10. LIV. THE THREE EVIL THINGS.
10.1. 1.
438
In my dream, in my last morning-dream, I stood to-day on a promontory— beyond the world; I held a pair of scales, and WEIGHED the world.
439
Alas, that the rosy dawn came too early to me: she glowed me awake, the jealous one! Jealous is she always of the glows of my morning-dream.
440
Measurable by him who hath time, weighable by a good weigher, attainable by strong pinions, divinable by divine nut-crackers: thus did my dream find the world:—
441
My dream, a bold sailor, half-ship, half-hurricane, silent as the butterfly, impatient as the falcon: how had it the patience and leisure to-day for world-weighing!
442
Did my wisdom perhaps speak secretly to it, my laughing, wide-awake day-wisdom, which mocketh at all “infinite worlds”? For it saith: “Where force is, there becometh NUMBER the master: it hath more force.”
443
How confidently did my dream contemplate this finite world, not new-fangledly, not old-fangledly, not timidly, not entreatingly:—
444
—As if a big round apple presented itself to my hand, a ripe golden apple, with a coolly-soft, velvety skin:—thus did the world present itself unto me:—
445
—As if a tree nodded unto me, a broad-branched, strong-willed tree, curved as a recline and a foot-stool for weary travellers: thus did the world stand on my promontory:—
446
—As if delicate hands carried a casket towards me—a casket open for the delectation of modest adoring eyes: thus did the world present itself before me to-day:—
447
—Not riddle enough to scare human love from it, not solution enough to put to sleep human wisdom:—a humanly good thing was the world to me to-day, of which such bad things are said!
448
How I thank my morning-dream that I thus at to-day’s dawn, weighed the world! As a humanly good thing did it come unto me, this dream and heart-comforter!
449
And that I may do the like by day, and imitate and copy its best, now will I put the three worst things on the scales, and weigh them humanly well.—
450
He who taught to bless taught also to curse: what are the three best cursed things in the world? These will I put on the scales.
451
VOLUPTUOUSNESS, PASSION FOR POWER, and SELFISHNESS: these three things have hitherto been best cursed, and have been in worst and falsest repute—these three things will I weigh humanly well.
452
Well! Here is my promontory, and there is the sea—IT rolleth hither unto me, shaggily and fawningly, the old, faithful, hundred-headed dog-monster that I love!—
453
Well! Here will I hold the scales over the weltering sea: and also a witness do I choose to look on—thee, the anchorite-tree, thee, the strong-odoured, broad-arched tree that I love!—
454
On what bridge goeth the now to the hereafter? By what constraint doth the high stoop to the low? And what enjoineth even the highest still—to grow upwards?—
455
Now stand the scales poised and at rest: three heavy questions have I thrown in; three heavy answers carrieth the other scale.
10.2. 2.
457
Voluptuousness: unto all hair-shirted despisers of the body, a sting and stake; and, cursed as “the world,” by all backworldsmen: for it mocketh and befooleth all erring, misinferring teachers.
458
Voluptuousness: to the rabble, the slow fire at which it is burnt; to all wormy wood, to all stinking rags, the prepared heat and stew furnace.
459
Voluptuousness: to free hearts, a thing innocent and free, the garden-happiness of the earth, all the future’s thanks-overflow to the present.
460
Voluptuousness: only to the withered a sweet poison; to the lion-willed, however, the great cordial, and the reverently saved wine of wines.
461
Voluptuousness: the great symbolic happiness of a higher happiness and highest hope. For to many is marriage promised, and more than marriage,—
462
—To many that are more unknown to each other than man and woman:—and who hath fully understood HOW UNKNOWN to each other are man and woman!
463
Voluptuousness:—but I will have hedges around my thoughts, and even around my words, lest swine and libertine should break into my gardens!—
464
Passion for power: the glowing scourge of the hardest of the heart-hard; the cruel torture reserved for the cruellest themselves; the gloomy flame of living pyres.
465
Passion for power: the wicked gadfly which is mounted on the vainest peoples; the scorner of all uncertain virtue; which rideth on every horse and on every pride.
466
Passion for power: the earthquake which breaketh and upbreaketh all that is rotten and hollow; the rolling, rumbling, punitive demolisher of whited sepulchres; the flashing interrogative-sign beside premature answers.
467
Passion for power: before whose glance man creepeth and croucheth and drudgeth, and becometh lower than the serpent and the swine:—until at last great contempt crieth out of him—,
468
Passion for power: the terrible teacher of great contempt, which preacheth to their face to cities and empires: “Away with thee!”—until a voice crieth out of themselves: “Away with ME!”
469
Passion for power: which, however, mounteth alluringly even to the pure and lonesome, and up to self-satisfied elevations, glowing like a love that painteth purple felicities alluringly on earthly heavens.
470
Passion for power: but who would call it PASSION, when the height longeth to stoop for power! Verily, nothing sick or diseased is there in such longing and descending!
471
That the lonesome height may not for ever remain lonesome and self-sufficing; that the mountains may come to the valleys and the winds of the heights to the plains:—
472
Oh, who could find the right prenomen and honouring name for such longing! “Bestowing virtue”—thus did Zarathustra once name the unnamable.
473
And then it happened also,—and verily, it happened for the first time!—that his word blessed SELFISHNESS, the wholesome, healthy selfishness, that springeth from the powerful soul:—
474
—From the powerful soul, to which the high body appertaineth, the handsome, triumphing, refreshing body, around which everything becometh a mirror:
475
—The pliant, persuasive body, the dancer, whose symbol and epitome is the self-enjoying soul. Of such bodies and souls the self-enjoyment calleth itself “virtue.”
476
With its words of good and bad doth such self-enjoyment shelter itself as with sacred groves; with the names of its happiness doth it banish from itself everything contemptible.
477
Away from itself doth it banish everything cowardly; it saith: “Bad—THAT IS cowardly!” Contemptible seem to it the ever-solicitous, the sighing, the complaining, and whoever pick up the most trifling advantage.
478
It despiseth also all bitter-sweet wisdom: for verily, there is also wisdom that bloometh in the dark, a night-shade wisdom, which ever sigheth: “All is vain!”
479
Shy distrust is regarded by it as base, and every one who wanteth oaths instead of looks and hands: also all over-distrustful wisdom,—for such is the mode of cowardly souls.
480
Baser still it regardeth the obsequious, doggish one, who immediately lieth on his back, the submissive one; and there is also wisdom that is submissive, and doggish, and pious, and obsequious.
481
Hateful to it altogether, and a loathing, is he who will never defend himself, he who swalloweth down poisonous spittle and bad looks, the all-too-patient one, the all-endurer, the all-satisfied one: for that is the mode of slaves.
482
Whether they be servile before Gods and divine spurnings, or before men and stupid human opinions: at ALL kinds of slaves doth it spit, this blessed selfishness!
483
Bad: thus doth it call all that is spirit-broken, and sordidly-servile—constrained, blinking eyes, depressed hearts, and the false submissive style, which kisseth with broad cowardly lips.
484
And spurious wisdom: so doth it call all the wit that slaves, and hoary-headed and weary ones affect; and especially all the cunning, spurious-witted, curious-witted foolishness of priests!
485
The spurious wise, however, all the priests, the world-weary, and those whose souls are of feminine and servile nature—oh, how hath their game all along abused selfishness!
486
And precisely THAT was to be virtue and was to be called virtue—to abuse selfishness! And “selfless”—so did they wish themselves with good reason, all those world-weary cowards and cross-spiders!
487
But to all those cometh now the day, the change, the sword of judgment, THE GREAT NOONTIDE: then shall many things be revealed!
488
And he who proclaimeth the EGO wholesome and holy, and selfishness blessed, verily, he, the prognosticator, speaketh also what he knoweth: “BEHOLD, IT COMETH, IT IS NIGH, THE GREAT NOONTIDE!”
489
Thus spake Zarathustra.
11. LV. THE SPIRIT OF GRAVITY.
11.1. 1.
492
My mouthpiece—is of the people: too coarsely and cordially do I talk for Angora rabbits. And still stranger soundeth my word unto all ink-fish and pen-foxes.
493
My hand—is a fool’s hand: woe unto all tables and walls, and whatever hath room for fool’s sketching, fool’s scrawling!
494
My foot—is a horse-foot; therewith do I trample and trot over stick and stone, in the fields up and down, and am bedevilled with delight in all fast racing.
