Thus Spake Zarathustra: A Book for All and None - 13

And precisely THAT was to be virtue and was to be called virtue—to
abuse selfishness! And “selfless”—so did they wish themselves with good
reason, all those world-weary cowards and cross-spiders!
But to all those cometh now the day, the change, the sword of judgment,
THE GREAT NOONTIDE: then shall many things be revealed!
And he who proclaimeth the EGO wholesome and holy, and selfishness
blessed, verily, he, the prognosticator, speaketh also what he knoweth:
“BEHOLD, IT COMETH, IT IS NIGH, THE GREAT NOONTIDE!”
Thus spake Zarathustra.


LV. THE SPIRIT OF GRAVITY.

1.
My mouthpiece—is of the people: too coarsely and cordially do I
talk for Angora rabbits. And still stranger soundeth my word unto all
ink-fish and pen-foxes.
My hand—is a fool’s hand: woe unto all tables and walls, and whatever
hath room for fool’s sketching, fool’s scrawling!
My foot—is a horse-foot; therewith do I trample and trot over stick and
stone, in the fields up and down, and am bedevilled with delight in all
fast racing.
My stomach—is surely an eagle’s stomach? For it preferreth lamb’s
flesh. Certainly it is a bird’s stomach.
Nourished with innocent things, and with few, ready and impatient
to fly, to fly away—that is now my nature: why should there not be
something of bird-nature therein!
And especially that I am hostile to the spirit of gravity, that is
bird-nature:—verily, deadly hostile, supremely hostile, originally
hostile! Oh, whither hath my hostility not flown and misflown!
Thereof could I sing a song—and WILL sing it: though I be alone in an
empty house, and must sing it to mine own ears.
Other singers are there, to be sure, to whom only the full house
maketh the voice soft, the hand eloquent, the eye expressive, the heart
wakeful:—those do I not resemble.—
2.
He who one day teacheth men to fly will have shifted all landmarks; to
him will all landmarks themselves fly into the air; the earth will he
christen anew—as “the light body.”
The ostrich runneth faster than the fastest horse, but it also thrusteth
its head heavily into the heavy earth: thus is it with the man who
cannot yet fly.
Heavy unto him are earth and life, and so WILLETH the spirit of gravity!
But he who would become light, and be a bird, must love himself:—thus
do _I_ teach.
Not, to be sure, with the love of the sick and infected, for with them
stinketh even self-love!
One must learn to love oneself—thus do I teach—with a wholesome and
healthy love: that one may endure to be with oneself, and not go roving
about.
Such roving about christeneth itself “brotherly love”; with these words
hath there hitherto been the best lying and dissembling, and especially
by those who have been burdensome to every one.
And verily, it is no commandment for to-day and to-morrow to LEARN to
love oneself. Rather is it of all arts the finest, subtlest, last and
patientest.
For to its possessor is all possession well concealed, and of all
treasure-pits one’s own is last excavated—so causeth the spirit of
gravity.
Almost in the cradle are we apportioned with heavy words and worths:
“good” and “evil”—so calleth itself this dowry. For the sake of it we
are forgiven for living.
And therefore suffereth one little children to come unto one, to forbid
them betimes to love themselves—so causeth the spirit of gravity.
And we—we bear loyally what is apportioned unto us, on hard shoulders,
over rugged mountains! And when we sweat, then do people say to us:
“Yea, life is hard to bear!”
But man himself only is hard to bear! The reason thereof is that he
carrieth too many extraneous things on his shoulders. Like the camel
kneeleth he down, and letteth himself be well laden.
Especially the strong load-bearing man in whom reverence resideth. Too
many EXTRANEOUS heavy words and worths loadeth he upon himself—then
seemeth life to him a desert!
And verily! Many a thing also that is OUR OWN is hard to bear! And many
internal things in man are like the oyster—repulsive and slippery and
hard to grasp;—
So that an elegant shell, with elegant adornment, must plead for
them. But this art also must one learn: to HAVE a shell, and a fine
appearance, and sagacious blindness!
Again, it deceiveth about many things in man, that many a shell is poor
and pitiable, and too much of a shell. Much concealed goodness and power
is never dreamt of; the choicest dainties find no tasters!
