Chapter 40 Thus Spoke Zarathustra Book I

thus spoke Zarathustra volume one one When Zarathustra was thirty years old, he left his native land and its native lake, and went to live on the hills.There he played his part and passed ten years without getting tired. ——However, there was a change in his heart.One morning he got up at dawn and said to the sun: "O you, great planet! Where would your happiness be if you had not those whom you illuminated? For ten years you have come daily to my cave: without me, and my eagle and serpent, you would be weary of your own light and this old way. But every morning we wait for you, we have your excess light, so we bless you.

look!Like a bee that has too much honey, I am weary of my wisdom; I need the hand that reaches out to receive it. Willing to give and distribute my wisdom, until the wise will no longer rejoice in their madness, and the poor will rejoice in their wealth. Therefore I should descend to the deepest: as at night you go behind the sea and send light down to the world below.O planet of boundless grace! I'm going down the mountain like you, and the world I'm going to calls this thing. Bless me, your calm eyes will not envy a boundless happiness! Bless the overflowing cup!Let this water flow golden, and send everywhere the return of your blessings!Behold, the cup will be empty again, and Zarathustra will be a man again. "— Thus began the descent of Zarathustra.

two Zarathustra came down from the mountain alone, and no one would meet him.But when he went into the forest, he suddenly saw standing in front of him an old man who had left his holy hut to search for roots in the forest.He said to Zarathustra: "This traveler, with whom I once knew: many years ago, he was here. His name was Zarathustra; but he is changed now. Then you carried your ashes to the mountains; will you now carry your fire to the valleys?Are you not afraid of being punished by an arsonist? Yes, I recognized Zarathustra.His eyes are pure, and his lips express no disgust.Is he not advancing like a dancer?

Zarathustra is changed; he has become a child; Zarathustra is an awakened one: what will you do now among the sleeping crowd? Alas, do you want to log in now?Alas, when you live in solitude, as in the sea, the sea carries you.Do you want to drag the burden of your body again? " Zarathustra replied: "I love mankind." "Why did I," said the sage, "flee into this forest and this solitude? Wasn't it because I loved mankind too much? Now I love God: I don't love humans.I think man is a very incomplete object.The love of humanity may well destroy me. "

"Give them nothing!" said the sage. "You'd rather take some of their burden and carry it for them—as long as you're happy with it, they'll be delighted. If you want to give now, don't give them more than you give to beggars; and let them ask you. " "No," replied Zarathustra, "I give nothing, I am not so poor." The sage began to laugh at Zarathustra, and said: "Try, then, to make them accept your treasure! They do not trust the solitary, nor that we have come to give it. In their ears, the sound of our footsteps walking on the street is too lonely.As if they were lying in bed at night and heard a man walking before sunrise, they asked themselves: Where is the thief going?

Don't go among the crowd, stay in the forest!Better go back to the herd!Bears to bears, birds to birds—why wouldn't you be like me? " "What do sages do in the forest?" asked Zarathustra. The sage replied: "I make hymns and sing them. When I make music, I laugh, I cry, I murmur: thus I praise God. I sing, cry, laugh and croon, praising my God.But what gift did you bring us? " After hearing these words, Zarathustra bowed to the sage: "What gift can I give you? Please let me go quickly, then I will take nothing from you!" So They, the sage and the traveler, bid farewell to each other, smiling like two children.

Zarathustra walked alone, and he said to his heart: "Is this possible? The old sage, in his forest, has not heard that God is dead! " three Zarathustra came to the nearest city by the forest.It is found that there are many people gathered in the market: because it was announced, everyone can see the performance of a soft rope walker.Then Zarathustra said to the crowd: "I teach you what is superman. Man is to be surpassed. What efforts have you made to surpass him? Until now, all creatures have created their own species, are you willing to be the back wave of this great trend, are you willing to return to the beasts and not surpass humans?