495
My stomach—is surely an eagle’s stomach? For it preferreth lamb’s flesh. Certainly it is a bird’s stomach.
496
Nourished with innocent things, and with few, ready and impatient to fly, to fly away—that is now my nature: why should there not be something of bird-nature therein!
497
And especially that I am hostile to the spirit of gravity, that is bird-nature:—verily, deadly hostile, supremely hostile, originally hostile! Oh, whither hath my hostility not flown and misflown!
498
Thereof could I sing a song—and WILL sing it: though I be alone in an empty house, and must sing it to mine own ears.
499
Other singers are there, to be sure, to whom only the full house maketh the voice soft, the hand eloquent, the eye expressive, the heart wakeful:—those do I not resemble.—
11.2. 2.
501
He who one day teacheth men to fly will have shifted all landmarks; to him will all landmarks themselves fly into the air; the earth will he christen anew—as “the light body.”
502
The ostrich runneth faster than the fastest horse, but it also thrusteth its head heavily into the heavy earth: thus is it with the man who cannot yet fly.
503
Heavy unto him are earth and life, and so WILLETH the spirit of gravity! But he who would become light, and be a bird, must love himself:—thus do I teach.
504
Not, to be sure, with the love of the sick and infected, for with them stinketh even self-love!
505
One must learn to love oneself—thus do I teach—with a wholesome and healthy love: that one may endure to be with oneself, and not go roving about.
506
Such roving about christeneth itself “brotherly love”; with these words hath there hitherto been the best lying and dissembling, and especially by those who have been burdensome to every one.
507
And verily, it is no commandment for to-day and to-morrow to LEARN to love oneself. Rather is it of all arts the finest, subtlest, last and patientest.
508
For to its possessor is all possession well concealed, and of all treasure-pits one’s own is last excavated—so causeth the spirit of gravity.
509
Almost in the cradle are we apportioned with heavy words and worths: “good” and “evil”—so calleth itself this dowry. For the sake of it we are forgiven for living.
510
And therefore suffereth one little children to come unto one, to forbid them betimes to love themselves—so causeth the spirit of gravity.
511
And we—we bear loyally what is apportioned unto us, on hard shoulders, over rugged mountains! And when we sweat, then do people say to us: “Yea, life is hard to bear!”
512
But man himself only is hard to bear! The reason thereof is that he carrieth too many extraneous things on his shoulders. Like the camel kneeleth he down, and letteth himself be well laden.
513
Especially the strong load-bearing man in whom reverence resideth. Too many EXTRANEOUS heavy words and worths loadeth he upon himself—then seemeth life to him a desert!
514
And verily! Many a thing also that is OUR OWN is hard to bear! And many internal things in man are like the oyster—repulsive and slippery and hard to grasp;—
515
So that an elegant shell, with elegant adornment, must plead for them. But this art also must one learn: to HAVE a shell, and a fine appearance, and sagacious blindness!
516
Again, it deceiveth about many things in man, that many a shell is poor and pitiable, and too much of a shell. Much concealed goodness and power is never dreamt of; the choicest dainties find no tasters!
517
Women know that, the choicest of them: a little fatter a little leaner— oh, how much fate is in so little!
518
Man is difficult to discover, and unto himself most difficult of all; often lieth the spirit concerning the soul. So causeth the spirit of gravity.
519
He, however, hath discovered himself who saith: This is MY good and evil: therewith hath he silenced the mole and the dwarf, who say: “Good for all, evil for all.”
520
Verily, neither do I like those who call everything good, and this world the best of all. Those do I call the all-satisfied.
521
All-satisfiedness, which knoweth how to taste everything,—that is not the best taste! I honour the refractory, fastidious tongues and stomachs, which have learned to say “I” and “Yea” and “Nay.”
522
To chew and digest everything, however—that is the genuine swine-nature! Ever to say YE-A—that hath only the ass learnt, and those like it!—
523
Deep yellow and hot red—so wanteth MY taste—it mixeth blood with all colours. He, however, who whitewasheth his house, betrayeth unto me a whitewashed soul.
524
With mummies, some fall in love; others with phantoms: both alike hostile to all flesh and blood—oh, how repugnant are both to my taste! For I love blood.
525
And there will I not reside and abide where every one spitteth and speweth: that is now MY taste,—rather would I live amongst thieves and perjurers. Nobody carrieth gold in his mouth.
526
Still more repugnant unto me, however, are all lickspittles; and the most repugnant animal of man that I found, did I christen “parasite”: it would not love, and would yet live by love.
527
Unhappy do I call all those who have only one choice: either to become evil beasts, or evil beast-tamers. Amongst such would I not build my tabernacle.
528
Unhappy do I also call those who have ever to WAIT,—they are repugnant to my taste—all the toll-gatherers and traders, and kings, and other landkeepers and shopkeepers.
529
Verily, I learned waiting also, and thoroughly so,—but only waiting for MYSELF. And above all did I learn standing and walking and running and leaping and climbing and dancing.
530
This however is my teaching: he who wisheth one day to fly, must first learn standing and walking and running and climbing and dancing:—one doth not fly into flying!
531
With rope-ladders learned I to reach many a window, with nimble legs did I climb high masts: to sit on high masts of perception seemed to me no small bliss;—
532
—To flicker like small flames on high masts: a small light, certainly, but a great comfort to cast-away sailors and ship-wrecked ones!
533
By divers ways and wendings did I arrive at my truth; not by one ladder did I mount to the height where mine eye roveth into my remoteness.
534
And unwillingly only did I ask my way—that was always counter to my taste! Rather did I question and test the ways themselves.
535
A testing and a questioning hath been all my travelling:—and verily, one must also LEARN to answer such questioning! That, however,—is my taste:
536
—Neither a good nor a bad taste, but MY taste, of which I have no longer either shame or secrecy.
537
“This—is now MY way,—where is yours?” Thus did I answer those who asked me “the way.” For THE way—it doth not exist!
538
Thus spake Zarathustra.
12. LVI. OLD AND NEW TABLES.
12.1. 1.
541
Here do I sit and wait, old broken tables around me and also new half-written tables. When cometh mine hour?
542
—The hour of my descent, of my down-going: for once more will I go unto men.
543
For that hour do I now wait: for first must the signs come unto me that it is MINE hour—namely, the laughing lion with the flock of doves.
544
Meanwhile do I talk to myself as one who hath time. No one telleth me anything new, so I tell myself mine own story.
12.2. 2.
546
When I came unto men, then found I them resting on an old infatuation: all of them thought they had long known what was good and bad for men.
547
An old wearisome business seemed to them all discourse about virtue; and he who wished to sleep well spake of “good” and “bad” ere retiring to rest.
548
This somnolence did I disturb when I taught that NO ONE YET KNOWETH what is good and bad:—unless it be the creating one!
549
—It is he, however, who createth man’s goal, and giveth to the earth its meaning and its future: he only EFFECTETH it THAT aught is good or bad.
550
And I bade them upset their old academic chairs, and wherever that old infatuation had sat; I bade them laugh at their great moralists, their saints, their poets, and their Saviours.
551
At their gloomy sages did I bid them laugh, and whoever had sat admonishing as a black scarecrow on the tree of life.
552
On their great grave-highway did I seat myself, and even beside the carrion and vultures—and I laughed at all their bygone and its mellow decaying glory.
553
Verily, like penitential preachers and fools did I cry wrath and shame on all their greatness and smallness. Oh, that their best is so very small! Oh, that their worst is so very small! Thus did I laugh.
554
Thus did my wise longing, born in the mountains, cry and laugh in me; a wild wisdom, verily!—my great pinion-rustling longing.
555
And oft did it carry me off and up and away and in the midst of laughter; then flew I quivering like an arrow with sun-intoxicated rapture:
556
—Out into distant futures, which no dream hath yet seen, into warmer souths than ever sculptor conceived,—where gods in their dancing are ashamed of all clothes:
557
(That I may speak in parables and halt and stammer like the poets: and verily I am ashamed that I have still to be a poet!)
