No More Learning

I love him whose soul is so overfull that he for-
getteth himself, and all things are in him: thus all
things become his down-going.
I love him who is of a free spirit and a free
heart: thus is his head only the bowels of his heart;
his heart, however, causeth his down-going.
I love all who are like heavy drops falling one by
one out of the dark cloud that lowereth over man:
they herald the coming of the lightning, and
succumb as heralds.
Lo, I am a herald of the lightning, and a heavy
drop out of the cloud: the lightning, however, is
the Superman. —
5.
When Zarathustra had spoken these words, he
again looked at the people, and was silent. "There
they stand," said he to his heart; "there they
laugh: they understand me not; I am not the
mouth for these ears.
Must one first batter their ears, that they may
learn to hear with their eyes? Must one clatter like
kettledrums and penitential preachers? Or do they
only believe the stammerer?
They have something whereof they are proud.
What do they call it, that which maketh them


## p. 12 (#74) ##############################################

12 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
proud? Culture, they call it; it distinguisheth
them from the goatherds.
They dislike, therefore, to hear of' contempt' of
themselves. So I will appeal to their pride.
I will speak unto them of the most contemptible
thing: that, however, is the last man! "
And thus spake Zarathustra unto the people:
It is time for man to fix his goal. It is time for
man to plant the germ of his highest hope.
Still is his soil rich enough for it. But that soil
will one day be poor and exhausted, and no lofty
tree will any longer be able to grow thereon.
Alas! there cometh the time when man will no
longer launch the arrow of his longing beyond man
—and the string of his bow will have unlearned
to whizz!
I tell you: one must still have chaos in one, to
give birth to a dancing star. I tell you: ye have
still chaos in you.
Alas! There cometh the time when man will no
longer give birth to any star. Alas! There cometh
the time of the most despicable man, who can no
longer despise himself.
Lo! I show you the last man.
"What is love? What is creation? What is
longing? What is a star? "—so asketh the last
man and blinketh.
The earth hath then become small, and on it there
hoppeth the last man who maketh everything small.
His species is ineradicable like that of the ground-
flea; the last man liveth longest.
"We have discovered happiness"—say the last
men, and blink thereby.


## p. 13 (#75) ##############################################

ZARATHUSTRA'S PROLOGUE. 13
They have left the regions where it is hard to
live; for they need warmth. One still loveth one's
neighbour and rubbeth against him; for one needeth
warmth.
Turning ill and being distrustful, they consider
sinful: they walk warily. He is a fool who still
stumbleth over stones or men!
A little poison now and then: that maketh
pleasant dreams. And much poison at last for a
pleasant death.
One still worketh, for work is a pastime. But
one is careful lest the pastime should hurt one.
One no longer becometh poor or rich; both are
too burdensome. Who still wanteth to rule? Who
still wanteth to obey? Both are too burdensome.
No shepherd, and one herd! Every one want-
eth the same; every one is equal: he who hath
other sentiments goeth voluntarily into the mad-
house.
"Formerly all the world was insane,"—say the
subtlest of them, and blink thereby.
They are clever and know all that hath happened:
so there is no end to their raillery. People still fall
out, but are soon reconciled—otherwise it spoileth
their stomachs.
They have their little pleasures for the day, and
their little pleasures for the night: but they have
a regard for health.
"We have discovered happiness,"—say the last
men, and blink thereby. —
And here ended the first discourse of Zarathustra,
which is also called "The Prologue": for at this
point the shouting and mirth of the multitude


## p. 14 (#76) ##############################################

14 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
interrupted him. "Give us this last man, O Zara-
thustra,"—they called out—" make us into these
last men! Then will we make thee a present of
the Superman! " And all the people exulted and
smacked their lips. Zarathustra, however, turned
sad, and said to his heart:
"They understand me not: I am not the mouth
for these ears.
Too long, perhaps, have I lived in the mountains;
too much have I hearkened unto the brooks and
trees: now do I speak unto them as unto the
goatherds.
Calm is my soul, and clear, like the mountains in
the morning. But they think me cold, and a
mocker with terrible jests.
And now do they look at me and laugh: and
while they laugh they hate me too. There is ice
in their laughter. "
Then, however, something happened which made
every mouth mute and every eye fixed. In the
meantime, of course, the rope-dancer had com-
menced his performance: he had come out at a
little door, and was going along the rope which was
stretched between two towers, so that it hung above
the market-place and the people. When he was
just midway across, the little door opened once
more, and a gaudily-dressed fellow like a buffoon
sprang out, and went rapidly after the first one.
"Go on, halt-foot," cried his frightful voice, "go
on, lazy-bones, interloper, sallow-face! —lest I tickle
thee with my heel! What dost thou here between


