sein willst, wittere ich
einen heimlichen Weih- und Wohlgeruch von langen Segnungen: mir wird
wohl und wehe dabei.
Lass mich deinen Gast sein, oh Zarathustra, für eine einzige Nacht!
Nirgends auf Erden wird es mir jetzt wohler als bei dir!" -
"Amen! So soll es sein! sprach Zarathustra mit grosser Verwunderung,
dort hinauf führt der Weg, da liegt die Höhle Zarathustra's.
Gerne, fürwahr, würde ich dich selber dahin geleiten, du Ehrwürdiger,
denn ich liebe alle frommen Menschen. Aber jetzt ruft mich eilig ein
Nothschrei weg von dir.
In meinem Bereiche soll mir Niemand zu Schaden kommen; meine Höhle ist
ein guter Hafen. Und am liebsten möchte ich jedweden Traurigen wieder
auf festes Land und feste Beine stellen.
Wer aber nähme dir _deine_ Schwermuth von der Schulter? Dazu bin ich
zu schwach. Lange, wahrlich, möchten wir warten, bis dir Einer deinen
Gott wieder aufweckt.
Dieser alte Gott nämlich lebt nicht mehr: der ist gründlich todt." -
Also sprach Zarathustra.
Der hässlichste Mensch
- Und wieder liefen Zarathustra's Füsse durch Berge und Wälder, und
seine Augen suchten und suchten, aber nirgends war Der zu sehen,
welchen sie sehn wollten, der grosse Nothleidende und Nothschreiende.
Auf dem ganzen Wege aber frohlockte er in seinem Herzen und war
dankbar. "Welche guten Dinge, sprach er, schenkte mir doch dieser Tag,
zum Entgelt, dass er schlimm begann! Welche seltsamen Unterredner fand
An deren Worten will ich lange nun kauen gleich als an guten Körnern;
klein soll mein Zahn sie mahlen und malmen, bis sie mir wie Milch in
die Seele fliessen!" - -
Als aber der Weg wieder um einen Felsen bog, veränderte sich mit Einem
Male die Landschaft, und Zarathustra trat in ein Reich des Todes. Hier
starrten schwarze und rothe Klippen empor: kein Gras, kein Baum, keine
Vogelstimme. Es war nämlich ein Thal, welches alle Thiere mieden,
auch die Raubthiere-, nur dass eine Art hässlicher, dicker, grüner
Schlangen, wenn sie alt wurden, hierher kamen, um zu sterben. Darum
nannten diess Thal die Hirten: Schlangen-Tod.
Zarathustra aber versank in eine schwarze Erinnerung, denn ihm war,
als habe er schon ein Mal in diesem Thal gestanden. Und vieles Schwere
legte sich ihm über den Sinn: also, dass er langsam gieng und immer
langsamer und endlich still stand. Da aber sahe er, als er die Augen
aufthat, Etwas, das am Wege sass, gestaltet wie ein Mensch und kaum
wie ein Mensch, etwas Unaussprechliches. Und mit Einem Schlage
überfiel Zarathustra die grosse Scham darob, dass er so Etwas mit den
Augen angesehn habe: erröthend bis hinauf an sein weisses Haar, wandte
er den Blick ab und hob den Fuss, dass er diese schlimme Stelle
verlasse. Da aber wurde die todte Öde laut:
" Man has gradually become a visionary animal, who.Page 20
By means of arms, by upsetting boundary-stones, by violations of piety most of all: but also by new religions and morals! The same kind of "wickedness" is in every teacher and preacher of the _new--_which makes a conqueror infamous, although it expresses itself more refinedly, and does not immediately set the muscles in motion (and just on that account does not make so infamous!) The new, however, is under all circumstances the _evil,_ as that which wants to conquer, which tries to upset the old boundary-stones and the old piety; only the old.Page 23
Supposing all these labours to be accomplished, the most critical of all questions would then come into the foreground: whether science is in a position to _furnish_ goals for human action, after it has proved that it can take them away and annihilate them--and then would be the time for a process of experimenting, in which every kind of heroism could satisfy itself, an experimenting for centuries, which would put into the shade all the great labours and sacrifices of previous history.Page 47
me the real "distress of the present":--but perhaps this remedy already sounds too cruel, and would itself be reckoned among the symptoms owing to which people at present conclude that "existence is something evil.Page 61
--I would also give no credit to a history of Plato's life written by himself, as little as to Rousseau's, or to the _Vita nuova_ of Dante.Page 70
A loquacity which comes from delight in fine words and forms of speech: by no means rare in Goethe's prose.Page 74
