Fenrir's Fangs

78. The Ass-Festival

                            1.

  AT THIS place in the litany, however, Zarathustra could no longer
control himself; he himself cried out YE-A, louder even than the
ass, and sprang into the midst of his maddened guests. "Whatever are
you about, ye grown-up children?" he exclaimed, pulling up the praying
ones from the ground. "Alas, if any one else, except Zarathustra,
had seen you:
  Every one would think you the worst blasphemers, or the very
foolishest old women, with your new belief!
  And thou thyself, thou old pope, how is it in accordance with
thee, to adore an ass in such a manner as God?"-
  "O Zarathustra," answered the pope, "forgive me, but in divine
matters I am more enlightened even than thou. And it is right that
it should be so.
  Better to adore God so, in this form, than in no form at all!
Think over this saying, mine exalted friend: thou wilt readily
divine that in such a saying there is wisdom.
  He who said 'God is a Spirit'- made the greatest stride and slide
hitherto made on earth towards unbelief: such a dictum is not easily
amended again on earth!
  Mine old heart leapeth and boundeth because there is still something
to adore on earth. Forgive it, O Zarathustra, to an old, pious
pontiff-heart!-"
  -"And thou," said Zarathustra to the wanderer and shadow, "thou
callest and thinkest thyself a free spirit? And thou here practisest
such idolatry and hierolatry?
  Worse verily, doest thou here than with thy bad brown girls, thou
bad, new believer!"
  "It is sad enough," answered the wanderer and shadow, "thou art
right: but how can I help it! The old God liveth again, O Zarathustra,
thou mayst say what thou wilt.
  The ugliest man is to blame for it all: he hath reawakened him.
And if he say that he once killed him, with Gods death is always
just a prejudice."
  -"And thou," said Zarathustra, "thou bad old magician, what didst
thou do! Who ought to believe any longer in thee in this free age,
when thou believest in such divine donkeyism?
  It was a stupid thing that thou didst; how couldst thou, a shrewd
man, do such a stupid thing!"
  "O Zarathustra," answered the shrewd magician, "thou art right, it
was a stupid thing,- it was also repugnant to me."
  -"And thou even," said Zarathustra to the spiritually
conscientious one, "consider, and put thy finger to thy nose! Doth
nothing go against thy conscience here? Is thy spirit not too
cleanly for this praying and the fumes of those devotees?"
  "There is something therein," said the spiritually conscientious
one, and put his finger to his nose, "there is something in this
spectacle which even doeth good to my conscience.
  Perhaps I dare not believe in God: certain it is however, that God
seemeth to me most worthy of belief in this form.
  God is said to be eternal, according to the testimony of the most
pious: he who hath so much time taketh his time. As slow and as stupid
as possible: thereby can such a one nevertheless go very far.
  And he who hath too much spirit might well become infatuated with
stupidity and folly. Think of thyself, O Zarathustra!
  Thou thyself- verily! even thou couldst well become an ass through
superabundance of wisdom.
  Doth not the true sage willingly walk on the crookedest paths? The
evidence teacheth it, O Zarathustra,- thine own evidence!"
  -"And thou thyself, finally," said Zarathustra, and turned towards
the ugliest man, who still lay on the ground stretching up his arm
to the ass (for he gave it wine to drink). "Say, thou nondescript,
what hast thou been about!
  Thou seemest to me transformed, thine eyes glow, the mantle of the
sublime covereth thine ugliness: what didst thou do?
  Is it then true what they say, that thou hast again awakened him?
And why? Was he not for good reasons killed and made away with?
  Thou thyself seemest to me awakened: what didst thou do? why didst
thou turn round? Why didst thou get converted? Speak, thou
nondescript!"
  "O Zarathustra," answered the ugliest man, "thou art a rogue!
  Whether he yet liveth, or again liveth, or is thoroughly dead- which
of us both knoweth that best? I ask thee.
  One thing however do I know,- from thyself did I learn it once, O
Zarathustra: he who wanteth to kill most thoroughly, laugheth.
  'Not by wrath but by laughter doth one kill'- thus spakest thou
once, O Zarathustra, thou hidden one, thou destroyer without wrath,
thou dangerous saint,- thou art a rogue!"

                            2.

  Then, however, did it come to pass that Zarathustra, astonished at
such merely roguish answers, jumped back to the door of his cave,
and turning towards all his guests, cried out with a strong voice:
  "O ye wags, all of you, ye buffoons! Why do ye dissemble and
disguise yourselves before me!
  How the hearts of all of you convulsed with delight and
wickedness, because ye had at last become again like little
children- namely, pious,-
  -Because ye at last did again as children do- namely, prayed, folded
your hands and said 'good God'!
  But now leave, I pray you, this nursery, mine own cave, where
today all childishness is carried on. Cool down, here outside, your
hot child-wantonness and heart-tumult!
  To be sure: except ye become as little children ye shall not enter
into that kingdom of heaven." (And Zarathustra pointed aloft with
his hands.)
  "But we do not at all want to enter into the kingdom of heaven: we
have become men,- so we want the kingdom of earth."

                            3.

  And once more began Zarathustra to speak. "O my new friends," said
he,- "ye strange ones, ye higher men, how well do ye now please me,-
  -Since ye have again become joyful! Ye have, verily, all blossomed
forth: it seemeth to me that for such flowers as you, new festivals
are required.
  -A little valiant nonsense, some divine service and ass-festival,
some old joyful Zarathustra fool, some blusterer to blow your souls
bright.
  Forget not this night and this ass-festival, ye higher men! That did
ye devise when with me, that do I take as a good omen,- such things
only the convalescents devise!
  And should ye celebrate it again, this ass-festival, do it from love
to yourselves, do it also from love to me! And in remembrance of me!"

  Thus spake Zarathustra.