Chapter 43 Thus Spoke Zarathustra Book IV

thus spoke Zarathustra volume four scholar While I was asleep, a lamb ate the wreath of ivy on my forehead. —and as he ate, he said: "Zarathustra is no longer a scholar!" Then it went away proudly with disdain: this is what a child told me. I love to lie here where the children play in the thistles and red poppies by the broken wall. I am still a scholar when it comes to children and flowers.They are also naive when they do evil. I am no longer a scholar of the flock: my fate wills me to be so. —Let this fate be blessed! The truth is this: I have left the house of the scholar, and I have shut the door viciously.

How long my starving soul sat at their table!My attitude towards knowledge is not like crushing walnuts, but theirs is. I love the freedom and fresh air of the place.I'd rather sleep on cowhide than on their honor and majesty! I burn and sear with my thoughts: they often stop my breath. Then I must go into the open air, and leave all dust chambers. But they sat calmly in the cool shade: no matter where they were, they were only spectators, never where the sun shone down on stone steps. They are like those idlers who watch the street with their mouths open: so they wait, and open their mouths to watch other people's thoughts.

Whoever touches them with their hands, they are like flour sacks, unconsciously raising some dust around.But who would have guessed that their dust came from the valley, from the golden happiness of the summer fields? When they think themselves wise, the little maxims and truths make me shudder: their wisdom often smells of swamp; verily, I have heard the frogs in their wisdom. They are capable, they have delicate fingers: what has my simplicity to do with their complexity?Their fingers know how to thread, knot, and weave: so they weave spiritual socks! They are fine clocks: if others take care to tighten them properly!So they mark the time well, and sound a humble tick.

They work like mills and breakers: let men throw a little grain into it! —They know how to grind the shell to make it powder. They are good at watching each other's fingers, and they don't trust each other.They invent little strategies, spy on those whose knowledge is crippled, - they wait like spiders. I have seen them prepare poison carefully; and protect their fingers with glass gloves. They know how to play false dice, and I have seen them play with such zeal that they sweat profusely. I don't know them, and their morality is more disgusting than their hypocrisy and their false dice.

When I live with them, I live above them.Therefore they hate me. They did not want to know that someone was walking over their heads; so they put mud and filth between me and them. Thus they silenced the sound of my steps: and till now the greatest learned have heard me least. Between me and them they put all human weaknesses and errors: - in their dwellings this is called the "false ceiling". But, anyway, I walk with my thoughts over their heads: even if I step on my own weakness, it is over them and their heads. For men are not equal: so says justice.They have no right to will what I will!

Thus spake Zarathustra. poet "Since I have known the body better"—says Zarathustra to one of his disciples—"spirit has become to me only spirit in a certain sphere; and all that remains unchanged—that is symbol." "I heard you say that," said the disciple; "you added that time: But poets are too good at lying. Why do you say poets are too good at lying?" "Why?" said Zarathustra. "Are you asking why? I'm not someone who just asks why. Could it be that my experience is only yesterday?For a long time I have tested my arguments empirically.

Must I be a memory bucket to keep my many reasons? I have had difficulty keeping my opinion; many birds have spread their wings. However, sometimes I also have a stray bird in my coop.It is strange to me; it trembles when my hand catches it. What did Zarathustra say to you before?Are poets too good at lying? — But Zarathustra himself was a poet. Do you believe he is telling the truth about this?Why do you trust him? " The disciple replied: "I trust Zarathustra." But Zarathustra shook his head and smiled. "Faith does not sanctify me," he said, "especially for my faith."

But suppose someone says quite honestly that poets are too good at lying: he is right. —We are too good at lying. We know a lot, and we are poor learners: so we must lie. What poet has not forged his wine?Many poisons have been prepared in our cellars; many unspeakable things have been done there. Because we know so little, we really like idiots, especially young women with dementia! We long to know the stories the old women tell each other at night.We call this the eternal femininity in us. We seem to think that there is a secret avenue of knowledge, which is not to be passed by the least knowledgeable: so we trust the people and its "wisdom."