## p. 15 (#77) ##############################################

zarathustra's prologue. 15
the towers? In the tower is the place for thee,
thou shouldst be locked up; to one better than
thyself thou blockest the way! "—And with every
word he came nearer and nearer the first one.
When, however, he was but a step behind, there
happened the frightful thing which made every
mouth mute and every eye fixed :—he uttered a yell
like a devil, and jumped over the other who was in
his way. The latter, however, when he thus saw
his rival triumph, lost at the same time his head
and his footing on the rope; he threw his pole
away, and shot downwards faster than it, like an
eddy of arms and legs, into the depth. The market-
place and the people were like the sea when the
storm cometh on: they all flew apart and in
disorder, especially where the body was about
to fall.
Zarathustra, however, remained standing, and
just beside him fell the body, badly injured and
disfigured, but not yet dead. After a while con-
sciousness returned to the shattered man, and he
saw Zarathustra kneeling beside him. "What art
thou doing there? " said he at last, " I knew long
ago that the devil would trip me up. Now he
draggeth me to hell: wilt thou prevent him? "
"On mine honour, my friend," answered Zara-
thustra, " there is nothing of all that whereof thou
speakest: there is no devil and no hell. Thy soul
will be dead even sooner than thy body: fear, there-
fore, nothing any more! "
The man looked up distrustfully. "If thou
speakest the truth," said he, " I lose nothing when
I lose my life. I am not much more than an


## p. 16 (#78) ##############################################

16
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
animal which hath been taught to dance by blows
and scanty fare. ”
“Not at all,” said Zarathustra, “thou hast made
danger thy calling; therein there is nothing con-
temptible. Now thou perishest by thy calling :
therefore will I bury thee with mine own hands. "
When Zarathustra had said this the dying one
did not reply further; but he moved his hand as if
he sought the hand of Zarathustra in gratitude.
Meanwhile the evening came on, and the market-
place veiled itself in gloom. Then the people dis-
persed, for even curiosity and terror become fatigued.
Zarathustra, however, still sat beside the dead
man on the ground, absorbed in thought: so he
forgot the time. But at last it became night, and
a cold wind blew upon the lonely one. Then arose
Zarathustra and said to his heart:
Verily, a fine catch of fish hath Zarathustra made
to-day! It is not a man he hath caught, but a
corpse.
Sombre is human life, and as yet without mean-
ing: a buffoon may be fateful to it.
I want to teach men the sense of their existence,
which is the Superman, the lightning out of the
dark cloud-man.
But still am I far from them, and my sense
speaketh not unto their sense. To men I am still
something between a fool and a corpse.
Gloomy is the night, gloomy are the ways of
Zarathustra. Come, thou cold and stiff companion!


## p. 17 (#79) ##############################################

ZARATHUSTRA'S PROLOGUE.
17
I carry thee to the place where I shall bury thee
with mine own hands.
8.
When Zarathustra had said this to his heart, he
put the corpse upon his shoulders and set out on
his way. Yet had he not gone a hundred steps,
when there stole a man up to him and whispered in
his ear—and lo! he that spake was the buffoon from
the tower. “Leave this town, O Zarathustra,” said he,
“there are too many here who hate thee. The good
and just hate thee, and call thee their enemy and
despiser ; the believers in the orthodox belief hate
thee, and call thee a danger to the multitude. It was
thy good fortune to be laughed at: and verily thou
spakest like a buffoon. It was thy good fortune to
associate with the dead dog ; by so humiliating
thyself thou hast saved thy life to-day. Depart,
however, from this town,—or to-morrow I shall
jump over thee, a living man over a dead one. ”
And when he had said this, the buffoon vanished;
Zarathustra, however, went on through the dark
streets.
At the gate of the town the grave-diggers met
him : they shone their torch on his face, and, re-
cognising Zarathustra, they sorely derided him.
“Zarathustra is carrying away the dead dog : a
fine thing that Zarathustra hath turned a grave-
digger! For our hands are too cleanly for that
roast. Will Zarathustra steal the bite from the
devil? Well then, good luck to the repast! If
only the devil is not a better thief than Zara-
thustra ! -he will steal them both, he will eat them
B


