查拉图斯特拉如是说 英文版 Thus Spake Zarathustra
尼采 Friedrich Nietzsche
XXIV. In the Happy Isles.
The figs fall from the trees, they are good and sweet; and in falling thered skins of them break. A north wind am I to ripe figs.
fullness is around.
Thus, like figs, do these doctrines fall for you, my friends: imbibe nowtheir juice and their sweet substance! It is autumn all around, and clearsky, and afternoon.
straight crooked, and all that standethreel.
Lo, what fullness is around us! And out of the midst of superabundance, itis delightful to look out upon distant seas.
Once did people say God, when they looked out upon distant seas; now,however, have I taught you to say, Superman.
God is a conjecture: but I do not wish your conjecturing to reach beyondyour creating will.
Could ye CREATE a God?--Then, I pray you, be silent about all Gods! But yecould well create the Superman.
Not perhaps ye yourselves, my brethren! But into fathers and forefathersof the Superman could ye transform yourselves: and let that be your bestcreating!--
God is a conjecture: but I should like your conjecturing restricted to theconceivable.
Could ye CONCEIVE a God?--But let this mean Will to Truth unto you, thateverything be transformed into the humanly conceivable, the humanlyvisible, the humanly sensible! Your own discernment shall ye follow out tothe end!
And what ye have called the world shall but be created by you: yourreason, your likeness, your will, your love, shall it itself become! Andverily, for your bliss, ye discerning ones!
And how would ye endure life without that hope, ye discerning ones?Neither in the inconceivable could ye have been born, nor in theirrational.
But that I may reveal my heart entirely unto you, my friends: IF therewere gods, how could I endure it to be no God! THEREFORE there are noGods.
Yea, I have drawn the conclusion; now, however, doth it draw me.--
God is a conjecture: but who could drink all the bitterness of thisconjecture without dying? Shall his faith be taken from the creating one,and from the eagle his flights into eagle-heights?
God is a thought--it maketh all the straight crooked, and all that standethreel. What? Time would be gone, and all the perishable would be but alie?
To think this is giddiness and vertigo to human limbs, and even vomiting tothe stomach: verily, the reeling sickness do I call it, to conjecture sucha thing.
Evil do I call it and misanthropic: all that teaching about the one, andthe plenum, and the unmoved, and the sufficient, and the imperishable!
All the imperishable--that's but a simile, and the poets lie too much.--
But of time and of becoming shall the best similes speak: a praise shallthey be, and a justification of all perishableness!
Creating--that is the great salvation from suffering, and life'salleviation. But for the creator to appear, suffering itself is needed,and much transformation.
Yea, much bitter dying must there be in your life, ye creators! Thus areye advocates and justifiers of all perishableness.
For the creator himself to be the new-born child, he must also be willingto be the child-bearer, and endure the pangs of the child-bearer.
Verily, through a hundred souls went I my way, and through a hundredcradles and birth-throes. Many a farewell have I taken; I know the heart-breaking last hours.
But so willeth it my creating Will, my fate. Or, to tell you it morecandidly: just such a fate--willeth my Will.
All FEELING suffereth in me, and is in prison: but my WILLING ever comethto me as mine emancipator and comforter.
Willing emancipateth: that is the true doctrine of will and emancipation--so teacheth you Zarathustra.
No longer willing, and no longer valuing, and no longer creating! Ah, thatthat great debility may ever be far from me!
And also in discerning do I feel only my will's procreating and evolvingdelight; and if there be innocence in my knowledge, it is because there iswill to procreation in it.
Away from God and Gods did this will allure me; what would there be tocreate if there were--Gods!
But to man doth it ever impel me anew, my fervent creative will; thusimpelleth it the hammer to the stone.
Ah, ye men, within the stone slumbereth an image for me, the image of myvisions! Ah, that it should slumber in the hardest, ugliest stone!
Now rageth my hammer ruthlessly against its prison. From the stone fly thefragments: what's that to me?
I will complete it: for a shadow came unto me--the stillest and lightestof all things once came unto me!
The beauty of the Superman came unto me as a shadow. Ah, my brethren! Ofwhat account now are--the Gods to me!--
Thus spake Zarathustra.