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Zoroastrian Heritage

Author: K. E. Eduljee

Contents

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Thus Spake Zarathushtra

Introduction

Prologue

Discourses

Part 1

1. The Three Metamorphoses

2. The Academic Chairs of Virtue

3. Backworldsmen

4. The Despisers of the Body

5. Joys and Passions

6. The Pale Criminal

7. Reading and Writing

8. The Tree on the Hill

9. The Preachers of Death

10. War and Warriors

11. The New Idol

12. The Flies in the Market-Place

13. Chastity

14. The Friend

15. The Thousand and One Goals

16. Neighbour Love

17. The Way of the Creating One

18. Old and Young Women

19. The Bite of the Adder

20. Child and Marriage

21. Voluntary Death

22. The Bestowing Virtue

Part 2

23. The Child with the Mirror

24. In the Happy Isles

25. The Pitiful

26. The Priests

27. The Virtuous

28. The Rabble

29. The Tarantulas

30. The Famous Wise People

31. The Night Song

32. The Dance Song

33. The Grave Song

34. Self-Overcoming

35. The Sublime Ones

36. The Land of Culture

37. Immaculate Perception

38. Scholars

39. Poets

40. Great Events

41. The Soothsayer

42. Redemption

43. Manly Prudence

44. The Stillest Hour

Part 3

45. The Wanderer

46. The Vision and the Enigma

47. Involuntary Bliss

48. Before Sunrise

49. The Bedwarfing Virtue

50. On the Olive-Mount

51. On Passing-by

52. The Apostates

53. The Return Home

54. The Three Evil Things

55. The Spirit of Gravity

56. Old and New Tables

57. The Convalescent

58. The Great Longing

59. The Second Dance-Song

60. The Seven Seals

Part 4

61. The Honey Sacrifice

62. The Cry of Distress

63. Talk with the Kings

64. The Leech

65. The Magician

66. Out of Service

67. The Ugliest Man

68. The Voluntary Beggar

69. The Shadow

70. Noon-Tide

71. The Greeting

72. The Supper

73. The Higher Man

74. The Song of Melancholy

75. Science

76. Among Daughters of the Desert

77. The Awakening

78. The Ass-Festival

79. The Drunken Song

80. The Sign

Part 1C. Discourses 11-16


» Suggested prior reading: Friedrich Nietzsche


11. The New Idol

Somewhere there are still peoples and herds, but not with us, my brethren: here there are states.

A state? What is that? Well! open now your ears to me, for now I will say to you my word concerning the death of peoples.

A state, is called the coldest of all cold monsters. Coldly lies it also; and this lie creeps from its mouth: "I, the state, am the people."

It is a lie! Creators were they who created peoples, and hung a faith and a love over them: thus they served life.

Destroyers, are they who lay snares for many, and call it the state: they hang a sword and a hundred cravings over them.

Where there is still a people, there the state is not understood, but hated as the evil eye, and as sin against laws and customs.

This sign I give to you: every people speaks its language of good and evil: this its neighbour understands not. Its language has it devised for itself in laws and customs.

But the state lies in all languages of good and evil; and whatever it said it lies; and whatever it has it has stolen.

False is everything in it; with stolen teeth it bites, the biting one. False are even its bowels.

Confusion of language of good and evil; this sign I give to you as the sign of the state. Verily, the will to death, indicates this sign! Verily, it beckons to the preachers of death!

Many too many are born: for the superfluous ones was the state devised!

See just how it entices them to it, the many-too-many! How it swallows and chews and rechews them!

"On earth there is nothing greater than I: it is I who am the regulating finger of God" – thus roars the monster. And not only the long-eared and short-sighted fall upon their knees!

Ah! even in your ears, you great souls, it whispers its gloomy lies! Ah! It finds out the rich hearts which willingly lavish themselves!

Yes, it finds you out too, you conquerors of the old God! Weary you became of the conflict, and now your weariness serves the new idol!

Heroes and honourable ones, it would gladly set up around it, the new idol! Gladly it basks in the sunshine of good consciences, – the cold monster!

Everything will it give you, if you worship it, the new idol: thus it purchases the lustre of your virtue, and the glance of your proud eyes.

It seeks to allure by means of you, the many-too-many. Yes, a hellish artifice has here been devised, a death-horse jingling with the trappings of divine honours!

Yes, a dying for many has here been devised, which glorifies itself as life: verily, a hearty service to all preachers of death!

