Thus Spake Zarathustra

[VoraX]

6. The Pale Criminal

  YE DO not mean to slay, ye judges and sacrificers, until the
animal hath bowed its head? Lo! the pale criminal hath bowed his head:
out of his eye speaketh the great contempt.
  "Mine ego is something which is to be surpassed: mine ego is to me
the great contempt of man": so speaketh it out of that eye.
  When he judged himself- that was his supreme moment; let not the
exalted one relapse again into his low estate!
  There is no salvation for him who thus suffereth from himself,
unless it be speedy death.
  Your slaying, ye judges, shall be pity, and not revenge; and in that
ye slay, see to it that ye yourselves justify life!
  It is not enough that ye should reconcile with him whom ye slay. Let
your sorrow be love to the Superman: thus will ye justify your own
survival!
  "Enemy" shall ye say but not "villain," "invalid" shall ye say but
not "wretch," "fool" shall ye say but not "sinner."
  And thou, red judge, if thou would say audibly all thou hast done in
thought, then would every one cry: "Away with the nastiness and the
virulent reptile!"
  But one thing is the thought, another thing is the deed, and another
thing is the idea of the deed. The wheel of causality doth not roll
between them.
  An idea made this pale man pale. Adequate was he for his deed when
he did it, but the idea of it, he could not endure when it was done.
  Evermore did he now see himself as the doer of one deed. Madness,
I call this: the exception reversed itself to the rule in him.
  The streak of chalk bewitcheth the hen; the stroke he struck
bewitched his weak reason. Madness after the deed, I call this.
  Hearken, ye judges! There is another madness besides, and it is
before the deed. Ah! ye have not gone deep enough into this soul!
  Thus speaketh the red judge: "Why did this criminal commit murder?
He meant to rob." I tell you, however, that his soul wanted blood, not
booty: he thirsted for the happiness of the knife!
  But his weak reason understood not this madness, and it persuaded
him. "What matter about blood!" it said; "wishest thou not, at
least, to make booty thereby? Or take revenge?"
  And he hearkened unto his weak reason: like lead lay its words
upon him- thereupon he robbed when he murdered. He did not mean to
be ashamed of his madness.
  And now once more lieth the lead of his guilt upon him, and once
more is his weak reason so benumbed, so paralysed, and so dull.
  Could he only shake his head, then would his burden roll off; but
who shaketh that head?
  What is this man? A mass of diseases that reach out into the world
through the spirit; there they want to get their prey.
  What is this man? A coil of wild serpents that are seldom at peace
among themselves- so they go forth apart and seek prey in the world.
  Look at that poor body! What it suffered and craved, the poor soul
interpreted to itself- it interpreted it as murderous desire, and
eagerness for the happiness of the knife.
  Him who now turneth sick, the evil overtaketh which is now the evil:
he seeketh to cause pain with that which causeth him pain. But there
have been other ages, and another evil and good.
  Once was doubt evil, and the will to Self. Then the invalid became a
heretic or sorcerer; as heretic or sorcerer he suffered, and sought to
cause suffering.
  But this will not enter your ears; it hurteth your good people, ye
tell me. But what doth it matter to me about your good people!
  Many things in your good people cause me disgust, and verily, not
their evil. I would that they had a madness by which they succumbed,
like this pale criminal!
  Verily, I would that their madness were called truth, or fidelity,
or justice: but they have their virtue in order to live long, and in
wretched self-complacency.
  I am a railing alongside the torrent; whoever is able to grasp me
may grasp me! Your crutch, however, I am not.-

  Thus spake Zarathustra.

[VoraX]

7. Reading and Writing

  OF ALL that is written, I love only what a person hath written with
his blood. Write with blood, and thou wilt find that blood is spirit.
  It is no easy task to understand unfamiliar blood; I hate the
reading idlers.
  He who knoweth the reader, doeth nothing more for the reader.
Another century of readers- and spirit itself will stink.
  Every one being allowed to learn to read, ruineth in the long run
not only writing but also thinking.
  Once spirit was God, then it became man, and now it even becometh
populace.
  He that writeth in blood and proverbs doth not want to be read,
but learnt by heart.
  In the mountains the shortest way is from peak to peak, but for that
route thou must have long legs. Proverbs should be peaks, and those
spoken to should be big and tall.
  The atmosphere rare and pure, danger near and the spirit full of a
joyful wickedness: thus are things well matched.
  I want to have goblins about me, for I am courageous. The courage
which scareth away ghosts, createth for itself goblins- it wanteth
to laugh.
  I no longer feel in common with you; the very cloud which I see
beneath me, the blackness and heaviness at which I laugh- that is your
thunder-cloud.
  Ye look aloft when ye long for exaltation; and I look downward
because I am exalted.
  Who among you can at the same time laugh and be exalted?
  He who climbeth on the highest mountains, laugheth at all tragic
plays and tragic realities.
  Courageous, unconcerned, scornful, coercive- so wisdom wisheth us;
she is a woman, and ever loveth only a warrior.
  Ye tell me, "Life is hard to bear." But for what purpose should ye
have your pride in the morning and your resignation in the evening?
  Life is hard to bear: but do not affect to be so delicate! We are
all of us fine sumpter asses and she-asses.
  What have we in common with the rose-bud, which trembleth because
a drop of dew hath formed upon it?
  It is true we love life; not because we are wont to live, but
because we are wont to love.
  There is always some madness in love. But there is always, also,
some method in madness.
  And to me also, who appreciate life, the butterflies, and
soap-bubbles, and whatever is like them amongst us, seem most to enjoy
happiness.
  To see these light, foolish, pretty, lively little sprites flit
about- that moveth Zarathustra to tears and songs.
  I should only believe in a God that would know how to dance.
  And when I saw my devil, I found him serious, thorough, profound,
solemn: he was the spirit of gravity- through him all things fall.
  Not by wrath, but by laughter, do we slay. Come, let us slay the
spirit of gravity!
  I learned to walk; since then have I let myself run. I learned to
fly; since then I do not need pushing in order to move from a spot.
  Now am I light, now do I fly; now do I see myself under myself.
Now there danceth a God in me.-
  Thus spake Zarathustra.