But the poets all believe that whoever stretches out his ears on the grass, or on the slopes of the wilderness, can always learn something about the world. If they get a little lingering affection, they believe that nature loves them too: And believe that nature sneaks into their ears, whispering secrets and love words: They are proud of it before others, and they are proud of it! Alas, there are many things in the world that only poets dream of! And above all heavenly things: for all gods are poets' fables and fabrications! Verily, we are always drawn to heights—that is, to the land of clouds: there we place our polychromatic balloons, and call them gods and supermen:—

They are both light enough to sit on this kind of seat! —these gods and supermen. Oh, how I am weary of everything that has no content and is pretended to be real! Oh, how I am weary of poets! When Zarathustra had finished speaking, his disciple was silent in resentment.Zarathustra spoke no more; he looked inward as if looking far away.Finally he sighed, and he took a breath. "I belong to the present and to the past," he then said; "but in me there is something of the to-morrow and the future. I am tired of the old and the new poets: I think they are all too shallow, seas without depth.

They have not thought deeply; so their feelings have not reached the bottom. A little lewdness, a little vexation: this is their best thought. I think the sound of their harps is only the breath and flight of ghosts; what have they known till now from the fervor of the sound! —— They are not clean enough for me: they muddle their water to make it seem deeper. They would like to be called reconcilers: but I think they are ambiguous, meddlesome, half-hearted and unclean! Alas, I am in their sea, casting my net, trying to catch a good fish; but I always drag out the head of an old god. So the sea gave a stone to the hungry man.They themselves seem to come from the sea. Yes, there are pearls in there too: this makes them more like hard shellfish.In them the salty foam takes the place of the soul. From the sea they learned vanity: is not the sea the most vain of all peacocks? Even before the ugliest ox it spreads its screen; it never tires of unrolling its silver and silk lace fan. The ox looked on contemptuously, its soul was closer to the sand, closer to the jungle, and closest to the swamp. Beauty, the sea and the screen of the peacock, what is there to it!This is the parable I offer to poets. Verily, their spirit is the most vain of all peacocks and a sea of ​​vanities! The spirit of a poet needs an audience, even if the audience is some cows! —— But I have loathed the spirit; and I see their time of self-loathing is at hand. I have seen poets change, poets turn their eyes to themselves. I have seen the confessor of the spirit appear: he is born of the poet. "— Thus spake Zarathustra. big event There is an island in the sea--not far from Zarathustra's happy island--on which is a volcano that smokes forever; people, especially old women, say that this island is a rock that blocks the gates of hell : And the narrow road that goes down through the volcano leads directly to this gate. While Zarathustra was staying on the Isle of Happiness, a ship came and anchored by the smoldering island; and its crew went ashore to hunt rabbits.But when the captain and sailors reassembled at noon, they saw a man walking across the clearing towards them, who cried out distinctly, "Now is the time! Now is the time!" When the image approached them--his shadow ran swiftly toward the volcano--they recognized Zarathus in amazement; for all but the captain had seen Zarath Tula, they loved Zarathustra as all men: Equal amounts of love and fear are mixed together. "Behold!" said the old helmsman, "Zarathustra has gone to hell!" While these sailors anchored on the Isle of Fire, there were indeed rumors of Zarathustra's disappearance on the Isle of Happiness; His direction was never stated. In this way, a kind of worry spreads.Three days later this anxiety was added to the accounts of the sailors,--and it was generally said that the devil had captured Zarathustra.His disciples laughed in disbelief; and one of them said, "I would rather believe that Zarathustra caught the devil." But the depths of their souls were full of sorrow and longing: Ra was among them again, and they were naturally very happy. Here is the record of Zarathustra's conversation with the fire-dog: "The earth has a skin," he said, "and this skin has many diseases. For example, one of these many diseases is called man. Another of these many diseases is called the fire dog: about this fire dog, men have allowed themselves to tell many lies to each other. For the secret I have crossed the sea; I have seen the naked truth, verily!Truth from bare feet to neck. I now know the truth about the fire dogs, and thus about the demons of overthrow and rebellion, which not only the old women fear. Fire dogs, come out of your depths!I yell like this, how deep is your confession!Where do you get your spit from? You drink the sea richly: tell me the saltiness of your language!Verily, you dog of the depths, feed too much on the ground! I take you