No More Learning

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.


## p. 31 (#96) ##############################################



## p. 31 (#97) ##############################################

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? Why sufficeth not the beast of
burden, which renounceth and is reverent?


## p. 31 (#99) ##############################################

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.


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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. 31 (#101) #############################################

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?


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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.


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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


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32 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
contradiction's image and imperfect image—an
intoxicating joy to its imperfect creator:—thus did
the world once seem to me.
Thus, once on a time, did I also cast my fancy
beyond man, like all backworldsmen. Beyond
man, forsooth?
Ah, ye brethren, that God whom I created was
human work and human madness, like all the
Gods!
A man was he, and only a poor fragment of a
man and ego. Out of mine own ashes and glow it
came unto me, that phantom. And verily, it came
not unto me from the beyond!
What happened, my brethren? I surpassed
myself, the suffering one; I carried mine own ashes
to the mountain; a brighter flame I contrived for
myself. And lo! Thereupon the phantom with-
drew from me!
To me the convalescent would it now be suffer-
ing and torment to believe in such phantoms:
suffering would it now be to me, and humiliation.
Thus speak I to backworldsmen.
Suffering was it, and impotence—that created all
backworlds; and the short madness of happiness,
which only the greatest sufferer experienceth.
Weariness, which seeketh to get to the ultimate
with one leap, with a death-leap; a poor ignorant
weariness, unwilling even to will any longer: that
created all Gods and backworlds.
Believe me, my brethren! It was the body
which despaired of the body—it groped with the
fingers of the infatuated spirit at the ultimate walls.
Believe me, my brethren! It was the body which



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III. —BACKWORLDSMEN. 33
despaired of the earth—it heard the bowels of
existence speaking unto it.
And then it sought to get through the ultimate
walls with its head—and not with its head only—
into " the other world. "
But that "other world" is well concealed from
man, that dehumanised, inhuman world, which is
a celestial naught; and the bowels of existence
do not speak unto man, except as man.
Verily, it is difficult to prove all being, and hard
to make it speak. Tell me, ye brethren, is not
the strangest of all things best proved?
Yea, this ego, with its contradiction and per-
plexity, speaketh most uprightly of its being—this
creating, willing, evaluing ego, which is the measure
and value of things.
And this most upright existence, the ego—it
speaketh of the body, and still implieth the body,
even when it museth and raveth and fluttereth with
broken wings.
Always more uprightly learneth it to speak, the
ego; and the more it learneth, the more doth it find
titles and honours for the body and the earth.
A new pride taught me mine ego, and that teach
I unto men: no longer to thrust the head into the
sand of celestial things, but to carry it freely, a
terrestrial head, which giveth meaning to the
earth!
A new will teach I unto men: to choose that
path which man hath followed blindly, and to
approve of it—and no longer to slink aside from
it, like the sick and perishing!
The sick and perishing—it was they who despised
c


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34 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
the body and the earth, and invented the heavenly
world, and the redeeming blood-drops; but even
those sweet and sad poisons they borrowed from
the body and the earth!
From their misery they sought escape, and the
stars were too remote for them. Then they sighed:
"O that there were heavenly paths by which to
steal into another existence and into happiness! "
Then they contrived for themselves their by-paths
and bloody draughts!
Beyond the sphere of their body and this earth
they now fancied themselves transported, these
ungrateful ones. But to what did they owe the
convulsion and rapture of their transport? To
their body and this earth.
Gentle is Zarathustra to the sickly. Verily, he
is not indignant at their modes of consolation
and ingratitude. May they become convalescents
and overcomers, and create higher bodies for
themselves!
Neither is Zarathustra indignant at a convalescent
who looketh tenderly on his delusions, and at mid-
night stealeth round the grave of his God; but
sickness and a sick frame remain even in his
tears.
Many sickly ones have there always been among
those who muse, and languish for God ; violently
they hate the discerning ones, and the latest of
virtues, which is uprightness.
Backward they always gaze toward dark ages:
then, indeed, were delusion and faith something
different. Raving of the reason was likeness to
God, and doubt was sin.


