\none may well speak in a hunchbacked way!\u201d\n\n\u201cVery good,\u201d said the hunchback; \u201cand with pupils one may well tell\ntales out of school.\n\nBut why doth Zarathustra speak otherwise unto his pupils\u2014than unto\nhimself?\u201d\u2014\n\n\n\n\nXLIII. MANLY PRUDENCE.\n\n\nNot the height, it is the declivity that is terrible!\n\nThe declivity, where the gaze shooteth DOWNWARDS, and the hand graspeth\nUPWARDS. There doth the heart become giddy through its double will.\n\nAh, friends, do ye divine also my heart\u2019s double will?\n\nThis, this is MY declivity and my danger, that my gaze shooteth towards\nthe summit, and my hand would fain clutch and lean\u2014on the depth!\n\nTo man clingeth my will; with chains do I bind myself to man, because\nI am pulled upwards to the Superman: for thither doth mine other will\ntend.\n\nAnd THEREFORE do I live blindly among men, as if I knew them not: that\nmy hand may not entirely lose belief in firmness.\n\nI know not you men: this gloom and consolation is often spread around\nme.\n\nI sit at the gateway for every rogue, and ask: Who wisheth to deceive\nme?\n\nThis is my first manly prudence, that I allow myself to be deceived, so\nas not to be on my guard against deceivers.\n\nAh, if I were on my guard against man, how could man be an anchor to my\nball! Too easily would I be pulled upwards and away!\n\nThis providence is over my fate, that I have to be without foresight.\n\nAnd he who would not languish amongst men, must learn to drink out of\nall glasses; and he who would keep clean amongst men, must know how to\nwash himself even with dirty water.\n\nAnd thus spake I often to myself for consolation: \u201cCourage! Cheer up!\nold heart! An unhappiness hath failed to befall thee: enjoy that as\nthy\u2014happiness!\u201d\n\nThis, however, is mine other manly prudence: I am more forbearing to the\nVAIN than to the proud.\n\nIs not wounded vanity the mother of all tragedies? Where, however, pride\nis wounded, there groweth up something better than pride.\n\nThat life may be fair to behold, its game must be well played; for that\npurpose, however, it needeth good actors.\n\nGood actors have I found all the vain ones: they play, and wish people\nto be fond of beholding them\u2014all their spirit is in this wish.\n\nThey represent themselves, they invent themselves; in their\nneighbourhood I like to look upon life\u2014it cureth of melancholy.\n\nTherefore am I forbearing to the vain, because they are the physicians\nof my melancholy, and keep me attached to man as to a drama.\n\nAnd further, who conceiveth the full depth of the modesty of the vain\nman! I am favourable to him, and sympathetic on account of his modesty.\n\nFrom you would he learn his belief in himself; he feedeth upon your\nglances, he eateth praise out of your hands.\n\nYour lies doth he even believe when you lie favourably about him: for in\nits depths sigheth his heart: \u201cWhat am _I_?\u201d\n\nAnd if that be the true virtue which is unconscious of itself\u2014well, the\nvain man is unconscious of his modesty!\u2014\n\nThis is, however, my third manly prudence: I am not put out of conceit\nwith the WICKED by your timorousness.\n\nI am happy to see the marvels the warm sun hatcheth: tigers and palms\nand rattle-snakes.\n\nAlso amongst men there is a beautiful brood of the warm sun, and much\nthat is marvellous in the wicked.\n\nIn truth, as your wisest did not seem to me so very wise, so found I\nalso human wickedness below the fame of it.\n\nAnd oft did I ask with a shake of the head: Why still rattle, ye\nrattle-snakes?\n\nVerily, there is still a future even for evil! And the warmest south is\nstill undiscovered by man.\n\nHow many things are now called the worst wickedness, which are only\ntwelve feet broad and three months long! Some day, however, will greater\ndragons come into the world.\n\nFor that the Superman may not lack his dragon, the superdragon that\nis worthy of him, there must still much warm sun glow on moist virgin\nforests!\n\nOut of your wild cats must tigers have evolved, and out of your\npoison-toads, crocodiles: for the good hunter shall have a good hunt!\n\nAnd verily, ye good and just! In you there is much to be laughed at, and\nespecially your fear of what hath hitherto been called \u201cthe devil!\u201d\n\nSo alien are ye in your souls to what is great, that to you the Superman\nwould be FRIGHTFUL in his goodness!\n\nAnd ye wise and knowing ones, ye would flee from the solar-glow of the\nwisdom in which the Superman joyfully batheth his nakedness!\n\nYe highest men who have come within my ken! this is my doubt of you, and\nmy secret laughter: I suspect ye would call my Superman\u2014a devil!\n\nAh, I became tired of those highest and best ones: from their \u201cheight\u201d\n did I long to be up, out, and away to the Superman!\n\nA horror came over me when I saw those best ones naked: then there grew\nfor me the pinions to soar away into distant futures.\n\nInto more distant futures, into more southern souths than ever artist\ndreamed of: thither, where Gods are ashamed of all clothes!\n\nBut disguised do I want to see YOU, ye neighbours and fellowmen, and\nwell-attired and vain and estimable, as \u201cthe good and just;\u201d\u2014\n\nAnd disguised will I myself sit amongst you\u2014that I may MISTAKE you and\nmyself: for that is my last manly prudence.\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXLIV. THE STILLEST HOUR.\n\n\nWhat hath happened unto me, my friends? Ye see me troubled, driven\nforth, unwillingly obedient, ready to go\u2014alas, to go away from YOU!\n\nYea, once more must Zarathustra retire to his solitude: but unjoyously\nthis time doth the bear go back to his cave!\n\nWhat hath happened unto me? Who ordereth this?\u2014Ah, mine angry mistress\nwisheth it so; she spake unto me. Have I ever named her name to you?\n\nYesterday towards evening there spake unto me MY STILLEST HOUR: that is\nthe name of my terrible mistress.\n\nAnd thus did it happen\u2014for everything must I tell you, that your heart\nmay not harden against the suddenly departing one!\n\nDo ye know the terror of him who falleth asleep?\u2014\n\nTo the very toes he is terrified, because the ground giveth way under\nhim, and the dream beginneth.\n\nThis do I speak unto you in parable. Yesterday at the stillest hour did\nthe ground give way under me: the dream began.\n\nThe hour-hand moved on, the timepiece of my life drew breath\u2014never did\nI hear such stillness around me, so that my heart was terrified.\n\nThen was there spoken unto me without voice: \u201cTHOU KNOWEST IT,\nZARATHUSTRA?\u201d\u2014\n\nAnd I cried in terror at this whispering, and the blood left my face:\nbut I was silent.\n\nThen was there once more spoken unto me without voice: \u201cThou knowest it,\nZarathustra, but thou dost not speak it!\u201d\u2014\n\nAnd at last I answered, like one defiant: \u201cYea, I know it, but I will\nnot speak it!\u201d\n\nThen was there again spoken unto me without voice: \u201cThou WILT not,\nZarathustra? Is this true? Conceal thyself not behind thy defiance!\u201d\u2014\n\nAnd I wept and trembled like a child, and said: \u201cAh, I would indeed, but\nhow can I do it! Exempt me only from this! It is beyond my power!\u201d\n\nThen was there again spoken unto me without voice: \u201cWhat matter about\nthyself, Zarathustra! Speak thy word, and succumb!\u201d\n\nAnd I answered: \u201cAh, is it MY word? Who am _I_? I await the worthier\none; I am not worthy even to succumb by it.\u201d\n\nThen was there again spoken unto me without voice: \u201cWhat matter about\nthyself? Thou art not yet humble enough for me. Humility hath the\nhardest skin.\u201d\u2014\n\nAnd I answered: \u201cWhat hath not the skin of my humility endured! At the\nfoot of my height do I dwell: how high are my summits, no one hath yet\ntold me. But well do I know my valleys.\u201d\n\nThen was there again spoken unto me without voice: \u201cO Zarathustra, he\nwho hath to remove mountains removeth also valleys and plains.\u201d\u2014\n\nAnd I answered: \u201cAs yet hath my word not removed mountains, and what I\nhave spoken hath not reached man. I went, indeed, unto men, but not yet\nhave I attained unto them.\u201d\n\nThen was there again spoken unto me without voice: \u201cWhat knowest thou\nTHEREOF! The dew falleth on the grass when the night is most silent.\u201d\u2014\n\nAnd I answered: \u201cThey mocked me when I found and walked in mine own\npath; and certainly did my feet then tremble.\n\nAnd thus did they speak unto me: Thou forgottest the path before, now\ndost thou also forget how to walk!\u201d\n\nThen was there again spoken unto me without voice: \u201cWhat matter about\ntheir mockery! Thou art one who hast unlearned to obey: now shalt thou\ncommand!\n\nKnowest thou not who is most needed by all? He who commandeth great\nthings.\n\nTo execute great things is difficult: but the more difficult task is to\ncommand great things.\n\nThis is thy most unpardonable obstinacy: thou hast the power, and thou\nwilt not rule.\u201d\u2014\n\nAnd I answered: \u201cI lack the lion\u2019s voice for all commanding.\u201d\n\nThen was there again spoken unto me as a whispering: \u201cIt is the stillest\nwords which bring the storm. Thoughts that come with doves\u2019 footsteps\nguide the world.\n\nO Zarathustra, thou shalt go as a shadow of that which is to come: thus\nwilt thou command, and in commanding go foremost.\u201d\u2014\n\nAnd I answered: \u201cI am ashamed.\u201d\n\nThen was there again spoken unto me without voice: \u201cThou must yet become\na child, and be without shame.\n\nThe pride of youth is still upon thee; late hast thou become young: but\nhe who would become a child must surmount even his youth.\u201d\u2014\n\nAnd I considered a long while, and trembled. At last, however, did I say\nwhat I had said at first. \u201cI will not.\u201d\n\nThen did a laughing take place all around me. Alas, how that laughing\nlacerated my bowels and cut into my heart!\n\nAnd there was spoken unto me for the last time: \u201cO Zarathustra, thy\nfruits are ripe, but thou art not ripe for thy fruits!\n\nSo must thou go again into solitude: for thou shalt yet become\nmellow.\u201d\u2014\n\nAnd again was there a laughing, and it fled: then did it become still\naround me, as with a double stillness. I lay, however, on the ground,\nand the sweat flowed from my limbs.\n\n\u2014Now have ye heard all, and why I have to return into my solitude.\nNothing have I kept hidden from you, my friends.\n\nBut even this have ye heard from me, WHO is still the most reserved of\nmen\u2014and will be so!\n\nAh, my friends! I should have something more to say unto you! I should\nhave something more to give unto you! Why do I not give it? Am I then a\nniggard?\u2014\n\nWhen, however, Zarathustra had spoken these words, the violence of his\npain, and a sense of the nearness of his departure from his friends came\nover him, so that he wept aloud; and no one knew how to console him. In\nthe night, however, he went away alone and left his friends.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHIRD PART.\n\n\n\u201cYe look aloft when ye long for exaltation, and I look downward because\nI am exalted.\n\n\u201cWho among you can at the same time laugh and be exalted?\n\n\u201cHe who climbeth on the highest mountains, laugheth at all tragic plays\nand tragic realities.\u201d\u2014ZARATHUSTRA, I., \u201cReading and Writing.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXLV. THE WANDERER.\n\n\nThen, when it was about midnight, Zarathustra went his way over the\nridge of the isle, that he might arrive early in the morning at the\nother coast; because there he meant to embark. For there was a good\nroadstead there, in which foreign ships also liked to anchor: those\nships took many people with them, who wished to cross over from the\nHappy Isles. So when Zarathustra thus ascended the mountain, he thought\non the way of his many solitary wanderings from youth onwards, and how\nmany mountains and ridges and summits he had already climbed.\n\nI am a wanderer and mountain-climber, said he to his heart, I love not\nthe plains, and it seemeth I cannot long sit still.\n\nAnd whatever may still overtake me as fate and experience\u2014a wandering\nwill be therein, and a mountain-climbing: in the end one experienceth\nonly oneself.\n\nThe time is now past when accidents could befall me; and what COULD now\nfall to my lot which would not already be mine own!\n\nIt returneth only, it cometh home to me at last\u2014mine own Self, and\nsuch of it as hath been long abroad, and scattered among things and\naccidents.\n\nAnd one thing more do I know: I stand now before my last summit, and\nbefore that which hath been longest reserved for me. Ah, my hardest path\nmust I ascend! Ah, I have begun my lonesomest wandering!\n\nHe, however, who is of my nature doth not avoid such an hour: the hour\nthat saith unto him: Now only dost thou go the way to thy greatness!\nSummit and abyss\u2014these are now comprised together!\n\nThou goest the way to thy greatness: now hath it become thy last refuge,\nwhat was hitherto thy last danger!\n\nThou goest the way to thy greatness: it must now be thy best courage\nthat there is no longer any path behind thee!\n\nThou goest the way to thy greatness: here shall no one steal after thee!\nThy foot itself hath effaced the path behind thee, and over it standeth\nwritten: Impossibility.\n\nAnd if all ladders henceforth fail thee, then must thou learn to mount\nupon thine own head: how couldst thou mount upward otherwise?\n\nUpon thine own head, and beyond thine own heart! Now must the gentlest\nin thee become the hardest.\n\nHe who hath always much-indulged himself, sickeneth at last by his\nmuch-indulgence. Praises on what maketh hardy! I do not praise the land\nwhere butter and honey\u2014flow!\n\nTo learn TO LOOK AWAY FROM oneself, is necessary in order to see MANY\nTHINGS:\u2014this hardiness is needed by every mountain-climber.\n\nHe, however, who is obtrusive with his eyes as a discerner, how can he\never see more of anything than its foreground!\n\nBut thou, O Zarathustra, wouldst view the ground of everything, and its\nbackground: thus must thou mount even above thyself\u2014up, upwards, until\nthou hast even thy stars UNDER thee!\n\nYea! To look down upon myself, and even upon my stars: that only would I\ncall my SUMMIT, that hath remained for me as my LAST summit!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra to himself while ascending, comforting his heart\nwith harsh maxims: for he was sore at heart as he had never been before.\nAnd when he had reached the top of the mountain-ridge, behold, there\nlay the other sea spread out before him: and he stood still and was\nlong silent. The night, however, was cold at this height, and clear and\nstarry.\n\nI recognise my destiny, said he at last, sadly. Well! I am ready. Now\nhath my last lonesomeness begun.\n\nAh, this sombre, sad sea, below me! Ah, this sombre nocturnal vexation!\nAh, fate and sea! To you must I now GO DOWN!\n\nBefore my highest mountain do I stand, and before my longest wandering:\ntherefore must I first go deeper down than I ever ascended:\n\n\u2014Deeper down into pain than I ever ascended, even into its darkest\nflood! So willeth my fate. Well! I am ready.\n\nWhence come the highest mountains? so did I once ask. Then did I learn\nthat they come out of the sea.\n\nThat testimony is inscribed on their stones, and on the walls of their\nsummits. Out of the deepest must the highest come to its height.\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra on the ridge of the mountain where it was cold:\nwhen, however, he came into the vicinity of the sea, and at last stood\nalone amongst the cliffs, then had he become weary on his way, and\neagerer than ever before.\n\nEverything as yet sleepeth, said he; even the sea sleepeth. Drowsily and\nstrangely doth its eye gaze upon me.\n\nBut it breatheth warmly\u2014I feel it. And I feel also that it dreameth. It\ntosseth about dreamily on hard pillows.\n\nHark! Hark! How it groaneth with evil recollections! Or evil\nexpectations?\n\nAh, I am sad along with thee, thou dusky monster, and angry with myself\neven for thy sake.\n\nAh, that my hand hath not strength enough! Gladly, indeed, would I free\nthee from evil dreams!\u2014\n\nAnd while Zarathustra thus spake, he laughed at himself with melancholy\nand bitterness. What! Zarathustra, said he, wilt thou even sing\nconsolation to the sea?\n\nAh, thou amiable fool, Zarathustra, thou too-blindly confiding one! But\nthus hast thou ever been: ever hast thou approached confidently all that\nis terrible.\n\nEvery monster wouldst thou caress. A whiff of warm breath, a little soft\ntuft on its paw\u2014: and immediately wert thou ready to love and lure it.\n\nLOVE is the danger of the lonesomest one, love to anything, IF IT ONLY\nLIVE! Laughable, verily, is my folly and my modesty in love!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra, and laughed thereby a second time. Then,\nhowever, he thought of his abandoned friends\u2014and as if he had done them\na wrong with his thoughts, he upbraided himself because of his thoughts.\nAnd forthwith it came to pass that the laugher wept\u2014with anger and\nlonging wept Zarathustra bitterly.\n\n\n\n\nXLVI. THE VISION AND THE ENIGMA.\n\n\n1.\n\nWhen it got abroad among the sailors that Zarathustra was on board the\nship\u2014for a man who came from the Happy Isles had gone on board along\nwith him,\u2014there was great curiosity and expectation. But Zarathustra\nkept silent for two days, and was cold and deaf with sadness; so that he\nneither answered looks nor questions. On the evening of the second day,\nhowever, he again opened his ears, though he still kept silent: for\nthere were many curious and dangerous things to be heard on board the\nship, which came from afar, and was to go still further. Zarathustra,\nhowever, was fond of all those who make distant voyages, and dislike to\nlive without danger. And behold! when listening, his own tongue was\nat last loosened, and the ice of his heart broke. Then did he begin to\nspeak thus:\n\nTo you, the daring venturers and adventurers, and whoever hath embarked\nwith cunning sails upon frightful seas,\u2014\n\nTo you the enigma-intoxicated, the twilight-enjoyers, whose souls are\nallured by flutes to every treacherous gulf:\n\n\u2014For ye dislike to grope at a thread with cowardly hand; and where ye\ncan DIVINE, there do ye hate to CALCULATE\u2014\n\nTo you only do I tell the enigma that I SAW\u2014the vision of the\nlonesomest one.\u2014\n\nGloomily walked I lately in corpse-coloured twilight\u2014gloomily and\nsternly, with compressed lips. Not only one sun had set for me.\n\nA path which ascended daringly among boulders, an evil, lonesome path,\nwhich neither herb nor shrub any longer cheered, a mountain-path,\ncrunched under the daring of my foot.\n\nMutely marching over the scornful clinking of pebbles, trampling the\nstone that let it slip: thus did my foot force its way upwards.\n\nUpwards:\u2014in spite of the spirit that drew it downwards, towards the\nabyss, the spirit of gravity, my devil and arch-enemy.\n\nUpwards:\u2014although it sat upon me, half-dwarf, half-mole; paralysed,\nparalysing; dripping lead in mine ear, and thoughts like drops of lead\ninto my brain.\n\n\u201cO Zarathustra,\u201d it whispered scornfully, syllable by syllable, \u201cthou\nstone of wisdom! Thou threwest thyself high, but every thrown stone\nmust\u2014fall!\n\nO Zarathustra, thou stone of wisdom, thou sling-stone, thou\nstar-destroyer! Thyself threwest thou so high,\u2014but every thrown\nstone\u2014must fall!\n\nCondemned of thyself, and to thine own stoning: O Zarathustra, far\nindeed threwest thou thy stone\u2014but upon THYSELF will it recoil!\u201d\n\nThen was the dwarf silent; and it lasted long. The silence, however,\noppressed me; and to be thus in pairs, one is verily lonesomer than when\nalone!\n\nI ascended, I ascended, I dreamt, I thought,\u2014but everything oppressed\nme. A sick one did I resemble, whom bad torture wearieth, and a worse\ndream reawakeneth out of his first sleep.\u2014\n\nBut there is something in me which I call courage: it hath hitherto\nslain for me every dejection. This courage at last bade me stand still\nand say: \u201cDwarf! Thou! Or I!\u201d\u2014\n\nFor courage is the best slayer,\u2014courage which ATTACKETH: for in every\nattack there is sound of triumph.\n\nMan, however, is the most courageous animal: thereby hath he overcome\nevery animal. With sound of triumph hath he overcome every pain; human\npain, however, is the sorest pain.\n\nCourage slayeth also giddiness at abysses: and where doth man not stand\nat abysses! Is not seeing itself\u2014seeing abysses?\n\nCourage is the best slayer: courage slayeth also fellow-suffering.\nFellow-suffering, however, is the deepest abyss: as deeply as man\nlooketh into life, so deeply also doth he look into suffering.\n\nCourage, however, is the best slayer, courage which attacketh: it\nslayeth even death itself; for it saith: \u201cWAS THAT life? Well! Once\nmore!\u201d\n\nIn such speech, however, there is much sound of triumph. He who hath\nears to hear, let him hear.\u2014\n\n2.\n\n\u201cHalt, dwarf!\u201d said I. \u201cEither I\u2014or thou! I, however, am the stronger\nof the two:\u2014thou knowest not mine abysmal thought! IT\u2014couldst thou not\nendure!\u201d\n\nThen happened that which made me lighter: for the dwarf sprang from my\nshoulder, the prying sprite! And it squatted on a stone in front of me.\nThere was however a gateway just where we halted.\n\n\u201cLook at this gateway! Dwarf!\u201d I continued, \u201cit hath two faces. Two\nroads come together here: these hath no one yet gone to the end of.\n\nThis long lane backwards: it continueth for an eternity. And that long\nlane forward\u2014that is another eternity.\n\nThey are antithetical to one another, these roads; they directly abut on\none another:\u2014and it is here, at this gateway, that they come together.\nThe name of the gateway is inscribed above: \u2018This Moment.\u2019\n\nBut should one follow them further\u2014and ever further and further\non, thinkest thou, dwarf, that these roads would be eternally\nantithetical?\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cEverything straight lieth,\u201d murmured the dwarf, contemptuously. \u201cAll\ntruth is crooked; time itself is a circle.\u201d\n\n\u201cThou spirit of gravity!\u201d said I wrathfully, \u201cdo not take it too\nlightly! Or I shall let thee squat where thou squattest, Haltfoot,\u2014and\nI carried thee HIGH!\u201d\n\n\u201cObserve,\u201d continued I, \u201cThis Moment! From the gateway, This Moment,\nthere runneth a long eternal lane BACKWARDS: behind us lieth an\neternity.\n\nMust not whatever CAN run its course of all things, have already run\nalong that lane? Must not whatever CAN happen of all things have already\nhappened, resulted, and gone by?\n\nAnd if everything have already existed, what thinkest thou, dwarf, of\nThis Moment? Must not this gateway also\u2014have already existed?\n\nAnd are not all things closely bound together in such wise that This\nMoment draweth all coming things after it? CONSEQUENTLY\u2014itself also?\n\nFor whatever CAN run its course of all things, also in this long lane\nOUTWARD\u2014MUST it once more run!\u2014\n\nAnd this slow spider which creepeth in the moonlight, and this moonlight\nitself, and thou and I in this gateway whispering together, whispering\nof eternal things\u2014must we not all have already existed?\n\n\u2014And must we not return and run in that other lane out before us, that\nlong weird lane\u2014must we not eternally return?\u201d\u2014\n\nThus did I speak, and always more softly: for I was afraid of mine own\nthoughts, and arrear-thoughts. Then, suddenly did I hear a dog HOWL near\nme.\n\nHad I ever heard a dog howl thus? My thoughts ran back. Yes! When I was\na child, in my most distant childhood:\n\n\u2014Then did I hear a dog howl thus. And saw it also, with hair bristling,\nits head upwards, trembling in the stillest midnight, when even dogs\nbelieve in ghosts:\n\n\u2014So that it excited my commiseration. For just then went the full moon,\nsilent as death, over the house; just then did it stand still, a glowing\nglobe\u2014at rest on the flat roof, as if on some one\u2019s property:\u2014\n\nThereby had the dog been terrified: for dogs believe in thieves and\nghosts. And when I again heard such howling, then did it excite my\ncommiseration once more.\n\nWhere was now the dwarf? And the gateway? And the spider? And all the\nwhispering? Had I dreamt? Had I awakened? \u2018Twixt rugged rocks did I\nsuddenly stand alone, dreary in the dreariest moonlight.\n\nBUT THERE LAY A MAN! And there! The dog leaping, bristling, whining\u2014now\ndid it see me coming\u2014then did it howl again, then did it CRY:\u2014had I\never heard a dog cry so for help?\n\nAnd verily, what I saw, the like had I never seen. A young shepherd did\nI see, writhing, choking, quivering, with distorted countenance, and\nwith a heavy black serpent hanging out of his mouth.\n\nHad I ever seen so much loathing and pale horror on one countenance?\nHe had perhaps gone to sleep? Then had the serpent crawled into his\nthroat\u2014there had it bitten itself fast.\n\nMy hand pulled at the serpent, and pulled:\u2014in vain! I failed to pull\nthe serpent out of his throat. Then there cried out of me: \u201cBite! Bite!\n\nIts head off! Bite!\u201d\u2014so cried it out of me; my horror, my hatred, my\nloathing, my pity, all my good and my bad cried with one voice out of\nme.\u2014\n\nYe daring ones around me! Ye venturers and adventurers, and whoever\nof you have embarked with cunning sails on unexplored seas! Ye\nenigma-enjoyers!\n\nSolve unto me the enigma that I then beheld, interpret unto me the\nvision of the lonesomest one!\n\nFor it was a vision and a foresight:\u2014WHAT did I then behold in parable?\nAnd WHO is it that must come some day?\n\nWHO is the shepherd into whose throat the serpent thus crawled? WHO is\nthe man into whose throat all the heaviest and blackest will thus crawl?\n\n\u2014The shepherd however bit as my cry had admonished him; he bit with a\nstrong bite! Far away did he spit the head of the serpent\u2014: and sprang\nup.\u2014\n\nNo longer shepherd, no longer man\u2014a transfigured being, a\nlight-surrounded being, that LAUGHED! Never on earth laughed a man as HE\nlaughed!\n\nO my brethren, I heard a laughter which was no human laughter,\u2014and now\ngnaweth a thirst at me, a longing that is never allayed.\n\nMy longing for that laughter gnaweth at me: oh, how can I still endure\nto live! And how could I endure to die at present!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXLVII. INVOLUNTARY BLISS.\n\n\nWith such enigmas and bitterness in his heart did Zarathustra sail o\u2019er\nthe sea. When, however, he was four day-journeys from the Happy\nIsles and from his friends, then had he surmounted all his pain\u2014:\ntriumphantly and with firm foot did he again accept his fate. And then\ntalked Zarathustra in this wise to his exulting conscience:\n\nAlone am I again, and like to be so, alone with the pure heaven, and the\nopen sea; and again is the afternoon around me.\n\nOn an afternoon did I find my friends for the first time; on an\nafternoon, also, did I find them a second time:\u2014at the hour when all\nlight becometh stiller.\n\nFor whatever happiness is still on its way \u2018twixt heaven and earth, now\nseeketh for lodging a luminous soul: WITH HAPPINESS hath all light now\nbecome stiller.\n\nO afternoon of my life! Once did my happiness also descend to the valley\nthat it might seek a lodging: then did it find those open hospitable\nsouls.\n\nO afternoon of my life! What did I not surrender that I might have\none thing: this living plantation of my thoughts, and this dawn of my\nhighest hope!\n\nCompanions did the creating one once seek, and children of HIS hope: and\nlo, it turned out that he could not find them, except he himself should\nfirst create them.\n\nThus am I in the midst of my work, to my children going, and from\nthem returning: for the sake of his children must Zarathustra perfect\nhimself.\n\nFor in one\u2019s heart one loveth only one\u2019s child and one\u2019s work; and where\nthere is great love to oneself, then is it the sign of pregnancy: so\nhave I found it.\n\nStill are my children verdant in their first spring, standing nigh one\nanother, and shaken in common by the winds, the trees of my garden and\nof my best soil.\n\nAnd verily, where such trees stand beside one another, there ARE Happy\nIsles!\n\nBut one day will I take them up, and put each by itself alone: that it\nmay learn lonesomeness and defiance and prudence.\n\nGnarled and crooked and with flexible hardness shall it then stand by\nthe sea, a living lighthouse of unconquerable life.\n\nYonder where the storms rush down into the sea, and the snout of the\nmountain drinketh water, shall each on a time have his day and night\nwatches, for HIS testing and recognition.\n\nRecognised and tested shall each be, to see if he be of my type and\nlineage:\u2014if he be master of a long will, silent even when he speaketh,\nand giving in such wise that he TAKETH in giving:\u2014\n\n\u2014So that he may one day become my companion, a fellow-creator and\nfellow-enjoyer with Zarathustra:\u2014such a one as writeth my will on my\ntables, for the fuller perfection of all things.\n\nAnd for his sake and for those like him, must I perfect MYSELF:\ntherefore do I now avoid my happiness, and present myself to every\nmisfortune\u2014for MY final testing and recognition.\n\nAnd verily, it were time that I went away; and the wanderer\u2019s shadow and\nthe longest tedium and the stillest hour\u2014have all said unto me: \u201cIt is\nthe highest time!\u201d\n\nThe word blew to me through the keyhole and said \u201cCome!\u201d The door sprang\nsubtlely open unto me, and said \u201cGo!\u201d\n\nBut I lay enchained to my love for my children: desire spread this\nsnare for me\u2014the desire for love\u2014that I should become the prey of my\nchildren, and lose myself in them.\n\nDesiring\u2014that is now for me to have lost myself. I POSSESS YOU, MY\nCHILDREN! In this possessing shall everything be assurance and nothing\ndesire.\n\nBut brooding lay the sun of my love upon me, in his own juice stewed\nZarathustra,\u2014then did shadows and doubts fly past me.\n\nFor frost and winter I now longed: \u201cOh, that frost and winter would\nagain make me crack and crunch!\u201d sighed I:\u2014then arose icy mist out of\nme.\n\nMy past burst its tomb, many pains buried alive woke up\u2014: fully slept\nhad they merely, concealed in corpse-clothes.\n\nSo called everything unto me in signs: \u201cIt is time!\u201d But I\u2014heard not,\nuntil at last mine abyss moved, and my thought bit me.\n\nAh, abysmal thought, which art MY thought! When shall I find strength to\nhear thee burrowing, and no longer tremble?\n\nTo my very throat throbbeth my heart when I hear thee burrowing! Thy\nmuteness even is like to strangle me, thou abysmal mute one!\n\nAs yet have I never ventured to call thee UP; it hath been enough that\nI\u2014have carried thee about with me! As yet have I not been strong\nenough for my final lion-wantonness and playfulness.\n\nSufficiently formidable unto me hath thy weight ever been: but one day\nshall I yet find the strength and the lion\u2019s voice which will call thee\nup!\n\nWhen I shall have surmounted myself therein, then will I surmount myself\nalso in that which is greater; and a VICTORY shall be the seal of my\nperfection!\u2014\n\nMeanwhile do I sail along on uncertain seas; chance flattereth me,\nsmooth-tongued chance; forward and backward do I gaze\u2014, still see I no\nend.\n\nAs yet hath the hour of my final struggle not come to me\u2014or doth it\ncome to me perhaps just now? Verily, with insidious beauty do sea and\nlife gaze upon me round about:\n\nO afternoon of my life! O happiness before eventide! O haven upon high\nseas! O peace in uncertainty! How I distrust all of you!\n\nVerily, distrustful am I of your insidious beauty! Like the lover am I,\nwho distrusteth too sleek smiling.\n\nAs he pusheth the best-beloved before him\u2014tender even in severity, the\njealous one\u2014, so do I push this blissful hour before me.\n\nAway with thee, thou blissful hour! With thee hath there come to me an\ninvoluntary bliss! Ready for my severest pain do I here stand:\u2014at the\nwrong time hast thou come!\n\nAway with thee, thou blissful hour! Rather harbour there\u2014with my\nchildren! Hasten! and bless them before eventide with MY happiness!\n\nThere, already approacheth eventide: the sun sinketh. Away\u2014my\nhappiness!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra. And he waited for his misfortune the whole\nnight; but he waited in vain. The night remained clear and calm, and\nhappiness itself came nigher and nigher unto him. Towards morning,\nhowever, Zarathustra laughed to his heart, and said mockingly:\n\u201cHappiness runneth after me. That is because I do not run after women.\nHappiness, however, is a woman.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXLVIII. BEFORE SUNRISE.\n\n\nO heaven above me, thou pure, thou deep heaven! Thou abyss of light!\nGazing on thee, I tremble with divine desires.\n\nUp to thy height to toss myself\u2014that is MY depth! In thy purity to hide\nmyself\u2014that is MINE innocence!\n\nThe God veileth his beauty: thus hidest thou thy stars. Thou speakest\nnot: THUS proclaimest thou thy wisdom unto me.\n\nMute o\u2019er the raging sea hast thou risen for me to-day; thy love and thy\nmodesty make a revelation unto my raging soul.\n\nIn that thou camest unto me beautiful, veiled in thy beauty, in that\nthou spakest unto me mutely, obvious in thy wisdom:\n\nOh, how could I fail to divine all the modesty of thy soul! BEFORE the\nsun didst thou come unto me\u2014the lonesomest one.\n\nWe have been friends from the beginning: to us are grief, gruesomeness,\nand ground common; even the sun is common to us.\n\nWe do not speak to each other, because we know too much\u2014: we keep\nsilent to each other, we smile our knowledge to each other.\n\nArt thou not the light of my fire? Hast thou not the sister-soul of mine\ninsight?\n\nTogether did we learn everything; together did we learn to ascend beyond\nourselves to ourselves, and to smile uncloudedly:\u2014\n\n\u2014Uncloudedly to smile down out of luminous eyes and out of miles of\ndistance, when under us constraint and purpose and guilt steam like\nrain.\n\nAnd wandered I alone, for WHAT did my soul hunger by night and in\nlabyrinthine paths? And climbed I mountains, WHOM did I ever seek, if\nnot thee, upon mountains?\n\nAnd all my wandering and mountain-climbing: a necessity was it merely,\nand a makeshift of the unhandy one:\u2014to FLY only, wanteth mine entire\nwill, to fly into THEE!\n\nAnd what have I hated more than passing clouds, and whatever tainteth\nthee? And mine own hatred have I even hated, because it tainted thee!\n\nThe passing clouds I detest\u2014those stealthy cats of prey: they take\nfrom thee and me what is common to us\u2014the vast unbounded Yea- and\nAmen-saying.\n\nThese mediators and mixers we detest\u2014the passing clouds: those\nhalf-and-half ones, that have neither learned to bless nor to curse from\nthe heart.\n\nRather will I sit in a tub under a closed heaven, rather will I sit in\nthe abyss without heaven, than see thee, thou luminous heaven, tainted\nwith passing clouds!\n\nAnd oft have I longed to pin them fast with the jagged gold-wires of\nlightning, that I might, like the thunder, beat the drum upon their\nkettle-bellies:\u2014\n\n\u2014An angry drummer, because they rob me of thy Yea and Amen!\u2014thou\nheaven above me, thou pure, thou luminous heaven! Thou abyss of\nlight!\u2014because they rob thee of MY Yea and Amen.\n\nFor rather will I have noise and thunders and tempest-blasts, than this\ndiscreet, doubting cat-repose; and also amongst men do I hate most\nof all the soft-treaders, and half-and-half ones, and the doubting,\nhesitating, passing clouds.\n\nAnd \u201che who cannot bless shall LEARN to curse!\u201d\u2014this clear teaching\ndropt unto me from the clear heaven; this star standeth in my heaven\neven in dark nights.\n\nI, however, am a blesser and a Yea-sayer, if thou be but around me, thou\npure, thou luminous heaven! Thou abyss of light!\u2014into all abysses do I\nthen carry my beneficent Yea-saying.\n\nA blesser have I become and a Yea-sayer: and therefore strove I long and\nwas a striver, that I might one day get my hands free for blessing.\n\nThis, however, is my blessing: to stand above everything as its own\nheaven, its round roof, its azure bell and eternal security: and blessed\nis he who thus blesseth!\n\nFor all things are baptized at the font of eternity, and beyond good and\nevil; good and evil themselves, however, are but fugitive shadows and\ndamp afflictions and passing clouds.\n\nVerily, it is a blessing and not a blasphemy when I teach that \u201cabove\nall things there standeth the heaven of chance, the heaven of innocence,\nthe heaven of hazard, the heaven of wantonness.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf Hazard\u201d\u2014that is the oldest nobility in the world; that gave I back\nto all things; I emancipated them from bondage under purpose.\n\nThis freedom and celestial serenity did I put like an azure bell above\nall things, when I taught that over them and through them, no \u201ceternal\nWill\u201d\u2014willeth.\n\nThis wantonness and folly did I put in place of that Will, when I taught\nthat \u201cIn everything there is one thing impossible\u2014rationality!\u201d\n\nA LITTLE reason, to be sure, a germ of wisdom scattered from star to\nstar\u2014this leaven is mixed in all things: for the sake of folly, wisdom\nis mixed in all things!\n\nA little wisdom is indeed possible; but this blessed security have I\nfound in all things, that they prefer\u2014_to dance_ on the feet of chance.\n\nO heaven above me! thou pure, thou lofty heaven! This is now thy purity\nunto me, that there is no eternal reason-spider and reason-cobweb:\u2014\n\n\u2014That thou art to me a dancing-floor for divine chances, that thou art\nto me a table of the Gods, for divine dice and dice-players!\u2014\n\nBut thou blushest? Have I spoken unspeakable things? Have I abused, when\nI meant to bless thee?\n\nOr is it the shame of being two of us that maketh thee blush!\u2014Dost thou\nbid me go and be silent, because now\u2014DAY cometh?\n\nThe world is deep:\u2014and deeper than e\u2019er the day could read. Not\neverything may be uttered in presence of day. But day cometh: so let us\npart!\n\nO heaven above me, thou modest one! thou glowing one! O thou, my\nhappiness before sunrise! The day cometh: so let us part!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nXLIX. THE BEDWARFING VIRTUE.\n\n\n1.\n\nWhen Zarathustra was again on the continent, he did not go straightway\nto his mountains and his cave, but made many wanderings and\nquestionings, and ascertained this and that; so that he said of himself\njestingly: \u201cLo, a river that floweth back unto its source in many\nwindings!\u201d For he wanted to learn what had taken place AMONG MEN during\nthe interval: whether they had become greater or smaller. And once, when\nhe saw a row of new houses, he marvelled, and said:\n\n\u201cWhat do these houses mean? Verily, no great soul put them up as its\nsimile!\n\nDid perhaps a silly child take them out of its toy-box? Would that\nanother child put them again into the box!\n\nAnd these rooms and chambers\u2014can MEN go out and in there? They seem to\nbe made for silk dolls; or for dainty-eaters, who perhaps let others eat\nwith them.\u201d\n\nAnd Zarathustra stood still and meditated. At last he said sorrowfully:\n\u201cThere hath EVERYTHING become smaller!\n\nEverywhere do I see lower doorways: he who is of MY type can still go\ntherethrough, but\u2014he must stoop!\n\nOh, when shall I arrive again at my home, where I shall no longer have\nto stoop\u2014shall no longer have to stoop BEFORE THE SMALL ONES!\u201d\u2014And\nZarathustra sighed, and gazed into the distance.\u2014\n\nThe same day, however, he gave his discourse on the bedwarfing virtue.\n\n2.\n\nI pass through this people and keep mine eyes open: they do not forgive\nme for not envying their virtues.\n\nThey bite at me, because I say unto them that for small people, small\nvirtues are necessary\u2014and because it is hard for me to understand that\nsmall people are NECESSARY!\n\nHere am I still like a cock in a strange farm-yard, at which even the\nhens peck: but on that account I am not unfriendly to the hens.\n\nI am courteous towards them, as towards all small annoyances; to be\nprickly towards what is small, seemeth to me wisdom for hedgehogs.\n\nThey all speak of me when they sit around their fire in the\nevening\u2014they speak of me, but no one thinketh\u2014of me!\n\nThis is the new stillness which I have experienced: their noise around\nme spreadeth a mantle over my thoughts.\n\nThey shout to one another: \u201cWhat is this gloomy cloud about to do to us?\nLet us see that it doth not bring a plague upon us!\u201d\n\nAnd recently did a woman seize upon her child that was coming unto\nme: \u201cTake the children away,\u201d cried she, \u201csuch eyes scorch children\u2019s\nsouls.\u201d\n\nThey cough when I speak: they think coughing an objection to strong\nwinds\u2014they divine nothing of the boisterousness of my happiness!\n\n\u201cWe have not yet time for Zarathustra\u201d\u2014so they object; but what matter\nabout a time that \u201chath no time\u201d for Zarathustra?\n\nAnd if they should altogether praise me, how could I go to sleep on\nTHEIR praise? A girdle of spines is their praise unto me: it scratcheth\nme even when I take it off.\n\nAnd this also did I learn among them: the praiser doeth as if he gave\nback; in truth, however, he wanteth more to be given him!\n\nAsk my foot if their lauding and luring strains please it! Verily,\nto such measure and ticktack, it liketh neither to dance nor to stand\nstill.\n\nTo small virtues would they fain lure and laud me; to the ticktack of\nsmall happiness would they fain persuade my foot.\n\nI pass through this people and keep mine eyes open; they have become\nSMALLER, and ever become smaller:\u2014THE REASON THEREOF IS THEIR DOCTRINE\nOF HAPPINESS AND VIRTUE.\n\nFor they are moderate also in virtue,\u2014because they want comfort. With\ncomfort, however, moderate virtue only is compatible.\n\nTo be sure, they also learn in their way to stride on and stride\nforward: that, I call their HOBBLING.\u2014Thereby they become a hindrance\nto all who are in haste.\n\nAnd many of them go forward, and look backwards thereby, with stiffened\nnecks: those do I like to run up against.\n\nFoot and eye shall not lie, nor give the lie to each other. But there is\nmuch lying among small people.\n\nSome of them WILL, but most of them are WILLED. Some of them are\ngenuine, but most of them are bad actors.\n\nThere are actors without knowing it amongst them, and actors without\nintending it\u2014, the genuine ones are always rare, especially the genuine\nactors.\n\nOf man there is little here: therefore do their women masculinise\nthemselves. For only he who is man enough, will\u2014SAVE THE WOMAN in\nwoman.\n\nAnd this hypocrisy found I worst amongst them, that even those who\ncommand feign the virtues of those who serve.\n\n\u201cI serve, thou servest, we serve\u201d\u2014so chanteth here even the hypocrisy\nof the rulers\u2014and alas! if the first lord be ONLY the first servant!\n\nAh, even upon their hypocrisy did mine eyes\u2019 curiosity alight; and well\ndid I divine all their fly-happiness, and their buzzing around sunny\nwindow-panes.\n\nSo much kindness, so much weakness do I see. So much justice and pity,\nso much weakness.\n\nRound, fair, and considerate are they to one another, as grains of sand\nare round, fair, and considerate to grains of sand.\n\nModestly to embrace a small happiness\u2014that do they call \u201csubmission\u201d!\nand at the same time they peer modestly after a new small happiness.\n\nIn their hearts they want simply one thing most of all: that no one hurt\nthem. Thus do they anticipate every one\u2019s wishes and do well unto every\none.\n\nThat, however, is COWARDICE, though it be called \u201cvirtue.\u201d\u2014\n\nAnd when they chance to speak harshly, those small people, then do _I_\nhear therein only their hoarseness\u2014every draught of air maketh them\nhoarse.\n\nShrewd indeed are they, their virtues have shrewd fingers. But they lack\nfists: their fingers do not know how to creep behind fists.\n\nVirtue for them is what maketh modest and tame: therewith have they made\nthe wolf a dog, and man himself man\u2019s best domestic animal.\n\n\u201cWe set our chair in the MIDST\u201d\u2014so saith their smirking unto me\u2014\u201cand\nas far from dying gladiators as from satisfied swine.\u201d\n\nThat, however, is\u2014MEDIOCRITY, though it be called moderation.\u2014\n\n3.\n\nI pass through this people and let fall many words: but they know\nneither how to take nor how to retain them.\n\nThey wonder why I came not to revile venery and vice; and verily, I came\nnot to warn against pickpockets either!\n\nThey wonder why I am not ready to abet and whet their wisdom: as if they\nhad not yet enough of wiseacres, whose voices grate on mine ear like\nslate-pencils!\n\nAnd when I call out: \u201cCurse all the cowardly devils in you, that\nwould fain whimper and fold the hands and adore\u201d\u2014then do they shout:\n\u201cZarathustra is godless.\u201d\n\nAnd especially do their teachers of submission shout this;\u2014but\nprecisely in their ears do I love to cry: \u201cYea! I AM Zarathustra, the\ngodless!\u201d\n\nThose teachers of submission! Wherever there is aught puny, or sickly,\nor scabby, there do they creep like lice; and only my disgust preventeth\nme from cracking them.\n\nWell! This is my sermon for THEIR ears: I am Zarathustra the godless,\nwho saith: \u201cWho is more godless than I, that I may enjoy his teaching?\u201d\n\nI am Zarathustra the godless: where do I find mine equal? And all\nthose are mine equals who give unto themselves their Will, and divest\nthemselves of all submission.\n\nI am Zarathustra the godless! I cook every chance in MY pot. And only\nwhen it hath been quite cooked do I welcome it as MY food.\n\nAnd verily, many a chance came imperiously unto me: but still more\nimperiously did my WILL speak unto it,\u2014then did it lie imploringly upon\nits knees\u2014\n\n\u2014Imploring that it might find home and heart with me, and saying\nflatteringly: \u201cSee, O Zarathustra, how friend only cometh unto\nfriend!\u201d\u2014\n\nBut why talk I, when no one hath MINE ears! And so will I shout it out\nunto all the winds:\n\nYe ever become smaller, ye small people! Ye crumble away, ye comfortable\nones! Ye will yet perish\u2014\n\n\u2014By your many small virtues, by your many small omissions, and by your\nmany small submissions!\n\nToo tender, too yielding: so is your soil! But for a tree to become\nGREAT, it seeketh to twine hard roots around hard rocks!\n\nAlso what ye omit weaveth at the web of all the human future; even your\nnaught is a cobweb, and a spider that liveth on the blood of the future.\n\nAnd when ye take, then is it like stealing, ye small virtuous ones;\nbut even among knaves HONOUR saith that \u201cone shall only steal when one\ncannot rob.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt giveth itself\u201d\u2014that is also a doctrine of submission. But I say\nunto you, ye comfortable ones, that IT TAKETH TO ITSELF, and will ever\ntake more and more from you!\n\nAh, that ye would renounce all HALF-willing, and would decide for\nidleness as ye decide for action!\n\nAh, that ye understood my word: \u201cDo ever what ye will\u2014but first be such\nas CAN WILL.\n\nLove ever your neighbour as yourselves\u2014but first be such as LOVE\nTHEMSELVES\u2014\n\n\u2014Such as love with great love, such as love with great contempt!\u201d Thus\nspeaketh Zarathustra the godless.\u2014\n\nBut why talk I, when no one hath MINE ears! It is still an hour too\nearly for me here.\n\nMine own forerunner am I among this people, mine own cockcrow in dark\nlanes.\n\nBut THEIR hour cometh! And there cometh also mine! Hourly do they become\nsmaller, poorer, unfruitfuller,\u2014poor herbs! poor earth!\n\nAnd SOON shall they stand before me like dry grass and prairie, and\nverily, weary of themselves\u2014and panting for FIRE, more than for water!\n\nO blessed hour of the lightning! O mystery before noontide!\u2014Running\nfires will I one day make of them, and heralds with flaming tongues:\u2014\n\n\u2014Herald shall they one day with flaming tongues: It cometh, it is nigh,\nTHE GREAT NOONTIDE!\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nL. ON THE OLIVE-MOUNT.\n\n\nWinter, a bad guest, sitteth with me at home; blue are my hands with his\nfriendly hand-shaking.\n\nI honour him, that bad guest, but gladly leave him alone. Gladly do I\nrun away from him; and when one runneth WELL, then one escapeth him!\n\nWith warm feet and warm thoughts do I run where the wind is calm\u2014to the\nsunny corner of mine olive-mount.\n\nThere do I laugh at my stern guest, and am still fond of him; because he\ncleareth my house of flies, and quieteth many little noises.\n\nFor he suffereth it not if a gnat wanteth to buzz, or even two of them;\nalso the lanes maketh he lonesome, so that the moonlight is afraid there\nat night.\n\nA hard guest is he,\u2014but I honour him, and do not worship, like the\ntenderlings, the pot-bellied fire-idol.\n\nBetter even a little teeth-chattering than idol-adoration!\u2014so willeth\nmy nature. And especially have I a grudge against all ardent, steaming,\nsteamy fire-idols.\n\nHim whom I love, I love better in winter than in summer; better do I\nnow mock at mine enemies, and more heartily, when winter sitteth in my\nhouse.\n\nHeartily, verily, even when I CREEP into bed\u2014: there, still laugheth\nand wantoneth my hidden happiness; even my deceptive dream laugheth.\n\nI, a\u2014creeper? Never in my life did I creep before the powerful; and if\never I lied, then did I lie out of love. Therefore am I glad even in my\nwinter-bed.\n\nA poor bed warmeth me more than a rich one, for I am jealous of my\npoverty. And in winter she is most faithful unto me.\n\nWith a wickedness do I begin every day: I mock at the winter with a cold\nbath: on that account grumbleth my stern house-mate.\n\nAlso do I like to tickle him with a wax-taper, that he may finally let\nthe heavens emerge from ashy-grey twilight.\n\nFor especially wicked am I in the morning: at the early hour when the\npail rattleth at the well, and horses neigh warmly in grey lanes:\u2014\n\nImpatiently do I then wait, that the clear sky may finally dawn for me,\nthe snow-bearded winter-sky, the hoary one, the whitehead,\u2014\n\n\u2014The winter-sky, the silent winter-sky, which often stifleth even its\nsun!\n\nDid I perhaps learn from it the long clear silence? Or did it learn it\nfrom me? Or hath each of us devised it himself?\n\nOf all good things the origin is a thousandfold,\u2014all good roguish\nthings spring into existence for joy: how could they always do so\u2014for\nonce only!\n\nA good roguish thing is also the long silence, and to look, like the\nwinter-sky, out of a clear, round-eyed countenance:\u2014\n\n\u2014Like it to stifle one\u2019s sun, and one\u2019s inflexible solar will: verily,\nthis art and this winter-roguishness have I learnt WELL!\n\nMy best-loved wickedness and art is it, that my silence hath learned not\nto betray itself by silence.\n\nClattering with diction and dice, I outwit the solemn assistants: all\nthose stern watchers, shall my will and purpose elude.