[VoraX]

8. The Tree on the Hill

  ZARATHUSTRA's eye had perceived that a certain youth avoided him.
And as he walked alone one evening over the hills surrounding the town
called "The Pied Cow," behold, there found he the youth sitting
leaning against a tree, and gazing with wearied look into the
valley. Zarathustra thereupon laid hold of the tree beside which the
youth sat, and spake thus:
  "If I wished to shake this tree with my hands, I should not be
able to do so.
  But the wind, which we see not, troubleth and bendeth it as it
listeth. We are sorest bent and troubled by invisible hands."
  Thereupon the youth arose disconcerted, and said: "I hear
Zarathustra, and just now was I thinking of him!" Zarathustra
answered:
  "Why art thou frightened on that account?- But it is the same with
man as with the tree.
  The more he seeketh to rise into the height and light, the more
vigorously do his roots struggle earthward, downward, into the dark
and deep- into the evil."
  "Yea, into the evil!" cried the youth. "How is it possible that thou
hast discovered my soul?"
  Zarathustra smiled, and said: "Many a soul one will never
discover, unless one first invent it."
  "Yea, into the evil!" cried the youth once more.
  "Thou saidst the truth, Zarathustra. I trust myself no longer
since I sought to rise into the height, and nobody trusteth me any
longer; how doth that happen?
  I change too quickly: my to-day refuteth my yesterday. I often
overleap the steps when I clamber; for so doing, none of the steps
pardons me.
  When aloft, I find myself always alone. No one speaketh unto me; the
frost of solitude maketh me tremble. What do I seek on the height?
  My contempt and my longing increase together; the higher I
clamber, the more do I despise him who clambereth. What doth he seek
on the height?
  How ashamed I am of my clambering and stumbling! How I mock at my
violent panting! How I hate him who flieth! How tired I am on the
height!"
  Here the youth was silent. And Zarathustra contemplated the tree
beside which they stood, and spake thus:
  "This tree standeth lonely here on the hills; it hath grown up
high above man and beast.
  And if it wanted to speak, it would have none who could understand
it: so high hath it grown.
  Now it waiteth and waiteth,- for what doth it wait? It dwelleth
too close to the seat of the clouds; it waiteth perhaps for the
first lightning?"
  When Zarathustra had said this, the youth called out with violent
gestures: "Yea, Zarathustra, thou speakest the truth. My destruction I
longed for, when I desired to be on the height, and thou art the
lightning for which I waited! Lo! what have I been since thou hast
appeared amongst us? It is mine envy of thee that hath destroyed me!"-
Thus spake the youth, and wept bitterly. Zarathustra, however, put his
arm about him, and led the youth away with him.
  And when they had walked a while together, Zarathustra began to
speak thus:
  It rendeth my heart. Better than thy words express it, thine eyes
tell me all thy danger.
  As yet thou art not free; thou still seekest freedom. Too unslept
hath thy seeking made thee, and too wakeful.
  On the open height wouldst thou be; for the stars thirsteth thy
soul. But thy bad impulses also thirst for freedom.
  Thy wild dogs want liberty; they bark for joy in their cellar when
thy spirit endeavoureth to open all prison doors.
  Still art thou a prisoner- it seemeth to me- who deviseth liberty
for himself: ah! sharp becometh the soul of such prisoners, but also
deceitful and wicked.
  To purify himself, is still necessary for the freedman of the
spirit. Much of the prison and the mould still remaineth in him:
pure hath his eye still to become.
  Yea, I know thy danger. But by my love and hope I conjure thee: cast
not thy love and hope away!
  Noble thou feelest thyself still, and noble others also feel thee
still, though they bear thee a grudge and cast evil looks. Know
this, that to everybody a noble one standeth in the way.
  Also to the good, a noble one standeth in the way: and even when
they call him a good man, they want thereby to put him aside.
  The new, would the noble man create, and a new virtue. The old,
wanteth the good man, and that the old should be conserved.
  But it is not the danger of the noble man to turn a good man, but
lest he should become a blusterer, a scoffer, or a destroyer.
  Ah! I have known noble ones who lost their highest hope. And then
they disparaged all high hopes.
  Then lived they shamelessly in temporary pleasures, and beyond the
day had hardly an aim.
  "Spirit is also voluptuousness,"- said they. Then broke the wings of
their spirit; and now it creepeth about, and defileth where it
gnaweth.
  Once they thought of becoming heroes; but sensualists are they
now. A trouble and a terror is the hero to them.
  But by my love and hope I conjure thee: cast not away the hero in
thy soul! Maintain holy thy highest hope!-

  Thus spake Zarathustra.

[VoraX]

9. The Preachers of Death

  THERE are preachers of death: and the earth is full of those to whom
desistance from life must be preached.
  Full is the earth of the superfluous; marred is life by the
many-too-many. May they be decoyed out of this life by the "life
eternal"!
  "The yellow ones": so are called the preachers of death, or "the
black ones." But I will show them unto you in other colours besides.
  There are the terrible ones who carry about in themselves the
beast of prey, and have no choice except lusts or self-laceration. And
even their lusts are self-laceration.
  They have not yet become men, those terrible ones: may they preach
desistance from life, and pass away themselves!
  There are the spiritually consumptive ones: hardly are they born
when they begin to die, and long for doctrines of lassitude and
renunciation.
  They would fain be dead, and we should approve of their wish! Let us
beware of awakening those dead ones, and of damaging those living
coffins!
  They meet an invalid, or an old man, or a corpse- and immediately
they say: "Life is refuted!"
  But they only are refuted, and their eye, which seeth only one
aspect of existence.
  Shrouded in thick melancholy, and eager for the little casualties
that bring death: thus do they wait, and clench their teeth.
  Or else, they grasp at sweetmeats, and mock at their childishness
thereby: they cling to their straw of life, and mock at their still
clinging to it.
  Their wisdom speaketh thus: "A fool, he who remaineth alive; but
so far are we fools! And that is the foolishest thing in life!"
  "Life is only suffering": so say others, and lie not. Then see to it
that ye cease! See to it that the life ceaseth which is only
suffering!
  And let this be the teaching of your virtue: "Thou shalt slay
thyself! Thou shalt steal away from thyself!"-
  "Lust is sin,"- so say some who preach death- "let us go apart and
beget no children!"
  "Giving birth is troublesome,"- say others- "why still give birth?
One beareth only the unfortunate!" And they also are preachers of
death.
  "Pity is necessary,"- so saith a third party. "Take what I have!
Take what I am! So much less doth life bind me!"
  Were they consistently pitiful, then would they make their
neighbours sick of life. To be wicked- that would be their true
goodness.
  But they want to be rid of life; what care they if they bind
others still faster with their chains and gifts!-
  And ye also, to whom life is rough labour and disquiet, are ye not
very tired of life? Are ye not very ripe for the sermon of death?
  All ye to whom rough labour is dear, and the rapid, new, and
strange- ye put up with yourselves badly; your diligence is flight,
and the will to self-forgetfulness.
  If ye believed more in life, then would ye devote yourselves less to
the momentary. But for waiting, ye have not enough of capacity in you-
nor even for idling!
  Everywhere resoundeth the voices of those who preach death; and
the earth is full of those to whom death hath to be preached.
  Or "life eternal"; it is all the same to me- if only they pass
away quickly!-