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III. —BACKWORLDSMEN. 35
Too well do I know those godlike ones: they
insist on being believed in, and that doubt is sin.
Too well, also, do I know what they themselves
most believe in.
Verily, not in backworlds and redeeming blood-
drops: but in the body do they also believe most;
and their own body is for them the thing-in-itself.
But it is a sickly thing to them, and gladly would
they get out of their skin. Therefore hearken they
to the preachers of death, and themselves preach
backworlds.
Hearken rather, my brethren, to the voice of the
healthy body; a more upright and pure voice
is it.
More uprightly and purely speaketh the healthy
body, perfect and square-built; and it speaketh of
the meaning of the earth. —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
IV. —THE DESPISERS OF THE BODY.
To the despisers of the body will I speak my
word. I wish them neither to learn afresh, nor
teach anew, but only to bid farewell to their own
bodies,—and thus be dumb.
"Body am I, and soul"—so saith the child.
And
why should one not speak like children?
But the awakened one, the knowing one, saith:
"Body am I entirely, and nothing more; and soul
is only the name of something in the body. "
The body is a big sagacity, a plurality with one
sense, a war and a peace, a flock and a shepherd.


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THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
An instrument of thy body is also thy little
sagacity, my brother, which thou callest " spirit"—
a little instrument and plaything of thy big
sagacity.
"Ego," sayest thou, and art proud of that word.
But the greater thing—in which thou art unwilling
to believe—is thy body with its big sagacity; it
saith not "ego," but doeth it.
What the sense feeleth, what the spirit discerneth,
hath never its end in itself. But sense and spirit
would fain persuade thee that they are the end of
all things: so vain are they.
Instruments and playthings are sense and spirit:
behind them there is still the Self. The Self seeketh
with the eyes of the senses, it hearkeneth also with
the ears of the spirit.
Ever hearkeneth the Self, and seeketh; it com-
pareth, mastereth, conquereth, and destroyeth. It
ruleth, and is also the ego's ruler.
Behind thy thoughts and feelings, my brother,
there is a mighty lord, an unknown sage—it is
called Self; it dwelleth in thy body, it is thy
body.
There is more sagacity in thy body than in thy
best wisdom. And who then knoweth why thy
body requireth just thy best wisdom?
Thy Self laugheth at thine ego, and its proud
prancings. "What are these prancings and flights
of thought unto me? " it saith to itself. "A by-way
to my purpose. I am the leading-string of the ego,
and the prompter of its notions. "
The Self saith unto the ego: "Feel pain! " And
thereupon it suffereth, and thinketh how it may


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IV. —THE DESPISERS OF THE BODY. yj
put an end thereto—and for that very purpose it is
meant to think.
The Self saith unto the ego: "Feel pleasure! "
Thereupon it rejoiceth, and thinketh how it may
ofttimes rejoice—and for that very purpose it is
meant to think.
To the despisers of the body will I speak a word.
That they despise is caused by their esteem.
What is it that created esteeming and despising
and worth and will?
The creating Self created for itself esteeming and
despising, it created for itself joy and woe. The
creating body created for itself spirit, as a hand to
its will.
Even in your folly and despising ye each serve
your Self, ye despisers of the body. I tell you, your
very Self wanteth to die, and turneth away from
life.
No longer can your Self do that which it desireth
most:—create beyond itself. That is what it
desireth most; that is all its fervour.
But it is now too late to do so:—so your Self
wisheth to succumb, ye despisers of the body.
To succumb—so wisheth your Self; and there-
fore have ye become despisers of the body. For
ye can no longer create beyond yourselves.
And therefore are ye now angry with life and
with the earth. And unconscious envy is in the
sidelong look of your contempt.
I go not your way, ye despisers of the body!
Ye are no bridges for me to the Superman! —
Thus spake Zarathustra.


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36 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
. '
An instrument of thy body is also thy little
sagacity, my brother, which thou callest " spirit"—
a little instrument and plaything of thy big
sagacity.
"Ego," sayest thou, and art proud of that word.
But the greater thing—in which thou art unwilling
to believe—is thy body with its big sagacity; it
saith not "ego," but doeth it.
What the sense feeleth, what the spirit discerneth,
hath never its end in itself. But sense and spirit
would fain persuade thee that they are the end of
all things: so vain are they.
Instruments and playthings are sense and spirit:
behind them there is still the Self. The Self seeketh
with the eyes of the senses, it hearkeneth also with
the ears of the spirit.
Ever hearkeneth the Self, and seeketh; it com-
pareth, mastereth, conquereth, and destroyeth. It
ruleth, and is also the ego's ruler.
Behind thy thoughts and feelings, my brother,
there is a mighty lord, an unknown sage—it is
called Self; it dwelleth in thy body, it is thy
body.
There is more sagacity in thy body than in thy
best wisdom. And who then knoweth why thy
body requireth just thy best wisdom?
Thy Self laugheth at thine ego, and its proud
prancings. "What are these prancings and flights
of thought unto me? " it saith to itself. "A by-way
to my purpose. I am the leading-string of the ego,
and the prompter of its notions. "
The Self saith unto the ego: "Feel pain! " And
thereupon it suffereth, and thinketh how it may