at best as the ventriloquist of the earth: and when I hear the demons of overthrow and rebellion speak, I always feel them like you: salty, deceitful, shallow. You know how to bark and how to darken the sky with dust!You are megalomaniacs of the highest order, and you have fully learned the art of boiling sludge. Wherever you will make mud and rot, hollow and pressed things follow you: they want to be free. Liberty is your favorite cry: but I have lost faith in great events,When they are surrounded In many a howl and a smoke. O dear troublemaker of hell!Believe me, the greatest events—those are not our noisiest moments, but our silent ones. The world does not revolve around the inventors of new noises, it revolves around the inventors of new values; it revolves soundlessly. So confess it!When your noise and smoke have dissipated, the results are insignificant.What is a city mummified, a stone statue lying in the mud! I will add this to the Destroyer of the Stone Statue.Throwing salt into the sea, toppling stone statues in the mud, that is the greatest madness. The statue lies in the mud of your scorn: but this is how it lives; out of scorn is born its new life and its fresh beauty! It now stands again in a holier profile whose anguish makes it more alluring; verily, destroyers, it thanks you for overthrowing it! This advice I give to kings and churches and to old men of all ages or morals:—Let you be overthrown, and return to life, and let morality return to you! " I said this before the fire dog: so he stopped me sullenly and asked, "Church? What is that?" "Churches?" I answered. "That's a kind of country, the most deceitful kind. But stop talking, you dog of hypocrisy! Of course you know your own kind best!" The state is a dog of hypocrisy like you; it speaks as well with bark and smoke as you are, to make it believe that its words come from the source of all things. Because the state is to be the most important beast on the earth anyway; and the common people think it is. " After I finished speaking, the fire dog barked and moved wildly out of jealousy. "What!" it cried, "the most important beast in the land? And the common man admits it?" From his throat it spewed such a prodigious amount of gas and such a terrible noise that I thought it would be choked with rage and envy. At last he calmed down, and his panting lessened; but as soon as he died down, I laughed and said: "Firedog, you are angry: so I judge you well! To keep me justified, let me tell you another story about the fire dog: It really speaks from the heart of the earth. Its breath is gold and golden rain: its heart wills it so.What use are dust, smoke, and hot spit to it! Laughter flies from it like a cloud; it opposes your rebellion, vomiting and abdominal pain! But its gold and laughter,—it takes it from the heart of the earth: for, let you know, the heart of the earth is gold. " Firedog heard these words, and it could not listen any longer.It drooped its tail in shame, yelled "Wow" a few times in dismay, and crawled into the hole. —— Thus narrated by Zarathustra.But the disciples hardly listened to him: they were eager to tell him about sailors, rabbits and the galloping man. "How shall I explain it!" said Zarathustra. "Was I really a ghost then? But it was undoubtedly my shadow.Surely you have heard of the Traveler and his shadow? One thing is certain: I must seize it with greater sternness;—or it will injure my reputation at last. " Zarathustra shook his head again in astonishment. "How should I explain it!" he repeated. "Why did the ghost cry: Now is the time! Now is the time! For what—is the time now? "— Thus spake Zarathustra. Divinator "—I see a boundless sorrow descend upon the world. The best men are weary of their work. A doctrine prevails, a belief accompanies it: all is empty, all is the same, all is over! Every hill responds: all is empty, all is the same, all is over! Yes, we have harvested: but why have our fruit rotted and turned brown?Did something fall in the evil moon last night? Our work is vanity, our wine is poison, our fields and our hearts are yellowed by evil-spreaders. We are all withered; and if the fire should fall on us, we would be dust like ashes:—yes, we also have weary the fire. All springs are dried up for us, and the sea has receded.The whole earth will split open, but the valley will not swallow us up! well!Where is the sea in which we can sink ourselves?So say our complaints.And this complaint is only recalled on the flat and shallow mud. Really, we don't bother to die; now we're awake and living, in the dead. "— Thus Zarathustra heard a soothsayer; and the prophecy went straight to his heart and changed him.He wanders sadly and wearily; he becomes one of those whom the soothsayer speaks of. "Indeed," he said to his disciples, "the long twilight will soon descend upon the world. Alas, how shall I rescue my light through the long twilight! How can I keep it from suffocating in sorrow!It has to be the light of distant worlds and nights! " So Zarathustra wandered about because he was here; for three days he neither ate nor drank; he neither rested nor spoke.Finally, he fell asleep.But his sons sat beside him, watching