Thus Spoke Zarathustra

hus sang the magician; and all who were present went like birds
unawares into the net of his artful and melancholy voluptuousness.
Only the spiritually conscientious one had not been caught: he at once
snatched the harp from the magician and called out: “Air! Let in good
air! Let in Zarathustra! Thou makest this cave sultry and poisonous,
thou bad old magician!

Thou seducest, thou false one, thou subtle one, to unknown desires and
deserts. And alas, that such as thou should talk and make ado about the
TRUTH!

Alas, to all free spirits who are not on their guard against SUCH
magicians! It is all over with their freedom: thou teachest and temptest
back into prisons,—

—Thou old melancholy devil, out of thy lament soundeth a lurement: thou
resemblest those who with their praise of chastity secretly invite to
voluptuousness!”

Thus spake the conscientious one; the old magician, however, looked
about him, enjoying his triumph, and on that account put up with the
annoyance which the conscientious one caused him. “Be still!” said he
with modest voice, “good songs want to re-echo well; after good songs
one should be long silent.

Thus do all those present, the higher men. Thou, however, hast perhaps
understood but little of my song? In thee there is little of the magic
spirit.”

“Thou praisest me,” replied the conscientious one, “in that thou
separatest me from thyself; very well! But, ye others, what do I see? Ye
still sit there, all of you, with lusting eyes—:

Ye free spirits, whither hath your freedom gone! Ye almost seem to me
to resemble those who have long looked at bad girls dancing naked: your
souls themselves dance!

In you, ye higher men, there must be more of that which the magician
calleth his evil spirit of magic and deceit:—we must indeed be
different.

And verily, we spake and thought long enough together ere Zarathustra
came home to his cave, for me not to be unaware that we ARE different.

We SEEK different things even here aloft, ye and I. For I seek more
SECURITY; on that account have I come to Zarathustra. For he is still
the most steadfast tower and will—

—To-day, when everything tottereth, when all the earth quaketh. Ye,
however, when I see what eyes ye make, it almost seemeth to me that ye
seek MORE INSECURITY,

—More horror, more danger, more earthquake. Ye long (it almost seemeth
so to me—forgive my presumption, ye higher men)—

—Ye long for the worst and dangerousest life, which frighteneth ME
most,—for the life of wild beasts, for forests, caves, steep mountains
and labyrinthine gorges.

And it is not those who lead OUT OF danger that please you best, but
those who lead you away from all paths, the misleaders. But if
such longing in you be ACTUAL, it seemeth to me nevertheless to be
IMPOSSIBLE.

For fear—that is man’s original and fundamental feeling; through fear
everything is explained, original sin and original virtue. Through fear
there grew also MY virtue, that is to say: Science.

For fear of wild animals—that hath been longest fostered in
man, inclusive of the animal which he concealeth and feareth in
himself:—Zarathustra calleth it ‘the beast inside.’

Such prolonged ancient fear, at last become subtle, spiritual and
intellectual—at present, me thinketh, it is called SCIENCE.”—

Thus spake the conscientious one; but Zarathustra, who had just come
back into his cave and had heard and divined the last discourse, threw a
handful of roses to the conscientious one, and laughed on account of
his “truths.” “Why!” he exclaimed, “what did I hear just now? Verily, it
seemeth to me, thou art a fool, or else I myself am one: and quietly and
quickly will I put thy ‘truth’ upside down.

For FEAR—is an exception with us. Courage, however, and adventure, and
delight in the uncertain, in the unattempted—COURAGE seemeth to me the
entire primitive history of man.

The wildest and most courageous animals hath he envied and robbed of all
their virtues: thus only did he become—man.

THIS courage, at last become subtle, spiritual and intellectual, this
human courage, with eagle’s pinions and serpent’s wisdom: THIS, it
seemeth to me, is called at present—”

“ZARATHUSTRA!” cried all of them there assembled, as if with one voice,
and burst out at the same time into a great laughter; there arose,
however, from them as it were a heavy cloud. Even the magician laughed,
and said wisely: “Well! It is gone, mine evil spirit!

And did I not myself warn you against it when I said that it was a
deceiver, a lying and deceiving spirit?

Especially when it showeth itself naked. But what can I do with regard
to its tricks! Have I created it and the world?

Well! Let us be good again, and of good cheer! And although Zarathustra
looketh with evil eye—just see him! he disliketh me—:

—Ere night cometh will he again learn to love and laud me; he cannot
live long without committing such follies.

HE—loveth his enemies: this art knoweth he better than any one I have
seen. But he taketh revenge for it—on his friends!”

Thus spake the old magician, and the higher men applauded him; so that
Zarathustra went round, and mischievously and lovingly shook hands with
his friends,—like one who hath to make amends and apologise to every
one for something. When however he had thereby come to the door of his
cave, lo, then had he again a longing for the good air outside, and for
his animals,—and wished to steal out.