What are apes to humans?A ridicule or a painful humiliation.The same is true of man to superman: a ridicule or a painful humiliation. You have run the long distance from worm to man, but in many ways you are still worm.Once you were apes, but now man is more ape than any ape. The smartest among you is only a contradiction and hybrid of plant and monster.But am I teaching you to become a plant or a monster? Now, I teach you what is Superman! Superman is the meaning of the earth.Let your will say: the superman must be the meaning of the earth! Brothers, I pray: be true to the earth, and trust not those who talk of super-earth hopes!Whether consciously or not, they are poisoners.

They are scorners of life, dying, and poisoners themselves.The earth has loathed them: let them go! Formerly it was the greatest blasphemy to insult God; now that God is dead, the blasphemer of God is also dead.The scariest thing now is to desecrate the earth, to respect the unknowable heart above the meaning of the earth! Formerly the soul scorned the body, and this contempt was then considered the noblest thing:—The soul wanted the body to be thin and hungry.It thinks that in this way it escapes the body and at the same time escapes the earth. Ah, the soul itself is uglier and hungrier; cruelty is its pleasure!

But tell me, you brothers, how does your body express your soul?Are your souls poor, filthy, and wretchedly self-sufficient? Truly, man is an unclean river.If we were the sea, we could accept an unclean river without polluting ourselves. Now I teach you what Superman is: he is the sea; in whose bosom your great contempt may sink. What is the greatest thing you can experience?That was the moment of great contempt.At that time, your happiness is disgusting to you, and so is your reason and morality. At that time, you said: what is my happiness worth!It is poverty, filth, and pathetic complacency.But my happiness should make life meaningful!

At that time, you said: What is my reason worth!Does it hunger for knowledge as a lion loves its prey?It is poverty, filth, and wretched complacency! At that time, you said: What is my morality worth!It hasn't driven me into a frenzy yet.How am I weary of my good and my evil!All this poverty, filth, and wretched complacency! At that time, you said: What is my justice worth!I don't feel like I'm flame and coal.But the upright shall be of fire and coals! Then you say: What is my mercy worth!Isn't mercy the cross that crucifies the lover of mankind?But my mercy is not a crucifixion. Have you already said so?Have you already shouted that?well!Why have I never heard you cry like this! It is not your sin, but your temperance, cry to heaven; your aversion to sin cry to heaven! Where is the lightning that will lick you with its tongue?Where is the madness that should inject you? Now I teach you what Superman is: he is this lightning, this madness! "— When Zarathustra had finished these words, one of the crowd cried: "We have heard enough of the rope walker, let us see him." And the crowd laughed at Zarathustra.And the rope walker thought that everyone asked him to play, so he began to perform. Four But Zarathustra looked at the crowd and was amazed.Then he said again: "Man is a rope between the beast and the Superman—a rope hanging over the ravine. It is dangerous to go the other way, it is dangerous to stop halfway, it is dangerous to look back, it is dangerous to tremble or not to go forward. The greatness of being human is that it is a bridge and not an end.The beauty of human beings is that it is a process and a decline. I love those who only know how to live for the downfall.Because they are the ones who cross the bridge. I love those big scorners.For they are great worshipers, arrows of longing that shoot beyond. I love those who don't first look to the stars for some reason to go down and make sacrifices, but sacrifice for the earth, so that the earth can one day belong to the Superman. I love the man who invents to build a superman's dwelling, to prepare the earth, its flora and fauna for his work.In this way, he pursues his downfall. I love him who cherishes his morality: for morality is a will to fall and an arrow of longing. I love the man who keeps no part of his spirit to himself, but desires to be wholly his moral spirit: thus he crosses the bridge spiritually. I love the man who makes his morality his inclination and destiny: so that he may live or die for his morality. I love the man who would not have many virtues.One morality is better than two, because that morality is more a knot of fate. I love the man who wastes his soul, who gives neither thanks nor thanks: for he always gives, and keeps