558
Where all becoming seemed to me dancing of Gods, and wantoning of Gods, and the world unloosed and unbridled and fleeing back to itself:—
559
—As an eternal self-fleeing and re-seeking of one another of many Gods, as the blessed self-contradicting, recommuning, and refraternising with one another of many Gods:—
560
Where all time seemed to me a blessed mockery of moments, where necessity was freedom itself, which played happily with the goad of freedom:—
561
Where I also found again mine old devil and arch-enemy, the spirit of gravity, and all that it created: constraint, law, necessity and consequence and purpose and will and good and evil:—
562
For must there not be that which is danced OVER, danced beyond? Must there not, for the sake of the nimble, the nimblest,—be moles and clumsy dwarfs?—
12.3. 3.
564
There was it also where I picked up from the path the word “Superman,” and that man is something that must be surpassed.
565
—That man is a bridge and not a goal—rejoicing over his noontides and evenings, as advances to new rosy dawns:
566
—The Zarathustra word of the great noontide, and whatever else I have hung up over men like purple evening-afterglows.
567
Verily, also new stars did I make them see, along with new nights; and over cloud and day and night, did I spread out laughter like a gay-coloured canopy.
568
I taught them all MY poetisation and aspiration: to compose and collect into unity what is fragment in man, and riddle and fearful chance;—
569
—As composer, riddle-reader, and redeemer of chance, did I teach them to create the future, and all that HATH BEEN—to redeem by creating.
570
The past of man to redeem, and every “It was” to transform, until the Will saith: “But so did I will it! So shall I will it—”
571
—This did I call redemption; this alone taught I them to call redemption.—
572
Now do I await MY redemption—that I may go unto them for the last time.
573
For once more will I go unto men: AMONGST them will my sun set; in dying will I give them my choicest gift!
574
From the sun did I learn this, when it goeth down, the exuberant one: gold doth it then pour into the sea, out of inexhaustible riches,—
575
—So that the poorest fisherman roweth even with GOLDEN oars! For this did I once see, and did not tire of weeping in beholding it.—
576
Like the sun will also Zarathustra go down: now sitteth he here and waiteth, old broken tables around him, and also new tables—half-written.
12.4. 4.
578
Behold, here is a new table; but where are my brethren who will carry it with me to the valley and into hearts of flesh?—
579
Thus demandeth my great love to the remotest ones: BE NOT CONSIDERATE OF THY NEIGHBOUR! Man is something that must be surpassed.
580
There are many divers ways and modes of surpassing: see THOU thereto! But only a buffoon thinketh: “man can also be OVERLEAPT.”
581
Surpass thyself even in thy neighbour: and a right which thou canst seize upon, shalt thou not allow to be given thee!
582
What thou doest can no one do to thee again. Lo, there is no requital.
583
He who cannot command himself shall obey. And many a one CAN command himself, but still sorely lacketh self-obedience!
12.5. 5.
585
Thus wisheth the type of noble souls: they desire to have nothing GRATUITOUSLY, least of all, life.
586
He who is of the populace wisheth to live gratuitously; we others, however, to whom life hath given itself—we are ever considering WHAT we can best give IN RETURN!
587
And verily, it is a noble dictum which saith: “What life promiseth US, that promise will WE keep—to life!”
588
One should not wish to enjoy where one doth not contribute to the enjoyment. And one should not WISH to enjoy!
589
For enjoyment and innocence are the most bashful things. Neither like to be sought for. One should HAVE them,—but one should rather SEEK for guilt and pain!—
12.6. 6.
591
O my brethren, he who is a firstling is ever sacrificed. Now, however, are we firstlings!
592
We all bleed on secret sacrificial altars, we all burn and broil in honour of ancient idols.
593
Our best is still young: this exciteth old palates. Our flesh is tender, our skin is only lambs’ skin:—how could we not excite old idol-priests!
594
IN OURSELVES dwelleth he still, the old idol-priest, who broileth our best for his banquet. Ah, my brethren, how could firstlings fail to be sacrifices!
595
But so wisheth our type; and I love those who do not wish to preserve themselves, the down-going ones do I love with mine entire love: for they go beyond.—
12.7. 7.
597
To be true—that CAN few be! And he who can, will not! Least of all, however, can the good be true.
598
Oh, those good ones! GOOD MEN NEVER SPEAK THE TRUTH. For the spirit, thus to be good, is a malady.
599
They yield, those good ones, they submit themselves; their heart repeateth, their soul obeyeth: HE, however, who obeyeth, DOTH NOT LISTEN TO HIMSELF!
600
All that is called evil by the good, must come together in order that one truth may be born. O my brethren, are ye also evil enough for THIS truth?
601
The daring venture, the prolonged distrust, the cruel Nay, the tedium, the cutting-into-the-quick—how seldom do THESE come together! Out of such seed, however—is truth produced!
602
BESIDE the bad conscience hath hitherto grown all KNOWLEDGE! Break up, break up, ye discerning ones, the old tables!
12.8. 8.
604
When the water hath planks, when gangways and railings o’erspan the stream, verily, he is not believed who then saith: “All is in flux.”
605
But even the simpletons contradict him. “What?” say the simpletons, “all in flux? Planks and railings are still OVER the stream!
606
“OVER the stream all is stable, all the values of things, the bridges and bearings, all ‘good’ and ‘evil’: these are all STABLE!”—
607
Cometh, however, the hard winter, the stream-tamer, then learn even the wittiest distrust, and verily, not only the simpletons then say: “Should not everything—STAND STILL?”
608
“Fundamentally standeth everything still”—that is an appropriate winter doctrine, good cheer for an unproductive period, a great comfort for winter-sleepers and fireside-loungers.
609
“Fundamentally standeth everything still”—: but CONTRARY thereto, preacheth the thawing wind!
610
The thawing wind, a bullock, which is no ploughing bullock—a furious bullock, a destroyer, which with angry horns breaketh the ice! The ice however—BREAKETH GANGWAYS!
611
O my brethren, is not everything AT PRESENT IN FLUX? Have not all railings and gangways fallen into the water? Who would still HOLD ON to “good” and “evil”?
612
“Woe to us! Hail to us! The thawing wind bloweth!”—Thus preach, my brethren, through all the streets!
12.9. 9.
614
There is an old illusion—it is called good and evil. Around soothsayers and astrologers hath hitherto revolved the orbit of this illusion.
615
Once did one BELIEVE in soothsayers and astrologers; and THEREFORE did one believe, “Everything is fate: thou shalt, for thou must!”
616
Then again did one distrust all soothsayers and astrologers; and THEREFORE did one believe, “Everything is freedom: thou canst, for thou willest!”
617
O my brethren, concerning the stars and the future there hath hitherto been only illusion, and not knowledge; and THEREFORE concerning good and evil there hath hitherto been only illusion and not knowledge!
12.10. 10.
619
“Thou shalt not rob! Thou shalt not slay!”—such precepts were once called holy; before them did one bow the knee and the head, and take off one’s shoes.
620
But I ask you: Where have there ever been better robbers and slayers in the world than such holy precepts?
621
Is there not even in all life—robbing and slaying? And for such precepts to be called holy, was not TRUTH itself thereby—slain?
622
—Or was it a sermon of death that called holy what contradicted and dissuaded from life?—O my brethren, break up, break up for me the old tables!
12.11. 11.
624
It is my sympathy with all the past that I see it is abandoned,—
625
—Abandoned to the favour, the spirit and the madness of every generation that cometh, and reinterpreteth all that hath been as its bridge!
626
A great potentate might arise, an artful prodigy, who with approval and disapproval could strain and constrain all the past, until it became for him a bridge, a harbinger, a herald, and a co*ck-crowing.
627
This however is the other danger, and mine other sympathy:—he who is of the populace, his thoughts go back to his grandfather,—with his grandfather, however, doth time cease.
628
Thus is all the past abandoned: for it might some day happen for the populace to become master, and drown all time in shallow waters.
629
Therefore, O my brethren, a NEW NOBILITY is needed, which shall be the adversary of all populace and potentate rule, and shall inscribe anew the word “noble” on new tables.
630
For many noble ones are needed, and many kinds of noble ones, FOR A NEW NOBILITY! Or, as I once said in parable: “That is just divinity, that there are Gods, but no God!”
12.12. 12.
632
O my brethren, I consecrate you and point you to a new nobility: ye shall become procreators and cultivators and sowers of the future;—
633
—Verily, not to a nobility which ye could purchase like traders with traders’ gold; for little worth is all that hath its price.
634
Let it not be your honour henceforth whence ye come, but whither ye go! Your Will and your feet which seek to surpass you—let these be your new honour!
635
Verily, not that ye have served a prince—of what account are princes now!—nor that ye have become a bulwark to that which standeth, that it may stand more firmly.
