Fenrir's Fangs

 42. Redemption

  WHEN Zarathustra went one day over the great bridge, then did the
cripples and beggars surround him, and a hunchback spake thus unto
him:
  "Behold, Zarathustra! Even the people learn from thee, and acquire
faith in thy teaching: but for them to believe fully in thee, one
thing is still needful- thou must first of all convince us cripples!
Here hast thou now a fine selection, and verily, an opportunity with
more than one forelock! The blind canst thou heal, and make the lame
run; and from him who hath too much behind, couldst thou well, also,
take away a little;- that, I think, would be the right method to
make the cripples believe in Zarathustra!"
  Zarathustra, however, answered thus unto him who so spake: When
one taketh his hump from the hunchback, then doth one take from him
his spirit- so do the people teach. And when one giveth the blind
man eyes, then doth he see too many bad things on the earth: so that
he curseth him who healed him. He, however, who maketh the lame man
run, inflicteth upon him the greatest injury; for hardly can he run,
when his vices run away with him- so do the people teach concerning
cripples. And why should not Zarathustra also learn from the people,
when the people learn from Zarathustra?
  It is, however, the smallest thing unto me since I have been amongst
men, to see one person lacking an eye, another an ear, and a third a
leg, and that others have lost the tongue, or the nose, or the head.
  I see and have seen worse things, and divers things so hideous, that
I should neither like to speak of all matters, nor even keep silent
about some of them: namely, men who lack everything, except that
they have too much of one thing- men who are nothing more than a big
eye, or a big mouth, or a big belly, or something else big,-
reversed cripples, I call such men.
  And when I came out of my solitude, and for the first time passed
over this bridge, then I could not trust mine eyes, but looked again
and again, and said at last: "That is an ear! An ear as big as a man!"
I looked still more attentively- and actually there did move under the
ear something that was pitiably small and poor and slim. And in
truth this immense ear was perched on a small thin stalk- the stalk,
however, was a man! A person putting a glass to his eyes, could even
recognise further a small envious countenance, and also that a bloated
soullet dangled at the stalk. The people told me, however, that the
big ear was not only a man, but a great man, a genius. But I never
believed in the people when they spake of great men- and I hold to
my belief that it was a reversed cripple, who had too little of
everything, and too much of one thing.
  When Zarathustra had spoken thus unto the hunchback, and unto
those of whom the hunchback was the mouthpiece and advocate, then
did he turn to his disciples in profound dejection, and said:
  Verily, my friends, I walk amongst men as amongst the fragments
and limbs of human beings!
  This is the terrible thing to mine eye, that I find man broken up,
and scattered about, as on a battle- and butcher-ground.
  And when mine eye fleeth from the present to the bygone, it
findeth ever the same: fragments and limbs and fearful chances- but no
men!
  The present and the bygone upon earth- ah! my friends- that is my
most unbearable trouble; and I should not know how to live, if I
were not a seer of what is to come.
  A seer, a purposer, a creator, a future itself, and a bridge to
the future- and alas! also as it were a cripple on this bridge: all
that is Zarathustra.
  And ye also asked yourselves often: "Who is Zarathustra to us?
What shall he be called by us?" And like me, did ye give yourselves
questions for answers.
  Is he a promiser? Or a fulfiller? A conqueror? Or an inheritor? A
harvest? Or a ploughshare? A physician? Or a healed one?
  Is he a poet? Or a genuine one? An emancipator? Or a subjugator? A
good one? Or an evil one?
  I walk amongst men as the fragments of the future: that future which
I contemplate.
  And it is all my poetisation and aspiration to compose and collect
into unity what is fragment and riddle and fearful chance.
  And how could I endure to be a man, if man were not also the
composer, and riddle-reader, and redeemer of chance!
  To redeem what is past, and to transform every "It was" into "Thus
would I have it!"- that only do I call redemption!
  Will- so is the emancipator and joy-bringer called: thus have I