nothing for himself. I love the man who is ashamed to see the dice in his favour, and who asks himself: Am I a cheating gambler? —Because he wants to die. I love him who speaks before deeds, and practice more than promises: for he seeks his downfall. I love him who gives meaning to the life of the future and saves the past: he is willing to die for the present. I love him that punishes God: because he loves God; because he will perish in the wrath of God. I love the man who, while wounded, is deep in soul, and a little adventure can kill him: so he will cross the bridge without hesitation. I love the man whose soul is too full to forget himself, and who has everything in him: so everything becomes his downfall. I love him that is free both in spirit and in heart: so his head is but the guts of his heart; but his heart brings him down. I love those who, like heavy raindrops, descend one by one from the black clouds that hang high in the sky: they herald the coming of lightning, and die like heralds. Behold, I am a herald of lightning, a heavy raindrop from the clouds: but this lightning is Superman. " Fives When Zarathustra had finished these words, he watched the crowd fall silent. "There they stand," he said to his heart, "and they laugh now: they don't understand me at all; my tongue is so wrong with their ears. Is it necessary to tear off their ears first, and make them learn to obey with their eyes?Shall it be as loud as a priest with cymbals and Ramadan?Or do they only trust stutterers? They have something they feel they can show off.What do they call this thing that dazzles them? — They call it civilization; this distinguishes them from the shepherds. So they don't like to hear the word contempt applied to them.I should appeal to their pride. I will speak to them of the most contemptible, that is the last man! " Then Zarathustra began to address the multitude: "The time has come for man to determine for himself a purpose. The time has come for man to plant the buds of his highest hope. The soil is still quite fertile now.But one day it will become a barren land on which no big tree can grow. Unfortunately!The time is near when man will no longer throw his arrows of longing past man!The time is near when the bowstring of man will no longer vibrate! I say to you: You must have a chaos to produce a dancing star.I say to you: You still have Chaos. Unfortunately!The time is near when humans will no longer generate planets.Unfortunately!The time is near for the most contemptible person, he will not know how to despise himself. Now I show you the last man. what is love?What is creation?What is the desire, what is the planet? — asked the last man, and opened and closed his eyes. Then the earth will be smaller, on which the last man leaps; he makes all things small.His race is as inextricable as the fleas; and he is also the longest-lived. We found happiness. —said the last man, opening and closing his eyes. They forsake the hard-to-live terrain: because they need heat.They also love their neighbors and rub against them: because they need heat. They make sickness and doubt a sin: they proceed cautiously.Anyone who stumbles while walking on rocks and people must be a madman! They take a little poison anytime, anywhere: give themselves lots of sweet dreams.In the end, they ate more and died comfortably. They still work because work is a kind of recreation.But they are careful not to injure their bodies with recreation.They no longer get richer or poorer, two laborious things.Who wants to rule?Who is willing to obey?It's also two laborious things. In this way, there is only a flock of sheep, but no shepherd!Everyone is equal, everyone has the same hope: whoever has other emotions is willing to enter the madhouse. People used to be crazy. —said the cunning among them, opening and closing his eyes. They are wise and know everything that happens: so they taunt each other constantly.They quarreled occasionally, but they made up immediately—for fear of hurting their stomachs. They have their little pleasures by day, and so by night: but their health is dear to them. We found happiness. — said the last man, and the eyes opened and flickered. ——" Here ends the first sermon of Zarathustra, which is called the prologue: for at this moment the shouts and joy of the crowd interrupted him. "O Zarathustra, give us the last of us,"—cry they,—"make us the last of us! We give you back the Wall of Supermen!" The crowd turned their tongues. screamed wildly.But Zarathustra said sadly to his heart: "They don't understand me at all: my tongue is so wrong with their ears. Doubtless I have lived too long on the hills; I was used to the howling of trees and