The way in which a thinker succeeds in tracing the effect of his thoughts, and their transforming and convulsing power, is almost a comedy: it sometimes seems as if those who have been operated upon felt profoundly injured thereby, and could only assert their independence, which they suspect to be threatened, by all kinds of improprieties.Page 78
" 107.Page 79
We must rest from ourselves occasionally by contemplating and looking down upon ourselves, and by laughing or weeping _over_ ourselves from an artistic remoteness: we must discover the _hero,_ and likewise the _fool,_ that is hidden in our passion for knowledge; we must now and then be joyful in our folly, that we may continue to be joyful in our wisdom! And just because we are heavy and serious men in our ultimate depth, and are rather weights than men, there is nothing that does us so much good as the _fool's cap and bells:_ we need them in presence of ourselves--we need all arrogant, soaring, dancing, mocking, childish and blessed Art, in order not to lose the _free dominion over things_ which our ideal demands of us.Page 87
When, trained in this Christian school of scepticism, we now read the moral books of the ancients, for example those of Seneca and Epictetus, we feel a pleasurable superiority, and are full of secret insight and penetration,--it seems to us as if a child talked before an old man, or a pretty, gushing girl before La Rochefoucauld:--we know better what virtue is! After all, however, we have applied the same scepticism to all _religious_ states and processes, such as sin, repentance, grace, sanctification, &c.Page 99
But then the almighty strength of our tasks forced us apart once more into different seas and into different zones, and perhaps we shall never see one another again,--or perhaps we may see one another, but not know one another again; the different seas and suns have altered us! That we had to become strangers to one another is the law to which we are _subject_: just by that shall we become more sacred to one another! Just by that shall the thought of our former friendship become holier! There is probably some immense, invisible curve and stellar orbit in which our courses and goals, so widely different, may be _comprehended_ as small stages of the way,--let us raise ourselves to this thought! But our life is too short, and our power of vision too limited for us to be more than friends in the sense of that sublime possibility.Page 120
of judging which is most injurious _to knowledge:_ for precisely the good-will of the knowing one ever to declare himself unhesitatingly as _opposed_ to his former opinions, and in general to be distrustful of all that wants to be fixed in him--is here condemned and brought into disrepute.Page 139
--That from which we suffer most profoundly and personally is almost incomprehensible and inaccessible to every one else: in this matter we are hidden from our neighbour even when he eats at the same table with us.Page 148
But the worth of a precept, "Thou shalt," is fundamentally different from and independent of such opinions about it, and must be distinguished from the weeds of error with which it has perhaps been overgrown: just as the worth of a medicine to a sick person is altogether independent of the question whether he has a scientific opinion about medicine, or merely thinks about it as an old wife would do.Page 149
So much distrust, so much philosophy! We take good care not to say that the world is of _less_ value: it seems to us at present absolutely ridiculous when man claims to devise values _to surpass_ the values of the actual world,--it is precisely from that point that we have retraced our steps; as from an extravagant error of human conceit and irrationality, which for a long period has not been recognised as such.Page 160
But you want to have it otherwise--"more reasonable," above all more convenient--is it not so, my dear contemporaries? Very well! But then you will also immediately get something different: instead of the craftsman and expert, you will get the literary man, the versatile, "many-sided "littÃ©rateur, who to be sure lacks the hump--not taking account of the hump or bow which he makes before you as the shopman of the intellect and the "porter" of culture--, the littÃ©rateur, who _is_ really nothing, but "represents" almost everything: he plays and "represents" the expert, he also takes it upon himself in all modesty _to see that he is_ paid, honoured and celebrated in this position.