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IV. —THE DESPISERS OF THE BODY. 37
put an end thereto—and for that very purpose it is
meant to think.
The Self saith unto the ego: "Feel pleasure! "
Thereupon it rejoiceth, and thinketh how it may
ofttimes rejoice—and for that very purpose it is
meant to think.
To the despisers of the body will I speak a word.
That they despise is caused by their esteem.
What is it that created esteeming and despising
and worth and will?
The creating Self created for itself esteeming and
despising, it created for itself joy and woe. The
creating body created for itself spirit, as a hand to
its will.
Even in your folly and despising ye each serve
your Self, ye despisers of the body. I tell you, your
very Self wanteth to die, and turneth away from
life.
No longer can your Self do that which it desireth
most:—create beyond itself. That is what it
desireth most; that is all its fervour.
But it is now too late to do so:—so your Self
wisheth to succumb, ye despisers of the body.
To succumb—so wisheth your Self; and there-
fore have ye become despisers of the body. For
ye can no longer create beyond yourselves.
And therefore are ye now angry with life and
with the earth. And unconscious envy is in the
sidelong look of your contempt.
I go not your way, ye despisers of the body!
Ye are no bridges for me to the Superman! —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
. -


## p. 38 (#112) #############################################

38 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
V. —JOYS AND PASSIONS.
My brother, when thou hast a virtue, and it is
thine own virtue, thou hast it in common with
no one.
To be sure, thou wouldst call it by name and
caress it; thou wouldst pull its ears and amuse thy-
self with it.
And lo! Then hast thou its name in common
with the people, and hast become one of the people
and the herd with thy virtue!
Better for thee to say: "Ineffable is it, and
nameless, that which is pain and sweetness to my
soul, and also the hunger of my bowels. "
Let thy virtue be too high for the familiarity of
names, and if thou must speak of it, be not ashamed
to stammer about it.
Thus speak arid stammer: "That is my good,
that do I love, thus doth it please me entirely, thus
only do / desire the good.
Not as the law of a God do I desire it, not as a
human law or a human need do I desire it; it is
not to be a guide-post for me to superearths and
paradises.
An earthly virtue, is it which I love: little pru-
dence is therein, and the least everyday wisdom.
But that bird built its nest beside me: therefore,
I love and cherish it—now sitteth it beside me on
its golden eggs. "
Thus shouldst thou stammer, and praise thy
virtue.
Once hadst thou passions and calledst them evil.


## p. 39 (#113) #############################################

V. —JOYS AND PASSIONS. 39
But now hast thou only thy virtues: they grew out
of thy passions.
Thou implantedst thy highest aim into the heart
of those passions: then became they thy virtues
and joys.
And though thou wert of the race of the hot-
tempered, or of the voluptuous, or of the fanatical,
or the vindictive;
All thy passions in the end became virtues, and
all thy devils angels.
Once hadst thou wild dogs in thy cellar: but
they changed at last into birds and charming song-
stresses.
Out of thy poisons brewedst thou balsam for
thyself; thy cow, affliction, milkedst thou—now
drinketh thou the sweet milk of her udder.
And nothing evil groweth in thee any longer,
unless it be the evil that groweth out of the conflict
of thy virtues.
My brother, if thou be fortunate, then wilt thou
have one virtue and no more: thus goest thou
easier over the bridge.
Illustrious is it to have many virtues, but a hard
lot; and many a one hath gone into the wilderness
and killed himself, because he was weary of being
the battle and battlefield of virtues.
My brother, are war and battle evil? Necessary,
however, is the evil; necessary are the envy and
the distrust and the backbiting among the virtues.
Lo! how each of thy virtues is covetous of the
highest place; it wanteth thy whole spirit to be its
herald, it wanteth thy whole power, in wrath, hatred,
and love.