\n\nThat no one might see down into my depth and into mine ultimate\nwill\u2014for that purpose did I devise the long clear silence.\n\nMany a shrewd one did I find: he veiled his countenance and made his\nwater muddy, that no one might see therethrough and thereunder.\n\nBut precisely unto him came the shrewder distrusters and nut-crackers:\nprecisely from him did they fish his best-concealed fish!\n\nBut the clear, the honest, the transparent\u2014these are for me the wisest\nsilent ones: in them, so PROFOUND is the depth that even the clearest\nwater doth not\u2014betray it.\u2014\n\nThou snow-bearded, silent, winter-sky, thou round-eyed whitehead above\nme! Oh, thou heavenly simile of my soul and its wantonness!\n\nAnd MUST I not conceal myself like one who hath swallowed gold\u2014lest my\nsoul should be ripped up?\n\nMUST I not wear stilts, that they may OVERLOOK my long legs\u2014all those\nenviers and injurers around me?\n\nThose dingy, fire-warmed, used-up, green-tinted, ill-natured souls\u2014how\nCOULD their envy endure my happiness!\n\nThus do I show them only the ice and winter of my peaks\u2014and NOT that my\nmountain windeth all the solar girdles around it!\n\nThey hear only the whistling of my winter-storms: and know NOT that I\nalso travel over warm seas, like longing, heavy, hot south-winds.\n\nThey commiserate also my accidents and chances:\u2014but MY word saith:\n\u201cSuffer the chance to come unto me: innocent is it as a little child!\u201d\n\nHow COULD they endure my happiness, if I did not put around it\naccidents, and winter-privations, and bear-skin caps, and enmantling\nsnowflakes!\n\n\u2014If I did not myself commiserate their PITY, the pity of those enviers\nand injurers!\n\n\u2014If I did not myself sigh before them, and chatter with cold, and\npatiently LET myself be swathed in their pity!\n\nThis is the wise waggish-will and good-will of my soul, that it\nCONCEALETH NOT its winters and glacial storms; it concealeth not its\nchilblains either.\n\nTo one man, lonesomeness is the flight of the sick one; to another, it\nis the flight FROM the sick ones.\n\nLet them HEAR me chattering and sighing with winter-cold, all those poor\nsquinting knaves around me! With such sighing and chattering do I flee\nfrom their heated rooms.\n\nLet them sympathise with me and sigh with me on account of my\nchilblains: \u201cAt the ice of knowledge will he yet FREEZE TO DEATH!\u201d\u2014so\nthey mourn.\n\nMeanwhile do I run with warm feet hither and thither on mine\nolive-mount: in the sunny corner of mine olive-mount do I sing, and mock\nat all pity.\u2014\n\nThus sang Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nLI. ON PASSING-BY.\n\n\nThus slowly wandering through many peoples and divers cities, did\nZarathustra return by round-about roads to his mountains and his cave.\nAnd behold, thereby came he unawares also to the gate of the GREAT CITY.\nHere, however, a foaming fool, with extended hands, sprang forward to\nhim and stood in his way. It was the same fool whom the people called\n\u201cthe ape of Zarathustra:\u201d for he had learned from him something of the\nexpression and modulation of language, and perhaps liked also to borrow\nfrom the store of his wisdom. And the fool talked thus to Zarathustra:\n\nO Zarathustra, here is the great city: here hast thou nothing to seek\nand everything to lose.\n\nWhy wouldst thou wade through this mire? Have pity upon thy foot! Spit\nrather on the gate of the city, and\u2014turn back!\n\nHere is the hell for anchorites\u2019 thoughts: here are great thoughts\nseethed alive and boiled small.\n\nHere do all great sentiments decay: here may only rattle-boned\nsensations rattle!\n\nSmellest thou not already the shambles and cookshops of the spirit?\nSteameth not this city with the fumes of slaughtered spirit?\n\nSeest thou not the souls hanging like limp dirty rags?\u2014And they make\nnewspapers also out of these rags!\n\nHearest thou not how spirit hath here become a verbal game? Loathsome\nverbal swill doth it vomit forth!\u2014And they make newspapers also out of\nthis verbal swill.\n\nThey hound one another, and know not whither! They inflame one another,\nand know not why! They tinkle with their pinchbeck, they jingle with\ntheir gold.\n\nThey are cold, and seek warmth from distilled waters: they are inflamed,\nand seek coolness from frozen spirits; they are all sick and sore\nthrough public opinion.\n\nAll lusts and vices are here at home; but here there are also the\nvirtuous; there is much appointable appointed virtue:\u2014\n\nMuch appointable virtue with scribe-fingers, and hardy sitting-flesh and\nwaiting-flesh, blessed with small breast-stars, and padded, haunchless\ndaughters.\n\nThere is here also much piety, and much faithful spittle-licking and\nspittle-backing, before the God of Hosts.\n\n\u201cFrom on high,\u201d drippeth the star, and the gracious spittle; for the\nhigh, longeth every starless bosom.\n\nThe moon hath its court, and the court hath its moon-calves: unto all,\nhowever, that cometh from the court do the mendicant people pray, and\nall appointable mendicant virtues.\n\n\u201cI serve, thou servest, we serve\u201d\u2014so prayeth all appointable virtue\nto the prince: that the merited star may at last stick on the slender\nbreast!\n\nBut the moon still revolveth around all that is earthly: so revolveth\nalso the prince around what is earthliest of all\u2014that, however, is the\ngold of the shopman.\n\nThe God of the Hosts of war is not the God of the golden bar; the prince\nproposeth, but the shopman\u2014disposeth!\n\nBy all that is luminous and strong and good in thee, O Zarathustra! Spit\non this city of shopmen and return back!\n\nHere floweth all blood putridly and tepidly and frothily through all\nveins: spit on the great city, which is the great slum where all the\nscum frotheth together!\n\nSpit on the city of compressed souls and slender breasts, of pointed\neyes and sticky fingers\u2014\n\n\u2014On the city of the obtrusive, the brazen-faced, the pen-demagogues and\ntongue-demagogues, the overheated ambitious:\u2014\n\nWhere everything maimed, ill-famed, lustful, untrustful, over-mellow,\nsickly-yellow and seditious, festereth pernicious:\u2014\n\n\u2014Spit on the great city and turn back!\u2014\n\nHere, however, did Zarathustra interrupt the foaming fool, and shut his\nmouth.\u2014\n\nStop this at once! called out Zarathustra, long have thy speech and thy\nspecies disgusted me!\n\nWhy didst thou live so long by the swamp, that thou thyself hadst to\nbecome a frog and a toad?\n\nFloweth there not a tainted, frothy, swamp-blood in thine own veins,\nwhen thou hast thus learned to croak and revile?\n\nWhy wentest thou not into the forest? Or why didst thou not till the\nground? Is the sea not full of green islands?\n\nI despise thy contempt; and when thou warnedst me\u2014why didst thou not\nwarn thyself?\n\nOut of love alone shall my contempt and my warning bird take wing; but\nnot out of the swamp!\u2014\n\nThey call thee mine ape, thou foaming fool: but I call thee my\ngrunting-pig,\u2014by thy grunting, thou spoilest even my praise of folly.\n\nWhat was it that first made thee grunt? Because no one sufficiently\nFLATTERED thee:\u2014therefore didst thou seat thyself beside this filth,\nthat thou mightest have cause for much grunting,\u2014\n\n\u2014That thou mightest have cause for much VENGEANCE! For vengeance, thou\nvain fool, is all thy foaming; I have divined thee well!\n\nBut thy fools\u2019-word injureth ME, even when thou art right! And even if\nZarathustra\u2019s word WERE a hundred times justified, thou wouldst ever\u2014DO\nwrong with my word!\n\nThus spake Zarathustra. Then did he look on the great city and sighed,\nand was long silent. At last he spake thus:\n\nI loathe also this great city, and not only this fool. Here and there\u2014\nthere is nothing to better, nothing to worsen.\n\nWoe to this great city!\u2014And I would that I already saw the pillar of\nfire in which it will be consumed!\n\nFor such pillars of fire must precede the great noontide. But this hath\nits time and its own fate.\u2014\n\nThis precept, however, give I unto thee, in parting, thou fool: Where\none can no longer love, there should one\u2014PASS BY!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra, and passed by the fool and the great city.\n\n\n\n\nLII. THE APOSTATES.\n\n\n1.\n\nAh, lieth everything already withered and grey which but lately stood\ngreen and many-hued on this meadow! And how much honey of hope did I\ncarry hence into my beehives!\n\nThose young hearts have already all become old\u2014and not old even! only\nweary, ordinary, comfortable:\u2014they declare it: \u201cWe have again become\npious.\u201d\n\nOf late did I see them run forth at early morn with valorous steps: but\nthe feet of their knowledge became weary, and now do they malign even\ntheir morning valour!\n\nVerily, many of them once lifted their legs like the dancer; to them\nwinked the laughter of my wisdom:\u2014then did they bethink themselves.\nJust now have I seen them bent down\u2014to creep to the cross.\n\nAround light and liberty did they once flutter like gnats and young\npoets. A little older, a little colder: and already are they mystifiers,\nand mumblers and mollycoddles.\n\nDid perhaps their hearts despond, because lonesomeness had swallowed me\nlike a whale? Did their ear perhaps hearken yearningly-long for me IN\nVAIN, and for my trumpet-notes and herald-calls?\n\n\u2014Ah! Ever are there but few of those whose hearts have persistent\ncourage and exuberance; and in such remaineth also the spirit patient.\nThe rest, however, are COWARDLY.\n\nThe rest: these are always the great majority, the common-place, the\nsuperfluous, the far too many\u2014those all are cowardly!\u2014\n\nHim who is of my type, will also the experiences of my type meet on the\nway: so that his first companions must be corpses and buffoons.\n\nHis second companions, however\u2014they will call themselves his\nBELIEVERS,\u2014will be a living host, with much love, much folly, much\nunbearded veneration.\n\nTo those believers shall he who is of my type among men not bind his\nheart; in those spring-times and many-hued meadows shall he not believe,\nwho knoweth the fickly faint-hearted human species!\n\nCOULD they do otherwise, then would they also WILL otherwise. The\nhalf-and-half spoil every whole. That leaves become withered,\u2014what is\nthere to lament about that!\n\nLet them go and fall away, O Zarathustra, and do not lament! Better even\nto blow amongst them with rustling winds,\u2014\n\n\u2014Blow amongst those leaves, O Zarathustra, that everything WITHERED may\nrun away from thee the faster!\u2014\n\n2.\n\n\u201cWe have again become pious\u201d\u2014so do those apostates confess; and some of\nthem are still too pusillanimous thus to confess.\n\nUnto them I look into the eye,\u2014before them I say it unto their face and\nunto the blush on their cheeks: Ye are those who again PRAY!\n\nIt is however a shame to pray! Not for all, but for thee, and me, and\nwhoever hath his conscience in his head. For THEE it is a shame to pray!\n\nThou knowest it well: the faint-hearted devil in thee, which would\nfain fold its arms, and place its hands in its bosom, and take it\neasier:\u2014this faint-hearted devil persuadeth thee that \u201cthere IS a God!\u201d\n\nTHEREBY, however, dost thou belong to the light-dreading type, to whom\nlight never permitteth repose: now must thou daily thrust thy head\ndeeper into obscurity and vapour!\n\nAnd verily, thou choosest the hour well: for just now do the nocturnal\nbirds again fly abroad. The hour hath come for all light-dreading\npeople, the vesper hour and leisure hour, when they do not\u2014\u201ctake\nleisure.\u201d\n\nI hear it and smell it: it hath come\u2014their hour for hunt and\nprocession, not indeed for a wild hunt, but for a tame, lame, snuffling,\nsoft-treaders\u2019, soft-prayers\u2019 hunt,\u2014\n\n\u2014For a hunt after susceptible simpletons: all mouse-traps for the heart\nhave again been set! And whenever I lift a curtain, a night-moth rusheth\nout of it.\n\nDid it perhaps squat there along with another night-moth? For everywhere\ndo I smell small concealed communities; and wherever there are closets\nthere are new devotees therein, and the atmosphere of devotees.\n\nThey sit for long evenings beside one another, and say: \u201cLet us again\nbecome like little children and say, \u2018good God!\u2019\u201d\u2014ruined in mouths and\nstomachs by the pious confectioners.\n\nOr they look for long evenings at a crafty, lurking cross-spider, that\npreacheth prudence to the spiders themselves, and teacheth that \u201cunder\ncrosses it is good for cobweb-spinning!\u201d\n\nOr they sit all day at swamps with angle-rods, and on that account think\nthemselves PROFOUND; but whoever fisheth where there are no fish, I do\nnot even call him superficial!\n\nOr they learn in godly-gay style to play the harp with a hymn-poet,\nwho would fain harp himself into the heart of young girls:\u2014for he hath\ntired of old girls and their praises.\n\nOr they learn to shudder with a learned semi-madcap, who waiteth in\ndarkened rooms for spirits to come to him\u2014and the spirit runneth away\nentirely!\n\nOr they listen to an old roving howl- and growl-piper, who hath learnt\nfrom the sad winds the sadness of sounds; now pipeth he as the wind, and\npreacheth sadness in sad strains.\n\nAnd some of them have even become night-watchmen: they know now how to\nblow horns, and go about at night and awaken old things which have long\nfallen asleep.\n\nFive words about old things did I hear yester-night at the garden-wall:\nthey came from such old, sorrowful, arid night-watchmen.\n\n\u201cFor a father he careth not sufficiently for his children: human fathers\ndo this better!\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cHe is too old! He now careth no more for his children,\u201d\u2014answered the\nother night-watchman.\n\n\u201cHATH he then children? No one can prove it unless he himself prove it!\nI have long wished that he would for once prove it thoroughly.\u201d\n\n\u201cProve? As if HE had ever proved anything! Proving is difficult to him;\nhe layeth great stress on one\u2019s BELIEVING him.\u201d\n\n\u201cAy! Ay! Belief saveth him; belief in him. That is the way with old\npeople! So it is with us also!\u201d\u2014\n\n\u2014Thus spake to each other the two old night-watchmen and light-scarers,\nand tooted thereupon sorrowfully on their horns: so did it happen\nyester-night at the garden-wall.\n\nTo me, however, did the heart writhe with laughter, and was like to\nbreak; it knew not where to go, and sunk into the midriff.\n\nVerily, it will be my death yet\u2014to choke with laughter when I see asses\ndrunken, and hear night-watchmen thus doubt about God.\n\nHath the time not LONG since passed for all such doubts? Who may\nnowadays awaken such old slumbering, light-shunning things!\n\nWith the old Deities hath it long since come to an end:\u2014and verily, a\ngood joyful Deity-end had they!\n\nThey did not \u201cbegloom\u201d themselves to death\u2014that do people fabricate! On\nthe contrary, they\u2014LAUGHED themselves to death once on a time!\n\nThat took place when the unGodliest utterance came from a God\nhimself\u2014the utterance: \u201cThere is but one God! Thou shalt have no other\nGods before me!\u201d\u2014\n\n\u2014An old grim-beard of a God, a jealous one, forgot himself in such\nwise:\u2014\n\nAnd all the Gods then laughed, and shook upon their thrones, and\nexclaimed: \u201cIs it not just divinity that there are Gods, but no God?\u201d\n\nHe that hath an ear let him hear.\u2014\n\nThus talked Zarathustra in the city he loved, which is surnamed \u201cThe\nPied Cow.\u201d For from here he had but two days to travel to reach once\nmore his cave and his animals; his soul, however, rejoiced unceasingly\non account of the nighness of his return home.\n\n\n\n\nLIII. THE RETURN HOME.\n\n\nO lonesomeness! My HOME, lonesomeness! Too long have I lived wildly in\nwild remoteness, to return to thee without tears!\n\nNow threaten me with the finger as mothers threaten; now smile upon me\nas mothers smile; now say just: \u201cWho was it that like a whirlwind once\nrushed away from me?\u2014\n\n\u2014Who when departing called out: \u2018Too long have I sat with lonesomeness;\nthere have I unlearned silence!\u2019 THAT hast thou learned now\u2014surely?\n\nO Zarathustra, everything do I know; and that thou wert MORE FORSAKEN\namongst the many, thou unique one, than thou ever wert with me!\n\nOne thing is forsakenness, another matter is lonesomeness: THAT hast\nthou now learned! And that amongst men thou wilt ever be wild and\nstrange:\n\n\u2014Wild and strange even when they love thee: for above all they want to\nbe TREATED INDULGENTLY!\n\nHere, however, art thou at home and house with thyself; here canst thou\nutter everything, and unbosom all motives; nothing is here ashamed of\nconcealed, congealed feelings.\n\nHere do all things come caressingly to thy talk and flatter thee: for\nthey want to ride upon thy back. On every simile dost thou here ride to\nevery truth.\n\nUprightly and openly mayest thou here talk to all things: and verily,\nit soundeth as praise in their ears, for one to talk to all\nthings\u2014directly!\n\nAnother matter, however, is forsakenness. For, dost thou remember, O\nZarathustra? When thy bird screamed overhead, when thou stoodest in the\nforest, irresolute, ignorant where to go, beside a corpse:\u2014\n\n\u2014When thou spakest: \u2018Let mine animals lead me! More dangerous have I\nfound it among men than among animals:\u2019\u2014THAT was forsakenness!\n\nAnd dost thou remember, O Zarathustra? When thou sattest in thine isle,\na well of wine giving and granting amongst empty buckets, bestowing and\ndistributing amongst the thirsty:\n\n\u2014Until at last thou alone sattest thirsty amongst the drunken ones, and\nwailedst nightly: \u2018Is taking not more blessed than giving? And stealing\nyet more blessed than taking?\u2019\u2014THAT was forsakenness!\n\nAnd dost thou remember, O Zarathustra? When thy stillest hour came and\ndrove thee forth from thyself, when with wicked whispering it said:\n\u2018Speak and succumb!\u2019\u2014\n\n\u2014When it disgusted thee with all thy waiting and silence, and\ndiscouraged thy humble courage: THAT was forsakenness!\u201d\u2014\n\nO lonesomeness! My home, lonesomeness! How blessedly and tenderly\nspeaketh thy voice unto me!\n\nWe do not question each other, we do not complain to each other; we go\ntogether openly through open doors.\n\nFor all is open with thee and clear; and even the hours run here on\nlighter feet. For in the dark, time weigheth heavier upon one than in\nthe light.\n\nHere fly open unto me all being\u2019s words and word-cabinets: here all\nbeing wanteth to become words, here all becoming wanteth to learn of me\nhow to talk.\n\nDown there, however\u2014all talking is in vain! There, forgetting and\npassing-by are the best wisdom: THAT have I learned now!\n\nHe who would understand everything in man must handle everything. But\nfor that I have too clean hands.\n\nI do not like even to inhale their breath; alas! that I have lived so\nlong among their noise and bad breaths!\n\nO blessed stillness around me! O pure odours around me! How from a deep\nbreast this stillness fetcheth pure breath! How it hearkeneth, this\nblessed stillness!\n\nBut down there\u2014there speaketh everything, there is everything misheard.\nIf one announce one\u2019s wisdom with bells, the shopmen in the market-place\nwill out-jingle it with pennies!\n\nEverything among them talketh; no one knoweth any longer how to\nunderstand. Everything falleth into the water; nothing falleth any\nlonger into deep wells.\n\nEverything among them talketh, nothing succeedeth any longer and\naccomplisheth itself. Everything cackleth, but who will still sit\nquietly on the nest and hatch eggs?\n\nEverything among them talketh, everything is out-talked. And that which\nyesterday was still too hard for time itself and its tooth, hangeth\nto-day, outchamped and outchewed, from the mouths of the men of to-day.\n\nEverything among them talketh, everything is betrayed. And what was once\ncalled the secret and secrecy of profound souls, belongeth to-day to the\nstreet-trumpeters and other butterflies.\n\nO human hubbub, thou wonderful thing! Thou noise in dark streets! Now\nart thou again behind me:\u2014my greatest danger lieth behind me!\n\nIn indulging and pitying lay ever my greatest danger; and all human\nhubbub wisheth to be indulged and tolerated.\n\nWith suppressed truths, with fool\u2019s hand and befooled heart, and rich in\npetty lies of pity:\u2014thus have I ever lived among men.\n\nDisguised did I sit amongst them, ready to misjudge MYSELF that I might\nendure THEM, and willingly saying to myself: \u201cThou fool, thou dost not\nknow men!\u201d\n\nOne unlearneth men when one liveth amongst them: there is too much\nforeground in all men\u2014what can far-seeing, far-longing eyes do THERE!\n\nAnd, fool that I was, when they misjudged me, I indulged them on that\naccount more than myself, being habitually hard on myself, and often\neven taking revenge on myself for the indulgence.\n\nStung all over by poisonous flies, and hollowed like the stone by\nmany drops of wickedness: thus did I sit among them, and still said to\nmyself: \u201cInnocent is everything petty of its pettiness!\u201d\n\nEspecially did I find those who call themselves \u201cthe good,\u201d the most\npoisonous flies; they sting in all innocence, they lie in all innocence;\nhow COULD they\u2014be just towards me!\n\nHe who liveth amongst the good\u2014pity teacheth him to lie. Pity maketh\nstifling air for all free souls. For the stupidity of the good is\nunfathomable.\n\nTo conceal myself and my riches\u2014THAT did I learn down there: for every\none did I still find poor in spirit. It was the lie of my pity, that I\nknew in every one,\n\n\u2014That I saw and scented in every one, what was ENOUGH of spirit for\nhim, and what was TOO MUCH!\n\nTheir stiff wise men: I call them wise, not stiff\u2014thus did I learn to\nslur over words.\n\nThe grave-diggers dig for themselves diseases. Under old rubbish rest\nbad vapours. One should not stir up the marsh. One should live on\nmountains.\n\nWith blessed nostrils do I again breathe mountain-freedom. Freed at last\nis my nose from the smell of all human hubbub!\n\nWith sharp breezes tickled, as with sparkling wine, SNEEZETH my soul\u2014\nsneezeth, and shouteth self-congratulatingly: \u201cHealth to thee!\u201d\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nLIV. THE THREE EVIL THINGS.\n\n\n1.\n\nIn my dream, in my last morning-dream, I stood to-day on a promontory\u2014\nbeyond the world; I held a pair of scales, and WEIGHED the world.\n\nAlas, that the rosy dawn came too early to me: she glowed me awake, the\njealous one! Jealous is she always of the glows of my morning-dream.\n\nMeasurable by him who hath time, weighable by a good weigher, attainable\nby strong pinions, divinable by divine nut-crackers: thus did my dream\nfind the world:\u2014\n\nMy dream, a bold sailor, half-ship, half-hurricane, silent as the\nbutterfly, impatient as the falcon: how had it the patience and leisure\nto-day for world-weighing!\n\nDid my wisdom perhaps speak secretly to it, my laughing, wide-awake\nday-wisdom, which mocketh at all \u201cinfinite worlds\u201d? For it saith: \u201cWhere\nforce is, there becometh NUMBER the master: it hath more force.\u201d\n\nHow confidently did my dream contemplate this finite world, not\nnew-fangledly, not old-fangledly, not timidly, not entreatingly:\u2014\n\n\u2014As if a big round apple presented itself to my hand, a ripe golden\napple, with a coolly-soft, velvety skin:\u2014thus did the world present\nitself unto me:\u2014\n\n\u2014As if a tree nodded unto me, a broad-branched, strong-willed tree,\ncurved as a recline and a foot-stool for weary travellers: thus did the\nworld stand on my promontory:\u2014\n\n\u2014As if delicate hands carried a casket towards me\u2014a casket open for\nthe delectation of modest adoring eyes: thus did the world present\nitself before me to-day:\u2014\n\n\u2014Not riddle enough to scare human love from it, not solution enough\nto put to sleep human wisdom:\u2014a humanly good thing was the world to me\nto-day, of which such bad things are said!\n\nHow I thank my morning-dream that I thus at to-day\u2019s dawn, weighed\nthe world! As a humanly good thing did it come unto me, this dream and\nheart-comforter!\n\nAnd that I may do the like by day, and imitate and copy its best, now\nwill I put the three worst things on the scales, and weigh them humanly\nwell.\u2014\n\nHe who taught to bless taught also to curse: what are the three best\ncursed things in the world? These will I put on the scales.\n\nVOLUPTUOUSNESS, PASSION FOR POWER, and SELFISHNESS: these three things\nhave hitherto been best cursed, and have been in worst and falsest\nrepute\u2014these three things will I weigh humanly well.\n\nWell! Here is my promontory, and there is the sea\u2014IT rolleth hither\nunto me, shaggily and fawningly, the old, faithful, hundred-headed\ndog-monster that I love!\u2014\n\nWell! Here will I hold the scales over the weltering sea: and also a\nwitness do I choose to look on\u2014thee, the anchorite-tree, thee, the\nstrong-odoured, broad-arched tree that I love!\u2014\n\nOn what bridge goeth the now to the hereafter? By what constraint doth\nthe high stoop to the low? And what enjoineth even the highest still\u2014to\ngrow upwards?\u2014\n\nNow stand the scales poised and at rest: three heavy questions have I\nthrown in; three heavy answers carrieth the other scale.\n\n2.\n\nVoluptuousness: unto all hair-shirted despisers of the body, a sting and\nstake; and, cursed as \u201cthe world,\u201d by all backworldsmen: for it mocketh\nand befooleth all erring, misinferring teachers.\n\nVoluptuousness: to the rabble, the slow fire at which it is burnt;\nto all wormy wood, to all stinking rags, the prepared heat and stew\nfurnace.\n\nVoluptuousness: to free hearts, a thing innocent and free, the\ngarden-happiness of the earth, all the future\u2019s thanks-overflow to the\npresent.\n\nVoluptuousness: only to the withered a sweet poison; to the lion-willed,\nhowever, the great cordial, and the reverently saved wine of wines.\n\nVoluptuousness: the great symbolic happiness of a higher happiness\nand highest hope. For to many is marriage promised, and more than\nmarriage,\u2014\n\n\u2014To many that are more unknown to each other than man and woman:\u2014and\nwho hath fully understood HOW UNKNOWN to each other are man and woman!\n\nVoluptuousness:\u2014but I will have hedges around my thoughts, and\neven around my words, lest swine and libertine should break into my\ngardens!\u2014\n\nPassion for power: the glowing scourge of the hardest of the heart-hard;\nthe cruel torture reserved for the cruellest themselves; the gloomy\nflame of living pyres.\n\nPassion for power: the wicked gadfly which is mounted on the vainest\npeoples; the scorner of all uncertain virtue; which rideth on every\nhorse and on every pride.\n\nPassion for power: the earthquake which breaketh and upbreaketh all\nthat is rotten and hollow; the rolling, rumbling, punitive demolisher\nof whited sepulchres; the flashing interrogative-sign beside premature\nanswers.\n\nPassion for power: before whose glance man creepeth and croucheth and\ndrudgeth, and becometh lower than the serpent and the swine:\u2014until at\nlast great contempt crieth out of him\u2014,\n\nPassion for power: the terrible teacher of great contempt, which\npreacheth to their face to cities and empires: \u201cAway with thee!\u201d\u2014until\na voice crieth out of themselves: \u201cAway with ME!\u201d\n\nPassion for power: which, however, mounteth alluringly even to the pure\nand lonesome, and up to self-satisfied elevations, glowing like a love\nthat painteth purple felicities alluringly on earthly heavens.\n\nPassion for power: but who would call it PASSION, when the height\nlongeth to stoop for power! Verily, nothing sick or diseased is there in\nsuch longing and descending!\n\nThat the lonesome height may not for ever remain lonesome and\nself-sufficing; that the mountains may come to the valleys and the winds\nof the heights to the plains:\u2014\n\nOh, who could find the right prenomen and honouring name for such\nlonging! \u201cBestowing virtue\u201d\u2014thus did Zarathustra once name the\nunnamable.\n\nAnd then it happened also,\u2014and verily, it happened for the first\ntime!\u2014that his word blessed SELFISHNESS, the wholesome, healthy\nselfishness, that springeth from the powerful soul:\u2014\n\n\u2014From the powerful soul, to which the high body appertaineth, the\nhandsome, triumphing, refreshing body, around which everything becometh\na mirror:\n\n\u2014The pliant, persuasive body, the dancer, whose symbol and epitome\nis the self-enjoying soul. Of such bodies and souls the self-enjoyment\ncalleth itself \u201cvirtue.\u201d\n\nWith its words of good and bad doth such self-enjoyment shelter itself\nas with sacred groves; with the names of its happiness doth it banish\nfrom itself everything contemptible.\n\nAway from itself doth it banish everything cowardly; it saith:\n\u201cBad\u2014THAT IS cowardly!\u201d Contemptible seem to it the ever-solicitous,\nthe sighing, the complaining, and whoever pick up the most trifling\nadvantage.\n\nIt despiseth also all bitter-sweet wisdom: for verily, there is also\nwisdom that bloometh in the dark, a night-shade wisdom, which ever\nsigheth: \u201cAll is vain!\u201d\n\nShy distrust is regarded by it as base, and every one who wanteth oaths\ninstead of looks and hands: also all over-distrustful wisdom,\u2014for such\nis the mode of cowardly souls.\n\nBaser still it regardeth the obsequious, doggish one, who immediately\nlieth on his back, the submissive one; and there is also wisdom that is\nsubmissive, and doggish, and pious, and obsequious.\n\nHateful to it altogether, and a loathing, is he who will never defend\nhimself, he who swalloweth down poisonous spittle and bad looks, the\nall-too-patient one, the all-endurer, the all-satisfied one: for that is\nthe mode of slaves.\n\nWhether they be servile before Gods and divine spurnings, or before men\nand stupid human opinions: at ALL kinds of slaves doth it spit, this\nblessed selfishness!\n\nBad: thus doth it call all that is spirit-broken, and\nsordidly-servile\u2014constrained, blinking eyes, depressed hearts, and the\nfalse submissive style, which kisseth with broad cowardly lips.\n\nAnd spurious wisdom: so doth it call all the wit that slaves, and\nhoary-headed and weary ones affect; and especially all the cunning,\nspurious-witted, curious-witted foolishness of priests!\n\nThe spurious wise, however, all the priests, the world-weary, and those\nwhose souls are of feminine and servile nature\u2014oh, how hath their game\nall along abused selfishness!\n\nAnd precisely THAT was to be virtue and was to be called virtue\u2014to\nabuse selfishness! And \u201cselfless\u201d\u2014so did they wish themselves with good\nreason, all those world-weary cowards and cross-spiders!\n\nBut to all those cometh now the day, the change, the sword of judgment,\nTHE GREAT NOONTIDE: then shall many things be revealed!\n\nAnd he who proclaimeth the EGO wholesome and holy, and selfishness\nblessed, verily, he, the prognosticator, speaketh also what he knoweth:\n\u201cBEHOLD, IT COMETH, IT IS NIGH, THE GREAT NOONTIDE!\u201d\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nLV. THE SPIRIT OF GRAVITY.\n\n\n1.\n\nMy mouthpiece\u2014is of the people: too coarsely and cordially do I\ntalk for Angora rabbits. And still stranger soundeth my word unto all\nink-fish and pen-foxes.\n\nMy hand\u2014is a fool\u2019s hand: woe unto all tables and walls, and whatever\nhath room for fool\u2019s sketching, fool\u2019s scrawling!\n\nMy foot\u2014is a horse-foot; therewith do I trample and trot over stick and\nstone, in the fields up and down, and am bedevilled with delight in all\nfast racing.\n\nMy stomach\u2014is surely an eagle\u2019s stomach? For it preferreth lamb\u2019s\nflesh. Certainly it is a bird\u2019s stomach.\n\nNourished with innocent things, and with few, ready and impatient\nto fly, to fly away\u2014that is now my nature: why should there not be\nsomething of bird-nature therein!\n\nAnd especially that I am hostile to the spirit of gravity, that is\nbird-nature:\u2014verily, deadly hostile, supremely hostile, originally\nhostile! Oh, whither hath my hostility not flown and misflown!\n\nThereof could I sing a song\u2014and WILL sing it: though I be alone in an\nempty house, and must sing it to mine own ears.\n\nOther singers are there, to be sure, to whom only the full house\nmaketh the voice soft, the hand eloquent, the eye expressive, the heart\nwakeful:\u2014those do I not resemble.\u2014\n\n2.\n\nHe who one day teacheth men to fly will have shifted all landmarks; to\nhim will all landmarks themselves fly into the air; the earth will he\nchristen anew\u2014as \u201cthe light body.\u201d\n\nThe ostrich runneth faster than the fastest horse, but it also thrusteth\nits head heavily into the heavy earth: thus is it with the man who\ncannot yet fly.\n\nHeavy unto him are earth and life, and so WILLETH the spirit of gravity!\nBut he who would become light, and be a bird, must love himself:\u2014thus\ndo _I_ teach.\n\nNot, to be sure, with the love of the sick and infected, for with them\nstinketh even self-love!\n\nOne must learn to love oneself\u2014thus do I teach\u2014with a wholesome and\nhealthy love: that one may endure to be with oneself, and not go roving\nabout.\n\nSuch roving about christeneth itself \u201cbrotherly love\u201d; with these words\nhath there hitherto been the best lying and dissembling, and especially\nby those who have been burdensome to every one.\n\nAnd verily, it is no commandment for to-day and to-morrow to LEARN to\nlove oneself. Rather is it of all arts the finest, subtlest, last and\npatientest.\n\nFor to its possessor is all possession well concealed, and of all\ntreasure-pits one\u2019s own is last excavated\u2014so causeth the spirit of\ngravity.\n\nAlmost in the cradle are we apportioned with heavy words and worths:\n\u201cgood\u201d and \u201cevil\u201d\u2014so calleth itself this dowry. For the sake of it we\nare forgiven for living.\n\nAnd therefore suffereth one little children to come unto one, to forbid\nthem betimes to love themselves\u2014so causeth the spirit of gravity.\n\nAnd we\u2014we bear loyally what is apportioned unto us, on hard shoulders,\nover rugged mountains! And when we sweat, then do people say to us:\n\u201cYea, life is hard to bear!\u201d\n\nBut man himself only is hard to bear! The reason thereof is that he\ncarrieth too many extraneous things on his shoulders. Like the camel\nkneeleth he down, and letteth himself be well laden.\n\nEspecially the strong load-bearing man in whom reverence resideth. Too\nmany EXTRANEOUS heavy words and worths loadeth he upon himself\u2014then\nseemeth life to him a desert!\n\nAnd verily! Many a thing also that is OUR OWN is hard to bear! And many\ninternal things in man are like the oyster\u2014repulsive and slippery and\nhard to grasp;\u2014\n\nSo that an elegant shell, with elegant adornment, must plead for\nthem. But this art also must one learn: to HAVE a shell, and a fine\nappearance, and sagacious blindness!\n\nAgain, it deceiveth about many things in man, that many a shell is poor\nand pitiable, and too much of a shell. Much concealed goodness and power\nis never dreamt of; the choicest dainties find no tasters!\n\nWomen know that, the choicest of them: a little fatter a little leaner\u2014\noh, how much fate is in so little!\n\nMan is difficult to discover, and unto himself most difficult of all;\noften lieth the spirit concerning the soul. So causeth the spirit of\ngravity.\n\nHe, however, hath discovered himself who saith: This is MY good and\nevil: therewith hath he silenced the mole and the dwarf, who say: \u201cGood\nfor all, evil for all.\u201d\n\nVerily, neither do I like those who call everything good, and this world\nthe best of all. Those do I call the all-satisfied.\n\nAll-satisfiedness, which knoweth how to taste everything,\u2014that is\nnot the best taste! I honour the refractory, fastidious tongues and\nstomachs, which have learned to say \u201cI\u201d and \u201cYea\u201d and \u201cNay.\u201d\n\nTo chew and digest everything, however\u2014that is the genuine\nswine-nature! Ever to say YE-A\u2014that hath only the ass learnt, and those\nlike it!\u2014\n\nDeep yellow and hot red\u2014so wanteth MY taste\u2014it mixeth blood with all\ncolours. He, however, who whitewasheth his house, betrayeth unto me a\nwhitewashed soul.\n\nWith mummies, some fall in love; others with phantoms: both alike\nhostile to all flesh and blood\u2014oh, how repugnant are both to my taste!\nFor I love blood.\n\nAnd there will I not reside and abide where every one spitteth and\nspeweth: that is now MY taste,\u2014rather would I live amongst thieves and\nperjurers. Nobody carrieth gold in his mouth.\n\nStill more repugnant unto me, however, are all lickspittles; and the\nmost repugnant animal of man that I found, did I christen \u201cparasite\u201d: it\nwould not love, and would yet live by love.\n\nUnhappy do I call all those who have only one choice: either to become\nevil beasts, or evil beast-tamers. Amongst such would I not build my\ntabernacle.\n\nUnhappy do I also call those who have ever to WAIT,\u2014they are repugnant\nto my taste\u2014all the toll-gatherers and traders, and kings, and other\nlandkeepers and shopkeepers.\n\nVerily, I learned waiting also, and thoroughly so,\u2014but only waiting for\nMYSELF. And above all did I learn standing and walking and running and\nleaping and climbing and dancing.\n\nThis however is my teaching: he who wisheth one day to fly, must first\nlearn standing and walking and running and climbing and dancing:\u2014one\ndoth not fly into flying!\n\nWith rope-ladders learned I to reach many a window, with nimble legs did\nI climb high masts: to sit on high masts of perception seemed to me no\nsmall bliss;\u2014\n\n\u2014To flicker like small flames on high masts: a small light, certainly,\nbut a great comfort to cast-away sailors and shipwrecked ones!\n\nBy divers ways and wendings did I arrive at my truth; not by one ladder\ndid I mount to the height where mine eye roveth into my remoteness.\n\nAnd unwillingly only did I ask my way\u2014that was always counter to my\ntaste! Rather did I question and test the ways themselves.\n\nA testing and a questioning hath been all my travelling:\u2014and verily,\none must also LEARN to answer such questioning! That, however,\u2014is my\ntaste:\n\n\u2014Neither a good nor a bad taste, but MY taste, of which I have no\nlonger either shame or secrecy.\n\n\u201cThis\u2014is now MY way,\u2014where is yours?\u201d Thus did I answer those who\nasked me \u201cthe way.\u201d For THE way\u2014it doth not exist!\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nLVI. OLD AND NEW TABLES.\n\n\n1.\n\nHere do I sit and wait, old broken tables around me and also new\nhalf-written tables. When cometh mine hour?\n\n\u2014The hour of my descent, of my down-going: for once more will I go unto\nmen.\n\nFor that hour do I now wait: for first must the signs come unto me that\nit is MINE hour\u2014namely, the laughing lion with the flock of doves.\n\nMeanwhile do I talk to myself as one who hath time. No one telleth me\nanything new, so I tell myself mine own story.\n\n2.\n\nWhen I came unto men, then found I them resting on an old infatuation:\nall of them thought they had long known what was good and bad for men.\n\nAn old wearisome business seemed to them all discourse about virtue; and\nhe who wished to sleep well spake of \u201cgood\u201d and \u201cbad\u201d ere retiring to\nrest.\n\nThis somnolence did I disturb when I taught that NO ONE YET KNOWETH what\nis good and bad:\u2014unless it be the creating one!\n\n\u2014It is he, however, who createth man\u2019s goal, and giveth to the earth\nits meaning and its future: he only EFFECTETH it THAT aught is good or\nbad.\n\nAnd I bade them upset their old academic chairs, and wherever that old\ninfatuation had sat; I bade them laugh at their great moralists, their\nsaints, their poets, and their Saviours.\n\nAt their gloomy sages did I bid them laugh, and whoever had sat\nadmonishing as a black scarecrow on the tree of life.\n\nOn their great grave-highway did I seat myself, and even beside the\ncarrion and vultures\u2014and I laughed at all their bygone and its mellow\ndecaying glory.\n\nVerily, like penitential preachers and fools did I cry wrath and shame\non all their greatness and smallness. Oh, that their best is so very\nsmall! Oh, that their worst is so very small! Thus did I laugh.\n\nThus did my wise longing, born in the mountains, cry and laugh in me; a\nwild wisdom, verily!\u2014my great pinion-rustling longing.\n\nAnd oft did it carry me off and up and away and in the midst of\nlaughter; then flew I quivering like an arrow with sun-intoxicated\nrapture:\n\n\u2014Out into distant futures, which no dream hath yet seen, into warmer\nsouths than ever sculptor conceived,\u2014where gods in their dancing are\nashamed of all clothes:\n\n(That I may speak in parables and halt and stammer like the poets: and\nverily I am ashamed that I have still to be a poet!)\n\nWhere all becoming seemed to me dancing of Gods, and wantoning of Gods,\nand the world unloosed and unbridled and fleeing back to itself:\u2014\n\n\u2014As an eternal self-fleeing and re-seeking of one another of many Gods,\nas the blessed self-contradicting, recommuning, and refraternising with\none another of many Gods:\u2014\n\nWhere all time seemed to me a blessed mockery of moments, where\nnecessity was freedom itself, which played happily with the goad of\nfreedom:\u2014\n\nWhere I also found again mine old devil and arch-enemy, the spirit\nof gravity, and all that it created: constraint, law, necessity and\nconsequence and purpose and will and good and evil:\u2014\n\nFor must there not be that which is danced OVER, danced beyond? Must\nthere not, for the sake of the nimble, the nimblest,\u2014be moles and\nclumsy dwarfs?\u2014\n\n3.\n\nThere was it also where I picked up from the path the word \u201cSuperman,\u201d\n and that man is something that must be surpassed.\n\n\u2014That man is a bridge and not a goal\u2014rejoicing over his noontides and\nevenings, as advances to new rosy dawns:\n\n\u2014The Zarathustra word of the great noontide, and whatever else I have\nhung up over men like purple evening-afterglows.\n\nVerily, also new stars did I make them see, along with new nights;\nand over cloud and day and night, did I spread out laughter like a\ngay-coloured canopy.\n\nI taught them all MY poetisation and aspiration: to compose and collect\ninto unity what is fragment in man, and riddle and fearful chance;\u2014\n\n\u2014As composer, riddle-reader, and redeemer of chance, did I teach them\nto create the future, and all that HATH BEEN\u2014to redeem by creating.\n\nThe past of man to redeem, and every \u201cIt was\u201d to transform, until the\nWill saith: \u201cBut so did I will it! So shall I will it\u2014\u201d\n\n\u2014This did I call redemption; this alone taught I them to call\nredemption.\u2014\n\nNow do I await MY redemption\u2014that I may go unto them for the last time.\n\nFor once more will I go unto men: AMONGST them will my sun set; in dying\nwill I give them my choicest gift!\n\nFrom the sun did I learn this, when it goeth down, the exuberant one:\ngold doth it then pour into the sea, out of inexhaustible riches,\u2014\n\n\u2014So that the poorest fisherman roweth even with GOLDEN oars! For this\ndid I once see, and did not tire of weeping in beholding it.\u2014\n\nLike the sun will also Zarathustra go down: now sitteth he here\nand waiteth, old broken tables around him, and also new\ntables\u2014half-written.\n\n4.\n\nBehold, here is a new table; but where are my brethren who will carry it\nwith me to the valley and into hearts of flesh?\u2014\n\nThus demandeth my great love to the remotest ones: BE NOT CONSIDERATE OF\nTHY NEIGHBOUR! Man is something that must be surpassed.\n\nThere are many divers ways and modes of surpassing: see THOU thereto!\nBut only a buffoon thinketh: \u201cman can also be OVERLEAPT.\u201d\n\nSurpass thyself even in thy neighbour: and a right which thou canst\nseize upon, shalt thou not allow to be given thee!\n\nWhat thou doest can no one do to thee again. Lo, there is no requital.\n\nHe who cannot command himself shall obey. And many a one CAN command\nhimself, but still sorely lacketh self-obedience!\n\n5.\n\nThus wisheth the type of noble souls: they desire to have nothing\nGRATUITOUSLY, least of all, life.\n\nHe who is of the populace wisheth to live gratuitously; we others,\nhowever, to whom life hath given itself\u2014we are ever considering WHAT we\ncan best give IN RETURN!\n\nAnd verily, it is a noble dictum which saith: \u201cWhat life promiseth US,\nthat promise will WE keep\u2014to life!\u201d\n\nOne should not wish to enjoy where one doth not contribute to the\nenjoyment. And one should not WISH to enjoy!\n\nFor enjoyment and innocence are the most bashful things. Neither like\nto be sought for. One should HAVE them,\u2014but one should rather SEEK for\nguilt and pain!\u2014\n\n6.\n\nO my brethren, he who is a firstling is ever sacrificed. Now, however,\nare we firstlings!\n\nWe all bleed on secret sacrificial altars, we all burn and broil in\nhonour of ancient idols.\n\nOur best is still young: this exciteth old palates. Our flesh is tender,\nour skin is only lambs\u2019 skin:\u2014how could we not excite old idol-priests!\n\nIN OURSELVES dwelleth he still, the old idol-priest, who broileth our\nbest for his banquet. Ah, my brethren, how could firstlings fail to be\nsacrifices!\n\nBut so wisheth our type; and I love those who do not wish to preserve\nthemselves, the down-going ones do I love with mine entire love: for\nthey go beyond.\u2014\n\n7.\n\nTo be true\u2014that CAN few be! And he who can, will not! Least of all,\nhowever, can the good be true.\n\nOh, those good ones! GOOD MEN NEVER SPEAK THE TRUTH. For the spirit,\nthus to be good, is a malady.\n\nThey yield, those good ones, they submit themselves; their heart\nrepeateth, their soul obeyeth: HE, however, who obeyeth, DOTH NOT LISTEN\nTO HIMSELF!\n\nAll that is called evil by the good, must come together in order that\none truth may be born. O my brethren, are ye also evil enough for THIS\ntruth?\n\nThe daring venture, the prolonged distrust, the cruel Nay, the tedium,\nthe cutting-into-the-quick\u2014how seldom do THESE come together! Out of\nsuch seed, however\u2014is truth produced!\n\nBESIDE the bad conscience hath hitherto grown all KNOWLEDGE! Break up,\nbreak up, ye discerning ones, the old tables!\n\n8.\n\nWhen the water hath planks, when gangways and railings o\u2019erspan the\nstream, verily, he is not believed who then saith: \u201cAll is in flux.\u201d\n\nBut even the simpletons contradict him. \u201cWhat?\u201d say the simpletons, \u201call\nin flux? Planks and railings are still OVER the stream!\n\n\u201cOVER the stream all is stable, all the values of things, the bridges\nand bearings, all \u2018good\u2019 and \u2018evil\u2019: these are all STABLE!\u201d\u2014\n\nCometh, however, the hard winter, the stream-tamer, then learn even the\nwittiest distrust, and verily, not only the simpletons then say: \u201cShould\nnot everything\u2014STAND STILL?\u201d\n\n\u201cFundamentally standeth everything still\u201d\u2014that is an appropriate winter\ndoctrine, good cheer for an unproductive period, a great comfort for\nwinter-sleepers and fireside-loungers.\n\n\u201cFundamentally standeth everything still\u201d\u2014: but CONTRARY thereto,\npreacheth the thawing wind!\n\nThe thawing wind, a bullock, which is no ploughing bullock\u2014a furious\nbullock, a destroyer, which with angry horns breaketh the ice! The ice\nhowever\u2014BREAKETH GANGWAYS!\n\nO my brethren, is not everything AT PRESENT IN FLUX? Have not all\nrailings and gangways fallen into the water? Who would still HOLD ON to\n\u201cgood\u201d and \u201cevil\u201d?\n\n\u201cWoe to us! Hail to us! The thawing wind bloweth!\u201d\u2014Thus preach, my\nbrethren, through all the streets!\n\n9.\n\nThere is an old illusion\u2014it is called good and evil. Around soothsayers\nand astrologers hath hitherto revolved the orbit of this illusion.\n\nOnce did one BELIEVE in soothsayers and astrologers; and THEREFORE did\none believe, \u201cEverything is fate: thou shalt, for thou must!\u201d\n\nThen again did one distrust all soothsayers and astrologers; and\nTHEREFORE did one believe, \u201cEverything is freedom: thou canst, for thou\nwillest!\u201d\n\nO my brethren, concerning the stars and the future there hath hitherto\nbeen only illusion, and not knowledge; and THEREFORE concerning good and\nevil there hath hitherto been only illusion and not knowledge!\n\n10.\n\n\u201cThou shalt not rob! Thou shalt not slay!\u201d\u2014such precepts were once\ncalled holy; before them did one bow the knee and the head, and take off\none\u2019s shoes.\n\nBut I ask you: Where have there ever been better robbers and slayers in\nthe world than such holy precepts?\n\nIs there not even in all life\u2014robbing and slaying? And for such\nprecepts to be called holy, was not TRUTH itself thereby\u2014slain?\n\n\u2014Or was it a sermon of death that called holy what contradicted and\ndissuaded from life?\u2014O my brethren, break up, break up for me the old\ntables!\n\n11.\n\nIt is my sympathy with all the past that I see it is abandoned,\u2014\n\n\u2014Abandoned to the favour, the spirit and the madness of every\ngeneration that cometh, and reinterpreteth all that hath been as its\nbridge!\n\nA great potentate might arise, an artful prodigy, who with approval and\ndisapproval could strain and constrain all the past, until it became for\nhim a bridge, a harbinger, a herald, and a cock-crowing.\n\nThis however is the other danger, and mine other sympathy:\u2014he who is\nof the populace, his thoughts go back to his grandfather,\u2014with his\ngrandfather, however, doth time cease.\n\nThus is all the past abandoned: for it might some day happen for the\npopulace to become master, and drown all time in shallow waters.\n\nTherefore, O my brethren, a NEW NOBILITY is needed, which shall be the\nadversary of all populace and potentate rule, and shall inscribe anew\nthe word \u201cnoble\u201d on new tables.\n\nFor many noble ones are needed, and many kinds of noble ones, FOR A NEW\nNOBILITY! Or, as I once said in parable: \u201cThat is just divinity, that\nthere are Gods, but no God!\u201d\n\n12.\n\nO my brethren, I consecrate you and point you to a new nobility: ye\nshall become procreators and cultivators and sowers of the future;\u2014\n\n\u2014Verily, not to a nobility which ye could purchase like traders with\ntraders\u2019 gold; for little worth is all that hath its price.\n\nLet it not be your honour henceforth whence ye come, but whither ye go!\nYour Will and your feet which seek to surpass you\u2014let these be your new\nhonour!\n\nVerily, not that ye have served a prince\u2014of what account are princes\nnow!\u2014nor that ye have become a bulwark to that which standeth, that it\nmay stand more firmly.\n\nNot that your family have become courtly at courts, and that ye have\nlearned\u2014gay-coloured, like the flamingo\u2014to stand long hours in shallow\npools:\n\n(For ABILITY-to-stand is a merit in courtiers; and all courtiers believe\nthat unto blessedness after death pertaineth\u2014PERMISSION-to-sit!)