Women know that, the choicest of them: a little fatter a little leaner—
oh, how much fate is in so little!
Man is difficult to discover, and unto himself most difficult of all;
often lieth the spirit concerning the soul. So causeth the spirit of
gravity.
He, however, hath discovered himself who saith: This is MY good and
evil: therewith hath he silenced the mole and the dwarf, who say: “Good
for all, evil for all.”
Verily, neither do I like those who call everything good, and this world
the best of all. Those do I call the all-satisfied.
All-satisfiedness, which knoweth how to taste everything,—that is
not the best taste! I honour the refractory, fastidious tongues and
stomachs, which have learned to say “I” and “Yea” and “Nay.”
To chew and digest everything, however—that is the genuine
swine-nature! Ever to say YE-A—that hath only the ass learnt, and those
like it!—
Deep yellow and hot red—so wanteth MY taste—it mixeth blood with all
colours. He, however, who whitewasheth his house, betrayeth unto me a
whitewashed soul.
With mummies, some fall in love; others with phantoms: both alike
hostile to all flesh and blood—oh, how repugnant are both to my taste!
For I love blood.
And there will I not reside and abide where every one spitteth and
speweth: that is now MY taste,—rather would I live amongst thieves and
perjurers. Nobody carrieth gold in his mouth.
Still more repugnant unto me, however, are all lickspittles; and the
most repugnant animal of man that I found, did I christen “parasite”: it
would not love, and would yet live by love.
Unhappy do I call all those who have only one choice: either to become
evil beasts, or evil beast-tamers. Amongst such would I not build my
tabernacle.
Unhappy do I also call those who have ever to WAIT,—they are repugnant
to my taste—all the toll-gatherers and traders, and kings, and other
landkeepers and shopkeepers.
Verily, I learned waiting also, and thoroughly so,—but only waiting for
MYSELF. And above all did I learn standing and walking and running and
leaping and climbing and dancing.
This however is my teaching: he who wisheth one day to fly, must first
learn standing and walking and running and climbing and dancing:—one
doth not fly into flying!
With rope-ladders learned I to reach many a window, with nimble legs did
I climb high masts: to sit on high masts of perception seemed to me no
small bliss;—
—To flicker like small flames on high masts: a small light, certainly,
but a great comfort to cast-away sailors and shipwrecked ones!
By divers ways and wendings did I arrive at my truth; not by one ladder
did I mount to the height where mine eye roveth into my remoteness.
And unwillingly only did I ask my way—that was always counter to my
taste! Rather did I question and test the ways themselves.
A testing and a questioning hath been all my travelling:—and verily,
one must also LEARN to answer such questioning! That, however,—is my
taste:
—Neither a good nor a bad taste, but MY taste, of which I have no
longer either shame or secrecy.
“This—is now MY way,—where is yours?” Thus did I answer those who
asked me “the way.” For THE way—it doth not exist!
Thus spake Zarathustra.


LVI. OLD AND NEW TABLES.

1.
Here do I sit and wait, old broken tables around me and also new
half-written tables. When cometh mine hour?
—The hour of my descent, of my down-going: for once more will I go unto
men.
For that hour do I now wait: for first must the signs come unto me that
it is MINE hour—namely, the laughing lion with the flock of doves.
Meanwhile do I talk to myself as one who hath time. No one telleth me
anything new, so I tell myself mine own story.
2.
When I came unto men, then found I them resting on an old infatuation:
all of them thought they had long known what was good and bad for men.
An old wearisome business seemed to them all discourse about virtue; and
he who wished to sleep well spake of “good” and “bad” ere retiring to
rest.
This somnolence did I disturb when I taught that NO ONE YET KNOWETH what
is good and bad:—unless it be the creating one!
—It is he, however, who createth man’s goal, and giveth to the earth
its meaning and its future: he only EFFECTETH it THAT aught is good or
bad.
And I bade them upset their old academic chairs, and wherever that old
infatuation had sat; I bade them laugh at their great moralists, their
saints, their poets, and their Saviours.
At their gloomy sages did I bid them laugh, and whoever had sat
admonishing as a black scarecrow on the tree of life.