all night, anxiously waiting for him to come to his senses, to speak again, and to be healed of his pain. This was what Zarathustra preached to his disciples when he awoke; but it seemed to them that his voice came from afar. "Friends, listen to my dream, and help me to guess its meaning! The dream is still a mystery to me; its meaning is shut up in it, not yet able to fly over it with free wings. I dreamed that I had thrown away my whole life.On the lonely hill of Death's Castle, I became the night watchman and grave watcher. There I guard Death's coffin: the dark passages are filled with its triumphant trophies.Disappeared life looking at me through the glass coffin. I breathe the dusty breath of eternity: my dusty soul is weighed down. Who can lighten his soul here! The light of midnight surrounds me; solitude sits beside it too; and thirdly there is the silence of death, gasping staccato, my worst friend. I carry the key, the rustiest of all keys; I know how to open the most hateful door. When the two doors were left open, its voice, like the hoarse frog croaking, filled the long corridor: the night bird croaked sullenly, unwilling to be awakened. But when all is silent and I sit alone in this hostile silence, the reappearing solitude is more terrifying and makes my heart miserable. In this way, time creeps slowly, if there is still so-called time: how can I know!But something that woke me up finally happened. The door was knocked three times, like thunder, and the passage answered three times: so I went to the door. scare!I cried, Who has come up the hill with his ashes?scare!scare!Who came up the mountain with his ashes? I turned the key, I pushed the door, I pushed hard and failed.But the door never opened. At that time, a big storm threw open the two door leaves: it whistled sharply, blew wildly, and threw me a black coffin: In the whistling, in the noise, the black coffin shattered itself, and spit out thousands of laughs. Hundreds of ugly faces of children, angels, owls, madmen, and butterflies as big as children laughed and cursed at me. I was terrified: I was thrown to the ground.I gasped, I've never gasped like that. But my own cry awakened me: --I regained consciousness. "— Zarathustra was silent when he had finished speaking of his dream: for he did not yet know how it should be interpreted.But at once his favorite pupil stood up, shook Zarathustra's hand, and said: "Ah, Zarathustra, your own life explains this dream to us. Aren't you yourself the gust of wind, rushing open the door of death? Aren't you yourself that black coffin, full of multicolored evil and the ugly face of the angel of life? Verily, Zarathustra, like the laughter of a thousand children, goes to every dead chamber, and laughs at all night-watchers, grave-keepers, and tinkling-key-keepers. Thou hast frightened them with thy laughter and brought them down; swoons and slumbers prove thy power over them. Even if the long twilight and deadly weariness come, you will not disappear from our skies, you life-affirmer! Thou hast made us see new stars and new lights of the night; verily thou hast hung thy smile over our heads like a curtain of many colors. Now shall the child's laugh For ever from the coffin; Now shall a gale come And overcome that fatal weariness: thou art its guarantor and soothsayer! Verily, you dreamed of them, your enemies: this is your most painful dream. But since you woke up from them and regained consciousness, they will wake up of their own accord - and come to you! "— Thus spoke the disciple; and the rest of the disciples circled closely around Zarathustra, holding his hand and trying to persuade him to leave his bed and his sorrows, and live normally with them.But Zarathustra sat up on the bed with a strange look.Like a man returning from a long absence, he gazed at his disciples, examining their faces; he could not yet recognize them.It was not until they lifted him up that his eyes suddenly changed; he understood what had just happened, and stroking his long beard, he said in a loud voice: "Well, it will all come in time; my friends, take care to prepare us a quick and good meal! I want to redeem my nightmare thus! But the soothsayer shall drink and eat with me: verily, I will show him a sea that sinks itself! " Thus spake Zarathustra.Then he looked for a long time at the face of the disciple who interpreted the dream, and shook his head. —— redemption One day, when Zarathustra was passing the bridge, invalids and beggars surrounded him. A hunchback said to him: "Behold, Zarathustra! The people have consulted you, and believed in your doctrines: but to make them fully believe in you, another thing is necessary.