XLVIII. BEFORE SUNRISE
O heaven above me, thou pure, thou deep heaven! Thou abyss of light! Gazing on thee, I tremble with divine desires.
Up to thy height to toss myself – that is MY depth! In thy purity to hide myself – that is MINE innocence!
The God veileth his beauty: thus hidest thou thy stars. Thou speakest not: THUS proclaimest thou thy wisdom unto me.
Mute o’er the raging sea hast thou risen for me to-day; thy love and thy modesty make a revelation unto my raging soul.
In that thou camest unto me beautiful, veiled in thy beauty, in that thou spakest unto me mutely, obvious in thy wisdom:
Oh, how could I fail to divine all the modesty of thy soul! BEFORE the sun didst thou come unto me – the lonesomest one.
We have been friends from the beginning: to us are grief, gruesomeness, and ground common; even the sun is common to us.
We do not speak to each other, because we know too much – : we keep silent to each other, we smile our knowledge to each other.
Art thou not the light of my fire? Hast thou not the sister-soul of mine insight?
Together did we learn everything; together did we learn to ascend beyond ourselves to ourselves, and to smile uncloudedly: —
– Uncloudedly to smile down out of luminous eyes and out of miles of distance, when under us constraint and purpose and guilt steam like rain.
And wandered I alone, for WHAT did my soul hunger by night and in labyrinthine paths? And climbed I mountains, WHOM did I ever seek, if not thee, upon mountains?
And all my wandering and mountain-climbing: a necessity was it merely, and a makeshift of the unhandy one: – to FLY only, wanteth mine entire will, to fly into THEE!
And what have I hated more than passing clouds, and whatever tainteth thee? And mine own hatred have I even hated, because it tainted thee!
The passing clouds I detest – those stealthy cats of prey: they take from thee and me what is common to us – the vast unbounded Yea- and Amen-saying.
These mediators and mixers we detest – the passing clouds: those half-and-half ones, that have neither learned to bless nor to curse from the heart.
Rather will I sit in a tub under a closed heaven, rather will I sit in the abyss without heaven, than see thee, thou luminous heaven, tainted with passing clouds!
And oft have I longed to pin them fast with the jagged gold-wires of lightning, that I might, like the thunder, beat the drum upon their kettle-bellies: —
– An angry drummer, because they rob me of thy Yea and Amen! – thou heaven above me, thou pure, thou luminous heaven! Thou abyss of light! – because they rob thee of MY Yea and Amen.
For rather will I have noise and thunders and tempest-blasts, than this discreet, doubting cat-repose; and also amongst men do 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 dropt unto me from the clear heaven; this star standeth in my heaven even in dark nights.
I, however, am a blesser and a Yea-sayer, if thou be but around me, thou pure, thou luminous heaven! Thou abyss of light! – into all abysses do I then carry my beneficent Yea-saying.
A blesser have I become and a Yea-sayer: and therefore strove I long and was a striver, that I might one day get 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 thus blesseth!
For all things are baptized at the font of eternity, and beyond good and evil; good and evil themselves, however, are but fugitive shadows and damp afflictions and passing clouds.
Verily, it is a blessing and not a blasphemy when I teach that “above all things there standeth the heaven of chance, the heaven of innocence, the heaven of hazard, the heaven of wantonness.”
“Of Hazard” – that is the oldest nobility in the world; that gave I back to all things; I emancipated them from bondage under purpose.
This freedom and celestial serenity did I put like an azure bell above all things, when I taught that over them and through them, no “eternal Will” – willeth.
This wantonness and folly did I put in place of that Will, when I taught that “In everything there is one thing impossible – rationality!”
A LITTLE reason, to be sure, a germ 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 this blessed security have I found in all things, that they prefer – to DANCE on the feet of chance.
O heaven above me! thou pure, thou lofty heaven! This is now thy purity unto me, that there is no eternal reason-spider and reason-cobweb: —
– That thou art to me a dancing-floor for divine chances, that thou art to me a table of the Gods, for divine dice and dice-players! —
But thou blushest? Have I spoken unspeakable things? Have I abused, when I meant to bless thee?
Or is it the shame of being two of us that maketh thee blush! – Dost thou bid me go and be silent, because now – DAY cometh?
The world is deep: – and deeper than e’er the day could read. Not everything may be uttered in presence of day. But day cometh: so let us part!