636
Not that your family have become courtly at courts, and that ye have learned—gay-coloured, like the flamingo—to stand long hours in shallow pools:
637
(For ABILITY-to-stand is a merit in courtiers; and all courtiers believe that unto blessedness after death pertaineth—PERMISSION-to-sit!)
638
Nor even that a Spirit called Holy, led your forefathers into promised lands, which I do not praise: for where the worst of all trees grew—the cross,—in that land there is nothing to praise!—
639
—And verily, wherever this “Holy Spirit” led its knights, always in such campaigns did—goats and geese, and wryheads and guyheads run FOREMOST!—
640
O my brethren, not backward shall your nobility gaze, but OUTWARD! Exiles shall ye be from all fatherlands and forefather-lands!
641
Your CHILDREN’S LAND shall ye love: let this love be your new nobility,—the undiscovered in the remotest seas! For it do I bid your sails search and search!
642
Unto your children shall ye MAKE AMENDS for being the children of your fathers: all the past shall ye THUS redeem! This new table do I place over you!
12.13. 13.
644
“Why should one live? All is vain! To live—that is to thrash straw; to live—that is to burn oneself and yet not get warm.”—
645
Such ancient babbling still passeth for “wisdom”; because it is old, however, and smelleth mustily, THEREFORE is it the more honoured. Even mould ennobleth.—
646
Children might thus speak: they SHUN the fire because it hath burnt them! There is much childishness in the old books of wisdom.
647
And he who ever “thrasheth straw,” why should he be allowed to rail at thrashing! Such a fool one would have to muzzle!
648
Such persons sit down to the table and bring nothing with them, not even good hunger:—and then do they rail: “All is vain!”
649
But to eat and drink well, my brethren, is verily no vain art! Break up, break up for me the tables of the never-joyous ones!
12.14. 14.
651
“To the clean are all things clean”—thus say the people. I, however, say unto you: To the swine all things become swinish!
652
Therefore preach the visionaries and bowed-heads (whose hearts are also bowed down): “The world itself is a filthy monster.”
653
For these are all unclean spirits; especially those, however, who have no peace or rest, unless they see the world FROM THE BACKSIDE—the backworldsmen!
654
TO THOSE do I say it to the face, although it sound unpleasantly: the world resembleth man, in that it hath a backside,—SO MUCH is true!
655
There is in the world much filth: SO MUCH is true! But the world itself is not therefore a filthy monster!
656
There is wisdom in the fact that much in the world smelleth badly: loathing itself createth wings, and fountain-divining powers!
657
In the best there is still something to loathe; and the best is still something that must be surpassed!—
658
O my brethren, there is much wisdom in the fact that much filth is in the world!—
12.15. 15.
660
Such sayings did I hear pious backworldsmen speak to their consciences, and verily without wickedness or guile,—although there is nothing more guileful in the world, or more wicked.
661
“Let the world be as it is! Raise not a finger against it!”
662
“Let whoever will choke and stab and skin and scrape the people: raise not a finger against it! Thereby will they learn to renounce the world.”
663
“And thine own reason—this shalt thou thyself stifle and choke; for it is a reason of this world,—thereby wilt thou learn thyself to renounce the world.”—
664
—Shatter, shatter, O my brethren, those old tables of the pious! Tatter the maxims of the world-maligners!—
12.16. 16.
666
“He who learneth much unlearneth all violent cravings”—that do people now whisper to one another in all the dark lanes.
667
“Wisdom wearieth, nothing is worth while; thou shalt not crave!”—this new table found I hanging even in the public markets.
668
Break up for me, O my brethren, break up also that NEW table! The weary-o’-the-world put it up, and the preachers of death and the jailer: for lo, it is also a sermon for slavery:—
669
Because they learned badly and not the best, and everything too early and everything too fast; because they ATE badly: from thence hath resulted their ruined stomach;—
670
—For a ruined stomach, is their spirit: IT persuadeth to death! For verily, my brethren, the spirit IS a stomach!
671
Life is a well of delight, but to him in whom the ruined stomach speaketh, the father of affliction, all fountains are poisoned.
672
To discern: that is DELIGHT to the lion-willed! But he who hath become weary, is himself merely “willed”; with him play all the waves.
673
And such is always the nature of weak men: they lose themselves on their way. And at last asketh their weariness: “Why did we ever go on the way? All is indifferent!”
674
TO THEM soundeth it pleasant to have preached in their ears: “Nothing is worth while! Ye shall not will!” That, however, is a sermon for slavery.
675
O my brethren, a fresh blustering wind cometh Zarathustra unto all way-weary ones; many noses will he yet make sneeze!
676
Even through walls bloweth my free breath, and in into prisons and imprisoned spirits!
677
Willing emancipateth: for willing is creating: so do I teach. And ONLY for creating shall ye learn!
678
And also the learning shall ye LEARN only from me, the learning well!—He who hath ears let him hear!
12.17. 17.
680
There standeth the boat—thither goeth it over, perhaps into vast nothingness—but who willeth to enter into this “Perhaps”?
681
None of you want to enter into the death-boat! How should ye then be WORLD-WEARY ones!
682
World-weary ones! And have not even withdrawn from the earth! Eager did I ever find you for the earth, amorous still of your own earth-weariness!
683
Not in vain doth your lip hang down:—a small worldly wish still sitteth thereon! And in your eye—floateth there not a cloudlet of unforgotten earthly bliss?
684
There are on the earth many good inventions, some useful, some pleasant: for their sake is the earth to be loved.
685
And many such good inventions are there, that they are like woman’s breasts: useful at the same time, and pleasant.
686
Ye world-weary ones, however! Ye earth-idlers! You, shall one beat with stripes! With stripes shall one again make you sprightly limbs.
687
For if ye be not invalids, or decrepit creatures, of whom the earth is weary, then are ye sly sloths, or dainty, sneaking pleasure-cats. And if ye will not again RUN gaily, then shall ye—pass away!
688
To the incurable shall one not seek to be a physician: thus teacheth Zarathustra:—so shall ye pass away!
689
But more COURAGE is needed to make an end than to make a new verse: that do all physicians and poets know well.—
12.18. 18.
691
O my brethren, there are tables which weariness framed, and tables which slothfulness framed, corrupt slothfulness: although they speak similarly, they want to be heard differently.—
692
See this languishing one! Only a span-breadth is he from his goal; but from weariness hath he lain down obstinately in the dust, this brave one!
693
From weariness yawneth he at the path, at the earth, at the goal, and at himself: not a step further will he go,—this brave one!
694
Now gloweth the sun upon him, and the dogs lick at his sweat: but he lieth there in his obstinacy and preferreth to languish:—
695
—A span-breadth from his goal, to languish! Verily, ye will have to drag him into his heaven by the hair of his head—this hero!
696
Better still that ye let him lie where he hath lain down, that sleep may come unto him, the comforter, with cooling patter-rain.
697
Let him lie, until of his own accord he awakeneth,—until of his own accord he repudiateth all weariness, and what weariness hath taught through him!
698
Only, my brethren, see that ye scare the dogs away from him, the idle skulkers, and all the swarming vermin:—
699
—All the swarming vermin of the “cultured,” that—feast on the sweat of every hero!—
12.19. 19.
701
I form circles around me and holy boundaries; ever fewer ascend with me ever higher mountains: I build a mountain-range out of ever holier mountains.—
702
But wherever ye would ascend with me, O my brethren, take care lest a PARASITE ascend with you!
703
A parasite: that is a reptile, a creeping, cringing reptile, that trieth to fatten on your infirm and sore places.
704
And THIS is its art: it divineth where ascending souls are weary, in your trouble and dejection, in your sensitive modesty, doth it build its loathsome nest.
705
Where the strong are weak, where the noble are all-too-gentle—there buildeth it its loathsome nest; the parasite liveth where the great have small sore-places.
706
What is the highest of all species of being, and what is the lowest? The parasite is the lowest species; he, however, who is of the highest species feedeth most parasites.
707
For the soul which hath the longest ladder, and can go deepest down: how could there fail to be most parasites upon it?—
708
—The most comprehensive soul, which can run and stray and rove furthest in itself; the most necessary soul, which out of joy flingeth itself into chance:—
709
—The soul in Being, which plungeth into Becoming; the possessing soul, which SEEKETH to attain desire and longing:—
710
—The soul fleeing from itself, which overtaketh itself in the widest circuit; the wisest soul, unto which folly speaketh most sweetly:—
711
—The soul most self-loving, in which all things have their current and counter-current, their ebb and their flow:—oh, how could THE LOFTIEST SOUL fail to have the worst parasites?
