There are feelings which seek to kill the solitary one; if they do not suc-ceed, then they themselves must die! But are you capable of this- to be a murderer?
Have you ever known, my brother, the word «contempt»? And the an-guish of your justice in being just to those that despise you?
You force many to think differently about you; that, they charge bit-terly to your account. You came near to them and yet went past: for that they never forgive you.
You go beyond them: but the higher you rise, the smaller do you ap-pear to the eye of envy. But the flying one is hated most of all.
«How could you be just to me!»- you must say- «I choose your injustice as my proper lot.
They cast injustice and filth at the solitary one: but, my brother, if you would be a star, you must shine for them none the less on that account!
And be on your guard against the good and the just! They would rather crucify those who create their own virtue- they hate the solitary ones.
Be on your guard, also, against holy simplicity! All that is not simple is unholy to it; it likes to play with fire and burn- at the stake.
And be on your guard, also, against the assaults of your love! Too readily does the recluse offer his hand to any one he meets.
To many you may not give a hand, but only a paw; and I want your paw to have claws.
But the worst enemy you can meet will always be yourself; you am-bush yourself in caverns and forests.
You solitary one, you go the way to yourself! And your way leads you past yourself and your seven devils!
You will be a heretic to yourself, and a sorcerer and a soothsayer, and a fool, and a doubter, and a reprobate, and a villain.
You must be ready to burn yourself in your own flame; how could you rise anew if you have not first become ashes!
You solitary one, you go the way of the creator: you will create a god for yourself out of your seven devils!
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You solitary one, you go the way of the lover: you love yourself, and on that account you despise yourself, as only the lover can despise.
The lover wants to create because he despises! What does he know of love who has not despised that which he loved!
With your love and with your creating go into your solitude, my brother; only much later will justice limp after you.
With my tears, go into your solitude, my brother. I love him who seeks to create beyond himself, and thus perishes.-
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
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Chapter 18
Old and Young Women
WHY do you steal along so furtively in the twilight, Zarathustra? And what do you hide so carefully under your cloak?
Is it a treasure that has been given to you? Or a child that has been born to you? Or do you go on a thief’s errand, you friend of evil?-
My brother, said Zarathustra, it is a treasure that has been given me: I carry a little truth.
But it is naughty, like a young child; and if I do not hold its mouth, it screams too loudly.
As I went on my way alone today, at sunset I met an old woman, and she spoke thus to my soul:
«Much has Zarathustra spoken also to us women, but never spoke he to us concerning woman.»
And I answered her: «About woman, one should speak only to men.» «Talk also to me of woman,» said she; «I am old enough to forget it
presently.»
And I obliged the old woman and spoke thus to her:
Everything in woman is a riddle, and everything in woman has one answer- it is called pregnancy.
Man is for woman a means: the purpose is always the child. But what is woman for man?
The real man wants two different things: danger and play. Therefore he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything.
Man shall be trained for war, and woman for the recreation of the war-rior: all else is folly.
The warrior does not like fruits which are too sweet. Therefore he likes woman;- bitter is even the sweetest woman.
Woman understands children better than man does, but man is more childish than woman.
In a real man there is a child hidden: it wants to play. Up then, you women, and discover the child in man!
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Let woman be a plaything, pure and fine like the precious stone, il-lumined with the virtues of a world not yet come.
Let the beam of a star shine in your love! Let your hope say: «May I give birth to the Superman!»
In your love let there be courage! With your love you shall attack him who causes you fear!
In your love let there be honor! Little does woman understand about honor otherwise. But let this be your honor: always to love more than you are loved, and never to be second.
Let man fear woman when she loves: then she makes every sacrifice, and everything else she regards as worthless.
Let man fear woman when she hates: for man in his innermost soul is merely evil; woman, however, is bad.
Whom does woman hate most?- Thus spoke the iron to the magnet: «I hate you most, because you attract me, but are too weak to draw me to you.»
The happiness of man is, «I will.» The happiness of woman is, «He wills.»
«Lo! «Lo! now has the world become perfect!»- thus thinks every wo-man when she obeys with all her love.
The woman must obey, and find a depth for her surface. Woman’s soul is all surface, a mobile, stormy film on shallow water.
Man’s soul, however, is deep, its torrent thunders in subterranean cav-erns: woman feels his strength, but does not understand it.
Then the old woman answered me: «Many fine things has Zarathustra said, especially for those who are young enough for them.
Strange! Zarathustra knows little about woman, and yet he is right about her! Is this because with woman nothing is impossible?
And now accept a little truth by way of thanks! I am old enough for it! Swaddle it up and hold its mouth: otherwise it will scream too loudly,
the little truth.»
» Woman, give me your little truth!» I said. And thus spoke the old woman:
«You go to women? Do not forget the whip!»-Thus spoke Zarathustra.
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Chapter 19 The Bite of the Adder
ONE day Zarathustra had fallen asleep under a fig-tree, owing to the heat, with his arm over his face. And there came an adder and bit him in the neck, so that Zarathustra cried with pain. When he had taken his arm from his face he looked at the serpent; and then it recognized the eyes of Zarathustra, wriggled awkwardly, and tried to get away. «Do not go,» said Zarathustra, «as yet have you not received my thanks! you have awakened me in time; my journey is yet long.» «Your journey is short,» said the adder sadly; «my poison is fatal.» Zarathustra smiled. «When ever did a dragon die of a serpent’s poison?»- he said. «But take your poison back! you are not rich enough to give it to me.» Then the adder fell again on his neck, and licked his wound.
When Zarathustra had told this to his disciples they asked him: «And what, O Zarathustra, is the moral of your story?» And Zarathustra answered them thus:
The destroyer of morality, the good and just call me: my story is immoral.
When, however, you have an enemy, then do not requite him good for evil: for that would shame him. Instead, prove that he did some good for you.
And rather be angry than put to shame! And when you are cursed, I do not like it that you want to bless. Rather curse a little also!
And if you are done a great injustice, then quickly add five small ones. Hideous to behold is he who is obsessed with an injustice.
Did you know this? A shared injustice is half just. And he who can bear it, should take the injustice upon himself!
A small revenge is more human than no revenge at all. And if the pun-ishment is not also a right and an honor to the transgressor, I do not like your punishment.
It is nobler to declare oneself wrong than to prove oneself right, espe-cially when one is right. Only, one must be rich enough to do so.
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I do not like your cold justice; out of the eye of your judges there al-ways glances the executioner and his cold steel.
Tell me: where do we find the justice which is love with open eyes? Invent for me then the love which not only bears all punishment, but
also all guilt!
Invent for me then the justice which acquits every one, except he who judges!
And would you hear this? To him who would be just from the heart, even lies become a kindness to others.
But how could I be just from the heart! How can I give each his own! Let this be enough for me: I give each my own.
Finally, my brothers, guard against doing wrong to any hermit. How could a hermit forget! How could he requite!
Like a deep