## p. 18 (#80) ##############################################

l8 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
both! " And they laughed among themselves, and
put their heads together.
Zarathustra made no answer thereto, but went
on his way. When he had gone on for two hours,
past forests and swamps, he had heard too much
of the hungry howling of the wolves, and he him-
self became a-hungry. So he halted at a lonely
house in which a light was burning.
"Hunger attacketh me," said Zarathustra, " like
a robber. Among forests and swamps my hunger
attacketh me, and late in the night.
"Strange humours hath my hunger. Often it
cometh to me only after a repast, and all day it
hath failed to come: where hath it been? "
And thereupon Zarathustra knocked at the door
of the house. An old man appeared, who carried
a light, and asked : " Who cometh unto me and my
bad sleep? "
"A living man and a dead one," said Zarathustra.
"Give me something to eat and drink, I forgot it
during the day. He that feedeth the hungry re-
fresheth his own soul, saith wisdom. "
The old man withdrew, but came back im-
mediately and offered Zarathustra bread and wine.
"A bad country for the hungry," said he; "that is
why I live here. Animal and man come unto me,
the anchorite. But bid thy companion eat and
drink also, he is wearier than thou. " Zarathustra
answered : " My companion is dead; I shall hardly
be able to persuade him to eat. " "That doth not
concern me," said the old man sullenly; "he that
knocketh at my door must take what I offer him.
Eat, and fare ye well! "—


## p. 19 (#81) ##############################################

ZARATHUSTRA'S PROLOGUE.
19
Thereafter Zarathustra again went on for two
hours, trusting to the path and the light of the
stars : for he was an experienced night-walker, and
liked to look into the face of all that slept. When
the morning dawned, however, Zarathustra found
himself in a thick forest, and no path was any
longer visible. He then put the dead man in a
hollow tree at his head-for he wanted to protect
him from the wolves—and laid himself down on
the ground and moss. And immediately he fell
asleep, tired in body, but with a tranquil soul.
9.
Long slept Zarathustra; and not only the rosy
dawn passed over his head, but also the morning.
At last, however, his eyes opened, and amazedly he
gazed into the forest and the stillness, amazedly he
gazed into himself. Then he arose quickly, like a
seafarer who all at once seeth the land; and he
shouted for joy: for he saw a new truth. And he
spake thus to his heart :
A light hath dawned upon me: I need com-
panions—living ones; not dead companions and
corpses, which I carry with me where I will.
But I need living companions, who will follow
me because they want to follow themselves—and
to the place where I will.
A light hath dawned upon me. Not to the
people is Zarathustra to speak, but to companions !
Zarathustra shall not be the herd's herdsman and
hound!
To allure many from the herd--for that purpose
hot dead core I will follow


## p. 20 (#82) ##############################################

20 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
have I come. The people and the herd must be
angry with me: a robber shall Zarathustra be
called by the herdsmen.
Herdsmen, I say, but they call themselves the
good and just. Herdsmen, I say, but they call
themselves the believers in the orthodox belief.
Behold the good and just! Whom do they
hate most? Him who breaketh up their tables of
values, the breaker, the law-breaker :—he, however,
is the creator.
Behold the believers of all beliefs! Whom do
they hate most? Him who breaketh up their tables
of values, the breaker, the law-breaker:—he, how-
ever, is the creator.
Companions, the creator seeketh, not corpses—
and not herds or believers either. Fellow-creators
the creator seeketh—those who grave new values
on new tables.
Companions, the creator seeketh, and fellow-
reapers: for everything is ripe for the harvest with
him. But he lacketh the hundred sickles: so he
plucketh the ears of corn and is vexed.
Companions, the creator seeketh, and such as
know how to whet their sickles. Destroyers, will
they be called, and despisers of good and evil. But
they are the reapers and rejoicers.
Fellow-creators, Zarathustra seeketh; fellow-
reapers and fellow-rejoicers, Zarathustra seeketh:
what hath he to do with herds and herdsmen and
corpses!
And thou, my first companion, rest in peace!
Well have I buried thee in thy hollow tree; well
have I hid thee from the wolves.