  Thus spake Zarathustra.

[VoraX]

10. War and Warriors

  BY OUR best enemies we do not want to be spared, nor by those either
whom we love from the very heart. So let me tell you the truth!
  My brethren in war! I love you from the very heart. I am, and was
ever, your counterpart. And I am also your best enemy. So let me
tell you the truth!
  I know the hatred and envy of your hearts. Ye are not great enough
not to know of hatred and envy. Then be great enough not to be ashamed
of them!
  And if ye cannot be saints of knowledge, then, I pray you, be at
least its warriors. They are the companions and forerunners of such
saintship.
  I see many soldiers; could I but see many warriors! "Uniform" one
calleth what they wear; may it not be uniform what they therewith
hide!
  Ye shall be those whose eyes ever seek for an enemy- for your enemy.
And with some of you there is hatred at first sight.
  Your enemy shall ye seek; your war shall ye wage, and for the sake
of your thoughts! And if your thoughts succumb, your uprightness shall
still shout triumph thereby!
  Ye shall love peace as a means to new wars- and the short peace more
than the long.
  You I advise not to work, but to fight. You I advise not to peace,
but to victory. Let your work be a fight, let your peace be a victory!
  One can only be silent and sit peacefully when one hath arrow and
bow; otherwise one prateth and quarrelleth. Let your peace be a
victory!
  Ye say it is the good cause which halloweth even war? I say unto
you: it is the good war which halloweth every cause.
  War and courage have done more great things than charity. Not your
sympathy, but your bravery hath hitherto saved the victims.
  "What is good?" ye ask. To be brave is good. Let the little girls
say: "To be good is what is pretty, and at the same time touching."
  They call you heartless: but your heart is true, and I love the
bashfulness of your goodwill. Ye are ashamed of your flow, and
others are ashamed of their ebb.
  Ye are ugly? Well then, my brethren, take the sublime about you, the
mantle of the ugly!
  And when your soul becometh great, then doth it become haughty,
and in your sublimity there is wickedness. I know you.
  In wickedness the haughty man and the weakling meet. But they
misunderstand one another. I know you.
  Ye shall only have enemies to be hated, but not enemies to be
despised. Ye must be proud of your enemies; then, the successes of
your enemies are also your successes.
  Resistance- that is the distinction of the slave. Let your
distinction be obedience. Let your commanding itself be obeying!
  To the good warrior soundeth "thou shalt" pleasanter than "I
will." And all that is dear unto you, ye shall first have it commanded
unto you.
  Let your love to life be love to your highest hope; and let your
highest hope be the highest thought of life!
  Your highest thought, however, ye shall have it commanded unto you
by me- and it is this: man is something that is to be surpassed.
  So live your life of obedience and of war! What matter about long
life! What warrior wisheth to be spared!
  I spare you not, I love you from my very heart, my brethren in war!-

  Thus spake Zarathustra.

[VoraX]

11. The New Idol

  SOMEWHERE there are still peoples and herds, but not with us, my
brethren: here there are states.
  A state? What is that? Well! open now your ears unto me, for now
will I say unto you my word concerning the death of peoples.
  A state, is called the coldest of all cold monsters. Coldly lieth it
also; and this lie creepeth from its mouth: "I, the state, am the
people."
  It is a lie! Creators were they who created peoples, and hung a
faith and a love over them: thus they served life.
  Destroyers, are they who lay snares for many, and call it the state:
they hang a sword and a hundred cravings over them.
  Where there is still a people, there the state is not understood,
but hated as the evil eye, and as sin against laws and customs.
  This sign I give unto you: every people speaketh its language of
good and evil: this its neighbour understandeth not. Its language hath
it devised for itself in laws and customs.
  But the state lieth in all languages of good and evil; and
whatever it saith it lieth; and whatever it hath it hath stolen.
  False is everything in it; with stolen teeth it biteth, the biting
one. False are even its bowels.
  Confusion of language of good and evil; this sign I give unto you as
the sign of the state. Verily, the will to death, indicateth this
sign! Verily, it beckoneth unto the preachers of death!
  Many too many are born: for the superfluous ones was the state
devised!
  See just how it enticeth them to it, the many-too-many! How it
swalloweth and cheweth and recheweth them!
  "On earth there is nothing greater than I: it is I who am the
regulating finger of God."- thus roareth the monster. And not only the
long-eared and short-sighted fall upon their knees!
  Ah! even in your ears, ye great souls, it whispereth its gloomy
lies! Ah! it findeth out the rich hearts which willingly lavish
themselves!
  Yea, it findeth you out too, ye conquerors of the old God! Weary
ye became of the conflict, and now your weariness serveth the new
idol!
  Heroes and honourable ones, it would fain set up around it, the
new idol! Gladly it basketh in the sunshine of good consciences,-
the cold monster!
  Everything will it give you, if ye worship it, the new idol: thus it
purchaseth the lustre of your virtue, and the glance of your proud
eyes.
  It seeketh to allure by means of you, the many-too-many! Yea, a
hellish artifice hath here been devised, a death-horse jingling with
the trappings of divine honours!
  Yea, a dying for many hath here been devised, which glorifieth
itself as life: verily, a hearty service unto all preachers of death!
  The state, I call it, where all are poison-drinkers, the good and
the bad: the state, where all lose themselves, the good and the bad:
the state, where the slow suicide of all- is called "life."
  Just see these superfluous ones! They steal the works of the
inventors and the treasures of the wise. Culture, they call their
theft- and everything becometh sickness and trouble unto them!
  Just see these superfluous ones! Sick are they always; they vomit
their bile and call it a newspaper. They devour one another, and
cannot even digest themselves.
  Just see these superfluous ones! Wealth they acquire and become
poorer thereby. Power they seek for, and above all, the lever of
power, much money- these impotent ones!
  See them clamber, these nimble apes! They clamber over one
another, and thus scuffle into the mud and the abyss.
  Towards the throne they all strive: it is their madness- as if
happiness sat on the throne! Ofttimes sitteth filth on the throne.-
and ofttimes also the throne on filth.
  Madmen they all seem to me, and clambering apes, and too eager.
Badly smelleth their idol to me, the cold monster: badly they all
smell to me, these idolaters.
  My brethren, will ye suffocate in the fumes of their maws and
appetites! Better break the windows and jump into the open air!
  Do go out of the way of the bad odour! Withdraw from the idolatry of
the superfluous!
  Do go out of the way of the bad odour! Withdraw from the steam of
these human sacrifices!
  Open still remaineth the earth for great souls. Empty are still many
sites for lone ones and twain ones, around which floateth the odour of
tranquil seas.
  Open still remaineth a free life for great souls. Verily, he who
possesseth little is so much the less possessed: blessed be moderate
poverty!
  There, where the state ceaseth- there only commenceth the man who is
not superfluous: there commenceth the song of the necessary ones,
the single and irreplaceable melody.
  There, where the state ceaseth- pray look thither, my brethren! Do
ye not see it, the rainbow and the bridges of the Superman?-

