Chapter 90 The third ugliest man

Again Zarathustra walked through the mountains and forests, seeking and seeking, but at last found nowhere what he was looking for—the one who, in great despair, cried out for help.On the way he was happy and thankful.He said, "Everything is so good today that it has corrected the bad morning that started today. What a novel interlocutor I have found! Now long will I chew all kinds of words, like well-chewed grain; my teeth shall redden and grind them till they flow like milk into my soul! "— But when the road rounded the rocks, the scene changed again, and Zarathustra came to the land of the dead.There are black and purple hanging stones high here, and there is no grass or tree, and there is no sound of birds.It was a gorge where all animals, even beasts of prey, were extinct, except for a race of hideous, bloated, green vipers that did not die here when they grew old and weary.So the shepherds named it "Valley of the Dead Snake".

Again Zarathustra was immersed in dark memories, for he seemed to have been in such valleys before.A kind of weight weighed on his heart, so he walked slowly, more and more slowly, and finally he stood.But then he opened his eyes, and he saw something, sitting by the side of the road, something human but not human, something indescribable.Seeing such a thing, he immediately felt a great humiliation.The roots of his hair were flushed with shame, and he looked sideways and raised his feet to leave the ominous place.But this dead wilderness gave a voice; from the ground a voice came, moaning and moaning, like a choked-up water in the night; at last it became a human voice, and human speech thus cried: "Zara Stura! Zarathustra! Solve! My riddle! Speak, Speak! What is vengeance against the witnesses? I tempt thee; here is smooth ice! Look, look! , Your pride will not break your legs!

You proud Zarathus, you think you are wise!Solve my riddle then, you good solver of riddles!The mystery is me, tell me, who am I? " What changed in Zarathustra's heart when he heard these words?Mercy overcame him: at once he fell like an oak that had long resisted the loggers, suddenly and with such force that it surprised even those who tried to overthrow it.But in an instant he got up from the ground again, and his countenance became serious. "I know very well," he said, in a dull voice, "that you are the assassin of God! Let me go. You ugliest one, whoever sees you, sees you clearly, embarrasses you, and you take revenge on such witnesses! "

Thus spoke Zarathustra, and was about to leave; but the "four images" gripped his hem by a corner and began to resent and complain again. "Stop!" he said. "Hold on—don't go away! I guess what ax fell you to the ground. O Zarathustra, congratulations, you are on your feet again! I know very well that you know best what an assassin of God is.Stay and sit by my side, it will not be in vain. Who shall I seek but you?Sit down!But don't look at me!Respect my ugliness! They persecute me!Now you are my last refuge.Not their hatred, not their arrests!O, I mock such persecution, I am proud and glad!

Haven't the most persecuted people ever succeeded?The more persecuting people are, the easier it is to follow others!But it was their mercy— In order to escape their mercy, I fled to find you.O Zarathustra, protect me, you, my last refuge, you alone who see me! You see how the assassin is.stay!If you go, you impatient, don't come the way I came.That's not a good way. Are you angry with me because I speak so long?Even I advise you?But I want you to understand, that's me, the ugliest person. —He has huge, heavy feet.Everywhere I went, the roads were bad.I tread all the roads to death and desolation.

But you passed me silently, shyly,—I saw it clearly: Therefore I know you are Zarathustra. Others wish to give me his comfort, his mercy, in word and manner.But for that I am not a beggar enough; you know that well! I am too rich, rich in the great, the terrible, the ugliest, the most inexpressible!O Zarathustra, honor me with your shame! With difficulty I have escaped from the oppression of mercy,—the only one I can find now who teaches that mercy is abrupt and pretentious,—that is yourself, O Zarathustra! Whether it is divine mercy or human mercy, that is always an assault on humility.There is a nobler morality in not helping than in helping.

But now mercy is called a virtue by all shabby people:—they have no respect for great misfortunes, great ugliness, great failures. Above all this I peered like a dog peering over the back of a herd of golden sheep.They were scraps, good-haired, good-willed docile folk. As the heron holds its head up in contemplation, looking down contemptuously on the shallow lake, so I watch the little gray waves and will and soul push back and forth. For a long time the humble people were the despots of right: so at last they also became the despots of power;--and now they teach: 'Only what the humble people call good is good. '

Now only the preacher who rises from them is the truth, the strange saint and apologist of the poor people.He himself said 'I - is the truth'. For a long time the Arrogant has fostered the pride of the Minimals—he has taught many mistakes, when he taught: 'I—is the truth'. Did the arrogant get a polite answer? —O Zarathustra, but you pass him by, and say: 'No!no!The third no! ' You warn man about his error; you are the first to guard against mercy! —not all, not none, but a warning to yourself and your kind. Ashamed of you of the great sufferer's shame; verily, when you say: 'A heavy cloud descends from mercy, beware, you people! '

When you teach: 'All creators are strong, and all great loves are above their mercy': O Zarathustra, what an accurate sign of the climate you are to me! But yourself—warn against your own mercy!So many are coming to you, many suffering, doubting, disappointed, blind, frozen people. I warn you against yourself too.You once figured out my best and my worst riddle, which is myself, and what I've done.I know the ax that fell you. But he - cannot but die: he sees with omniscient eyes - he sees the depths of man, all his secret shame and ugliness. His mercy knows no shame: he crawls into my dirtiest corners.The most discerning, the deepest, the most compassionate man cannot but die.

He saw me: I would have vengeance on such a witness—otherwise, I would die voluntarily. God sees everything and man: therefore he must die!The immortality of such a witness is intolerable to mankind. " Says the ugliest man.But Zarathustra stood up and was about to go away: For he was cold in the depths of his brain. "You are not like you," said he, "you warned me not to go your way. I thank you for my way. Behold, there is the cave of Zarathustra." "My cave is wide and deep, with many corners; there the hermit finds his most secluded places. Next to the cave, there are a hundred caves and paths of crawling, flying, and leaping creatures.

You throw yours out, don't you live in people and people's mercy?Well, just like me!You will learn from me; only a doer can learn. Talk to my animals first!Proudest of animals and wisest of animals, they would be proper counselors to both of us! " Thus spake Zarathustra, and went away, more thoughtful and more sluggish than before; Because he asked himself many things, but he did not know how to answer them. "Really, how poor are human beings," he thought to himself. "How ugly, how asthmatic, how full of secret shame! They tell me that human beings love themselves.O, how great this self-love must be!How many have rebelled against the scorn of self-love! But this man loves himself even as he despises—he is a great lover and a great despiser. I have yet to see a man who utterly despises himself: utter contempt is even noble.Alas, I heard his cry, or is it this kind of expert? I love the great despisers.Man is a thing to be surpassed. "