\n\nNor even that a Spirit called Holy, led your forefathers into promised\nlands, which I do not praise: for where the worst of all trees grew\u2014the\ncross,\u2014in that land there is nothing to praise!\u2014\n\n\u2014And verily, wherever this \u201cHoly Spirit\u201d led its knights, always in\nsuch campaigns did\u2014goats and geese, and wryheads and guyheads run\nFOREMOST!\u2014\n\nO my brethren, not backward shall your nobility gaze, but OUTWARD!\nExiles shall ye be from all fatherlands and forefather-lands!\n\nYour CHILDREN\u2019S LAND shall ye love: let this love be your new\nnobility,\u2014the undiscovered in the remotest seas! For it do I bid your\nsails search and search!\n\nUnto your children shall ye MAKE AMENDS for being the children of your\nfathers: all the past shall ye THUS redeem! This new table do I place\nover you!\n\n13.\n\n\u201cWhy should one live? All is vain! To live\u2014that is to thrash straw; to\nlive\u2014that is to burn oneself and yet not get warm.\u201d\u2014\n\nSuch ancient babbling still passeth for \u201cwisdom\u201d; because it is old,\nhowever, and smelleth mustily, THEREFORE is it the more honoured. Even\nmould ennobleth.\u2014\n\nChildren might thus speak: they SHUN the fire because it hath burnt\nthem! There is much childishness in the old books of wisdom.\n\nAnd he who ever \u201cthrasheth straw,\u201d why should he be allowed to rail at\nthrashing! Such a fool one would have to muzzle!\n\nSuch persons sit down to the table and bring nothing with them, not even\ngood hunger:\u2014and then do they rail: \u201cAll is vain!\u201d\n\nBut to eat and drink well, my brethren, is verily no vain art! Break up,\nbreak up for me the tables of the never-joyous ones!\n\n14.\n\n\u201cTo the clean are all things clean\u201d\u2014thus say the people. I, however,\nsay unto you: To the swine all things become swinish!\n\nTherefore preach the visionaries and bowed-heads (whose hearts are also\nbowed down): \u201cThe world itself is a filthy monster.\u201d\n\nFor these are all unclean spirits; especially those, however, who have\nno peace or rest, unless they see the world FROM THE BACKSIDE\u2014the\nbackworldsmen!\n\nTO THOSE do I say it to the face, although it sound unpleasantly: the\nworld resembleth man, in that it hath a backside,\u2014SO MUCH is true!\n\nThere is in the world much filth: SO MUCH is true! But the world itself\nis not therefore a filthy monster!\n\nThere is wisdom in the fact that much in the world smelleth badly:\nloathing itself createth wings, and fountain-divining powers!\n\nIn the best there is still something to loathe; and the best is still\nsomething that must be surpassed!\u2014\n\nO my brethren, there is much wisdom in the fact that much filth is in\nthe world!\u2014\n\n15.\n\nSuch sayings did I hear pious backworldsmen speak to their consciences,\nand verily without wickedness or guile,\u2014although there is nothing more\nguileful in the world, or more wicked.\n\n\u201cLet the world be as it is! Raise not a finger against it!\u201d\n\n\u201cLet whoever will choke and stab and skin and scrape the people: raise\nnot a finger against it! Thereby will they learn to renounce the world.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd thine own reason\u2014this shalt thou thyself stifle and choke; for it\nis a reason of this world,\u2014thereby wilt thou learn thyself to renounce\nthe world.\u201d\u2014\n\n\u2014Shatter, shatter, O my brethren, those old tables of the pious! Tatter\nthe maxims of the world-maligners!\u2014\n\n16.\n\n\u201cHe who learneth much unlearneth all violent cravings\u201d\u2014that do people\nnow whisper to one another in all the dark lanes.\n\n\u201cWisdom wearieth, nothing is worth while; thou shalt not crave!\u201d\u2014this\nnew table found I hanging even in the public markets.\n\nBreak up for me, O my brethren, break up also that NEW table! The\nweary-o\u2019-the-world put it up, and the preachers of death and the jailer:\nfor lo, it is also a sermon for slavery:\u2014\n\nBecause they learned badly and not the best, and everything too early\nand everything too fast; because they ATE badly: from thence hath\nresulted their ruined stomach;\u2014\n\n\u2014For a ruined stomach, is their spirit: IT persuadeth to death! For\nverily, my brethren, the spirit IS a stomach!\n\nLife is a well of delight, but to him in whom the ruined stomach\nspeaketh, the father of affliction, all fountains are poisoned.\n\nTo discern: that is DELIGHT to the lion-willed! But he who hath become\nweary, is himself merely \u201cwilled\u201d; with him play all the waves.\n\nAnd such is always the nature of weak men: they lose themselves on their\nway. And at last asketh their weariness: \u201cWhy did we ever go on the way?\nAll is indifferent!\u201d\n\nTO THEM soundeth it pleasant to have preached in their ears: \u201cNothing is\nworth while! Ye shall not will!\u201d That, however, is a sermon for slavery.\n\nO my brethren, a fresh blustering wind cometh Zarathustra unto all\nway-weary ones; many noses will he yet make sneeze!\n\nEven through walls bloweth my free breath, and in into prisons and\nimprisoned spirits!\n\nWilling emancipateth: for willing is creating: so do I teach. And ONLY\nfor creating shall ye learn!\n\nAnd also the learning shall ye LEARN only from me, the learning\nwell!\u2014He who hath ears let him hear!\n\n17.\n\nThere standeth the boat\u2014thither goeth it over, perhaps into vast\nnothingness\u2014but who willeth to enter into this \u201cPerhaps\u201d?\n\nNone of you want to enter into the death-boat! How should ye then be\nWORLD-WEARY ones!\n\nWorld-weary ones! And have not even withdrawn from the earth! Eager\ndid I ever find you for the earth, amorous still of your own\nearth-weariness!\n\nNot in vain doth your lip hang down:\u2014a small worldly wish still sitteth\nthereon! And in your eye\u2014floateth there not a cloudlet of unforgotten\nearthly bliss?\n\nThere are on the earth many good inventions, some useful, some pleasant:\nfor their sake is the earth to be loved.\n\nAnd many such good inventions are there, that they are like woman\u2019s\nbreasts: useful at the same time, and pleasant.\n\nYe world-weary ones, however! Ye earth-idlers! You, shall one beat with\nstripes! With stripes shall one again make you sprightly limbs.\n\nFor if ye be not invalids, or decrepit creatures, of whom the earth is\nweary, then are ye sly sloths, or dainty, sneaking pleasure-cats. And if\nye will not again RUN gaily, then shall ye\u2014pass away!\n\nTo the incurable shall one not seek to be a physician: thus teacheth\nZarathustra:\u2014so shall ye pass away!\n\nBut more COURAGE is needed to make an end than to make a new verse: that\ndo all physicians and poets know well.\u2014\n\n18.\n\nO my brethren, there are tables which weariness framed, and tables\nwhich slothfulness framed, corrupt slothfulness: although they speak\nsimilarly, they want to be heard differently.\u2014\n\nSee this languishing one! Only a span-breadth is he from his goal; but\nfrom weariness hath he lain down obstinately in the dust, this brave\none!\n\nFrom weariness yawneth he at the path, at the earth, at the goal, and at\nhimself: not a step further will he go,\u2014this brave one!\n\nNow gloweth the sun upon him, and the dogs lick at his sweat: but he\nlieth there in his obstinacy and preferreth to languish:\u2014\n\n\u2014A span-breadth from his goal, to languish! Verily, ye will have to\ndrag him into his heaven by the hair of his head\u2014this hero!\n\nBetter still that ye let him lie where he hath lain down, that sleep may\ncome unto him, the comforter, with cooling patter-rain.\n\nLet him lie, until of his own accord he awakeneth,\u2014until of his own\naccord he repudiateth all weariness, and what weariness hath taught\nthrough him!\n\nOnly, my brethren, see that ye scare the dogs away from him, the idle\nskulkers, and all the swarming vermin:\u2014\n\n\u2014All the swarming vermin of the \u201ccultured,\u201d that\u2014feast on the sweat of\nevery hero!\u2014\n\n19.\n\nI form circles around me and holy boundaries; ever fewer ascend with\nme ever higher mountains: I build a mountain-range out of ever holier\nmountains.\u2014\n\nBut wherever ye would ascend with me, O my brethren, take care lest a\nPARASITE ascend with you!\n\nA parasite: that is a reptile, a creeping, cringing reptile, that trieth\nto fatten on your infirm and sore places.\n\nAnd THIS is its art: it divineth where ascending souls are weary, in\nyour trouble and dejection, in your sensitive modesty, doth it build its\nloathsome nest.\n\nWhere the strong are weak, where the noble are all-too-gentle\u2014there\nbuildeth it its loathsome nest; the parasite liveth where the great have\nsmall sore places.\n\nWhat is the highest of all species of being, and what is the lowest?\nThe parasite is the lowest species; he, however, who is of the highest\nspecies feedeth most parasites.\n\nFor the soul which hath the longest ladder, and can go deepest down: how\ncould there fail to be most parasites upon it?\u2014\n\n\u2014The most comprehensive soul, which can run and stray and rove furthest\nin itself; the most necessary soul, which out of joy flingeth itself\ninto chance:\u2014\n\n\u2014The soul in Being, which plungeth into Becoming; the possessing soul,\nwhich SEEKETH to attain desire and longing:\u2014\n\n\u2014The soul fleeing from itself, which overtaketh itself in the widest\ncircuit; the wisest soul, unto which folly speaketh most sweetly:\u2014\n\n\u2014The soul most self-loving, in which all things have their current and\ncounter-current, their ebb and their flow:\u2014oh, how could THE LOFTIEST\nSOUL fail to have the worst parasites?\n\n20.\n\nO my brethren, am I then cruel? But I say: What falleth, that shall one\nalso push!\n\nEverything of to-day\u2014it falleth, it decayeth; who would preserve it!\nBut I\u2014I wish also to push it!\n\nKnow ye the delight which rolleth stones into precipitous depths?\u2014Those\nmen of to-day, see just how they roll into my depths!\n\nA prelude am I to better players, O my brethren! An example! DO\naccording to mine example!\n\nAnd him whom ye do not teach to fly, teach I pray you\u2014TO FALL FASTER!\u2014\n\n21.\n\nI love the brave: but it is not enough to be a swordsman,\u2014one must also\nknow WHEREON to use swordsmanship!\n\nAnd often is it greater bravery to keep quiet and pass by, that THEREBY\none may reserve oneself for a worthier foe!\n\nYe shall only have foes to be hated; but not foes to be despised: ye\nmust be proud of your foes. Thus have I already taught.\n\nFor the worthier foe, O my brethren, shall ye reserve yourselves:\ntherefore must ye pass by many a one,\u2014\n\n\u2014Especially many of the rabble, who din your ears with noise about\npeople and peoples.\n\nKeep your eye clear of their For and Against! There is there much right,\nmuch wrong: he who looketh on becometh wroth.\n\nTherein viewing, therein hewing\u2014they are the same thing: therefore\ndepart into the forests and lay your sword to sleep!\n\nGo YOUR ways! and let the people and peoples go theirs!\u2014gloomy ways,\nverily, on which not a single hope glinteth any more!\n\nLet there the trader rule, where all that still glittereth is\u2014traders\u2019\ngold. It is the time of kings no longer: that which now calleth itself\nthe people is unworthy of kings.\n\nSee how these peoples themselves now do just like the traders: they pick\nup the smallest advantage out of all kinds of rubbish!\n\nThey lay lures for one another, they lure things out of one\nanother,\u2014that they call \u201cgood neighbourliness.\u201d O blessed remote period\nwhen a people said to itself: \u201cI will be\u2014MASTER over peoples!\u201d\n\nFor, my brethren, the best shall rule, the best also WILLETH to rule!\nAnd where the teaching is different, there\u2014the best is LACKING.\n\n22.\n\nIf THEY had\u2014bread for nothing, alas! for what would THEY cry! Their\nmaintainment\u2014that is their true entertainment; and they shall have it\nhard!\n\nBeasts of prey, are they: in their \u201cworking\u201d\u2014there is even plundering,\nin their \u201cearning\u201d\u2014there is even overreaching! Therefore shall they\nhave it hard!\n\nBetter beasts of prey shall they thus become, subtler, cleverer, MORE\nMAN-LIKE: for man is the best beast of prey.\n\nAll the animals hath man already robbed of their virtues: that is why of\nall animals it hath been hardest for man.\n\nOnly the birds are still beyond him. And if man should yet learn to fly,\nalas! TO WHAT HEIGHT\u2014would his rapacity fly!\n\n23.\n\nThus would I have man and woman: fit for war, the one; fit for\nmaternity, the other; both, however, fit for dancing with head and legs.\n\nAnd lost be the day to us in which a measure hath not been danced. And\nfalse be every truth which hath not had laughter along with it!\n\n24.\n\nYour marriage-arranging: see that it be not a bad ARRANGING! Ye have\narranged too hastily: so there FOLLOWETH therefrom\u2014marriage-breaking!\n\nAnd better marriage-breaking than marriage-bending,\nmarriage-lying!\u2014Thus spake a woman unto me: \u201cIndeed, I broke the\nmarriage, but first did the marriage break\u2014me!\u201d\n\nThe badly paired found I ever the most revengeful: they make every one\nsuffer for it that they no longer run singly.\n\nOn that account want I the honest ones to say to one another: \u201cWe love\neach other: let us SEE TO IT that we maintain our love! Or shall our\npledging be blundering?\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cGive us a set term and a small marriage, that we may see if we are\nfit for the great marriage! It is a great matter always to be twain.\u201d\n\nThus do I counsel all honest ones; and what would be my love to the\nSuperman, and to all that is to come, if I should counsel and speak\notherwise!\n\nNot only to propagate yourselves onwards but UPWARDS\u2014thereto, O my\nbrethren, may the garden of marriage help you!\n\n25.\n\nHe who hath grown wise concerning old origins, lo, he will at last seek\nafter the fountains of the future and new origins.\u2014\n\nO my brethren, not long will it be until NEW PEOPLES shall arise and new\nfountains shall rush down into new depths.\n\nFor the earthquake\u2014it choketh up many wells, it causeth much\nlanguishing: but it bringeth also to light inner powers and secrets.\n\nThe earthquake discloseth new fountains. In the earthquake of old\npeoples new fountains burst forth.\n\nAnd whoever calleth out: \u201cLo, here is a well for many thirsty ones, one\nheart for many longing ones, one will for many instruments\u201d:\u2014around him\ncollecteth a PEOPLE, that is to say, many attempting ones.\n\nWho can command, who must obey\u2014THAT IS THERE ATTEMPTED! Ah, with what\nlong seeking and solving and failing and learning and re-attempting!\n\nHuman society: it is an attempt\u2014so I teach\u2014a long seeking: it seeketh\nhowever the ruler!\u2014\n\n\u2014An attempt, my brethren! And NO \u201ccontract\u201d! Destroy, I pray you,\ndestroy that word of the soft-hearted and half-and-half!\n\n26.\n\nO my brethren! With whom lieth the greatest danger to the whole human\nfuture? Is it not with the good and just?\u2014\n\n\u2014As those who say and feel in their hearts: \u201cWe already know what\nis good and just, we possess it also; woe to those who still seek\nthereafter!\u201d\n\nAnd whatever harm the wicked may do, the harm of the good is the\nharmfulest harm!\n\nAnd whatever harm the world-maligners may do, the harm of the good is\nthe harmfulest harm!\n\nO my brethren, into the hearts of the good and just looked some one\nonce on a time, who said: \u201cThey are the Pharisees.\u201d But people did not\nunderstand him.\n\nThe good and just themselves were not free to understand him; their\nspirit was imprisoned in their good conscience. The stupidity of the\ngood is unfathomably wise.\n\nIt is the truth, however, that the good MUST be Pharisees\u2014they have no\nchoice!\n\nThe good MUST crucify him who deviseth his own virtue! That IS the\ntruth!\n\nThe second one, however, who discovered their country\u2014the country,\nheart and soil of the good and just,\u2014it was he who asked: \u201cWhom do they\nhate most?\u201d\n\nThe CREATOR, hate they most, him who breaketh the tables and old values,\nthe breaker,\u2014him they call the law-breaker.\n\nFor the good\u2014they CANNOT create; they are always the beginning of the\nend:\u2014\n\n\u2014They crucify him who writeth new values on new tables, they sacrifice\nUNTO THEMSELVES the future\u2014they crucify the whole human future!\n\nThe good\u2014they have always been the beginning of the end.\u2014\n\n27.\n\nO my brethren, have ye also understood this word? And what I once said\nof the \u201clast man\u201d?\u2014\n\nWith whom lieth the greatest danger to the whole human future? Is it not\nwith the good and just?\n\nBREAK UP, BREAK UP, I PRAY YOU, THE GOOD AND JUST!\u2014O my brethren, have\nye understood also this word?\n\n28.\n\nYe flee from me? Ye are frightened? Ye tremble at this word?\n\nO my brethren, when I enjoined you to break up the good, and the tables\nof the good, then only did I embark man on his high seas.\n\nAnd now only cometh unto him the great terror, the great outlook, the\ngreat sickness, the great nausea, the great sea-sickness.\n\nFalse shores and false securities did the good teach you; in the lies of\nthe good were ye born and bred. Everything hath been radically contorted\nand distorted by the good.\n\nBut he who discovered the country of \u201cman,\u201d discovered also the country\nof \u201cman\u2019s future.\u201d Now shall ye be sailors for me, brave, patient!\n\nKeep yourselves up betimes, my brethren, learn to keep yourselves up!\nThe sea stormeth: many seek to raise themselves again by you.\n\nThe sea stormeth: all is in the sea. Well! Cheer up! Ye old\nseaman-hearts!\n\nWhat of fatherland! THITHER striveth our helm where our CHILDREN\u2019S LAND\nis! Thitherwards, stormier than the sea, stormeth our great longing!\u2014\n\n29.\n\n\u201cWhy so hard!\u201d\u2014said to the diamond one day the charcoal; \u201care we then\nnot near relatives?\u201d\u2014\n\nWhy so soft? O my brethren; thus do _I_ ask you: are ye then not\u2014my\nbrethren?\n\nWhy so soft, so submissive and yielding? Why is there so much negation\nand abnegation in your hearts? Why is there so little fate in your\nlooks?\n\nAnd if ye will not be fates and inexorable ones, how can ye one day\u2014\nconquer with me?\n\nAnd if your hardness will not glance and cut and chip to pieces, how can\nye one day\u2014create with me?\n\nFor the creators are hard. And blessedness must it seem to you to press\nyour hand upon millenniums as upon wax,\u2014\n\n\u2014Blessedness to write upon the will of millenniums as upon\nbrass,\u2014harder than brass, nobler than brass. Entirely hard is only the\nnoblest.\n\nThis new table, O my brethren, put I up over you: BECOME HARD!\u2014\n\n30.\n\nO thou, my Will! Thou change of every need, MY needfulness! Preserve me\nfrom all small victories!\n\nThou fatedness of my soul, which I call fate! Thou In-me! Over-me!\nPreserve and spare me for one great fate!\n\nAnd thy last greatness, my Will, spare it for thy last\u2014that thou mayest\nbe inexorable IN thy victory! Ah, who hath not succumbed to his victory!\n\nAh, whose eye hath not bedimmed in this intoxicated twilight! Ah, whose\nfoot hath not faltered and forgotten in victory\u2014how to stand!\u2014\n\n\u2014That I may one day be ready and ripe in the great noontide: ready and\nripe like the glowing ore, the lightning-bearing cloud, and the swelling\nmilk-udder:\u2014\n\n\u2014Ready for myself and for my most hidden Will: a bow eager for its\narrow, an arrow eager for its star:\u2014\n\n\u2014A star, ready and ripe in its noontide, glowing, pierced, blessed, by\nannihilating sun-arrows:\u2014\n\n\u2014A sun itself, and an inexorable sun-will, ready for annihilation in\nvictory!\n\nO Will, thou change of every need, MY needfulness! Spare me for one\ngreat victory!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nLVII. THE CONVALESCENT.\n\n\n1.\n\nOne morning, not long after his return to his cave, Zarathustra sprang\nup from his couch like a madman, crying with a frightful voice, and\nacting as if some one still lay on the couch who did not wish to rise.\nZarathustra\u2019s voice also resounded in such a manner that his animals\ncame to him frightened, and out of all the neighbouring caves and\nlurking-places all the creatures slipped away\u2014flying, fluttering,\ncreeping or leaping, according to their variety of foot or wing.\nZarathustra, however, spake these words:\n\nUp, abysmal thought out of my depth! I am thy cock and morning dawn,\nthou overslept reptile: Up! Up! My voice shall soon crow thee awake!\n\nUnbind the fetters of thine ears: listen! For I wish to hear thee! Up!\nUp! There is thunder enough to make the very graves listen!\n\nAnd rub the sleep and all the dimness and blindness out of thine eyes!\nHear me also with thine eyes: my voice is a medicine even for those born\nblind.\n\nAnd once thou art awake, then shalt thou ever remain awake. It is not\nMY custom to awake great-grandmothers out of their sleep that I may bid\nthem\u2014sleep on!\n\nThou stirrest, stretchest thyself, wheezest? Up! Up! Not wheeze, shalt\nthou,\u2014but speak unto me! Zarathustra calleth thee, Zarathustra the\ngodless!\n\nI, Zarathustra, the advocate of living, the advocate of suffering, the\nadvocate of the circuit\u2014thee do I call, my most abysmal thought!\n\nJoy to me! Thou comest,\u2014I hear thee! Mine abyss SPEAKETH, my lowest\ndepth have I turned over into the light!\n\nJoy to me! Come hither! Give me thy hand\u2014ha! let be! aha!\u2014Disgust,\ndisgust, disgust\u2014alas to me!\n\n2.\n\nHardly, however, had Zarathustra spoken these words, when he fell down\nas one dead, and remained long as one dead. When however he again came\nto himself, then was he pale and trembling, and remained lying; and for\nlong he would neither eat nor drink. This condition continued for seven\ndays; his animals, however, did not leave him day nor night, except that\nthe eagle flew forth to fetch food. And what it fetched and foraged,\nit laid on Zarathustra\u2019s couch: so that Zarathustra at last lay among\nyellow and red berries, grapes, rosy apples, sweet-smelling herbage, and\npine-cones. At his feet, however, two lambs were stretched, which the\neagle had with difficulty carried off from their shepherds.\n\nAt last, after seven days, Zarathustra raised himself upon his couch,\ntook a rosy apple in his hand, smelt it and found its smell pleasant.\nThen did his animals think the time had come to speak unto him.\n\n\u201cO Zarathustra,\u201d said they, \u201cnow hast thou lain thus for seven days with\nheavy eyes: wilt thou not set thyself again upon thy feet?\n\nStep out of thy cave: the world waiteth for thee as a garden. The wind\nplayeth with heavy fragrance which seeketh for thee; and all brooks\nwould like to run after thee.\n\nAll things long for thee, since thou hast remained alone for seven\ndays\u2014step forth out of thy cave! All things want to be thy physicians!\n\nDid perhaps a new knowledge come to thee, a bitter, grievous knowledge?\nLike leavened dough layest thou, thy soul arose and swelled beyond all\nits bounds.\u2014\u201d\n\n\u2014O mine animals, answered Zarathustra, talk on thus and let me listen!\nIt refresheth me so to hear your talk: where there is talk, there is the\nworld as a garden unto me.\n\nHow charming it is that there are words and tones; are not words and\ntones rainbows and seeming bridges \u2018twixt the eternally separated?\n\nTo each soul belongeth another world; to each soul is every other soul a\nback-world.\n\nAmong the most alike doth semblance deceive most delightfully: for the\nsmallest gap is most difficult to bridge over.\n\nFor me\u2014how could there be an outside-of-me? There is no outside! But\nthis we forget on hearing tones; how delightful it is that we forget!\n\nHave not names and tones been given unto things that man may refresh\nhimself with them? It is a beautiful folly, speaking; therewith danceth\nman over everything.\n\nHow lovely is all speech and all falsehoods of tones! With tones danceth\nour love on variegated rainbows.\u2014\n\n\u2014\u201cO Zarathustra,\u201d said then his animals, \u201cto those who think like us,\nthings all dance themselves: they come and hold out the hand and laugh\nand flee\u2014and return.\n\nEverything goeth, everything returneth; eternally rolleth the wheel\nof existence. Everything dieth, everything blossometh forth again;\neternally runneth on the year of existence.\n\nEverything breaketh, everything is integrated anew; eternally buildeth\nitself the same house of existence. All things separate, all things\nagain greet one another; eternally true to itself remaineth the ring of\nexistence.\n\nEvery moment beginneth existence, around every \u2018Here\u2019 rolleth the ball\n\u2018There.\u2019 The middle is everywhere. Crooked is the path of eternity.\u201d\u2014\n\n\u2014O ye wags and barrel-organs! answered Zarathustra, and smiled once\nmore, how well do ye know what had to be fulfilled in seven days:\u2014\n\n\u2014And how that monster crept into my throat and choked me! But I bit off\nits head and spat it away from me.\n\nAnd ye\u2014ye have made a lyre-lay out of it? Now, however, do I lie here,\nstill exhausted with that biting and spitting-away, still sick with mine\nown salvation.\n\nAND YE LOOKED ON AT IT ALL? O mine animals, are ye also cruel? Did\nye like to look at my great pain as men do? For man is the cruellest\nanimal.\n\nAt tragedies, bull-fights, and crucifixions hath he hitherto been\nhappiest on earth; and when he invented his hell, behold, that was his\nheaven on earth.\n\nWhen the great man crieth\u2014: immediately runneth the little man thither,\nand his tongue hangeth out of his mouth for very lusting. He, however,\ncalleth it his \u201cpity.\u201d\n\nThe little man, especially the poet\u2014how passionately doth he accuse\nlife in words! Hearken to him, but do not fail to hear the delight which\nis in all accusation!\n\nSuch accusers of life\u2014them life overcometh with a glance of the eye.\n\u201cThou lovest me?\u201d saith the insolent one; \u201cwait a little, as yet have I\nno time for thee.\u201d\n\nTowards himself man is the cruellest animal; and in all who call\nthemselves \u201csinners\u201d and \u201cbearers of the cross\u201d and \u201cpenitents,\u201d do not\noverlook the voluptuousness in their plaints and accusations!\n\nAnd I myself\u2014do I thereby want to be man\u2019s accuser? Ah, mine animals,\nthis only have I learned hitherto, that for man his baddest is necessary\nfor his best,\u2014\n\n\u2014That all that is baddest is the best POWER, and the hardest stone for\nthe highest creator; and that man must become better AND badder:\u2014\n\nNot to THIS torture-stake was I tied, that I know man is bad,\u2014but I\ncried, as no one hath yet cried:\n\n\u201cAh, that his baddest is so very small! Ah, that his best is so very\nsmall!\u201d\n\nThe great disgust at man\u2014IT strangled me and had crept into my throat:\nand what the soothsayer had presaged: \u201cAll is alike, nothing is worth\nwhile, knowledge strangleth.\u201d\n\nA long twilight limped on before me, a fatally weary, fatally\nintoxicated sadness, which spake with yawning mouth.\n\n\u201cEternally he returneth, the man of whom thou art weary, the small\nman\u201d\u2014so yawned my sadness, and dragged its foot and could not go to\nsleep.\n\nA cavern, became the human earth to me; its breast caved in; everything\nliving became to me human dust and bones and mouldering past.\n\nMy sighing sat on all human graves, and could no longer arise: my\nsighing and questioning croaked and choked, and gnawed and nagged day\nand night:\n\n\u2014\u201cAh, man returneth eternally! The small man returneth eternally!\u201d\n\nNaked had I once seen both of them, the greatest man and the smallest\nman: all too like one another\u2014all too human, even the greatest man!\n\nAll too small, even the greatest man!\u2014that was my disgust at man! And\nthe eternal return also of the smallest man!\u2014that was my disgust at all\nexistence!\n\nAh, Disgust! Disgust! Disgust!\u2014Thus spake Zarathustra, and sighed and\nshuddered; for he remembered his sickness. Then did his animals prevent\nhim from speaking further.\n\n\u201cDo not speak further, thou convalescent!\u201d\u2014so answered his animals,\n\u201cbut go out where the world waiteth for thee like a garden.\n\nGo out unto the roses, the bees, and the flocks of doves! Especially,\nhowever, unto the singing birds, to learn SINGING from them!\n\nFor singing is for the convalescent; the sound ones may talk. And\nwhen the sound also want songs, then want they other songs than the\nconvalescent.\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cO ye wags and barrel-organs, do be silent!\u201d answered Zarathustra, and\nsmiled at his animals. \u201cHow well ye know what consolation I devised for\nmyself in seven days!\n\nThat I have to sing once more\u2014THAT consolation did I devise for myself,\nand THIS convalescence: would ye also make another lyre-lay thereof?\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cDo not talk further,\u201d answered his animals once more; \u201crather, thou\nconvalescent, prepare for thyself first a lyre, a new lyre!\n\nFor behold, O Zarathustra! For thy new lays there are needed new lyres.\n\nSing and bubble over, O Zarathustra, heal thy soul with new lays: that\nthou mayest bear thy great fate, which hath not yet been any one\u2019s fate!\n\nFor thine animals know it well, O Zarathustra, who thou art and must\nbecome: behold, THOU ART THE TEACHER OF THE ETERNAL RETURN,\u2014that is now\nTHY fate!\n\nThat thou must be the first to teach this teaching\u2014how could this great\nfate not be thy greatest danger and infirmity!\n\nBehold, we know what thou teachest: that all things eternally return,\nand ourselves with them, and that we have already existed times without\nnumber, and all things with us.\n\nThou teachest that there is a great year of Becoming, a prodigy of a\ngreat year; it must, like a sand-glass, ever turn up anew, that it may\nanew run down and run out:\u2014\n\n\u2014So that all those years are like one another in the greatest and also\nin the smallest, so that we ourselves, in every great year, are like\nourselves in the greatest and also in the smallest.\n\nAnd if thou wouldst now die, O Zarathustra, behold, we know also how\nthou wouldst then speak to thyself:\u2014but thine animals beseech thee not\nto die yet!\n\nThou wouldst speak, and without trembling, buoyant rather with bliss,\nfor a great weight and worry would be taken from thee, thou patientest\none!\u2014\n\n\u2018Now do I die and disappear,\u2019 wouldst thou say, \u2018and in a moment I am\nnothing. Souls are as mortal as bodies.\n\nBut the plexus of causes returneth in which I am intertwined,\u2014it will\nagain create me! I myself pertain to the causes of the eternal return.\n\nI come again with this sun, with this earth, with this eagle, with this\nserpent\u2014NOT to a new life, or a better life, or a similar life:\n\n\u2014I come again eternally to this identical and selfsame life, in its\ngreatest and its smallest, to teach again the eternal return of all\nthings,\u2014\n\n\u2014To speak again the word of the great noontide of earth and man, to\nannounce again to man the Superman.\n\nI have spoken my word. I break down by my word: so willeth mine eternal\nfate\u2014as announcer do I succumb!\n\nThe hour hath now come for the down-goer to bless himself. Thus\u2014ENDETH\nZarathustra\u2019s down-going.\u2019\u201d\u2014\n\nWhen the animals had spoken these words they were silent and waited, so\nthat Zarathustra might say something to them: but Zarathustra did not\nhear that they were silent. On the contrary, he lay quietly with closed\neyes like a person sleeping, although he did not sleep; for he communed\njust then with his soul. The serpent, however, and the eagle, when they\nfound him silent in such wise, respected the great stillness around him,\nand prudently retired.\n\n\n\n\nLVIII. THE GREAT LONGING.\n\n\nO my soul, I have taught thee to say \u201cto-day\u201d as \u201conce on a time\u201d and\n\u201cformerly,\u201d and to dance thy measure over every Here and There and\nYonder.\n\nO my soul, I delivered thee from all by-places, I brushed down from thee\ndust and spiders and twilight.\n\nO my soul, I washed the petty shame and the by-place virtue from thee,\nand persuaded thee to stand naked before the eyes of the sun.\n\nWith the storm that is called \u201cspirit\u201d did I blow over thy surging\nsea; all clouds did I blow away from it; I strangled even the strangler\ncalled \u201csin.\u201d\n\nO my soul, I gave thee the right to say Nay like the storm, and to say\nYea as the open heaven saith Yea: calm as the light remainest thou, and\nnow walkest through denying storms.\n\nO my soul, I restored to thee liberty over the created and the\nuncreated; and who knoweth, as thou knowest, the voluptuousness of the\nfuture?\n\nO my soul, I taught thee the contempt which doth not come like\nworm-eating, the great, the loving contempt, which loveth most where it\ncontemneth most.\n\nO my soul, I taught thee so to persuade that thou persuadest even the\ngrounds themselves to thee: like the sun, which persuadeth even the sea\nto its height.\n\nO my soul, I have taken from thee all obeying and knee-bending and\nhomage-paying; I have myself given thee the names, \u201cChange of need\u201d and\n\u201cFate.\u201d\n\nO my soul, I have given thee new names and gay-coloured playthings,\nI have called thee \u201cFate\u201d and \u201cthe Circuit of circuits\u201d and \u201cthe\nNavel-string of time\u201d and \u201cthe Azure bell.\u201d\n\nO my soul, to thy domain gave I all wisdom to drink, all new wines, and\nalso all immemorially old strong wines of wisdom.\n\nO my soul, every sun shed I upon thee, and every night and every silence\nand every longing:\u2014then grewest thou up for me as a vine.\n\nO my soul, exuberant and heavy dost thou now stand forth, a vine with\nswelling udders and full clusters of brown golden grapes:\u2014\n\n\u2014Filled and weighted by thy happiness, waiting from superabundance, and\nyet ashamed of thy waiting.\n\nO my soul, there is nowhere a soul which could be more loving and more\ncomprehensive and more extensive! Where could future and past be closer\ntogether than with thee?\n\nO my soul, I have given thee everything, and all my hands have become\nempty by thee:\u2014and now! Now sayest thou to me, smiling and full of\nmelancholy: \u201cWhich of us oweth thanks?\u2014\n\n\u2014Doth the giver not owe thanks because the receiver received? Is\nbestowing not a necessity? Is receiving not\u2014pitying?\u201d\u2014\n\nO my soul, I understand the smiling of thy melancholy: thine\nover-abundance itself now stretcheth out longing hands!\n\nThy fulness looketh forth over raging seas, and seeketh and waiteth: the\nlonging of over-fulness looketh forth from the smiling heaven of thine\neyes!\n\nAnd verily, O my soul! Who could see thy smiling and not melt\ninto tears? The angels themselves melt into tears through the\nover-graciousness of thy smiling.\n\nThy graciousness and over-graciousness, is it which will not complain\nand weep: and yet, O my soul, longeth thy smiling for tears, and thy\ntrembling mouth for sobs.\n\n\u201cIs not all weeping complaining? And all complaining, accusing?\u201d Thus\nspeakest thou to thyself; and therefore, O my soul, wilt thou rather\nsmile than pour forth thy grief\u2014\n\n\u2014Than in gushing tears pour forth all thy grief concerning thy\nfulness, and concerning the craving of the vine for the vintager and\nvintage-knife!\n\nBut wilt thou not weep, wilt thou not weep forth thy purple melancholy,\nthen wilt thou have to SING, O my soul!\u2014Behold, I smile myself, who\nforetell thee this:\n\n\u2014Thou wilt have to sing with passionate song, until all seas turn calm\nto hearken unto thy longing,\u2014\n\n\u2014Until over calm longing seas the bark glideth, the golden marvel,\naround the gold of which all good, bad, and marvellous things frisk:\u2014\n\n\u2014Also many large and small animals, and everything that hath light\nmarvellous feet, so that it can run on violet-blue paths,\u2014\n\n\u2014Towards the golden marvel, the spontaneous bark, and its master: he,\nhowever, is the vintager who waiteth with the diamond vintage-knife,\u2014\n\n\u2014Thy great deliverer, O my soul, the nameless one\u2014for whom future\nsongs only will find names! And verily, already hath thy breath the\nfragrance of future songs,\u2014\n\n\u2014Already glowest thou and dreamest, already drinkest thou thirstily at\nall deep echoing wells of consolation, already reposeth thy melancholy\nin the bliss of future songs!\u2014\n\nO my soul, now have I given thee all, and even my last possession, and\nall my hands have become empty by thee:\u2014THAT I BADE THEE SING, behold,\nthat was my last thing to give!\n\nThat I bade thee sing,\u2014say now, say: WHICH of us now\u2014oweth thanks?\u2014\nBetter still, however: sing unto me, sing, O my soul! And let me thank\nthee!\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nLIX. THE SECOND DANCE-SONG.\n\n\n1.\n\n\u201cInto thine eyes gazed I lately, O Life: gold saw I gleam in thy\nnight-eyes,\u2014my heart stood still with delight:\n\n\u2014A golden bark saw I gleam on darkened waters, a sinking, drinking,\nreblinking, golden swing-bark!\n\nAt my dance-frantic foot, dost thou cast a glance, a laughing,\nquestioning, melting, thrown glance:\n\nTwice only movedst thou thy rattle with thy little hands\u2014then did my\nfeet swing with dance-fury.\u2014\n\nMy heels reared aloft, my toes they hearkened,\u2014thee they would know:\nhath not the dancer his ear\u2014in his toe!\n\nUnto thee did I spring: then fledst thou back from my bound; and towards\nme waved thy fleeing, flying tresses round!\n\nAway from thee did I spring, and from thy snaky tresses: then stoodst\nthou there half-turned, and in thine eye caresses.\n\nWith crooked glances\u2014dost thou teach me crooked courses; on crooked\ncourses learn my feet\u2014crafty fancies!\n\nI fear thee near, I love thee far; thy flight allureth me, thy seeking\nsecureth me:\u2014I suffer, but for thee, what would I not gladly bear!\n\nFor thee, whose coldness inflameth, whose hatred misleadeth, whose\nflight enchaineth, whose mockery\u2014pleadeth:\n\n\u2014Who would not hate thee, thou great bindress, inwindress, temptress,\nseekress, findress! Who would not love thee, thou innocent, impatient,\nwind-swift, child-eyed sinner!\n\nWhither pullest thou me now, thou paragon and tomboy? And now foolest\nthou me fleeing; thou sweet romp dost annoy!\n\nI dance after thee, I follow even faint traces lonely. Where art thou?\nGive me thy hand! Or thy finger only!\n\nHere are caves and thickets: we shall go astray!\u2014Halt! Stand still!\nSeest thou not owls and bats in fluttering fray?\n\nThou bat! Thou owl! Thou wouldst play me foul? Where are we? From the\ndogs hast thou learned thus to bark and howl.\n\nThou gnashest on me sweetly with little white teeth; thine evil eyes\nshoot out upon me, thy curly little mane from underneath!\n\nThis is a dance over stock and stone: I am the hunter,\u2014wilt thou be my\nhound, or my chamois anon?\n\nNow beside me! And quickly, wickedly springing! Now up! And over!\u2014Alas!\nI have fallen myself overswinging!\n\nOh, see me lying, thou arrogant one, and imploring grace! Gladly would I\nwalk with thee\u2014in some lovelier place!\n\n\u2014In the paths of love, through bushes variegated, quiet, trim! Or there\nalong the lake, where gold-fishes dance and swim!\n\nThou art now aweary? There above are sheep and sun-set stripes: is it\nnot sweet to sleep\u2014the shepherd pipes?\n\nThou art so very weary? I carry thee thither; let just thine arm sink!\nAnd art thou thirsty\u2014I should have something; but thy mouth would not\nlike it to drink!\u2014\n\n\u2014Oh, that cursed, nimble, supple serpent and lurking-witch! Where art\nthou gone? But in my face do I feel through thy hand, two spots and red\nblotches itch!\n\nI am verily weary of it, ever thy sheepish shepherd to be. Thou witch,\nif I have hitherto sung unto thee, now shalt THOU\u2014cry unto me!\n\nTo the rhythm of my whip shalt thou dance and cry! I forget not my\nwhip?\u2014Not I!\u201d\u2014\n\n2.\n\nThen did Life answer me thus, and kept thereby her fine ears closed:\n\n\u201cO Zarathustra! Crack not so terribly with thy whip! Thou knowest surely\nthat noise killeth thought,\u2014and just now there came to me such delicate\nthoughts.\n\nWe are both of us genuine ne\u2019er-do-wells and ne\u2019er-do-ills. Beyond\ngood and evil found we our island and our green meadow\u2014we two alone!\nTherefore must we be friendly to each other!\n\nAnd even should we not love each other from the bottom of our\nhearts,\u2014must we then have a grudge against each other if we do not love\neach other perfectly?\n\nAnd that I am friendly to thee, and often too friendly, that knowest\nthou: and the reason is that I am envious of thy Wisdom. Ah, this mad\nold fool, Wisdom!\n\nIf thy Wisdom should one day run away from thee, ah! then would also my\nlove run away from thee quickly.\u201d\u2014\n\nThereupon did Life look thoughtfully behind and around, and said softly:\n\u201cO Zarathustra, thou art not faithful enough to me!\n\nThou lovest me not nearly so much as thou sayest; I know thou thinkest\nof soon leaving me.\n\nThere is an old heavy, heavy, booming-clock: it boometh by night up to\nthy cave:\u2014\n\n\u2014When thou hearest this clock strike the hours at midnight, then\nthinkest thou between one and twelve thereon\u2014\n\n\u2014Thou thinkest thereon, O Zarathustra, I know it\u2014of soon leaving\nme!\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cYea,\u201d answered I, hesitatingly, \u201cbut thou knowest it also\u201d\u2014And I\nsaid something into her ear, in amongst her confused, yellow, foolish\ntresses.\n\n\u201cThou KNOWEST that, O Zarathustra? That knoweth no one\u2014\u201d\n\nAnd we gazed at each other, and looked at the green meadow o\u2019er which\nthe cool evening was just passing, and we wept together.\u2014Then, however,\nwas Life dearer unto me than all my Wisdom had ever been.\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n3.\n\n_One!_\n\nO man! Take heed!\n\n_Two!_\n\nWhat saith deep midnight\u2019s voice indeed?\n\n_Three!_\n\n\u201cI slept my sleep\u2014\n\n_Four!_\n\n\u201cFrom deepest dream I\u2019ve woke and plead:\u2014\n\n_Five!_\n\n\u201cThe world is deep,\n\n_Six!_\n\n\u201cAnd deeper than the day could read.\n\n_Seven!_\n\n\u201cDeep is its woe\u2014\n\n_Eight!_\n\n\u201cJoy\u2014deeper still than grief can be:\n\n_Nine!_\n\n\u201cWoe saith: Hence! Go!\n\n_Ten!_\n\n\u201cBut joys all want eternity\u2014\n\n_Eleven!_\n\n\u201cWant deep profound eternity!\u201d\n\n_Twelve!_\n\n\n\n\nLX. THE SEVEN SEALS.\n\n(OR THE YE-A AND AMEN LAY.)\n\n\n1.\n\nIf I be a diviner and full of the divining spirit which wandereth on\nhigh mountain-ridges, \u2018twixt two seas,\u2014\n\nWandereth \u2018twixt the past and the future as a heavy cloud\u2014hostile to\nsultry plains, and to all that is weary and can neither die nor live:\n\nReady for lightning in its dark bosom, and for the redeeming flash of\nlight, charged with lightnings which say Yea! which laugh Yea! ready for\ndivining flashes of lightning:\u2014\n\n\u2014Blessed, however, is he who is thus charged! And verily, long must he\nhang like a heavy tempest on the mountain, who shall one day kindle the\nlight of the future!\u2014\n\nOh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity and for the marriage-ring of\nrings\u2014the ring of the return?\n\nNever yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,\nunless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!\n\nFOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!\n\n2.\n\nIf ever my wrath hath burst graves, shifted landmarks, or rolled old\nshattered tables into precipitous depths:\n\nIf ever my scorn hath scattered mouldered words to the winds, and if I\nhave come like a besom to cross-spiders, and as a cleansing wind to old\ncharnel-houses:\n\nIf ever I have sat rejoicing where old Gods lie buried, world-blessing,\nworld-loving, beside the monuments of old world-maligners:\u2014\n\n\u2014For even churches and Gods\u2019-graves do I love, if only heaven looketh\nthrough their ruined roofs with pure eyes; gladly do I sit like grass\nand red poppies on ruined churches\u2014\n\nOh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of\nrings\u2014the ring of the return?\n\nNever yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,\nunless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!\n\nFOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!\n\n3.\n\nIf ever a breath hath come to me of the creative breath, and of the\nheavenly necessity which compelleth even chances to dance star-dances:\n\nIf ever I have laughed with the laughter of the creative lightning,\nto which the long thunder of the deed followeth, grumblingly, but\nobediently:\n\nIf ever I have played dice with the Gods at the divine table of\nthe earth, so that the earth quaked and ruptured, and snorted forth\nfire-streams:\u2014\n\n\u2014For a divine table is the earth, and trembling with new creative\ndictums and dice-casts of the Gods:\n\nOh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of\nrings\u2014the ring of the return?\n\nNever yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,\nunless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!\n\nFOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!\n\n4.\n\nIf ever I have drunk a full draught of the foaming spice- and\nconfection-bowl in which all things are well mixed:\n\nIf ever my hand hath mingled the furthest with the nearest, fire with\nspirit, joy with sorrow, and the harshest with the kindest:\n\nIf I myself am a grain of the saving salt which maketh everything in the\nconfection-bowl mix well:\u2014\n\n\u2014For there is a salt which uniteth good with evil; and even the evilest\nis worthy, as spicing and as final over-foaming:\u2014\n\nOh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of\nrings\u2014the ring of the return?\n\nNever yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,\nunless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!\n\nFOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!\n\n5.\n\nIf I be fond of the sea, and all that is sealike, and fondest of it when\nit angrily contradicteth me:\n\nIf the exploring delight be in me, which impelleth sails to the\nundiscovered, if the seafarer\u2019s delight be in my delight:\n\nIf ever my rejoicing hath called out: \u201cThe shore hath vanished,\u2014now\nhath fallen from me the last chain\u2014\n\nThe boundless roareth around me, far away sparkle for me space and\ntime,\u2014well! cheer up! old heart!\u201d\u2014\n\nOh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of\nrings\u2014the ring of the return?\n\nNever yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,\nunless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!\n\nFOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!\n\n6.\n\nIf my virtue be a dancer\u2019s virtue, and if I have often sprung with both\nfeet into golden-emerald rapture:\n\nIf my wickedness be a laughing wickedness, at home among rose-banks and\nhedges of lilies:\n\n\u2014For in laughter is all evil present, but it is sanctified and absolved\nby its own bliss:\u2014\n\nAnd if it be my Alpha and Omega that everything heavy shall become\nlight, every body a dancer, and every spirit a bird: and verily, that is\nmy Alpha and Omega!\u2014\n\nOh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of\nrings\u2014the ring of the return?\n\nNever yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,\nunless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!\n\nFOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!\n\n7.\n\nIf ever I have spread out a tranquil heaven above me, and have flown\ninto mine own heaven with mine own pinions:\n\nIf I have swum playfully in profound luminous distances, and if my\nfreedom\u2019s avian wisdom hath come to me:\u2014\n\n\u2014Thus however speaketh avian wisdom:\u2014\u201cLo, there is no above and no\nbelow! Throw thyself about,\u2014outward, backward, thou light one! Sing!\nspeak no more!\n\n\u2014Are not all words made for the heavy? Do not all words lie to the\nlight ones? Sing! speak no more!\u201d\u2014\n\nOh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of\nrings\u2014the ring of the return?\n\nNever yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,\nunless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!\n\nFOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!\n\n\n\n\nFOURTH AND LAST PART.\n\n\nAh, where in the world have there been greater follies than with the\npitiful? And what in the world hath caused more suffering than the\nfollies of the pitiful?\n\nWoe unto all loving ones who have not an elevation which is above their\npity!\n\nThus spake the devil unto me, once on a time: \u201cEven God hath his hell:\nit is his love for man.\u201d\n\nAnd lately did I hear him say these words: \u201cGod is dead: of his pity for\nman hath God died.\u201d\u2014ZARATHUSTRA, II., \u201cThe Pitiful.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nLXI. THE HONEY SACRIFICE.\n\n\n\u2014And again passed moons and years over Zarathustra\u2019s soul, and he\nheeded it not; his hair, however, became white. One day when he sat on\na stone in front of his cave, and gazed calmly into the distance\u2014one\nthere gazeth out on the sea, and away beyond sinuous abysses,\u2014then went\nhis animals thoughtfully round about him, and at last set themselves in\nfront of him.\n\n\u201cO Zarathustra,\u201d said they, \u201cgazest thou out perhaps for thy\nhappiness?\u201d\u2014\u201cOf what account is my happiness!\u201d answered he, \u201cI have\nlong ceased to strive any more for happiness, I strive for my work.\u201d\u2014\u201cO\nZarathustra,\u201d said the animals once more, \u201cthat sayest thou as one\nwho hath overmuch of good things. Liest thou not in a sky-blue lake of\nhappiness?\u201d\u2014\u201cYe wags,\u201d answered Zarathustra, and smiled, \u201chow well did\nye choose the simile! But ye know also that my happiness is heavy, and\nnot like a fluid wave of water: it presseth me and will not leave me,\nand is like molten pitch.\u201d\u2014\n\nThen went his animals again thoughtfully around him, and placed\nthemselves once more in front of him. \u201cO Zarathustra,\u201d said they, \u201cit is\nconsequently FOR THAT REASON that thou thyself always becometh yellower\nand darker, although thy hair looketh white and flaxen? Lo, thou sittest\nin thy pitch!\u201d\u2014\u201cWhat do ye say, mine animals?\u201d said Zarathustra,\nlaughing; \u201cverily I reviled when I spake of pitch. As it happeneth with\nme, so is it with all fruits that turn ripe. It is the HONEY in my veins\nthat maketh my blood thicker, and also my soul stiller.\u201d\u2014\u201cSo will it\nbe, O Zarathustra,\u201d answered his animals, and pressed up to him; \u201cbut\nwilt thou not to-day ascend a high mountain? The air is pure, and to-day\none seeth more of the world than ever.\u201d\u2014\u201cYea, mine animals,\u201d answered\nhe, \u201cye counsel admirably and according to my heart: I will to-day\nascend a high mountain! But see that honey is there ready to hand,\nyellow, white, good, ice-cool, golden-comb-honey. For know that when\naloft I will make the honey sacrifice.