On their great grave-highway did I seat myself, and even beside the
carrion and vultures—and I laughed at all their bygone and its mellow
decaying glory.
Verily, like penitential preachers and fools did I cry wrath and shame
on all their greatness and smallness. Oh, that their best is so very
small! Oh, that their worst is so very small! Thus did I laugh.
Thus did my wise longing, born in the mountains, cry and laugh in me; a
wild wisdom, verily!—my great pinion-rustling longing.
And oft did it carry me off and up and away and in the midst of
laughter; then flew I quivering like an arrow with sun-intoxicated
rapture:
—Out into distant futures, which no dream hath yet seen, into warmer
souths than ever sculptor conceived,—where gods in their dancing are
ashamed of all clothes:
(That I may speak in parables and halt and stammer like the poets: and
verily I am ashamed that I have still to be a poet!)
Where all becoming seemed to me dancing of Gods, and wantoning of Gods,
and the world unloosed and unbridled and fleeing back to itself:—
—As an eternal self-fleeing and re-seeking of one another of many Gods,
as the blessed self-contradicting, recommuning, and refraternising with
one another of many Gods:—
Where all time seemed to me a blessed mockery of moments, where
necessity was freedom itself, which played happily with the goad of
freedom:—
Where I also found again mine old devil and arch-enemy, the spirit
of gravity, and all that it created: constraint, law, necessity and
consequence and purpose and will and good and evil:—
For must there not be that which is danced OVER, danced beyond? Must
there not, for the sake of the nimble, the nimblest,—be moles and
clumsy dwarfs?—
3.
There was it also where I picked up from the path the word “Superman,”
and that man is something that must be surpassed.
—That man is a bridge and not a goal—rejoicing over his noontides and
evenings, as advances to new rosy dawns:
—The Zarathustra word of the great noontide, and whatever else I have
hung up over men like purple evening-afterglows.
Verily, also new stars did I make them see, along with new nights;
and over cloud and day and night, did I spread out laughter like a
gay-coloured canopy.
I taught them all MY poetisation and aspiration: to compose and collect
into unity what is fragment in man, and riddle and fearful chance;—
—As composer, riddle-reader, and redeemer of chance, did I teach them
to create the future, and all that HATH BEEN—to redeem by creating.
The past of man to redeem, and every “It was” to transform, until the
Will saith: “But so did I will it! So shall I will it—”
—This did I call redemption; this alone taught I them to call
redemption.—
Now do I await MY redemption—that I may go unto them for the last time.
For once more will I go unto men: AMONGST them will my sun set; in dying
will I give them my choicest gift!
From the sun did I learn this, when it goeth down, the exuberant one:
gold doth it then pour into the sea, out of inexhaustible riches,—
—So that the poorest fisherman roweth even with GOLDEN oars! For this
did I once see, and did not tire of weeping in beholding it.—
Like the sun will also Zarathustra go down: now sitteth he here
and waiteth, old broken tables around him, and also new
tables—half-written.
4.
Behold, here is a new table; but where are my brethren who will carry it
with me to the valley and into hearts of flesh?—
Thus demandeth my great love to the remotest ones: BE NOT CONSIDERATE OF
THY NEIGHBOUR! Man is something that must be surpassed.
There are many divers ways and modes of surpassing: see THOU thereto!
But only a buffoon thinketh: “man can also be OVERLEAPT.”
Surpass thyself even in thy neighbour: and a right which thou canst
seize upon, shalt thou not allow to be given thee!
What thou doest can no one do to thee again. Lo, there is no requital.
He who cannot command himself shall obey. And many a one CAN command
himself, but still sorely lacketh self-obedience!
5.
Thus wisheth the type of noble souls: they desire to have nothing
GRATUITOUSLY, least of all, life.
He who is of the populace wisheth to live gratuitously; we others,
however, to whom life hath given itself—we are ever considering WHAT we
can best give IN RETURN!
And verily, it is a noble dictum which saith: “What life promiseth US,
that promise will WE keep—to life!”
One should not wish to enjoy where one doth not contribute to the
enjoyment. And one should not WISH to enjoy!
For enjoyment and innocence are the most bashful things. Neither like
to be sought for. One should HAVE them,—but one should rather SEEK for
guilt and pain!—
6.