—You must convince us cripples also! Here's a good choice, indeed, a chance that can be grasped in many ways! You can make the blind see the sun, and the lame run again; you can lighten the man whose back is too heavy:— I believe this will be the true method of convincing the crippled to believe in Zarathustra!" But Zarathustra replied thus to the speaker: "Whoever takes the hunchback of the hunchback takes away his spirit:- so it is said. If the blind were to regain their sight, he would see the great Many evil things are in the earth: therefore he cursed him that made him well. Whoever makes the lame run, does the lame man the greatest harm; for as soon as he knows how to run, his evil will run free:— —This is what people say about the crippled. When people take Zarathustra's opinion, why didn't Zarathustra also take the opinion of ordinary people? Ever since I lived among people, I have noticed that one person has no eyes, another has no ears, a third has no feet, and many others have lost their tongues or noses, and even their heads.However, I think this is just the smallest evil. I have seen, I have seen worse horrors, and I will not say all, but I will not say nothing:—There are people who lack everything and one thing too much,—Some people are only one Big eyes, a big mouth, a big belly, or something big—I call them negative cripples. When I left the solitude and passed the bridge for the first time: I couldn't believe my eyes, I looked again and again, and finally I said: This is an ear!This is a human-level ear!But I came closer to examine: yes, there was still a poor feeble little thing wriggling behind the ear.Verily, the great ear grows on a thin stem,--and this stem is a man!Whoever wears spectacles over the eyes can recognize a jealous little face; and there is a hollow little soul wagging on the tip of this stalk.But most people tell me: this big ear is not only a person, but also a great man, a genius.But when people talk about great men, I never believe them. — I hold fast to my convictions: this is a cripple who is the opposite of everything too little and too much. " When Zarathustra had finished speaking to the hunchback and those whom the hunchback represented and defended, he turned unhappily to his disciples and said: "Verily, my friends, I walk in crowds as in fragments and limbs of man! I found that the human body was cut apart and the limbs were thrown apart, like in a slaughterhouse on a battlefield. This is really the most terrifying thing for my eyes. My eyes fled from the present back into the past: and I found nothing different: fragments, limbs, and terrible chance,—and no one! The present and the past of the earth - alas!My friends,—is the worst thing I can bear; I can't live if I can't foresee what is destined to come. The seer, the willer, the creator, the future itself and the bridge to it.Alas, in a sense, the cripple who stands on this bridge: all this is Zarathustra. You have often asked yourselves: What is Zarathustra to us?What shall we call him?Like me, you make the questions your own answers. Is he the promiser, or the fulfiller?Conqueror, or heir?Is it the harvest, or the plow blade?A doctor, or a new healer? Is he a poet, or a seeker of truth?Liberator, or overcomer?A good guy, or a bad guy? I walk among the crowd as in fragments of the future: this future is the future I see. My whole imagination and effort is a unity of assembled fragments and enigmas and terrible chances. How could I bear to be human if man were not the poet, the riddle-maker, and the savior of chance! To save the people of the past, and to change as I would have it be:—this is what I call salvation! Will,—this is the name of the liberator and the bearer of the good news: thus, my friends, have I taught you!Now learn this too: the will itself is still a prisoner. It is powerless to change what has been: so it is a malicious observation of what has been. The will cannot alter the past; it cannot defeat time and the hopes of time,--this is its loneliest pain. The will liberates everything: but how does it save itself from pain, and mock its prison? Alas, every prisoner turned mad!The imprisoned will also frantically saves itself. Its wrath is that time cannot turn back; what has been- is a stone that the will cannot kick away. So the will kicks away many stones in its anger, and seeks revenge on those who do not feel the anger. In this way the will, the liberator, becomes an evildoer who avenges all that can suffer, since it cannot return itself to the past. This is revenge: the aversion of the will to time and time as it is. Verily, there is a great madness in our wills; this madness has taken hold of the spirit, and is a curse to all human beings! The spirit of vengeance, my friends: that is the best thought of man till now; And where there is pain, there should be punishment. Punishment is what revenge calls itself: it hides a good intention in a lie. Since the will suffers because he cannot use his will backwards: so will and life should be considered punishments. Now cloud after cloud piles up on the spirit: until madness preaches: Everything dies, so everything deserves to die! This law of time: time must devour its children, is justice: so preaches madness. All things are morally arranged according to justice and punishment.Ah, where is the salvation in the tide of all things and the tide of "survival" punishment?Madness speaks thus. If eternal justice exists, is salvation possible?Alas, so it is that the stone cannot be moved: all punishment shall be eternal!Madness speaks thus. No act can be destroyed: how can it be undone by punishment! The eternal thing in the penalty of "survival" - is that