the murmur of brooks: I speak to them now as to the shepherds. My soul is as calm and bright as a mountain in the setting sun.But they took me for a cold heart and a mean-speaking scoffer. How they looked at me and smiled: there was resentment in their smiles; there was frost in their smiles. " six However, at this time, everyone's attention was focused on a new incident.Because at this moment the rope walker is starting his show: he comes out of a small gate and walks on the rope.This rope is tied between the two towers and stretched over the marketplace and the masses.When he reached the middle point of the rope, the small door opened again, and a clown-like boy in colorful clothes jumped out. The boy followed the first person with swift steps, "Hurry up, lame man, cried the boy's terrible voice, "Go on! Sloth, way-stealer, gray face! Don't let me tickle you with my feet! What are you doing on the rope! You deserve to be shut up in a tower you stand in the way of the better!"—with every word he uttered, he drew nearer.When he was only one step away from the rope walker, the episode that was heard and heard by the whole audience happened: - the clown screamed like a ghost, and jumped over the head of the rope walker who was in the way.Seeing the victory of his opponent, the rope walker immediately became confused: his foot stepped on the air, and the balance stick slipped out of his grasp; he fell quickly to the ground, dancing with limbs.The crowd in the market is like the sea in a storm: they flee in disorder, especially where the body of the rope walker will fall. But Zarathustra was very calm, and the body fell just beside him, with blurred features and limbs, but there was still a trace of breath.After a while the rope walker came to himself, and saw Zarathustra kneeling. "What are you doing here?" he finally spoke. "I knew the devil would hook me, and now he's dragging me to hell: are you going to stop him?" "By my honor, my friend," answered Zarathustra, "there is no such thing as you say: there is no devil, and there is no hell. Your soul dies sooner than your body: do not Be afraid!" The rope walker looked up at him distrustingly: "If your words are right," he went on, "then I don't really sacrifice anything by losing my life. I'm more or less a beast, and people kill me with a stick and a handful Food, so I learned to walk the rope." "No," said Zarathustra, "you have made danger your calling; that is no contempt. Now you have sacrificed your calling: so I will bury you with my own hands." When Zarathustra had finished speaking, the rope walker made no answer; but he moved his hand, as if seeking Zarathustra, in thanks. seven By this time, dusk had fallen, and the market was already covered in darkness.The crowd gradually dispersed, tired of curiosity and fear.Zarathustra sat on the ground beside the dead, lost in thoughts: he forgot time.At last, when night came, a cold wind blew through the lonely man.Zarathustra stood up and said to his heart: "Very well, Zarathustra's catch today! He caught no man, but a corpse. Life is disastrous, and often meaningless: a buffoon can be its fatal wound. I will teach people the meaning of existence: that is Superman, the lightning that shoots from the dark cloud of man. But I am far away from them, and my heart cannot appeal to theirs.They see me somewhere between a madman and a corpse. As the night is dark, so is the way of Zarathustra.Come, companion stiff as ice!I carry you to the place where I will bury you myself. " Eight Having said these words to his heart, Zarathustra picked up the body and set out on his way.He hadn't even reached a hundred paces when a man slipped up beside him and whispered into his ear. --scare!The man who spoke was the buffoon in that tower! "O Zarathustra, leave this city!" said the buffoon. "There are too many who hate you. The good and the just hate you, and call you their enemy, their despiser; Believers hate you and call you a scourge of the crowd. It's your luck that people laugh at you: you talk too much like a buffoon. It's your luck that you mate yourself with the dead dog; Your life. At any rate, get out of this city, or I, the living, will have to jump over a dead man tomorrow." When the man had finished speaking these words, he disappeared into the night; and Zarathustra went on by the black road. At the city gate the gravediggers met him: they shone torches on his face, recognized him as Zarathustra, and mocked him bitterly. "Zarathustra bears the dead dog on his back: alas, Zarathustra has become a gravedigger again! Our hands are too clean to bury the beast. Zarathustra wants to steal from the devil Go, and good luck with your meal! As