## p. 21 (#83) ##############################################

zarathustra's PROLOGUE. 21
But I part from thee; the time hath arrived.
'Twixt rosy dawn and rosy dawn there came unto
me a new truth.
I am not to be a herdsman, I am not to be a
grave-digger. Not any more will I discourse unto
the people; for the last time have I spoken unto
the dead.
With the creators, the reapers, and the rejoicers
will I associate: the rainbow will I show them, and
all the stairs to the Superman.
To the lone-dwellers will I sing my song, and to
the twain-dwellers; and unto him who hath still
ears for the unheard, will I make the heart heavy
with my happiness.
I make for my goal, I follow my course; over
the loitering and tardy will I leap. Thus let my
on-going be their down-going!
10.
This had Zarathustra said to his heart when the
sun stood at noon-tide. Then he looked inquiringly
aloft,—for he heard above him the sharp call of a
bird. And behold! An eagle swept through the
air in wide circles, and on it hung a serpent, not
like a prey, but like a friend: for it kept itself coiled
round the eagle's neck.
"They are mine animals," said Zarathustra, and
rejoiced in his heart.
"The proudest animal under the sun, and the
wisest animal under the sun,—they have come out
to reconnoitre.
They want to know whether Zarathustra still
liveth. Verily, do I still live?


## p. 22 (#84) ##############################################

22
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
More dangerous have I found it among men than
among animals; in dangerous paths goeth Zara-
thustra. Let mine animals lead me! ”
When Zarathustra had said this, he remembered
the words of the saint in the forest. Then he
sighed and spake thus to his heart:
“Would that I were wiser! Would that I were
wise from the very heart, like my serpent !
But I am asking the impossible. Therefore do
I ask my pride to go always with my wisdom !
And if my wisdom should some day forsake me:
-alas! it loveth to fly away ! -may my pride then
fly with my folly! ”
Thus began Zarathustra's down-going.


## p. 23 (#85) ##############################################

ZARATHUSTRA'S DISCOURSES.


## p. 24 (#86) ##############################################

A
—-


## p. 25 (#87) ##############################################

I. —THE THREE METAMORPHOSES.
Three metamorphoses of the spirit do I desig-
nate to you: how the spirit becometh a camel, the
camel a lion, and the lion at last a child.
Many heavy things are there for the spirit, the
strong load-bearing spirit in which reverence
dwelleth: for the heavy and the heaviest longeth
its strength.
What is heavy? so asketh the load-bearing spirit;
then kneeleth it down like the camel, and wanteth
to be well laden.
What is the heaviest thing, ye heroes? asketh
the load-bearing spirit, that I may take it upon me
and rejoice in my strength.
Is it not this: To humiliate oneself in order to
mortify one's pride? To exhibit one's folly in
order to mock at one's wisdom?
Or is it this: To desert our cause when it cele-
brateth its triumph? To ascend high mountains
to tempt the tempter?
Or is it this: To feed on the acorns and grass of
knowledge, and for the sake of truth to suffer
hunger of soul?
Or is it this: To be sick and dismiss comforters,
and make friends of the deaf, who never hear thy
requests?
Or is it this: To go into foul water when it is the


## p. 26 (#88) ##############################################

26
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
water of truth, and not disclaim cold frogs and hot
toads ?
Or is it this: To love those who despise us, and
give one's hand to the phantom when it is going
to frighten us?
All these heaviest things the load-bearing spirit
taketh upon itself: and like the camel, which, when
laden, hasteneth into the wilderness, so hasteneth
the spirit into its wilderness.
But in the loneliest wilderness happeneth the
second metamorphosis : here the spirit becometh
a lion; freedom will it capture, and lordship in its
own wilderness.
Its last Lord it here seeketh: hostile will it be to
him, and to its last God; for victory will it struggle
with the great dragon.
· What is the great dragon which the spirit is no
longer inclined to call Lord and God? “Thou-shalt,"
is the great dragon called. But the spirit of the
lion saith, “I will. ”
“Thou-shalt,” lieth in its path, sparkling with
gold—a scale-covered beast; and on every scale
glittereth golden, “Thou shalt ! ”.
The values of a thousand years glitter on those
scales, and thus speaketh the mightiest of all
dragons : “All the values of things-glitter on me.
All values have already been created, and all
created values — do I represent. Verily, there
shall be no ‘I will’any more. ” Thus speaketh the
dragon.
My brethren, wherefore is there need of the lion
in the spirit? Why sufficeth not the beast of
burden, which renounceth and is reverent?