  Thus spake Zarathustra.

[VoraX]

12. The Flies in the Market-Place

  FLEE, my friend, into thy solitude! I see thee deafened with the
noise of the great men, and stung all over with the stings of the
little ones.
  Admirably do forest and rock know how to be silent with thee.
Resemble again the tree which thou lovest, the broad-branched one-
silently and attentively it o'erhangeth the sea.
  Where solitude endeth, there beginneth the market-place; and where
the market-place beginneth, there beginneth also the noise of the
great actors, and the buzzing of the poison-flies.
  In the world even the best things are worthless without those who
represent them: those representers, the people call great men.
  Little, do the people understand what is great- that is to say,
the creating agency. But they have a taste for all representers and
actors of great things.
  Around the devisers of new values revolveth the world:- invisibly it
revolveth. But around the actors revolve the people and the glory:
such is the course of things.
  Spirit, hath the actor, but little conscience of the spirit. He
believeth always in that wherewith he maketh believe most strongly- in
himself!
  Tomorrow he hath a new belief, and the day after, one still newer.
Sharp perceptions hath he, like the people, and changeable humours.
  To upset- that meaneth with him to prove. To drive mad- that meaneth
with him to convince. And blood is counted by him as the best of all
arguments.
  A truth which only glideth into fine ears, he calleth falsehood
and trumpery. Verily, he believeth only in gods that make a great
noise in the world!
  Full of clattering buffoons is the market-place,- and the people
glory in their great men! These are for them the masters of the hour.
  But the hour presseth them; so they press thee. And also from thee
they want Yea or Nay. Alas! thou wouldst set thy chair betwixt For and
Against?
  On account of those absolute and impatient ones, be not jealous,
thou lover of truth! Never yet did truth cling to the arm of an
absolute one.
  On account of those abrupt ones, return into thy security: only in
the market-place is one assailed by Yea? or Nay?
  Slow is the experience of all deep fountains: long have they to wait
until they know what hath fallen into their depths.
  Away from the market-place and from fame taketh place all that is
great: away from the market-Place and from fame have ever dwelt the
devisers of new values.
  Flee, my friend, into thy solitude: I see thee stung all over by the
poisonous flies. Flee thither, where a rough, strong breeze bloweth!
  Flee into thy solitude! Thou hast lived too closely to the small and
the pitiable. Flee from their invisible vengeance! Towards thee they
have nothing but vengeance.
  Raise no longer an arm against them! Innumerable are they, and it is
not thy lot to be a fly-flap.
  Innumerable are the small and pitiable ones; and of many a proud
structure, rain-drops and weeds have been the ruin.
  Thou art not stone; but already hast thou become hollow by the
numerous drops. Thou wilt yet break and burst by the numerous drops.
  Exhausted I see thee, by poisonous flies; bleeding I see thee, and
torn at a hundred spots; and thy pride will not even upbraid.
  Blood they would have from thee in all innocence; blood their
bloodless souls crave for- and they sting, therefore, in all
innocence.
  But thou, profound one, thou sufferest too profoundly even from
small wounds; and ere thou hadst recovered, the same poison-worm
crawled over thy hand.
  Too proud art thou to kill these sweet-tooths. But take care lest it
be thy fate to suffer all their poisonous injustice!
  They buzz around thee also with their praise: obtrusiveness is their
praise. They want to be close to thy skin and thy blood.
  They flatter thee, as one flattereth a God or devil; they whimper
before thee, as before a God or devil; What doth it come to!
Flatterers are they, and whimperers, and nothing more.
  Often, also, do they show themselves to thee as amiable ones. But
that hath ever been the prudence of the cowardly. Yea! the cowardly
are wise!
  They think much about thee with their circumscribed souls- thou
art always suspected by them! Whatever is much thought about is at
last thought suspicious.
  They punish thee for all thy virtues. They pardon thee in their
inmost hearts only- for thine errors.
  Because thou art gentle and of upright character, thou sayest:
"Blameless are they for their small existence." But their
circumscribed souls think: "Blamable is all great existence."
  Even when thou art gentle towards them, they still feel themselves
despised by thee; and they repay thy beneficence with secret
maleficence.
  Thy silent pride is always counter to their taste; they rejoice if
once thou be humble enough to be frivolous.
  What we recognise in a man, we also irritate in him. Therefore be on
your guard against the small ones!
  In thy presence they feel themselves small, and their baseness
gleameth and gloweth against thee in invisible vengeance.
  Sawest thou not how often they became dumb when thou approachedst
them, and how their energy left them like the smoke of an
extinguishing fire?
  Yea, my friend, the bad conscience art thou of thy neighbours; for
they are unworthy of thee. Therefore they hate thee, and would fain
suck thy blood.
  Thy neighbours will always be poisonous flies; what is great in
thee- that itself must make them more poisonous, and always more
fly-like.
  Flee, my friend, into thy solitude- and thither, where a rough
strong breeze bloweth. It is not thy lot to be a fly-flap.-

  Thus spake Zarathustra.

