Thus Spake Zarathustra [39]
Believe me, my friends: the sting of conscience teacheth one to sting.
The worst things, however, are the petty thoughts. Verily, better to have done evilly than to have thought pettily!
To be sure, ye say: "The delight in petty evils spareth one many a great evil deed." But here one should not wish to be sparing.
Like a boil is the evil deed: it itcheth and irritateth and breaketh forth--it speaketh honourably.
"Behold, I am disease," saith the evil deed: that is its honourableness.
But like infection is the petty thought: it creepeth and hideth, and wanteth to be nowhere--until the whole body is decayed and withered by the petty infection.
To him however, who is possessed of a devil, I would whisper this word in the ear: "Better for thee to rear up thy devil! Even for thee there is still a path to greatness!"--
Ah, my brethren! One knoweth a little too much about every one! And many a one becometh transparent to us, but still we can by no means penetrate him.
It is difficult to live among men because silence is so difficult.
And not to him who is offensive to us are we most unfair, but to him who doth not concern us at all.
If, however, thou hast a suffering friend, then be a resting-place for his suffering; like a hard bed, however, a camp-bed: thus wilt thou serve him best.
And if a friend doeth thee wrong, then say: "I forgive thee what thou hast done unto me; that thou hast done it unto THYSELF, however--how could I forgive that!"
Thus speaketh all great love: it surpasseth even forgiveness and pity.
One should hold fast one's heart; for when one letteth it go, how quickly doth one's head run away!
Ah, where in the world have there been greater follies than with the pitiful? And what in the world hath caused more suffering than the follies of the pitiful?
Woe unto all loving ones who have not an elevation which is above their pity!
Thus spake the devil unto me, once on a time: "Even God hath his hell: it is his love for man."
And lately, did I hear him say these words: "God is dead: of his pity for man hath God died."--
So be ye warned against pity: FROM THENCE there yet cometh unto men a heavy cloud! Verily, I understand weather-signs!
But attend also to this word: All great love is above all its pity: for it seeketh--to create what is loved!
"Myself do I offer unto my love, AND MY NEIGHBOUR AS MYSELF"--such is the language of all creators.
All creators, however, are hard.--
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XXVI. THE PRIESTS.
And one day Zarathustra made a sign to his disciples, and spake these words unto them:
"Here are priests: but although they are mine enemies, pass them quietly and with sleeping swords!
Even among them there are heroes; many of them have suffered too much--: so they want to make others suffer.
Bad enemies are they: nothing is more revengeful than their meekness. And readily doth he soil himself who toucheth them.
But my blood is related to theirs; and I want withal to see my blood honoured in theirs."--
And when they had passed, a pain attacked Zarathustra; but not long had he struggled with the pain, when he began to speak thus:
It moveth my heart for those priests. They also go against my taste; but that is the smallest matter unto me, since I am among men.
But I suffer and have suffered with them: prisoners are they unto me, and stigmatised ones. He whom they call Saviour put them in fetters:--
In fetters of false values and fatuous words! Oh, that some one would save them from their Saviour!
On an isle they once thought they had landed, when the sea tossed them about; but behold, it was a slumbering monster!
False values and fatuous words: these are the worst monsters for mortals-- long slumbereth and waiteth the fate that is in them.
But at last it cometh and awaketh and devoureth and engulfeth whatever hath built tabernacles upon it.
Oh, just look at those tabernacles which those priests have built themselves! Churches, they call their sweet-smelling caves!
The worst things, however, are the petty thoughts. Verily, better to have done evilly than to have thought pettily!
To be sure, ye say: "The delight in petty evils spareth one many a great evil deed." But here one should not wish to be sparing.
Like a boil is the evil deed: it itcheth and irritateth and breaketh forth--it speaketh honourably.
"Behold, I am disease," saith the evil deed: that is its honourableness.
But like infection is the petty thought: it creepeth and hideth, and wanteth to be nowhere--until the whole body is decayed and withered by the petty infection.
To him however, who is possessed of a devil, I would whisper this word in the ear: "Better for thee to rear up thy devil! Even for thee there is still a path to greatness!"--
Ah, my brethren! One knoweth a little too much about every one! And many a one becometh transparent to us, but still we can by no means penetrate him.
It is difficult to live among men because silence is so difficult.
And not to him who is offensive to us are we most unfair, but to him who doth not concern us at all.
If, however, thou hast a suffering friend, then be a resting-place for his suffering; like a hard bed, however, a camp-bed: thus wilt thou serve him best.
And if a friend doeth thee wrong, then say: "I forgive thee what thou hast done unto me; that thou hast done it unto THYSELF, however--how could I forgive that!"
Thus speaketh all great love: it surpasseth even forgiveness and pity.
One should hold fast one's heart; for when one letteth it go, how quickly doth one's head run away!
Ah, where in the world have there been greater follies than with the pitiful? And what in the world hath caused more suffering than the follies of the pitiful?
Woe unto all loving ones who have not an elevation which is above their pity!
Thus spake the devil unto me, once on a time: "Even God hath his hell: it is his love for man."
And lately, did I hear him say these words: "God is dead: of his pity for man hath God died."--
So be ye warned against pity: FROM THENCE there yet cometh unto men a heavy cloud! Verily, I understand weather-signs!
But attend also to this word: All great love is above all its pity: for it seeketh--to create what is loved!
"Myself do I offer unto my love, AND MY NEIGHBOUR AS MYSELF"--such is the language of all creators.
All creators, however, are hard.--
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XXVI. THE PRIESTS.
And one day Zarathustra made a sign to his disciples, and spake these words unto them:
"Here are priests: but although they are mine enemies, pass them quietly and with sleeping swords!
Even among them there are heroes; many of them have suffered too much--: so they want to make others suffer.
Bad enemies are they: nothing is more revengeful than their meekness. And readily doth he soil himself who toucheth them.
But my blood is related to theirs; and I want withal to see my blood honoured in theirs."--
And when they had passed, a pain attacked Zarathustra; but not long had he struggled with the pain, when he began to speak thus:
It moveth my heart for those priests. They also go against my taste; but that is the smallest matter unto me, since I am among men.
But I suffer and have suffered with them: prisoners are they unto me, and stigmatised ones. He whom they call Saviour put them in fetters:--
In fetters of false values and fatuous words! Oh, that some one would save them from their Saviour!
On an isle they once thought they had landed, when the sea tossed them about; but behold, it was a slumbering monster!
False values and fatuous words: these are the worst monsters for mortals-- long slumbereth and waiteth the fate that is in them.
But at last it cometh and awaketh and devoureth and engulfeth whatever hath built tabernacles upon it.
Oh, just look at those tabernacles which those priests have built themselves! Churches, they call their sweet-smelling caves!