## p. 27 (#89) ##############################################

I. —THE THREE METAMORPHOSES. 27
To create new values—that, even the lion cannot
yet accomplish: but to create itself freedom for
new creating—that can the might of the lion do.
To create itself freedom, and give a holy Nay
even unto duty: for that, my brethren, there is
need of the lion.
To assume the right to new values—that is the
most formidable assumption for a load-bearing
and reverent spirit. Verily, unto such a spirit it
is preying, and the work of a beast of prey.
As its holiest, it once loved "Thou-shalt": now
is it forced to find illusion and arbitrariness even
in the holiest things, that it may capture free-
dom from its love: the lion is needed for this
capture.
But tell me, my brethren, what the child can do,
which even the lion could not do? Why hath the
preying lion still to become a child?
Innocence is the child, and forgetfulness, a new
beginning, a game, a self-rolling wheel, a first
movement, a holy Yea.
Aye, for the game of creating, my brethren,
there is needed a holy Yea unto life: its own will,
willeth now the spirit; his own world winneth the
world's outcast.
Three metamorphoses of the spirit have I
designated to you: how the spirit became a
camel, the camel a lion, and the lion at last a
child. —
Thus spake Zarathustra. And at that time he
abode in the town which is called The Pied Cow.


## p. 28 (#90) ##############################################

28 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
II. —THE ACADEMIC CHAIRS OF
VIRTUE.
People commended unto Zarathustra a wise man,
as one who could discourse well about sleep and
virtue: greatly was he honoured and rewarded for
it, and all the youths sat before his chair. To him
went Zarathustra, and sat among the youths before
his chair. And thus spake the wise man:
Respect and modesty in presence of sleep! That
is the first thing! And to go out of the way of all
who sleep badly and keep awake at night!
Modest is even the thief in presence of sleep: he
always stealeth softly through the night. Immodest,
however, is the night-watchman; immodestly he
carrieth his horn.
No small art is it to sleep: it is necessary for that
purpose to keep awake all day.
Ten times a day must thou overcome thyself: that
causeth wholesome weariness, and is poppy to the
soul.
Ten times must thou reconcile again with thyself;
for overcoming is bitterness, and badly sleep the
unreconciled.
Ten truths must thou find during the day; other-
wise wilt thou seek truth during the night, and thy
soul will have been hungry.
Ten times must thou laugh during the day, and
be cheerful; otherwise thy stomach, the father of
affliction, will disturb thee in the night
.
Few people know it, but one must have all the
virtues in order to sleep well. Shall I bear false
witness? Shall I commit adultery?


## p. 29 (#91) ##############################################

II. —THE ACADEMIC CHAIRS OF VIRTUE. 29
Shall I covet my neighbour's maidservant? All
that would ill accord with good sleep.
And even if one have all the virtues, there is still
one thing needful: to send the virtues themselves
to sleep at the right time.
That they may not quarrel with one another, the
good females! And about thee, thou unhappy one!
Peace with God and thy neighbour: so desireth
good sleep. And peace also with thy neighbour's
devil! Otherwise it will haunt thee in the night.
Honour to the government, and obedience, and
also to the crooked government! So desireth good
sleep. How can I help it, if power like to walk
on crooked legs?
He who leadeth his sheep to the greenest pasture,
shall always be for me the best shepherd: so doth
it accord with good sleep.
Many honours I want not, nor great treasures:
they excite the spleen. But it is bad sleeping
without a good name and a little treasure.
A small company is more welcome to me than a
bad one: but they must come and go at the right
time. So doth it accord with good sleep.
Well, also, do the poor in spirit please me: they
promote sleep. Blessed are they, especially if one
always give in to them.
Thus passeth the day unto the virtuous. When
night cometh, then take I good care not to summon
sleep. It disliketh to be summoned—sleep, the
lord of the virtues!
But I think of what I have done and thought
during the day. Thus ruminating, patient as a cow,
I ask myself: What were thy ten overcomings?


## p. 30 (#92) ##############################################

30 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
And what were the ten reconciliations, and the
ten truths, and the ten laughters with which my
heart enjoyed itself?
Thus pondering, and cradled by forty thoughts,
it overtaketh me all at once—sleep, the unsum-
moned, the lord of the virtues.
Sleep tappeth on mine eye, and it turneth heavy.
Sleep toucheth my mouth, and it remaineth open.
Verily, on soft soles doth it come to me, the
dearest of thieves, and stealeth from me my
thoughts: stupid do I then stand, like this
academic chair.
But not much longer do I then stand: I already
lie-
When Zarathustra heard the wise man thus
speak, he laughed in his heart: for thereby had a
light dawned upon him. And thus spake he to his
heart:
A fool seemeth this wise man with his forty
thoughts: but I believe he knoweth well how to
sleep.
Happy even is he who liveth near this wise
man! Such sleep is contagious—even through a
thick wall it is contagious.
A magic resideth even in his academic chair.
And not in vain did the youths sit before the
preacher of virtue.
His wisdom is to keep awake in order to
sleep well. And verily, if life had no sense,
and had I to choose nonsense, this would be the
desirablest nonsense for me also.
Now know I well what people sought formerly
above all else when they sought teachers of virtue.