\u201d\u2014\n\nWhen Zarathustra, however, was aloft on the summit, he sent his animals\nhome that had accompanied him, and found that he was now alone:\u2014then he\nlaughed from the bottom of his heart, looked around him, and spake thus:\n\nThat I spake of sacrifices and honey-sacrifices, it was merely a ruse\nin talking and verily, a useful folly! Here aloft can I now speak freer\nthan in front of mountain-caves and anchorites\u2019 domestic animals.\n\nWhat to sacrifice! I squander what is given me, a squanderer with a\nthousand hands: how could I call that\u2014sacrificing?\n\nAnd when I desired honey I only desired bait, and sweet mucus and\nmucilage, for which even the mouths of growling bears, and strange,\nsulky, evil birds, water:\n\n\u2014The best bait, as huntsmen and fishermen require it. For if the world\nbe as a gloomy forest of animals, and a pleasure-ground for all wild\nhuntsmen, it seemeth to me rather\u2014and preferably\u2014a fathomless, rich\nsea;\n\n\u2014A sea full of many-hued fishes and crabs, for which even the Gods\nmight long, and might be tempted to become fishers in it, and casters of\nnets,\u2014so rich is the world in wonderful things, great and small!\n\nEspecially the human world, the human sea:\u2014towards IT do I now throw\nout my golden angle-rod and say: Open up, thou human abyss!\n\nOpen up, and throw unto me thy fish and shining crabs! With my best bait\nshall I allure to myself to-day the strangest human fish!\n\n\u2014My happiness itself do I throw out into all places far and wide \u2018twixt\norient, noontide, and occident, to see if many human fish will not learn\nto hug and tug at my happiness;\u2014\n\nUntil, biting at my sharp hidden hooks, they have to come up unto MY\nheight, the motleyest abyss-groundlings, to the wickedest of all fishers\nof men.\n\nFor THIS am I from the heart and from the beginning\u2014drawing,\nhither-drawing, upward-drawing, upbringing; a drawer, a trainer, a\ntraining-master, who not in vain counselled himself once on a time:\n\u201cBecome what thou art!\u201d\n\nThus may men now come UP to me; for as yet do I await the signs that it\nis time for my down-going; as yet do I not myself go down, as I must do,\namongst men.\n\nTherefore do I here wait, crafty and scornful upon high mountains,\nno impatient one, no patient one; rather one who hath even unlearnt\npatience,\u2014because he no longer \u201csuffereth.\u201d\n\nFor my fate giveth me time: it hath forgotten me perhaps? Or doth it sit\nbehind a big stone and catch flies?\n\nAnd verily, I am well disposed to mine eternal fate, because it doth not\nhound and hurry me, but leaveth me time for merriment and mischief; so\nthat I have to-day ascended this high mountain to catch fish.\n\nDid ever any one catch fish upon high mountains? And though it be a\nfolly what I here seek and do, it is better so than that down below I\nshould become solemn with waiting, and green and yellow\u2014\n\n\u2014A posturing wrath-snorter with waiting, a holy howl-storm from\nthe mountains, an impatient one that shouteth down into the valleys:\n\u201cHearken, else I will scourge you with the scourge of God!\u201d\n\nNot that I would have a grudge against such wrathful ones on that\naccount: they are well enough for laughter to me! Impatient must they\nnow be, those big alarm-drums, which find a voice now or never!\n\nMyself, however, and my fate\u2014we do not talk to the Present, neither\ndo we talk to the Never: for talking we have patience and time and more\nthan time. For one day must it yet come, and may not pass by.\n\nWhat must one day come and may not pass by? Our great Hazar, that is\nto say, our great, remote human-kingdom, the Zarathustra-kingdom of a\nthousand years\u2014\n\nHow remote may such \u201cremoteness\u201d be? What doth it concern me? But on\nthat account it is none the less sure unto me\u2014, with both feet stand I\nsecure on this ground;\n\n\u2014On an eternal ground, on hard primary rock, on this highest, hardest,\nprimary mountain-ridge, unto which all winds come, as unto the\nstorm-parting, asking Where? and Whence? and Whither?\n\nHere laugh, laugh, my hearty, healthy wickedness! From high mountains\ncast down thy glittering scorn-laughter! Allure for me with thy\nglittering the finest human fish!\n\nAnd whatever belongeth unto ME in all seas, my in-and-for-me in all\nthings\u2014fish THAT out for me, bring THAT up to me: for that do I wait,\nthe wickedest of all fish-catchers.\n\nOut! out! my fishing-hook! In and down, thou bait of my happiness! Drip\nthy sweetest dew, thou honey of my heart! Bite, my fishing-hook, into\nthe belly of all black affliction!\n\nLook out, look out, mine eye! Oh, how many seas round about me, what\ndawning human futures! And above me\u2014what rosy red stillness! What\nunclouded silence!\n\n\n\n\nLXII. THE CRY OF DISTRESS.\n\n\nThe next day sat Zarathustra again on the stone in front of his cave,\nwhilst his animals roved about in the world outside to bring home new\nfood,\u2014also new honey: for Zarathustra had spent and wasted the old\nhoney to the very last particle. When he thus sat, however, with a\nstick in his hand, tracing the shadow of his figure on the earth, and\nreflecting\u2014verily! not upon himself and his shadow,\u2014all at once he\nstartled and shrank back: for he saw another shadow beside his own.\nAnd when he hastily looked around and stood up, behold, there stood the\nsoothsayer beside him, the same whom he had once given to eat and drink\nat his table, the proclaimer of the great weariness, who taught: \u201cAll is\nalike, nothing is worth while, the world is without meaning, knowledge\nstrangleth.\u201d But his face had changed since then; and when Zarathustra\nlooked into his eyes, his heart was startled once more: so much evil\nannouncement and ashy-grey lightnings passed over that countenance.\n\nThe soothsayer, who had perceived what went on in Zarathustra\u2019s soul,\nwiped his face with his hand, as if he would wipe out the impression;\nthe same did also Zarathustra. And when both of them had thus silently\ncomposed and strengthened themselves, they gave each other the hand, as\na token that they wanted once more to recognise each other.\n\n\u201cWelcome hither,\u201d said Zarathustra, \u201cthou soothsayer of the great\nweariness, not in vain shalt thou once have been my messmate and guest.\nEat and drink also with me to-day, and forgive it that a cheerful old\nman sitteth with thee at table!\u201d\u2014\u201cA cheerful old man?\u201d answered the\nsoothsayer, shaking his head, \u201cbut whoever thou art, or wouldst be, O\nZarathustra, thou hast been here aloft the longest time,\u2014in a little\nwhile thy bark shall no longer rest on dry land!\u201d\u2014\u201cDo I then rest\non dry land?\u201d\u2014asked Zarathustra, laughing.\u2014\u201cThe waves around thy\nmountain,\u201d answered the soothsayer, \u201crise and rise, the waves of great\ndistress and affliction: they will soon raise thy bark also and carry\nthee away.\u201d\u2014Thereupon was Zarathustra silent and wondered.\u2014\u201cDost thou\nstill hear nothing?\u201d continued the soothsayer: \u201cdoth it not rush and\nroar out of the depth?\u201d\u2014Zarathustra was silent once more and listened:\nthen heard he a long, long cry, which the abysses threw to one another\nand passed on; for none of them wished to retain it: so evil did it\nsound.\n\n\u201cThou ill announcer,\u201d said Zarathustra at last, \u201cthat is a cry of\ndistress, and the cry of a man; it may come perhaps out of a black sea.\nBut what doth human distress matter to me! My last sin which hath been\nreserved for me,\u2014knowest thou what it is called?\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cPITY!\u201d answered the soothsayer from an overflowing heart, and raised\nboth his hands aloft\u2014\u201cO Zarathustra, I have come that I may seduce thee\nto thy last sin!\u201d\u2014\n\nAnd hardly had those words been uttered when there sounded the cry\nonce more, and longer and more alarming than before\u2014also much nearer.\n\u201cHearest thou? Hearest thou, O Zarathustra?\u201d called out the soothsayer,\n\u201cthe cry concerneth thee, it calleth thee: Come, come, come; it is time,\nit is the highest time!\u201d\u2014\n\nZarathustra was silent thereupon, confused and staggered; at last he\nasked, like one who hesitateth in himself: \u201cAnd who is it that there\ncalleth me?\u201d\n\n\u201cBut thou knowest it, certainly,\u201d answered the soothsayer warmly, \u201cwhy\ndost thou conceal thyself? It is THE HIGHER MAN that crieth for thee!\u201d\n\n\u201cThe higher man?\u201d cried Zarathustra, horror-stricken: \u201cwhat wanteth HE?\nWhat wanteth HE? The higher man! What wanteth he here?\u201d\u2014and his skin\ncovered with perspiration.\n\nThe soothsayer, however, did not heed Zarathustra\u2019s alarm, but listened\nand listened in the downward direction. When, however, it had been still\nthere for a long while, he looked behind, and saw Zarathustra standing\ntrembling.\n\n\u201cO Zarathustra,\u201d he began, with sorrowful voice, \u201cthou dost not stand\nthere like one whose happiness maketh him giddy: thou wilt have to dance\nlest thou tumble down!\n\nBut although thou shouldst dance before me, and leap all thy side-leaps,\nno one may say unto me: \u2018Behold, here danceth the last joyous man!\u2019\n\nIn vain would any one come to this height who sought HIM here: caves\nwould he find, indeed, and back-caves, hiding-places for hidden ones;\nbut not lucky mines, nor treasure-chambers, nor new gold-veins of\nhappiness.\n\nHappiness\u2014how indeed could one find happiness among such buried-alive\nand solitary ones! Must I yet seek the last happiness on the Happy\nIsles, and far away among forgotten seas?\n\nBut all is alike, nothing is worth while, no seeking is of service,\nthere are no longer any Happy Isles!\u201d\u2014\n\nThus sighed the soothsayer; with his last sigh, however, Zarathustra\nagain became serene and assured, like one who hath come out of a deep\nchasm into the light. \u201cNay! Nay! Three times Nay!\u201d exclaimed he with a\nstrong voice, and stroked his beard\u2014\u201cTHAT do I know better! There are\nstill Happy Isles! Silence THEREON, thou sighing sorrow-sack!\n\nCease to splash THEREON, thou rain-cloud of the forenoon! Do I not\nalready stand here wet with thy misery, and drenched like a dog?\n\nNow do I shake myself and run away from thee, that I may again become\ndry: thereat mayest thou not wonder! Do I seem to thee discourteous?\nHere however is MY court.\n\nBut as regards the higher man: well! I shall seek him at once in those\nforests: FROM THENCE came his cry. Perhaps he is there hard beset by an\nevil beast.\n\nHe is in MY domain: therein shall he receive no scath! And verily, there\nare many evil beasts about me.\u201d\u2014\n\nWith those words Zarathustra turned around to depart. Then said the\nsoothsayer: \u201cO Zarathustra, thou art a rogue!\n\nI know it well: thou wouldst fain be rid of me! Rather wouldst thou run\ninto the forest and lay snares for evil beasts!\n\nBut what good-will it do thee? In the evening wilt thou have me again:\nin thine own cave will I sit, patient and heavy like a block\u2014and wait\nfor thee!\u201d\n\n\u201cSo be it!\u201d shouted back Zarathustra, as he went away: \u201cand what is mine\nin my cave belongeth also unto thee, my guest!\n\nShouldst thou however find honey therein, well! just lick it up, thou\ngrowling bear, and sweeten thy soul! For in the evening we want both to\nbe in good spirits;\n\n\u2014In good spirits and joyful, because this day hath come to an end! And\nthou thyself shalt dance to my lays, as my dancing-bear.\n\nThou dost not believe this? Thou shakest thy head? Well! Cheer up, old\nbear! But I also\u2014am a soothsayer.\u201d\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nLXIII. TALK WITH THE KINGS.\n\n\n1.\n\nEre Zarathustra had been an hour on his way in the mountains and\nforests, he saw all at once a strange procession. Right on the path\nwhich he was about to descend came two kings walking, bedecked with\ncrowns and purple girdles, and variegated like flamingoes: they drove\nbefore them a laden ass. \u201cWhat do these kings want in my domain?\u201d said\nZarathustra in astonishment to his heart, and hid himself hastily behind\na thicket. When however the kings approached to him, he said half-aloud,\nlike one speaking only to himself: \u201cStrange! Strange! How doth this\nharmonise? Two kings do I see\u2014and only one ass!\u201d\n\nThereupon the two kings made a halt; they smiled and looked towards the\nspot whence the voice proceeded, and afterwards looked into each other\u2019s\nfaces. \u201cSuch things do we also think among ourselves,\u201d said the king on\nthe right, \u201cbut we do not utter them.\u201d\n\nThe king on the left, however, shrugged his shoulders and answered:\n\u201cThat may perhaps be a goat-herd. Or an anchorite who hath lived too\nlong among rocks and trees. For no society at all spoileth also good\nmanners.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood manners?\u201d replied angrily and bitterly the other king: \u201cwhat\nthen do we run out of the way of? Is it not \u2018good manners\u2019? Our \u2018good\nsociety\u2019?\n\nBetter, verily, to live among anchorites and goatherds, than with\nour gilded, false, over-rouged populace\u2014though it call itself \u2018good\nsociety.\u2019\n\n\u2014Though it call itself \u2018nobility.\u2019 But there all is false and foul,\nabove all the blood\u2014thanks to old evil diseases and worse curers.\n\nThe best and dearest to me at present is still a sound peasant, coarse,\nartful, obstinate and enduring: that is at present the noblest type.\n\nThe peasant is at present the best; and the peasant type should be\nmaster! But it is the kingdom of the populace\u2014I no longer allow\nanything to be imposed upon me. The populace, however\u2014that meaneth,\nhodgepodge.\n\nPopulace-hodgepodge: therein is everything mixed with everything, saint\nand swindler, gentleman and Jew, and every beast out of Noah\u2019s ark.\n\nGood manners! Everything is false and foul with us. No one knoweth any\nlonger how to reverence: it is THAT precisely that we run away from.\nThey are fulsome obtrusive dogs; they gild palm-leaves.\n\nThis loathing choketh me, that we kings ourselves have become false,\ndraped and disguised with the old faded pomp of our ancestors,\nshow-pieces for the stupidest, the craftiest, and whosoever at present\ntrafficketh for power.\n\nWe ARE NOT the first men\u2014and have nevertheless to STAND FOR them: of\nthis imposture have we at last become weary and disgusted.\n\nFrom the rabble have we gone out of the way, from all those bawlers and\nscribe-blowflies, from the trader-stench, the ambition-fidgeting, the\nbad breath\u2014: fie, to live among the rabble;\n\n\u2014Fie, to stand for the first men among the rabble! Ah, loathing!\nLoathing! Loathing! What doth it now matter about us kings!\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cThine old sickness seizeth thee,\u201d said here the king on the left, \u201cthy\nloathing seizeth thee, my poor brother. Thou knowest, however, that some\none heareth us.\u201d\n\nImmediately thereupon, Zarathustra, who had opened ears and eyes to this\ntalk, rose from his hiding-place, advanced towards the kings, and thus\nbegan:\n\n\u201cHe who hearkeneth unto you, he who gladly hearkeneth unto you, is\ncalled Zarathustra.\n\nI am Zarathustra who once said: \u2018What doth it now matter about kings!\u2019\nForgive me; I rejoiced when ye said to each other: \u2018What doth it matter\nabout us kings!\u2019\n\nHere, however, is MY domain and jurisdiction: what may ye be seeking in\nmy domain? Perhaps, however, ye have FOUND on your way what _I_ seek:\nnamely, the higher man.\u201d\n\nWhen the kings heard this, they beat upon their breasts and said with\none voice: \u201cWe are recognised!\n\nWith the sword of thine utterance severest thou the thickest darkness of\nour hearts. Thou hast discovered our distress; for lo! we are on our way\nto find the higher man\u2014\n\n\u2014The man that is higher than we, although we are kings. To him do we\nconvey this ass. For the highest man shall also be the highest lord on\nearth.\n\nThere is no sorer misfortune in all human destiny, than when the mighty\nof the earth are not also the first men. Then everything becometh false\nand distorted and monstrous.\n\nAnd when they are even the last men, and more beast than man, then\nriseth and riseth the populace in honour, and at last saith even the\npopulace-virtue: \u2018Lo, I alone am virtue!\u2019\u201d\u2014\n\nWhat have I just heard? answered Zarathustra. What wisdom in kings! I\nam enchanted, and verily, I have already promptings to make a rhyme\nthereon:\u2014\n\n\u2014Even if it should happen to be a rhyme not suited for every one\u2019s\nears. I unlearned long ago to have consideration for long ears. Well\nthen! Well now!\n\n(Here, however, it happened that the ass also found utterance: it said\ndistinctly and with malevolence, Y-E-A.)\n\n\u2018Twas once\u2014methinks year one of our blessed Lord,\u2014Drunk without wine,\nthe Sybil thus deplored:\u2014\u201cHow ill things go! Decline! Decline! Ne\u2019er\nsank the world so low! Rome now hath turned harlot and harlot-stew,\nRome\u2019s Caesar a beast, and God\u2014hath turned Jew!\u201d\n\n2.\n\nWith those rhymes of Zarathustra the kings were delighted; the king on\nthe right, however, said: \u201cO Zarathustra, how well it was that we set\nout to see thee!\n\nFor thine enemies showed us thy likeness in their mirror: there lookedst\nthou with the grimace of a devil, and sneeringly: so that we were afraid\nof thee.\n\nBut what good did it do! Always didst thou prick us anew in heart and\near with thy sayings. Then did we say at last: What doth it matter how\nhe look!\n\nWe must HEAR him; him who teacheth: \u2018Ye shall love peace as a means to\nnew wars, and the short peace more than the long!\u2019\n\nNo one ever spake such warlike words: \u2018What is good? To be brave is\ngood. It is the good war that halloweth every cause.\u2019\n\nO Zarathustra, our fathers\u2019 blood stirred in our veins at such words: it\nwas like the voice of spring to old wine-casks.\n\nWhen the swords ran among one another like red-spotted serpents, then\ndid our fathers become fond of life; the sun of every peace seemed to\nthem languid and lukewarm, the long peace, however, made them ashamed.\n\nHow they sighed, our fathers, when they saw on the wall brightly\nfurbished, dried-up swords! Like those they thirsted for war. For a\nsword thirsteth to drink blood, and sparkleth with desire.\u201d\u2014\n\n\u2014When the kings thus discoursed and talked eagerly of the happiness of\ntheir fathers, there came upon Zarathustra no little desire to mock at\ntheir eagerness: for evidently they were very peaceable kings whom he\nsaw before him, kings with old and refined features. But he restrained\nhimself. \u201cWell!\u201d said he, \u201cthither leadeth the way, there lieth the\ncave of Zarathustra; and this day is to have a long evening! At present,\nhowever, a cry of distress calleth me hastily away from you.\n\nIt will honour my cave if kings want to sit and wait in it: but, to be\nsure, ye will have to wait long!\n\nWell! What of that! Where doth one at present learn better to wait\nthan at courts? And the whole virtue of kings that hath remained unto\nthem\u2014is it not called to-day: ABILITY to wait?\u201d\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nLXIV. THE LEECH.\n\n\nAnd Zarathustra went thoughtfully on, further and lower down, through\nforests and past moory bottoms; as it happeneth, however, to every one\nwho meditateth upon hard matters, he trod thereby unawares upon a man.\nAnd lo, there spurted into his face all at once a cry of pain, and two\ncurses and twenty bad invectives, so that in his fright he raised his\nstick and also struck the trodden one. Immediately afterwards, however,\nhe regained his composure, and his heart laughed at the folly he had\njust committed.\n\n\u201cPardon me,\u201d said he to the trodden one, who had got up enraged, and had\nseated himself, \u201cpardon me, and hear first of all a parable.\n\nAs a wanderer who dreameth of remote things on a lonesome highway,\nrunneth unawares against a sleeping dog, a dog which lieth in the sun:\n\n\u2014As both of them then start up and snap at each other, like deadly\nenemies, those two beings mortally frightened\u2014so did it happen unto us.\n\nAnd yet! And yet\u2014how little was lacking for them to caress each other,\nthat dog and that lonesome one! Are they not both\u2014lonesome ones!\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cWhoever thou art,\u201d said the trodden one, still enraged, \u201cthou\ntreadest also too nigh me with thy parable, and not only with thy foot!\n\nLo! am I then a dog?\u201d\u2014And thereupon the sitting one got up, and pulled\nhis naked arm out of the swamp. For at first he had lain outstretched\non the ground, hidden and indiscernible, like those who lie in wait for\nswamp-game.\n\n\u201cBut whatever art thou about!\u201d called out Zarathustra in alarm, for he\nsaw a deal of blood streaming over the naked arm,\u2014\u201cwhat hath hurt thee?\nHath an evil beast bit thee, thou unfortunate one?\u201d\n\nThe bleeding one laughed, still angry, \u201cWhat matter is it to thee!\u201d said\nhe, and was about to go on. \u201cHere am I at home and in my province.\nLet him question me whoever will: to a dolt, however, I shall hardly\nanswer.\u201d\n\n\u201cThou art mistaken,\u201d said Zarathustra sympathetically, and held him\nfast; \u201cthou art mistaken. Here thou art not at home, but in my domain,\nand therein shall no one receive any hurt.\n\nCall me however what thou wilt\u2014I am who I must be. I call myself\nZarathustra.\n\nWell! Up thither is the way to Zarathustra\u2019s cave: it is not far,\u2014wilt\nthou not attend to thy wounds at my home?\n\nIt hath gone badly with thee, thou unfortunate one, in this life: first\na beast bit thee, and then\u2014a man trod upon thee!\u201d\u2014\n\nWhen however the trodden one had heard the name of Zarathustra he was\ntransformed. \u201cWhat happeneth unto me!\u201d he exclaimed, \u201cWHO preoccupieth\nme so much in this life as this one man, namely Zarathustra, and that\none animal that liveth on blood, the leech?\n\nFor the sake of the leech did I lie here by this swamp, like a fisher,\nand already had mine outstretched arm been bitten ten times, when there\nbiteth a still finer leech at my blood, Zarathustra himself!\n\nO happiness! O miracle! Praised be this day which enticed me into the\nswamp! Praised be the best, the livest cupping-glass, that at present\nliveth; praised be the great conscience-leech Zarathustra!\u201d\u2014\n\nThus spake the trodden one, and Zarathustra rejoiced at his words and\ntheir refined reverential style. \u201cWho art thou?\u201d asked he, and gave\nhim his hand, \u201cthere is much to clear up and elucidate between us, but\nalready methinketh pure clear day is dawning.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am THE SPIRITUALLY CONSCIENTIOUS ONE,\u201d answered he who was asked,\n\u201cand in matters of the spirit it is difficult for any one to take it\nmore rigorously, more restrictedly, and more severely than I, except him\nfrom whom I learnt it, Zarathustra himself.\n\nBetter know nothing than half-know many things! Better be a fool on\none\u2019s own account, than a sage on other people\u2019s approbation! I\u2014go to\nthe basis:\n\n\u2014What matter if it be great or small? If it be called swamp or sky?\nA handbreadth of basis is enough for me, if it be actually basis and\nground!\n\n\u2014A handbreadth of basis: thereon can one stand. In the true\nknowing-knowledge there is nothing great and nothing small.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen thou art perhaps an expert on the leech?\u201d asked Zarathustra; \u201cand\nthou investigatest the leech to its ultimate basis, thou conscientious\none?\u201d\n\n\u201cO Zarathustra,\u201d answered the trodden one, \u201cthat would be something\nimmense; how could I presume to do so!\n\nThat, however, of which I am master and knower, is the BRAIN of the\nleech:\u2014that is MY world!\n\nAnd it is also a world! Forgive it, however, that my pride here findeth\nexpression, for here I have not mine equal. Therefore said I: \u2018here am I\nat home.\u2019\n\nHow long have I investigated this one thing, the brain of the leech, so\nthat here the slippery truth might no longer slip from me! Here is MY\ndomain!\n\n\u2014For the sake of this did I cast everything else aside, for the sake of\nthis did everything else become indifferent to me; and close beside my\nknowledge lieth my black ignorance.\n\nMy spiritual conscience requireth from me that it should be so\u2014that I\nshould know one thing, and not know all else: they are a loathing unto\nme, all the semi-spiritual, all the hazy, hovering, and visionary.\n\nWhere mine honesty ceaseth, there am I blind, and want also to be blind.\nWhere I want to know, however, there want I also to be honest\u2014namely,\nsevere, rigorous, restricted, cruel and inexorable.\n\nBecause THOU once saidest, O Zarathustra: \u2018Spirit is life which itself\ncutteth into life\u2019;\u2014that led and allured me to thy doctrine. And\nverily, with mine own blood have I increased mine own knowledge!\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cAs the evidence indicateth,\u201d broke in Zarathustra; for still was the\nblood flowing down on the naked arm of the conscientious one. For there\nhad ten leeches bitten into it.\n\n\u201cO thou strange fellow, how much doth this very evidence teach\nme\u2014namely, thou thyself! And not all, perhaps, might I pour into thy\nrigorous ear!\n\nWell then! We part here! But I would fain find thee again. Up thither is\nthe way to my cave: to-night shalt thou there be my welcome guest!\n\nFain would I also make amends to thy body for Zarathustra treading upon\nthee with his feet: I think about that. Just now, however, a cry of\ndistress calleth me hastily away from thee.\u201d\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nLXV. THE MAGICIAN.\n\n\n1.\n\nWhen however Zarathustra had gone round a rock, then saw he on the same\npath, not far below him, a man who threw his limbs about like a maniac,\nand at last tumbled to the ground on his belly. \u201cHalt!\u201d said then\nZarathustra to his heart, \u201che there must surely be the higher man, from\nhim came that dreadful cry of distress,\u2014I will see if I can help him.\u201d\n When, however, he ran to the spot where the man lay on the ground,\nhe found a trembling old man, with fixed eyes; and in spite of all\nZarathustra\u2019s efforts to lift him and set him again on his feet, it was\nall in vain. The unfortunate one, also, did not seem to notice that some\none was beside him; on the contrary, he continually looked around with\nmoving gestures, like one forsaken and isolated from all the world.\nAt last, however, after much trembling, and convulsion, and\ncurling-himself-up, he began to lament thus:\n\n     Who warm\u2019th me, who lov\u2019th me still?\n     Give ardent fingers!\n     Give heartening charcoal-warmers!\n     Prone, outstretched, trembling,\n     Like him, half dead and cold, whose feet one warm\u2019th\u2014\n     And shaken, ah! by unfamiliar fevers,\n     Shivering with sharpened, icy-cold frost-arrows,\n     By thee pursued, my fancy!\n     Ineffable!  Recondite!  Sore-frightening!\n     Thou huntsman \u2019hind the cloud-banks!\n     Now lightning-struck by thee,\n     Thou mocking eye that me in darkness watcheth:\n     \u2014Thus do I lie,\n     Bend myself, twist myself, convulsed\n     With all eternal torture,\n     And smitten\n     By thee, cruellest huntsman,\n     Thou unfamiliar\u2014GOD...\n\n     Smite deeper!\n     Smite yet once more!\n     Pierce through and rend my heart!\n     What mean\u2019th this torture\n     With dull, indented arrows?\n     Why look\u2019st thou hither,\n     Of human pain not weary,\n     With mischief-loving, godly flash-glances?\n     Not murder wilt thou,\n     But torture, torture?\n     For why\u2014ME torture,\n     Thou mischief-loving, unfamiliar God?\u2014\n\n     Ha!  Ha!\n     Thou stealest nigh\n     In midnight\u2019s gloomy hour?...\n     What wilt thou?\n     Speak!\n     Thou crowdst me, pressest\u2014\n     Ha! now far too closely!\n     Thou hearst me breathing,\n     Thou o\u2019erhearst my heart,\n     Thou ever jealous one!\n     \u2014Of what, pray, ever jealous?\n     Off!  Off!\n     For why the ladder?\n     Wouldst thou GET IN?\n     To heart in-clamber?\n     To mine own secretest\n     Conceptions in-clamber?\n     Shameless one!  Thou unknown one!\u2014Thief!\n     What seekst thou by thy stealing?\n     What seekst thou by thy hearkening?\n     What seekst thou by thy torturing?\n     Thou torturer!\n     Thou\u2014hangman-God!\n     Or shall I, as the mastiffs do,\n     Roll me before thee?\n     And cringing, enraptured, frantical,\n     My tail friendly\u2014waggle!\n\n     In vain!\n     Goad further!\n     Cruellest goader!\n     No dog\u2014thy game just am I,\n     Cruellest huntsman!\n     Thy proudest of captives,\n     Thou robber \u2019hind the cloud-banks ...\n     Speak finally!\n     Thou lightning-veiled one!  Thou unknown one!  Speak!\n     What wilt thou, highway-ambusher, from\u2014ME?\n     What WILT thou, unfamiliar\u2014God?\n     What?\n     Ransom-gold?\n     How much of ransom-gold?\n     Solicit much\u2014that bid\u2019th my pride!\n     And be concise\u2014that bid\u2019th mine other pride!\n\n     Ha!  Ha!\n     ME\u2014wantest thou?  me?\n     \u2014Entire?...\n\n     Ha!  Ha!\n     And torturest me, fool that thou art,\n     Dead-torturest quite my pride?\n     Give LOVE to me\u2014who warm\u2019th me still?\n     Who lov\u2019th me still?\u2014\n     Give ardent fingers,\n     Give heartening charcoal-warmers,\n     Give me, the lonesomest,\n     The ice (ah! seven-fold frozen ice,\n     For very enemies,\n     For foes, doth make one thirst),\n     Give, yield to me,\n     Cruellest foe,\n     \u2014THYSELF!\u2014\n\n     Away!\n     There fled he surely,\n     My final, only comrade,\n     My greatest foe,\n     Mine unfamiliar\u2014\n     My hangman-God!...\n\n     \u2014Nay!\n     Come thou back!\n     WITH all of thy great tortures!\n     To me the last of lonesome ones,\n     Oh, come thou back!\n     All my hot tears in streamlets trickle\n     Their course to thee!\n     And all my final hearty fervour\u2014\n     Up-glow\u2019th to THEE!\n     Oh, come thou back,\n     Mine unfamiliar God! my PAIN!\n     My final bliss!\n\n2.\n\n\u2014Here, however, Zarathustra could no longer restrain himself; he took\nhis staff and struck the wailer with all his might. \u201cStop this,\u201d cried\nhe to him with wrathful laughter, \u201cstop this, thou stage-player! Thou\nfalse coiner! Thou liar from the very heart! I know thee well!\n\nI will soon make warm legs to thee, thou evil magician: I know well\nhow\u2014to make it hot for such as thou!\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cLeave off,\u201d said the old man, and sprang up from the ground, \u201cstrike\nme no more, O Zarathustra! I did it only for amusement!\n\nThat kind of thing belongeth to mine art. Thee thyself, I wanted to put\nto the proof when I gave this performance. And verily, thou hast well\ndetected me!\n\nBut thou thyself\u2014hast given me no small proof of thyself: thou art\nHARD, thou wise Zarathustra! Hard strikest thou with thy \u2018truths,\u2019 thy\ncudgel forceth from me\u2014THIS truth!\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cFlatter not,\u201d answered Zarathustra, still excited and frowning,\n\u201cthou stage-player from the heart! Thou art false: why speakest thou\u2014of\ntruth!\n\nThou peacock of peacocks, thou sea of vanity; WHAT didst thou represent\nbefore me, thou evil magician; WHOM was I meant to believe in when thou\nwailedst in such wise?\u201d\n\n\u201cTHE PENITENT IN SPIRIT,\u201d said the old man, \u201cit was him\u2014I represented;\nthou thyself once devisedst this expression\u2014\n\n\u2014The poet and magician who at last turneth his spirit against himself,\nthe transformed one who freezeth to death by his bad science and\nconscience.\n\nAnd just acknowledge it: it was long, O Zarathustra, before thou\ndiscoveredst my trick and lie! Thou BELIEVEDST in my distress when thou\nheldest my head with both thy hands,\u2014\n\n\u2014I heard thee lament \u2018we have loved him too little, loved him too\nlittle!\u2019 Because I so far deceived thee, my wickedness rejoiced in me.\u201d\n\n\u201cThou mayest have deceived subtler ones than I,\u201d said Zarathustra\nsternly. \u201cI am not on my guard against deceivers; I HAVE TO BE without\nprecaution: so willeth my lot.\n\nThou, however,\u2014MUST deceive: so far do I know thee! Thou must ever be\nequivocal, trivocal, quadrivocal, and quinquivocal! Even what thou hast\nnow confessed, is not nearly true enough nor false enough for me!\n\nThou bad false coiner, how couldst thou do otherwise! Thy very malady\nwouldst thou whitewash if thou showed thyself naked to thy physician.\n\nThus didst thou whitewash thy lie before me when thou saidst: \u2018I did\nso ONLY for amusement!\u2019 There was also SERIOUSNESS therein, thou ART\nsomething of a penitent-in-spirit!\n\nI divine thee well: thou hast become the enchanter of all the world; but\nfor thyself thou hast no lie or artifice left,\u2014thou art disenchanted to\nthyself!\n\nThou hast reaped disgust as thy one truth. No word in thee is any longer\ngenuine, but thy mouth is so: that is to say, the disgust that cleaveth\nunto thy mouth.\u201d\u2014\n\n\u2014\u201cWho art thou at all!\u201d cried here the old magician with defiant voice,\n\u201cwho dareth to speak thus unto ME, the greatest man now living?\u201d\u2014and a\ngreen flash shot from his eye at Zarathustra. But immediately after he\nchanged, and said sadly:\n\n\u201cO Zarathustra, I am weary of it, I am disgusted with mine arts, I am\nnot GREAT, why do I dissemble! But thou knowest it well\u2014I sought for\ngreatness!\n\nA great man I wanted to appear, and persuaded many; but the lie hath\nbeen beyond my power. On it do I collapse.\n\nO Zarathustra, everything is a lie in me; but that I collapse\u2014this my\ncollapsing is GENUINE!\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cIt honoureth thee,\u201d said Zarathustra gloomily, looking down with\nsidelong glance, \u201cit honoureth thee that thou soughtest for greatness,\nbut it betrayeth thee also. Thou art not great.\n\nThou bad old magician, THAT is the best and the honestest thing I honour\nin thee, that thou hast become weary of thyself, and hast expressed it:\n\u2018I am not great.\u2019\n\nTHEREIN do I honour thee as a penitent-in-spirit, and although only for\nthe twinkling of an eye, in that one moment wast thou\u2014genuine.\n\nBut tell me, what seekest thou here in MY forests and rocks? And if thou\nhast put thyself in MY way, what proof of me wouldst thou have?\u2014\n\n\u2014Wherein didst thou put ME to the test?\u201d\n\nThus spake Zarathustra, and his eyes sparkled. But the old magician kept\nsilence for a while; then said he: \u201cDid I put thee to the test? I\u2014seek\nonly.\n\nO Zarathustra, I seek a genuine one, a right one, a simple one, an\nunequivocal one, a man of perfect honesty, a vessel of wisdom, a saint\nof knowledge, a great man!\n\nKnowest thou it not, O Zarathustra? I SEEK ZARATHUSTRA.\u201d\n\n\u2014And here there arose a long silence between them: Zarathustra,\nhowever, became profoundly absorbed in thought, so that he shut his\neyes. But afterwards coming back to the situation, he grasped the hand\nof the magician, and said, full of politeness and policy:\n\n\u201cWell! Up thither leadeth the way, there is the cave of Zarathustra. In\nit mayest thou seek him whom thou wouldst fain find.\n\nAnd ask counsel of mine animals, mine eagle and my serpent: they shall\nhelp thee to seek. My cave however is large.\n\nI myself, to be sure\u2014I have as yet seen no great man. That which is\ngreat, the acutest eye is at present insensible to it. It is the kingdom\nof the populace.\n\nMany a one have I found who stretched and inflated himself, and the\npeople cried: \u2018Behold; a great man!\u2019 But what good do all bellows do!\nThe wind cometh out at last.\n\nAt last bursteth the frog which hath inflated itself too long: then\ncometh out the wind. To prick a swollen one in the belly, I call good\npastime. Hear that, ye boys!\n\nOur to-day is of the populace: who still KNOWETH what is great and what\nis small! Who could there seek successfully for greatness! A fool only:\nit succeedeth with fools.\n\nThou seekest for great men, thou strange fool? Who TAUGHT that to thee?\nIs to-day the time for it? Oh, thou bad seeker, why dost thou\u2014tempt\nme?\u201d\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra, comforted in his heart, and went laughing on his\nway.\n\n\n\n\nLXVI. OUT OF SERVICE.\n\n\nNot long, however, after Zarathustra had freed himself from the\nmagician, he again saw a person sitting beside the path which he\nfollowed, namely a tall, black man, with a haggard, pale countenance:\nTHIS MAN grieved him exceedingly. \u201cAlas,\u201d said he to his heart, \u201cthere\nsitteth disguised affliction; methinketh he is of the type of the\npriests: what do THEY want in my domain?\n\nWhat! Hardly have I escaped from that magician, and must another\nnecromancer again run across my path,\u2014\n\n\u2014Some sorcerer with laying-on-of-hands, some sombre wonder-worker by\nthe grace of God, some anointed world-maligner, whom, may the devil\ntake!\n\nBut the devil is never at the place which would be his right place: he\nalways cometh too late, that cursed dwarf and club-foot!\u201d\u2014\n\nThus cursed Zarathustra impatiently in his heart, and considered how\nwith averted look he might slip past the black man. But behold, it came\nabout otherwise. For at the same moment had the sitting one already\nperceived him; and not unlike one whom an unexpected happiness\novertaketh, he sprang to his feet, and went straight towards\nZarathustra.\n\n\u201cWhoever thou art, thou traveller,\u201d said he, \u201chelp a strayed one, a\nseeker, an old man, who may here easily come to grief!\n\nThe world here is strange to me, and remote; wild beasts also did I hear\nhowling; and he who could have given me protection\u2014he is himself no\nmore.\n\nI was seeking the pious man, a saint and an anchorite, who, alone in his\nforest, had not yet heard of what all the world knoweth at present.\u201d\n\n\u201cWHAT doth all the world know at present?\u201d asked Zarathustra. \u201cPerhaps\nthat the old God no longer liveth, in whom all the world once believed?\u201d\n\n\u201cThou sayest it,\u201d answered the old man sorrowfully. \u201cAnd I served that\nold God until his last hour.\n\nNow, however, am I out of service, without master, and yet not free;\nlikewise am I no longer merry even for an hour, except it be in\nrecollections.\n\nTherefore did I ascend into these mountains, that I might finally have\na festival for myself once more, as becometh an old pope and\nchurch-father: for know it, that I am the last pope!\u2014a festival of\npious recollections and divine services.\n\nNow, however, is he himself dead, the most pious of men, the saint in\nthe forest, who praised his God constantly with singing and mumbling.\n\nHe himself found I no longer when I found his cot\u2014but two wolves found\nI therein, which howled on account of his death,\u2014for all animals loved\nhim. Then did I haste away.\n\nHad I thus come in vain into these forests and mountains? Then did my\nheart determine that I should seek another, the most pious of all\nthose who believe not in God\u2014, my heart determined that I should seek\nZarathustra!\u201d\n\nThus spake the hoary man, and gazed with keen eyes at him who stood\nbefore him. Zarathustra however seized the hand of the old pope and\nregarded it a long while with admiration.\n\n\u201cLo! thou venerable one,\u201d said he then, \u201cwhat a fine and long hand! That\nis the hand of one who hath ever dispensed blessings. Now, however, doth\nit hold fast him whom thou seekest, me, Zarathustra.\n\nIt is I, the ungodly Zarathustra, who saith: \u2018Who is ungodlier than I,\nthat I may enjoy his teaching?\u2019\u201d\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra, and penetrated with his glances the thoughts and\narrear-thoughts of the old pope. At last the latter began:\n\n\u201cHe who most loved and possessed him hath now also lost him most\u2014:\n\n\u2014Lo, I myself am surely the most godless of us at present? But who\ncould rejoice at that!\u201d\u2014\n\n\u2014\u201cThou servedst him to the last?\u201d asked Zarathustra thoughtfully, after\na deep silence, \u201cthou knowest HOW he died? Is it true what they say,\nthat sympathy choked him;\n\n\u2014That he saw how MAN hung on the cross, and could not endure it;\u2014that\nhis love to man became his hell, and at last his death?\u201d\u2014\n\nThe old pope however did not answer, but looked aside timidly, with a\npainful and gloomy expression.\n\n\u201cLet him go,\u201d said Zarathustra, after prolonged meditation, still\nlooking the old man straight in the eye.\n\n\u201cLet him go, he is gone. And though it honoureth thee that thou speakest\nonly in praise of this dead one, yet thou knowest as well as I WHO he\nwas, and that he went curious ways.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo speak before three eyes,\u201d said the old pope cheerfully (he was blind\nof one eye), \u201cin divine matters I am more enlightened than Zarathustra\nhimself\u2014and may well be so.\n\nMy love served him long years, my will followed all his will. A good\nservant, however, knoweth everything, and many a thing even which a\nmaster hideth from himself.\n\nHe was a hidden God, full of secrecy. Verily, he did not come by his\nson otherwise than by secret ways. At the door of his faith standeth\nadultery.\n\nWhoever extolleth him as a God of love, doth not think highly enough of\nlove itself. Did not that God want also to be judge? But the loving one\nloveth irrespective of reward and requital.\n\nWhen he was young, that God out of the Orient, then was he harsh and\nrevengeful, and built himself a hell for the delight of his favourites.\n\nAt last, however, he became old and soft and mellow and pitiful,\nmore like a grandfather than a father, but most like a tottering old\ngrandmother.\n\nThere did he sit shrivelled in his chimney-corner, fretting on account\nof his weak legs, world-weary, will-weary, and one day he suffocated of\nhis all-too-great pity.\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cThou old pope,\u201d said here Zarathustra interposing, \u201chast thou seen THAT\nwith thine eyes? It could well have happened in that way: in that way,\nAND also otherwise. When Gods die they always die many kinds of death.\n\nWell! At all events, one way or other\u2014he is gone! He was counter to the\ntaste of mine ears and eyes; worse than that I should not like to say\nagainst him.\n\nI love everything that looketh bright and speaketh honestly. But\nhe\u2014thou knowest it, forsooth, thou old priest, there was something of\nthy type in him, the priest-type\u2014he was equivocal.\n\nHe was also indistinct. How he raged at us, this wrath-snorter, because\nwe understood him badly! But why did he not speak more clearly?\n\nAnd if the fault lay in our ears, why did he give us ears that heard him\nbadly? If there was dirt in our ears, well! who put it in them?\n\nToo much miscarried with him, this potter who had not learned\nthoroughly! That he took revenge on his pots and creations, however,\nbecause they turned out badly\u2014that was a sin against GOOD TASTE.\n\nThere is also good taste in piety: THIS at last said: \u2018Away with SUCH\na God! Better to have no God, better to set up destiny on one\u2019s own\naccount, better to be a fool, better to be God oneself!\u2019\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cWhat do I hear!\u201d said then the old pope, with intent ears; \u201cO\nZarathustra, thou art more pious than thou believest, with such an\nunbelief! Some God in thee hath converted thee to thine ungodliness.\n\nIs it not thy piety itself which no longer letteth thee believe in a\nGod? And thine over-great honesty will yet lead thee even beyond good\nand evil!\n\nBehold, what hath been reserved for thee? Thou hast eyes and hands and\nmouth, which have been predestined for blessing from eternity. One doth\nnot bless with the hand alone.\n\nNigh unto thee, though thou professest to be the ungodliest one, I feel\na hale and holy odour of long benedictions: I feel glad and grieved\nthereby.\n\nLet me be thy guest, O Zarathustra, for a single night! Nowhere on earth\nshall I now feel better than with thee!\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cAmen! So shall it be!\u201d said Zarathustra, with great astonishment; \u201cup\nthither leadeth the way, there lieth the cave of Zarathustra.\n\nGladly, forsooth, would I conduct thee thither myself, thou venerable\none; for I love all pious men. But now a cry of distress calleth me\nhastily away from thee.\n\nIn my domain shall no one come to grief; my cave is a good haven. And\nbest of all would I like to put every sorrowful one again on firm land\nand firm legs.\n\nWho, however, could take THY melancholy off thy shoulders? For that I am\ntoo weak. Long, verily, should we have to wait until some one re-awoke\nthy God for thee.\n\nFor that old God liveth no more: he is indeed dead.\u201d\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nLXVII. THE UGLIEST MAN.\n\n\n\u2014And again did Zarathustra\u2019s feet run through mountains and forests,\nand his eyes sought and sought, but nowhere was he to be seen whom they\nwanted to see\u2014the sorely distressed sufferer and crier. On the whole\nway, however, he rejoiced in his heart and was full of gratitude. \u201cWhat\ngood things,\u201d said he, \u201chath this day given me, as amends for its bad\nbeginning! What strange interlocutors have I found!\n\nAt their words will I now chew a long while as at good corn; small\nshall my teeth grind and crush them, until they flow like milk into my\nsoul!\u201d\u2014\n\nWhen, however, the path again curved round a rock, all at once the\nlandscape changed, and Zarathustra entered into a realm of death. Here\nbristled aloft black and red cliffs, without any grass, tree, or bird\u2019s\nvoice. For it was a valley which all animals avoided, even the beasts of\nprey, except that a species of ugly, thick, green serpent came here to\ndie when they became old. Therefore the shepherds called this valley:\n\u201cSerpent-death.\u201d\n\nZarathustra, however, became absorbed in dark recollections, for it\nseemed to him as if he had once before stood in this valley. And much\nheaviness settled on his mind, so that he walked slowly and always more\nslowly, and at last stood still. Then, however, when he opened his eyes,\nhe saw something sitting by the wayside shaped like a man, and hardly\nlike a man, something nondescript. And all at once there came over\nZarathustra a great shame, because he had gazed on such a thing.\nBlushing up to the very roots of his white hair, he turned aside his\nglance, and raised his foot that he might leave this ill-starred place.\nThen, however, became the dead wilderness vocal: for from the ground a\nnoise welled up, gurgling and rattling, as water gurgleth and rattleth\nat night through stopped-up water-pipes; and at last it turned into\nhuman voice and human speech:\u2014it sounded thus:\n\n\u201cZarathustra! Zarathustra! Read my riddle! Say, say! WHAT IS THE REVENGE\nON THE WITNESS?\n\nI entice thee back; here is smooth ice! See to it, see to it, that thy\npride doth not here break its legs!\n\nThou thinkest thyself wise, thou proud Zarathustra! Read then the\nriddle, thou hard nut-cracker,\u2014the riddle that I am! Say then: who am\n_I_!\u201d\n\n\u2014When however Zarathustra had heard these words,\u2014what think ye then\ntook place in his soul? PITY OVERCAME HIM; and he sank down all at\nonce, like an oak that hath long withstood many tree-fellers,\u2014heavily,\nsuddenly, to the terror even of those who meant to fell it. But\nimmediately he got up again from the ground, and his countenance became\nstern.\n\n\u201cI know thee well,\u201d said he, with a brazen voice, \u201cTHOU ART THE MURDERER\nOF GOD! Let me go.\n\nThou couldst not ENDURE him who beheld THEE,\u2014who ever beheld thee\nthrough and through, thou ugliest man. Thou tookest revenge on this\nwitness!\u201d\n\nThus spake Zarathustra and was about to go; but the nondescript grasped\nat a corner of his garment and began anew to gurgle and seek for words.\n\u201cStay,\u201d said he at last\u2014\n\n\u2014\u201cStay! Do not pass by! I have divined what axe it was that struck thee\nto the ground: hail to thee, O Zarathustra, that thou art again upon thy\nfeet!\n\nThou hast divined, I know it well, how the man feeleth who killed\nhim,\u2014the murderer of God. Stay! Sit down here beside me; it is not to\nno purpose.\n\nTo whom would I go but unto thee? Stay, sit down! Do not however look at\nme! Honour thus\u2014mine ugliness!\n\nThey persecute me: now art THOU my last refuge. NOT with their hatred,\nNOT with their bailiffs;\u2014Oh, such persecution would I mock at, and be\nproud and cheerful!\n\nHath not all success hitherto been with the well-persecuted ones? And\nhe who persecuteth well learneth readily to be OBSEQUENT\u2014when once he\nis\u2014put behind! But it is their PITY\u2014\n\n\u2014Their pity is it from which I flee away and flee to thee. O\nZarathustra, protect me, thou, my last refuge, thou sole one who\ndivinedst me:\n\n\u2014Thou hast divined how the man feeleth who killed HIM. Stay! And if\nthou wilt go, thou impatient one, go not the way that I came. THAT way\nis bad.\n\nArt thou angry with me because I have already racked language too long?\nBecause I have already counselled thee? But know that it is I, the\nugliest man,\n\n\u2014Who have also the largest, heaviest feet. Where _I_ have gone, the way\nis bad. I tread all paths to death and destruction.\n\nBut that thou passedst me by in silence, that thou blushedst\u2014I saw it\nwell: thereby did I know thee as Zarathustra.\n\nEvery one else would have thrown to me his alms, his pity, in look and\nspeech. But for that\u2014I am not beggar enough: that didst thou divine.\n\nFor that I am too RICH, rich in what is great, frightful, ugliest, most\nunutterable! Thy shame, O Zarathustra, HONOURED me!\n\nWith difficulty did I get out of the crowd of the pitiful,\u2014that I might\nfind the only one who at present teacheth that \u2018pity is obtrusive\u2019\u2014\nthyself, O Zarathustra!\n\n\u2014Whether it be the pity of a God, or whether it be human pity, it is\noffensive to modesty. And unwillingness to help may be nobler than the\nvirtue that rusheth to do so.\n\nTHAT however\u2014namely, pity\u2014is called virtue itself at present by\nall petty people:\u2014they have no reverence for great misfortune, great\nugliness, great failure.\n\nBeyond all these do I look, as a dog looketh over the backs of thronging\nflocks of sheep. They are petty, good-wooled, good-willed, grey people.\n\nAs the heron looketh contemptuously at shallow pools, with backward-bent\nhead, so do I look at the throng of grey little waves and wills and\nsouls.\n\nToo long have we acknowledged them to be right, those petty people: SO\nwe have at last given them power as well;\u2014and now do they teach that\n\u2018good is only what petty people call good.\u2019\n\nAnd \u2018truth\u2019 is at present what the preacher spake who himself sprang\nfrom them, that singular saint and advocate of the petty people, who\ntestified of himself: \u2018I\u2014am the truth.