existence must be eternal and then deeds and sins! Unless at last the will saves itself, or the will becomes not-will:—but, brothers, you know the fable of madness! I have led you away from these fables when I told you that the will is creative. All are fragments and enigmas and terrible chances as they are,—unless the creative will adds: But I would have it so! —Unless the creative will adds: But I want it so!I'm going to want it as it is! Has it already said so?And when did it say so?Has the will been saved from its own madness? Is the will already its own savior and bringer of good news?Has it forgotten the spirit of vengeance and the gnashing of teeth? Who taught it to make peace with time?Who taught it that which is higher than reconciliation? The will, the will to power, must seek something higher than peace:—but how is it possible?Who taught it to will backwards? " At this point Zarathustra stopped his preaching, as suddenly as a man struck by utter terror.He looked at his disciples with fearful eyes; his gaze pierced their thoughts and thoughts after thoughts like arrows.But presently he laughed again, and said calmly: "Living among people is hard because silence is hard. Especially with a good talker."— Thus spake Zarathustra.The hunchback hid his face and listened to the conversation: when he heard Zarathustra's laughter, he raised his eyes curiously and said slowly: "Why did Zarathustra speak differently to us than to his disciples?" Zarathustra replied: "What wonder! We should speak crookedly to the hunchback!" "Very well," said the hunchback; "we shall teach the doctrine to the students, too." But why did Zarathustra speak differently to his disciples than to himself? —— human wisdom The heights are not scary, but the slopes are! On the slope, the eyes look down, but the hands climb up.This double will makes the heart dizzy. Alas, friends, can you guess the double will in my heart? My slopes and perils are my eyes projecting upwards, while my hands want to hang and support in--deep! My will is attached to man, to whom I am bound by chains, for I am drawn to the superman: so my other will goes there. So I live blindly among people: as if I didn't know them at all: just so that my hand doesn't lose all faith in hard objects. I don't know you people: this darkness and comfort has always surrounded me.For every rascal I sit before the porch, I ask, "Who will deceive me?" My first lesson of human wisdom is: Allow myself to be deceived, and not defend myself against the deceiver. Alas, if I defend myself against the crowd, how can the crowd be the anchor of my balloon!I shall be easily snatched away, sucked to high places! This providence rules my fate, and I must have no foresight. Whoever does not want to die of thirst in the crowd must learn to drink from all cups; whoever wants to stay clean in the crowd must learn to wash himself with sewage. And this is what I have often consoled myself with: "Be brave! Cheer up! Old and strong heart! You have failed in a bad fortune: enjoy it as your own happiness!" My second worldly wisdom is this: I endure the vain than the proud. Is not vilified vanity the mother of all tragedies?But where pride is slandered, something greater than pride grows. For life to be a good play, it must be well acted: therefore it must have good parts. I think all vain people are good characters: they play and want others to see them--their whole spirit is in this will. They act out for each other, discover each other; I like to watch life beside them,--it's a cure for the blues. So I endure the vain because they are the doctors of my melancholy; because they relate me to the crowd as they do to the theatre. And who can fathom the whole depth of the humility of the vain!I was kind to him, and sympathized with their humility. From you he will learn self-confidence; he feeds on your eyes and feeds on your praises. He loves to hear your lies, so long as you speak them in praise of him: for from the deepest part of his heart he sighs, "What am I!" If true morality is not knowing it: Well, the vain man does not know his humility! —— My third piece of human wisdom is this: Let not your timidity tire me of the show of the wicked. I am delighted to see the wonders of the hot sun: tigers and palm trees and rattlesnakes. Among men the hot sun has good hatches, and among the wicked there are many wonders. It is true, I do not think that the wise among you are really wise: nor do I think that the wicked among men are so legendary. I often shake my head and ask myself: rattlesnake, why do you still wag your tails? Indeed, evil also has a future!The hottest south has yet to be discovered. Many of the heinous things that are now called are no more than twelve feet wide and three months long!But one day bigger dragons will come to the world. In order for Superman to have his dragons, non-super dragons are not enough to be called Superman: many hot suns have to shine on the humble and ancient forests! Your wild cat must evolve into a tiger, and your poisonous frog into a crocodile: because a good hunter must have a good prey! Really, good and upright people, you have much to laugh at, especially your fear of