The state, I call it, where all are poison-drinkers, the good and the bad: the state, where all lose themselves, the good and the bad: the state, where the slow suicide of all – is called "life."

Just see these superfluous ones! They steal the works of the inventors and the treasures of the wise. Culture, they call their theft – and everything becomes sickness and trouble to them!

Just see these superfluous ones! Sick are they always; they vomit their bile and call it a newspaper. They devour one another, and cannot even digest themselves.

Just see these superfluous ones! Wealth they acquire and become poorer thereby. Power they seek for, and above all, the lever of power, much money – these impotent ones!

See them clamber, these nimble apes! They clamber over one another, and thus scuffle into the mud of the abyss.

Towards the throne they all strive: it is their madness – as if happiness sat on the throne! Ofttimes sits filth on the throne – and ofttimes also the throne on filth.

Madmen they all seem to me, and clambering apes, and too eager. Badly smells their idol to me, the cold monster: badly they all smell to me, these idolaters.

My brethren, will you suffocate in the fumes of their maws and appetites! Better break the windows and jump into the open air!

Do go out of the way of the bad odour! Withdraw from the idolatry of the superfluous!

Do go out of the way of the bad odour! Withdraw from the steam of these human sacrifices!

Open still remains the earth for great souls. Empty are still many sites for lone ones and twain ones, around which floats the odour of the tranquil seas.

Open still remains a free life for great souls. Verily, he who possesses little is so much the less possessed: blessed be the moderate poverty!

There, where the state ceases – there only commences the human who is not superfluous: there commences the song of the necessary ones, the single and irreplaceable melody.

There, where the state ceases – pray look there, my brethren! Do you not see it, the rainbow and the bridges of the overman?

Thus spoke Zarathustra.


12. The Flies in the Market-Place

Flee, my friend, into your solitude! I see you deafened with the noise of the great people, and stung all over with the stings of the little ones.

Admirably do forest and rock know how to be silent with you. Resemble again the tree which you love, the broad-branched one – silently and attentively it over hangs the sea.

Where solitude ends, there begins the market-place; and where the market-place begins, there begins also the noise of the great actors, and the buzzing of the poison-flies.

In the world even the best things are worthless without those who represent them: those representers, the people call great people.

Little do the people understand what is great – that is to say, the creating agency. But they have a taste for all representers and actors of great things. Around the devisers of new values revolves the world – invisibly it revolves. But around the actors revolve the people and the glory. Such is the course of things.

Spirit, has the actor, but little conscience of the spirit. He believeth always in that wherewith he makes believe most strongly – in himself!

Tomorrow he has a new belief, and the day after, one still newer. Sharp perceptions has he, like the people, and changeable humours.

To upset – that means with him to prove. To drive mad – that means with him to convince. And blood is counted by him as the best of all arguments.

A truth which only glides into fine ears, he calls falsehood and trumpery. Verily, he believeth only in gods that make a great noise in the world!

Full of clattering buffoons is the market-place, – and the people glory in their great people! These are for them the masters of the hour.

But the hour presses them; so they press you. And also from you they want Yes or Nay. Alas! you would set your chair betwixt For and Against?

On account of those absolute and impatient ones, be not jealous, you lover of truth! Never yet did truth cling to the arm of an absolute one.

On account of those abrupt ones, return into your security: only in the market-place is one assailed by Yes? Or Nay?

Slow is the experience of all deep fountains: long have they to wait until they know what has fallen into their depths.

Away from the market-place and from fame takes place all that is great: away from the market-place and from fame have ever dwelt the devisers of new values. FLEE, my friend, into your solitude! I see you deafened with the noise of the great people, and stung all over with the stings of the little ones.

Forest and rock know how to be silent with you. Be like the tree which you love, the broad-branched one- silently and attentively it overhangs the sea.

Where solitude ends, there begins the market-place; and where the market-place begins, there begins also the noise of the great actors, and the buzzing of the poison-flies.

In the world even the best things are worthless without those who make a side-show of them: these showmen, the people call great people.

Little do the people understand what is great – that is to say, the creator. But they have a taste for all showmen and actors of great things.

Around the creators of new values revolves the world – invisibly it revolves. But around the actors revolve the people and the glory: such is the course of things.

The actor has spirit, but little conscience of the spirit. He always believes in that with which he most strongly inspires belief – in himself!

Tomorrow he has a new belief, and the day after, one still newer. Like the people, he has quick perceptions and fickle moods.

To defeat- that means for him: to prove. To drive to frenzy- that means for him: to convince. And blood is to him the best of all arguments.