12.20. 20.
713
O my brethren, am I then cruel? But I say: What falleth, that shall one also push!
714
Everything of to-day—it falleth, it decayeth; who would preserve it! But I—I wish also to push it!
715
Know ye the delight which rolleth stones into precipitous depths?—Those men of to-day, see just how they roll into my depths!
716
A prelude am I to better players, O my brethren! An example! DO according to mine example!
717
And him whom ye do not teach to fly, teach I pray you—TO FALL FASTER!—
12.21. 21.
719
I love the brave: but it is not enough to be a swordsman,—one must also know WHEREON to use swordsmanship!
720
And often is it greater bravery to keep quiet and pass by, that THEREBY one may reserve oneself for a worthier foe!
721
Ye shall only have foes to be hated; but not foes to be despised: ye must be proud of your foes. Thus have I already taught.
722
For the worthier foe, O my brethren, shall ye reserve yourselves: therefore must ye pass by many a one,—
723
—Especially many of the rabble, who din your ears with noise about people and peoples.
724
Keep your eye clear of their For and Against! There is there much right, much wrong: he who looketh on becometh wroth.
725
Therein viewing, therein hewing—they are the same thing: therefore depart into the forests and lay your sword to sleep!
726
Go YOUR ways! and let the people and peoples go theirs!—gloomy ways, verily, on which not a single hope glinteth any more!
727
Let there the trader rule, where all that still glittereth is—traders’ gold. It is the time of kings no longer: that which now calleth itself the people is unworthy of kings.
728
See how these peoples themselves now do just like the traders: they pick up the smallest advantage out of all kinds of rubbish!
729
They lay lures for one another, they lure things out of one another,—that they call “good neighbourliness.” O blessed remote period when a people said to itself: “I will be—MASTER over peoples!”
730
For, my brethren, the best shall rule, the best also WILLETH to rule! And where the teaching is different, there—the best is LACKING.
12.22. 22.
732
If THEY had—bread for nothing, alas! for what would THEY cry! Their maintainment—that is their true entertainment; and they shall have it hard!
733
Beasts of prey, are they: in their “working”—there is even plundering, in their “earning”—there is even overreaching! Therefore shall they have it hard!
734
Better beasts of prey shall they thus become, subtler, cleverer, MORE MAN-LIKE: for man is the best beast of prey.
735
All the animals hath man already robbed of their virtues: that is why of all animals it hath been hardest for man.
736
Only the birds are still beyond him. And if man should yet learn to fly, alas! TO WHAT HEIGHT—would his rapacity fly!
12.23. 23.
738
Thus would I have man and woman: fit for war, the one; fit for maternity, the other; both, however, fit for dancing with head and legs.
739
And lost be the day to us in which a measure hath not been danced. And false be every truth which hath not had laughter along with it!
12.24. 24.
741
Your marriage-arranging: see that it be not a bad ARRANGING! Ye have arranged too hastily: so there FOLLOWETH therefrom—marriage-breaking!
742
And better marriage-breaking than marriage-bending, marriage-lying!—Thus spake a woman unto me: “Indeed, I broke the marriage, but first did the marriage break—me!
743
The badly paired found I ever the most revengeful: they make every one suffer for it that they no longer run singly.
744
On that account want I the honest ones to say to one another: “We love each other: let us SEE TO IT that we maintain our love! Or shall our pledging be blundering?”
745
—“Give us a set term and a small marriage, that we may see if we are fit for the great marriage! It is a great matter always to be twain.”
746
Thus do I counsel all honest ones; and what would be my love to the Superman, and to all that is to come, if I should counsel and speak otherwise!
747
Not only to propagate yourselves onwards but UPWARDS—thereto, O my brethren, may the garden of marriage help you!
12.25. 25.
749
He who hath grown wise concerning old origins, lo, he will at last seek after the fountains of the future and new origins.—
750
O my brethren, not long will it be until NEW PEOPLES shall arise and new fountains shall rush down into new depths.
751
For the earthquake—it choketh up many wells, it causeth much languishing: but it bringeth also to light inner powers and secrets.
752
The earthquake discloseth new fountains. In the earthquake of old peoples new fountains burst forth.
753
And whoever calleth out: “Lo, here is a well for many thirsty ones, one heart for many longing ones, one will for many instruments”:—around him collecteth a PEOPLE, that is to say, many attempting ones.
754
Who can command, who must obey—THAT IS THERE ATTEMPTED! Ah, with what long seeking and solving and failing and learning and re-attempting!
755
Human society: it is an attempt—so I teach—a long seeking: it seeketh however the ruler!—
756
—An attempt, my brethren! And NO “contract”! Destroy, I pray you, destroy that word of the soft-hearted and half-and-half!
12.26. 26.
758
O my brethren! With whom lieth the greatest danger to the whole human future? Is it not with the good and just?—
759
—As those who say and feel in their hearts: “We already know what is good and just, we possess it also; woe to those who still seek thereafter!
760
And whatever harm the wicked may do, the harm of the good is the harmfulest harm!
761
And whatever harm the world-maligners may do, the harm of the good is the harmfulest harm!
762
O my brethren, into the hearts of the good and just looked some one once on a time, who said: “They are the Pharisees.” But people did not understand him.
763
The good and just themselves were not free to understand him; their spirit was imprisoned in their good conscience. The stupidity of the good is unfathomably wise.
764
It is the truth, however, that the good MUST be Pharisees—they have no choice!
765
The good MUST crucify him who deviseth his own virtue! That IS the truth!
766
The second one, however, who discovered their country—the country, heart and soil of the good and just,—it was he who asked: “Whom do they hate most?”
767
The CREATOR, hate they most, him who breaketh the tables and old values, the breaker,—him they call the law-breaker.
768
For the good—they CANNOT create; they are always the beginning of the end:—
769
—They crucify him who writeth new values on new tables, they sacrifice UNTO THEMSELVES the future—they crucify the whole human future!
770
The good—they have always been the beginning of the end.—
12.27. 27.
772
O my brethren, have ye also understood this word? And what I once said of the “last man”?—
773
With whom lieth the greatest danger to the whole human future? Is it not with the good and just?
774
BREAK UP, BREAK UP, I PRAY YOU, THE GOOD AND JUST!—O my brethren, have ye understood also this word?
12.28. 28.
776
Ye flee from me? Ye are frightened? Ye tremble at this word?
777
O my brethren, when I enjoined you to break up the good, and the tables of the good, then only did I embark man on his high seas.
778
And now only cometh unto him the great terror, the great outlook, the great sickness, the great nausea, the great sea-sickness.
779
False shores and false securities did the good teach you; in the lies of the good were ye born and bred. Everything hath been radically contorted and distorted by the good.
780
But he who discovered the country of “man,” discovered also the country of “man’s future.” Now shall ye be sailors for me, brave, patient!
781
Keep yourselves up betimes, my brethren, learn to keep yourselves up! The sea stormeth: many seek to raise themselves again by you.
782
The sea stormeth: all is in the sea. Well! Cheer up! Ye old seaman-hearts!
783
What of fatherland! THITHER striveth our helm where our CHILDREN’S LAND is! Thitherwards, stormier than the sea, stormeth our great longing!—
12.29. 29.
785
“Why so hard!”—said to the diamond one day the charcoal; “are we then not near relatives?”—
786
Why so soft? O my brethren; thus do I ask you: are ye then not—my brethren?
787
Why so soft, so submissive and yielding? Why is there so much negation and abnegation in your hearts? Why is there so little fate in your looks?
788
And if ye will not be fates and inexorable ones, how can ye one day— conquer with me?
789
And if your hardness will not glance and cut and chip to pieces, how can ye one day—create with me?
790
For the creators are hard. And blessedness must it seem to you to press your hand upon millenniums as upon wax,—
791
—Blessedness to write upon the will of millenniums as upon brass,—harder than brass, nobler than brass. Entirely hard is only the noblest.
792
This new table, O my brethren, put I up over you: BECOME HARD!—
12.30. 30.
794
O thou, my Will! Thou change of every need, MY needfulness! Preserve me from all small victories!