long as the devil is not a better thief than you! He may steal both, and eat!" They laughed together. Zarathustra stepped forward without answering.He walked for two hours along the forest and the mud, and heard the howling of many hungry wolves; suddenly, he too felt hungry.He stopped in front of a lighted house with no neighbors. "Hunger pursued me like a hungry robber," said Zarathustra, "among the forest and the mud, in the middle of the night, hunger seized me. My hunger has some strange vices.It often comes just after the meal, but today it doesn't come all day: where did it stay? " Zarathustra knocked at the door of the house.An old man came out with a lamp and asked, "Who has come to me, who has come to my sleep?" "A living man and a dead man," said Zarathustra, "give me a little food; I forget this by day. Wisdom says: He who feeds the hungry comforts his soul." The old man went in, and at once came out with bread and wine, and gave them to Zarathustra. "This is a very bad place for the hungry," said he, "so I live here, and men and beasts come to me as a loner. But please drink and eat your companion; You are still weary." Zarathustra said: "My companion is dead; I cannot easily persuade him to do this." "It has nothing to do with me;" complained the old man, "whoever knocks at my door must accept the food I give him. Eat, and I wish you a safe journey!"— Then Zarathustra walked for two more hours, trusting in the stars and the road: he was in the habit of walking at night, and loved to look squarely at everything around him.When the east was just turning white, Zarathus was in a deep forest with nowhere to go.So he put the body in an empty tree as high as himself,—for he wanted to keep the wolves from finding it—and lay himself down on the moss in the ground.He immediately fell into a deep sleep. Although his body was tired, his soul was peaceful. Nine Zarathustra slept long; and not only the dawn, but the morning passed over his face.Finally, he opened his eyes, cast a startled glance into the silent forest, and then looked at himself in surprise.Then he stood up quickly, like a sailor who suddenly finds land; and he let out a cry of joy: for he had discovered a new truth.He said to his heart: "A ray of light has dawned in me; I need companions, companions to live Companions—not companions or corpses to carry me anywhere. I need living companions who follow me because they will follow themselves, wherever I go. A ray of light dawned in me: Zarathustra should not speak to the crowd, but to his fellows!Zarathustra should not be the shepherd or the dog of the flock! To lure many lambs from the flock, for this I came.Crowds and flocks will be enraged by me: Zarathustra is willing to be considered a robber by the shepherds. I call them pastors, but they call themselves good and upright.I call them pastors, and they call themselves followers of the true faith. Behold the good and the upright!Who do they hate the most?Most of all they hate the man who breaks their scale of values, the breaker, the breaker of the laws:—but this man is the Creator. Look at believers of all faiths!Who do they hate the most?Most of all they hate the man who breaks their scale of values, the breaker, the breaker of the laws:—but this man is the Creator. It is companions the Creator seeks, not dead bodies, nor flocks or believers.What creators are looking for is co-creators.They write the new value to the new table. What the creator is looking for are companions and co-harvesters: he sees everything ripe and waiting to be harvested.But he lacks a hundred sickles: so he plucks the ears angrily. What the Creator is looking for are companions and those who are good at sharpening the scythe.They shall be called Destroyers and Despisers of Good and Evil.But they will be the ones who harvest and celebrate the harvest. What Zarathustra seeks is a co-creator, what Zarathustra seeks is a co-reaper and a co-celebrator of the harvest: what use is he to the shepherd of the flock and the corpse! But you, my first companion, rest in peace!I have carefully buried you in this empty tree; I have hidden you from hungry wolves. But the time has come for me to leave you.Between the two dawns, I had a proclamation of a new truth. I should not be a shepherd or a gravedigger.Never again will I speak to crowds; and for the last time, I will speak to a dead man. I will join the crowd of the creators, I will join the crowd of those who reap and celebrate the harvest; I will point them to the rainbow and the ladder of the Superman. I will sing to the solitary and to the double; and whoever has ears to hear what he has not heard, I will fill his heart with my blessings. I