“The head off! Bite!”—so it cried out of me, my horror, my hatred, my disgust, my pity, all my good and my bad cried out with a single cry.—
You bold ones around me! You venturers, adventurers, and those of you who have embarked with cunning sails on unexplored seas! You enjoyers of riddles!
Solve for me the riddle that I saw, interpret for me the vision of the loneliest!
For it was a vision and a premonition—what did I see in a parable? And who is it that must come some day?
Who is the shepherd into whose throat the snake crawled thus? Who is the man into whose throat all that is heaviest and blackest will crawl thus?
-But the shepherd bit as my cry had admonished him; he bit with a good bite! Far away he spat the head of the snake-and sprang up.-No longer shepherd, no longer man—a transfigured being, radiant, laughing! Never yet on earth had a man laughed as he laughed!
O my brothers, I heard a laughter which was no human laughter—and now a thirst gnaws at me, a longing that is never stilled.
My longing for that laughter gnaws at me: oh how can I yet bear to live! And how could I bear to die now!
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
ON INVOLUNTARY BLISS
WITH SUCH RIDDLES AND bitternesses in his heart Zarathustra sailed over the sea. But when he was four days journey from the Happy Islands and from his friends, he had overcome all his pain—triumphantly and with firm feet he stood on his destiny again. And then Zarathustra spoke thus to his exulting conscience:
I am alone again, and I like to be so, alone with the pure heaven, and the open sea; and again the afternoon is around me.
On an afternoon I found my friends for the first time; on an afternoon, also, I found them a second time:-at the hour when all light becomes stiller.
For whatever happiness is still on its way between heaven and earth, now seeks a luminous soul for its lodging: with happiness all light has now become stiller.
O afternoon of my life! Once my happiness descended also to the valley that it might seek lodging: then it found those open hospitable souls.
O afternoon of my life! What did I not surrender that I might have one thing: this living plantation of my thoughts, and this dawn of my highest hope!
He who creates once sought companions, and children of his hope: and lo, it turned out that he could not find them unless he himself first created them.
Thus I am in the midst of my work, going to my children and turning from them: for the sake of his children Zarathustra must perfect himself.
For in one’s heart one loves only one’s child and one’s work; and where there is great love of oneself, then is it the sign of pregnancy: thus have I discovered.
My children are still verdant in their first spring, standing near one another and shaken in common by the winds, the trees of my garden and of my best soil.
And truly! Where such trees stand beside one another, there are Happy Islands!
But one day I will uproot them and stand each by itself alone: that it may learn loneliness and defiance and foresight.
Gnarled and crooked and with flexible hardness it shall then stand by the sea, a living lighthouse of unconquerable life.
There where the storms rush down into the sea, and the snout of the mountain drinks water, each shall have its day and night watches, for its testing and recognition.
It shall be tested and recognized, to see whether it is my kind and race-whether it is master of a long will, silent even when it speaks, and giving such that it takes in giving:—
—that it may one day become my companion and a fellow-creator and a fellow-rejoicer with Zarathustra:—such a one as writes my will on my tablets: for the fuller perfection of all things.
And for its sake and for those like it, I must perfect myself. therefore I now avoid my happiness and present myself to every unhappiness-for my final testing and recognition.
And truly, it is time that I went away; and the wanderer’s shadow and the longest sojourn and the stillest hour—have all said to me: “It is high time!”
The wind blew to me through the keyhole and said “Come!” The door sprang cunningly open and said “Go!”
But I lay chained to my love for my children: desire spread this snare for me, the desire for love, that I should become the plunder of my children and lose myself to them.
To desire-for me now that means to have lost myself. I possess you, my children! In this possessing all should be security and nothing desire.
But the sun of my love brooded upon me, Zarathustra stewed in his own juice—then shadows and doubts flew past me.
I longed for frost and winter: “Oh, that frost and winter would again make me crack and crunch!” I sighed:-then icy mist arose out of me.
My past burst from its tomb, many pains buried alive woke up—: they had only been sleeping, concealed in burial shrouds.
Thus everything called to me in signs: “It is time!” But I—heard not: until at last my abyss stirred and my thought bit me.
Ah, abysmal thought, which is my thought! When shall I find strength to hear you burrowing and no longer tremble?
My heart rises to my throat when I hear you burrowing! Even your silence wants to choke me, you abysmal silent one!
As yet I have never dared to summon you up: it has been enough that I—have carried you about with me! As yet have I not been strong enough for my final lion’s arrogance and playfulness.
Your weight was always terrible enough for me: but one day I shall find the strength and the lion’s voice to summon you up!
When I have overcome myself in that, then I will overcome myself in that which is greater; and a victory shall be the seal of my perfection!—
Meanwhile I still travel on uncertain seas; chance flatters me, the smooth-tongued; I gaze forward and backward—still I see no end.
As yet the hour of my final struggle has not come to me—or does it come to me perhaps just now? Truly, sea and life gaze around me gaze at me with insidious beauty:
O afternoon of my life! O happiness before evening! O haven on high seas! O peace in uncertainty! How I mistrust you all!