## p. 40 (#114) #############################################

40
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
Jealous is every virtue of the others, and a
dreadful thing is jealousy. Even virtues may suc-
cumb by jealousy.
He whom the fame of jealousy encompasseth,
turneth at last, like the scorpion, the poisoned sting
against himself.
Ah! my brother, hast thou never seen a virtue
backbite and stab itself?
Man is something that hath to be surpassed : and
therefore shalt thou love thy virtues,—for thou wilt
succumb by them. -
Thus spake Zarathustra.
VI. -THE PALE CRIMINAL.
Ye do not mean to slay, ye judges and sacrificers,
until the animal hath bowed its head. Lo! the
pale criminal hath bowed his head: out of his eye
speaketh the great contempt.
“Mine ego is something which is to be surpassed :
mine ego is to me the great contempt of man":
so speaketh it out of that eye.
When he judged himself—that was his supreme
moment ; let not the exalted one relapse again into
his low estate!
There is no salvation for him who thus suffereth
from himself, unless it be speedy death.
Your slaying, ye judges, shall be pity, and not
revenge; and in that ye slay, see to it that ye
yourselves justify life!
It is not enough that ye should reconcile with
him whom ye slay. Let your sorrow be love


## p. 41 (#115) #############################################

VI. —THE PALE CRIMINAL. 41
to the Superman: thus will ye justify your own
survival!
"Enemy " shall ye say but not" villain," " invalid"
shall ye say but not " wretch," " fool " shall ye say
but not " sinner. "
And thou, red judge, if thou would say audibly
all thou hast done in thought, then would every
one cry: "Away with the nastiness and the virulent
reptile! "
But one thing is the thought, another thing is
the deed, and another thing is the idea of the deed.
The wheel of causality doth not roll between them.
An idea made this pale man pale. Adequate
was he for his deed when he did it, but the idea of
it, he could not endure when it was done.
Evermore did he now see himself as the doer of
one deed. Madness, I call this: the exception
reversed itself to the rule in him.
The streak of chalk bewitcheth the hen; the
stroke he struck bewitched his weak reason. Mad-
ness after the deed, I call this.
Hearken, ye judges! There is another madness
besides, and it is before the deed. Ah! ye have
not gone deep enough into this soul!
Thus speaketh the red judge: "Why did this
criminal commit murder? He meant to rob. "
I tell you, however, that his soul wanted blood, not
booty: he thirsted for the happiness of the knife!
But his weak reason understood not this madness,
and it persuaded him. "What matter about blood! "
it said; "wishest thou not, at least, to make booty
thereby? Or take revenge? "
And he hearkened unto his weak reason: like


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42 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
lead lay its words upon him—thereupon he robbed
when he murdered. He did not mean to be
ashamed of his madness.
And now once more lieth the lead of his guilt
upon him, and once more is his weak reason so
benumbed, so paralysed, and so dull.
Could he only shake his head, then would his
burden roll off; but who shaketh that head?
What is this man? A mass of diseases that
reach out into the world through the spirit; there
they want to get their prey.
What is this man? A coil of wild serpents that
are seldom at peace among themselves—so they go
forth apart and seek prey in the world.
Look at that poor body! What it suffered and
craved, the poor soul interpreted to itself—it in-
terpreted it as murderous desire, and eagerness for
the happiness of the knife.
Him who now turneth sick, the evil overtaketh
which is now the evil: he seeketh to cause pain
with that which causeth him pain. But there have
been other ages, and another evil and good.
Once was doubt evil, and the will to Self. Then
the invalid became a heretic or sorcerer; as heretic
or sorcerer he suffered, and sought to cause
suffering.
But this will not enter your ears; it hurteth your
good people, ye tell me. But what doth it matter
to me about your good people!
Many things in your good people cause me
disgust, and verily, not their evil. I would that
they had a madness by which they succumbed, like
this pale criminal!


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VI. —THE PALE CRIMINAL. 43
Verily, I would that their madness were called
truth, or fidelity, or justice: but they have their
virtue in order to live long, and in wretched self-
complacency.
I am a railing alongside the torrent; whoever is
able to grasp me may grasp me! Your crutch,
however, I am not. —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
VII. —READING AND WRITING.
Of all that is written, I love only what a person
hath written with his blood. Write with blood,
and thou wilt find that blood is spirit.
It is no easy task to understand unfamiliar blood;
I hate the reading idlers.
He who knoweth the reader, doeth nothing more
for the reader. Another century of readers—and
spirit itself will stink.
Every one being allowed to learn to read
ruineth in the long run not only writing but also
thinking.