\u2019\n\nThat immodest one hath long made the petty people greatly puffed up,\u2014he\nwho taught no small error when he taught: \u2018I\u2014am the truth.\u2019\n\nHath an immodest one ever been answered more courteously?\u2014Thou,\nhowever, O Zarathustra, passedst him by, and saidst: \u2018Nay! Nay! Three\ntimes Nay!\u2019\n\nThou warnedst against his error; thou warnedst\u2014the first to do\nso\u2014against pity:\u2014not every one, not none, but thyself and thy type.\n\nThou art ashamed of the shame of the great sufferer; and verily when\nthou sayest: \u2018From pity there cometh a heavy cloud; take heed, ye men!\u2019\n\n\u2014When thou teachest: \u2018All creators are hard, all great love is beyond\ntheir pity:\u2019 O Zarathustra, how well versed dost thou seem to me in\nweather-signs!\n\nThou thyself, however,\u2014warn thyself also against THY pity! For many are\non their way to thee, many suffering, doubting, despairing, drowning,\nfreezing ones\u2014\n\nI warn thee also against myself. Thou hast read my best, my worst\nriddle, myself, and what I have done. I know the axe that felleth thee.\n\nBut he\u2014HAD TO die: he looked with eyes which beheld EVERYTHING,\u2014he\nbeheld men\u2019s depths and dregs, all his hidden ignominy and ugliness.\n\nHis pity knew no modesty: he crept into my dirtiest corners. This most\nprying, over-intrusive, over-pitiful one had to die.\n\nHe ever beheld ME: on such a witness I would have revenge\u2014or not live\nmyself.\n\nThe God who beheld everything, AND ALSO MAN: that God had to die! Man\ncannot ENDURE it that such a witness should live.\u201d\n\nThus spake the ugliest man. Zarathustra however got up, and prepared to\ngo on: for he felt frozen to the very bowels.\n\n\u201cThou nondescript,\u201d said he, \u201cthou warnedst me against thy path. As\nthanks for it I praise mine to thee. Behold, up thither is the cave of\nZarathustra.\n\nMy cave is large and deep and hath many corners; there findeth he\nthat is most hidden his hiding-place. And close beside it, there are\na hundred lurking-places and by-places for creeping, fluttering, and\nhopping creatures.\n\nThou outcast, who hast cast thyself out, thou wilt not live amongst men\nand men\u2019s pity? Well then, do like me! Thus wilt thou learn also from\nme; only the doer learneth.\n\nAnd talk first and foremost to mine animals! The proudest animal and the\nwisest animal\u2014they might well be the right counsellors for us both!\u201d\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra and went his way, more thoughtfully and slowly\neven than before: for he asked himself many things, and hardly knew what\nto answer.\n\n\u201cHow poor indeed is man,\u201d thought he in his heart, \u201chow ugly, how\nwheezy, how full of hidden shame!\n\nThey tell me that man loveth himself. Ah, how great must that self-love\nbe! How much contempt is opposed to it!\n\nEven this man hath loved himself, as he hath despised himself,\u2014a great\nlover methinketh he is, and a great despiser.\n\nNo one have I yet found who more thoroughly despised himself: even THAT\nis elevation. Alas, was THIS perhaps the higher man whose cry I heard?\n\nI love the great despisers. Man is something that hath to be\nsurpassed.\u201d\u2014\n\n\n\n\nLXVIII. THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR.\n\n\nWhen Zarathustra had left the ugliest man, he was chilled and felt\nlonesome: for much coldness and lonesomeness came over his spirit, so\nthat even his limbs became colder thereby. When, however, he wandered\non and on, uphill and down, at times past green meadows, though also\nsometimes over wild stony couches where formerly perhaps an impatient\nbrook had made its bed, then he turned all at once warmer and heartier\nagain.\n\n\u201cWhat hath happened unto me?\u201d he asked himself, \u201csomething warm and\nliving quickeneth me; it must be in the neighbourhood.\n\nAlready am I less alone; unconscious companions and brethren rove around\nme; their warm breath toucheth my soul.\u201d\n\nWhen, however, he spied about and sought for the comforters of his\nlonesomeness, behold, there were kine there standing together on an\neminence, whose proximity and smell had warmed his heart. The kine,\nhowever, seemed to listen eagerly to a speaker, and took no heed of him\nwho approached. When, however, Zarathustra was quite nigh unto them,\nthen did he hear plainly that a human voice spake in the midst of the\nkine, and apparently all of them had turned their heads towards the\nspeaker.\n\nThen ran Zarathustra up speedily and drove the animals aside; for he\nfeared that some one had here met with harm, which the pity of the\nkine would hardly be able to relieve. But in this he was deceived; for\nbehold, there sat a man on the ground who seemed to be persuading\nthe animals to have no fear of him, a peaceable man and\nPreacher-on-the-Mount, out of whose eyes kindness itself preached. \u201cWhat\ndost thou seek here?\u201d called out Zarathustra in astonishment.\n\n\u201cWhat do I here seek?\u201d answered he: \u201cthe same that thou seekest, thou\nmischief-maker; that is to say, happiness upon earth.\n\nTo that end, however, I would fain learn of these kine. For I tell thee\nthat I have already talked half a morning unto them, and just now were\nthey about to give me their answer. Why dost thou disturb them?\n\nExcept we be converted and become as kine, we shall in no wise enter\ninto the kingdom of heaven. For we ought to learn from them one thing:\nruminating.\n\nAnd verily, although a man should gain the whole world, and yet not\nlearn one thing, ruminating, what would it profit him! He would not be\nrid of his affliction,\n\n\u2014His great affliction: that, however, is at present called DISGUST. Who\nhath not at present his heart, his mouth and his eyes full of disgust?\nThou also! Thou also! But behold these kine!\u201d\u2014\n\nThus spake the Preacher-on-the-Mount, and turned then his own look\ntowards Zarathustra\u2014for hitherto it had rested lovingly on the kine\u2014:\nthen, however, he put on a different expression. \u201cWho is this with whom\nI talk?\u201d he exclaimed frightened, and sprang up from the ground.\n\n\u201cThis is the man without disgust, this is Zarathustra himself, the\nsurmounter of the great disgust, this is the eye, this is the mouth,\nthis is the heart of Zarathustra himself.\u201d\n\nAnd whilst he thus spake he kissed with o\u2019erflowing eyes the hands\nof him with whom he spake, and behaved altogether like one to whom a\nprecious gift and jewel hath fallen unawares from heaven. The kine,\nhowever, gazed at it all and wondered.\n\n\u201cSpeak not of me, thou strange one; thou amiable one!\u201d said Zarathustra,\nand restrained his affection, \u201cspeak to me firstly of thyself! Art thou\nnot the voluntary beggar who once cast away great riches,\u2014\n\n\u2014Who was ashamed of his riches and of the rich, and fled to the poorest\nto bestow upon them his abundance and his heart? But they received him\nnot.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut they received me not,\u201d said the voluntary beggar, \u201cthou knowest it,\nforsooth. So I went at last to the animals and to those kine.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen learnedst thou,\u201d interrupted Zarathustra, \u201chow much harder it is\nto give properly than to take properly, and that bestowing well is an\nART\u2014the last, subtlest master-art of kindness.\u201d\n\n\u201cEspecially nowadays,\u201d answered the voluntary beggar: \u201cat present, that\nis to say, when everything low hath become rebellious and exclusive and\nhaughty in its manner\u2014in the manner of the populace.\n\nFor the hour hath come, thou knowest it forsooth, for the great, evil,\nlong, slow mob-and-slave-insurrection: it extendeth and extendeth!\n\nNow doth it provoke the lower classes, all benevolence and petty giving;\nand the over-rich may be on their guard!\n\nWhoever at present drip, like bulgy bottles out of all-too-small\nnecks:\u2014of such bottles at present one willingly breaketh the necks.\n\nWanton avidity, bilious envy, careworn revenge, populace-pride: all\nthese struck mine eye. It is no longer true that the poor are blessed.\nThe kingdom of heaven, however, is with the kine.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why is it not with the rich?\u201d asked Zarathustra temptingly, while\nhe kept back the kine which sniffed familiarly at the peaceful one.\n\n\u201cWhy dost thou tempt me?\u201d answered the other. \u201cThou knowest it thyself\nbetter even than I. What was it drove me to the poorest, O Zarathustra?\nWas it not my disgust at the richest?\n\n\u2014At the culprits of riches, with cold eyes and rank thoughts, who pick\nup profit out of all kinds of rubbish\u2014at this rabble that stinketh to\nheaven,\n\n\u2014At this gilded, falsified populace, whose fathers were pickpockets,\nor carrion-crows, or rag-pickers, with wives compliant, lewd and\nforgetful:\u2014for they are all of them not far different from harlots\u2014\n\nPopulace above, populace below! What are \u2018poor\u2019 and \u2018rich\u2019 at present!\nThat distinction did I unlearn,\u2014then did I flee away further and ever\nfurther, until I came to those kine.\u201d\n\nThus spake the peaceful one, and puffed himself and perspired with\nhis words: so that the kine wondered anew. Zarathustra, however, kept\nlooking into his face with a smile, all the time the man talked so\nseverely\u2014and shook silently his head.\n\n\u201cThou doest violence to thyself, thou Preacher-on-the-Mount, when thou\nusest such severe words. For such severity neither thy mouth nor thine\neye have been given thee.\n\nNor, methinketh, hath thy stomach either: unto IT all such rage and\nhatred and foaming-over is repugnant. Thy stomach wanteth softer things:\nthou art not a butcher.\n\nRather seemest thou to me a plant-eater and a root-man. Perhaps thou\ngrindest corn. Certainly, however, thou art averse to fleshly joys, and\nthou lovest honey.\u201d\n\n\u201cThou hast divined me well,\u201d answered the voluntary beggar, with\nlightened heart. \u201cI love honey, I also grind corn; for I have sought out\nwhat tasteth sweetly and maketh pure breath:\n\n\u2014Also what requireth a long time, a day\u2019s-work and a mouth\u2019s-work for\ngentle idlers and sluggards.\n\nFurthest, to be sure, have those kine carried it: they have devised\nruminating and lying in the sun. They also abstain from all heavy\nthoughts which inflate the heart.\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cWell!\u201d said Zarathustra, \u201cthou shouldst also see MINE animals, mine\neagle and my serpent,\u2014their like do not at present exist on earth.\n\nBehold, thither leadeth the way to my cave: be to-night its guest. And\ntalk to mine animals of the happiness of animals,\u2014\n\n\u2014Until I myself come home. For now a cry of distress calleth me hastily\naway from thee. Also, shouldst thou find new honey with me, ice-cold,\ngolden-comb-honey, eat it!\n\nNow, however, take leave at once of thy kine, thou strange one! thou\namiable one! though it be hard for thee. For they are thy warmest\nfriends and preceptors!\u201d\u2014\n\n\u2014\u201cOne excepted, whom I hold still dearer,\u201d answered the voluntary\nbeggar. \u201cThou thyself art good, O Zarathustra, and better even than a\ncow!\u201d\n\n\u201cAway, away with thee! thou evil flatterer!\u201d cried Zarathustra\nmischievously, \u201cwhy dost thou spoil me with such praise and\nflattery-honey?\n\n\u201cAway, away from me!\u201d cried he once more, and heaved his stick at the\nfond beggar, who, however, ran nimbly away.\n\n\n\n\nLXIX. THE SHADOW.\n\n\nScarcely however was the voluntary beggar gone in haste, and Zarathustra\nagain alone, when he heard behind him a new voice which called out:\n\u201cStay! Zarathustra! Do wait! It is myself, forsooth, O Zarathustra,\nmyself, thy shadow!\u201d But Zarathustra did not wait; for a sudden\nirritation came over him on account of the crowd and the crowding in his\nmountains. \u201cWhither hath my lonesomeness gone?\u201d spake he.\n\n\u201cIt is verily becoming too much for me; these mountains swarm; my\nkingdom is no longer of THIS world; I require new mountains.\n\nMy shadow calleth me? What matter about my shadow! Let it run after me!\nI\u2014run away from it.\u201d\n\nThus spake Zarathustra to his heart and ran away. But the one behind\nfollowed after him, so that immediately there were three runners,\none after the other\u2014namely, foremost the voluntary beggar, then\nZarathustra, and thirdly, and hindmost, his shadow. But not long had\nthey run thus when Zarathustra became conscious of his folly, and shook\noff with one jerk all his irritation and detestation.\n\n\u201cWhat!\u201d said he, \u201chave not the most ludicrous things always happened to\nus old anchorites and saints?\n\nVerily, my folly hath grown big in the mountains! Now do I hear six old\nfools\u2019 legs rattling behind one another!\n\nBut doth Zarathustra need to be frightened by his shadow? Also,\nmethinketh that after all it hath longer legs than mine.\u201d\n\nThus spake Zarathustra, and, laughing with eyes and entrails, he stood\nstill and turned round quickly\u2014and behold, he almost thereby threw his\nshadow and follower to the ground, so closely had the latter followed at\nhis heels, and so weak was he. For when Zarathustra scrutinised him\nwith his glance he was frightened as by a sudden apparition, so slender,\nswarthy, hollow and worn-out did this follower appear.\n\n\u201cWho art thou?\u201d asked Zarathustra vehemently, \u201cwhat doest thou here? And\nwhy callest thou thyself my shadow? Thou art not pleasing unto me.\u201d\n\n\u201cForgive me,\u201d answered the shadow, \u201cthat it is I; and if I please thee\nnot\u2014well, O Zarathustra! therein do I admire thee and thy good taste.\n\nA wanderer am I, who have walked long at thy heels; always on the way,\nbut without a goal, also without a home: so that verily, I lack little\nof being the eternally Wandering Jew, except that I am not eternal and\nnot a Jew.\n\nWhat? Must I ever be on the way? Whirled by every wind, unsettled,\ndriven about? O earth, thou hast become too round for me!\n\nOn every surface have I already sat, like tired dust have I fallen\nasleep on mirrors and window-panes: everything taketh from me, nothing\ngiveth; I become thin\u2014I am almost equal to a shadow.\n\nAfter thee, however, O Zarathustra, did I fly and hie longest; and\nthough I hid myself from thee, I was nevertheless thy best shadow:\nwherever thou hast sat, there sat I also.\n\nWith thee have I wandered about in the remotest, coldest worlds, like a\nphantom that voluntarily haunteth winter roofs and snows.\n\nWith thee have I pushed into all the forbidden, all the worst and the\nfurthest: and if there be anything of virtue in me, it is that I have\nhad no fear of any prohibition.\n\nWith thee have I broken up whatever my heart revered; all\nboundary-stones and statues have I o\u2019erthrown; the most dangerous wishes\ndid I pursue,\u2014verily, beyond every crime did I once go.\n\nWith thee did I unlearn the belief in words and worths and in great\nnames. When the devil casteth his skin, doth not his name also fall\naway? It is also skin. The devil himself is perhaps\u2014skin.\n\n\u2018Nothing is true, all is permitted\u2019: so said I to myself. Into the\ncoldest water did I plunge with head and heart. Ah, how oft did I stand\nthere naked on that account, like a red crab!\n\nAh, where have gone all my goodness and all my shame and all my belief\nin the good! Ah, where is the lying innocence which I once possessed,\nthe innocence of the good and of their noble lies!\n\nToo oft, verily, did I follow close to the heels of truth: then did it\nkick me on the face. Sometimes I meant to lie, and behold! then only did\nI hit\u2014the truth.\n\nToo much hath become clear unto me: now it doth not concern me any more.\nNothing liveth any longer that I love,\u2014how should I still love myself?\n\n\u2018To live as I incline, or not to live at all\u2019: so do I wish; so wisheth\nalso the holiest. But alas! how have _I_ still\u2014inclination?\n\nHave _I_\u2014still a goal? A haven towards which MY sail is set?\n\nA good wind? Ah, he only who knoweth WHITHER he saileth, knoweth what\nwind is good, and a fair wind for him.\n\nWhat still remaineth to me? A heart weary and flippant; an unstable\nwill; fluttering wings; a broken backbone.\n\nThis seeking for MY home: O Zarathustra, dost thou know that this\nseeking hath been MY home-sickening; it eateth me up.\n\n\u2018WHERE is\u2014MY home?\u2019 For it do I ask and seek, and have sought, but\nhave not found it. O eternal everywhere, O eternal nowhere, O\neternal\u2014in-vain!\u201d\n\nThus spake the shadow, and Zarathustra\u2019s countenance lengthened at his\nwords. \u201cThou art my shadow!\u201d said he at last sadly.\n\n\u201cThy danger is not small, thou free spirit and wanderer! Thou hast had a\nbad day: see that a still worse evening doth not overtake thee!\n\nTo such unsettled ones as thou, seemeth at last even a prisoner blessed.\nDidst thou ever see how captured criminals sleep? They sleep quietly,\nthey enjoy their new security.\n\nBeware lest in the end a narrow faith capture thee, a hard, rigorous\ndelusion! For now everything that is narrow and fixed seduceth and\ntempteth thee.\n\nThou hast lost thy goal. Alas, how wilt thou forego and forget that\nloss? Thereby\u2014hast thou also lost thy way!\n\nThou poor rover and rambler, thou tired butterfly! wilt thou have a rest\nand a home this evening? Then go up to my cave!\n\nThither leadeth the way to my cave. And now will I run quickly away from\nthee again. Already lieth as it were a shadow upon me.\n\nI will run alone, so that it may again become bright around me.\nTherefore must I still be a long time merrily upon my legs. In the\nevening, however, there will be\u2014dancing with me!\u201d\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nLXX. NOONTIDE.\n\n\n\u2014And Zarathustra ran and ran, but he found no one else, and was alone\nand ever found himself again; he enjoyed and quaffed his solitude, and\nthought of good things\u2014for hours. About the hour of noontide, however,\nwhen the sun stood exactly over Zarathustra\u2019s head, he passed an old,\nbent and gnarled tree, which was encircled round by the ardent love of\na vine, and hidden from itself; from this there hung yellow grapes in\nabundance, confronting the wanderer. Then he felt inclined to quench a\nlittle thirst, and to break off for himself a cluster of grapes. When,\nhowever, he had already his arm outstretched for that purpose, he felt\nstill more inclined for something else\u2014namely, to lie down beside the\ntree at the hour of perfect noontide and sleep.\n\nThis Zarathustra did; and no sooner had he laid himself on the ground in\nthe stillness and secrecy of the variegated grass, than he had forgotten\nhis little thirst, and fell asleep. For as the proverb of Zarathustra\nsaith: \u201cOne thing is more necessary than the other.\u201d Only that his eyes\nremained open:\u2014for they never grew weary of viewing and admiring the\ntree and the love of the vine. In falling asleep, however, Zarathustra\nspake thus to his heart:\n\n\u201cHush! Hush! Hath not the world now become perfect? What hath happened\nunto me?\n\nAs a delicate wind danceth invisibly upon parqueted seas, light,\nfeather-light, so\u2014danceth sleep upon me.\n\nNo eye doth it close to me, it leaveth my soul awake. Light is it,\nverily, feather-light.\n\nIt persuadeth me, I know not how, it toucheth me inwardly with a\ncaressing hand, it constraineth me. Yea, it constraineth me, so that my\nsoul stretcheth itself out:\u2014\n\n\u2014How long and weary it becometh, my strange soul! Hath a seventh-day\nevening come to it precisely at noontide? Hath it already wandered too\nlong, blissfully, among good and ripe things?\n\nIt stretcheth itself out, long\u2014longer! it lieth still, my strange\nsoul. Too many good things hath it already tasted; this golden sadness\noppresseth it, it distorteth its mouth.\n\n\u2014As a ship that putteth into the calmest cove:\u2014it now draweth up to\nthe land, weary of long voyages and uncertain seas. Is not the land more\nfaithful?\n\nAs such a ship huggeth the shore, tuggeth the shore:\u2014then it sufficeth\nfor a spider to spin its thread from the ship to the land. No stronger\nropes are required there.\n\nAs such a weary ship in the calmest cove, so do I also now repose, nigh\nto the earth, faithful, trusting, waiting, bound to it with the lightest\nthreads.\n\nO happiness! O happiness! Wilt thou perhaps sing, O my soul? Thou liest\nin the grass. But this is the secret, solemn hour, when no shepherd\nplayeth his pipe.\n\nTake care! Hot noontide sleepeth on the fields. Do not sing! Hush! The\nworld is perfect.\n\nDo not sing, thou prairie-bird, my soul! Do not even whisper! Lo\u2014hush!\nThe old noontide sleepeth, it moveth its mouth: doth it not just now\ndrink a drop of happiness\u2014\n\n\u2014An old brown drop of golden happiness, golden wine? Something whisketh\nover it, its happiness laugheth. Thus\u2014laugheth a God. Hush!\u2014\n\n\u2014\u2018For happiness, how little sufficeth for happiness!\u2019 Thus spake I\nonce and thought myself wise. But it was a blasphemy: THAT have I now\nlearned. Wise fools speak better.\n\nThe least thing precisely, the gentlest thing, the lightest thing, a\nlizard\u2019s rustling, a breath, a whisk, an eye-glance\u2014LITTLE maketh up\nthe BEST happiness. Hush!\n\n\u2014What hath befallen me: Hark! Hath time flown away? Do I not fall? Have\nI not fallen\u2014hark! into the well of eternity?\n\n\u2014What happeneth to me? Hush! It stingeth me\u2014alas\u2014to the heart? To\nthe heart! Oh, break up, break up, my heart, after such happiness, after\nsuch a sting!\n\n\u2014What? Hath not the world just now become perfect? Round and ripe? Oh,\nfor the golden round ring\u2014whither doth it fly? Let me run after it!\nQuick!\n\nHush\u2014\u201d (and here Zarathustra stretched himself, and felt that he was\nasleep.)\n\n\u201cUp!\u201d said he to himself, \u201cthou sleeper! Thou noontide sleeper! Well\nthen, up, ye old legs! It is time and more than time; many a good\nstretch of road is still awaiting you\u2014\n\nNow have ye slept your fill; for how long a time? A half-eternity! Well\nthen, up now, mine old heart! For how long after such a sleep mayest\nthou\u2014remain awake?\u201d\n\n(But then did he fall asleep anew, and his soul spake against him and\ndefended itself, and lay down again)\u2014\u201cLeave me alone! Hush! Hath not\nthe world just now become perfect? Oh, for the golden round ball!\u2014\n\n\u201cGet up,\u201d said Zarathustra, \u201cthou little thief, thou sluggard! What!\nStill stretching thyself, yawning, sighing, falling into deep wells?\n\nWho art thou then, O my soul!\u201d (and here he became frightened, for a\nsunbeam shot down from heaven upon his face.)\n\n\u201cO heaven above me,\u201d said he sighing, and sat upright, \u201cthou gazest at\nme? Thou hearkenest unto my strange soul?\n\nWhen wilt thou drink this drop of dew that fell down upon all earthly\nthings,\u2014when wilt thou drink this strange soul\u2014\n\n\u2014When, thou well of eternity! thou joyous, awful, noontide abyss! when\nwilt thou drink my soul back into thee?\u201d\n\nThus spake Zarathustra, and rose from his couch beside the tree, as if\nawakening from a strange drunkenness: and behold! there stood the\nsun still exactly above his head. One might, however, rightly infer\ntherefrom that Zarathustra had not then slept long.\n\n\n\n\nLXXI. THE GREETING.\n\n\nIt was late in the afternoon only when Zarathustra, after long useless\nsearching and strolling about, again came home to his cave. When,\nhowever, he stood over against it, not more than twenty paces therefrom,\nthe thing happened which he now least of all expected: he heard anew the\ngreat CRY OF DISTRESS. And extraordinary! this time the cry came out\nof his own cave. It was a long, manifold, peculiar cry, and Zarathustra\nplainly distinguished that it was composed of many voices: although\nheard at a distance it might sound like the cry out of a single mouth.\n\nThereupon Zarathustra rushed forward to his cave, and behold! what a\nspectacle awaited him after that concert! For there did they all sit\ntogether whom he had passed during the day: the king on the right and\nthe king on the left, the old magician, the pope, the voluntary\nbeggar, the shadow, the intellectually conscientious one, the sorrowful\nsoothsayer, and the ass; the ugliest man, however, had set a crown on\nhis head, and had put round him two purple girdles,\u2014for he liked, like\nall ugly ones, to disguise himself and play the handsome person. In the\nmidst, however, of that sorrowful company stood Zarathustra\u2019s eagle,\nruffled and disquieted, for it had been called upon to answer too much\nfor which its pride had not any answer; the wise serpent however hung\nround its neck.\n\nAll this did Zarathustra behold with great astonishment; then however he\nscrutinised each individual guest with courteous curiosity, read their\nsouls and wondered anew. In the meantime the assembled ones had risen\nfrom their seats, and waited with reverence for Zarathustra to speak.\nZarathustra however spake thus:\n\n\u201cYe despairing ones! Ye strange ones! So it was YOUR cry of distress\nthat I heard? And now do I know also where he is to be sought, whom I\nhave sought for in vain to-day: THE HIGHER MAN\u2014:\n\n\u2014In mine own cave sitteth he, the higher man! But why do I wonder! Have\nnot I myself allured him to me by honey-offerings and artful lure-calls\nof my happiness?\n\nBut it seemeth to me that ye are badly adapted for company: ye make\none another\u2019s hearts fretful, ye that cry for help, when ye sit here\ntogether? There is one that must first come,\n\n\u2014One who will make you laugh once more, a good jovial buffoon, a\ndancer, a wind, a wild romp, some old fool:\u2014what think ye?\n\nForgive me, however, ye despairing ones, for speaking such trivial words\nbefore you, unworthy, verily, of such guests! But ye do not divine WHAT\nmaketh my heart wanton:\u2014\n\n\u2014Ye yourselves do it, and your aspect, forgive it me! For every one\nbecometh courageous who beholdeth a despairing one. To encourage a\ndespairing one\u2014every one thinketh himself strong enough to do so.\n\nTo myself have ye given this power,\u2014a good gift, mine honourable\nguests! An excellent guest\u2019s-present! Well, do not then upbraid when I\nalso offer you something of mine.\n\nThis is mine empire and my dominion: that which is mine, however, shall\nthis evening and to-night be yours. Mine animals shall serve you: let my\ncave be your resting-place!\n\nAt house and home with me shall no one despair: in my purlieus do I\nprotect every one from his wild beasts. And that is the first thing\nwhich I offer you: security!\n\nThe second thing, however, is my little finger. And when ye have THAT,\nthen take the whole hand also, yea, and the heart with it! Welcome here,\nwelcome to you, my guests!\u201d\n\nThus spake Zarathustra, and laughed with love and mischief. After this\ngreeting his guests bowed once more and were reverentially silent; the\nking on the right, however, answered him in their name.\n\n\u201cO Zarathustra, by the way in which thou hast given us thy hand and thy\ngreeting, we recognise thee as Zarathustra. Thou hast humbled thyself\nbefore us; almost hast thou hurt our reverence\u2014:\n\n\u2014Who however could have humbled himself as thou hast done, with such\npride? THAT uplifteth us ourselves; a refreshment is it, to our eyes and\nhearts.\n\nTo behold this, merely, gladly would we ascend higher mountains than\nthis. For as eager beholders have we come; we wanted to see what\nbrighteneth dim eyes.\n\nAnd lo! now is it all over with our cries of distress. Now are our minds\nand hearts open and enraptured. Little is lacking for our spirits to\nbecome wanton.\n\nThere is nothing, O Zarathustra, that groweth more pleasingly on earth\nthan a lofty, strong will: it is the finest growth. An entire landscape\nrefresheth itself at one such tree.\n\nTo the pine do I compare him, O Zarathustra, which groweth up like\nthee\u2014tall, silent, hardy, solitary, of the best, supplest wood,\nstately,\u2014\n\n\u2014In the end, however, grasping out for ITS dominion with strong, green\nbranches, asking weighty questions of the wind, the storm, and whatever\nis at home on high places;\n\n\u2014Answering more weightily, a commander, a victor! Oh! who should not\nascend high mountains to behold such growths?\n\nAt thy tree, O Zarathustra, the gloomy and ill-constituted also refresh\nthemselves; at thy look even the wavering become steady and heal their\nhearts.\n\nAnd verily, towards thy mountain and thy tree do many eyes turn to-day;\na great longing hath arisen, and many have learned to ask: \u2018Who is\nZarathustra?\u2019\n\nAnd those into whose ears thou hast at any time dripped thy song and thy\nhoney: all the hidden ones, the lone-dwellers and the twain-dwellers,\nhave simultaneously said to their hearts:\n\n\u2018Doth Zarathustra still live? It is no longer worth while to live,\neverything is indifferent, everything is useless: or else\u2014we must live\nwith Zarathustra!\u2019\n\n\u2018Why doth he not come who hath so long announced himself?\u2019 thus do many\npeople ask; \u2018hath solitude swallowed him up? Or should we perhaps go to\nhim?\u2019\n\nNow doth it come to pass that solitude itself becometh fragile and\nbreaketh open, like a grave that breaketh open and can no longer hold\nits dead. Everywhere one seeth resurrected ones.\n\nNow do the waves rise and rise around thy mountain, O Zarathustra. And\nhowever high be thy height, many of them must rise up to thee: thy boat\nshall not rest much longer on dry ground.\n\nAnd that we despairing ones have now come into thy cave, and already no\nlonger despair:\u2014it is but a prognostic and a presage that better ones\nare on the way to thee,\u2014\n\n\u2014For they themselves are on the way to thee, the last remnant of\nGod among men\u2014that is to say, all the men of great longing, of great\nloathing, of great satiety,\n\n\u2014All who do not want to live unless they learn again to HOPE\u2014unless\nthey learn from thee, O Zarathustra, the GREAT hope!\u201d\n\nThus spake the king on the right, and seized the hand of Zarathustra in\norder to kiss it; but Zarathustra checked his veneration, and stepped\nback frightened, fleeing as it were, silently and suddenly into the far\ndistance. After a little while, however, he was again at home with his\nguests, looked at them with clear scrutinising eyes, and said:\n\n\u201cMy guests, ye higher men, I will speak plain language and plainly with\nyou. It is not for YOU that I have waited here in these mountains.\u201d\n\n(\u201c\u2018Plain language and plainly?\u2019 Good God!\u201d said here the king on the\nleft to himself; \u201cone seeth he doth not know the good Occidentals, this\nsage out of the Orient!\n\nBut he meaneth \u2018blunt language and bluntly\u2019\u2014well! That is not the worst\ntaste in these days!\u201d)\n\n\u201cYe may, verily, all of you be higher men,\u201d continued Zarathustra; \u201cbut\nfor me\u2014ye are neither high enough, nor strong enough.\n\nFor me, that is to say, for the inexorable which is now silent in me,\nbut will not always be silent. And if ye appertain to me, still it is\nnot as my right arm.\n\nFor he who himself standeth, like you, on sickly and tender legs,\nwisheth above all to be TREATED INDULGENTLY, whether he be conscious of\nit or hide it from himself.\n\nMy arms and my legs, however, I do not treat indulgently, I DO NOT TREAT\nMY WARRIORS INDULGENTLY: how then could ye be fit for MY warfare?\n\nWith you I should spoil all my victories. And many of you would tumble\nover if ye but heard the loud beating of my drums.\n\nMoreover, ye are not sufficiently beautiful and well-born for me. I\nrequire pure, smooth mirrors for my doctrines; on your surface even mine\nown likeness is distorted.\n\nOn your shoulders presseth many a burden, many a recollection; many a\nmischievous dwarf squatteth in your corners. There is concealed populace\nalso in you.\n\nAnd though ye be high and of a higher type, much in you is crooked and\nmisshapen. There is no smith in the world that could hammer you right\nand straight for me.\n\nYe are only bridges: may higher ones pass over upon you! Ye signify\nsteps: so do not upbraid him who ascendeth beyond you into HIS height!\n\nOut of your seed there may one day arise for me a genuine son and\nperfect heir: but that time is distant. Ye yourselves are not those unto\nwhom my heritage and name belong.\n\nNot for you do I wait here in these mountains; not with you may I\ndescend for the last time. Ye have come unto me only as a presage that\nhigher ones are on the way to me,\u2014\n\n\u2014NOT the men of great longing, of great loathing, of great satiety, and\nthat which ye call the remnant of God;\n\n\u2014Nay! Nay! Three times Nay! For OTHERS do I wait here in these\nmountains, and will not lift my foot from thence without them;\n\n\u2014For higher ones, stronger ones, triumphanter ones, merrier ones, for\nsuch as are built squarely in body and soul: LAUGHING LIONS must come!\n\nO my guests, ye strange ones\u2014have ye yet heard nothing of my children?\nAnd that they are on the way to me?\n\nDo speak unto me of my gardens, of my Happy Isles, of my new beautiful\nrace\u2014why do ye not speak unto me thereof?\n\nThis guests\u2019-present do I solicit of your love, that ye speak unto me of\nmy children. For them am I rich, for them I became poor: what have I not\nsurrendered,\n\n\u2014What would I not surrender that I might have one thing: THESE\nchildren, THIS living plantation, THESE life-trees of my will and of my\nhighest hope!\u201d\n\nThus spake Zarathustra, and stopped suddenly in his discourse: for his\nlonging came over him, and he closed his eyes and his mouth, because\nof the agitation of his heart. And all his guests also were silent, and\nstood still and confounded: except only that the old soothsayer made\nsigns with his hands and his gestures.\n\n\n\n\nLXXII. THE SUPPER.\n\n\nFor at this point the soothsayer interrupted the greeting of Zarathustra\nand his guests: he pressed forward as one who had no time to lose,\nseized Zarathustra\u2019s hand and exclaimed: \u201cBut Zarathustra!\n\nOne thing is more necessary than the other, so sayest thou thyself:\nwell, one thing is now more necessary UNTO ME than all others.\n\nA word at the right time: didst thou not invite me to TABLE? And here\nare many who have made long journeys. Thou dost not mean to feed us\nmerely with discourses?\n\nBesides, all of you have thought too much about freezing, drowning,\nsuffocating, and other bodily dangers: none of you, however, have\nthought of MY danger, namely, perishing of hunger\u2014\u201d\n\n(Thus spake the soothsayer. When Zarathustra\u2019s animals, however, heard\nthese words, they ran away in terror. For they saw that all they\nhad brought home during the day would not be enough to fill the one\nsoothsayer.)\n\n\u201cLikewise perishing of thirst,\u201d continued the soothsayer. \u201cAnd although\nI hear water splashing here like words of wisdom\u2014that is to say,\nplenteously and unweariedly, I\u2014want WINE!\n\nNot every one is a born water-drinker like Zarathustra. Neither doth\nwater suit weary and withered ones: WE deserve wine\u2014IT alone giveth\nimmediate vigour and improvised health!\u201d\n\nOn this occasion, when the soothsayer was longing for wine, it happened\nthat the king on the left, the silent one, also found expression for\nonce. \u201cWE took care,\u201d said he, \u201cabout wine, I, along with my brother the\nking on the right: we have enough of wine,\u2014a whole ass-load of it. So\nthere is nothing lacking but bread.\u201d\n\n\u201cBread,\u201d replied Zarathustra, laughing when he spake, \u201cit is precisely\nbread that anchorites have not. But man doth not live by bread alone,\nbut also by the flesh of good lambs, of which I have two:\n\n\u2014THESE shall we slaughter quickly, and cook spicily with sage: it is\nso that I like them. And there is also no lack of roots and fruits,\ngood enough even for the fastidious and dainty,\u2014nor of nuts and other\nriddles for cracking.\n\nThus will we have a good repast in a little while. But whoever wish to\neat with us must also give a hand to the work, even the kings. For with\nZarathustra even a king may be a cook.\u201d\n\nThis proposal appealed to the hearts of all of them, save that the\nvoluntary beggar objected to the flesh and wine and spices.\n\n\u201cJust hear this glutton Zarathustra!\u201d said he jokingly: \u201cdoth one go\ninto caves and high mountains to make such repasts?\n\nNow indeed do I understand what he once taught us: Blessed be moderate\npoverty!\u2019 And why he wisheth to do away with beggars.\u201d\n\n\u201cBe of good cheer,\u201d replied Zarathustra, \u201cas I am. Abide by thy\ncustoms, thou excellent one: grind thy corn, drink thy water, praise thy\ncooking,\u2014if only it make thee glad!\n\nI am a law only for mine own; I am not a law for all. He, however, who\nbelongeth unto me must be strong of bone and light of foot,\u2014\n\n\u2014Joyous in fight and feast, no sulker, no John o\u2019 Dreams, ready for the\nhardest task as for the feast, healthy and hale.\n\nThe best belongeth unto mine and me; and if it be not given us, then do\nwe take it:\u2014the best food, the purest sky, the strongest thoughts, the\nfairest women!\u201d\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra; the king on the right however answered and said:\n\u201cStrange! Did one ever hear such sensible things out of the mouth of a\nwise man?\n\nAnd verily, it is the strangest thing in a wise man, if over and above,\nhe be still sensible, and not an ass.\u201d\n\nThus spake the king on the right and wondered; the ass however, with\nill-will, said YE-A to his remark. This however was the beginning of\nthat long repast which is called \u201cThe Supper\u201d in the history-books. At\nthis there was nothing else spoken of but THE HIGHER MAN.\n\n\n\n\nLXXIII. THE HIGHER MAN.\n\n\n1.\n\nWhen I came unto men for the first time, then did I commit the anchorite\nfolly, the great folly: I appeared on the market-place.\n\nAnd when I spake unto all, I spake unto none. In the evening, however,\nrope-dancers were my companions, and corpses; and I myself almost a\ncorpse.\n\nWith the new morning, however, there came unto me a new truth: then did\nI learn to say: \u201cOf what account to me are market-place and populace and\npopulace-noise and long populace-ears!\u201d\n\nYe higher men, learn THIS from me: On the market-place no one believeth\nin higher men. But if ye will speak there, very well! The populace,\nhowever, blinketh: \u201cWe are all equal.\u201d\n\n\u201cYe higher men,\u201d\u2014so blinketh the populace\u2014\u201cthere are no higher men, we\nare all equal; man is man, before God\u2014we are all equal!\u201d\n\nBefore God!\u2014Now, however, this God hath died. Before the populace,\nhowever, we will not be equal. Ye higher men, away from the\nmarket-place!\n\n2.\n\nBefore God!\u2014Now however this God hath died! Ye higher men, this God was\nyour greatest danger.\n\nOnly since he lay in the grave have ye again arisen. Now only cometh the\ngreat noontide, now only doth the higher man become\u2014master!\n\nHave ye understood this word, O my brethren? Ye are frightened: do your\nhearts turn giddy? Doth the abyss here yawn for you? Doth the hell-hound\nhere yelp at you?\n\nWell! Take heart! ye higher men! Now only travaileth the mountain of the\nhuman future. God hath died: now do WE desire\u2014the Superman to live.\n\n3.\n\nThe most careful ask to-day: \u201cHow is man to be maintained?\u201d Zarathustra\nhowever asketh, as the first and only one: \u201cHow is man to be SURPASSED?\u201d\n\nThe Superman, I have at heart; THAT is the first and only thing to\nme\u2014and NOT man: not the neighbour, not the poorest, not the sorriest,\nnot the best.\u2014\n\nO my brethren, what I can love in man is that he is an over-going and a\ndown-going. And also in you there is much that maketh me love and hope.\n\nIn that ye have despised, ye higher men, that maketh me hope. For the\ngreat despisers are the great reverers.\n\nIn that ye have despaired, there is much to honour. For ye have not\nlearned to submit yourselves, ye have not learned petty policy.\n\nFor to-day have the petty people become master: they all preach\nsubmission and humility and policy and diligence and consideration and\nthe long et cetera of petty virtues.\n\nWhatever is of the effeminate type, whatever originateth from the\nservile type, and especially the populace-mishmash:\u2014THAT wisheth now to\nbe master of all human destiny\u2014O disgust! Disgust! Disgust!\n\nTHAT asketh and asketh and never tireth: \u201cHow is man to maintain himself\nbest, longest, most pleasantly?\u201d Thereby\u2014are they the masters of\nto-day.\n\nThese masters of to-day\u2014surpass them, O my brethren\u2014these petty\npeople: THEY are the Superman\u2019s greatest danger!\n\nSurpass, ye higher men, the petty virtues, the petty policy, the\nsand-grain considerateness, the ant-hill trumpery, the pitiable\ncomfortableness, the \u201chappiness of the greatest number\u201d\u2014!\n\nAnd rather despair than submit yourselves. And verily, I love you,\nbecause ye know not to-day how to live, ye higher men! For thus do YE\nlive\u2014best!\n\n4.\n\nHave ye courage, O my brethren? Are ye stout-hearted? NOT the courage\nbefore witnesses, but anchorite and eagle courage, which not even a God\nany longer beholdeth?\n\nCold souls, mules, the blind and the drunken, I do not call\nstout-hearted. He hath heart who knoweth fear, but VANQUISHETH it; who\nseeth the abyss, but with PRIDE.\n\nHe who seeth the abyss, but with eagle\u2019s eyes,\u2014he who with eagle\u2019s\ntalons GRASPETH the abyss: he hath courage.\u2014\n\n5.\n\n\u201cMan is evil\u201d\u2014so said to me for consolation, all the wisest ones. Ah,\nif only it be still true to-day! For the evil is man\u2019s best force.\n\n\u201cMan must become better and eviler\u201d\u2014so do _I_ teach. The evilest is\nnecessary for the Superman\u2019s best.\n\nIt may have been well for the preacher of the petty people to suffer and\nbe burdened by men\u2019s sin. I, however, rejoice in great sin as my great\nCONSOLATION.\u2014\n\nSuch things, however, are not said for long ears. Every word, also,\nis not suited for every mouth. These are fine far-away things: at them\nsheep\u2019s claws shall not grasp!\n\n6.\n\nYe higher men, think ye that I am here to put right what ye have put\nwrong?\n\nOr that I wished henceforth to make snugger couches for you sufferers?\nOr show you restless, miswandering, misclimbing ones, new and easier\nfootpaths?\n\nNay! Nay! Three times Nay! Always more, always better ones of your\ntype shall succumb,\u2014for ye shall always have it worse and harder. Thus\nonly\u2014\n\n\u2014Thus only groweth man aloft to the height where the lightning striketh\nand shattereth him: high enough for the lightning!\n\nTowards the few, the long, the remote go forth my soul and my seeking:\nof what account to me are your many little, short miseries!\n\nYe do not yet suffer enough for me! For ye suffer from yourselves, ye\nhave not yet suffered FROM MAN. Ye would lie if ye spake otherwise! None\nof you suffereth from what _I_ have suffered.\u2014\n\n7.\n\nIt is not enough for me that the lightning no longer doeth harm. I do\nnot wish to conduct it away: it shall learn\u2014to work for ME.\u2014\n\nMy wisdom hath accumulated long like a cloud, it becometh stiller and\ndarker. So doeth all wisdom which shall one day bear LIGHTNINGS.\u2014\n\nUnto these men of to-day will I not be LIGHT, nor be called light.\nTHEM\u2014will I blind: lightning of my wisdom! put out their eyes!\n\n8.\n\nDo not will anything beyond your power: there is a bad falseness in\nthose who will beyond their power.\n\nEspecially when they will great things! For they awaken distrust in\ngreat things, these subtle false-coiners and stage-players:\u2014\n\n\u2014Until at last they are false towards themselves, squint-eyed, whited\ncankers, glossed over with strong words, parade virtues and brilliant\nfalse deeds.\n\nTake good care there, ye higher men! For nothing is more precious to me,\nand rarer, than honesty.\n\nIs this to-day not that of the populace? The populace however knoweth\nnot what is great and what is small, what is straight and what is\nhonest: it is innocently crooked, it ever lieth.\n\n9.\n\nHave a good distrust to-day ye, higher men, ye enheartened ones! Ye\nopen-hearted ones! And keep your reasons secret! For this to-day is that\nof the populace.\n\nWhat the populace once learned to believe without reasons, who could\u2014\nrefute it to them by means of reasons?\n\nAnd on the market-place one convinceth with gestures. But reasons make\nthe populace distrustful.\n\nAnd when truth hath once triumphed there, then ask yourselves with good\ndistrust: \u201cWhat strong error hath fought for it?\u201d\n\nBe on your guard also against the learned! They hate you, because they\nare unproductive! They have cold, withered eyes before which every bird\nis unplumed.\n\nSuch persons vaunt about not lying: but inability to lie is still far\nfrom being love to truth. Be on your guard!\n\nFreedom from fever is still far from being knowledge! Refrigerated\nspirits I do not believe in. He who cannot lie, doth not know what truth\nis.\n\n10.\n\nIf ye would go up high, then use your own legs! Do not get yourselves\nCARRIED aloft; do not seat yourselves on other people\u2019s backs and heads!\n\nThou hast mounted, however, on horseback? Thou now ridest briskly up\nto thy goal? Well, my friend! But thy lame foot is also with thee on\nhorseback!\n\nWhen thou reachest thy goal, when thou alightest from thy horse:\nprecisely on thy HEIGHT, thou higher man,\u2014then wilt thou stumble!\n\n11.\n\nYe creating ones, ye higher men! One is only pregnant with one\u2019s own\nchild.\n\nDo not let yourselves be imposed upon or put upon! Who then is YOUR\nneighbour? Even if ye act \u201cfor your neighbour\u201d\u2014ye still do not create\nfor him!\n\nUnlearn, I pray you, this \u201cfor,\u201d ye creating ones: your very virtue\nwisheth you to have naught to do with \u201cfor\u201d and \u201con account of\u201d and\n\u201cbecause.\u201d Against these false little words shall ye stop your ears.\n\n\u201cFor one\u2019s neighbour,\u201d is the virtue only of the petty people: there it\nis said \u201clike and like,\u201d and \u201chand washeth hand\u201d:\u2014they have neither the\nright nor the power for YOUR self-seeking!\n\nIn your self-seeking, ye creating ones, there is the foresight and\nforeseeing of the pregnant! What no one\u2019s eye hath yet seen, namely, the\nfruit\u2014this, sheltereth and saveth and nourisheth your entire love.\n\nWhere your entire love is, namely, with your child, there is also your\nentire virtue! Your work, your will is YOUR \u201cneighbour\u201d: let no false\nvalues impose upon you!\n\n12.\n\nYe creating ones, ye higher men! Whoever hath to give birth is sick;\nwhoever hath given birth, however, is unclean.\n\nAsk women: one giveth birth, not because it giveth pleasure. The pain\nmaketh hens and poets cackle.\n\nYe creating ones, in you there is much uncleanliness. That is because ye\nhave had to be mothers.\n\nA new child: oh, how much new filth hath also come into the world! Go\napart! He who hath given birth shall wash his soul!\n\n13.\n\nBe not virtuous beyond your powers! And seek nothing from yourselves\nopposed to probability!\n\nWalk in the footsteps in which your fathers\u2019 virtue hath already walked!\nHow would ye rise high, if your fathers\u2019 will should not rise with you?\n\nHe, however, who would be a firstling, let him take care lest he also\nbecome a lastling! And where the vices of your fathers are, there should\nye not set up as saints!\n\nHe whose fathers were inclined for women, and for strong wine and flesh\nof wildboar swine; what would it be if he demanded chastity of himself?\n\nA folly would it be! Much, verily, doth it seem to me for such a one, if\nhe should be the husband of one or of two or of three women.\n\nAnd if he founded monasteries, and inscribed over their portals: \u201cThe\nway to holiness,\u201d\u2014I should still say: What good is it! it is a new\nfolly!\n\nHe hath founded for himself a penance-house and refuge-house: much good\nmay it do! But I do not believe in it.\n\nIn solitude there groweth what any one bringeth into it\u2014also the brute\nin one\u2019s nature. Thus is solitude inadvisable unto many.\n\nHath there ever been anything filthier on earth than the saints of\nthe wilderness? AROUND THEM was not only the devil loose\u2014but also the\nswine.\n\n14.\n\nShy, ashamed, awkward, like the tiger whose spring hath failed\u2014thus, ye\nhigher men, have I often seen you slink aside. A CAST which ye made had\nfailed.\n\nBut what doth it matter, ye dice-players! Ye had not learned to play and\nmock, as one must play and mock! Do we not ever sit at a great table of\nmocking and playing?\n\nAnd if great things have been a failure with you, have ye yourselves\ntherefore\u2014been a failure? And if ye yourselves have been a failure,\nhath man therefore\u2014been a failure? If man, however, hath been a\nfailure: well then! never mind!\n\n15.\n\nThe higher its type, always the seldomer doth a thing succeed. Ye higher\nmen here, have ye not all\u2014been failures?\n\nBe of good cheer; what doth it matter? How much is still possible! Learn\nto laugh at yourselves, as ye ought to laugh!\n\nWhat wonder even that ye have failed and only half-succeeded, ye\nhalf-shattered ones! Doth not\u2014man\u2019s FUTURE strive and struggle in you?\n\nMan\u2019s furthest, profoundest, star-highest issues, his prodigious\npowers\u2014do not all these foam through one another in your vessel?\n\nWhat wonder that many a vessel shattereth! Learn to laugh at yourselves,\nas ye ought to laugh! Ye higher men, O, how much is still possible!\n\nAnd verily, how much hath already succeeded! How rich is this earth in\nsmall, good, perfect things, in well-constituted things!\n\nSet around you small, good, perfect things, ye higher men. Their golden\nmaturity healeth the heart. The perfect teacheth one to hope.\n\n16.\n\nWhat hath hitherto been the greatest sin here on earth? Was it not the\nword of him who said: \u201cWoe unto them that laugh now!\u201d\n\nDid he himself find no cause for laughter on the earth? Then he sought\nbadly. A child even findeth cause for it.\n\nHe\u2014did not love sufficiently: otherwise would he also have loved\nus, the laughing ones! But he hated and hooted us; wailing and\nteeth-gnashing did he promise us.\n\nMust one then curse immediately, when one doth not love? That\u2014seemeth\nto me bad taste. Thus did he, however, this absolute one. He sprang from\nthe populace.\n\nAnd he himself just did not love sufficiently; otherwise would he have\nraged less because people did not love him. All great love doth not SEEK\nlove:\u2014it seeketh more.\n\nGo out of the way of all such absolute ones! They are a poor sickly\ntype, a populace-type: they look at this life with ill-will, they have\nan evil eye for this earth.\n\nGo out of the way of all such absolute ones! They have heavy feet and\nsultry hearts:\u2014they do not know how to dance. How could the earth be\nlight to such ones!\n\n17.\n\nTortuously do all good things come nigh to their goal. Like cats\nthey curve their backs, they purr inwardly with their approaching\nhappiness,\u2014all good things laugh.