O heaven above me, thou modest one! thou glowing one! O thou, my happiness before sunrise! The day cometh: so let us part! —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XLIX. THE BEDWARFING VIRTUE
1
When Zarathustra was again on the continent, he did not go straightway to his mountains and his cave, but made many wanderings and questionings, and ascertained this and that; so that he said of himself jestingly: “Lo, a river that floweth back unto its source in many windings!” For he wanted to learn what had taken place AMONG MEN during the interval: whether they had become greater or smaller. And once, when he saw a row of new houses, he marvelled, and said:
“What do these houses mean? Verily, no great soul put them up as its simile!
Did perhaps a silly child take them out of its toy-box? Would that another child put them again 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-eaters, who perhaps let others eat with them.”
And Zarathustra stood still and meditated. At last he said sorrowfully: “There hath EVERYTHING become smaller!
Everywhere do I see lower doorways: he who is of MY type can still go therethrough, 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. —
The same day, however, he gave his discourse on the bedwarfing virtue.
2
I pass through this people and keep mine eyes open: they do not forgive me for not envying their virtues.
They bite at me, because I say unto them that for small people, small virtues are necessary – and because it is hard for me to understand that small people are NECESSARY!
Here am I still like a cock in a strange farm-yard, at which even the hens peck: but on that account I am not unfriendly to the hens.
I am courteous towards them, as towards all small annoyances; to be prickly towards what is small, seemeth to me wisdom for hedgehogs.
They all speak of me when they sit around their fire in the evening – they speak of me, but no one thinketh – of me!
This is the new stillness which I have experienced: their noise around me spreadeth a mantle over my thoughts.
They shout to one another: “What is this gloomy cloud about to do to us? Let us see that it doth not bring a plague upon us!”
And recently did a woman seize upon her child that was coming unto me: “Take the children away,” cried she, “such eyes scorch children’s souls.”
They cough when I speak: they think coughing an objection to strong winds – they divine nothing of the boisterousness of my happiness!
“We have not yet time for Zarathustra” – so they object; but what matter about a time that “hath no time” for Zarathustra?
And if they should altogether praise me, how could I go to sleep on THEIR praise? A girdle of spines is their praise unto me: it scratcheth me even when I take it off.
And this also did I learn among them: the praiser doeth as if he gave back; in truth, however, he wanteth more to be given him!
Ask my foot if their lauding and luring strains please it! Verily, to such measure and ticktack, it liketh neither to dance nor to stand still.
To small virtues would they fain lure and laud me; to the ticktack of small happiness would they fain persuade my foot.
I pass through this people and keep mine eyes open; they have become SMALLER, and ever become smaller: – THE REASON THEREOF IS THEIR DOCTRINE OF HAPPINESS AND VIRTUE.
For they are moderate also in virtue, – because they want comfort. With comfort, however, moderate virtue only is compatible.
To be sure, they also learn in their way to stride on and stride forward: that, I call their HOBBLING. – Thereby they become a hindrance to all who are in haste.
And many of them go forward, and look backwards thereby, with stiffened necks: those do I like to run up against.
Foot and eye shall 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 WILLED. Some of them are genuine, but most of them are bad actors.
There are actors without knowing it amongst them, and actors without intending it – , the genuine ones are always rare, especially the genuine actors.
Of man there is little here: therefore do their women masculinise themselves. For only he who is man enough, will – SAVE THE WOMAN in woman.
And this hypocrisy found I worst amongst them, that even those who command feign the virtues of those who serve.
“I serve, thou servest, we serve” – so chanteth here even the hypocrisy of the rulers – and alas! if the first lord be ONLY the first servant!
Ah, even upon their hypocrisy did mine eyes’ curiosity alight; and well did I divine all their fly-happiness, and their buzzing around sunny window-panes.
So much kindness, so much weakness do I see. So much justice and pity, so much weakness.
Round, fair, and considerate are they to one another, as grains of sand are round, fair, and considerate to grains of sand.
Modestly to embrace a small happiness – that do they call “submission”! and at the same time they peer modestly after a new small happiness.
In their hearts they want simply one thing most of all: that no one hurt them. Thus do they anticipate every one’s wishes and do well unto every one.