advance toward my purpose, I follow my way; I overtake the hesitating and the laggards.My advance will be their downfall. " ten The sun was noon when Zarathustra spoke these words to his heart.Suddenly he casts a questioning glance upward as he hears a high-pitched bird call in the sky.Look!An eagle floats in great circles in the sky, and hangs a snake, not like a captive, but like a friend: for the snake is round its neck. "This is my eagle and serpent!" said Zarathustra, and his heart rose with joy. "O proudest animal under the sun, O wisest animal under the sun,— They come for scouting. They wondered if Zarathustra was still alive.Really, am I living now? In men I am in more peril than in herds; Zarathustra walks a perilous way.Let my eagle and serpent guide me! " When Zarathustra had finished speaking, he remembered the advice of the sages of the forest.Then he sighed and said to his heart: "I wish I was wiser! Let me be wiser from the bottom of my heart, like a snake! But this is impossible.So I pray that my pride will accompany my wisdom! If in the future wisdom should desert me:—Alas!it likes to escape of! ——At least my arrogance can continue to fly with my madness! "— — Thus began the descent of Zarathustra.three variants I tell you the three metamorphoses of the spirit: how the spirit becomes a camel, how the camel becomes a lion, and finally how the lion becomes a child. Many burdens are borne by the spirit, by the spirit that is strong, patient, and reverent: the strength of the spirit demands the heaviest and heaviest of burdens. "What is heavy?" asks the load-bearing spirit; and it kneels like a camel to bear a real burden. "Heroes, what is the heaviest?" asked the load-bearing spirit, "Say it! Let me carry it, let my strength be free and easy. " Inferiority hurts pride; reveals madness and ridicules wisdom: isn't this? Abandoning one's own claim just as it celebrates its victory; Climbing a mountain to provoke the tempter: or this? To feed oneself on the fruit and grass of knowledge, to starve the soul for truth: or is it this? Sick and refusing comfort, to the deaf who will never understand your wishes: or this? As long as it's the water of truth, leap into it regardless of filth, and don't hate cold and hot frogs: or this one? Kindly to our despisers, to the monster that would frighten us: or this? All these burdens, the brave spirit is on the body, and it is busy going to its desert, just like a camel with a heavy load is busy going to the desert. But in the loneliest desert a second metamorphosis is accomplished: here the spirit becomes a lion; he wants to conquer freedom and dominate his own desert. Here he seeks his last master: he shall be the master, the last enemy of God; he shall contend with the dragon. Who is the dragon whose spirit refuses to be called master and god? "You shall" is its name.But the spirit of the lion said, "I will." "You shall" lie on the road, waiting for the spirit of the lion; it is an armored beast radiating golden light, with "You shall" written in gold on each scale! The value of millennia shines on these scales.Says the most powerful dragon thus: "All the value of things—they shine in me. All value has been created.And all the value created—that's me, really, I shouldn't exist. "That's what the dragon said. Brothers, what is the use of the lion of the spirit?Is the camel that is humble and respectful enough to carry it? To create new values--the lion is not enough for this: but to be free for new creation--this requires the strength of the lion. To create liberty and a divine negation against duty: brothers, this is the work of the lion. Acquiring the right to create new values—this is the most terrible conquest of a revered and capable spirit.Really, it's a predator and a ferocious carnivorous act. Once upon a time it loved "you shall" as the holiest of all: now it had to find in the holiest of illusion and tyranny that it might sacrifice love to rob liberty: For this predation, we need lions. But tell me, brothers, what good is a child that a lion cannot do?Why should a preying lion turn into a child? The child is innocence and oblivion, a new beginning, a game, a spinning wheel, a primitive action, a divine affirmation. Yes.For the play of creation, brothers, a holy affirmation is necessary: ​​the spirit now has his own will; the world-chaser has his own world. I have explained to you the three metamorphoses of the spirit: how the spirit becomes a camel, becomes a lion, and finally becomes a child. —— Thus spake Zarathustra.At this time, he lived in a city called Cainiu.moral lecture Zarathustra was boasted of a wise man who spoke of sleep and morality: thus he was