[VoraX]

13. Chastity

  I LOVE the forest. It is bad to live in cities: there, there are too
many of the lustful.
  Is it not better to fall into the hands of a murderer than into
the dreams of a lustful woman?
  And just look at these men: their eye saith it- they know nothing
better on earth than to lie with a woman.
  Filth is at the bottom of their souls; and alas! if their filth hath
still spirit in it!
  Would that ye were perfect- at least as animals! But to animals
belongeth innocence.
  Do I counsel you to slay your instincts? I counsel you to
innocence in your instincts.
  Do I counsel you to chastity? Chastity is a virtue with some, but
with many almost a vice.
  These are continent, to be sure: but doggish lust looketh
enviously out of all that they do.
  Even into the heights of their virtue and into their cold spirit
doth this creature follow them, with its discord.
  And how nicely can doggish lust beg for a piece of spirit, when a
piece of flesh is denied it!
  Ye love tragedies and all that breaketh the heart? But I am
distrustful of your doggish lust.
  Ye have too cruel eyes, and ye look wantonly towards the
sufferers. Hath not your lust just disguised itself and taken the name
of fellow-suffering?
  And also this parable give I unto you: Not a few who meant to cast
out their devil, went thereby into the swine themselves.
  To whom chastity is difficult, it is to be dissuaded: lest it become
the road to hell- to filth and lust of soul.
  Do I speak of filthy things? That is not the worst thing for me to
do.
  Not when the truth is filthy, but when it is shallow, doth the
discerning one go unwillingly into its waters.
  Verily, there are chaste ones from their very nature; they are
gentler of heart, and laugh better and oftener than you.
  They laugh also at chastity, and ask: "What is chastity?
  Is chastity not folly? But the folly came unto us, and not we unto
it.
  We offered that guest harbour and heart: now it dwelleth with us-
let it stay as long as it will!"-

  Thus spake Zarathustra.

[VoraX]

14. The Friend

  "ONE is always too many about me"- thinketh the anchorite. "Always
once one- that maketh two in the long run!"
  I and me are always too earnestly in conversation: how could it be
endured, if there were not a friend?
  The friend of the anchorite is always the third one: the third one
is the cork which preventeth the conversation of the two sinking
into the depth.
  Ah! there are too many depths for all anchorites. Therefore, do they
long so much for a friend and for his elevation.
  Our faith in others betrayeth wherein we would fain have faith in
ourselves. Our longing for a friend is our betrayer.
  And often with our love we want merely to overleap envy. And often
we attack and make ourselves enemies, to conceal that we are
vulnerable.
  "Be at least mine enemy!"- thus speaketh the true reverence, which
doth not venture to solicit friendship.
  If one would have a friend, then must one also be willing to wage
war for him: and in order to wage war, one must be capable of being an
enemy.
  One ought still to honour the enemy in one's friend. Canst thou go
nigh unto thy friend, and not go over to him?
  In one's friend one shall have one's best enemy. Thou shalt be
closest unto him with thy heart when thou withstandest him.
  Thou wouldst wear no raiment before thy friend? It is in honour of
thy friend that thou showest thyself to him as thou art? But he
wisheth thee to the devil on that account!
  He who maketh no secret of himself shocketh: so much reason have
ye to fear nakedness! Aye, if ye were gods, ye could then be ashamed
of clothing!
  Thou canst not adorn thyself fine enough for thy friend; for thou
shalt be unto him an arrow and a longing for the Superman.
  Sawest thou ever thy friend asleep- to know how he looketh? What
is usually the countenance of thy friend? It is thine own countenance,
in a coarse and imperfect mirror.
  Sawest thou ever thy friend asleep? Wert thou not dismayed at thy
friend looking so? O my friend, man is something that hath to be
surpassed.
  In divining and keeping silence shall the friend be a master: not
everything must thou wish to see. Thy dream shall disclose unto thee
what thy friend doeth when awake.
  Let thy pity be a divining: to know first if thy friend wanteth
pity. Perhaps he loveth in thee the unmoved eye, and the look of
eternity.
  Let thy pity for thy friend be hid under a hard shell; thou shalt
bite out a tooth upon it. Thus will it have delicacy and sweetness.
  Art thou pure air and solitude and bread and medicine to thy friend?
Many a one cannot loosen his own fetters, but is nevertheless his
friend's emancipator.
  Art thou a slave? Then thou canst not be a friend. Art thou a
tyrant? Then thou canst not have friends.
  Far too long hath there been a slave and a tyrant concealed in
woman. On that account woman is not yet capable of friendship: she
knoweth only love.
  In woman's love there is injustice and blindness to all she doth not
love. And even in woman's conscious love, there is still always
surprise and lightning and night, along with the light.
  As yet woman is not capable of friendship: women are still cats
and birds. Or at the best, cows.
  As yet woman is not capable of friendship. But tell me, ye men,
who of you is capable of friendship?
  Oh! your poverty, ye men, and your sordidness of soul! As much as ye
give to your friend, will I give even to my foe, and will not have
become poorer thereby.
  There is comradeship: may there be friendship!

  Thus spake Zarathustra.