Truly, I am mistrustful of your insidious beauty! I am like the lover who mistrusts the all-too-velvety smile.
As he thrusts the most beloved before him, tender even in his hardness, the jealous one-, thus I thrust this blissful hour before me.
Away with you, you blissful hour! With you there came to me an involuntary bliss! I stand here ready for my deepest pain:—you came at the wrong time!
Away with you, you blissful hour! Rather seek shelter there—with my children! Hurry! and bless them before evening with my happiness!
There evening already approaches: the sun sinks. Away—my happiness!—
Thus spoke Zarathustra. And he waited for his misfortune the whole night: but he waited in vain. The night remained clear and calm and happiness itself came closer and closer to him. But towards morning Zarathustra laughed in his heart and said mockingly: “Happiness runs after me. That is because I do not run after women. But happiness is a woman.”
BEFORE SUNRISE
O HEAVEN ABOVE ME, you pure one! Deep one! You abyss of light! Gazing on you I tremble with godlike desires.
To cast myself into your height—that is my depth! To hide myself in your purity—that is my innocence!
The god is veiled by his beauty: thus you hide your stars. You do not speak: thus you proclaim your wisdom to me.
Mute over the raging sea you have risen for me today; your love and your modesty make a revelation to my raging soul.
That you came to me beautiful, veiled in your beauty, that you spoke to me mutely, manifest in your wisdom:
Oh, how could I fail to divine all the modesty of your soul! Before the sun you came to me—the loneliest.
We have been friends from the beginning: we have grief and dread and ground in common; even the sun is common to us.
We do not speak to each other, because we know too much-
: we are silent together, we smile our knowledge to each other.
Are you not the light of my fire? Do you not have the sister soul to my insight?
Together we learned everything; together we learned to ascend beyond ourselves to ourselves and to smile cloudlessly:—
—to smile down cloudlessly out of luminous eyes and out of miles of distance, when constraint and purpose and guilt steam beneath us like rain.
And I wandered alone: for what did my soul hunger by night and in labyrinthine paths? And I climbed mountains: whom did I ever seek upon mountains, if not you?
And all my wandering and mountain climbing: it was merely sheer necessity and a help in my helplessness—my whole will wants only to fly, to fly into you!
And what have I hated more than passing clouds and whatever defiles you? And I have even hated my own hatred because it defiled you!
I detest the passing clouds, those stealthy cats of prey: they take from you and me what we have in common-the uncanny boundless Yes- and Amen-saying.
We detest these mediators and mixers, the passing clouds: those half-and-half ones, that have learned neither to bless nor to curse from the heart.
I would rather sit in a tub under closed heavens, rather sit in the abyss without a heaven, than see you, luminous heaven, defiled with passing clouds!
And often I have longed to pin them fast with the jagged golden wires of lightning, that I might, like the thunder, drum upon their hollow bellies:—
—an angry drummer, because they rob me of your Yes and Amen!—You heaven above me, you purer! More luminous! You abyss of light!-because they rob you of my Yes! and Amen!
For I would rather have noise and thunder and storm curses, than this deliberate doubting cat’s repose; and also among men I hate most of all the soft-treaders and half-and-half ones and the doubting, hesitating passing clouds.
And “he who cannot bless shall learn to curse!”—this clear teaching fell to me from the clear heaven; this star stands in my heaven even in dark nights.
I, however, am a blesser and a Yes-sayer, if only you are around me, you pure one! Light! You abyss of light!-then into all abysses I carry my beneficent Yes-saying.
I have become a blesser and a Yes-sayer: and therefore I fought long and was a fighter, that I might one day have my hands free for blessing.
This, however, is my blessing: to stand above everything as its own heaven, its round roof, its azure bell and eternal security: and blessed is he who blesses thus!
For all things are baptized at the well of eternity and beyond good and evil; but good and evil themselves are only fugitive shadows and damp afflictions and passing clouds.
Truly, it is a blessing and not a blasphemy when I teach: “Above all things stands the heaven of chance, the heaven of innocence, the heaven of accident, the heaven of mischievousness.”6
“By Chance”7—that is the oldest nobility in the world, I gave that back to all things, I emancipated them from bondage under purpose.
I set this freedom and heavenly cheerfulness like an azure bell above all things, when I taught that over them and through them no “eternal will”—wills.
I set this mischievousness and folly in place of that will, when I taught: “In everything one thing is impossible—rationality!”
A little reason, to be sure, a seed of wisdom scattered from star to star—this leaven is mixed in all things: for the sake of folly, wisdom is mixed in all things!
A little wisdom is indeed possible; but I have found this blessed certainty in all things: that on the feet of chance they prefer—to dance.
O heaven above me, you pure one! High! This is now your purity to me, that there is no eternal reason-spider and -spiderweb:—
—that to me you are a dance floor for divine chances, that to me you are a god’s table for divine dice and dice players!—
But you blush? Did I speak the unspeakable? Did I blaspheme, when I meant to bless you?