taught you, my friends! But now learn this likewise: the Will itself
is still a prisoner.
  Willing emancipateth: but what is that called which still putteth
the emancipator in chains?
  "It was": thus is the Will's teeth-gnashing and lonesomest
tribulation called. Impotent towards what hath been done- it is a
malicious spectator of all that is past.
  Not backward can the Will will; that it cannot break time and time's
desire- that is the Will's lonesomest tribulation.
  Willing emancipateth: what doth Willing itself devise in order to
get free from its tribulation and mock at its prison?
  Ah, a fool becometh every prisoner! Foolishly delivereth itself also
the imprisoned Will.
  That time doth not run backward- that is its animosity: "That
which was": so is the stone which it cannot roll called.
  And thus doth it roll stones out of animosity and ill-humour, and
taketh revenge on whatever doth not, like it, feel rage and
ill-humour.
  Thus did the Will, the emancipator, become a torturer; and on all
that is capable of suffering it taketh revenge, because it cannot go
backward.
  This, yea, this alone is revenge itself: the Will's antipathy to
time, and its "It was."
  Verily, a great folly dwelleth in our Will; and it became a curse
unto all humanity, that this folly acquired spirit!
  The spirit of revenge: my friends, that hath hitherto been man's
best contemplation; and where there was suffering, it was claimed
there was always penalty.
  "Penalty," so calleth itself revenge. With a lying word it
feigneth a good conscience.
  And because in the willer himself there is suffering, because he
cannot will backwards- thus was Willing itself, and all life, claimed-
to be penalty!
  And then did cloud after cloud roll over the spirit, until at last
madness preached: "Everything perisheth, therefore everything
deserveth to perish!"
  "And this itself is justice, the law of time- that he must devour
his children:" thus did madness preach.
  "Morally are things ordered according to justice and penalty. Oh,
where is there deliverance from the flux of things and from the
'existence' of penalty?" Thus did madness preach.
  "Can there be deliverance when there is eternal justice? Alas,
unrollable is the stone, 'It was': eternal must also be all
penalties!" Thus did madness preach.
  "No deed can be annihilated: how could it be undone by the
penalty! This, this is what is eternal in the 'existence' of
penalty, that existence also must be eternally recurring deed and
guilt!
  Unless the Will should at last deliver itself, and Willing become
non-Willing-:" but ye know, my brethren, this fabulous song of
madness!
  Away from those fabulous songs did I lead you when I taught you:
"The Will is a creator."
  All "It was" is a fragment, a riddle, a fearful chance- until the
creating Will saith thereto: "But thus would I have it."-
  Until the creating Will saith thereto: "But thus do I will it!
Thus shall I will it!"
  But did it ever speak thus? And when doth this take place? Hath
the Will been unharnessed from its own folly?
  Hath the Will become its own deliverer and joy-bringer? Hath it
unlearned the spirit of revenge and all teeth-gnashing?
  And who hath taught it reconciliation with time, and something
higher than all reconciliation?
  Something higher than all reconciliation must the Will will which is
the Will to Power-: but how doth that take place? Who hath taught it
also to will backwards?
  -But at this point in his discourse it chanced that Zarathustra
suddenly paused, and looked like a person in the greatest alarm.
With terror in his eyes did he gaze on his disciples; his glances
pierced as with arrows their thoughts and arrear-thoughts. But after a
brief space he again laughed, and said soothedly:
  "It is difficult to live amongst men, because silence is so
difficult- especially for a babbler."-

  Thus spake Zarathustra. The hunchback, however, had listened to
the conversation and had covered his face during the time; but when he
heard Zarathustra laugh, he looked up with curiosity, and said slowly:
  "But why doth Zarathustra speak otherwise unto us than unto his
disciples?"
  Zarathustra answered: "What is there to be wondered at! With
hunchbacks one May well speak in a hunchbacked way!"
  "Very good," said the hunchback; "and with pupils one may well
tell tales out of school.
  But why doth Zarathustra speak otherwise unto his pupils- than
unto himself?"-