A truth which glides only into refined ears, he calls falsehood and nothing. He believes only in gods that make a big noise in the world!

Full of clattering fools is the market-place,- and the people glory in their great people! These are for them the masters of the hour.

But the hour presses them; so they press you. And also from you they want Yes or No. Alas! Would you set your chair between Pro and Con?

Do not be jealous of those unyielding and impatient people, you lover of truth! Never yet did truth cling to the arm of the unyielding.

On account of those abrupt ones, return into your security: only in the market-place is one assailed by Yes? or No?

Slow is the experience of all deep fountains: long have they to wait until they know what has fallen into their depths.

Far away from the market-place and from fame happens all that is great: far away from the market-place and from fame have always dwelt the creators of new values.

Flee, my friend, into your solitude: I see you stung all over by the poisonous flies. Flee to where a rough, strong breeze blows!

Flee into your solitude! You have lived too closely to the small and the pitiful. Flee from their invisible vengeance! For you they have nothing but vengeance.

No longer raise your arm against them! They are innumerable, and it is not your task to shoo flies.

Innumerable are the small and pitiful ones; and rain-drops and weeds have been the ruin of many a proud structure.

You are not stone; but already have you become hollow from many drops. You will yet break and burst from the many drops.

I see you exhausted by poisonous flies; I see you bleeding and torn at a hundred spots; and your pride refuses even to be angry.

They would have blood from you in all innocence; blood is what bloodless souls crave- and therefore they sting in all innocence.

But you, profound one, you suffer too profoundly even from small wounds; and before you have healed, the same poison-worm crawls over your hand.

You are too proud to kill these gluttons. But take care lest it be your fate to suffer all their poisonous injustice!

They buzz around you also with their praise: obtrusiveness is their praise. They want to be close to your skin and your blood.

They flatter you, as one flatters a God or devil; they whimper before you, as before a God or devil; What does it come to! They are flatterers and whimperers, and nothing more.

Often, also, do they show themselves to the ass amiable ones. But that has always been the prudence of cowards. Yes! Cowards are wise!

They think much about you with their petty souls- you are always suspect to them! Whatever is much thought about is at last thought suspicious.

They punish you for all your virtues. They pardon you entirely- for your errors.

Because you are gentle and of honest character, you say: "Guiltless are they for their small existence." But their petty souls think: "Guilty is every great existence."

Even when you are gentle towards them, they still feel themselves despised by you; and they repay your beneficence with secret maleficence.

Your silent pride is always counter to their taste; they rejoice if once you are humble enough to be vain.

What we recognize in a person, we also irritate in him. Therefore be on your guard against the small ones!

In your presence they feel themselves small, and their baseness gleams and glows against you in invisible vengeance.

You did not see how often they became silent when you approached them, and how their energy left them like the smoke of a waning fire?

Yes, my friend, you are the bad conscience of your neighbours, for they are unworthy of you. Therefore they hate you, and would rather suck your blood.

Your neighbours will always be poisonous flies; what is great in you- that itself must make them more poisonous, and always more fly-like.

Flee, my friend, into your solitude- and there, where a rough strong breeze blows. It is not your lot to shoo flies.

Thus spoke Zarathustra.


13. Chastity

I LOVE the forest. It is bad to live in cities: there, there are too many of the lustful.

Is it not better to fall into the hands of a murderer than into the dreams of a lustful woman?

And just look at these people: their eye says it- they cannot conceive of anything better on earth than to lie with a woman.

Filth is at the bottom of their souls; and alas! if their filth still has spirit in it!

If only you were perfect- at least as animals! But to animals belongs innocence.

Do I counsel you to kill your instincts? I counsel you to innocence in your instincts.

Do I counsel you to chastity? Chastity is a virtue with some, but almost a vice with many.

They are chaste, to be sure: but the bitch, lust, looks enviously out of all that they do.

Even into the heights of their virtue and into their cold spirit does this creature follow them, with its discord.

And how nicely can the bitch, lust, beg for a piece of spirit, when a piece of flesh is denied it!

You love tragedies and all that breaks the heart? But I am distrustful of your bitch.

Your eyes are too cruel, and you seek lustfully for sufferers. Has not your lust just disguised itself and taken the name of pity?

And I give this parable to you: Many who tried to cast out their devil, went themselves into swine. To whom chastity is difficult, it is to be dissuaded: lest it become the road to hell- to filth and lust of soul.