O my brethren, he who is a firstling is ever sacrificed. Now, however,
are we firstlings!
We all bleed on secret sacrificial altars, we all burn and broil in
honour of ancient idols.
Our best is still young: this exciteth old palates. Our flesh is tender,
our skin is only lambs’ skin:—how could we not excite old idol-priests!
IN OURSELVES dwelleth he still, the old idol-priest, who broileth our
best for his banquet. Ah, my brethren, how could firstlings fail to be
sacrifices!
But so wisheth our type; and I love those who do not wish to preserve
themselves, the down-going ones do I love with mine entire love: for
they go beyond.—
7.
To be true—that CAN few be! And he who can, will not! Least of all,
however, can the good be true.
Oh, those good ones! GOOD MEN NEVER SPEAK THE TRUTH. For the spirit,
thus to be good, is a malady.
They yield, those good ones, they submit themselves; their heart
repeateth, their soul obeyeth: HE, however, who obeyeth, DOTH NOT LISTEN
TO HIMSELF!
All that is called evil by the good, must come together in order that
one truth may be born. O my brethren, are ye also evil enough for THIS
truth?
The daring venture, the prolonged distrust, the cruel Nay, the tedium,
the cutting-into-the-quick—how seldom do THESE come together! Out of
such seed, however—is truth produced!
BESIDE the bad conscience hath hitherto grown all KNOWLEDGE! Break up,
break up, ye discerning ones, the old tables!
8.
When the water hath planks, when gangways and railings o’erspan the
stream, verily, he is not believed who then saith: “All is in flux.”
But even the simpletons contradict him. “What?” say the simpletons, “all
in flux? Planks and railings are still OVER the stream!
“OVER the stream all is stable, all the values of things, the bridges
and bearings, all ‘good’ and ‘evil’: these are all STABLE!”—
Cometh, however, the hard winter, the stream-tamer, then learn even the
wittiest distrust, and verily, not only the simpletons then say: “Should
not everything—STAND STILL?”
“Fundamentally standeth everything still”—that is an appropriate winter
doctrine, good cheer for an unproductive period, a great comfort for
winter-sleepers and fireside-loungers.
“Fundamentally standeth everything still”—: but CONTRARY thereto,
preacheth the thawing wind!
The thawing wind, a bullock, which is no ploughing bullock—a furious
bullock, a destroyer, which with angry horns breaketh the ice! The ice
however—BREAKETH GANGWAYS!
O my brethren, is not everything AT PRESENT IN FLUX? Have not all
railings and gangways fallen into the water? Who would still HOLD ON to
“good” and “evil”?
“Woe to us! Hail to us! The thawing wind bloweth!”—Thus preach, my
brethren, through all the streets!
9.
There is an old illusion—it is called good and evil. Around soothsayers
and astrologers hath hitherto revolved the orbit of this illusion.
Once did one BELIEVE in soothsayers and astrologers; and THEREFORE did
one believe, “Everything is fate: thou shalt, for thou must!”
Then again did one distrust all soothsayers and astrologers; and
THEREFORE did one believe, “Everything is freedom: thou canst, for thou
willest!”
O my brethren, concerning the stars and the future there hath hitherto
been only illusion, and not knowledge; and THEREFORE concerning good and
evil there hath hitherto been only illusion and not knowledge!
10.
“Thou shalt not rob! Thou shalt not slay!”—such precepts were once
called holy; before them did one bow the knee and the head, and take off
one’s shoes.
But I ask you: Where have there ever been better robbers and slayers in
the world than such holy precepts?
Is there not even in all life—robbing and slaying? And for such
precepts to be called holy, was not TRUTH itself thereby—slain?
—Or was it a sermon of death that called holy what contradicted and
dissuaded from life?—O my brethren, break up, break up for me the old
tables!
11.
It is my sympathy with all the past that I see it is abandoned,—
—Abandoned to the favour, the spirit and the madness of every
generation that cometh, and reinterpreteth all that hath been as its
bridge!
A great potentate might arise, an artful prodigy, who with approval and
disapproval could strain and constrain all the past, until it became for
him a bridge, a harbinger, a herald, and a cock-crowing.