Or is it the shame of being two that makes you blush!-Are you telling me to go and be silent, because now—day comes?
The world is deep-: and deeper than day had ever been aware. Not everything may be uttered in the presence of day. But the day is coming: so let us part!
O heaven above me, you modest one! Glowing one! 0 you, my happiness before sunrise! The day is coming: so let us part!—
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
ON THE VIRTUE THAT MAKES SMALL
1
When Zarathustra was on firm land again he did not go straightway to his mountains and his cave, but made many wanderings and questionings and found out this and that, so that he said jokingly of himself: “Behold a river that flows back to its source in many windings!” For he wanted to learn what had happened to men while he had been away: whether they had become greater or smaller. And once he saw a row of new houses, and he marveled and said:
What do these houses mean? Truly, no great soul put them up as its likeness!
Perhaps a silly child took them out of its toy box? If only another child would put them back into the box!
And these rooms and chambers-can men go out and in there? They seem to be made for silk dolls; or for dainty nibblers who perhaps let others nibble with them.
And Zarathustra stood still and reflected. At last he said sorrowfully: “Everything has become smaller!
“Everywhere I see lower doorways: those of my kind probably still go through, but—he must stoop!
Oh, when shall I arrive again at my home, where I shall no longer have to stoop-shall no longer have to stoop before the small ones!“—And Zarathustra sighed and gazed into the distance.—
But the very same day he gave his speech on the virtue that makes small.
2
I pass through this people and keep my eyes open: they do not forgive me for not envying their virtues.
They bite at me, because I say to them that for small people, small virtues are necessary—and because it is hard for me to understand that small people are necessary!
Here I am still like a cock in a strange farmyard, at which even the hens peck: but I am not unfriendly to these hens on that account.
I am courteous towards them, as towards all small annoyances; to be prickly towards what is small seems to me the wisdom of hedgehogs.
They all speak of me when they sit around their fire in the evening—they speak of me, but no one thinks-of me!
This is the new stillness I have learned: their noise about me spreads a cloak over my thoughts.
They shout to one another: “What is this dark cloud about to do to us? Let us see that it does not bring a plague upon us!”
And recently a woman pulled back her child that was approaching me: “Take the children away,” she cried, “such eyes scorch children’s souls.”
They cough when I speak: they think that coughing is an objection to strong winds-they know nothing of the roaring of my happiness!
“We have no time yet for Zarathustra”—so they object; but what matters a time that “has no time” for Zarathustra?
And if they praise me, how could I go to sleep on their praise? To me their praise is a belt of thorns: it scratches me even when I take it off.
And I also learned this among them: the praiser acts as if he gave back, but in truth he wants to be given more!
Ask my foot if it likes their way of lauding and luring! Truly, to such a measure and tick-tock beat it likes neither to dance nor stand still.
They would like to lure and praise me to a small virtue; they would like to persuade my foot to the tick-tock of a small happiness.
I pass through this people and keep my eyes open: they have become smaller and are becoming smaller—but that is due to their doctrine of happiness and virtue.
For they are modest even in virtue-because they want comfort. But only a modest virtue is compatible with comfort.
To be sure, they also learn in their way to stride on and stride forward: I call that their limping—. Thus they become a hin
drance to all who are in a hurry.
And many of them go forward and at the same time look backward with stiff necks: I like running into these.
Foot and eye should not lie nor give the lie to each other. But there is much lying among small people.
Some of them will, but most of them are only willed. Some of them are genuine, but most of them are bad actors.
There are unconscious actors among them and involuntary actors—the genuine are always rare, especially genuine actors.
There is little of man here: therefore their women make themselves manly. For only he who is man enough will-redeem the woman in woman.
And I found this hypocrisy the worst among them: that even those who command feign the virtues of those who serve.
“I serve, you serve, we serve”—so prays here even the hypocrisy of the rulers-and ah, if the first lord is only the first servant!
Ah, into their hypocrisies too my eyes’ curiosity flew astray; and well did I divine all their fly-happiness and their buzzing around sunny windowpanes.
I see as much weakness as kindness. As much weakness as justice and pity.
They are frank, honest, and kind to one another, as grains of sand are frank, honest, and kind to grains of sand.
To embrace a small happiness modestly—they call that “resignation”! And at the same time they look out for a new little happiness.
In their hearts they want one thing most of all: that no one hurt them. Thus they anticipate every one’s wishes and do well to every one.
That, however, is cowardice: though it be called “virtue.”—
And when they happen to speak harshly, these little people,I hear in it only their hoarseness-in fact every draft makes them hoarse.
They are clever, their virtues have clever fingers. But they lack fists, their fingers do not know how to close into fists.
Virtue for them is what makes modest and tame: with it they have made the wolf a dog and man himself man’s best domestic animal.
Thus Spoke Zarathustra Page 18