Do I speak of filthy things? That is not the worst thing for me to do.

Not when the truth is filthy, but when it is shallow, does the discerning one go unwillingly into its waters.

There are some who are chaste from their very nature; they are gentler of heart, and laugh better and more often than you.

They laugh also at chastity, and ask: "What is chastity?

Is chastity not folly? But this folly came to us, and not we to it.

We offered that guest harbour and heart: now it dwells with us- let it stay as long as it will!"-

Thus spoke Zarathustra.


14. The Friend

"THERE is always one too many about me," thinks the hermit. "Always one and one- eventually that makes two!"

I and me are always too deeply in conversation: how could I endure it, if there were not a friend?

The friend of the hermit is always the third one: the third one is the float which prevents the conversation of the two from sinking into the depth.

Ah! There are too many depths for all hermits. Therefore, do they long so much for a friend and his height.

Our faith in others betrays that we would rather have faith in ourselves. Our longing for a friend is our betrayer. And often with our love we want merely to overcome envy. And often we attack and make ourselves enemies, to conceal that we are vulnerable.

"Be at least my enemy!" Thus speaks true reverence, which dares not ask for friendship.

If one would have a friend, then must one also be willing to wage war for him: and in order to wage war, one must be capable of being an enemy.

One ought still to honour the enemy in one's friend. Can you go near to your friend, and not go over to him?

In a friend one shall have one's best enemy. You shall be closest to him with your heart when you withstand him.

You would wear no raiment before your friend? It is in honour of your friend that you show yourself to him as you are? But he sends you to the devil for that!

He who makes no secret of himself shocks: so much reason have you to fear nakedness! Aye, if you were gods, you might then be ashamed of clothing!

You can not adorn yourself fine enough for your friend; for you shall be to him an arrow and a longing for the overman.

Did you ever see your friend asleep- and saw how he looks? What is the face of your friend? It is your own face, in a coarse and imperfect mirror.

Did you ever see your friend asleep? Were you not shocked that your friend looked like that? O my friend, humanity is something that must be overcome.

In guessing and keeping silent, the friend shall be a master: you must not want to see everything. Your dreams will tell you what your friend does when awake.

Let your pity be a guess: to know first if your friend wants pity. Perhaps he loves in you the unmoved eye, and the look of eternity.

Let your pity for your friend be hidden under a hard shell; you shall break a tooth on it. Thus it will have delicacy and sweetness.

Are you pure air and solitude and bread and medicine to your friend? Many a one cannot loosen his own chains, but can nevertheless free his friend.

Are you a slave? Then you cannot be a friend. Are you a tyrant? Then you cannot have friends.

Far too long have slave and tyrant been concealed in woman. On that account woman is not yet capable of friendship: she knows only love.

In woman's love there is injustice and blindness to all she does not love. And even in woman's conscious love, there is still always attack and lightning and night, along with the light.

As yet woman is not capable of friendship: women are still cats and birds. Or at best, cows.

As yet woman is not capable of friendship. But tell me, you people, who of you is capable of friendship?

Oh! Your poverty, you people, and your sparingness of soul! As much as you give to your friend, I will give even to my enemy, and will not become poorer for it.

There is comradeship: may there be friendship!

Thus spoke Zarathustra.


15. The Thousand and One Goals

Zarathustra saw many lands and many peoples: thus he discovered the good and evil of many peoples. No greater power did Zarathustra find on earth than good and evil.

No people could live without first valuing; if a people would preserve itself, however, it must not value as its neighbour values.

Much that passed for good with one people was regarded with scorn and contempt by another: thus I found it. Much I found here called evil, which was there decked with purple honours.

Never did the one neighbour understand the other: always did his soul marvel at his neighbour’s delusion and wickedness.

A tablet of the good hangs over every people. Behold, it is the tablet of their triumphs; behold, it is the voice of their Will to Power.

Laudable is all they think difficult; what is indispensable and difficult they call good; and what relieves in the direst distress, the unique and most difficult of all – they extol as sacred.

Whatever makes them rule and conquer and shine, to the dismay and envy of their neighbours, they regard as the highest and most important thing, the test and the meaning of all else.

My brother, if you only knew a people's need, its land, its sky, and its neighbour, then you would guess the law of its overcomings, and why it climbs up that ladder to its hope.

"Always shall you be the first and excel all others: your jealous soul shall love no one, except the friend" – that made the soul of a Greek thrill: thereby went he his way to greatness.