venerated and praised, and many youths came to his lectures to be taught.Zarathustra also came to the wise man and sat with the boy before his lecture, and thus the wise man said: "Honor sleep and treat it with shame! This is the first important thing! Avoid those who cannot sleep well and are awake at night! Even the thief is shy before sleep: his steps steal silently in the night.The Night's Watch is impudent; and holds his horn impudently. Sleep is by no means an easy art: one must be awake all day to be soundly asleep at night. Ten times a day you must restrain yourself: this causes a healthy weariness, which is a narcotic to the soul. You must refresh yourself ten times a day; for self-denial is painful, and he who does not relax himself cannot sleep. Every day you must discover ten truths; otherwise you will seek the truth at night, and your soul will be hungry. You must laugh ten times a day; otherwise the stomach, the father of trouble, will disturb you at night. Few people know this: but a man must have all virtues in order to sleep soundly.Am I guilty of perjury?Am I going to commit adultery? Shall I covet my neighbor's handmaid?None of this is in harmony with restful sleep. Even if you have all the virtues, you still need to know one thing: to send morality to sleep at the right time. You must keep them from quarrelling, little pets!Not for your sake, you wretched man! Obedience to God, love to neighbor: such are the conditions of sleep.And at the same time make peace with the neighbor's devil!Otherwise it will come after you at night. Respect the rulers and convince them, even the lame rulers must do the same!Such is the condition of sleep.Power gladly walks with a limp, what can I think? He who leads his flock to the greenest pastures I always think is the best shepherd: thus is reconciled with rest. I don't want many honors or great riches, it's asking for trouble.But no man can sleep without a reputation and a little fortune. I would rather choose a narrow group of friends than a bad one; but they must come and go on time.Only in this way can it be reconciled with peaceful sleep. I'm also very interested in morons: they promote sleep.People are happy when they admit they have reasons. Thus the day of the virtuous is over.When night comes, I will not call sleep.Sleep, master of all virtues, does not want to be called! But I reflected on what I did and thought during the day.I ruminated, and I patiently asked myself what are your ten self-denials?What are ten looses, ten truths and ten laughs that make me happy? I reflected, swaying in the cradle of these forty people's thoughts.Suddenly sleep, the moral master, the uncalled, seized me. Sleep taps lightly on my eyes and they become heavy.Sleep touched my mouth, and my mouth opened wide. Really, it sneaked up on me with light steps, this dearest thief, it stole my thoughts: I stood stupidly like this desk. But I didn't stand for long before I fell down. "— Zarathustra laughed to himself when he heard these words of the wise man: a ray of light dawned in him.Thus he spoke to his own heart: "The forty thoughts of this wise man are rather silly: but I believe he is good at sleeping. Happy is he who lives beside this wise man!This sleep is contagious, even through a thick wall. His lectures radiate a kind of magic.It was not in vain that these boys came to listen to this moral preacher. His wisdom tells us that in order to sleep soundly at night, there must be wakefulness by day.Indeed, if life is meaningless, and I had to choose a fallacy, then I think this is the most worthy choice of fallacy. Now I know what people were looking for when they were looking for a teacher of morality.What people pursue is peaceful sleep and narcotic morality. All the lauded lectures of the wisdom of wise men are but dreamless sleep: they know no other and better meaning of life. There are still a few such moral preachers; but they are not as honest as this one: but their time is over.They didn't stand for long before they fell down. Blessed are these drowsy ones; for at once they fell into deep sleep. "— Thus spake Zarathustra.recluse Once upon a time, like a recluse, Zarathustra threw his fantasies beyond the human race.Back then I thought the world was the work of a suffering God. The world seemed to me then a god's dream and whim; a colored smoke placed before the eyes of a holy insufficiency. Good and evil, bitterness and joy, me and you—I think they are all colored smoke in front of the eyes of the creator.The Creator would not see himself any more—so he created the world. It is to him an intoxicating joy that the suffering man can forget himself without seeing his pain.Once upon a