795
Thou fatedness of my soul, which I call fate! Thou In-me! Over-me! Preserve and spare me for one great fate!
796
And thy last greatness, my Will, spare it for thy last—that thou mayest be inexorable IN thy victory! Ah, who hath not succumbed to his victory!
797
Ah, whose eye hath not bedimmed in this intoxicated twilight! Ah, whose foot hath not faltered and forgotten in victory—how to stand!—
798
—That I may one day be ready and ripe in the great noontide: ready and ripe like the glowing ore, the lightning-bearing cloud, and the swelling milk-udder:—
799
—Ready for myself and for my most hidden Will: a bow eager for its arrow, an arrow eager for its star:—
800
—A star, ready and ripe in its noontide, glowing, pierced, blessed, by annihilating sun-arrows:—
801
—A sun itself, and an inexorable sun-will, ready for annihilation in victory!
802
O Will, thou change of every need, MY needfulness! Spare me for one great victory!—-
803
Thus spake Zarathustra.
13. LVII. THE CONVALESCENT.
13.1. 1.
806
One morning, not long after his return to his cave, Zarathustra sprang up from his couch like a madman, crying with a frightful voice, and acting as if some one still lay on the couch who did not wish to rise. Zarathustra’s voice also resounded in such a manner that his animals came to him frightened, and out of all the neighbouring caves and lurking-places all the creatures slipped away—flying, fluttering, creeping or leaping, according to their variety of foot or wing. Zarathustra, however, spake these words:
807
Up, abysmal thought out of my depth! I am thy co*ck and morning dawn, thou overslept reptile: Up! Up! My voice shall soon crow thee awake!
808
Unbind the fetters of thine ears: listen! For I wish to hear thee! Up! Up! There is thunder enough to make the very graves listen!
809
And rub the sleep and all the dimness and blindness out of thine eyes! Hear me also with thine eyes: my voice is a medicine even for those born blind.
810
And once thou art awake, then shalt thou ever remain awake. It is not MY custom to awake great-grandmothers out of their sleep that I may bid them—sleep on!
811
Thou stirrest, stretchest thyself, wheezest? Up! Up! Not wheeze, shalt thou,—but speak unto me! Zarathustra calleth thee, Zarathustra the godless!
812
I, Zarathustra, the advocate of living, the advocate of suffering, the advocate of the circuit—thee do I call, my most abysmal thought!
813
Joy to me! Thou comest,—I hear thee! Mine abyss SPEAKETH, my lowest depth have I turned over into the light!
814
Joy to me! Come hither! Give me thy hand—ha! let be! aha!—Disgust, disgust, disgust—alas to me!
13.2. 2.
816
Hardly, however, had Zarathustra spoken these words, when he fell down as one dead, and remained long as one dead. When however he again came to himself, then was he pale and trembling, and remained lying; and for long he would neither eat nor drink. This condition continued for seven days; his animals, however, did not leave him day nor night, except that the eagle flew forth to fetch food. And what it fetched and foraged, it laid on Zarathustra’s couch: so that Zarathustra at last lay among yellow and red berries, grapes, rosy apples, sweet-smelling herbage, and pine-cones. At his feet, however, two lambs were stretched, which the eagle had with difficulty carried off from their shepherds.
817
At last, after seven days, Zarathustra raised himself upon his couch, took a rosy apple in his hand, smelt it and found its smell pleasant. Then did his animals think the time had come to speak unto him.
818
“O Zarathustra,” said they, “now hast thou lain thus for seven days with heavy eyes: wilt thou not set thyself again upon thy feet?
819
Step out of thy cave: the world waiteth for thee as a garden. The wind playeth with heavy fragrance which seeketh for thee; and all brooks would like to run after thee.
820
All things long for thee, since thou hast remained alone for seven days—step forth out of thy cave! All things want to be thy physicians!
821
Did perhaps a new knowledge come to thee, a bitter, grievous knowledge? Like leavened dough layest thou, thy soul arose and swelled beyond all its bounds.—”
822
—O mine animals, answered Zarathustra, talk on thus and let me listen! It refresheth me so to hear your talk: where there is talk, there is the world as a garden unto me.
823
How charming it is that there are words and tones; are not words and tones rainbows and seeming bridges ‘twixt the eternally separated?
824
To each soul belongeth another world; to each soul is every other soul a back-world.
825
Among the most alike doth semblance deceive most delightfully: for the smallest gap is most difficult to bridge over.
826
For me—how could there be an outside-of-me? There is no outside! But this we forget on hearing tones; how delightful it is that we forget!
827
Have not names and tones been given unto things that man may refresh himself with them? It is a beautiful folly, speaking; therewith danceth man over everything.
828
How lovely is all speech and all falsehoods of tones! With tones danceth our love on variegated rainbows.—
829
—“O Zarathustra,” said then his animals, “to those who think like us, things all dance themselves: they come and hold out the hand and laugh and flee—and return.
830
Everything goeth, everything returneth; eternally rolleth the wheel of existence. Everything dieth, everything blossometh forth again; eternally runneth on the year of existence.
831
Everything breaketh, everything is integrated anew; eternally buildeth itself the same house of existence. All things separate, all things again greet one another; eternally true to itself remaineth the ring of existence.
832
Every moment beginneth existence, around every ‘Here’ rolleth the ball ‘There.’ The middle is everywhere. Crooked is the path of eternity.”—
833
—O ye wags and barrel-organs! answered Zarathustra, and smiled once more, how well do ye know what had to be fulfilled in seven days:—
834
—And how that monster crept into my throat and choked me! But I bit off its head and spat it away from me.
835
And ye—ye have made a lyre-lay out of it? Now, however, do I lie here, still exhausted with that biting and spitting-away, still sick with mine own salvation.
836
AND YE LOOKED ON AT IT ALL? O mine animals, are ye also cruel? Did ye like to look at my great pain as men do? For man is the cruellest animal.
837
At tragedies, bull-fights, and crucifixions hath he hitherto been happiest on earth; and when he invented his hell, behold, that was his heaven on earth.
838
When the great man crieth—: immediately runneth the little man thither, and his tongue hangeth out of his mouth for very lusting. He, however, calleth it his “pity.”
839
The little man, especially the poet—how passionately doth he accuse life in words! Hearken to him, but do not fail to hear the delight which is in all accusation!
840
Such accusers of life—them life overcometh with a glance of the eye. “Thou lovest me?” saith the insolent one; “wait a little, as yet have I no time for thee.”
841
Towards himself man is the cruellest animal; and in all who call themselves “sinners” and “bearers of the cross” and “penitents,” do not overlook the voluptuousness in their plaints and accusations!
842
And I myself—do I thereby want to be man’s accuser? Ah, mine animals, this only have I learned hitherto, that for man his baddest is necessary for his best,—
843
—That all that is baddest is the best POWER, and the hardest stone for the highest creator; and that man must become better AND badder:—
844
Not to THIS torture-stake was I tied, that I know man is bad,—but I cried, as no one hath yet cried:
845
“Ah, that his baddest is so very small! Ah, that his best is so very small!”
846
The great disgust at man—IT strangled me and had crept into my throat: and what the soothsayer had presaged: “All is alike, nothing is worth while, knowledge strangleth.”
847
A long twilight limped on before me, a fatally weary, fatally intoxicated sadness, which spake with yawning mouth.
848
“Eternally he returneth, the man of whom thou art weary, the small man”—so yawned my sadness, and dragged its foot and could not go to sleep.
849
A cavern, became the human earth to me; its breast caved in; everything living became to me human dust and bones and mouldering past.
850
My sighing sat on all human graves, and could no longer arise: my sighing and questioning croaked and choked, and gnawed and nagged day and night:
851
—“Ah, man returneth eternally! The small man returneth eternally!”
852
Naked had I once seen both of them, the greatest man and the smallest man: all too like one another—all too human, even the greatest man!
853
All too small, even the greatest man!—that was my disgust at man! And the eternal return also of the smallest man!—that was my disgust at all existence!
854
Ah, Disgust! Disgust! Disgust!—Thus spake Zarathustra, and sighed and shuddered; for he remembered his sickness. Then did his animals prevent him from speaking further.
855
“Do not speak further, thou convalescent!”—so answered his animals, “but go out where the world waiteth for thee like a garden.
856
Go out unto the roses, the bees, and the flocks of doves! Especially, however, unto the singing-birds, to learn SINGING from them!