\n\nHis step betrayeth whether a person already walketh on HIS OWN path:\njust see me walk! He, however, who cometh nigh to his goal, danceth.\n\nAnd verily, a statue have I not become, not yet do I stand there stiff,\nstupid and stony, like a pillar; I love fast racing.\n\nAnd though there be on earth fens and dense afflictions, he who hath\nlight feet runneth even across the mud, and danceth, as upon well-swept\nice.\n\nLift up your hearts, my brethren, high, higher! And do not forget your\nlegs! Lift up also your legs, ye good dancers, and better still, if ye\nstand upon your heads!\n\n18.\n\nThis crown of the laughter, this rose-garland crown: I myself have put\non this crown, I myself have consecrated my laughter. No one else have I\nfound to-day potent enough for this.\n\nZarathustra the dancer, Zarathustra the light one, who beckoneth with\nhis pinions, one ready for flight, beckoning unto all birds, ready and\nprepared, a blissfully light-spirited one:\u2014\n\nZarathustra the soothsayer, Zarathustra the sooth-laugher, no impatient\none, no absolute one, one who loveth leaps and side-leaps; I myself have\nput on this crown!\n\n19.\n\nLift up your hearts, my brethren, high, higher! And do not forget your\nlegs! Lift up also your legs, ye good dancers, and better still if ye\nstand upon your heads!\n\nThere are also heavy animals in a state of happiness, there are\nclub-footed ones from the beginning. Curiously do they exert themselves,\nlike an elephant which endeavoureth to stand upon its head.\n\nBetter, however, to be foolish with happiness than foolish with\nmisfortune, better to dance awkwardly than walk lamely. So learn, I\npray you, my wisdom, ye higher men: even the worst thing hath two good\nreverse sides,\u2014\n\n\u2014Even the worst thing hath good dancing-legs: so learn, I pray you, ye\nhigher men, to put yourselves on your proper legs!\n\nSo unlearn, I pray you, the sorrow-sighing, and all the\npopulace-sadness! Oh, how sad the buffoons of the populace seem to me\nto-day! This to-day, however, is that of the populace.\n\n20.\n\nDo like unto the wind when it rusheth forth from its mountain-caves:\nunto its own piping will it dance; the seas tremble and leap under its\nfootsteps.\n\nThat which giveth wings to asses, that which milketh the lionesses:\u2014\npraised be that good, unruly spirit, which cometh like a hurricane unto\nall the present and unto all the populace,\u2014\n\n\u2014Which is hostile to thistle-heads and puzzle-heads, and to all\nwithered leaves and weeds:\u2014praised be this wild, good, free spirit of\nthe storm, which danceth upon fens and afflictions, as upon meadows!\n\nWhich hateth the consumptive populace-dogs, and all the ill-constituted,\nsullen brood:\u2014praised be this spirit of all free spirits, the laughing\nstorm, which bloweth dust into the eyes of all the melanopic and\nmelancholic!\n\nYe higher men, the worst thing in you is that ye have none of you\nlearned to dance as ye ought to dance\u2014to dance beyond yourselves! What\ndoth it matter that ye have failed!\n\nHow many things are still possible! So LEARN to laugh beyond yourselves!\nLift up your hearts, ye good dancers, high! higher! And do not forget\nthe good laughter!\n\nThis crown of the laughter, this rose-garland crown: to you my brethren\ndo I cast this crown! Laughing have I consecrated; ye higher men, LEARN,\nI pray you\u2014to laugh!\n\n\n\n\nLXXIV. THE SONG OF MELANCHOLY.\n\n\n1.\n\nWhen Zarathustra spake these sayings, he stood nigh to the entrance of\nhis cave; with the last words, however, he slipped away from his guests,\nand fled for a little while into the open air.\n\n\u201cO pure odours around me,\u201d cried he, \u201cO blessed stillness around me! But\nwhere are mine animals? Hither, hither, mine eagle and my serpent!\n\nTell me, mine animals: these higher men, all of them\u2014do they perhaps\nnot SMELL well? O pure odours around me! Now only do I know and feel how\nI love you, mine animals.\u201d\n\n\u2014And Zarathustra said once more: \u201cI love you, mine animals!\u201d The eagle,\nhowever, and the serpent pressed close to him when he spake these\nwords, and looked up to him. In this attitude were they all three silent\ntogether, and sniffed and sipped the good air with one another. For the\nair here outside was better than with the higher men.\n\n2.\n\nHardly, however, had Zarathustra left the cave when the old magician got\nup, looked cunningly about him, and said: \u201cHe is gone!\n\nAnd already, ye higher men\u2014let me tickle you with this complimentary\nand flattering name, as he himself doeth\u2014already doth mine evil spirit\nof deceit and magic attack me, my melancholy devil,\n\n\u2014Which is an adversary to this Zarathustra from the very heart: forgive\nit for this! Now doth it wish to conjure before you, it hath just ITS\nhour; in vain do I struggle with this evil spirit.\n\nUnto all of you, whatever honours ye like to assume in your names,\nwhether ye call yourselves \u2018the free spirits\u2019 or \u2018the conscientious,\u2019\nor \u2018the penitents of the spirit,\u2019 or \u2018the unfettered,\u2019 or \u2018the great\nlongers,\u2019\u2014\n\n\u2014Unto all of you, who like me suffer FROM THE GREAT LOATHING, to\nwhom the old God hath died, and as yet no new God lieth in cradles and\nswaddling clothes\u2014unto all of you is mine evil spirit and magic-devil\nfavourable.\n\nI know you, ye higher men, I know him,\u2014I know also this fiend whom I\nlove in spite of me, this Zarathustra: he himself often seemeth to me\nlike the beautiful mask of a saint,\n\n\u2014Like a new strange mummery in which mine evil spirit, the melancholy\ndevil, delighteth:\u2014I love Zarathustra, so doth it often seem to me, for\nthe sake of mine evil spirit.\u2014\n\nBut already doth IT attack me and constrain me, this spirit of\nmelancholy, this evening-twilight devil: and verily, ye higher men, it\nhath a longing\u2014\n\n\u2014Open your eyes!\u2014it hath a longing to come NAKED, whether male or\nfemale, I do not yet know: but it cometh, it constraineth me, alas! open\nyour wits!\n\nThe day dieth out, unto all things cometh now the evening, also unto\nthe best things; hear now, and see, ye higher men, what devil\u2014man or\nwoman\u2014this spirit of evening-melancholy is!\u201d\n\nThus spake the old magician, looked cunningly about him, and then seized\nhis harp.\n\n3.\n\n     In evening\u2019s limpid air,\n     What time the dew\u2019s soothings\n     Unto the earth downpour,\n     Invisibly and unheard\u2014\n     For tender shoe-gear wear\n     The soothing dews, like all that\u2019s kind-gentle\u2014:\n     Bethinkst thou then, bethinkst thou, burning heart,\n     How once thou thirstedest\n     For heaven\u2019s kindly teardrops and dew\u2019s down-droppings,\n     All singed and weary thirstedest,\n     What time on yellow grass-pathways\n     Wicked, occidental sunny glances\n     Through sombre trees about thee sported,\n     Blindingly sunny glow-glances, gladly-hurting?\n\n     \u201cOf TRUTH the wooer?  Thou?\u201d\u2014so taunted they\u2014\n     \u201cNay!  Merely poet!\n     A brute insidious, plundering, grovelling,\n     That aye must lie,\n     That wittingly, wilfully, aye must lie:\n     For booty lusting,\n     Motley masked,\n     Self-hidden, shrouded,\n     Himself his booty\u2014\n     HE\u2014of truth the wooer?\n     Nay!  Mere fool!  Mere poet!\n     Just motley speaking,\n     From mask of fool confusedly shouting,\n     Circumambling on fabricated word-bridges,\n     On motley rainbow-arches,\n     \u2018Twixt the spurious heavenly,\n     And spurious earthly,\n     Round us roving, round us soaring,\u2014\n     MERE FOOL!  MERE POET!\n\n     HE\u2014of truth the wooer?\n     Not still, stiff, smooth and cold,\n     Become an image,\n     A godlike statue,\n     Set up in front of temples,\n     As a God\u2019s own door-guard:\n     Nay! hostile to all such truthfulness-statues,\n     In every desert homelier than at temples,\n     With cattish wantonness,\n     Through every window leaping\n     Quickly into chances,\n     Every wild forest a-sniffing,\n     Greedily-longingly, sniffing,\n     That thou, in wild forests,\n     \u2019Mong the motley-speckled fierce creatures,\n     Shouldest rove, sinful-sound and fine-coloured,\n     With longing lips smacking,\n     Blessedly mocking, blessedly hellish, blessedly bloodthirsty,\n     Robbing, skulking, lying\u2014roving:\u2014\n\n     Or unto eagles like which fixedly,\n     Long adown the precipice look,\n     Adown THEIR precipice:\u2014\n     Oh, how they whirl down now,\n     Thereunder, therein,\n     To ever deeper profoundness whirling!\u2014\n     Then,\n     Sudden,\n     With aim aright,\n     With quivering flight,\n     On LAMBKINS pouncing,\n     Headlong down, sore-hungry,\n     For lambkins longing,\n     Fierce \u2019gainst all lamb-spirits,\n     Furious-fierce \u2019gainst all that look\n     Sheeplike, or lambeyed, or crisp-woolly,\n     \u2014Grey, with lambsheep kindliness!\n\n     Even thus,\n     Eaglelike, pantherlike,\n     Are the poet\u2019s desires,\n     Are THINE OWN desires \u2018neath a thousand guises,\n     Thou fool!  Thou poet!\n     Thou who all mankind viewedst\u2014\n     So God, as sheep\u2014:\n     The God TO REND within mankind,\n     As the sheep in mankind,\n     And in rending LAUGHING\u2014\n\n     THAT, THAT is thine own blessedness!\n     Of a panther and eagle\u2014blessedness!\n     Of a poet and fool\u2014the blessedness!\u2014\n\n     In evening\u2019s limpid air,\n     What time the moon\u2019s sickle,\n     Green, \u2018twixt the purple-glowings,\n     And jealous, steal\u2019th forth:\n     \u2014Of day the foe,\n     With every step in secret,\n     The rosy garland-hammocks\n     Downsickling, till they\u2019ve sunken\n     Down nightwards, faded, downsunken:\u2014\n\n     Thus had I sunken one day\n     From mine own truth-insanity,\n     From mine own fervid day-longings,\n     Of day aweary, sick of sunshine,\n     \u2014Sunk downwards, evenwards, shadowwards:\n     By one sole trueness\n     All scorched and thirsty:\n     \u2014Bethinkst thou still, bethinkst thou, burning heart,\n     How then thou thirstedest?\u2014\n     THAT I SHOULD BANNED BE\n     FROM ALL THE TRUENESS!\n     MERE FOOL!  MERE POET!\n\n\n\n\nLXXV. SCIENCE.\n\n\nThus sang the magician; and all who were present went like birds\nunawares into the net of his artful and melancholy voluptuousness.\nOnly the spiritually conscientious one had not been caught: he at once\nsnatched the harp from the magician and called out: \u201cAir! Let in good\nair! Let in Zarathustra! Thou makest this cave sultry and poisonous,\nthou bad old magician!\n\nThou seducest, thou false one, thou subtle one, to unknown desires and\ndeserts. And alas, that such as thou should talk and make ado about the\nTRUTH!\n\nAlas, to all free spirits who are not on their guard against SUCH\nmagicians! It is all over with their freedom: thou teachest and temptest\nback into prisons,\u2014\n\n\u2014Thou old melancholy devil, out of thy lament soundeth a lurement: thou\nresemblest those who with their praise of chastity secretly invite to\nvoluptuousness!\u201d\n\nThus spake the conscientious one; the old magician, however, looked\nabout him, enjoying his triumph, and on that account put up with the\nannoyance which the conscientious one caused him. \u201cBe still!\u201d said he\nwith modest voice, \u201cgood songs want to re-echo well; after good songs\none should be long silent.\n\nThus do all those present, the higher men. Thou, however, hast perhaps\nunderstood but little of my song? In thee there is little of the magic\nspirit.\u201d\n\n\u201cThou praisest me,\u201d replied the conscientious one, \u201cin that thou\nseparatest me from thyself; very well! But, ye others, what do I see? Ye\nstill sit there, all of you, with lusting eyes\u2014:\n\nYe free spirits, whither hath your freedom gone! Ye almost seem to me\nto resemble those who have long looked at bad girls dancing naked: your\nsouls themselves dance!\n\nIn you, ye higher men, there must be more of that which the magician\ncalleth his evil spirit of magic and deceit:\u2014we must indeed be\ndifferent.\n\nAnd verily, we spake and thought long enough together ere Zarathustra\ncame home to his cave, for me not to be unaware that we ARE different.\n\nWe SEEK different things even here aloft, ye and I. For I seek more\nSECURITY; on that account have I come to Zarathustra. For he is still\nthe most steadfast tower and will\u2014\n\n\u2014To-day, when everything tottereth, when all the earth quaketh. Ye,\nhowever, when I see what eyes ye make, it almost seemeth to me that ye\nseek MORE INSECURITY,\n\n\u2014More horror, more danger, more earthquake. Ye long (it almost seemeth\nso to me\u2014forgive my presumption, ye higher men)\u2014\n\n\u2014Ye long for the worst and dangerousest life, which frighteneth ME\nmost,\u2014for the life of wild beasts, for forests, caves, steep mountains\nand labyrinthine gorges.\n\nAnd it is not those who lead OUT OF danger that please you best, but\nthose who lead you away from all paths, the misleaders. But if\nsuch longing in you be ACTUAL, it seemeth to me nevertheless to be\nIMPOSSIBLE.\n\nFor fear\u2014that is man\u2019s original and fundamental feeling; through fear\neverything is explained, original sin and original virtue. Through fear\nthere grew also MY virtue, that is to say: Science.\n\nFor fear of wild animals\u2014that hath been longest fostered in\nman, inclusive of the animal which he concealeth and feareth in\nhimself:\u2014Zarathustra calleth it \u2018the beast inside.\u2019\n\nSuch prolonged ancient fear, at last become subtle, spiritual and\nintellectual\u2014at present, me thinketh, it is called SCIENCE.\u201d\u2014\n\nThus spake the conscientious one; but Zarathustra, who had just come\nback into his cave and had heard and divined the last discourse, threw a\nhandful of roses to the conscientious one, and laughed on account of\nhis \u201ctruths.\u201d \u201cWhy!\u201d he exclaimed, \u201cwhat did I hear just now? Verily, it\nseemeth to me, thou art a fool, or else I myself am one: and quietly and\nquickly will I put thy \u2018truth\u2019 upside down.\n\nFor FEAR\u2014is an exception with us. Courage, however, and adventure, and\ndelight in the uncertain, in the unattempted\u2014COURAGE seemeth to me the\nentire primitive history of man.\n\nThe wildest and most courageous animals hath he envied and robbed of all\ntheir virtues: thus only did he become\u2014man.\n\nTHIS courage, at last become subtle, spiritual and intellectual, this\nhuman courage, with eagle\u2019s pinions and serpent\u2019s wisdom: THIS, it\nseemeth to me, is called at present\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cZARATHUSTRA!\u201d cried all of them there assembled, as if with one voice,\nand burst out at the same time into a great laughter; there arose,\nhowever, from them as it were a heavy cloud. Even the magician laughed,\nand said wisely: \u201cWell! It is gone, mine evil spirit!\n\nAnd did I not myself warn you against it when I said that it was a\ndeceiver, a lying and deceiving spirit?\n\nEspecially when it showeth itself naked. But what can _I_ do with regard\nto its tricks! Have _I_ created it and the world?\n\nWell! Let us be good again, and of good cheer! And although Zarathustra\nlooketh with evil eye\u2014just see him! he disliketh me\u2014:\n\n\u2014Ere night cometh will he again learn to love and laud me; he cannot\nlive long without committing such follies.\n\nHE\u2014loveth his enemies: this art knoweth he better than any one I have\nseen. But he taketh revenge for it\u2014on his friends!\u201d\n\nThus spake the old magician, and the higher men applauded him; so that\nZarathustra went round, and mischievously and lovingly shook hands with\nhis friends,\u2014like one who hath to make amends and apologise to every\none for something. When however he had thereby come to the door of his\ncave, lo, then had he again a longing for the good air outside, and for\nhis animals,\u2014and wished to steal out.\n\n\n\n\nLXXVI. AMONG DAUGHTERS OF THE DESERT.\n\n\n1.\n\n\u201cGo not away!\u201d said then the wanderer who called himself Zarathustra\u2019s\nshadow, \u201cabide with us\u2014otherwise the old gloomy affliction might again\nfall upon us.\n\nNow hath that old magician given us of his worst for our good, and\nlo! the good, pious pope there hath tears in his eyes, and hath quite\nembarked again upon the sea of melancholy.\n\nThose kings may well put on a good air before us still: for that have\nTHEY learned best of us all at present! Had they however no one to see\nthem, I wager that with them also the bad game would again commence,\u2014\n\n\u2014The bad game of drifting clouds, of damp melancholy, of curtained\nheavens, of stolen suns, of howling autumn-winds,\n\n\u2014The bad game of our howling and crying for help! Abide with us, O\nZarathustra! Here there is much concealed misery that wisheth to speak,\nmuch evening, much cloud, much damp air!\n\nThou hast nourished us with strong food for men, and powerful proverbs:\ndo not let the weakly, womanly spirits attack us anew at dessert!\n\nThou alone makest the air around thee strong and clear! Did I ever find\nanywhere on earth such good air as with thee in thy cave?\n\nMany lands have I seen, my nose hath learned to test and estimate many\nkinds of air: but with thee do my nostrils taste their greatest delight!\n\nUnless it be,\u2014unless it be\u2014, do forgive an old recollection! Forgive\nme an old after-dinner song, which I once composed amongst daughters of\nthe desert:\u2014\n\nFor with them was there equally good, clear, Oriental air; there was I\nfurthest from cloudy, damp, melancholy Old-Europe!\n\nThen did I love such Oriental maidens and other blue kingdoms of heaven,\nover which hang no clouds and no thoughts.\n\nYe would not believe how charmingly they sat there, when they did\nnot dance, profound, but without thoughts, like little secrets, like\nberibboned riddles, like dessert-nuts\u2014\n\nMany-hued and foreign, forsooth! but without clouds: riddles which\ncan be guessed: to please such maidens I then composed an after-dinner\npsalm.\u201d\n\nThus spake the wanderer who called himself Zarathustra\u2019s shadow; and\nbefore any one answered him, he had seized the harp of the old magician,\ncrossed his legs, and looked calmly and sagely around him:\u2014with his\nnostrils, however, he inhaled the air slowly and questioningly, like one\nwho in new countries tasteth new foreign air. Afterward he began to sing\nwith a kind of roaring.\n\n2.\n\nTHE DESERTS GROW: WOE HIM WHO DOTH THEM HIDE!\n\n     \u2014Ha!\n     Solemnly!\n     In effect solemnly!\n     A worthy beginning!\n     Afric manner, solemnly!\n     Of a lion worthy,\n     Or perhaps of a virtuous howl-monkey\u2014\n     \u2014But it\u2019s naught to you,\n     Ye friendly damsels dearly loved,\n     At whose own feet to me,\n     The first occasion,\n     To a European under palm-trees,\n     A seat is now granted.  Selah.\n\n     Wonderful, truly!\n     Here do I sit now,\n     The desert nigh, and yet I am\n     So far still from the desert,\n     Even in naught yet deserted:\n     That is, I\u2019m swallowed down\n     By this the smallest oasis\u2014:\n     \u2014It opened up just yawning,\n     Its loveliest mouth agape,\n     Most sweet-odoured of all mouthlets:\n     Then fell I right in,\n     Right down, right through\u2014in \u2019mong you,\n     Ye friendly damsels dearly loved!  Selah.\n\n     Hail! hail! to that whale, fishlike,\n     If it thus for its guest\u2019s convenience\n     Made things nice!\u2014(ye well know,\n     Surely, my learned allusion?)\n     Hail to its belly,\n     If it had e\u2019er\n     A such loveliest oasis-belly\n     As this is:  though however I doubt about it,\n     \u2014With this come I out of Old-Europe,\n     That doubt\u2019th more eagerly than doth any\n     Elderly married woman.\n     May the Lord improve it!\n     Amen!\n\n     Here do I sit now,\n     In this the smallest oasis,\n     Like a date indeed,\n     Brown, quite sweet, gold-suppurating,\n     For rounded mouth of maiden longing,\n     But yet still more for youthful, maidlike,\n     Ice-cold and snow-white and incisory\n     Front teeth:  and for such assuredly,\n     Pine the hearts all of ardent date-fruits.  Selah.\n\n     To the there-named south-fruits now,\n     Similar, all-too-similar,\n     Do I lie here; by little\n     Flying insects\n     Round-sniffled and round-played,\n     And also by yet littler,\n     Foolisher, and peccabler\n     Wishes and phantasies,\u2014\n     Environed by you,\n     Ye silent, presentientest\n     Maiden-kittens,\n     Dudu and Suleika,\n     \u2014ROUNDSPHINXED, that into one word\n     I may crowd much feeling:\n     (Forgive me, O God,\n     All such speech-sinning!)\n     \u2014Sit I here the best of air sniffling,\n     Paradisal air, truly,\n     Bright and buoyant air, golden-mottled,\n     As goodly air as ever\n     From lunar orb downfell\u2014\n     Be it by hazard,\n     Or supervened it by arrogancy?\n     As the ancient poets relate it.\n     But doubter, I\u2019m now calling it\n     In question:  with this do I come indeed\n     Out of Europe,\n     That doubt\u2019th more eagerly than doth any\n     Elderly married woman.\n     May the Lord improve it!\n     Amen.\n\n     This the finest air drinking,\n     With nostrils out-swelled like goblets,\n     Lacking future, lacking remembrances\n     Thus do I sit here, ye\n     Friendly damsels dearly loved,\n     And look at the palm-tree there,\n     How it, to a dance-girl, like,\n     Doth bow and bend and on its haunches bob,\n     \u2014One doth it too, when one view\u2019th it long!\u2014\n     To a dance-girl like, who as it seem\u2019th to me,\n     Too long, and dangerously persistent,\n     Always, always, just on SINGLE leg hath stood?\n     \u2014Then forgot she thereby, as it seem\u2019th to me,\n     The OTHER leg?\n     For vainly I, at least,\n     Did search for the amissing\n     Fellow-jewel\n     \u2014Namely, the other leg\u2014\n     In the sanctified precincts,\n     Nigh her very dearest, very tenderest,\n     Flapping and fluttering and flickering skirting.\n     Yea, if ye should, ye beauteous friendly ones,\n     Quite take my word:\n     She hath, alas! LOST it!\n     Hu!  Hu!  Hu!  Hu!  Hu!\n     It is away!\n     For ever away!\n     The other leg!\n     Oh, pity for that loveliest other leg!\n     Where may it now tarry, all-forsaken weeping?\n     The lonesomest leg?\n     In fear perhaps before a\n     Furious, yellow, blond and curled\n     Leonine monster?  Or perhaps even\n     Gnawed away, nibbled badly\u2014\n     Most wretched, woeful! woeful! nibbled badly!  Selah.\n\n     Oh, weep ye not,\n     Gentle spirits!\n     Weep ye not, ye\n     Date-fruit spirits!  Milk-bosoms!\n     Ye sweetwood-heart\n     Purselets!\n     Weep ye no more,\n     Pallid Dudu!\n     Be a man, Suleika!  Bold!  Bold!\n     \u2014Or else should there perhaps\n     Something strengthening, heart-strengthening,\n     Here most proper be?\n     Some inspiring text?\n     Some solemn exhortation?\u2014\n     Ha!  Up now! honour!\n     Moral honour!  European honour!\n     Blow again, continue,\n     Bellows-box of virtue!\n     Ha!\n     Once more thy roaring,\n     Thy moral roaring!\n     As a virtuous lion\n     Nigh the daughters of deserts roaring!\n     \u2014For virtue\u2019s out-howl,\n     Ye very dearest maidens,\n     Is more than every\n     European fervour, European hot-hunger!\n     And now do I stand here,\n     As European,\n     I can\u2019t be different, God\u2019s help to me!\n     Amen!\n\nTHE DESERTS GROW: WOE HIM WHO DOTH THEM HIDE!\n\n\n\n\nLXXVII. THE AWAKENING.\n\n\n1.\n\nAfter the song of the wanderer and shadow, the cave became all at once\nfull of noise and laughter: and since the assembled guests all spake\nsimultaneously, and even the ass, encouraged thereby, no longer\nremained silent, a little aversion and scorn for his visitors came over\nZarathustra, although he rejoiced at their gladness. For it seemed to\nhim a sign of convalescence. So he slipped out into the open air and\nspake to his animals.\n\n\u201cWhither hath their distress now gone?\u201d said he, and already did he\nhimself feel relieved of his petty disgust\u2014\u201cwith me, it seemeth that\nthey have unlearned their cries of distress!\n\n\u2014Though, alas! not yet their crying.\u201d And Zarathustra stopped his\nears, for just then did the YE-A of the ass mix strangely with the noisy\njubilation of those higher men.\n\n\u201cThey are merry,\u201d he began again, \u201cand who knoweth? perhaps at their\nhost\u2019s expense; and if they have learned of me to laugh, still it is not\nMY laughter they have learned.\n\nBut what matter about that! They are old people: they recover in their\nown way, they laugh in their own way; mine ears have already endured\nworse and have not become peevish.\n\nThis day is a victory: he already yieldeth, he fleeth, THE SPIRIT OF\nGRAVITY, mine old arch-enemy! How well this day is about to end, which\nbegan so badly and gloomily!\n\nAnd it is ABOUT TO end. Already cometh the evening: over the sea\nrideth it hither, the good rider! How it bobbeth, the blessed one, the\nhome-returning one, in its purple saddles!\n\nThe sky gazeth brightly thereon, the world lieth deep. Oh, all ye\nstrange ones who have come to me, it is already worth while to have\nlived with me!\u201d\n\nThus spake Zarathustra. And again came the cries and laughter of the\nhigher men out of the cave: then began he anew:\n\n\u201cThey bite at it, my bait taketh, there departeth also from them their\nenemy, the spirit of gravity. Now do they learn to laugh at themselves:\ndo I hear rightly?\n\nMy virile food taketh effect, my strong and savoury sayings: and verily,\nI did not nourish them with flatulent vegetables! But with warrior-food,\nwith conqueror-food: new desires did I awaken.\n\nNew hopes are in their arms and legs, their hearts expand. They find new\nwords, soon will their spirits breathe wantonness.\n\nSuch food may sure enough not be proper for children, nor even for\nlonging girls old and young. One persuadeth their bowels otherwise; I am\nnot their physician and teacher.\n\nThe DISGUST departeth from these higher men; well! that is my victory.\nIn my domain they become assured; all stupid shame fleeth away; they\nempty themselves.\n\nThey empty their hearts, good times return unto them, they keep holiday\nand ruminate,\u2014they become THANKFUL.\n\nTHAT do I take as the best sign: they become thankful. Not long will it\nbe ere they devise festivals, and put up memorials to their old joys.\n\nThey are CONVALESCENTS!\u201d Thus spake Zarathustra joyfully to his heart\nand gazed outward; his animals, however, pressed up to him, and honoured\nhis happiness and his silence.\n\n2.\n\nAll on a sudden however, Zarathustra\u2019s ear was frightened: for the cave\nwhich had hitherto been full of noise and laughter, became all at once\nstill as death;\u2014his nose, however, smelt a sweet-scented vapour and\nincense-odour, as if from burning pine-cones.\n\n\u201cWhat happeneth? What are they about?\u201d he asked himself, and stole up\nto the entrance, that he might be able unobserved to see his guests.\nBut wonder upon wonder! what was he then obliged to behold with his own\neyes!\n\n\u201cThey have all of them become PIOUS again, they PRAY, they are\nmad!\u201d\u2014said he, and was astonished beyond measure. And forsooth! all\nthese higher men, the two kings, the pope out of service, the evil\nmagician, the voluntary beggar, the wanderer and shadow, the old\nsoothsayer, the spiritually conscientious one, and the ugliest man\u2014they\nall lay on their knees like children and credulous old women, and\nworshipped the ass. And just then began the ugliest man to gurgle and\nsnort, as if something unutterable in him tried to find expression;\nwhen, however, he had actually found words, behold! it was a pious,\nstrange litany in praise of the adored and censed ass. And the litany\nsounded thus:\n\nAmen! And glory and honour and wisdom and thanks and praise and strength\nbe to our God, from everlasting to everlasting!\n\n\u2014The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.\n\nHe carrieth our burdens, he hath taken upon him the form of a servant,\nhe is patient of heart and never saith Nay; and he who loveth his God\nchastiseth him.\n\n\u2014The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.\n\nHe speaketh not: except that he ever saith Yea to the world which\nhe created: thus doth he extol his world. It is his artfulness that\nspeaketh not: thus is he rarely found wrong.\n\n\u2014The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.\n\nUncomely goeth he through the world. Grey is the favourite colour in\nwhich he wrappeth his virtue. Hath he spirit, then doth he conceal it;\nevery one, however, believeth in his long ears.\n\n\u2014The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.\n\nWhat hidden wisdom it is to wear long ears, and only to say Yea and\nnever Nay! Hath he not created the world in his own image, namely, as\nstupid as possible?\n\n\u2014The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.\n\nThou goest straight and crooked ways; it concerneth thee little what\nseemeth straight or crooked unto us men. Beyond good and evil is thy\ndomain. It is thine innocence not to know what innocence is.\n\n\u2014The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.\n\nLo! how thou spurnest none from thee, neither beggars nor kings. Thou\nsufferest little children to come unto thee, and when the bad boys decoy\nthee, then sayest thou simply, YE-A.\n\n\u2014The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.\n\nThou lovest she-asses and fresh figs, thou art no food-despiser. A\nthistle tickleth thy heart when thou chancest to be hungry. There is the\nwisdom of a God therein.\n\n\u2014The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.\n\n\n\n\nLXXVIII. THE ASS-FESTIVAL.\n\n\n1.\n\nAt this place in the litany, however, Zarathustra could no longer\ncontrol himself; he himself cried out YE-A, louder even than the ass,\nand sprang into the midst of his maddened guests. \u201cWhatever are you\nabout, ye grown-up children?\u201d he exclaimed, pulling up the praying ones\nfrom the ground. \u201cAlas, if any one else, except Zarathustra, had seen\nyou:\n\nEvery one would think you the worst blasphemers, or the very foolishest\nold women, with your new belief!\n\nAnd thou thyself, thou old pope, how is it in accordance with thee, to\nadore an ass in such a manner as God?\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cO Zarathustra,\u201d answered the pope, \u201cforgive me, but in divine matters\nI am more enlightened even than thou. And it is right that it should be\nso.\n\nBetter to adore God so, in this form, than in no form at all! Think over\nthis saying, mine exalted friend: thou wilt readily divine that in such\na saying there is wisdom.\n\nHe who said \u2018God is a Spirit\u2019\u2014made the greatest stride and slide\nhitherto made on earth towards unbelief: such a dictum is not easily\namended again on earth!\n\nMine old heart leapeth and boundeth because there is still something\nto adore on earth. Forgive it, O Zarathustra, to an old, pious\npontiff-heart!\u2014\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cAnd thou,\u201d said Zarathustra to the wanderer and shadow, \u201cthou callest\nand thinkest thyself a free spirit? And thou here practisest such\nidolatry and hierolatry?\n\nWorse verily, doest thou here than with thy bad brown girls, thou bad,\nnew believer!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is sad enough,\u201d answered the wanderer and shadow, \u201cthou art right:\nbut how can I help it! The old God liveth again, O Zarathustra, thou\nmayst say what thou wilt.\n\nThe ugliest man is to blame for it all: he hath reawakened him. And\nif he say that he once killed him, with Gods DEATH is always just a\nprejudice.\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cAnd thou,\u201d said Zarathustra, \u201cthou bad old magician, what didst thou\ndo! Who ought to believe any longer in thee in this free age, when THOU\nbelievest in such divine donkeyism?\n\nIt was a stupid thing that thou didst; how couldst thou, a shrewd man,\ndo such a stupid thing!\u201d\n\n\u201cO Zarathustra,\u201d answered the shrewd magician, \u201cthou art right, it was a\nstupid thing,\u2014it was also repugnant to me.\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cAnd thou even,\u201d said Zarathustra to the spiritually conscientious\none, \u201cconsider, and put thy finger to thy nose! Doth nothing go against\nthy conscience here? Is thy spirit not too cleanly for this praying and\nthe fumes of those devotees?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is something therein,\u201d said the spiritually conscientious one,\nand put his finger to his nose, \u201cthere is something in this spectacle\nwhich even doeth good to my conscience.\n\nPerhaps I dare not believe in God: certain it is however, that God\nseemeth to me most worthy of belief in this form.\n\nGod is said to be eternal, according to the testimony of the most pious:\nhe who hath so much time taketh his time. As slow and as stupid as\npossible: THEREBY can such a one nevertheless go very far.\n\nAnd he who hath too much spirit might well become infatuated with\nstupidity and folly. Think of thyself, O Zarathustra!\n\nThou thyself\u2014verily! even thou couldst well become an ass through\nsuperabundance of wisdom.\n\nDoth not the true sage willingly walk on the crookedest paths? The\nevidence teacheth it, O Zarathustra,\u2014THINE OWN evidence!\u201d\n\n\u2014\u201cAnd thou thyself, finally,\u201d said Zarathustra, and turned towards the\nugliest man, who still lay on the ground stretching up his arm to the\nass (for he gave it wine to drink). \u201cSay, thou nondescript, what hast\nthou been about!\n\nThou seemest to me transformed, thine eyes glow, the mantle of the\nsublime covereth thine ugliness: WHAT didst thou do?\n\nIs it then true what they say, that thou hast again awakened him? And\nwhy? Was he not for good reasons killed and made away with?\n\nThou thyself seemest to me awakened: what didst thou do? why didst THOU\nturn round? Why didst THOU get converted? Speak, thou nondescript!\u201d\n\n\u201cO Zarathustra,\u201d answered the ugliest man, \u201cthou art a rogue!\n\nWhether HE yet liveth, or again liveth, or is thoroughly dead\u2014which of\nus both knoweth that best? I ask thee.\n\nOne thing however do I know,\u2014from thyself did I learn it once, O\nZarathustra: he who wanteth to kill most thoroughly, LAUGHETH.\n\n\u2018Not by wrath but by laughter doth one kill\u2019\u2014thus spakest thou once,\nO Zarathustra, thou hidden one, thou destroyer without wrath, thou\ndangerous saint,\u2014thou art a rogue!\u201d\n\n2.\n\nThen, however, did it come to pass that Zarathustra, astonished at such\nmerely roguish answers, jumped back to the door of his cave, and turning\ntowards all his guests, cried out with a strong voice:\n\n\u201cO ye wags, all of you, ye buffoons! Why do ye dissemble and disguise\nyourselves before me!\n\nHow the hearts of all of you convulsed with delight and wickedness,\nbecause ye had at last become again like little children\u2014namely,\npious,\u2014\n\n\u2014Because ye at last did again as children do\u2014namely, prayed, folded\nyour hands and said \u2018good God\u2019!\n\nBut now leave, I pray you, THIS nursery, mine own cave, where to-day\nall childishness is carried on. Cool down, here outside, your hot\nchild-wantonness and heart-tumult!\n\nTo be sure: except ye become as little children ye shall not enter into\nTHAT kingdom of heaven.\u201d (And Zarathustra pointed aloft with his hands.)\n\n\u201cBut we do not at all want to enter into the kingdom of heaven: we have\nbecome men,\u2014SO WE WANT THE KINGDOM OF EARTH.\u201d\n\n3.\n\nAnd once more began Zarathustra to speak. \u201cO my new friends,\u201d said he,\u2014\n\u201cye strange ones, ye higher men, how well do ye now please me,\u2014\n\n\u2014Since ye have again become joyful! Ye have, verily, all blossomed\nforth: it seemeth to me that for such flowers as you, NEW FESTIVALS are\nrequired.\n\n\u2014A little valiant nonsense, some divine service and ass-festival, some\nold joyful Zarathustra fool, some blusterer to blow your souls bright.\n\nForget not this night and this ass-festival, ye higher men! THAT did ye\ndevise when with me, that do I take as a good omen,\u2014such things only\nthe convalescents devise!\n\nAnd should ye celebrate it again, this ass-festival, do it from love to\nyourselves, do it also from love to me! And in remembrance of me!\u201d\n\nThus spake Zarathustra.\n\n\n\n\nLXXIX. THE DRUNKEN SONG.\n\n\n1.\n\nMeanwhile one after another had gone out into the open air, and into the\ncool, thoughtful night; Zarathustra himself, however, led the ugliest\nman by the hand, that he might show him his night-world, and the great\nround moon, and the silvery water-falls near his cave. There they at\nlast stood still beside one another; all of them old people, but with\ncomforted, brave hearts, and astonished in themselves that it was so\nwell with them on earth; the mystery of the night, however, came nigher\nand nigher to their hearts. And anew Zarathustra thought to himself:\n\u201cOh, how well do they now please me, these higher men!\u201d\u2014but he did not\nsay it aloud, for he respected their happiness and their silence.\u2014\n\nThen, however, there happened that which in this astonishing long day\nwas most astonishing: the ugliest man began once more and for the last\ntime to gurgle and snort, and when he had at length found expression,\nbehold! there sprang a question plump and plain out of his mouth, a\ngood, deep, clear question, which moved the hearts of all who listened\nto him.\n\n\u201cMy friends, all of you,\u201d said the ugliest man, \u201cwhat think ye? For the\nsake of this day\u2014_I_ am for the first time content to have lived mine\nentire life.\n\nAnd that I testify so much is still not enough for me. It is worth while\nliving on the earth: one day, one festival with Zarathustra, hath taught\nme to love the earth.\n\n\u2018Was THAT\u2014life?\u2019 will I say unto death. \u2018Well! Once more!\u2019\n\nMy friends, what think ye? Will ye not, like me, say unto death: \u2018Was\nTHAT\u2014life? For the sake of Zarathustra, well! Once more!\u2019\u201d\u2014\n\nThus spake the ugliest man; it was not, however, far from midnight.\nAnd what took place then, think ye? As soon as the higher men heard his\nquestion, they became all at once conscious of their transformation and\nconvalescence, and of him who was the cause thereof: then did they rush\nup to Zarathustra, thanking, honouring, caressing him, and kissing his\nhands, each in his own peculiar way; so that some laughed and some wept.\nThe old soothsayer, however, danced with delight; and though he was\nthen, as some narrators suppose, full of sweet wine, he was certainly\nstill fuller of sweet life, and had renounced all weariness. There are\neven those who narrate that the ass then danced: for not in vain had the\nugliest man previously given it wine to drink. That may be the case, or\nit may be otherwise; and if in truth the ass did not dance that evening,\nthere nevertheless happened then greater and rarer wonders than\nthe dancing of an ass would have been. In short, as the proverb of\nZarathustra saith: \u201cWhat doth it matter!\u201d\n\n2.\n\nWhen, however, this took place with the ugliest man, Zarathustra stood\nthere like one drunken: his glance dulled, his tongue faltered and his\nfeet staggered. And who could divine what thoughts then passed through\nZarathustra\u2019s soul? Apparently, however, his spirit retreated and fled\nin advance and was in remote distances, and as it were \u201cwandering on\nhigh mountain-ridges,\u201d as it standeth written, \u201c\u2018twixt two seas,\n\n\u2014Wandering \u2018twixt the past and the future as a heavy cloud.\u201d Gradually,\nhowever, while the higher men held him in their arms, he came back to\nhimself a little, and resisted with his hands the crowd of the honouring\nand caring ones; but he did not speak. All at once, however, he turned\nhis head quickly, for he seemed to hear something: then laid he his\nfinger on his mouth and said: \u201cCOME!\u201d\n\nAnd immediately it became still and mysterious round about; from\nthe depth however there came up slowly the sound of a clock-bell.\nZarathustra listened thereto, like the higher men; then, however, laid\nhe his finger on his mouth the second time, and said again: \u201cCOME! COME!\nIT IS GETTING ON TO MIDNIGHT!\u201d\u2014and his voice had changed. But still\nhe had not moved from the spot. Then it became yet stiller and more\nmysterious, and everything hearkened, even the ass, and Zarathustra\u2019s\nnoble animals, the eagle and the serpent,\u2014likewise the cave of\nZarathustra and the big cool moon, and the night itself. Zarathustra,\nhowever, laid his hand upon his mouth for the third time, and said:\n\nCOME! COME! COME! LET US NOW WANDER! IT IS THE HOUR: LET US WANDER INTO\nTHE NIGHT!\n\n3.\n\nYe higher men, it is getting on to midnight: then will I say something\ninto your ears, as that old clock-bell saith it into mine ear,\u2014\n\n\u2014As mysteriously, as frightfully, and as cordially as that midnight\nclock-bell speaketh it to me, which hath experienced more than one man:\n\n\u2014Which hath already counted the smarting throbbings of your fathers\u2019\nhearts\u2014ah! ah! how it sigheth! how it laugheth in its dream! the old,\ndeep, deep midnight!\n\nHush! Hush! Then is there many a thing heard which may not be heard\nby day; now however, in the cool air, when even all the tumult of your\nhearts hath become still,\u2014\n\n\u2014Now doth it speak, now is it heard, now doth it steal into\noverwakeful, nocturnal souls: ah! ah! how the midnight sigheth! how it\nlaugheth in its dream!\n\n\u2014Hearest thou not how it mysteriously, frightfully, and cordially\nspeaketh unto THEE, the old deep, deep midnight?\n\nO MAN, TAKE HEED!\n\n4.\n\nWoe to me! Whither hath time gone? Have I not sunk into deep wells? The\nworld sleepeth\u2014\n\nAh! Ah! The dog howleth, the moon shineth. Rather will I die, rather\nwill I die, than say unto you what my midnight-heart now thinketh.\n\nAlready have I died. It is all over. Spider, why spinnest thou around\nme? Wilt thou have blood? Ah! Ah! The dew falleth, the hour cometh\u2014\n\n\u2014The hour in which I frost and freeze, which asketh and asketh and\nasketh: \u201cWho hath sufficient courage for it?\n\n\u2014Who is to be master of the world? Who is going to say: THUS shall ye\nflow, ye great and small streams!\u201d\n\n\u2014The hour approacheth: O man, thou higher man, take heed! this talk is\nfor fine ears, for thine ears\u2014WHAT SAITH DEEP MIDNIGHT\u2019S VOICE INDEED?\n\n5.\n\nIt carrieth me away, my soul danceth. Day\u2019s-work! Day\u2019s-work! Who is to\nbe master of the world?\n\nThe moon is cool, the wind is still. Ah! Ah! Have ye already flown high\nenough? Ye have danced: a leg, nevertheless, is not a wing.\n\nYe good dancers, now is all delight over: wine hath become lees, every\ncup hath become brittle, the sepulchres mutter.\n\nYe have not flown high enough: now do the sepulchres mutter: \u201cFree the\ndead! Why is it so long night? Doth not the moon make us drunken?\u201d\n\nYe higher men, free the sepulchres, awaken the corpses! Ah, why doth the\nworm still burrow? There approacheth, there approacheth, the hour,\u2014\n\n\u2014There boometh the clock-bell, there thrilleth still the heart, there\nburroweth still the wood-worm, the heart-worm. Ah! Ah! THE WORLD IS\nDEEP!\n\n6.\n\nSweet lyre! Sweet lyre! I love thy tone, thy drunken, ranunculine\ntone!\u2014how long, how far hath come unto me thy tone, from the distance,\nfrom the ponds of love!\n\nThou old clock-bell, thou sweet lyre! Every pain hath torn thy heart,\nfather-pain, fathers\u2019-pain, forefathers\u2019-pain; thy speech hath become\nripe,\u2014\n\n\u2014Ripe like the golden autumn and the afternoon, like mine anchorite\nheart\u2014now sayest thou: The world itself hath become ripe, the grape\nturneth brown,\n\n\u2014Now doth it wish to die, to die of happiness. Ye higher men, do ye not\nfeel it? There welleth up mysteriously an odour,\n\n\u2014A perfume and odour of eternity, a rosy-blessed, brown,\ngold-wine-odour of old happiness,\n\n\u2014Of drunken midnight-death happiness, which singeth: the world is deep,\nAND DEEPER THAN THE DAY COULD READ!\n\n7.\n\nLeave me alone! Leave me alone! I am too pure for thee. Touch me not!\nHath not my world just now become perfect?\n\nMy skin is too pure for thy hands. Leave me alone, thou dull, doltish,\nstupid day! Is not the midnight brighter?\n\nThe purest are to be masters of the world, the least known, the\nstrongest, the midnight-souls, who are brighter and deeper than any day.\n\nO day, thou gropest for me? Thou feelest for my happiness? For thee am I\nrich, lonesome, a treasure-pit, a gold chamber?\n\nO world, thou wantest ME? Am I worldly for thee? Am I spiritual for\nthee? Am I divine for thee? But day and world, ye are too coarse,\u2014\n\n\u2014Have cleverer hands, grasp after deeper happiness, after deeper\nunhappiness, grasp after some God; grasp not after me:\n\n\u2014Mine unhappiness, my happiness is deep, thou strange day, but yet am I\nno God, no God\u2019s-hell: DEEP IS ITS WOE.\n\n8.\n\nGod\u2019s woe is deeper, thou strange world! Grasp at God\u2019s woe, not at me!\nWhat am I! A drunken sweet lyre,\u2014\n\n\u2014A midnight-lyre, a bell-frog, which no one understandeth, but which\nMUST speak before deaf ones, ye higher men! For ye do not understand me!\n\nGone! Gone! O youth! O noontide! O afternoon! Now have come evening and\nnight and midnight,\u2014the dog howleth, the wind:\n\n\u2014Is the wind not a dog? It whineth, it barketh, it howleth. Ah! Ah!\nhow she sigheth! how she laugheth, how she wheezeth and panteth, the\nmidnight!\n\nHow she just now speaketh soberly, this drunken poetess! hath she\nperhaps overdrunk her drunkenness? hath she become overawake? doth she\nruminate?\n\n\u2014Her woe doth she ruminate over, in a dream, the old, deep\nmidnight\u2014and still more her joy. For joy, although woe be deep, JOY IS\nDEEPER STILL THAN GRIEF CAN BE.\n\n9.\n\nThou grape-vine! Why dost thou praise me? Have I not cut thee! I am\ncruel, thou bleedest\u2014: what meaneth thy praise of my drunken cruelty?\n\n\u201cWhatever hath become perfect, everything mature\u2014wanteth to die!\u201d so\nsayest thou. Blessed, blessed be the vintner\u2019s knife! But everything\nimmature wanteth to live: alas!\n\nWoe saith: \u201cHence! Go! Away, thou woe!\u201d But everything that suffereth\nwanteth to live, that it may become mature and lively and longing,\n\n\u2014Longing for the further, the higher, the brighter. \u201cI want heirs,\u201d\n so saith everything that suffereth, \u201cI want children, I do not want\nMYSELF,\u201d\u2014\n\nJoy, however, doth not want heirs, it doth not want children,\u2014joy\nwanteth itself, it wanteth eternity, it wanteth recurrence, it wanteth\neverything eternally-like-itself.\n\nWoe saith: \u201cBreak, bleed, thou heart! Wander, thou leg! Thou wing, fly!\nOnward! upward! thou pain!\u201d Well! Cheer up! O mine old heart: WOE SAITH:\n\u201cHENCE! GO!\u201d\n\n10.\n\nYe higher men, what think ye? Am I a soothsayer? Or a dreamer? Or a\ndrunkard? Or a dream-reader? Or a midnight-bell?\n\nOr a drop of dew? Or a fume and fragrance of eternity? Hear ye it not?\nSmell ye it not? Just now hath my world become perfect, midnight is also\nmidday,\u2014\n\nPain is also a joy, curse is also a blessing, night is also a sun,\u2014go\naway! or ye will learn that a sage is also a fool.\n\nSaid ye ever Yea to one joy? O my friends, then said ye Yea also unto\nALL woe. All things are enlinked, enlaced and enamoured,\u2014\n\n\u2014Wanted ye ever once to come twice; said ye ever: \u201cThou pleasest me,\nhappiness! Instant! Moment!\u201d then wanted ye ALL to come back again!\n\n\u2014All anew, all eternal, all enlinked, enlaced and enamoured, Oh, then\ndid ye LOVE the world,\u2014\n\n\u2014Ye eternal ones, ye love it eternally and for all time: and also unto\nwoe do ye say: Hence! Go! but come back! FOR JOYS ALL WANT\u2014ETERNITY!\n\n11.\n\nAll joy wanteth the eternity of all things, it wanteth honey, it\nwanteth lees, it wanteth drunken midnight, it wanteth graves, it wanteth\ngrave-tears\u2019 consolation, it wanteth gilded evening-red\u2014\n\n\u2014WHAT doth not joy want! it is thirstier, heartier, hungrier, more\nfrightful, more mysterious, than all woe: it wanteth ITSELF, it biteth\ninto ITSELF, the ring\u2019s will writheth in it,\u2014\n\n\u2014It wanteth love, it wanteth hate, it is over-rich, it bestoweth, it\nthroweth away, it beggeth for some one to take from it, it thanketh the\ntaker, it would fain be hated,\u2014\n\n\u2014So rich is joy that it thirsteth for woe, for hell, for hate, for\nshame, for the lame, for the WORLD,\u2014for this world, Oh, ye know it\nindeed!\n\nYe higher men, for you doth it long, this joy, this irrepressible,\nblessed joy\u2014for your woe, ye failures! For failures, longeth all\neternal joy.\n\nFor joys all want themselves, therefore do they also want grief! O\nhappiness, O pain! Oh break, thou heart! Ye higher men, do learn it,\nthat joys want eternity.\n\n\u2014Joys want the eternity of ALL things, they WANT DEEP, PROFOUND\nETERNITY!\n\n12.\n\nHave ye now learned my song? Have ye divined what it would say? Well!\nCheer up! Ye higher men, sing now my roundelay!\n\nSing now yourselves the song, the name of which is \u201cOnce more,\u201d the\nsignification of which is \u201cUnto all eternity!\u201d\u2014sing, ye higher men,\nZarathustra\u2019s roundelay!\n\n     O man!  Take heed!\n     What saith deep midnight\u2019s voice indeed?\n     \u201cI slept my sleep\u2014,\n     \u201cFrom deepest dream I\u2019ve woke, and plead:\u2014\n     \u201cThe world is deep,\n     \u201cAnd deeper than the day could read.\n     \u201cDeep is its woe\u2014,\n     \u201cJoy\u2014deeper still than grief can be:\n     \u201cWoe saith:  Hence!  Go!\n     \u201cBut joys all want eternity\u2014,\n     \u201c\u2014Want deep, profound eternity!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nLXXX. THE SIGN.\n\n\nIn the morning, however, after this night, Zarathustra jumped up from\nhis couch, and, having girded his loins, he came out of his cave glowing\nand strong, like a morning sun coming out of gloomy mountains.\n\n\u201cThou great star,\u201d spake he, as he had spoken once before, \u201cthou deep\neye of happiness, what would be all thy happiness if thou hadst not\nTHOSE for whom thou shinest!\n\nAnd if they remained in their chambers whilst thou art already awake,\nand comest and bestowest and distributest, how would thy proud modesty\nupbraid for it!\n\nWell! they still sleep, these higher men, whilst _I_ am awake: THEY are\nnot my proper companions! Not for them do I wait here in my mountains.\n\nAt my work I want to be, at my day: but they understand not what are the\nsigns of my morning, my step\u2014is not for them the awakening-call.\n\nThey still sleep in my cave; their dream still drinketh at my drunken\nsongs. The audient ear for ME\u2014the OBEDIENT ear, is yet lacking in their\nlimbs.\u201d\n\n\u2014This had Zarathustra spoken to his heart when the sun arose: then\nlooked he inquiringly aloft, for he heard above him the sharp call of\nhis eagle. \u201cWell!\u201d called he upwards, \u201cthus is it pleasing and proper to\nme. Mine animals are awake, for I am awake.\n\nMine eagle is awake, and like me honoureth the sun. With eagle-talons\ndoth it grasp at the new light. Ye are my proper animals; I love you.