[VoraX]

15. The Thousand and One Goals

  MANY lands saw Zarathustra, and many peoples: thus he discovered the
good and bad of many peoples. No greater power did Zarathustra find on
earth than good and bad.
  No people could live without first valuing; if a people will
maintain itself, however, it must not value as its neighbour valueth.
  Much that passed for good with one people was regarded with scorn
and contempt by another: thus I found it. Much found I here called
bad, which was there decked with purple honours.
  Never did the one neighbour understand the other: ever did his
soul marvel at his neighbour's delusion and wickedness.
  A table of excellencies hangeth over every people. Lo! it is the
table of their triumphs; lo! it is the voice of their Will to Power.
  It is laudable, what they think hard; what is indispensable and hard
they call good; and what relieveth in the direst distress, the
unique and hardest of all,- they extol as holy.
  Whatever maketh them rule and conquer and shine, to the dismay and
envy of their neighbours, they regard as the high and foremost
thing, the test and the meaning of all else.
  Verily, my brother, if thou knewest but a people's need, its land,
its sky, and its neighbour, then wouldst thou divine the law of its
surmountings, and why it climbeth up that ladder to its hope.
  "Always shalt thou be the foremost and prominent above others: no
one shall thy jealous soul love, except a friend"- that made the
soul of a Greek thrill: thereby went he his way to greatness.
  "To speak truth, and be skilful with bow and arrow"- so seemed it
alike pleasing and hard to the people from whom cometh my name- the
name which is alike pleasing and hard to me.
  "To honour father and mother, and from the root of the soul to do
their will"- this table of surmounting hung another people over
them, and became powerful and permanent thereby.
  "To have fidelity, and for the sake of fidelity to risk honour and
blood, even in evil and dangerous courses"- teaching itself so,
another people mastered itself, and thus mastering itself, became
pregnant and heavy with great hopes.
  Verily, men have given unto themselves all their good and bad.
Verily, they took it not, they found it not, it came not unto them
as a voice from heaven.
  Values did man only assign to things in order to maintain himself-
he created only the significance of things, a human significance!
Therefore, calleth he himself "man," that is, the valuator.
  Valuing is creating: hear it, ye creating ones! Valuation itself
is the treasure and jewel of the valued things.
  Through valuation only is there value; and without valuation the nut
of existence would be hollow. Hear it, ye creating ones!
  Change of values- that is, change of the creating ones. Always
doth he destroy who hath to be a creator.
  Creating ones were first of all peoples, and only in late times
individuals; verily, the individual himself is still the latest
creation.
  Peoples once hung over them tables of the good. Love which would
rule and love which would obey, created for themselves such tables.
  Older is the pleasure in the herd than the pleasure in the ego:
and as long as the good conscience is for the herd, the bad conscience
only saith: ego.
  Verily, the crafty ego, the loveless one, that seeketh its advantage
in the advantage of many- it is not the origin of the herd, but its
ruin.
  Loving ones, was it always, and creating ones, that created good and
bad. Fire of love gloweth in the names of all the virtues, and fire of
wrath.
  Many lands saw Zarathustra, and many peoples: no greater power did
Zarathustra find on earth than the creations of the loving ones-
"good" and "bad" are they called.
  Verily, a prodigy is this power of praising and blaming. Tell me, ye
brethren, who will master it for me? Who will put a fetter upon the
thousand necks of this animal?
  A thousand goals have there been hitherto, for a thousand peoples
have there been. Only the fetter for the thousand necks is still
lacking; there is lacking the one goal. As yet humanity hath not a
goal.
  But pray tell me, my brethren, if the goal of humanity be still
lacking, is there not also still lacking- humanity itself?-

  Thus spake Zarathustra.

[VoraX]

16. Neighbour-Love

  YE CROWD around your neighbour, and have fine words for it. But I
say unto you: your neighbour-love is your bad love of yourselves.
  Ye flee unto your neighbour from yourselves, and would fain make a
virtue thereof: but I fathom your "unselfishness."
  The Thou is older than the I; the Thou hath been consecrated, but
not yet the I: so man presseth nigh unto his neighbour.
  Do I advise you to neighbour-love? Rather do I advise you to
neighbour-flight and to furthest love!
  Higher than love to your neighbour is love to the furthest and
future ones; higher still than love to men, is love to things and
phantoms.
  The phantom that runneth on before thee, my brother, is fairer
than thou; why dost thou not give unto it thy flesh and thy bones? But
thou fearest, and runnest unto thy neighbour.
  Ye cannot endure it with yourselves, and do not love yourselves
sufficiently: so ye seek to mislead your neighbour into love, and
would fain gild yourselves with his error.
  Would that ye could not endure it with any kind of near ones, or
their neighbours; then would ye have to create your friend and his
overflowing heart out of yourselves.
  Ye call in a witness when ye want to speak well of yourselves; and
when ye have misled him to think well of you, ye also think well of
yourselves.
  Not only doth he lie, who speaketh contrary to his knowledge, but
more so, he who speaketh contrary to his ignorance. And thus speak
ye of yourselves in your intercourse, and belie your neighbour with
yourselves.
  Thus saith the fool: "Association with men spoileth the character,
especially when one hath none."
  The one goeth to his neighbour because he seeketh himself, and the
other because he would fain lose himself. Your bad love to
yourselves maketh solitude a prison to you.
  The furthest ones are they who pay for your love to the near ones;
and when there are but five of you together, a sixth must always die.
  I love not your festivals either: too many actors found I there, and
even the spectators often behaved like actors.
  Not the neighbour do I teach you, but the friend. Let the friend
be the festival of the earth to you, and a foretaste of the Superman.
  I teach you the friend and his overflowing heart. But one must
know how to be a sponge, if one would be loved by over-flowing hearts.
  I teach you the friend in whom the world standeth complete, a
capsule of the good,- the creating friend, who hath always a
complete world to bestow.
  And as the world unrolled itself for him, so rolleth it together
again for him in rings, as the growth of good through evil, as the
growth of purpose out of chance.
  Let the future and the furthest be the motive of thy today; in thy
friend shalt thou love the Superman as thy motive.
  My brethren, I advise you not to neighbour-love- I advise you to
furthest love!-

  Thus spake Zarathustra.