857
For singing is for the convalescent; the sound ones may talk. And when the sound also want songs, then want they other songs than the convalescent.”
858
—“O ye wags and barrel-organs, do be silent!” answered Zarathustra, and smiled at his animals. “How well ye know what consolation I devised for myself in seven days!
859
That I have to sing once more—THAT consolation did I devise for myself, and THIS convalescence: would ye also make another lyre-lay thereof?”
860
—“Do not talk further,” answered his animals once more; “rather, thou convalescent, prepare for thyself first a lyre, a new lyre!
861
For behold, O Zarathustra! For thy new lays there are needed new lyres.
862
Sing and bubble over, O Zarathustra, heal thy soul with new lays: that thou mayest bear thy great fate, which hath not yet been any one’s fate!
863
For thine animals know it well, O Zarathustra, who thou art and must become: behold, THOU ART THE TEACHER OF THE ETERNAL RETURN,—that is now THY fate!
864
That thou must be the first to teach this teaching—how could this great fate not be thy greatest danger and infirmity!
865
Behold, we know what thou teachest: that all things eternally return, and ourselves with them, and that we have already existed times without number, and all things with us.
866
Thou teachest that there is a great year of Becoming, a prodigy of a great year; it must, like a sand-glass, ever turn up anew, that it may anew run down and run out:—
867
—So that all those years are like one another in the greatest and also in the smallest, so that we ourselves, in every great year, are like ourselves in the greatest and also in the smallest.
868
And if thou wouldst now die, O Zarathustra, behold, we know also how thou wouldst then speak to thyself:—but thine animals beseech thee not to die yet!
869
Thou wouldst speak, and without trembling, buoyant rather with bliss, for a great weight and worry would be taken from thee, thou patientest one!—
870
‘Now do I die and disappear,’ wouldst thou say, ‘and in a moment I am nothing. Souls are as mortal as bodies.
871
But the plexus of causes returneth in which I am intertwined,—it will again create me! I myself pertain to the causes of the eternal return.
872
I come again with this sun, with this earth, with this eagle, with this serpent—NOT to a new life, or a better life, or a similar life:
873
—I come again eternally to this identical and selfsame life, in its greatest and its smallest, to teach again the eternal return of all things,—
874
—To speak again the word of the great noontide of earth and man, to announce again to man the Superman.
875
I have spoken my word. I break down by my word: so willeth mine eternal fate—as announcer do I succumb!
876
The hour hath now come for the down-goer to bless himself. Thus—ENDETH Zarathustra’s down-going.’”—
877
When the animals had spoken these words they were silent and waited, so that Zarathustra might say something to them: but Zarathustra did not hear that they were silent. On the contrary, he lay quietly with closed eyes like a person sleeping, although he did not sleep; for he communed just then with his soul. The serpent, however, and the eagle, when they found him silent in such wise, respected the great stillness around him, and prudently retired.
14. LVIII. THE GREAT LONGING.
879
O my soul, I have taught thee to say “to-day” as “once on a time” and “formerly,” and to dance thy measure over every Here and There and Yonder.
880
O my soul, I delivered thee from all by-places, I brushed down from thee dust and spiders and twilight.
881
O my soul, I washed the petty shame and the by-place virtue from thee, and persuaded thee to stand naked before the eyes of the sun.
882
With the storm that is called “spirit” did I blow over thy surging sea; all clouds did I blow away from it; I strangled even the strangler called “sin.”
883
O my soul, I gave thee the right to say Nay like the storm, and to say Yea as the open heaven saith Yea: calm as the light remainest thou, and now walkest through denying storms.
884
O my soul, I restored to thee liberty over the created and the uncreated; and who knoweth, as thou knowest, the voluptuousness of the future?
885
O my soul, I taught thee the contempt which doth not come like worm-eating, the great, the loving contempt, which loveth most where it contemneth most.
886
O my soul, I taught thee so to persuade that thou persuadest even the grounds themselves to thee: like the sun, which persuadeth even the sea to its height.
887
O my soul, I have taken from thee all obeying and knee-bending and homage-paying; I have myself given thee the names, “Change of need” and “Fate.”
888
O my soul, I have given thee new names and gay-coloured playthings, I have called thee “Fate” and “the Circuit of circuits” and “the Navel-string of time” and “the Azure bell.”
889
O my soul, to thy domain gave I all wisdom to drink, all new wines, and also all immemorially old strong wines of wisdom.
890
O my soul, every sun shed I upon thee, and every night and every silence and every longing:—then grewest thou up for me as a vine.
891
O my soul, exuberant and heavy dost thou now stand forth, a vine with swelling udders and full clusters of brown golden grapes:—
892
—Filled and weighted by thy happiness, waiting from superabundance, and yet ashamed of thy waiting.
893
O my soul, there is nowhere a soul which could be more loving and more comprehensive and more extensive! Where could future and past be closer together than with thee?
894
O my soul, I have given thee everything, and all my hands have become empty by thee:—and now! Now sayest thou to me, smiling and full of melancholy: “Which of us oweth thanks?—
895
—Doth the giver not owe thanks because the receiver received? Is bestowing not a necessity? Is receiving not—pitying?”—
896
O my soul, I understand the smiling of thy melancholy: thine over-abundance itself now stretcheth out longing hands!
897
Thy fulness looketh forth over raging seas, and seeketh and waiteth: the longing of over-fulness looketh forth from the smiling heaven of thine eyes!
898
And verily, O my soul! Who could see thy smiling and not melt into tears? The angels themselves melt into tears through the over-graciousness of thy smiling.
899
Thy graciousness and over-graciousness, is it which will not complain and weep: and yet, O my soul, longeth thy smiling for tears, and thy trembling mouth for sobs.
900
“Is not all weeping complaining? And all complaining, accusing?” Thus speakest thou to thyself; and therefore, O my soul, wilt thou rather smile than pour forth thy grief—
901
—Than in gushing tears pour forth all thy grief concerning thy fulness, and concerning the craving of the vine for the vintager and vintage-knife!
902
But wilt thou not weep, wilt thou not weep forth thy purple melancholy, then wilt thou have to SING, O my soul!—Behold, I smile myself, who foretell thee this:
903
—Thou wilt have to sing with passionate song, until all seas turn calm to hearken unto thy longing,—
904
—Until over calm longing seas the bark glideth, the golden marvel, around the gold of which all good, bad, and marvellous things frisk:—
905
—Also many large and small animals, and everything that hath light marvellous feet, so that it can run on violet-blue paths,—
906
—Towards the golden marvel, the spontaneous bark, and its master: he, however, is the vintager who waiteth with the diamond vintage-knife,—
907
—Thy great deliverer, O my soul, the nameless one—for whom future songs only will find names! And verily, already hath thy breath the fragrance of future songs,—
908
—Already glowest thou and dreamest, already drinkest thou thirstily at all deep echoing wells of consolation, already reposeth thy melancholy in the bliss of future songs!—
909
O my soul, now have I given thee all, and even my last possession, and all my hands have become empty by thee:—THAT I BADE THEE SING, behold, that was my last thing to give!
910
That I bade thee sing,—say now, say: WHICH of us now—oweth thanks?— Better still, however: sing unto me, sing, O my soul! And let me thank thee!—
911
Thus spake Zarathustra.
15. LIX. THE SECOND DANCE-SONG.
15.1. 1.
914
“Into thine eyes gazed I lately, O Life: gold saw I gleam in thy night-eyes,—my heart stood still with delight:
915
—A golden bark saw I gleam on darkened waters, a sinking, drinking, reblinking, golden swing-bark!
916
At my dance-frantic foot, dost thou cast a glance, a laughing, questioning, melting, thrown glance:
917
Twice only movedst thou thy rattle with thy little hands—then did my feet swing with dance-fury.—
918
My heels reared aloft, my toes they hearkened,—thee they would know: hath not the dancer his ear—in his toe!
919
Unto thee did I spring: then fledst thou back from my bound; and towards me waved thy fleeing, flying tresses round!
920
Away from thee did I spring, and from thy snaky tresses: then stoodst thou there half-turned, and in thine eye caresses.
921
With crooked glances—dost thou teach me crooked courses; on crooked courses learn my feet—crafty fancies!
922
I fear thee near, I love thee far; thy flight allureth me, thy seeking secureth me:—I suffer, but for thee, what would I not gladly bear!