That, however, is COWARDICE, though it be called “virtue.” —
And when they chance to speak harshly, those small people, then do I hear therein only their hoarseness – every draught of air maketh them hoarse.
Shrewd indeed are they, their virtues have shrewd fingers. But they lack fists: their fingers do not know how to creep behind fists.
Virtue for them is what maketh modest and tame: therewith have they made the wolf a dog, and man himself man’s best domestic animal.
“We set our chair in the MIDST” – so saith their smirking unto me – “and as far from dying gladiators as from satisfied swine.”
That, however, is – MEDIOCRITY, though it be called moderation. —
3
I pass through this people and let fall many words: but they know neither how to take nor how to retain them.
They wonder why I came not to revile venery and vice; and verily, I came not to warn against pickpockets either!
They wonder why I am not ready to abet and whet their wisdom: as if they had not yet enough of wiseacres, whose voices grate on mine ear like slate-pencils!
And when I call out: “Curse all the cowardly devils in you, that would fain whimper and fold the hands and adore” – then do they shout: “Zarathustra is godless.”
And especially do their teachers of submission shout this; – but precisely in their ears do I love to cry: “Yea! I AM Zarathustra, the godless!”
Those teachers of submission! Wherever there is aught puny, or sickly, or scabby, there do they creep like lice; and only my disgust preventeth me from cracking them.
Well! This is my sermon for THEIR ears: I am Zarathustra the godless, who saith: “Who is more godless than I, that I may enjoy his teaching?”
I am Zarathustra the godless: where do I find mine equal? And all those are mine equals who give unto themselves their Will, and divest themselves of all submission.
I am Zarathustra the godless! I cook every chance in MY pot. And only when it hath been quite cooked do I welcome it as MY food.
And verily, many a chance came imperiously unto me: but still more imperiously did my WILL speak unto it, – then did it lie imploringly upon its knees —
– Imploring that it might find home and heart with me, and saying flatteringly: “See, O Zarathustra, how friend only cometh unto friend!” —
But why talk I, when no one hath MINE ears! And so will I shout it out unto all the winds:
Ye ever become smaller, ye small people! Ye crumble away, ye comfortable ones! Ye will yet perish —
– By your many small virtues, by your many small omissions, and by your many small submissions!
Too tender, too yielding: so is your soil! But for a tree to become GREAT, it seeketh to twine hard roots around hard rocks!
Also what ye omit weaveth at the web of all the human future; even your naught is a cobweb, and a spider that liveth on the blood of the future.
And when ye take, then is it like stealing, ye small virtuous ones; but even among knaves HONOUR saith that “one shall only steal when one cannot rob.”
“It giveth itself” – that is also a doctrine of submission. But I say unto you, ye comfortable ones, that IT TAKETH TO ITSELF, and will ever take more and more from you!
Ah, that ye would renounce all HALF-willing, and would decide for idleness as ye decide for action!
Ah, that ye understood my word: “Do ever what ye will – but first be such as CAN WILL.
Love ever your neighbour as yourselves – but first be such as LOVE THEMSELVES —
– Such as love with great love, such as love with great contempt!” Thus speaketh Zarathustra the godless. —
But why talk I, when no one hath MINE ears! It is still an hour too early for me here.
Mine own forerunner am I among this people, mine own cockcrow in dark lanes.
But THEIR hour cometh! And there cometh also mine! Hourly do they become smaller, poorer, unfruitfuller, – poor herbs! poor earth!
And SOON shall they stand before me like dry grass and prairie, and verily, weary of themselves – and panting for FIRE, more than for water!
O blessed hour of the lightning! O mystery before noontide! – Running fires will I one day make of them, and heralds with flaming tongues: —
– Herald shall they one day with flaming tongues: It cometh, it is nigh, THE GREAT NOONTIDE!
Thus spake Zarathustra.
L. ON THE OLIVE-MOUNT
Winter, a bad guest, sitteth with me at home; blue are my hands with his friendly hand-shaking.
I honour him, that bad guest, but gladly leave him alone. Gladly do I run away from him; and when one runneth WELL, then one escapeth him!
With warm feet and warm thoughts do I run where the wind is calm – to the sunny corner of mine olive-mount.
There do I laugh at my stern guest, and am still fond of him; because he cleareth my house of flies, and quieteth many little noises.