[VoraX]

17. The Way of the Creating One

  WOULDST thou go into isolation, my brother? Wouldst thou seek the
way unto thyself? Tarry yet a little and hearken unto me.
  "He who seeketh may easily get lost himself. All isolation is
wrong": so say the herd. And long didst thou belong to the herd.
  The voice of the herd will still echo in thee. And when thou sayest,
"I have no longer a conscience in common with you," then will it be
a plaint and a pain.
  Lo, that pain itself did the same conscience produce; and the last
gleam of that conscience still gloweth on thine affliction.
  But thou wouldst go the way of thine affliction, which is the way
unto thyself? Then show me thine authority and thy strength to do so!
  Art thou a new strength and a new authority? A first motion? A
self-rolling wheel? Canst thou also compel stars to revolve around
thee?
  Alas! there is so much lusting for loftiness! There are so many
convulsions of the ambitions! Show me that thou art not a lusting
and ambitious one!
  Alas! there are so many great thoughts that do nothing more than the
bellows: they inflate, and make emptier than ever.
  Free, dost thou call thyself? Thy ruling thought would I hear of,
and not that thou hast escaped from a yoke.
  Art thou one entitled to escape from a yoke? Many a one hath cast
away his final worth when he hath cast away his servitude.
  Free from what? What doth that matter to Zarathustra! Clearly,
however, shall thine eye show unto me: free for what?
  Canst thou give unto thyself thy bad and thy good, and set up thy
will as a law over thee? Canst thou be judge for thyself, and
avenger of thy law?
  Terrible is aloneness with the judge and avenger of one's own law.
Thus is a star projected into desert space, and into the icy breath of
aloneness.
  To-day sufferest thou still from the multitude, thou individual;
to-day hast thou still thy courage unabated, and thy hopes.
  But one day will the solitude weary thee; one day will thy pride
yield, and thy courage quail. Thou wilt one day cry: "I am alone!"
  One day wilt thou see no longer thy loftiness, and see too closely
thy lowliness; thy sublimity itself will frighten thee as a phantom.
Thou wilt one day cry: "All is false!"
  There are feelings which seek to slay the lonesome one; if they do
not succeed, then must they themselves die! But art thou capable of
it- to be a murderer?
  Hast thou ever known, my brother, the word "disdain"? And the
anguish of thy justice in being just to those that disdain thee?
  Thou forcest many to think differently about thee; that, charge they
heavily to thine account. Thou camest nigh unto them, and yet
wentest past: for that they never forgive thee.
  Thou goest beyond them: but the higher thou risest, the smaller doth
the eye of envy see thee. Most of all, however, is the flying one
hated.
  "How could ye be just unto me!"- must thou say- "I choose your
injustice as my allotted portion.
  Injustice and filth cast they at the lonesome one: but, my
brother, if thou wouldst be a star, thou must shine for them none
the less on that account!
  And be on thy guard against the good and just! They would fain
crucify those who devise their own virtue- they hate the lonesome
ones.
  Be on thy guard, also, against holy simplicity! All is unholy to
it that is not simple; fain, likewise, would it play with the fire- of
the fagot and stake.
  And be on thy guard, also, against the assaults of thy love! Too
readily doth the recluse reach his hand to any one who meeteth him.
  To many a one mayest thou not give thy hand, but only thy paw; and I
wish thy paw also to have claws.
  But the worst enemy thou canst meet, wilt thou thyself always be;
thou waylayest thyself in caverns and forests.
  Thou lonesome one, thou goest the way to thyself! And past thyself
and thy seven devils leadeth thy way!
  A heretic wilt thou be to thyself, and a wizard and a soothsayer,
and a fool, and a doubter, and a reprobate, and a villain.
  Ready must thou be to burn thyself in thine own flame; how couldst
thou become new if thou have not first become ashes!
  Thou lonesome one, thou goest the way of the creating one: a God
wilt thou create for thyself out of thy seven devils!
  Thou lonesome one, thou goest the way of the loving one: thou lovest
thyself, and on that account despisest thou thyself, as only the
loving ones despise.
  To create, desireth the loving one, because he despiseth! What
knoweth he of love who hath not been obliged to despise just what he
loved!
  With thy love, go into thine isolation, my brother, and with thy
creating; and late only will justice limp after thee.
  With my tears, go into thine isolation, my brother. I love him who
seeketh to create beyond himself, and thus succumbeth.-

  Thus spake Zarathustra.

[VoraX]

18. Old and Young Women

  WHY stealest thou along so furtively in the twilight, Zarathustra?
And what hidest thou so carefully under thy mantle?
  Is it a treasure that hath been given thee? Or a child that hath
been born thee? Or goest thou thyself on a thief's errand, thou friend
of the evil?-
  Verily, my brother, said Zarathustra, it is a treasure that hath
been given me: it is a little truth which I carry.
  But it is naughty, like a young child; and if I hold not its
mouth, it screameth too loudly.
  As I went on my way alone today, at the hour when the sun declineth,
there met me an old woman, and she spake thus unto my soul:
  "Much hath Zarathustra spoken also to us women, but never spake he
unto us concerning woman."
  And I answered her: "Concerning woman, one should only talk unto
men."
  "Talk also unto me of woman," said she; "I am old enough to forget
it presently."
  And I obliged the old woman and spake thus unto her:
  Everything in woman is a riddle, and everything in woman hath one
solution- it is called pregnancy.
  Man is for woman a means: the purpose is always the child. But
what is woman for man?
  Two different things wanteth the true man: danger and diversion.
Therefore wanteth he woman, as the most dangerous plaything.
  Man shall be trained for war, and woman for the recreation of the
warrior: all else is folly.
  Too sweet fruits- these the warrior liketh not. Therefore liketh
he woman;- bitter is even the sweetest woman.
  Better than man doth woman understand children, but man is more
childish than woman.
  In the true man there is a child hidden: it wanteth to play. Up
then, ye women, and discover the child in man!
  A plaything let woman be, pure and fine like the precious stone,
illumined with the virtues of a world not yet come.
  Let the beam of a star shine in your love! Let your hope say: "May I
bear the Superman!"
  In your love let there be valour! With your love shall ye assail him
who inspireth you with fear!
  In your love be your honour! Little doth woman understand
otherwise about honour. But let this be your honour: always to love
more than ye are loved, and never be the second.
  Let man fear woman when she loveth: then maketh she every sacrifice,
and everything else she regardeth as worthless.
  Let man fear woman when she hateth: for man in his innermost soul is
merely evil; woman, however, is mean.
  Whom hateth woman most?- Thus spake the iron to the loadstone: "I
hate thee most, because thou attractest, but art too weak to draw unto
thee."
  The happiness of man is, "I will." The happiness of woman is, "He
will."
  "Lo! "Lo! now hath the world become perfect!"- thus thinketh every
woman when she obeyeth with all her love.
  Obey, must the woman, and find a depth for her surface. Surface is
woman's soul, a mobile, stormy film on shallow water.
  Man's soul, however, is deep, its current gusheth in subterranean
caverns: woman surmiseth its force, but comprehendeth it not.-
  Then answered me the old woman: "Many fine things hath Zarathustra
said, especially for those who are young enough for them.
  Strange! Zarathustra knoweth little about woman, and yet he is right
about them! Doth this happen, because with women nothing is
impossible?
  And now accept a little truth by way of thanks! I am old enough
for it!
  Swaddle it up and hold its mouth: otherwise it will scream too
loudly, the little truth."
  "Give me, woman, thy little truth!" said I. And thus spake the old
woman:
  "Thou goest to women? Do not forget thy whip!"-

  Thus spake Zarathustra.