923
For thee, whose coldness inflameth, whose hatred misleadeth, whose flight enchaineth, whose mockery—pleadeth:
924
—Who would not hate thee, thou great bindress, inwindress, temptress, seekress, findress! Who would not love thee, thou innocent, impatient, wind-swift, child-eyed sinner!
925
Whither pullest thou me now, thou paragon and tomboy? And now foolest thou me fleeing; thou sweet romp dost annoy!
926
I dance after thee, I follow even faint traces lonely. Where art thou? Give me thy hand! Or thy finger only!
927
Here are caves and thickets: we shall go astray!—Halt! Stand still! Seest thou not owls and bats in fluttering fray?
928
Thou bat! Thou owl! Thou wouldst play me foul? Where are we? From the dogs hast thou learned thus to bark and howl.
929
Thou gnashest on me sweetly with little white teeth; thine evil eyes shoot out upon me, thy curly little mane from underneath!
930
This is a dance over stock and stone: I am the hunter,—wilt thou be my hound, or my chamois anon?
931
Now beside me! And quickly, wickedly springing! Now up! And over!—Alas! I have fallen myself overswinging!
932
Oh, see me lying, thou arrogant one, and imploring grace! Gladly would I walk with thee—in some lovelier place!
933
—In the paths of love, through bushes variegated, quiet, trim! Or there along the lake, where gold-fishes dance and swim!
934
Thou art now a-weary? There above are sheep and sun-set stripes: is it not sweet to sleep—the shepherd pipes?
935
Thou art so very weary? I carry thee thither; let just thine arm sink! And art thou thirsty—I should have something; but thy mouth would not like it to drink!—
936
—Oh, that cursed, nimble, supple serpent and lurking-witch! Where art thou gone? But in my face do I feel through thy hand, two spots and red blotches itch!
937
I am verily weary of it, ever thy sheepish shepherd to be. Thou witch, if I have hitherto sung unto thee, now shalt THOU—cry unto me!
938
To the rhythm of my whip shalt thou dance and cry! I forget not my whip?—Not I!”—
15.2. 2.
940
Then did Life answer me thus, and kept thereby her fine ears closed:
941
“O Zarathustra! Crack not so terribly with thy whip! Thou knowest surely that noise killeth thought,—and just now there came to me such delicate thoughts.
942
We are both of us genuine ne’er-do-wells and ne’er-do-ills. Beyond good and evil found we our island and our green meadow—we two alone! Therefore must we be friendly to each other!
943
And even should we not love each other from the bottom of our hearts,—must we then have a grudge against each other if we do not love each other perfectly?
944
And that I am friendly to thee, and often too friendly, that knowest thou: and the reason is that I am envious of thy Wisdom. Ah, this mad old fool, Wisdom!
945
If thy Wisdom should one day run away from thee, ah! then would also my love run away from thee quickly.”—
946
Thereupon did Life look thoughtfully behind and around, and said softly: “O Zarathustra, thou art not faithful enough to me!
947
Thou lovest me not nearly so much as thou sayest; I know thou thinkest of soon leaving me.
948
There is an old heavy, heavy, booming-clock: it boometh by night up to thy cave:—
949
—When thou hearest this clock strike the hours at midnight, then thinkest thou between one and twelve thereon—
950
—Thou thinkest thereon, O Zarathustra, I know it—of soon leaving me!”—
951
“Yea,” answered I, hesitatingly, “but thou knowest it also”—And I said something into her ear, in amongst her confused, yellow, foolish tresses.
952
“Thou KNOWEST that, O Zarathustra? That knoweth no one—”
953
And we gazed at each other, and looked at the green meadow o’er which the cool evening was just passing, and we wept together.—Then, however, was Life dearer unto me than all my Wisdom had ever been.—
954
Thus spake Zarathustra.
15.3. 3.
956
One!
957
O man! Take heed!
958
Two!
959
What saith deep midnight’s voice indeed?
960
Three!
961
“I slept my sleep—
962
Four!
963
“From deepest dream I’ve woke and plead:—
964
Five!
965
“The world is deep,
966
Six!
967
“And deeper than the day could read.
968
Seven!
969
“Deep is its woe—
970
Eight!
971
“Joy—deeper still than grief can be:
972
Nine!
973
“Woe saith: Hence! Go!
974
Ten!
975
“But joys all want eternity—
976
Eleven!
977
“Want deep profound eternity!”
978
Twelve!
16. LX. THE SEVEN SEALS.
980
(OR THE YEA AND AMEN LAY.)
16.1. 1.
982
If I be a diviner and full of the divining spirit which wandereth on high mountain-ridges, ‘twixt two seas,—
983
Wandereth ‘twixt the past and the future as a heavy cloud—hostile to sultry plains, and to all that is weary and can neither die nor live:
984
Ready for lightning in its dark bosom, and for the redeeming flash of light, charged with lightnings which say Yea! which laugh Yea! ready for divining flashes of lightning:—
985
—Blessed, however, is he who is thus charged! And verily, long must he hang like a heavy tempest on the mountain, who shall one day kindle the light of the future!—
986
Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity and for the marriage-ring of rings—the ring of the return?
987
Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
988
FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY! 2.
989
If ever my wrath hath burst graves, shifted landmarks, or rolled old shattered tables into precipitous depths:
990
If ever my scorn hath scattered mouldered words to the winds, and if I have come like a besom to cross-spiders, and as a cleansing wind to old charnel-houses:
991
If ever I have sat rejoicing where old Gods lie buried, world-blessing, world-loving, beside the monuments of old world-maligners:—
992
—For even churches and Gods’-graves do I love, if only heaven looketh through their ruined roofs with pure eyes; gladly do I sit like grass and red poppies on ruined churches—
993
Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of rings—the ring of the return?
994
Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
995
FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY! 3.
996
If ever a breath hath come to me of the creative breath, and of the heavenly necessity which compelleth even chances to dance star-dances:
997
If ever I have laughed with the laughter of the creative lightning, to which the long thunder of the deed followeth, grumblingly, but obediently:
998
If ever I have played dice with the Gods at the divine table of the earth, so that the earth quaked and ruptured, and snorted forth fire-streams:—
999
—For a divine table is the earth, and trembling with new creative dictums and dice-casts of the Gods:
1000
Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of rings—the ring of the return?
1001
Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
1002
FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY! 4.
1003
If ever I have drunk a full draught of the foaming spice- and confection-bowl in which all things are well mixed:
1004
If ever my hand hath mingled the furthest with the nearest, fire with spirit, joy with sorrow, and the harshest with the kindest:
1005
If I myself am a grain of the saving salt which maketh everything in the confection-bowl mix well:—
1006
—For there is a salt which uniteth good with evil; and even the evilest is worthy, as spicing and as final over-foaming:—
1007
Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of rings—the ring of the return?
1008
Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
1009
FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY! 5.
1010
If I be fond of the sea, and all that is sealike, and fondest of it when it angrily contradicteth me:
1011
If the exploring delight be in me, which impelleth sails to the undiscovered, if the seafarer’s delight be in my delight:
1012
If ever my rejoicing hath called out: “The shore hath vanished,—now hath fallen from me the last chain—
1013
The boundless roareth around me, far away sparkle for me space and time,—well! cheer up! old heart!”—
1014
Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of rings—the ring of the return?
1015
Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
1016
FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY! 6.
1017
If my virtue be a dancer’s virtue, and if I have often sprung with both feet into golden-emerald rapture:
1018
If my wickedness be a laughing wickedness, at home among rose-banks and hedges of lilies:
1019
—For in laughter is all evil present, but it is sanctified and absolved by its own bliss:—
1020
And if it be my Alpha and Omega that everything heavy shall become light, every body a dancer, and every spirit a bird: and verily, that is my Alpha and Omega!—
1021
Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of rings—the ring of the return?
1022
Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
1023
FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY! 7.
1024
If ever I have spread out a tranquil heaven above me, and have flown into mine own heaven with mine own pinions:
1025
If I have swum playfully in profound luminous distances, and if my freedom’s avian wisdom hath come to me:—
1026
—Thus however speaketh avian wisdom:—“Lo, there is no above and no below! Throw thyself about,—outward, backward, thou light one! Sing! speak no more!
1027
—Are not all words made for the heavy? Do not all words lie to the light ones? Sing! speak no more!”—
1028
Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of rings—the ring of the return?
1029
Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
1030
FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!