the so-called "devil"! Your souls are too alien to greatness, and you will find the superman in the good to be terrible! You sages and scholars, you shall flee from the sun of wisdom, where the Superman bathes his nakedness with pleasure! O you high men whom I have seen!This is my laugh at your doubts and my secret: I guess you will still call my superman a devil! Alas, I am weary of the higher and the best: I long to rise from their "heights" higher and farther, to the Superman! When I see the best of these naked, I shudder: so my wings carry me far into the future. To farther futures, farther south than the artist ever dreamed: where the gods are ashamed to dress! O neighbours, and companions, I wish you would be dressed in disguise, vain, honorable, like those who are good and upright,— I too will sit with you in masquerade—so that I cannot recognize you or myself: this is my last mortal wisdom. Thus spake Zarathustra. the most silent moment Friends, what happened to me?You see me disturbed, pushed, obeyed involuntarily, and ready to go--oh, ready to go! Yea, Zarathustra must return again to his solitude: but this time the bear in his cave was not happy! What happened to me?Who commands me? —Alas, my angry mistress wants me to do so; it has spoken to me; did I tell you its name? Last night at dusk my silent hour spoke to me: this is the name of my savage mistress. And so it happened:—for I must tell you all, that you might not be too hard-hearted with this one who hastened away! Do you know the fear of the sleeping man? He was terrified from head to toe, as he sank and the dream was beginning. I say this to you as a parable.At the most silent moment of Ye Ye, the night fell and the dream began. The hands of the hour advance, the clock of my life breathes, -- never have I felt so silent around me; so my heart is afraid. Then I heard the silent speech: "Zarathustra, do you know that?"— I exclaimed at this whisper, and the blood exited my face: but I was silent. Then the silent word said again: "You know that, Zarathustra, but you don't say it!" I finally answered with a defiant attitude: "Yes, I know that, but I don't want to say it!" Then the voiceless word said again: "Would you not, Zarathustra? Really? Hide not yourself behind this defiance!"— Weeping and trembling like a child, I said, "Oh, yes, I would, but how could I! Spare me of this! It is beyond my power!" Then the voiceless word said again: "What matter to you, Zarathustra! Speak your words and die"— I replied, "Alas, is that my word? Who is mine? I wait for someone more worthy than I am; I am not worthy to die of it." Then the voiceless word said again: "What do you care about yourself! I don't think you are humble enough. Humility has the thickest skin."— I answered: "My humble skin has endured all! I live below my height: how high is my peak? Who has not told me. But I know my valley well." Then the voiceless word said again: "O Zarathustra, whoever will move the mountains will also move the valleys and the plains."— I replied, "My preaching has not moved mountains, nor reached crowds. Yes, I have gone to crowds, but I have not reached crowds." Then the silent speech said again: "What do you know? When the dew falls on the grass is the silent hour of the night."— I answered: "They laughed at me when I found out and followed my own way; indeed, my feet trembled. They said to me: You didn't know the way before, but now you don't know how to walk! " Then the silent speech said again: "What does it matter to their mocking! You are a man who has forgotten to obey: now you should command! Don't you know who is the person everyone needs?That is the man who directs the great cause. It is difficult to accomplish a great cause: but it is even more difficult to direct a great cause. This is your most unforgivable stubbornness: you have power, but you don't want to rule. "— I replied, "I lack a lion's roar to give orders." Then a whisper came to me: "The silentest words cause great storms. Thoughts brought by the lightness of dove's feet command the world." O Zarathustra, walk like the shadow of that which should come: you shall command.When you command, you become the precursor. "— I replied, "I'm shy." Then the silent speech said again: "You must be a child and not be ashamed. The pride of youth is still in you; your youth comes belatedly: whoever wants to be a child must overcome youth. " I thought about it for a while and shuddered.I ended by repeating my first reply. "I do not want to." So there was an explosion of laughter all around me.Oh, how that laughter tore my guts and split my heart! The silent word said for the last time: "O Zarathustra, your fruit is ripe, but you yourself are not yet ripe for your fruit! So you must go back to solitude again: make you mellow. "— A second time the laughter broke out and fled: and there was silence again around me, like a double silence.I lay on the ground, my limbs were sweating. —Now you have heard everything, and the reason why I must go back to solitude.Friends, I have nothing to hide. I tell you all this: I am the most secretive and will always be secretive. Alas, friends, I have something to say to you, and I