What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not a goal: what is lov-able in man is that he is an over-going and a down-going.
I love those that know not how to live except as down-goers, for they are the over-goers.
I love the great despisers, because they are the great adorers, and ar-rows of longing for the other shore.
I love those who do not first seek a reason beyond the stars for going down and being sacrifices, but sacrifice themselves to the earth, that the earth may become the Superman’s.
I love him who lives in order to know, and seeks to know in order that the Superman may hereafter live. Thus he seeks his own down-going.
I love him who labors and invents, that he may build the house for the Superman, and prepare for him earth, animal, and plant: for thus he seeks his own down-going.
I love him who loves his virtue: for virtue is the will to down-going, and an arrow of longing.
I love him who reserves no share of spirit for himself, but wants to be wholly the spirit of his virtue: thus he walks as spirit over the bridge.
I love him who makes his virtue his inclination and destiny: thus, for the sake of his virtue, he is willing to live on, or live no more.
I love him who desires not too many virtues. One virtue is more of a virtue than two, because it is more of a knot for one’s destiny to cling to.
I love him whose soul is lavish, who wants no thanks and does not give back: for he always gives, and desires not to keep for himself.
I love him who is ashamed when the dice fall in his favor, and who then asks: «Am I a cheat?»- for he wants to perish.
I love him who scatters golden words in advance of his deeds, and al-ways does more than he promises: for he seeks his own down-going.
I love him who justifies the future ones, and redeems the past ones: for he is willing to perish through the present ones.
I love him who chastens his God, because he loves his God: for he must perish through the wrath of his God.
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I love him whose soul is deep even in the wounding, and may perish through a small matter: thus he goes willingly over the bridge.
I love him whose soul is so overfull that he forgets 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, causes his down-going.
I love all who are like heavy drops falling one by one out of the dark cloud that lowers over man: they herald the coming of the lightning, and perish as heralds.
Lo, I am a herald of the lightning, and a heavy drop out of the cloud: the lightning, however, is Superman! «
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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 do not understand me; 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 of which they are proud. What do they call it, that which makes them proud? Culture, they call it; it distinguishes them from the goatherds.
They dislike, therefore, to hear of ‘contempt’ of themselves. So I will appeal to their pride.
I will speak to them of the most contemptible thing: that, however, is the last man!»
And thus spoke Zarathustra to the people:
It is time for man to fix his goal. It is time for man to plant the seed of his highest hope.
His soil is still 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 there.
Alas! there comes the time when man will no longer launch the arrow of his longing beyond man- and the string of his bow will have un-learned to whiz!
I tell you: one must still have chaos in oneself, to give birth to a dan-cing star. I tell you: you have still chaos in yourselves.
Alas! There comes the time when man will no longer give birth to any star. Alas! There comes 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 asks the last man, and blinks.
The earth has become small, and on it hops the last man, who makes everything small. His species is ineradicable as the flea; the last man lives longest.
«We have discovered happiness»- say the last men, and they blink. They have left the regions where it is hard to live; for they need
warmth. One still loves one’s neighbor and rubs against him; for one needs warmth.
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Turning ill and being distrustful, they consider sinful: they walk war-ily. He is a fool who still stumbles over stones or men!
A little poison now and then: that makes for pleasant dreams. And much poison at the end for a pleasant death.
One still works, for work is a pastime. But one is careful lest the pas-time should hurt one.
One no longer becomes poor or rich; both are too burdensome. Who still wants to rule? Who still wants to obey? Both are too burdensome.
No shepherd, and one herd! Everyone wants the same; everyone is the same: he who has other sentiments goes voluntarily into the madhouse.
«Formerly all the world was insane,»- say the subtlest of them, and they blink.
They are clever and know all that has happened: so there is no end to their derision. People still quarrel, but are soon reconciled- otherwise it upsets 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 they blink-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 interrupted him. «Give us this last man, O Zarathustra,»- they called out-«make us into these last men! Then will we make you a gift of the Super-man!» And all the people exulted and smacked their lips. Zarathustra, however, turned sad, and said to his heart:
«They do not understand me: I am not the mouth for these ears. Perhaps I have lived too long in the mountains; I have hearkened too
much to the brooks and trees: now I speak to them as to the goatherds. My soul is calm and clear, like the mountains in the morning. But they
think I am cold, and a mocker with terrible jests.
Now they look at me and laugh: and while they laugh they hate me too. There is ice in their laughter.»
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6.
Then, however, something happened which made every mouth mute and every eye fixed. In the meantime, of course, the rope-dancer had commenced 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 fool 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 you with my heel! What do you here between the towers? In the tower is the place for you, you should be locked up; to one better than yourself you block the way!»- And with every word he came nearer and nearer the first one. When, however, he was but a step be-hind, 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 downward 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 comes 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 kneel-ing beside him. «What are you doing there?» he said at last, «I knew long ago that the devil would trip me up. Now he drags me to hell: will you prevent him?»
«On my honor, my friend,» answered Zarathustra, «there is nothing in what you speak: there is no devil and no hell. Your soul will be dead even sooner than your body; fear nothing any more!»
The man looked up distrustfully. «If you speak the truth,» said he, «I lose nothing when I lose