## p. 31 (#93) ##############################################

II. —THE ACADEMIC CHAIRS OF VIRTUE. 31
Good sleep they sought for themselves, and poppy-
head virtues to promote it!
To all those belauded sages of the academic
chairs, wisdom was sleep without dreams: they
knew no higher significance of life.
Even at present, to be sure, there are some like
this preacher of virtue, and not always so honour-
able: but their time is past. And not much longer
do they stand: there they already lie.
Blessed are those drowsy ones: for they shall
soon nod to sleep. —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
III. —BACKWORLDSMEN.
Once on a time, Zarathustra also cast his fancy
beyond man, like all backworldsmen. The work
of a suffering and tortured God, did the world then
seem to me.
The dream—and diction—of a God, did the world
then seem to me; coloured vapours before the eyes
of a divinely dissatisfied one.
Good and evil, and joy and woe, and I and thou—
coloured vapours did they seem to me before crea-
tive eyes. The creator wished to look away from
himself,—thereupon he created the world.
Intoxicating joy is it for the sufferer to look
away from his suffering and forget himself. In-
toxicating joy and self-forgetting, did the world
once seem to me.
This world, the eternally imperfect, an eternal


## p. 31 (#94) ##############################################

22 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
More dangerous have I found it among men than
among animals; in dangerous paths goeth Zara-
thustra. Let mine animals lead me! "
When Zarathustra had said this, he remembered
the words of the saint in the forest. Then he
sighed and spake thus to his heart:
"Would that I were wiser! Would that I were
wise from the very heart, like my serpent!
But I am asking the impossible. Therefore do
I ask my pride to go always with my wisdom!
And if my wisdom should some day forsake me:
—alas! it loveth to fly away! —may my pride then
fly with my folly! "
Thus began Zarathustra's down-going.



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ZARATHUSTRA'S DISCOURSES.


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I. —THE THREE METAMORPHOSES.
Three metamorphoses of the spirit do I desig-
nate to you: how the spirit becometh a camel, the
camel a lion, and the lion at last a child.
Many heavy things are there for the spirit, the
strong load-bearing spirit in which reverence
dwelleth: for the heavy and the heaviest longeth
its strength.
What is heavy? so asketh the load-bearing spirit;
then kneeleth it down like the camel, and wanteth
to be well laden.
What is the heaviest thing, ye heroes? asketh
the load-bearing spirit, that I may take it upon me
and rejoice in my strength.
Is it not this: To humiliate oneself in order to
mortify one's pride? To exhibit one's folly in
order to mock at one's wisdom?
Or is it this: To desert our cause when it cele-
brateth its triumph? To ascend high mountains
to tempt the tempter?
Or is it this: To feed on the acorns and grass of
knowledge, and for the sake of truth to suffer
hunger of soul?
Or is it this: To be sick and dismiss comforters,
and make friends of the deaf, who never hear thy
requests?
Or is it this: To go into foul water when it is the


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26 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
water of truth, and not disclaim cold frogs and hot
toads?
Or is it this: To love those who despise us, and
give one's hand to the phantom when it is going
to frighten us?
All these heaviest things the load-bearing spirit
taketh upon itself: and like the camel, which, when
laden, hasteneth into the wilderness, so hasteneth
the spirit into its wilderness.
But in the loneliest wilderness happeneth the
second metamorphosis: here the spirit becometh
a lion; freedom will it capture, and lordship in its
own wilderness.
Its last Lord it here seeketh: hostile will it be to
him, and to its last God; for victory will it struggle
with the great dragon.
What is the great dragon which the spirit is no
longer inclined to call Lord and God? "Thou-shalt,"
is the great dragon called. But the spirit of the
lion saith, " I will. "
"Thou-shalt," lieth in its path, sparkling with
gold—a scale-covered beast; and on every scale
glittereth golden, "Thou shalt! "
The values of a thousand years glitter on those
scales, and thus speaketh the mightiest of all
dragons : " All the values of things—glitter on me.
All values have already been created, and all
created values — do I represent. Verily, there
shall be no ' I will' any more. " Thus speaketh the
dragon.
My brethren, wherefore is there need of the lion
in the spirit?