\n\nBut still do I lack my proper men!\u201d\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra; then, however, it happened that all on a sudden\nhe became aware that he was flocked around and fluttered around, as if\nby innumerable birds,\u2014the whizzing of so many wings, however, and the\ncrowding around his head was so great that he shut his eyes. And verily,\nthere came down upon him as it were a cloud, like a cloud of arrows\nwhich poureth upon a new enemy. But behold, here it was a cloud of love,\nand showered upon a new friend.\n\n\u201cWhat happeneth unto me?\u201d thought Zarathustra in his astonished heart,\nand slowly seated himself on the big stone which lay close to the exit\nfrom his cave. But while he grasped about with his hands, around him,\nabove him and below him, and repelled the tender birds, behold, there\nthen happened to him something still stranger: for he grasped thereby\nunawares into a mass of thick, warm, shaggy hair; at the same time,\nhowever, there sounded before him a roar,\u2014a long, soft lion-roar.\n\n\u201cTHE SIGN COMETH,\u201d said Zarathustra, and a change came over his heart.\nAnd in truth, when it turned clear before him, there lay a yellow,\npowerful animal at his feet, resting its head on his knee,\u2014unwilling to\nleave him out of love, and doing like a dog which again findeth its old\nmaster. The doves, however, were no less eager with their love than the\nlion; and whenever a dove whisked over its nose, the lion shook its head\nand wondered and laughed.\n\nWhen all this went on Zarathustra spake only a word: \u201cMY CHILDREN ARE\nNIGH, MY CHILDREN\u201d\u2014, then he became quite mute. His heart, however,\nwas loosed, and from his eyes there dropped down tears and fell upon\nhis hands. And he took no further notice of anything, but sat there\nmotionless, without repelling the animals further. Then flew the doves\nto and fro, and perched on his shoulder, and caressed his white hair,\nand did not tire of their tenderness and joyousness. The strong lion,\nhowever, licked always the tears that fell on Zarathustra\u2019s hands, and\nroared and growled shyly. Thus did these animals do.\u2014\n\nAll this went on for a long time, or a short time: for properly\nspeaking, there is NO time on earth for such things\u2014. Meanwhile,\nhowever, the higher men had awakened in Zarathustra\u2019s cave, and\nmarshalled themselves for a procession to go to meet Zarathustra, and\ngive him their morning greeting: for they had found when they awakened\nthat he no longer tarried with them. When, however, they reached the\ndoor of the cave and the noise of their steps had preceded them, the\nlion started violently; it turned away all at once from Zarathustra, and\nroaring wildly, sprang towards the cave. The higher men, however, when\nthey heard the lion roaring, cried all aloud as with one voice, fled\nback and vanished in an instant.\n\nZarathustra himself, however, stunned and strange, rose from his seat,\nlooked around him, stood there astonished, inquired of his heart,\nbethought himself, and remained alone. \u201cWhat did I hear?\u201d said he at\nlast, slowly, \u201cwhat happened unto me just now?\u201d\n\nBut soon there came to him his recollection, and he took in at a glance\nall that had taken place between yesterday and to-day. \u201cHere is indeed\nthe stone,\u201d said he, and stroked his beard, \u201con IT sat I yester-morn;\nand here came the soothsayer unto me, and here heard I first the cry\nwhich I heard just now, the great cry of distress.\n\nO ye higher men, YOUR distress was it that the old soothsayer foretold\nto me yester-morn,\u2014\n\n\u2014Unto your distress did he want to seduce and tempt me: \u2018O\nZarathustra,\u2019 said he to me, \u2018I come to seduce thee to thy last sin.\u2019\n\nTo my last sin?\u201d cried Zarathustra, and laughed angrily at his own\nwords: \u201cWHAT hath been reserved for me as my last sin?\u201d\n\n\u2014And once more Zarathustra became absorbed in himself, and sat down\nagain on the big stone and meditated. Suddenly he sprang up,\u2014\n\n\u201cFELLOW-SUFFERING! FELLOW-SUFFERING WITH THE HIGHER MEN!\u201d he cried out,\nand his countenance changed into brass. \u201cWell! THAT\u2014hath had its time!\n\nMy suffering and my fellow-suffering\u2014what matter about them! Do I then\nstrive after HAPPINESS? I strive after my WORK!\n\nWell! The lion hath come, my children are nigh, Zarathustra hath grown\nripe, mine hour hath come:\u2014\n\nThis is MY morning, MY day beginneth: ARISE NOW, ARISE, THOU GREAT\nNOONTIDE!\u201d\u2014\n\nThus spake Zarathustra and left his cave, glowing and strong, like a\nmorning sun coming out of gloomy mountains.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX.\n\n\nNOTES ON \u201cTHUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA\u201d BY ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI.\n\nI have had some opportunities of studying the conditions under which\nNietzsche is read in Germany, France, and England, and I have found\nthat, in each of these countries, students of his philosophy, as if\nactuated by precisely similar motives and desires, and misled by the\nsame mistaken tactics on the part of most publishers, all proceed in the\nsame happy-go-lucky style when \u201ctaking him up.\u201d They have had it said to\nthem that he wrote without any system, and they very naturally conclude\nthat it does not matter in the least whether they begin with his first,\nthird, or last book, provided they can obtain a few vague ideas as to\nwhat his leading and most sensational principles were.\n\nNow, it is clear that the book with the most mysterious, startling, or\nsuggestive title, will always stand the best chance of being purchased\nby those who have no other criteria to guide them in their choice\nthan the aspect of a title-page; and this explains why \u201cThus Spake\nZarathustra\u201d is almost always the first and often the only one of\nNietzsche\u2019s books that falls into the hands of the uninitiated.\n\nThe title suggests all kinds of mysteries; a glance at the\nchapter-headings quickly confirms the suspicions already aroused,\nand the sub-title: \u201cA Book for All and None\u201d, generally succeeds in\ndissipating the last doubts the prospective purchaser may entertain\nconcerning his fitness for the book or its fitness for him. And what\nhappens?\n\n\u201cThus Spake Zarathustra\u201d is taken home; the reader, who perchance may\nknow no more concerning Nietzsche than a magazine article has told him,\ntries to read it and, understanding less than half he reads, probably\nnever gets further than the second or third part,\u2014and then only to feel\nconvinced that Nietzsche himself was \u201crather hazy\u201d as to what he was\ntalking about. Such chapters as \u201cThe Child with the Mirror\u201d, \u201cIn the\nHappy Isles\u201d, \u201cThe Grave-Song,\u201d \u201cImmaculate Perception,\u201d \u201cThe Stillest\nHour\u201d, \u201cThe Seven Seals\u201d, and many others, are almost utterly devoid of\nmeaning to all those who do not know something of Nietzsche\u2019s life, his\naims and his friendships.\n\nAs a matter of fact, \u201cThus Spake Zarathustra\u201d, though it is\nunquestionably Nietzsche\u2019s opus magnum, is by no means the first of\nNietzsche\u2019s works that the beginner ought to undertake to read. The\nauthor himself refers to it as the deepest work ever offered to the\nGerman public, and elsewhere speaks of his other writings as being\nnecessary for the understanding of it. But when it is remembered that\nin Zarathustra we not only have the history of his most intimate\nexperiences, friendships, feuds, disappointments, triumphs and the like,\nbut that the very form in which they are narrated is one which tends\nrather to obscure than to throw light upon them, the difficulties which\nmeet the reader who starts quite unprepared will be seen to be really\nformidable.\n\nZarathustra, then,\u2014this shadowy, allegorical personality, speaking in\nallegories and parables, and at times not even refraining from relating\nhis own dreams\u2014is a figure we can understand but very imperfectly if we\nhave no knowledge of his creator and counterpart, Friedrich Nietzsche;\nand it were therefore well, previous to our study of the more abstruse\nparts of this book, if we were to turn to some authoritative book on\nNietzsche\u2019s life and works and to read all that is there said on the\nsubject. Those who can read German will find an excellent guide, in this\nrespect, in Frau Foerster-Nietzsche\u2019s exhaustive and highly interesting\nbiography of her brother: \u201cDas Leben Friedrich Nietzsche\u2019s\u201d (published\nby Naumann); while the works of Deussen, Raoul Richter, and Baroness\nIsabelle von Unger-Sternberg, will be found to throw useful and\nnecessary light upon many questions which it would be difficult for a\nsister to touch upon.\n\nIn regard to the actual philosophical views expounded in this work,\nthere is an excellent way of clearing up any difficulties they may\npresent, and that is by an appeal to Nietzsche\u2019s other works. Again and\nagain, of course, he will be found to express himself so clearly that\nall reference to his other writings may be dispensed with; but where\nthis is not the case, the advice he himself gives is after all the best\nto be followed here, viz.:\u2014to regard such works as: \u201cJoyful Science\u201d,\n\u201cBeyond Good and Evil\u201d, \u201cThe Genealogy of Morals\u201d, \u201cThe Twilight of\nthe Idols\u201d, \u201cThe Antichrist\u201d, \u201cThe Will to Power\u201d, etc., etc., as the\nnecessary preparation for \u201cThus Spake Zarathustra\u201d.\n\nThese directions, though they are by no means simple to carry out, seem\nat least to possess the quality of definiteness and straightforwardness.\n\u201cFollow them and all will be clear,\u201d I seem to imply. But I regret to\nsay that this is not really the case. For my experience tells me that\neven after the above directions have been followed with the greatest\npossible zeal, the student will still halt in perplexity before certain\npassages in the book before us, and wonder what they mean. Now, it is\nwith the view of giving a little additional help to all those who find\nthemselves in this position that I proceed to put forth my own personal\ninterpretation of the more abstruse passages in this work.\n\nIn offering this little commentary to the Nietzsche student, I should\nlike it to be understood that I make no claim as to its infallibility or\nindispensability. It represents but an attempt on my part\u2014a very feeble\none perhaps\u2014to give the reader what little help I can in surmounting\ndifficulties which a long study of Nietzsche\u2019s life and works has\nenabled me, partially I hope, to overcome.\n\n ...\n\nPerhaps it would be as well to start out with a broad and rapid sketch\nof Nietzsche as a writer on Morals, Evolution, and Sociology, so that\nthe reader may be prepared to pick out for himself, so to speak, all\npassages in this work bearing in any way upon Nietzsche\u2019s views in those\nthree important branches of knowledge.\n\n(A.) Nietzsche and Morality.\n\nIn morality, Nietzsche starts out by adopting the position of the\nrelativist. He says there are no absolute values \u201cgood\u201d and \u201cevil\u201d;\nthese are mere means adopted by all in order to acquire power to\nmaintain their place in the world, or to become supreme. It is the\nlion\u2019s good to devour an antelope. It is the dead-leaf butterfly\u2019s\ngood to tell a foe a falsehood. For when the dead-leaf butterfly is in\ndanger, it clings to the side of a twig, and what it says to its foe is\npractically this: \u201cI am not a butterfly, I am a dead leaf, and can be\nof no use to thee.\u201d This is a lie which is good to the butterfly, for\nit preserves it. In nature every species of organic being instinctively\nadopts and practises those acts which most conduce to the prevalence\nor supremacy of its kind. Once the most favourable order of conduct is\nfound, proved efficient and established, it becomes the ruling morality\nof the species that adopts it and bears them along to victory. All\nspecies must not and cannot value alike, for what is the lion\u2019s good is\nthe antelope\u2019s evil and vice versa.\n\nConcepts of good and evil are therefore, in their origin, merely a means\nto an end, they are expedients for acquiring power.\n\nApplying this principle to mankind, Nietzsche attacked Christian\nmoral values. He declared them to be, like all other morals, merely\nan expedient for protecting a certain type of man. In the case of\nChristianity this type was, according to Nietzsche, a low one.\n\nConflicting moral codes have been no more than the conflicting weapons\nof different classes of men; for in mankind there is a continual war\nbetween the powerful, the noble, the strong, and the well-constituted\non the one side, and the impotent, the mean, the weak, and the\nill-constituted on the other. The war is a war of moral principles.\nThe morality of the powerful class, Nietzsche calls NOBLE- or\nMASTER-MORALITY; that of the weak and subordinate class he calls\nSLAVE-MORALITY. In the first morality it is the eagle which, looking\ndown upon a browsing lamb, contends that \u201ceating lamb is good.\u201d In the\nsecond, the slave-morality, it is the lamb which, looking up from the\nsward, bleats dissentingly: \u201cEating lamb is evil.\u201d\n\n(B.) The Master- and Slave-Morality Compared.\n\nThe first morality is active, creative, Dionysian. The second is\npassive, defensive,\u2014to it belongs the \u201cstruggle for existence.\u201d\n\nWhere attempts have not been made to reconcile the two moralities, they\nmay be described as follows:\u2014All is GOOD in the noble morality which\nproceeds from strength, power, health, well-constitutedness, happiness,\nand awfulness; for, the motive force behind the people practising it is\n\u201cthe struggle for power.\u201d The antithesis \u201cgood and bad\u201d to this\nfirst class means the same as \u201cnoble\u201d and \u201cdespicable.\u201d \u201cBad\u201d in the\nmaster-morality must be applied to the coward, to all acts that spring\nfrom weakness, to the man with \u201can eye to the main chance,\u201d who would\nforsake everything in order to live.\n\nWith the second, the slave-morality, the case is different. There,\ninasmuch as the community is an oppressed, suffering, unemancipated, and\nweary one, all THAT will be held to be good which alleviates the\nstate of suffering. Pity, the obliging hand, the warm heart, patience,\nindustry, and humility\u2014these are unquestionably the qualities we shall\nhere find flooded with the light of approval and admiration; because\nthey are the most USEFUL qualities\u2014; they make life endurable, they are\nof assistance in the \u201cstruggle for existence\u201d which is the motive force\nbehind the people practising this morality. To this class, all that is\nAWFUL is bad, in fact it is THE evil par excellence. Strength, health,\nsuperabundance of animal spirits and power, are regarded with hate,\nsuspicion, and fear by the subordinate class.\n\nNow Nietzsche believed that the first or the noble-morality conduced to\nan ascent in the line of life; because it was creative and active. On\nthe other hand, he believed that the second or slave-morality, where\nit became paramount, led to degeneration, because it was passive and\ndefensive, wanting merely to keep those who practised it alive. Hence\nhis earnest advocacy of noble-morality.\n\n(C.) Nietzsche and Evolution.\n\nNietzsche as an evolutionist I shall have occasion to define and discuss\nin the course of these notes (see Notes on Chapter LVI., par. 10, and on\nChapter LVII.). For the present let it suffice for us to know that he\naccepted the \u201cDevelopment Hypothesis\u201d as an explanation of the origin of\nspecies: but he did not halt where most naturalists have halted. He\nby no means regarded man as the highest possible being which evolution\ncould arrive at; for though his physical development may have reached\nits limit, this is not the case with his mental or spiritual attributes.\nIf the process be a fact; if things have BECOME what they are, then, he\ncontends, we may describe no limit to man\u2019s aspirations. If he struggled\nup from barbarism, and still more remotely from the lower Primates,\nhis ideal should be to surpass man himself and reach Superman (see\nespecially the Prologue).\n\n(D.) Nietzsche and Sociology.\n\nNietzsche as a sociologist aims at an aristocratic arrangement of\nsociety. He would have us rear an ideal race. Honest and truthful in\nintellectual matters, he could not even think that men are equal. \u201cWith\nthese preachers of equality will I not be mixed up and confounded. For\nthus speaketh justice unto ME: \u2018Men are not equal.\u2019\u201d He sees precisely\nin this inequality a purpose to be served, a condition to be exploited.\n\u201cEvery elevation of the type \u2018man,\u2019\u201d he writes in \u201cBeyond Good and\nEvil\u201d, \u201chas hitherto been the work of an aristocratic society\u2014and so\nwill it always be\u2014a society believing in a long scale of gradations of\nrank and differences of worth among human beings.\u201d\n\nThose who are sufficiently interested to desire to read his own detailed\naccount of the society he would fain establish, will find an excellent\npassage in Aphorism 57 of \u201cThe Antichrist\u201d.\n\n ...\n\nPART I. THE PROLOGUE.\n\nIn Part I. including the Prologue, no very great difficulties will\nappear. Zarathustra\u2019s habit of designating a whole class of men or a\nwhole school of thought by a single fitting nickname may perhaps lead to\na little confusion at first; but, as a rule, when the general drift\nof his arguments is grasped, it requires but a slight effort of the\nimagination to discover whom he is referring to. In the ninth paragraph\nof the Prologue, for instance, it is quite obvious that \u201cHerdsmen\u201d in\nthe verse \u201cHerdsmen, I say, etc., etc.,\u201d stands for all those to-day\nwho are the advocates of gregariousness\u2014of the ant-hill. And when our\nauthor says: \u201cA robber shall Zarathustra be called by the herdsmen,\u201d it\nis clear that these words may be taken almost literally from one whose\nideal was the rearing of a higher aristocracy. Again, \u201cthe good and\njust,\u201d throughout the book, is the expression used in referring to the\nself-righteous of modern times,\u2014those who are quite sure that they\nknow all that is to be known concerning good and evil, and are satisfied\nthat the values their little world of tradition has handed down to them,\nare destined to rule mankind as long as it lasts.\n\nIn the last paragraph of the Prologue, verse 7, Zarathustra gives us a\nforetaste of his teaching concerning the big and the little sagacities,\nexpounded subsequently. He says he would he were as wise as his serpent;\nthis desire will be found explained in the discourse entitled \u201cThe\nDespisers of the Body\u201d, which I shall have occasion to refer to later.\n\n ...\n\nTHE DISCOURSES.\n\nChapter I. The Three Metamorphoses.\n\nThis opening discourse is a parable in which Zarathustra discloses the\nmental development of all creators of new values. It is the story of\na life which reaches its consummation in attaining to a second\ningenuousness or in returning to childhood. Nietzsche, the supposed\nanarchist, here plainly disclaims all relationship whatever to anarchy,\nfor he shows us that only by bearing the burdens of the existing law and\nsubmitting to it patiently, as the camel submits to being laden, does\nthe free spirit acquire that ascendancy over tradition which enables him\nto meet and master the dragon \u201cThou shalt,\u201d\u2014the dragon with the values\nof a thousand years glittering on its scales. There are two lessons in\nthis discourse: first, that in order to create one must be as a little\nchild; secondly, that it is only through existing law and order that\none attains to that height from which new law and new order may be\npromulgated.\n\nChapter II. The Academic Chairs of Virtue.\n\nAlmost the whole of this is quite comprehensible. It is a discourse\nagainst all those who confound virtue with tameness and smug ease, and\nwho regard as virtuous only that which promotes security and tends to\ndeepen sleep.\n\nChapter IV. The Despisers of the Body.\n\nHere Zarathustra gives names to the intellect and the instincts; he\ncalls the one \u201cthe little sagacity\u201d and the latter \u201cthe big sagacity.\u201d\n Schopenhauer\u2019s teaching concerning the intellect is fully endorsed here.\n\u201cAn instrument of thy body is also thy little sagacity, my brother,\nwhich thou callest \u2018spirit,\u2019\u201d says Zarathustra. From beginning to end it\nis a warning to those who would think too lightly of the instincts\nand unduly exalt the intellect and its derivatives: Reason and\nUnderstanding.\n\nChapter IX. The Preachers of Death.\n\nThis is an analysis of the psychology of all those who have the \u201cevil\neye\u201d and are pessimists by virtue of their constitutions.\n\nChapter XV. The Thousand and One Goals.\n\nIn this discourse Zarathustra opens his exposition of the doctrine of\nrelativity in morality, and declares all morality to be a mere means\nto power. Needless to say that verses 9, 10, 11, and 12 refer to the\nGreeks, the Persians, the Jews, and the Germans respectively. In the\npenultimate verse he makes known his discovery concerning the root of\nmodern Nihilism and indifference,\u2014i.e., that modern man has no goal, no\naim, no ideals (see Note A).\n\nChapter XVIII. Old and Young Women.\n\nNietzsche\u2019s views on women have either to be loved at first sight\nor they become perhaps the greatest obstacle in the way of those who\notherwise would be inclined to accept his philosophy. Women especially,\nof course, have been taught to dislike them, because it has been\nrumoured that his views are unfriendly to themselves. Now, to my mind,\nall this is pure misunderstanding and error.\n\nGerman philosophers, thanks to Schopenhauer, have earned rather a bad\nname for their views on women. It is almost impossible for one of them\nto write a line on the subject, however kindly he may do so, without\nbeing suspected of wishing to open a crusade against the fair sex.\nDespite the fact, therefore, that all Nietzsche\u2019s views in this respect\nwere dictated to him by the profoundest love; despite Zarathustra\u2019s\nreservation in this discourse, that \u201cwith women nothing (that can be\nsaid) is impossible,\u201d and in the face of other overwhelming evidence\nto the contrary, Nietzsche is universally reported to have mis son\npied dans le plat, where the female sex is concerned. And what is the\nfundamental doctrine which has given rise to so much bitterness and\naversion?\u2014Merely this: that the sexes are at bottom ANTAGONISTIC\u2014that\nis to say, as different as blue is from yellow, and that the best\npossible means of rearing anything approaching a desirable race is to\npreserve and to foster this profound hostility. What Nietzsche strives\nto combat and to overthrow is the modern democratic tendency which is\nslowly labouring to level all things\u2014even the sexes. His quarrel is not\nwith women\u2014what indeed could be more undignified?\u2014it is with those who\nwould destroy the natural relationship between the sexes, by modifying\neither the one or the other with a view to making them more alike. The\nhuman world is just as dependent upon women\u2019s powers as upon men\u2019s. It\nis women\u2019s strongest and most valuable instincts which help to determine\nwho are to be the fathers of the next generation. By destroying these\nparticular instincts, that is to say by attempting to masculinise woman,\nand to feminise men, we jeopardise the future of our people. The general\ndemocratic movement of modern times, in its frantic struggle to mitigate\nall differences, is now invading even the world of sex. It is against\nthis movement that Nietzsche raises his voice; he would have woman\nbecome ever more woman and man become ever more man. Only thus, and\nhe is undoubtedly right, can their combined instincts lead to the\nexcellence of humanity. Regarded in this light, all his views on woman\nappear not only necessary but just (see Note on Chapter LVI., par. 21.)\n\nIt is interesting to observe that the last line of the discourse, which\nhas so frequently been used by women as a weapon against Nietzsche\u2019s\nviews concerning them, was suggested to Nietzsche by a woman (see \u201cDas\nLeben F. Nietzsche\u2019s\u201d).\n\nChapter XXI. Voluntary Death.\n\nIn regard to this discourse, I should only like to point out that\nNietzsche had a particular aversion to the word \u201csuicide\u201d\u2014self-murder.\nHe disliked the evil it suggested, and in rechristening the act\nVoluntary Death, i.e., the death that comes from no other hand than\none\u2019s own, he was desirous of elevating it to the position it held in\nclassical antiquity (see Aphorism 36 in \u201cThe Twilight of the Idols\u201d).\n\nChapter XXII. The Bestowing Virtue.\n\nAn important aspect of Nietzsche\u2019s philosophy is brought to light in\nthis discourse. His teaching, as is well known, places the Aristotelian\nman of spirit, above all others in the natural divisions of man. The\nman with overflowing strength, both of mind and body, who must discharge\nthis strength or perish, is the Nietzschean ideal. To such a man, giving\nfrom his overflow becomes a necessity; bestowing develops into a means\nof existence, and this is the only giving, the only charity, that\nNietzsche recognises. In paragraph 3 of the discourse, we read\nZarathustra\u2019s healthy exhortation to his disciples to become independent\nthinkers and to find themselves before they learn any more from him (see\nNotes on Chapters LVI., par. 5, and LXXIII., pars. 10, 11).\n\n ...\n\nPART II.\n\nChapter XXIII. The Child with the Mirror.\n\nNietzsche tells us here, in a poetical form, how deeply grieved he was\nby the manifold misinterpretations and misunderstandings which were\nbecoming rife concerning his publications. He does not recognise\nhimself in the mirror of public opinion, and recoils terrified from the\ndistorted reflection of his features. In verse 20 he gives us a\nhint which it were well not to pass over too lightly; for, in the\nintroduction to \u201cThe Genealogy of Morals\u201d (written in 1887) he finds it\nnecessary to refer to the matter again and with greater precision. The\npoint is this, that a creator of new values meets with his surest and\nstrongest obstacles in the very spirit of the language which is at his\ndisposal. Words, like all other manifestations of an evolving race, are\nstamped with the values that have long been paramount in that race.\nNow, the original thinker who finds himself compelled to use the current\nspeech of his country in order to impart new and hitherto untried views\nto his fellows, imposes a task upon the natural means of communication\nwhich it is totally unfitted to perform,\u2014hence the obscurities and\nprolixities which are so frequently met with in the writings of original\nthinkers. In the \u201cDawn of Day\u201d, Nietzsche actually cautions young\nwriters against THE DANGER OF ALLOWING THEIR THOUGHTS TO BE MOULDED BY\nTHE WORDS AT THEIR DISPOSAL.\n\nChapter XXIV. In the Happy Isles.\n\nWhile writing this, Nietzsche is supposed to have been thinking of the\nisland of Ischia which was ultimately destroyed by an earthquake. His\nteaching here is quite clear. He was among the first thinkers of Europe\nto overcome the pessimism which godlessness generally brings in its\nwake. He points to creating as the surest salvation from the suffering\nwhich is a concomitant of all higher life. \u201cWhat would there be to\ncreate,\u201d he asks, \u201cif there were\u2014Gods?\u201d His ideal, the Superman, lends\nhim the cheerfulness necessary to the overcoming of that despair usually\nattendant upon godlessness and upon the apparent aimlessness of a world\nwithout a god.\n\nChapter XXIX. The Tarantulas.\n\nThe tarantulas are the Socialists and Democrats. This discourse offers\nus an analysis of their mental attitude. Nietzsche refuses to be\nconfounded with those resentful and revengeful ones who condemn society\nFROM BELOW, and whose criticism is only suppressed envy. \u201cThere are\nthose who preach my doctrine of life,\u201d he says of the Nietzschean\nSocialists, \u201cand are at the same time preachers of equality and\ntarantulas\u201d (see Notes on Chapter XL. and Chapter LI.).\n\nChapter XXX. The Famous Wise Ones.\n\nThis refers to all those philosophers hitherto, who have run in the\nharness of established values and have not risked their reputation with\nthe people in pursuit of truth. The philosopher, however, as Nietzsche\nunderstood him, is a man who creates new values, and thus leads mankind\nin a new direction.\n\nChapter XXXIII. The Grave-Song.\n\nHere Zarathustra sings about the ideals and friendships of his youth.\nVerses 27 to 31 undoubtedly refer to Richard Wagner (see Note on Chapter\nLXV.).\n\nChapter XXXIV. Self-Surpassing.\n\nIn this discourse we get the best exposition in the whole book of\nNietzsche\u2019s doctrine of the Will to Power. I go into this question\nthoroughly in the Note on Chapter LVII.\n\nNietzsche was not an iconoclast from choice. Those who hastily class him\nwith the anarchists (or the Progressivists of the last century) fail\nto understand the high esteem in which he always held both law and\ndiscipline. In verse 41 of this most decisive discourse he truly\nexplains his position when he says: \u201c...he who hath to be a creator in\ngood and evil\u2014verily he hath first to be a destroyer, and break values\nin pieces.\u201d This teaching in regard to self-control is evidence enough\nof his reverence for law.\n\nChapter XXXV. The Sublime Ones.\n\nThese belong to a type which Nietzsche did not altogether dislike, but\nwhich he would fain have rendered more subtle and plastic. It is the\ntype that takes life and itself too seriously, that never surmounts the\ncamel-stage mentioned in the first discourse, and that is obdurately\nsublime and earnest. To be able to smile while speaking of lofty things\nand NOT TO BE OPPRESSED by them, is the secret of real greatness. He\nwhose hand trembles when it lays hold of a beautiful thing, has the\nquality of reverence, without the artist\u2019s unembarrassed friendship\nwith the beautiful. Hence the mistakes which have arisen in regard to\nconfounding Nietzsche with his extreme opposites the anarchists and\nagitators. For what they dare to touch and break with the impudence\nand irreverence of the unappreciative, he seems likewise to touch and\nbreak,\u2014but with other fingers\u2014with the fingers of the loving and\nunembarrassed artist who is on good terms with the beautiful and who\nfeels able to create it and to enhance it with his touch. The question\nof taste plays an important part in Nietzsche\u2019s philosophy, and verses\n9, 10 of this discourse exactly state Nietzsche\u2019s ultimate views on the\nsubject. In the \u201cSpirit of Gravity\u201d, he actually cries:\u2014\u201cNeither a good\nnor a bad taste, but MY taste, of which I have no longer either shame or\nsecrecy.\u201d\n\nChapter XXXVI. The Land of Culture.\n\nThis is a poetical epitome of some of the scathing criticism of\nscholars which appears in the first of the \u201cThoughts out of Season\u201d\u2014the\npolemical pamphlet (written in 1873) against David Strauss and his\nschool. He reproaches his former colleagues with being sterile and\nshows them that their sterility is the result of their not believing\nin anything. \u201cHe who had to create, had always his presaging dreams and\nastral premonitions\u2014and believed in believing!\u201d (See Note on Chapter\nLXXVII.) In the last two verses he reveals the nature of his altruism.\nHow far it differs from that of Christianity we have already read in the\ndiscourse \u201cNeighbour-Love\u201d, but here he tells us definitely the nature\nof his love to mankind; he explains why he was compelled to assail the\nChristian values of pity and excessive love of the neighbour, not only\nbecause they are slave-values and therefore tend to promote degeneration\n(see Note B.), but because he could only love his children\u2019s land, the\nundiscovered land in a remote sea; because he would fain retrieve the\nerrors of his fathers in his children.\n\nChapter XXXVII. Immaculate Perception.\n\nAn important feature of Nietzsche\u2019s interpretation of Life is disclosed\nin this discourse. As Buckle suggests in his \u201cInfluence of Women on the\nProgress of Knowledge\u201d, the scientific spirit of the investigator is\nboth helped and supplemented by the latter\u2019s emotions and personality,\nand the divorce of all emotionalism and individual temperament from\nscience is a fatal step towards sterility. Zarathustra abjures all those\nwho would fain turn an IMPERSONAL eye upon nature and contemplate her\nphenomena with that pure objectivity to which the scientific idealists\nof to-day would so much like to attain. He accuses such idealists of\nhypocrisy and guile; he says they lack innocence in their desires and\ntherefore slander all desiring.\n\nChapter XXXVIII. Scholars.\n\nThis is a record of Nietzsche\u2019s final breach with his former\ncolleagues\u2014the scholars of Germany. Already after the publication of\nthe \u201cBirth of Tragedy\u201d, numbers of German philologists and professional\nphilosophers had denounced him as one who had strayed too far from\ntheir flock, and his lectures at the University of Bale were deserted\nin consequence; but it was not until 1879, when he finally severed all\nconnection with University work, that he may be said to have attained to\nthe freedom and independence which stamp this discourse.\n\nChapter XXXIX. Poets.\n\nPeople have sometimes said that Nietzsche had no sense of humour. I\nhave no intention of defending him here against such foolish critics; I\nshould only like to point out to the reader that we have him here at\nhis best, poking fun at himself, and at his fellow-poets (see Note on\nChapter LXIII., pars. 16, 17, 18, 19, 20).\n\nChapter XL. Great Events.\n\nHere we seem to have a puzzle. Zarathustra himself, while relating\nhis experience with the fire-dog to his disciples, fails to get them\ninterested in his narrative, and we also may be only too ready to turn\nover these pages under the impression that they are little more than\na mere phantasy or poetical flight. Zarathustra\u2019s interview with the\nfire-dog is, however, of great importance. In it we find Nietzsche\nface to face with the creature he most sincerely loathes\u2014the spirit\nof revolution, and we obtain fresh hints concerning his hatred of the\nanarchist and rebel. \u201c\u2018Freedom\u2019 ye all roar most eagerly,\u201d he says to\nthe fire-dog, \u201cbut I have unlearned the belief in \u2018Great Events\u2019 when\nthere is much roaring and smoke about them. Not around the inventors\nof new noise, but around the inventors of new values, doth the world\nrevolve; INAUDIBLY it revolveth.\u201d\n\nChapter XLI. The Soothsayer.\n\nThis refers, of course, to Schopenhauer. Nietzsche, as is well known,\nwas at one time an ardent follower of Schopenhauer. He overcame\nPessimism by discovering an object in existence; he saw the possibility\nof raising society to a higher level and preached the profoundest\nOptimism in consequence.\n\nChapter XLII. Redemption.\n\nZarathustra here addresses cripples. He tells them of other\ncripples\u2014the GREAT MEN in this world who have one organ or faculty\ninordinately developed at the cost of their other faculties. This is\ndoubtless a reference to a fact which is too often noticeable in the\ncase of so many of the world\u2019s giants in art, science, or religion. In\nverse 19 we are told what Nietzsche called Redemption\u2014that is to say,\nthe ability to say of all that is past: \u201cThus would I have it.\u201d The\nin ability to say this, and the resentment which results therefrom,\nhe regards as the source of all our feelings of revenge, and all our\ndesires to punish\u2014punishment meaning to him merely a euphemism for the\nword revenge, invented in order to still our consciences. He who can be\nproud of his enemies, who can be grateful to them for the obstacles they\nhave put in his way; he who can regard his worst calamity as but the\nextra strain on the bow of his life, which is to send the arrow of\nhis longing even further than he could have hoped;\u2014this man knows no\nrevenge, neither does he know despair, he truly has found redemption and\ncan turn on the worst in his life and even in himself, and call it his\nbest (see Notes on Chapter LVII.).\n\nChapter XLIII. Manly Prudence.\n\nThis discourse is very important. In \u201cBeyond Good and Evil\u201d we hear\noften enough that the select and superior man must wear a mask, and\nhere we find this injunction explained. \u201cAnd he who would not languish\namongst men, must learn to drink out of all glasses: and he who would\nkeep clean amongst men, must know how to wash himself even with dirty\nwater.\u201d This, I venture to suggest, requires some explanation. At a time\nwhen individuality is supposed to be shown most tellingly by putting\nboots on one\u2019s hands and gloves on one\u2019s feet, it is somewhat refreshing\nto come across a true individualist who feels the chasm between himself\nand others so deeply, that he must perforce adapt himself to them\noutwardly, at least, in all respects, so that the inner difference\nshould be overlooked. Nietzsche practically tells us here that it is not\nhe who intentionally wears eccentric clothes or does eccentric things\nwho is truly the individualist. The profound man, who is by nature\ndifferentiated from his fellows, feels this difference too keenly to\ncall attention to it by any outward show. He is shamefast and bashful\nwith those who surround him and wishes not to be discovered by them,\njust as one instinctively avoids all lavish display of comfort or wealth\nin the presence of a poor friend.\n\nChapter XLIV. The Stillest Hour.\n\nThis seems to me to give an account of the great struggle which must\nhave taken place in Nietzsche\u2019s soul before he finally resolved to make\nknown the more esoteric portions of his teaching. Our deepest feelings\ncrave silence. There is a certain self-respect in the serious man which\nmakes him hold his profoundest feelings sacred. Before they are uttered\nthey are full of the modesty of a virgin, and often the oldest sage will\nblush like a girl when this virginity is violated by an indiscretion\nwhich forces him to reveal his deepest thoughts.\n\n ...\n\nPART III.\n\nThis is perhaps the most important of all the four parts. If it\ncontained only \u201cThe Vision and the Enigma\u201d and \u201cThe Old and New Tables\u201d\n I should still be of this opinion; for in the former of these discourses\nwe meet with what Nietzsche regarded as the crowning doctrine of his\nphilosophy and in \u201cThe Old and New Tables\u201d we have a valuable epitome of\npractically all his leading principles.\n\nChapter XLVI. The Vision and the Enigma.\n\n\u201cThe Vision and the Enigma\u201d is perhaps an example of Nietzsche in his\nmost obscure vein. We must know how persistently he inveighed against\nthe oppressing and depressing influence of man\u2019s sense of guilt and\nconsciousness of sin in order fully to grasp the significance of this\ndiscourse. Slowly but surely, he thought the values of Christianity and\nJudaic traditions had done their work in the minds of men. What were\nonce but expedients devised for the discipline of a certain portion of\nhumanity, had now passed into man\u2019s blood and had become instincts. This\noppressive and paralysing sense of guilt and of sin is what Nietzsche\nrefers to when he speaks of \u201cthe spirit of gravity.\u201d This creature\nhalf-dwarf, half-mole, whom he bears with him a certain distance on his\nclimb and finally defies, and whom he calls his devil and arch-enemy, is\nnothing more than the heavy millstone \u201cguilty conscience,\u201d together with\nthe concept of sin which at present hangs round the neck of men. To rise\nabove it\u2014to soar\u2014is the most difficult of all things to-day. Nietzsche\nis able to think cheerfully and optimistically of the possibility of\nlife in this world recurring again and again, when he has once cast the\ndwarf from his shoulders, and he announces his doctrine of the Eternal\nRecurrence of all things great and small to his arch-enemy and in\ndefiance of him.\n\nThat there is much to be said for Nietzsche\u2019s hypothesis of the Eternal\nRecurrence of all things great and small, nobody who has read the\nliterature on the subject will doubt for an instant; but it remains a\nvery daring conjecture notwithstanding and even in its ultimate effect,\nas a dogma, on the minds of men, I venture to doubt whether Nietzsche\never properly estimated its worth (see Note on Chapter LVII.).\n\nWhat follows is clear enough. Zarathustra sees a young shepherd\nstruggling on the ground with a snake holding fast to the back of his\nthroat. The sage, assuming that the snake must have crawled into the\nyoung man\u2019s mouth while he lay sleeping, runs to his help and pulls\nat the loathsome reptile with all his might, but in vain. At last, in\ndespair, Zarathustra appeals to the young man\u2019s will. Knowing full well\nwhat a ghastly operation he is recommending, he nevertheless cries,\n\u201cBite! Bite! Its head off! Bite!\u201d as the only possible solution of the\ndifficulty. The young shepherd bites, and far away he spits the\nsnake\u2019s head, whereupon he rises, \u201cNo longer shepherd, no longer man\u2014a\ntransfigured being, a light-surrounded being, that LAUGHED! Never on\nearth laughed a man as he laughed!\u201d\n\nIn this parable the young shepherd is obviously the man of to-day; the\nsnake that chokes him represents the stultifying and paralysing social\nvalues that threaten to shatter humanity, and the advice \u201cBite! Bite!\u201d\n is but Nietzsche\u2019s exasperated cry to mankind to alter their values\nbefore it is too late.\n\nChapter XLVII. Involuntary Bliss.\n\nThis, like \u201cThe Wanderer\u201d, is one of the many introspective passages\nin the work, and is full of innuendos and hints as to the Nietzschean\noutlook on life.\n\nChapter XLVIII. Before Sunrise.\n\nHere we have a record of Zarathustra\u2019s avowal of optimism, as also the\nimportant statement concerning \u201cChance\u201d or \u201cAccident\u201d (verse 27). Those\nwho are familiar with Nietzsche\u2019s philosophy will not require to be told\nwhat an important role his doctrine of chance plays in his teaching.\nThe Giant Chance has hitherto played with the puppet \u201cman,\u201d\u2014this is\nthe fact he cannot contemplate with equanimity. Man shall now exploit\nchance, he says again and again, and make it fall on its knees before\nhim! (See verse 33 in \u201cOn the Olive-Mount\u201d, and verses 9\u201310 in \u201cThe\nBedwarfing Virtue\u201d).\n\nChapter XLIX. The Bedwarfing Virtue.\n\nThis requires scarcely any comment. It is a satire on modern man and\nhis belittling virtues. In verses 23 and 24 of the second part of the\ndiscourse we are reminded of Nietzsche\u2019s powerful indictment of the\ngreat of to-day, in the Antichrist (Aphorism 43):\u2014\u201cAt present\nnobody has any longer the courage for separate rights, for rights of\ndomination, for a feeling of reverence for himself and his equals,\u2014FOR\nPATHOS OF DISTANCE.... Our politics are MORBID from this want of\ncourage!\u2014The aristocracy of character has been undermined most craftily\nby the lie of the equality of souls; and if the belief in the \u2018privilege\nof the many,\u2019 makes revolutions and WILL CONTINUE TO MAKE them, it is\nChristianity, let us not doubt it, it is CHRISTIAN valuations, which\ntranslate every revolution merely into blood and crime!\u201d (see also\n\u201cBeyond Good and Evil\u201d, pages 120, 121). Nietzsche thought it was a\nbad sign of the times that even rulers have lost the courage of\ntheir positions, and that a man of Frederick the Great\u2019s power and\ndistinguished gifts should have been able to say: \u201cIch bin der erste\nDiener des Staates\u201d (I am the first servant of the State.) To this\nutterance of the great sovereign, verse 24 undoubtedly refers.\n\u201cCowardice\u201d and \u201cMediocrity,\u201d are the names with which he labels modern\nnotions of virtue and moderation.\n\nIn Part III., we get the sentiments of the discourse \u201cIn the Happy\nIsles\u201d, but perhaps in stronger terms. Once again we find Nietzsche\nthoroughly at ease, if not cheerful, as an atheist, and speaking with\nvertiginous daring of making chance go on its knees to him. In verse\n20, Zarathustra makes yet another attempt at defining his entirely\nanti-anarchical attitude, and unless such passages have been completely\noverlooked or deliberately ignored hitherto by those who will persist in\nlaying anarchy at his door, it is impossible to understand how he ever\nbecame associated with that foul political party.\n\nThe last verse introduces the expression, \u201cTHE GREAT NOONTIDE!\u201d In the\npoem to be found at the end of \u201cBeyond Good and Evil\u201d, we meet with\nthe expression again, and we shall find it occurring time and again in\nNietzsche\u2019s works. It will be found fully elucidated in the fifth part\nof \u201cThe Twilight of the Idols\u201d; but for those who cannot refer to\nthis book, it were well to point out that Nietzsche called the present\nperiod\u2014our period\u2014the noon of man\u2019s history. Dawn is behind us. The\nchildhood of mankind is over. Now we KNOW; there is now no longer any\nexcuse for mistakes which will tend to botch and disfigure the type man.\n\u201cWith respect to what is past,\u201d he says, \u201cI have, like all discerning\nones, great toleration, that is to say, GENEROUS self-control.... But my\nfeeling changes suddenly, and breaks out as soon as I enter the modern\nperiod, OUR period. Our age KNOWS...\u201d (See Note on Chapter LXX.).\n\nChapter LI. On Passing-by.\n\nHere we find Nietzsche confronted with his extreme opposite, with\nhim therefore for whom he is most frequently mistaken by the unwary.\n\u201cZarathustra\u2019s ape\u201d he is called in the discourse. He is one of those\nat whose hands Nietzsche had to suffer most during his life-time, and\nat whose hands his philosophy has suffered most since his death. In this\nrespect it may seem a little trivial to speak of extremes meeting; but\nit is wonderfully apt. Many have adopted Nietzsche\u2019s mannerisms and\nword-coinages, who had nothing in common with him beyond the ideas and\n\u201cbusiness\u201d they plagiarised; but the superficial observer and a large\nportion of the public, not knowing of these things,\u2014not knowing perhaps\nthat there are iconoclasts who destroy out of love and are therefore\ncreators, and that there are others who destroy out of resentment and\nrevengefulness and who are therefore revolutionists and anarchists,\u2014are\nprone to confound the two, to the detriment of the nobler type.\n\nIf we now read what the fool says to Zarathustra, and note the tricks of\nspeech he has borrowed from him: if we carefully follow the attitude\nhe assumes, we shall understand why Zarathustra finally interrupts him.\n\u201cStop this at once,\u201d Zarathustra cries, \u201clong have thy speech and\nthy species disgusted me.... Out of love alone shall my contempt and my\nwarning bird take wing; BUT NOT OUT OF THE SWAMP!\u201d It were well if\nthis discourse were taken to heart by all those who are too ready to\nassociate Nietzsche with lesser and noiser men,\u2014with mountebanks and\nmummers.\n\nChapter LII. The Apostates.\n\nIt is clear that this applies to all those breathless and hasty \u201ctasters\nof everything,\u201d who plunge too rashly into the sea of independent\nthought and \u201cheresy,\u201d and who, having miscalculated their strength, find\nit impossible to keep their head above water. \u201cA little older, a little\ncolder,\u201d says Nietzsche. They soon clamber back to the conventions of\nthe age they intended reforming. The French then say \u201cle diable se fait\nhermite,\u201d but these men, as a rule, have never been devils, neither\ndo they become angels; for, in order to be really good or evil, some\nstrength and deep breathing is required. Those who are more interested\nin supporting orthodoxy than in being over nice concerning the kind of\nsupport they give it, often refer to these people as evidence in favour\nof the true faith.\n\nChapter LIII. The Return Home.\n\nThis is an example of a class of writing which may be passed over too\nlightly by those whom poetasters have made distrustful of poetry. From\nfirst to last it is extremely valuable as an autobiographical note. The\ninevitable superficiality of the rabble is contrasted with the peaceful\nand profound depths of the anchorite. Here we first get a direct hint\nconcerning Nietzsche\u2019s fundamental passion\u2014the main force behind all\nhis new values and scathing criticism of existing values. In verse 30\nwe are told that pity was his greatest danger. The broad altruism of the\nlaw-giver, thinking over vast eras of time, was continually being pitted\nby Nietzsche, in himself, against that transient and meaner sympathy for\nthe neighbour which he more perhaps than any of his contemporaries had\nsuffered from, but which he was certain involved enormous dangers not\nonly for himself but also to the next and subsequent generations (see\nNote B., where \u201cpity\u201d is mentioned among the degenerate virtues). Later\nin the book we shall see how his profound compassion leads him into\ntemptation, and how frantically he struggles against it. In verses 31\nand 32, he tells us to what extent he had to modify himself in order\nto be endured by his fellows whom he loved (see also verse 12 in \u201cManly\nPrudence\u201d). Nietzsche\u2019s great love for his fellows, which he confesses\nin the Prologue, and which is at the root of all his teaching, seems\nrather to elude the discerning powers of the average philanthropist and\nmodern man. He cannot see the wood for the trees. A philanthropy that\nsacrifices the minority of the present-day for the majority constituting\nposterity, completely evades his mental grasp, and Nietzsche\u2019s\nphilosophy, because it declares Christian values to be a danger to the\nfuture of our kind, is therefore shelved as brutal, cold, and hard (see\nNote on Chapter XXXVI.). Nietzsche tried to be all things to all men;\nhe was sufficiently fond of his fellows for that: in the Return Home he\ndescribes how he ultimately returns to loneliness in order to recover\nfrom the effects of his experiment.\n\nChapter LIV. The Three Evil Things.\n\nNietzsche is here completely in his element. Three things hitherto\nbest cursed and most calumniated on earth, are brought forward to be\nweighed. Voluptuousness, thirst of power, and selfishness,\u2014the three\nforces in humanity which Christianity has done most to garble and\nbesmirch,\u2014Nietzsche endeavours to reinstate in their former places of\nhonour. Voluptuousness, or sensual pleasure, is a dangerous thing to\ndiscuss nowadays. If we mention it with favour we may be regarded,\nhowever unjustly, as the advocate of savages, satyrs, and pure\nsensuality. If we condemn it, we either go over to the Puritans or we\njoin those who are wont to come to table with no edge to their appetites\nand who therefore grumble at all good fare. There can be no doubt that\nthe value of healthy innocent voluptuousness, like the value of health\nitself, must have been greatly discounted by all those who, resenting\ntheir inability to partake of this world\u2019s goods, cried like St Paul:\n\u201cI would that all men were even as I myself.