time, the world was to me also intoxicated joy and self-forgetfulness. The world, this ever-imperfect, approximate image of an eternal contradiction--an intoxicating delight of its imperfect Creator;--I once thought the world was thus. So I, like a recluse, threw my fantasies beyond human beings.But has it really been thrown beyond human beings? Alas, brethren, this God I have created is, like all other gods, the work of man and man-made madness! He was human too, and only a poor part of a "man" and an "I": he was a phantom from my own ashes and flames, indeed!He didn't fly from outside! Brothers, what will happen in the future?I overcome my afflicted self; I carry my own ashes up the hill; I invent for myself a brighter flame.look!The phantom is far away from me! To believe in such phantoms now is pain and insult to the newly healed; it is doom and humiliation to me.Thus I say to the recluse. Suffering and impotence—they create other worlds and this short-term blissful madness that only the most miserable can experience. Weariness wanted to reach the last end with one leap, one fatal leap; poor ignorant it would no longer have will: so it created the gods and other worlds. Trust me guys!This is the disappointment of the flesh for the flesh,—it gropes along the last wall with strayed fingers of the spirit. Trust me guys!This is the flesh's disappointment with the earth,--it hears the belly of being speaking to it. So it put its head through the last wall and stuck out, not only the head—it wanted to go to the "world beyond". But this "world on the other side" is inhuman and inhuman, it is a supreme emptiness; it hides deep and cannot be seen by human beings; if the belly of existence does not use the identity of a human being, it will not speak to human beings. Really, proving existence, or making it speak, is hard.But tell me, brothers, don't you think the strangest things are the best things that have been proven? Yes, this "I", this creative, willful "I" that gives all measure and value, its contradictions and confusions are the most faithful affirmation of its own existence. This "I", the most loyal existence, talks about the body and needs the body when it is meditating, fanatical, or flying low with its broken wings. Every now and then this "I" learns to speak faithfully; the more it learns, the more it finds words to praise the body and the earth. My "I" taught me a new kind of arrogance, and I taught people: no longer hide your head in the sand of heaven, but freely wear this earthly head, the head that creates the meaning of the earth! I teach mankind a new will: Consciously follow the road that humans have walked unintentionally, affirm that this road is good, and don't leave it quietly like the sick and dying! The sick and the dying despise the flesh and the earth, and invent things of heaven and blood-spots of atonement; but, this sweet and deadly poison, they still take from the flesh and the earth! They want to save themselves from misfortune, and the planet is too far away.Then they sighed: "Unfortunately, why is there no heavenly way, by which we might steal into another life and another happiness!"--then they invented tricks and little drinks of blood! They think they are separated from the flesh and the earth, these ungrateful ones.Who gave them the convulsions and ecstasies of separation?Or their flesh and the earth! Zarathustra was kind to the sick.Really, he wasn't offended by the way they masturbated, or by their ingratitude.Let them heal, surpass themselves, and give themselves a superior body! Zarathustra is also generous to the newly healed.He is not offended that they cling to lost visions, and rise at night to visit the grave of his God; I think the tears of the newly healed are a sickness and a sickness of the body. Many are sick; they hate the seeker and the smallest virtue: that is honesty. They often look back on the dark times that have passed: of course, the madness and faith at that time were different.The confusion of reason is considered the way of God, and doubt is sin. I know these godlike people well: they want others to believe them, and doubt is sin.I also know very well what they themselves believe most. It wasn't really another world or a point of redemption: it was flesh they believed in most; they saw their flesh as the absolute. Still they think the body is a sick thing: they are willing to shed the body. So they listen to the preacher of death, and they speak of another world. Hear, brothers, the cry of healthy flesh: it is a truer and purer cry. A healthy, sound and square body speaks more faithfully and purely; and it speaks of the meaning of the earth. —— Thus spake Zarathustra.