[VoraX]

19. The Bite of the Adder

  ONE day had Zarathustra fallen asleep under a fig-tree, owing to the
heat, with his arm over his face. And there came an adder and bit
him in the neck, so that Zarathustra screamed with pain. When he had
taken his arm from his face he looked at the serpent; and then did
it recognise the eyes of Zarathustra, wriggled awkwardly, and tried to
get away. "Not at all," said Zarathustra, "as yet hast thou not
received my thanks! Thou hast awakened me in time; my journey is yet
long." "Thy journey is short," said the adder sadly; "my poison is
fatal." Zarathustra smiled. "When did ever a dragon die of a serpent's
poison?"- said he. "But take thy poison back! Thou art not rich enough
to present it to me." Then fell the adder again on his neck, and
licked his wound.
  When Zarathustra once told this to his disciples they asked him:
"And what, O Zarathustra, is the moral of thy story?" And
Zarathustra answered them thus:
  The destroyer of morality, the good and just call me: my story is
immoral.
  When, however, ye have an enemy, then return him not good for
evil: for that would abash him. But prove that he hath done
something good to you.
  And rather be angry than abash any one! And when ye are cursed, it
pleaseth me not that ye should then desire to bless. Rather curse a
little also!
  And should a great injustice befall you, then do quickly five
small ones besides. Hideous to behold is he on whom injustice presseth
alone.
  Did ye ever know this? Shared injustice is half justice. And he
who can bear it, shall take the injustice upon himself!
  A small revenge is humaner than no revenge at all. And if the
punishment be not also a right and an honour to the transgressor, I do
not like your punishing.
  Nobler is it to own oneself in the wrong than to establish one's
right, especially if one be in the right. Only, one must be rich
enough to do so.
  I do not like your cold justice; out of the eye of your judges there
always glanceth the executioner and his cold steel.
  Tell me: where find we justice, which is love with seeing eyes?
  Devise me, then, the love which not only beareth all punishment, but
also all guilt!
  Devise me, then, the justice which acquitteth every one except the
judge!
  And would ye hear this likewise? To him who seeketh to be just
from the heart, even the lie becometh philanthropy.
  But how could I be just from the heart! How can I give every one his
own! Let this be enough for me: I give unto every one mine own.
  Finally, my brethren, guard against doing wrong to any anchorite.
How could an anchorite forget! How could he requite!
  Like a deep well is an anchorite. Easy is it to throw in a stone: if
it should sink to the bottom, however, tell me, who will bring it
out again?
  Guard against injuring the anchorite! If ye have done so, however,
well then, kill him also!-

  Thus spake Zarathustra.

[VoraX]

 20. Child and Marriage

  I HAVE a question for thee alone, my brother: like a
sounding-lead, cast I this question into thy soul, that I may know its
depth.
  Thou art young, and desirest child and marriage. But I ask thee: Art
thou a man entitled to desire a child?
  Art thou the victorious one, the self-conqueror, the ruler of thy
passions, the master of thy virtues? Thus do I ask thee.
  Or doth the animal speak in thy wish, and necessity? Or isolation?
Or discord in thee?
  I would have thy victory and freedom long for a child. Living
monuments shalt thou build to thy victory and emancipation.
  Beyond thyself shalt thou build. But first of all must thou be built
thyself, rectangular in body and soul.
  Not only onward shalt thou propagate thyself, but upward! For that
purpose may the garden of marriage help thee!
  A higher body shalt thou create, a first movement, a spontaneously
rolling wheel- a creating one shalt thou create.
  Marriage: so call I the will of the twain to create the one that
is more than those who created it. The reverence for one another, as
those exercising such a will, call I marriage.
  Let this be the significance and the truth of thy marriage. But that
which the many-too-many call marriage, those superfluous ones- ah,
what shall I call it?
  Ah, the poverty of soul in the twain! Ah, the filth of soul in the
twain! Ah, the pitiable self-complacency in the twain!
  Marriage they call it all; and they say their marriages are made
in heaven.
  Well, I do not like it, that heaven of the superfluous! No, I do not
like them, those animals tangled in the heavenly toils!
  Far from me also be the God who limpeth thither to bless what he
hath not matched!
  Laugh not at such marriages! What child hath not had reason to
weep over its parents?
  Worthy did this man seem, and ripe for the meaning of the earth: but
when I saw his wife, the earth seemed to me a home for madcaps.
  Yea, I would that the earth shook with convulsions when a saint
and a goose mate with one another.
  This one went forth in quest of truth as a hero, and at last got for
himself a small decked-up lie: his marriage he calleth it.
  That one was reserved in intercourse and chose choicely. But one
time he spoilt his company for all time: his marriage he calleth it.
  Another sought a handmaid with the virtues of an angel. But all at
once he became the handmaid of a woman, and now would he need also
to become an angel.
  Careful, have I found all buyers, and all of them have astute
eyes. But even the astutest of them buyeth his wife in a sack.
  Many short follies- that is called love by you. And your marriage
putteth an end to many short follies, with one long stupidity.
  Your love to woman, and woman's love to man- ah, would that it
were sympathy for suffering and veiled deities! But generally two
animals alight on one another.
  But even your best love is only an enraptured simile and a painful
ardour. It is a torch to light you to loftier paths.
  Beyond yourselves shall ye love some day! Then learn first of all to
love. And on that account ye had to drink the bitter cup of your love.
  Bitterness is in the cup even of the best love; thus doth it cause
longing for the Superman; thus doth it cause thirst in thee, the
creating one!
  Thirst in the creating one, arrow and longing for the Superman: tell
me, my brother, is this thy will to marriage?
  Holy call I such a will, and such a marriage.-

  Thus spake Zarathustra.