have something to give you!But why don't I give it to you?Am I stingy? —— When Zarathustra had finished these words, he thought that he would leave his friends, and the power of pain seized him and made him weep; and no one could comfort him.But at night he still left his friends and did not go alone. traveler At midnight Zarathustra set out by the middle ridge of the island, in order to reach the yonder shore next morning: for there he intended to take a ship.There is a fine bay where foreign ships anchor; and they take away those who wish to cross from the Isle of Happiness.Zarathustra, on his way up the mountain, recalled the many solitary journeys and the many ridges and summits he had climbed, from his youth to the present. "I am a traveler and climber," he said to his heart, "I don't like plains, and I can't seem to sit still for long. No matter what fate and experience I shall encounter,--travel and mountain-climbing will always be indispensable: for in the end, all one experiences is oneself. Gone is the time when I belonged to chance; what can happen to my destiny that was not mine! My me-it just came back to me, it and its wandering parts scattered in everything and chance, at last came home. " I now know a few more things.I am now facing my last peak, facing the last that is reserved for me.Alas, I must climb my most dangerous mountain pass!Alas, I have begun my loneliest journey! But none of my kind avoid such moments.Say to him this moment: Now you have no choice but to embark on the path to your greatness!Jue Dian and Ju He are now mixed together. You are on the way to your greatness!The most dangerous that came to you, now becomes your last shelter. You have set out on the way to your greatness, and now it is your highest valor to be in danger! You are on the road to your greatest.There will be no one here to follow you quietly!With your own feet, erase the "impossible" engraved on the road behind you. If all ladders fail you, you must learn to ascend above your head, or how can you go up? Learn to ascend in your head and your heart!Now the tenderest in you must become the strongest. People who are too tolerant to themselves will eventually get sick from being tolerant.Praise everything that makes a man strong!I do not praise the country flowing with cream and honey! Only by watching from a distance and looking at it can we know everything.This is the essential tenacity of every climber. What can the seeker and the staring eye see but superficial reasons! O Zarathustra, be eager to see the background of all things: so you must ascend above yourself--up, up, till you see your stars below you! Yea, look down on yourself than on your stars!Only what I call my peak, the last peak reserved for me. Zarathustra said this in his heart as he climbed the mountain, comforting his soul with painstaking proverbs.Because the pain in his heart was unprecedented.When he reached the top of the mountain, behold, a distant sea spread before him; and he stood silently for a long time.On the peak, the cold night is cold, the sky is clear and the stars are shining. I see my fate now, he said sadly at last.All right!I am ready to stop!Now my last solitude begins. O, the gloomy and mournful sea below me!O, the gloomy sleepy despair!O Destiny, O Sea!Now I must descend towards you! I face my tallest mountain, I face me and my furthest distance, so I shall descend deeper into pain than I have descended before, even into the deepest abyss of pain!Such is my destiny.All right!I am ready to stay. "Where do the tallest mountains come from? I asked once before. I have since learned that they come from the sea. This proof is written on their rocks and peaks.The highest reaches its height from the lowest. "— Thus spoke Zarathustra on that cold mountain-top; and when he came near the sea and was at last alone between the rocks, he was weary of the long journey.And longing filled him all the more. "Everything is asleep," he said; "even the sea is asleep. Its eyes look at me strangely and sleepily. But I feel its breath is warm.At the same time I think it is dreaming.In the dream, it was writhing on the hard pillow. listen!listen!How it murmurs unpleasant memories!Possibly an unlucky herald? Alas, dark monster, I grieve for you, I hate myself for you. Oh, why are my hands so weak!Really, how I would like to rescue you from your nightmare! "— Saying this, Zarathustra laughed to himself sadly and bitterly. "how! Zarathustra," said he. "Do you want to sing consolation to the sea? O Zarathustra, you good-natured madman, you blind truster! But you have always been this way: you are close to all terrible things. You shall pet all monsters.A bit of warm breath, a bit of soft foot hair:—and at once you are ready to love it and seduce it. Love, as long as it is a loving creature, is the danger of the loneliest!The madness and humility in my love is ridiculous! "— Thus spake Zarathustra, and laughed a second time: but then he thought of his deserted friends;—as if he had sinned against them in his remembrance, he thought of his own remembrance angry.But while he was laughing, suddenly weeping again at once: -- Zarathustra wept with rage and longing.