Chapter 16 first pale criminal

You judges and priests, of course you don't want to kill until the sacrifice has bowed its head?Look!The pale criminal bowed his head: his eyes showed his great contempt. "My 'I' is to be surpassed: my 'I' is my great contempt for man," said the criminal's eyes. This is his moment of supremacy, his moment of self-judgment.Don't let this man who is lifted up be brought down to his low position again! Such a person who suffers because of himself cannot be saved except a quick death. Ah, judges, you should kill for pity and not for vengeance; when you kill, you must be careful to justify your life.

It is not enough for you to make peace with those you have killed.Let your sorrow be love for the Superman: thus you legitimize your own immortality! You should only call him an "enemy" instead of a "villain"; you should only call him a "sick man" instead of a "rogue"; you should only call him a "madman" instead of a "sinner". You, red judge, if you speak aloud what you have thought: thus will they all cry: "Get rid of this filth and venom!" But thought and action are two distinct things, and the image of action is yet another distinct thing.The wheel of karma does not spin among them.

An image grayed the pale man.When he sins, he is capable of sinning: but when he is done, he cannot bear the sinful image. He always sees himself as the only completer of deeds.I call this crazy: In him the exception became the principle. A pink thread can confuse a chicken; the criminal's one blow confuses his poor sanity--I call this madness after the fact. Listen, Judge!There is another kind of madness: and that is ex ante.well! You haven't penetrated deeply into this soul yet! Thus says the red judge: "Why did the criminal kill? He wanted to rob." But, I tell you, his soul needs blood, not robbing at all:

He longed for the blessing of the sword. But his poor reason, ignorant of this madness, determined his actions. "What's blood worth?" he said; "won't you take the opportunity to at least loot? Take revenge?" He believed his poor reason: his words hung over him like lead;--and when he killed, he plundered.He didn't want to be ashamed of his madness. Now the lead of his faults weighed upon him again, and his poor reason was so numb, paralyzed and heavy. If he could just shake his head, his load would roll off, but who shakes the head? What is this person?He is the corps of diseases; by his spirit these diseases stretch out in the world: there they seek their spoils.

What is this person?A string of writhing serpents never at peace,— So they go out in the world looking for loot. Look at this poor shell!Its many pains and hopes, its poor soul tries to understand them.Its soul thought it was the pleasure and anxiety of crime, seeking the blessing of the sword. Now the sick man is assailed by the evil of the day: he wants to make others miserable with what pains him.But there were other ages, other good and evil. Once upon a time, doubt and personal ambition were sins.Then the sick become heathens and witches: like heathens and witches they afflict themselves and others.

I know you don't want to listen to me: you think it would be harmful to the good among you, but what do you call the good to me! You so-called good have much that disgusts me; but that is not their evil.I only wish they would have a madness that makes them die like this pale criminal! Truly, I wish their madness was truth, or faithfulness, or justice; but they have their virtue, which is to live forever in wretched complacency. "I am the railing by the river; whoever can help me, let him help me! I am not your crutch.—" Thus spake Zarathustra.