WOULD you go into
isolation, my brother? Would you seek the
way to yourself? Tarry yet
a little and hear me.
"He who seeks may
easily get lost himself. All isolation is
wrong": so say the herd.
And long did you belong to the herd.
The voice of the
herd will still echo in you. And when you say,
"I have no longer a conscience
in common with you," then will it be
a plaint and a pain.
Lo, that pain itself
did the same conscience produce; and the last
gleam of that conscience
still glows on your affliction.
But you would go
the way of your affliction, which is the way
to yourself? Then show me
your authority and the strength to do so!
Are you a new strength
and a new authority? A first motion? A
self-rolling wheel? Can
you also compel stars to revolve around
you?
Alas! there is so
much lusting for loftiness! There are so many
convulsions of the ambitions!
Show me that you are not a lusting
and ambitious one!
Alas! there are so
many great thoughts that do nothing more than the
bellows: they inflate, and
make emptier than ever.
Free,
do you call yourself? Your ruling thought would I hear of,
and
not that you have escaped from a yoke.
Are you one entitled
to escape from a yoke? Many a one has cast
away his final worth when
he has cast away his servitude.
Free from what? What
do that matter to Zarathustra! Clearly,
however, shall your eye
show to me: free for what?
Can
you give to yourself your bad and your good, and set up your
will
as a law over you? Can you be judge for
yourself, and
avenger
of your law?
Terrible is aloneness
with the judge and avenger of one's own law.
Thus is a star projected
into desert space, and into the icy breath of
aloneness.
To-day suffer you
still from the multitude, you individual;
to-day have you still your
courage unabated, and your hopes.
But one day will
the solitude weary you; one day will your pride
yield, and your courage
quail. You will one day cry: "I am alone!"
One day will you
see no longer your loftiness, and see too closely
your lowliness; your sublimity
itself will frighten you as a phantom.
You will one day cry: "All
is false!"
There
are feelings which seek to slay the lonesome one; if they do
not
succeed, then must they themselves die!
But are you capable of
it-
to be a murderer?
Have you ever known,
my brother, the word "disdain"? And the
anguish of your justice
in being just to those that disdain you?
You force many to
think differently about you; that, charge they
heavily to your account.
You came nigh to them, and yet
went past: for that they
never forgive you.
You go beyond them:
but the higher you rise, the smaller do
the eye of envy see you.
Most of all, however, is the flying one
hated.
"How could you be
just to me!"- must you say- "I choose your
injustice as my allotted
portion.
Injustice and filth
cast they at the lonesome one: but, my
brother, if you would be
a star, you must shine for them none
the less on that account!
And be on your guard
against the good and just! They would fain
crucify those who devise
their own virtue- they hate the lonesome
ones.
Be on your guard,
also, against holy simplicity! All is unholy to
it that is not simple; fain,
likewise, would it play with the fire- of
the fagot and stake.
And
be on your guard, also, against the assaults of your love! Too
readily
do the recluse reach his hand to any one who meets him.
To many a one may
you not give your hand, but only your paw; and I
wish your paw also to have
claws.
But the worst enemy
you can meet, will you yourself always be;
you waylay yourself in caverns
and forests.
You lonesome one,
you go the way to yourself! And past yourself
and your seven devils lead
your way!
A heretic will you
be to yourself, and a wizard and a soothsayer,
and a fool, and a doubter,
and a reprobate, and a villain.
Ready must you be
to burn yourself in your own flame; how could
you
become new if you have not first become ashes!
You lonesome one,
you go the way of the creating one: a God
will you create for yourself
out of your seven devils!
You lonesome one,
you go the way of the loving one: you love
yourself, and on that account
despise you yourself, as only the
loving ones despise.
To create, desires
the loving one, because he despises! What
knows he of love who has
not been obliged to despise just what he
loved!
With
your love, go into your isolation, my brother, and with your
creating;
and late only will justice limp after you.
With my tears, go into your isolation, my brother. I love him who
seeks
to create beyond himself, and thus succumbs.-
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
"Thus spoke Zarathustra"
(1883)
Friedrich Nietzsche
(1844-1900)
|
aa