\u201d Now Nietzsche\u2019s philosophy\nmight be called an attempt at giving back to healthy and normal men\ninnocence and a clean conscience in their desires\u2014NOT to applaud the\nvulgar sensualists who respond to every stimulus and whose passions are\nout of hand; not to tell the mean, selfish individual, whose selfishness\nis a pollution (see Aphorism 33, \u201cTwilight of the Idols\u201d), that he is\nright, nor to assure the weak, the sick, and the crippled, that the\nthirst of power, which they gratify by exploiting the happier and\nhealthier individuals, is justified;\u2014but to save the clean healthy man\nfrom the values of those around him, who look at everything through the\nmud that is in their own bodies,\u2014to give him, and him alone, a clean\nconscience in his manhood and the desires of his manhood. \u201cDo I counsel\nyou to slay your instincts? I counsel to innocence in your instincts.\u201d\n In verse 7 of the second paragraph (as in verse I of paragraph 19 in\n\u201cThe Old and New Tables\u201d) Nietzsche gives us a reason for his occasional\nobscurity (see also verses 3 to 7 of \u201cPoets\u201d). As I have already pointed\nout, his philosophy is quite esoteric. It can serve no purpose with the\nordinary, mediocre type of man. I, personally, can no longer have any\ndoubt that Nietzsche\u2019s only object, in that part of his philosophy where\nhe bids his friends stand \u201cBeyond Good and Evil\u201d with him, was to save\nhigher men, whose growth and scope might be limited by the too\nstrict observance of modern values from foundering on the rocks of a\n\u201cCompromise\u201d between their own genius and traditional conventions. The\nonly possible way in which the great man can achieve greatness is\nby means of exceptional freedom\u2014the freedom which assists him in\nexperiencing HIMSELF. Verses 20 to 30 afford an excellent supplement to\nNietzsche\u2019s description of the attitude of the noble type towards the\nslaves in Aphorism 260 of the work \u201cBeyond Good and Evil\u201d (see also Note\nB.)\n\nChapter LV. The Spirit of Gravity.\n\n(See Note on Chapter XLVI.) In Part II. of this discourse we meet with\na doctrine not touched upon hitherto, save indirectly;\u2014I refer to the\ndoctrine of self-love. We should try to understand this perfectly before\nproceeding; for it is precisely views of this sort which, after having\nbeen cut out of the original context, are repeated far and wide as\ninternal evidence proving the general unsoundness of Nietzsche\u2019s\nphilosophy. Already in the last of the \u201cThoughts out of Season\u201d\n Nietzsche speaks as follows about modern men: \u201c...these modern creatures\nwish rather to be hunted down, wounded and torn to shreds, than to\nlive alone with themselves in solitary calm. Alone with oneself!\u2014this\nthought terrifies the modern soul; it is his one anxiety, his one\nghastly fear\u201d (English Edition, page 141). In his feverish scurry to\nfind entertainment and diversion, whether in a novel, a newspaper, or a\nplay, the modern man condemns his own age utterly; for he shows that in\nhis heart of hearts he despises himself. One cannot change a condition\nof this sort in a day; to become endurable to oneself an inner\ntransformation is necessary. Too long have we lost ourselves in our\nfriends and entertainments to be able to find ourselves so soon at\nanother\u2019s bidding. \u201cAnd verily, it is no commandment for to-day and\nto-morrow to LEARN to love oneself. Rather is it of all arts the finest,\nsubtlest, last, and patientest.\u201d\n\nIn the last verse Nietzsche challenges us to show that our way is\nthe right way. In his teaching he does not coerce us, nor does he\noverpersuade; he simply says: \u201cI am a law only for mine own, I am not a\nlaw for all. This\u2014is now MY way,\u2014where is yours?\u201d\n\nChapter LVI. Old and New Tables. Par. 2.\n\nNietzsche himself declares this to be the most decisive portion of\nthe whole of \u201cThus Spake Zarathustra\u201d. It is a sort of epitome of his\nleading doctrines. In verse 12 of the second paragraph, we learn how he\nhimself would fain have abandoned the poetical method of expression had\nhe not known only too well that the only chance a new doctrine has of\nsurviving, nowadays, depends upon its being given to the world in some\nkind of art-form. Just as prophets, centuries ago, often had to have\nrecourse to the mask of madness in order to mitigate the hatred of those\nwho did not and could not see as they did; so, to-day, the struggle for\nexistence among opinions and values is so great, that an art-form\nis practically the only garb in which a new philosophy can dare to\nintroduce itself to us.\n\nPars. 3 and 4.\n\nMany of the paragraphs will be found to be merely reminiscent of former\ndiscourses. For instance, par. 3 recalls \u201cRedemption\u201d. The last verse\nof par. 4 is important. Freedom which, as I have pointed out before,\nNietzsche considered a dangerous acquisition in inexperienced or\nunworthy hands, here receives its death-blow as a general desideratum.\nIn the first Part we read under \u201cThe Way of the Creating One\u201d, that\nfreedom as an end in itself does not concern Zarathustra at all. He says\nthere: \u201cFree from what? What doth that matter to Zarathustra? Clearly,\nhowever, shall thine eye answer me: free FOR WHAT?\u201d And in \u201cThe\nBedwarfing Virtue\u201d: \u201cAh that ye understood my word: \u2018Do ever what ye\nwill\u2014but first be such as CAN WILL.\u2019\u201d\n\nPar. 5.\n\nHere we have a description of the kind of altruism Nietzsche exacted\nfrom higher men. It is really a comment upon \u201cThe Bestowing Virtue\u201d (see\nNote on Chapter XXII.).\n\nPar. 6.\n\nThis refers, of course, to the reception pioneers of Nietzsche\u2019s stamp\nmeet with at the hands of their contemporaries.\n\nPar. 8.\n\nNietzsche teaches that nothing is stable,\u2014not even values,\u2014not\neven the concepts good and evil. He likens life unto a stream. But\nfoot-bridges and railings span the stream, and they seem to stand\nfirm. Many will be reminded of good and evil when they look upon these\nstructures; for thus these same values stand over the stream of life,\nand life flows on beneath them and leaves them standing. When, however,\nwinter comes and the stream gets frozen, many inquire: \u201cShould not\neverything\u2014STAND STILL? Fundamentally everything standeth still.\u201d But\nsoon the spring cometh and with it the thaw-wind. It breaks the ice, and\nthe ice breaks down the foot-bridges and railings, whereupon everything\nis swept away. This state of affairs, according to Nietzsche, has now\nbeen reached. \u201cOh, my brethren, is not everything AT PRESENT IN FLUX?\nHave not all railings and foot-bridges fallen into the water? Who would\nstill HOLD ON to \u2018good\u2019 and \u2018evil\u2019?\u201d\n\nPar. 9.\n\nThis is complementary to the first three verses of par. 2.\n\nPar. 10.\n\nSo far, this is perhaps the most important paragraph. It is a protest\nagainst reading a moral order of things in life. \u201cLife is something\nessentially immoral!\u201d Nietzsche tells us in the introduction to the\n\u201cBirth of Tragedy\u201d. Even to call life \u201cactivity,\u201d or to define it\nfurther as \u201cthe continuous adjustment of internal relations to external\nrelations,\u201d as Spencer has it, Nietzsche characterises as a \u201cdemocratic\nidiosyncracy.\u201d He says to define it in this way, \u201cis to mistake the\ntrue nature and function of life, which is Will to Power.... Life is\nESSENTIALLY appropriation, injury, conquest of the strange and weak,\nsuppression, severity, obtrusion of its own forms, incorporation and\nat least, putting it mildest, exploitation.\u201d Adaptation is merely a\nsecondary activity, a mere re-activity (see Note on Chapter LVII.).\n\nPars. 11, 12.\n\nThese deal with Nietzsche\u2019s principle of the desirability of rearing a\nselect race. The biological and historical grounds for his insistence\nupon this principle are, of course, manifold. Gobineau in his great\nwork, \u201cL\u2019Inegalite des Races Humaines\u201d, lays strong emphasis upon the\nevils which arise from promiscuous and inter-social marriages. He alone\nwould suffice to carry Nietzsche\u2019s point against all those who are\nopposed to the other conditions, to the conditions which would have\nsaved Rome, which have maintained the strength of the Jewish race, and\nwhich are strictly maintained by every breeder of animals throughout the\nworld. Darwin in his remarks relative to the degeneration of CULTIVATED\ntypes of animals through the action of promiscuous breeding, brings\nGobineau support from the realm of biology.\n\nThe last two verses of par. 12 were discussed in the Notes on Chapters\nXXXVI. and LIII.\n\nPar. 13.\n\nThis, like the first part of \u201cThe Soothsayer\u201d, is obviously a reference\nto the Schopenhauerian Pessimism.\n\nPars. 14, 15, 16, 17.\n\nThese are supplementary to the discourse \u201cBackworld\u2019s-men\u201d.\n\nPar. 18.\n\nWe must be careful to separate this paragraph, in sense, from the\nprevious four paragraphs. Nietzsche is still dealing with Pessimism\nhere; but it is the pessimism of the hero\u2014the man most susceptible of\nall to desperate views of life, owing to the obstacles that are arrayed\nagainst him in a world where men of his kind are very rare and are\ncontinually being sacrificed. It was to save this man that Nietzsche\nwrote. Heroism foiled, thwarted, and wrecked, hoping and fighting until\nthe last, is at length overtaken by despair, and renounces all struggle\nfor sleep. This is not the natural or constitutional pessimism which\nproceeds from an unhealthy body\u2014the dyspeptic\u2019s lack of appetite; it\nis rather the desperation of the netted lion that ultimately stops all\nmovement, because the more it moves the more involved it becomes.\n\nPar. 20.\n\n\u201cAll that increases power is good, all that springs from weakness is\nbad. The weak and ill-constituted shall perish: first principle of our\ncharity. And one shall also help them thereto.\u201d Nietzsche partly divined\nthe kind of reception moral values of this stamp would meet with at\nthe hands of the effeminate manhood of Europe. Here we see that he had\nanticipated the most likely form their criticism would take (see also\nthe last two verses of par. 17).\n\nPar. 21.\n\nThe first ten verses, here, are reminiscent of \u201cWar and Warriors\u201d and\nof \u201cThe Flies in the Market-place.\u201d Verses 11 and 12, however, are\nparticularly important. There is a strong argument in favour of the\nsharp differentiation of castes and of races (and even of sexes; see\nNote on Chapter XVIII.) running all through Nietzsche\u2019s writings.\nBut sharp differentiation also implies antagonism in some form or\nother\u2014hence Nietzsche\u2019s fears for modern men. What modern men desire\nabove all, is peace and the cessation of pain. But neither great races\nnor great castes have ever been built up in this way. \u201cWho still wanteth\nto rule?\u201d Zarathustra asks in the \u201cPrologue\u201d. \u201cWho still wanteth to\nobey? Both are too burdensome.\u201d This is rapidly becoming everybody\u2019s\nattitude to-day. The tame moral reading of the face of nature, together\nwith such democratic interpretations of life as those suggested by\nHerbert Spencer, are signs of a physiological condition which is the\nreverse of that bounding and irresponsible healthiness in which harder\nand more tragic values rule.\n\nPar. 24.\n\nThis should be read in conjunction with \u201cChild and Marriage\u201d. In the\nfifth verse we shall recognise our old friend \u201cMarriage on the ten-years\nsystem,\u201d which George Meredith suggested some years ago. This, however,\nmust not be taken too literally. I do not think Nietzsche\u2019s profoundest\nviews on marriage were ever intended to be given over to the public at\nall, at least not for the present. They appear in the biography by his\nsister, and although their wisdom is unquestionable, the nature of the\nreforms he suggests render it impossible for them to become popular just\nnow.\n\nPars. 26, 27.\n\nSee Note on \u201cThe Prologue\u201d.\n\nPar. 28.\n\nNietzsche was not an iconoclast from predilection. No bitterness or\nempty hate dictated his vituperations against existing values and\nagainst the dogmas of his parents and forefathers. He knew too well what\nthese things meant to the millions who profess them, to approach the\ntask of uprooting them with levity or even with haste. He saw what\nmodern anarchists and revolutionists do NOT see\u2014namely, that man is in\ndanger of actual destruction when his customs and values are broken.\nI need hardly point out, therefore, how deeply he was conscious of\nthe responsibility he threw upon our shoulders when he invited us to\nreconsider our position. The lines in this paragraph are evidence enough\nof his earnestness.\n\nChapter LVII. The Convalescent.\n\nWe meet with several puzzles here. Zarathustra calls himself the\nadvocate of the circle (the Eternal Recurrence of all things), and he\ncalls this doctrine his abysmal thought. In the last verse of the\nfirst paragraph, however, after hailing his deepest thought, he cries:\n\u201cDisgust, disgust, disgust!\u201d We know Nietzsche\u2019s ideal man was that\n\u201cworld-approving, exuberant, and vivacious creature, who has not only\nlearnt to compromise and arrange with that which was and is, but wishes\nto have it again, AS IT WAS AND IS, for all eternity insatiably calling\nout da capo, not only to himself, but to the whole piece and play\u201d (see\nNote on Chapter XLII.). But if one ask oneself what the conditions to\nsuch an attitude are, one will realise immediately how utterly different\nNietzsche was from his ideal. The man who insatiably cries da capo to\nhimself and to the whole of his mise-en-scene, must be in a position to\ndesire every incident in his life to be repeated, not once, but\nagain and again eternally. Now, Nietzsche\u2019s life had been too full of\ndisappointments, illness, unsuccessful struggles, and snubs, to allow of\nhis thinking of the Eternal Recurrence without loathing\u2014hence probably\nthe words of the last verse.\n\nIn verses 15 and 16, we have Nietzsche declaring himself an evolutionist\nin the broadest sense\u2014that is to say, that he believes in the\nDevelopment Hypothesis as the description of the process by which\nspecies have originated. Now, to understand his position correctly\nwe must show his relationship to the two greatest of modern\nevolutionists\u2014Darwin and Spencer. As a philosopher, however, Nietzsche\ndoes not stand or fall by his objections to the Darwinian or Spencerian\ncosmogony. He never laid claim to a very profound knowledge of biology,\nand his criticism is far more valuable as the attitude of a fresh mind\nthan as that of a specialist towards the question. Moreover, in his\nobjections many difficulties are raised which are not settled by an\nappeal to either of the men above mentioned. We have given Nietzsche\u2019s\ndefinition of life in the Note on Chapter LVI., par. 10. Still, there\nremains a hope that Darwin and Nietzsche may some day become reconciled\nby a new description of the processes by which varieties occur. The\nappearance of varieties among animals and of \u201csporting plants\u201d in\nthe vegetable kingdom, is still shrouded in mystery, and the question\nwhether this is not precisely the ground on which Darwin and Nietzsche\nwill meet, is an interesting one. The former says in his \u201cOrigin of\nSpecies\u201d, concerning the causes of variability: \u201c...there are two\nfactors, namely, the nature of the organism, and the nature of the\nconditions. THE FORMER SEEMS TO BE MUCH THE MORE IMPORTANT (The italics\nare mine.), for nearly similar variations sometimes arise under, as\nfar as we can judge, dissimilar conditions; and on the other hand,\ndissimilar variations arise under conditions which appear to be\nnearly uniform.\u201d Nietzsche, recognising this same truth, would ascribe\npractically all the importance to the \u201chighest functionaries in the\norganism, in which the life-will appears as an active and formative\nprinciple,\u201d and except in certain cases (where passive organisms alone\nare concerned) would not give such a prominent place to the influence\nof environment. Adaptation, according to him, is merely a secondary\nactivity, a mere re-activity, and he is therefore quite opposed to\nSpencer\u2019s definition: \u201cLife is the continuous adjustment of internal\nrelations to external relations.\u201d Again in the motive force behind\nanimal and plant life, Nietzsche disagrees with Darwin. He\ntransforms the \u201cStruggle for Existence\u201d\u2014the passive and involuntary\ncondition\u2014into the \u201cStruggle for Power,\u201d which is active and creative,\nand much more in harmony with Darwin\u2019s own view, given above, concerning\nthe importance of the organism itself. The change is one of such\nfar-reaching importance that we cannot dispose of it in a breath, as a\nmere play upon words. \u201cMuch is reckoned higher than life itself by the\nliving one.\u201d Nietzsche says that to speak of the activity of life as a\n\u201cstruggle for existence,\u201d is to state the case inadequately. He warns us\nnot to confound Malthus with nature. There is something more than\nthis struggle between the organic beings on this earth; want, which is\nsupposed to bring this struggle about, is not so common as is supposed;\nsome other force must be operative. The Will to Power is this force,\n\u201cthe instinct of self-preservation is only one of the indirect and most\nfrequent results thereof.\u201d A certain lack of acumen in psychological\nquestions and the condition of affairs in England at the time Darwin\nwrote, may both, according to Nietzsche, have induced the renowned\nnaturalist to describe the forces of nature as he did in his \u201cOrigin of\nSpecies\u201d.\n\nIn verses 28, 29, and 30 of the second portion of this discourse we meet\nwith a doctrine which, at first sight, seems to be merely \u201cle manoir\na l\u2019envers,\u201d indeed one English critic has actually said of Nietzsche,\nthat \u201cThus Spake Zarathustra\u201d is no more than a compendium of modern\nviews and maxims turned upside down. Examining these heterodox\npronouncements a little more closely, however, we may possibly perceive\ntheir truth. Regarding good and evil as purely relative values, it\nstands to reason that what may be bad or evil in a given man, relative\nto a certain environment, may actually be good if not highly virtuous\nin him relative to a certain other environment. If this hypothetical man\nrepresent the ascending line of life\u2014that is to say, if he promise all\nthat which is highest in a Graeco-Roman sense, then it is likely that\nhe will be condemned as wicked if introduced into the society of men\nrepresenting the opposite and descending line of life.\n\nBy depriving a man of his wickedness\u2014more particularly nowadays\u2014\ntherefore, one may unwittingly be doing violence to the greatest in him.\nIt may be an outrage against his wholeness, just as the lopping-off of a\nleg would be. Fortunately, the natural so-called \u201cwickedness\u201d of higher\nmen has in a certain measure been able to resist this lopping process\nwhich successive slave-moralities have practised; but signs are not\nwanting which show that the noblest wickedness is fast vanishing from\nsociety\u2014the wickedness of courage and determination\u2014and that Nietzsche\nhad good reasons for crying: \u201cAh, that (man\u2019s) baddest is so very small!\nAh, that his best is so very small. What is good? To be brave is good!\nIt is the good war which halloweth every cause!\u201d (see also par. 5,\n\u201cHigher Man\u201d).\n\nChapter LX. The Seven Seals.\n\nThis is a final paean which Zarathustra sings to Eternity and the\nmarriage-ring of rings, the ring of the Eternal Recurrence.\n\n ...\n\nPART IV.\n\nIn my opinion this part is Nietzsche\u2019s open avowal that all his\nphilosophy, together with all his hopes, enthusiastic outbursts,\nblasphemies, prolixities, and obscurities, were merely so many gifts\nlaid at the feet of higher men. He had no desire to save the world. What\nhe wished to determine was: Who is to be master of the world? This is\na very different thing. He came to save higher men;\u2014to give them that\nfreedom by which, alone, they can develop and reach their zenith (see\nNote on Chapter LIV., end). It has been argued, and with considerable\nforce, that no such philosophy is required by higher men, that, as a\nmatter of fact, higher men, by virtue of their constitutions always, do\nstand Beyond Good and Evil, and never allow anything to stand in the\nway of their complete growth. Nietzsche, however, was evidently not so\nconfident about this. He would probably have argued that we only see the\nsuccessful cases. Being a great man himself, he was well aware of the\ndangers threatening greatness in our age. In \u201cBeyond Good and Evil\u201d he\nwrites: \u201cThere are few pains so grievous as to have seen, divined,\nor experienced how an exceptional man has missed his way and\ndeteriorated...\u201d He knew \u201cfrom his painfullest recollections on what\nwretched obstacles promising developments of the highest rank have\nhitherto usually gone to pieces, broken down, sunk, and become\ncontemptible.\u201d Now in Part IV. we shall find that his strongest\ntemptation to descend to the feeling of \u201cpity\u201d for his contemporaries,\nis the \u201ccry for help\u201d which he hears from the lips of the higher men\nexposed to the dreadful danger of their modern environment.\n\nChapter LXI. The Honey Sacrifice.\n\nIn the fourteenth verse of this discourse Nietzsche defines the solemn\nduty he imposed upon himself: \u201cBecome what thou art.\u201d Surely the\ncriticism which has been directed against this maxim must all fall to\nthe ground when it is remembered, once and for all, that Nietzsche\u2019s\nteaching was never intended to be other than an esoteric one. \u201cI am a\nlaw only for mine own,\u201d he says emphatically, \u201cI am not a law for\nall.\u201d It is of the greatest importance to humanity that its highest\nindividuals should be allowed to attain to their full development; for,\nonly by means of its heroes can the human race be led forward step by\nstep to higher and yet higher levels. \u201cBecome what thou art\u201d applied\nto all, of course, becomes a vicious maxim; it is to be hoped, however,\nthat we may learn in time that the same action performed by a given\nnumber of men, loses its identity precisely that same number of\ntimes.\u2014\u201cQuod licet Jovi, non licet bovi.\u201d\n\nAt the last eight verses many readers may be tempted to laugh. In\nEngland we almost always laugh when a man takes himself seriously at\nanything save sport. And there is of course no reason why the reader\nshould not be hilarious.\u2014A certain greatness is requisite, both in\norder to be sublime and to have reverence for the sublime. Nietzsche\nearnestly believed that the Zarathustra-kingdom\u2014his dynasty of a\nthousand years\u2014would one day come; if he had not believed it so\nearnestly, if every artist in fact had not believed so earnestly in\nhis Hazar, whether of ten, fifteen, a hundred, or a thousand years, we\nshould have lost all our higher men; they would have become pessimists,\nsuicides, or merchants. If the minor poet and philosopher has made us\nshy of the prophetic seriousness which characterized an Isaiah or a\nJeremiah, it is surely our loss and the minor poet\u2019s gain.\n\nChapter LXII. The Cry of Distress.\n\nWe now meet with Zarathustra in extraordinary circumstances. He is\nconfronted with Schopenhauer and tempted by the old Soothsayer to commit\nthe sin of pity. \u201cI have come that I may seduce thee to thy last sin!\u201d\n says the Soothsayer to Zarathustra. It will be remembered that in\nSchopenhauer\u2019s ethics, pity is elevated to the highest place among the\nvirtues, and very consistently too, seeing that the Weltanschauung is\na pessimistic one. Schopenhauer appeals to Nietzsche\u2019s deepest and\nstrongest sentiment\u2014his sympathy for higher men. \u201cWhy dost thou conceal\nthyself?\u201d he cries. \u201cIt is THE HIGHER MAN that calleth for thee!\u201d\n Zarathustra is almost overcome by the Soothsayer\u2019s pleading, as he\nhad been once already in the past, but he resists him step by step. At\nlength he can withstand him no longer, and, on the plea that the higher\nman is on his ground and therefore under his protection, Zarathustra\ndeparts in search of him, leaving Schopenhauer\u2014a higher man in\nNietzsche\u2019s opinion\u2014in the cave as a guest.\n\nChapter LXIII. Talk with the Kings.\n\nOn his way Zarathustra meets two more higher men of his time; two\nkings cross his path. They are above the average modern type; for their\ninstincts tell them what real ruling is, and they despise the mockery\nwhich they have been taught to call \u201cReigning.\u201d \u201cWe ARE NOT the first\nmen,\u201d they say, \u201cand have nevertheless to STAND FOR them: of this\nimposture have we at last become weary and disgusted.\u201d It is the kings\nwho tell Zarathustra: \u201cThere is no sorer misfortune in all human destiny\nthan when the mighty of the earth are not also the first men. There\neverything becometh false and distorted and monstrous.\u201d The kings are\nalso asked by Zarathustra to accept the shelter of his cave, whereupon\nhe proceeds on his way.\n\nChapter LXIV. The Leech.\n\nAmong the higher men whom Zarathustra wishes to save, is also the\nscientific specialist\u2014the man who honestly and scrupulously pursues his\ninvestigations, as Darwin did, in one department of knowledge. \u201cI love\nhim who liveth in order to know, and seeketh to know in order that the\nSuperman may hereafter live. Thus seeketh he his own down-going.\u201d\n \u201cThe spiritually conscientious one,\u201d he is called in this discourse.\nZarathustra steps on him unawares, and the slave of science, bleeding\nfrom the violence he has done to himself by his self-imposed task,\nspeaks proudly of his little sphere of knowledge\u2014his little hand\u2019s\nbreadth of ground on Zarathustra\u2019s territory, philosophy. \u201cWhere mine\nhonesty ceaseth,\u201d says the true scientific specialist, \u201cthere am I blind\nand want also to be blind. Where I want to know, however, there want\nI also to be honest\u2014namely, severe, rigorous, restricted, cruel, and\ninexorable.\u201d Zarathustra greatly respecting this man, invites him too to\nthe cave, and then vanishes in answer to another cry for help.\n\nChapter LXV. The Magician.\n\nThe Magician is of course an artist, and Nietzsche\u2019s intimate knowledge\nof perhaps the greatest artist of his age rendered the selection of\nWagner, as the type in this discourse, almost inevitable. Most readers\nwill be acquainted with the facts relating to Nietzsche\u2019s and Wagner\u2019s\nfriendship and ultimate separation. As a boy and a youth Nietzsche had\nshown such a remarkable gift for music that it had been a question at\none time whether he should not perhaps give up everything else in order\nto develop this gift, but he became a scholar notwithstanding, although\nhe never entirely gave up composing, and playing the piano. While\nstill in his teens, he became acquainted with Wagner\u2019s music and\ngrew passionately fond of it. Long before he met Wagner he must have\nidealised him in his mind to an extent which only a profoundly artistic\nnature could have been capable of. Nietzsche always had high ideals for\nhumanity. If one were asked whether, throughout his many changes, there\nwas yet one aim, one direction, and one hope to which he held fast,\none would be forced to reply in the affirmative and declare that aim,\ndirection, and hope to have been \u201cthe elevation of the type man.\u201d\n Now, when Nietzsche met Wagner he was actually casting about for an\nincarnation of his dreams for the German people, and we have only to\nremember his youth (he was twenty-one when he was introduced to Wagner),\nhis love of Wagner\u2019s music, and the undoubted power of the great\nmusician\u2019s personality, in order to realise how very uncritical his\nattitude must have been in the first flood of his enthusiasm. Again,\nwhen the friendship ripened, we cannot well imagine Nietzsche, the\nyounger man, being anything less than intoxicated by his senior\u2019s\nattention and love, and we are therefore not surprised to find him\npressing Wagner forward as the great Reformer and Saviour of mankind.\n\u201cWagner in Bayreuth\u201d (English Edition, 1909) gives us the best proof\nof Nietzsche\u2019s infatuation, and although signs are not wanting in this\nessay which show how clearly and even cruelly he was sub-consciously\n\u201ctaking stock\u201d of his friend\u2014even then, the work is a record of what\ngreat love and admiration can do in the way of endowing the object\nof one\u2019s affection with all the qualities and ideals that a fertile\nimagination can conceive.\n\nWhen the blow came it was therefore all the more severe. Nietzsche\nat length realised that the friend of his fancy and the real Richard\nWagner\u2014the composer of Parsifal\u2014were not one; the fact dawned\nupon him slowly; disappointment upon disappointment, revelation after\nrevelation, ultimately brought it home to him, and though his best\ninstincts were naturally opposed to it at first, the revulsion of\nfeeling at last became too strong to be ignored, and Nietzsche was\nplunged into the blackest despair. Years after his break with Wagner,\nhe wrote \u201cThe Case of Wagner\u201d, and \u201cNietzsche contra Wagner\u201d, and these\nworks are with us to prove the sincerity and depth of his views on the\nman who was the greatest event of his life.\n\nThe poem in this discourse is, of course, reminiscent of Wagner\u2019s own\npoetical manner, and it must be remembered that the whole was written\nsubsequent to Nietzsche\u2019s final break with his friend. The dialogue\nbetween Zarathustra and the Magician reveals pretty fully what it\nwas that Nietzsche grew to loathe so intensely in Wagner,\u2014viz., his\npronounced histrionic tendencies, his dissembling powers, his inordinate\nvanity, his equivocalness, his falseness. \u201cIt honoureth thee,\u201d says\nZarathustra, \u201cthat thou soughtest for greatness, but it betrayeth thee\nalso. Thou art not great.\u201d The Magician is nevertheless sent as a guest\nto Zarathustra\u2019s cave; for, in his heart, Zarathustra believed until the\nend that the Magician was a higher man broken by modern values.\n\nChapter LXVI. Out of Service.\n\nZarathustra now meets the last pope, and, in a poetical form, we get\nNietzsche\u2019s description of the course Judaism and Christianity pursued\nbefore they reached their final break-up in Atheism, Agnosticism, and\nthe like. The God of a strong, warlike race\u2014the God of Israel\u2014is a\njealous, revengeful God. He is a power that can be pictured and endured\nonly by a hardy and courageous race, a race rich enough to sacrifice and\nto lose in sacrifice. The image of this God degenerates with the people\nthat appropriate it, and gradually He becomes a God of love\u2014\u201csoft and\nmellow,\u201d a lower middle-class deity, who is \u201cpitiful.\u201d He can no longer\nbe a God who requires sacrifice, for we ourselves are no longer rich\nenough for that. The tables are therefore turned upon Him; HE must\nsacrifice to us. His pity becomes so great that he actually does\nsacrifice something to us\u2014His only begotten Son. Such a process\ncarried to its logical conclusions must ultimately end in His own\ndestruction, and thus we find the pope declaring that God was one day\nsuffocated by His all-too-great pity. What follows is clear enough.\nZarathustra recognises another higher man in the ex-pope and sends him\ntoo as a guest to the cave.\n\nChapter LXVII. The Ugliest Man.\n\nThis discourse contains perhaps the boldest of Nietzsche\u2019s suggestions\nconcerning Atheism, as well as some extremely penetrating remarks upon\nthe sentiment of pity. Zarathustra comes across the repulsive creature\nsitting on the wayside, and what does he do? He manifests the only\ncorrect feelings that can be manifested in the presence of any great\nmisery\u2014that is to say, shame, reverence, embarrassment. Nietzsche\ndetested the obtrusive and gushing pity that goes up to misery without\na blush either on its cheek or in its heart\u2014the pity which is only\nanother form of self-glorification. \u201cThank God that I am not like\nthee!\u201d\u2014only this self-glorifying sentiment can lend a well-constituted\nman the impudence to SHOW his pity for the cripple and the\nill-constituted. In the presence of the ugliest man Nietzsche\nblushes,\u2014he blushes for his race; his own particular kind of\naltruism\u2014the altruism that might have prevented the existence of this\nman\u2014strikes him with all its force. He will have the world otherwise.\nHe will have a world where one need not blush for one\u2019s fellows\u2014hence\nhis appeal to us to love only our children\u2019s land, the land undiscovered\nin the remotest sea.\n\nZarathustra calls the ugliest man the murderer of God! Certainly, this\nis one aspect of a certain kind of Atheism\u2014the Atheism of the man who\nreveres beauty to such an extent that his own ugliness, which outrages\nhim, must be concealed from every eye lest it should not be respected as\nZarathustra respected it. If there be a God, He too must be evaded. His\npity must be foiled. But God is ubiquitous and omniscient. Therefore,\nfor the really GREAT ugly man, He must not exist. \u201cTheir pity IS it from\nwhich I flee away,\u201d he says\u2014that is to say: \u201cIt is from their want of\nreverence and lack of shame in presence of my great misery!\u201d The ugliest\nman despises himself; but Zarathustra said in his Prologue: \u201cI love\nthe great despisers because they are the great adorers, and arrows of\nlonging for the other shore.\u201d He therefore honours the ugliest man: sees\nheight in his self-contempt, and invites him to join the other higher\nmen in the cave.\n\nChapter LXVIII. The Voluntary Beggar.\n\nIn this discourse, we undoubtedly have the ideal Buddhist, if not\nGautama Buddha himself. Nietzsche had the greatest respect for Buddhism,\nand almost wherever he refers to it in his works, it is in terms of\npraise. He recognised that though Buddhism is undoubtedly a religion for\ndecadents, its decadent values emanate from the higher and not, as in\nChristianity, from the lower grades of society. In Aphorism 20 of \u201cThe\nAntichrist\u201d, he compares it exhaustively with Christianity, and\nthe result of his investigation is very much in favour of the older\nreligion. Still, he recognised a most decided Buddhistic influence\nin Christ\u2019s teaching, and the words in verses 29, 30, and 31 are very\nreminiscent of his views in regard to the Christian Savior.\n\nThe figure of Christ has been introduced often enough into fiction, and\nmany scholars have undertaken to write His life according to their own\nlights, but few perhaps have ever attempted to present Him to us bereft\nof all those characteristics which a lack of the sense of harmony has\nattached to His person through the ages in which His doctrines have been\ntaught. Now Nietzsche disagreed entirely with Renan\u2019s view, that Christ\nwas \u201cle grand maitre en ironie\u201d; in Aphorism 31 of \u201cThe Antichrist\u201d,\nhe says that he (Nietzsche) always purged his picture of the Humble\nNazarene of all those bitter and spiteful outbursts which, in view of\nthe struggle the first Christians went through, may very well have been\nadded to the original character by Apologists and Sectarians who, at\nthat time, could ill afford to consider nice psychological points,\nseeing that what they needed, above all, was a wrangling and abusive\ndeity. These two conflicting halves in the character of the Christ of\nthe Gospels, which no sound psychology can ever reconcile, Nietzsche\nalways kept distinct in his own mind; he could not credit the same man\nwith sentiments sometimes so noble and at other times so vulgar, and\nin presenting us with this new portrait of the Saviour, purged of all\nimpurities, Nietzsche rendered military honours to a foe, which far\nexceed in worth all that His most ardent disciples have ever claimed for\nHim. In verse 26 we are vividly reminded of Herbert Spencer\u2019s words \u201c\u2018Le\nmariage de convenance\u2019 is legalised prostitution.\u201d\n\nChapter LXIX. The Shadow.\n\nHere we have a description of that courageous and wayward spirit that\nliterally haunts the footsteps of every great thinker and every great\nleader; sometimes with the result that it loses all aims, all hopes,\nand all trust in a definite goal. It is the case of the bravest and\nmost broad-minded men of to-day. These literally shadow the most daring\nmovements in the science and art of their generation; they completely\nlose their bearings and actually find themselves, in the end, without a\nway, a goal, or a home. \u201cOn every surface have I already sat!...I become\nthin, I am almost equal to a shadow!\u201d At last, in despair, such men\ndo indeed cry out: \u201cNothing is true; all is permitted,\u201d and then they\nbecome mere wreckage. \u201cToo much hath become clear unto me: now nothing\nmattereth to me any more. Nothing liveth any longer that I love,\u2014how\nshould I still love myself! Have I still a goal? Where is MY home?\u201d\n Zarathustra realises the danger threatening such a man. \u201cThy danger is\nnot small, thou free spirit and wanderer,\u201d he says. \u201cThou hast had a bad\nday. See that a still worse evening doth not overtake thee!\u201d The danger\nZarathustra refers to is precisely this, that even a prison may seem a\nblessing to such a man. At least the bars keep him in a place of rest;\na place of confinement, at its worst, is real. \u201cBeware lest in the end\na narrow faith capture thee,\u201d says Zarathustra, \u201cfor now everything that\nis narrow and fixed seduceth and tempteth thee.\u201d\n\nChapter LXX. Noontide.\n\nAt the noon of life Nietzsche said he entered the world; with him\nman came of age. We are now held responsible for our actions; our old\nguardians, the gods and demi-gods of our youth, the superstitions and\nfears of our childhood, withdraw; the field lies open before us; we\nlived through our morning with but one master\u2014chance\u2014; let us see to\nit that we MAKE our afternoon our own (see Note XLIX., Part III.).\n\nChapter LXXI. The Greeting.\n\nHere I think I may claim that my contention in regard to the purpose and\naim of the whole of Nietzsche\u2019s philosophy (as stated at the beginning\nof my Notes on Part IV.) is completely upheld. He fought for \u201call who\ndo not want to live, unless they learn again to HOPE\u2014unless THEY learn\n(from him) the GREAT hope!\u201d Zarathustra\u2019s address to his guests shows\nclearly enough how he wished to help them: \u201cI DO NOT TREAT MY WARRIORS\nINDULGENTLY,\u201d he says: \u201chow then could ye be fit for MY warfare?\u201d He\nrebukes and spurns them, no word of love comes from his lips. Elsewhere\nhe says a man should be a hard bed to his friend, thus alone can he be\nof use to him. Nietzsche would be a hard bed to higher men. He would\nmake them harder; for, in order to be a law unto himself, man must\npossess the requisite hardness. \u201cI wait for higher ones, stronger ones,\nmore triumphant ones, merrier ones, for such as are built squarely in\nbody and soul.\u201d He says in par. 6 of \u201cHigher Man\u201d:\u2014\n\n\u201cYe higher men, think ye that I am here to put right what ye have put\nwrong? Or that I wished henceforth to make snugger couches for you\nsufferers? Or show you restless, miswandering, misclimbing ones new and\neasier footpaths?\u201d\n\n\u201cNay! Nay! Three times nay! Always more, always better ones of your type\nshall succumb\u2014for ye shall always have it worse and harder.\u201d\n\nChapter LXXII. The Supper.\n\nIn the first seven verses of this discourse, I cannot help seeing\na gentle allusion to Schopenhauer\u2019s habits as a bon-vivant. For a\npessimist, be it remembered, Schopenhauer led quite an extraordinary\nlife. He ate well, loved well, played the flute well, and I believe he\nsmoked the best cigars. What follows is clear enough.\n\nChapter LXXIII. The Higher Man. Par. 1.\n\nNietzsche admits, here, that at one time he had thought of appealing to\nthe people, to the crowd in the market-place, but that he had ultimately\nto abandon the task. He bids higher men depart from the market-place.\n\nPar. 3.\n\nHere we are told quite plainly what class of men actually owe all their\nimpulses and desires to the instinct of self-preservation. The struggle\nfor existence is indeed the only spur in the case of such people.\nTo them it matters not in what shape or condition man be preserved,\nprovided only he survive. The transcendental maxim that \u201cLife per se is\nprecious\u201d is the ruling maxim here.\n\nPar. 4.\n\nIn the Note on Chapter LVII. (end) I speak of Nietzsche\u2019s elevation of\nthe virtue, Courage, to the highest place among the virtues. Here he\ntells higher men the class of courage he expects from them.\n\nPars. 5, 6.\n\nThese have already been referred to in the Notes on Chapters LVII. (end)\nand LXXI.\n\nPar. 7.\n\nI suggest that the last verse in this paragraph strongly confirms the\nview that Nietzsche\u2019s teaching was always meant by him to be esoteric\nand for higher man alone.\n\nPar. 9.\n\nIn the last verse, here, another shaft of light is thrown upon the\nImmaculate Perception or so-called \u201cpure objectivity\u201d of the scientific\nmind. \u201cFreedom from fever is still far from being knowledge.\u201d Where a\nman\u2019s emotions cease to accompany him in his investigations, he is\nnot necessarily nearer the truth. Says Spencer, in the Preface to his\nAutobiography:\u2014\u201cIn the genesis of a system of thought, the emotional\nnature is a large factor: perhaps as large a factor as the intellectual\nnature\u201d (see pages 134, 141 of Vol. I., \u201cThoughts out of Season\u201d).\n\nPars. 10, 11.\n\nWhen we approach Nietzsche\u2019s philosophy we must be prepared to be\nindependent thinkers; in fact, the greatest virtue of his works is\nperhaps the subtlety with which they impose the obligation upon one\nof thinking alone, of scoring off one\u2019s own bat, and of shifting\nintellectually for oneself.\n\nPar. 13.\n\n\u201cI am a railing alongside the torrent; whoever is able to grasp me, may\ngrasp me! Your crutch, however, I am not.\u201d These two paragraphs are an\nexhortation to higher men to become independent.\n\nPar. 15.\n\nHere Nietzsche perhaps exaggerates the importance of heredity. As,\nhowever, the question is by no means one on which we are all agreed,\nwhat he says is not without value.\n\nA very important principle in Nietzsche\u2019s philosophy is enunciated in\nthe first verse of this paragraph. \u201cThe higher its type, always the\nseldomer doth a thing succeed\u201d (see page 82 of \u201cBeyond Good and Evil\u201d).\nThose who, like some political economists, talk in a business-like way\nabout the terrific waste of human life and energy, deliberately overlook\nthe fact that the waste most to be deplored usually occurs among\nhigher individuals. Economy was never precisely one of nature\u2019s leading\nprinciples. All this sentimental wailing over the larger proportion\nof failures than successes in human life, does not seem to take into\naccount the fact that it is the rarest thing on earth for a highly\norganised being to attain to the fullest development and activity of all\nits functions, simply because it is so highly organised. The blind Will\nto Power in nature therefore stands in urgent need of direction by man.\n\nPars. 16, 17, 18, 19, 20.\n\nThese paragraphs deal with Nietzsche\u2019s protest against the democratic\nseriousness (Pobelernst) of modern times. \u201cAll good things laugh,\u201d he\nsays, and his final command to the higher men is, \u201cLEARN, I pray you\u2014to\nlaugh.\u201d All that is GOOD, in Nietzsche\u2019s sense, is cheerful. To be able\nto crack a joke about one\u2019s deepest feelings is the greatest test of\ntheir value. The man who does not laugh, like the man who does not make\nfaces, is already a buffoon at heart.\n\n\u201cWhat hath hitherto been the greatest sin here on earth? Was it not the\nword of him who said: \u2018Woe unto them that laugh now!\u2019 Did he himself\nfind no cause for laughter on the earth? Then he sought badly. A child\neven findeth cause for it.\u201d\n\nChapter LXXIV. The Song of Melancholy.\n\nAfter his address to the higher men, Zarathustra goes out into the\nopen to recover himself. Meanwhile the magician (Wagner), seizing the\nopportunity in order to draw them all into his net once more, sings the\nSong of Melancholy.\n\nChapter LXXV. Science.\n\nThe only one to resist the \u201cmelancholy voluptuousness\u201d of his art, is\nthe spiritually conscientious one\u2014the scientific specialist of whom we\nread in the discourse entitled \u201cThe Leech\u201d. He takes the harp from the\nmagician and cries for air, while reproving the musician in the style\nof \u201cThe Case of Wagner\u201d. When the magician retaliates by saying that the\nspiritually conscientious one could have understood little of his song,\nthe latter replies: \u201cThou praisest me in that thou separatest me from\nthyself.\u201d The speech of the scientific man to his fellow higher men is\nwell worth studying. By means of it, Nietzsche pays a high tribute to\nthe honesty of the true specialist, while, in representing him as the\nonly one who can resist the demoniacal influence of the magician\u2019s\nmusic, he elevates him at a stroke, above all those present. Zarathustra\nand the spiritually conscientious one join issue at the end on the\nquestion of the proper place of \u201cfear\u201d in man\u2019s history, and Nietzsche\navails himself of the opportunity in order to restate his views\nconcerning the relation of courage to humanity. It is precisely because\ncourage has played the most important part in our development that\nhe would not see it vanish from among our virtues to-day. \u201c...courage\nseemeth to me the entire primitive history of man.\u201d\n\nChapter LXXVI. Among the Daughters of the Desert.\n\nThis tells its own tale.\n\nChapter LXXVII. The Awakening.\n\nIn this discourse, Nietzsche wishes to give his followers a warning.\nHe thinks he has so far helped them that they have become convalescent,\nthat new desires are awakened in them and that new hopes are in their\narms and legs. But he mistakes the nature of the change. True, he has\nhelped them, he has given them back what they most need, i.e., belief in\nbelieving\u2014the confidence in having confidence in something, but how\ndo they use it? This belief in faith, if one can so express it without\nseeming tautological, has certainly been restored to them, and in\nthe first flood of their enthusiasm they use it by bowing down and\nworshipping an ass! When writing this passage, Nietzsche was obviously\nthinking of the accusations which were levelled at the early Christians\nby their pagan contemporaries. It is well known that they were supposed\nnot only to be eaters of human flesh but also ass-worshippers, and among\nthe Roman graffiti, the most famous is the one found on the Palatino,\nshowing a man worshipping a cross on which is suspended a figure\nwith the head of an ass (see Minucius Felix, \u201cOctavius\u201d IX.; Tacitus,\n\u201cHistoriae\u201d v. 3; Tertullian, \u201cApologia\u201d, etc.). Nietzsche\u2019s obvious\nmoral, however, is that great scientists and thinkers, once they have\nreached the wall encircling scepticism and have thereby learned to\nrecover their confidence in the act of believing, as such, usually\nmanifest the change in their outlook by falling victims to the narrowest\nand most superstitious of creeds. So much for the introduction of the\nass as an object of worship.\n\nNow, with regard to the actual service and Ass-Festival, no reader who\nhappens to be acquainted with the religious history of the Middle Ages\nwill fail to see the allusion here to the asinaria festa which were by\nno means uncommon in France, Germany, and elsewhere in Europe during the\nthirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries.\n\nChapter LXXVIII. The Ass-Festival.\n\nAt length, in the middle of their feast, Zarathustra bursts in upon\nthem and rebukes them soundly. But he does not do so long; in the\nAss-Festival, it suddenly occurs to him, that he is concerned with a\nceremony that may not be without its purpose, as something foolish but\nnecessary\u2014a recreation for wise men. He is therefore highly pleased\nthat the higher men have all blossomed forth; they therefore require\nnew festivals,\u2014\u201cA little valiant nonsense, some divine service and\nass-festival, some old joyful Zarathustra fool, some blusterer to blow\ntheir souls bright.\u201d\n\nHe tells them not to forget that night and the ass-festival, for \u201csuch\nthings only the convalescent devise! And should ye celebrate it again,\u201d\n he concludes, \u201cdo it from love to yourselves, do it also from love to\nme! And in remembrance of ME!\u201d\n\nChapter LXXIX. The Drunken Song.\n\nIt were the height of presumption to attempt to fix any particular\ninterpretation of my own to the words of this song. With what has gone\nbefore, the reader, while reading it as poetry, should be able to seek\nand find his own meaning in it. The doctrine of the Eternal Recurrence\nappears for the last time here, in an art-form. Nietzsche lays stress\nupon the fact that all happiness, all delight, longs for repetitions,\nand just as a child cries \u201cAgain! Again!\u201d to the adult who happens to\nbe amusing him; so the man who sees a meaning, and a joyful meaning, in\nexistence must also cry \u201cAgain!\u201d and yet \u201cAgain!\u201d to all his life.\n\nChapter LXXX. The Sign.\n\nIn this discourse, Nietzsche disassociates himself finally from the\nhigher men, and by the symbol of the lion, wishes to convey to us that\nhe has won over and mastered the best and the most terrible in nature.\nThat great power and tenderness are kin, was already his belief in\n1875\u2014eight years before he wrote this speech, and when the birds and\nthe lion come to him, it is because he is the embodiment of the two\nqualities. All that is terrible and great in nature, the higher men are\nnot yet prepared for; for they retreat horror-stricken into the cave\nwhen the lion springs at them; but Zarathustra makes not a move towards\nthem. He was tempted to them on the previous day, he says, but \u201cThat\nhath had its time! My suffering and my fellow-suffering,\u2014what matter\nabout them! Do I then strive after HAPPINESS? I strive after my work!\nWell! the lion hath come, my children are nigh. Zarathustra hath grown\nripe. MY day beginneth: ARISE NOW, ARISE, THOU GREAT NOONDAY!\u201d\n\n ...\n\nThe above I know to be open to much criticism. I shall be grateful to\nall those who will be kind enough to show me where and how I have gone\nwrong; but I should like to point out that, as they stand, I have not\ngiven to these Notes by any means their final form.\n\nANTHONY M. LUDOVICI.\n\nLondon, February 1909.","title":"Thus Spake Zarathustra: A Book for All and None","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":110900}