This however is the other danger, and mine other sympathy:—he who is
of the populace, his thoughts go back to his grandfather,—with his
grandfather, however, doth time cease.
Thus is all the past abandoned: for it might some day happen for the
populace to become master, and drown all time in shallow waters.
Therefore, O my brethren, a NEW NOBILITY is needed, which shall be the
adversary of all populace and potentate rule, and shall inscribe anew
the word “noble” on new tables.
For many noble ones are needed, and many kinds of noble ones, FOR A NEW
NOBILITY! Or, as I once said in parable: “That is just divinity, that
there are Gods, but no God!”
12.
O my brethren, I consecrate you and point you to a new nobility: ye
shall become procreators and cultivators and sowers of the future;—
—Verily, not to a nobility which ye could purchase like traders with
traders’ gold; for little worth is all that hath its price.
Let it not be your honour henceforth whence ye come, but whither ye go!
Your Will and your feet which seek to surpass you—let these be your new
honour!
Verily, not that ye have served a prince—of what account are princes
now!—nor that ye have become a bulwark to that which standeth, that it
may stand more firmly.
Not that your family have become courtly at courts, and that ye have
learned—gay-coloured, like the flamingo—to stand long hours in shallow
pools:
(For ABILITY-to-stand is a merit in courtiers; and all courtiers believe
that unto blessedness after death pertaineth—PERMISSION-to-sit!)
Nor even that a Spirit called Holy, led your forefathers into promised
lands, which I do not praise: for where the worst of all trees grew—the
cross,—in that land there is nothing to praise!—
—And verily, wherever this “Holy Spirit” led its knights, always in
such campaigns did—goats and geese, and wryheads and guyheads run
FOREMOST!—
O my brethren, not backward shall your nobility gaze, but OUTWARD!
Exiles shall ye be from all fatherlands and forefather-lands!
Your CHILDREN’S LAND shall ye love: let this love be your new
nobility,—the undiscovered in the remotest seas! For it do I bid your
sails search and search!
Unto your children shall ye MAKE AMENDS for being the children of your
fathers: all the past shall ye THUS redeem! This new table do I place
over you!
13.
“Why should one live? All is vain! To live—that is to thrash straw; to
live—that is to burn oneself and yet not get warm.”—
Such ancient babbling still passeth for “wisdom”; because it is old,
however, and smelleth mustily, THEREFORE is it the more honoured. Even
mould ennobleth.—
Children might thus speak: they SHUN the fire because it hath burnt
them! There is much childishness in the old books of wisdom.
And he who ever “thrasheth straw,” why should he be allowed to rail at
thrashing! Such a fool one would have to muzzle!
Such persons sit down to the table and bring nothing with them, not even
good hunger:—and then do they rail: “All is vain!”
But to eat and drink well, my brethren, is verily no vain art! Break up,
break up for me the tables of the never-joyous ones!
14.
“To the clean are all things clean”—thus say the people. I, however,
say unto you: To the swine all things become swinish!
Therefore preach the visionaries and bowed-heads (whose hearts are also
bowed down): “The world itself is a filthy monster.”
For these are all unclean spirits; especially those, however, who have
no peace or rest, unless they see the world FROM THE BACKSIDE—the
backworldsmen!
TO THOSE do I say it to the face, although it sound unpleasantly: the
world resembleth man, in that it hath a backside,—SO MUCH is true!
There is in the world much filth: SO MUCH is true! But the world itself
is not therefore a filthy monster!
There is wisdom in the fact that much in the world smelleth badly:
loathing itself createth wings, and fountain-divining powers!
In the best there is still something to loathe; and the best is still
something that must be surpassed!—
O my brethren, there is much wisdom in the fact that much filth is in
the world!—
15.
Such sayings did I hear pious backworldsmen speak to their consciences,
and verily without wickedness or guile,—although there is nothing more
guileful in the world, or more wicked.
“Let the world be as it is! Raise not a finger against it!”
“Let whoever will choke and stab and skin and scrape the people: raise
not a finger against it! Thereby will they learn to renounce the world.”
“And thine own reason—this shalt thou thyself stifle and choke; for it
is a reason of this world,—thereby wilt thou learn thyself to renounce
the world.”—
—Shatter, shatter, O my brethren, those old tables of the pious! Tatter
the maxims of the world-maligners!—
16.