For he suffereth it not if a gnat wanteth to buzz, or even two of them; also the lanes maketh he lonesome, so that the moonlight is afraid there at night.
A hard guest is he, – but I honour him, and do not worship, like the tenderlings, the pot-bellied fire-idol.
Better even a little teeth-chattering than idol-adoration! – so willeth my nature. And especially have I a grudge against all ardent, steaming, steamy fire-idols.
Him whom I love, I love better in winter than in summer; better do I now mock at mine enemies, and more heartily, when winter sitteth in my house.
Heartily, verily, even when I CREEP into bed – : there, still laugheth and wantoneth my hidden happiness; even my deceptive dream laugheth.
I, a – creeper? Never in my life did I creep before the powerful; and if ever I lied, then did I lie out of love. Therefore am I glad even in my winter-bed.
A poor bed warmeth me more than a rich one, for I am jealous of my poverty. And in winter she is most faithful unto me.
With a wickedness do I begin every day: I mock at the winter with a cold bath: on that account grumbleth my stern house-mate.
Also do I like to tickle him with a wax-taper, that he may finally let the heavens emerge from ashy-grey twilight.
For especially wicked am I in the morning: at the early hour when the pail rattleth at the well, and horses neigh warmly in grey lanes: —
Impatiently do I then wait, that the clear sky may finally dawn for me, the snow-bearded winter-sky, the hoary one, the white-head, —
– The winter-sky, the silent winter-sky, which often stifleth even its sun!
Did I perhaps learn from it the long clear silence? Or did it learn it from me? Or hath each of us devised it himself?
Of all good things the origin is a thousandfold, – all good roguish things spring into existence for joy: how could they always do so – for once only!
A good roguish thing is also the long silence, and to look, like the winter-sky, out of a clear, round-eyed countenance: —
– Like it to stifle one’s sun, and one’s inflexible solar will: verily, this art and this winter-roguishness have I learnt WELL!
My best-loved wickedness and art is it, that my silence hath learned not to betray itself by silence.
Clattering with diction and dice, I outwit the solemn assistants: all those stern watchers, shall my will and purpose elude.
That no one might see down into my depth and into mine ultimate will – for that purpose did I devise the long clear silence.
Many a shrewd one did I find: he veiled his countenance and made his water muddy, that no one might see therethrough and thereunder.
But precisely unto him came the shrewder distrusters and nut-crackers: precisely from him did they fish his best-concealed fish!
But the clear, the honest, the transparent – these are for me the wisest silent ones: in them, so PROFOUND is the depth that even the clearest water doth not – betray it. —
Thou snow-bearded, silent, winter-sky, thou round-eyed whitehead above me! Oh, thou heavenly simile of my soul and its wantonness!
And MUST I not conceal myself like one who hath swallowed gold – lest my soul should be ripped up?
MUST I not wear stilts, that they may OVERLOOK my long legs – all those enviers and injurers around me?
Those dingy, fire-warmed, used-up, green-tinted, ill-natured souls – how COULD their envy endure my happiness!
Thus do I show them only the ice and winter of my peaks – and NOT that my mountain windeth all the solar girdles around it!
They hear only the whistling of my winter-storms: and know NOT that I also travel over warm seas, like longing, heavy, hot south-winds.
They commiserate also my accidents and chances: – but MY word saith: “Suffer the chance to come unto me: innocent is it as a little child!”
How COULD they endure my happiness, if I did not put around it accidents, and winter-privations, and bear-skin caps, and enmantling snowflakes!
– If I did not myself commiserate their PITY, the pity of those enviers and injurers!
– If I did not myself sigh before them, and chatter with cold, and patiently LET myself be swathed in their pity!
This is the wise waggish-will and good-will of my soul, that it CONCEALETH NOT its winters and glacial storms; it concealeth not its chilblains either.
To one man, lonesomeness is the flight of the sick one; to another, it is the flight FROM the sick ones.
Let them HEAR me chattering and sighing with winter-cold, all those poor squinting knaves around me! With such sighing and chattering do I flee from their heated rooms.
Let them sympathise with me and sigh with me on account of my chilblains: “At the ice of knowledge will he yet FREEZE TO DEATH!” – so they mourn.
Meanwhile do I run with warm feet hither and thither on mine olive-mount: in the sunny corner of mine olive-mount do I sing, and mock at all pity. —
Thus sang Zarathustra.