"To speak truth, and be skilful with bow and arrow"- so it seemed both pleasing and difficult to the people who gave me my name- the name which is both pleasing and difficult for me.

"To honour father and mother, and from the root of the soul to do their will"- this tablet of overcoming another people hung over them, and became powerful and permanent thereby.

"To be loyal, and for the sake of loyalty to risk honour and blood, even for evil and dangerous purposes"- teaching itself so, another people mastered itself, and thus mastering itself, became pregnant and heavy with great hopes.

People have given to themselves all their good and evil. They did not take it, they did not find it, it did not come to them as a voice from heaven.

Humanity assigned values to things in order to preserve itself- it alone created the meaning of things, a human meaning! Therefore, calls it itself "human," that is, the valuator.

Valuing is creating: hear it, you creators! Valuing itself is the treasure and jewel of all valued things.

Through valuation only is there value; and without valuation the nut of existence would be hollow. Hear it, you creators!

Change of values- that means, change of creators. Always he destroys, he who would be a creator.

Peoples were the first creators, and only in later times individuals; verily, the individual himself is the latest creation.

Peoples once hung over themselves law-tablets of the good. Love which would rule and love which would obey have created for themselves such law-tablets.

Pleasure in the herd is older than pleasure in the ego: and as long as the good conscience is for the herd, only the evil conscience says: "I".

The crafty ego, the loveless one that seeks its advantage in the advantage of many- it is not the origin of the herd, but its downfall.

It was always loving ones and creators that created good and evil. Fire of love glows in the names of all the virtues, and fire of wrath.

Zarathustra saw many lands, and many peoples: no greater power did Zarathustra find on earth than the creations of the loving ones- "good" and "evil" are their names.

A monster is this power of praising and blaming. Tell me, you brothers, who will master it for me? Who will yoke the thousand necks of this beast?

A thousand goals have there been so far, for a there have been a thousand peoples. Only the yoke for the thousand necks is still lacking; there is lacking the one goal. Humanity still has no goal.

But pray tell me, my brothers, if the goal of humanity is still lacking, is humanity itself- not also lacking?

Thus spoke Zarathustra.


16. Neighbour Love

YOU CROWD around your neighbour, and have fine words for it. But I say to you: your love of the neighbour is your bad love of yourselves.

You flee to your neighbour from yourselves, and would rather make a virtue of it: but I fathom your "unselfishness."

The you is older than the I; the you has been consecrated, but not yet the I: so a person presses near to her or his neighbour.

Do I advise you to love of the neighbour? Rather do I advise you to flight from the neighbour and to love of the farthest!

Higher than love of your neighbour is love of the farthest and future ones; higher still than love to people, is love to things and phantoms.

The phantom that runs on before you, my brother, is fairer than you; why do you not give to it your flesh and your bones? But you are afraid, and run to your neighbour.

You cannot endure yourselves and do not love yourselves sufficiently: so you seek to mislead your neighbour into love, to gild yourselves with his error.

If only you could not endure any kinds of neighbours; then you would have to create your friend and his overflowing heart out of yourselves.

You call in a witness when you want to speak well of yourselves; and when you have misled him to think well of you, you also think well of yourselves.

Not only does he lie, who speaks when he knows better, but more so, he who speaks when he knows nothing. And thus you speak of yourselves, and lie to your neighbour with yourselves.

Thus says the fool: "Association with people spoils the character, especially when one has none."

The one goes to his neighbour because he seeks himself, and the other because he would rather lose himself. Your bad love of yourselves makes solitude a prison to you.

It is the farthest ones who pay for your love to the near ones; and even when there are five of you together, there is always a sixth who must die.

I do not love your festivals either: I found too many actors there, and even the spectators often behaved like actors.

Not the neighbour do I teach you, but the friend. Let the friend be the festival of the earth to you, and a foretaste of the overman.

I teach you the friend and his overflowing heart. But one must know how to be a sponge, if one would be loved by over-flowing hearts.

I teach you the friend in whom the world stands complete, a capsule of the good,- the creating friend, who always has a complete world to give away.

And as the world unrolled itself for him, so rolls it together again for him in rings, as the becoming of good through evil, as the becoming of purpose out of chance.

Let the future and the farthest be the motive of your today; in your friend you shall love the overman as your motive.

My brothers, I advise you not to love of the neighbour- I advise you to love of the farthest!-

Thus spoke Zarathustra.


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» Next section: Part 1d. Discourses 17-22

» Suggested prior reading: Friedrich Nietzsche

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