“He who learneth much unlearneth all violent cravings”—that do people
now whisper to one another in all the dark lanes.
“Wisdom wearieth, nothing is worth while; thou shalt not crave!”—this
new table found I hanging even in the public markets.
Break up for me, O my brethren, break up also that NEW table! The
weary-o’-the-world put it up, and the preachers of death and the jailer:
for lo, it is also a sermon for slavery:—
Because they learned badly and not the best, and everything too early
and everything too fast; because they ATE badly: from thence hath
resulted their ruined stomach;—
—For a ruined stomach, is their spirit: IT persuadeth to death! For
verily, my brethren, the spirit IS a stomach!
Life is a well of delight, but to him in whom the ruined stomach
speaketh, the father of affliction, all fountains are poisoned.
To discern: that is DELIGHT to the lion-willed! But he who hath become
weary, is himself merely “willed”; with him play all the waves.
And such is always the nature of weak men: they lose themselves on their
way. And at last asketh their weariness: “Why did we ever go on the way?
All is indifferent!”
TO THEM soundeth it pleasant to have preached in their ears: “Nothing is
worth while! Ye shall not will!” That, however, is a sermon for slavery.
O my brethren, a fresh blustering wind cometh Zarathustra unto all
way-weary ones; many noses will he yet make sneeze!
Even through walls bloweth my free breath, and in into prisons and
imprisoned spirits!
Willing emancipateth: for willing is creating: so do I teach. And ONLY
for creating shall ye learn!
And also the learning shall ye LEARN only from me, the learning
well!—He who hath ears let him hear!
17.
There standeth the boat—thither goeth it over, perhaps into vast
nothingness—but who willeth to enter into this “Perhaps”?
None of you want to enter into the death-boat! How should ye then be
WORLD-WEARY ones!
World-weary ones! And have not even withdrawn from the earth! Eager
did I ever find you for the earth, amorous still of your own
earth-weariness!
Not in vain doth your lip hang down:—a small worldly wish still sitteth
thereon! And in your eye—floateth there not a cloudlet of unforgotten
earthly bliss?
There are on the earth many good inventions, some useful, some pleasant:
for their sake is the earth to be loved.
And many such good inventions are there, that they are like woman’s
breasts: useful at the same time, and pleasant.
Ye world-weary ones, however! Ye earth-idlers! You, shall one beat with
stripes! With stripes shall one again make you sprightly limbs.
For if ye be not invalids, or decrepit creatures, of whom the earth is
weary, then are ye sly sloths, or dainty, sneaking pleasure-cats. And if
ye will not again RUN gaily, then shall ye—pass away!
To the incurable shall one not seek to be a physician: thus teacheth
Zarathustra:—so shall ye pass away!
But more COURAGE is needed to make an end than to make a new verse: that
do all physicians and poets know well.—
18.
O my brethren, there are tables which weariness framed, and tables
which slothfulness framed, corrupt slothfulness: although they speak
similarly, they want to be heard differently.—
See this languishing one! Only a span-breadth is he from his goal; but
from weariness hath he lain down obstinately in the dust, this brave
one!
From weariness yawneth he at the path, at the earth, at the goal, and at
himself: not a step further will he go,—this brave one!
Now gloweth the sun upon him, and the dogs lick at his sweat: but he
lieth there in his obstinacy and preferreth to languish:—
—A span-breadth from his goal, to languish! Verily, ye will have to
drag him into his heaven by the hair of his head—this hero!
Better still that ye let him lie where he hath lain down, that sleep may
come unto him, the comforter, with cooling patter-rain.
Let him lie, until of his own accord he awakeneth,—until of his own
accord he repudiateth all weariness, and what weariness hath taught
through him!
Only, my brethren, see that ye scare the dogs away from him, the idle
skulkers, and all the swarming vermin:—
—All the swarming vermin of the “cultured,” that—feast on the sweat of
every hero!—
19.
I form circles around me and holy boundaries; ever fewer ascend with
me ever higher mountains: I build a mountain-range out of ever holier
mountains.—
But wherever ye would ascend with me, O my brethren, take care lest a
PARASITE ascend with you!