查拉图斯特拉如是说 英文版 Thus Spake Zarathustra
尼采 Friedrich Nietzsche
Zarathustra's Prologue. Page 1
1.
When Zarathustra was thirty years old, he left his home and the lake ofhis home, and went into the mountains. There he enjoyed his spirit andsolitude, and for ten years did not weary of it. But at last his heartchanged,--and rising one morning with the rosy dawn, he went before thesun, and spake thus unto it:
Thou great star! What would be thy happiness if thou hadst not those forwhom thou shinest!
For ten years hast thou climbed hither unto my cave: thou wouldst havewearied of thy light and of the journey, had it not been for me, mineeagle, and my serpent.
But we awaited thee every morning, took from thee thine overflowand blessed thee for it.
Lo! I am weary of my wisdom, like the bee that hath gathered too muchhoney; I need hands outstretched to take it.
I would fain bestow and distribute, until the wise have once more becomejoyous in their folly, and the poor happy in their riches.
Therefore must I descend into the deep: as thou doest in the evening,when thou goest behind the sea, and givest light also to the nether-world,thou exuberant star!
Like thee must I GO DOWN, as men say, to whom I shall descend.
Bless me, then, thou tranquil eye, that canst behold even the greatesthappiness without envy!
Bless the cup that is about to overflow, that the water may flow golden outof it, and carry everywhere the reflection of thy bliss!
Thus began Zarathustra's down-going.
2.
Zarathustra went down the mountain alone, no one meeting him. When heentered the forest, however, there suddenly stood before him an old man,who had left his holy cot to seek roots. And thus spake the old man toZarathustra:
"No stranger to me is this wanderer: many years ago passed he by.Zarathustra he was called; but he hath altered.
Then thou carriedst thine ashes into the mountains: wilt thou now carrythy fire into the valleys? Fearest thou not the incendiary's doom?
Yea, I recognise Zarathustra. Pure is his eye, and no loathing lurkethabout his mouth. Goeth he not along like a dancer?
Altered is Zarathustra; a child hath Zarathustra become; an awakened one isZarathustra: what wilt thou do in the land of the sleepers?
As in the sea hast thou lived in solitude, and it hath borne thee up.Alas, wilt thou now go ashore? Alas, wilt thou again drag thy bodythyself?"
Zarathustra answered: "I love mankind."
"Why," said the saint, "did I go into the forest and the desert? Was itnot because I loved men far too well?
Now I love God: men, I do not love. Man is a thing too imperfect for me.Love to man would be fatal to me."
Zarathustra answered: "What spake I of love! I am bringing gifts untomen."
"Give them nothing," said the saint. "Take rather part of their load, andcarry it along with them--that will be most agreeable unto them: if onlyit be agreeable unto thee!
If, however, thou wilt give unto them, give them no more than an alms, andlet them also beg for it!"
"No," replied Zarathustra, "I give no alms. I am not poor enough forthat."
The saint laughed at Zarathustra, and spake thus: "Then see to it thatthey accept thy treasures! They are distrustful of anchorites, and do notbelieve that we come with gifts.
The fall of our footsteps ringeth too hollow through their streets. Andjust as at night, when they are in bed and hear a man abroad long beforesunrise, so they ask themselves concerning us: Where goeth the thief?
Go not to men, but stay in the forest! Go rather to the animals! Why notbe like me--a bear amongst bears, a bird amongst birds?"
"And what doeth the saint in the forest?" asked Zarathustra.
The saint answered: "I make hymns and sing them; and in making hymnsI laugh and weep and mumble: thus do I praise God.
With singing, weeping, laughing, and mumbling do I praise the God who is myGod. But what dost thou bring us as a gift?"
When Zarathustra had heard these words, he bowed to the saint and said:"What should I have to give thee! Let me rather hurry hence lest I takeaught away from thee!"--And thus they parted from one another, the old manand Zarathustra, laughing like schoolboys.
When Zarathustra was alone, however, he said to his heart: "Could it bepossible! This old saint in the forest hath not yet heard of it, that GODIS DEAD!"
3.
When Zarathustra arrived at the nearest town which adjoineth the forest, hefound many people assembled in the market-place; for it had been announcedthat a rope-dancer would give a performance. And Zarathustra spake thusunto the people:
I TEACH YOU THE SUPERMAN. Man is something that is to be surpassed. Whathave ye done to surpass man?
All beings hitherto have created something beyond themselves: and ye wantto be the ebb of that great tide, and would rather go back to the beastthan surpass man?
What is the ape to man? A laughing-stock, a thing of shame. And just thesame shall man be to the Superman: a laughing-stock, a thing of shame.
Ye have made your way from the worm to man, and much within you is stillworm. Once were ye apes, and even yet man is more of an ape than any ofthe apes.
Even the wisest among you is only a disharmony and hybrid of plant andphantom. But do I bid you become phantoms or plants?
Lo, I teach you the Superman!
The Superman is the meaning of the earth. Let your will say: The SupermanSHALL BE the meaning of the earth!
I conjure you, my brethren, REMAIN TRUE TO THE EARTH, and believe not thosewho speak unto you of superearthly hopes! Poisoners are they, whether theyknow it or not.
Despisers of life are they, decaying ones and poisoned ones themselves, ofwhom the earth is weary: so away with them!
Once blasphemy against God was the greatest blasphemy; but God died, andtherewith also those blasphemers. To blaspheme the earth is now thedreadfulest sin, and to rate the heart of the unknowable higher than themeaning of the earth!
Once the soul looked contemptuously on the body, and then that contempt wasthe supreme thing:--the soul wished the body meagre, ghastly, and famished.Thus it thought to escape from the body and the earth.
Oh, that soul was itself meagre, ghastly, and famished; and cruelty was thedelight of that soul!
But ye, also, my brethren, tell me: What doth your body say about yoursoul? Is your soul not poverty and pollution and wretched self-complacency?
Verily, a polluted stream is man. One must be a sea, to receive a pollutedstream without becoming impure.
Lo, I teach you the Superman: he is that sea; in him can your greatcontempt be submerged.
The hour when ye say: "What good is my happiness! It is poverty andpollution and wretched self-complacency. But my happiness should justifyexistence itself!"
The hour when ye say: "What good is my reason! Doth it long for knowledgeas the lion for his food? It is poverty and pollution and wretched self-complacency!"
The hour when ye say: "What good is my virtue! As yet it hath not made mepassionate. How weary I am of my good and my bad! It is all poverty andpollution and wretched self-complacency!"
The hour when ye say: "What good is my justice! I do not see that I amfervour and fuel. The just, however, are fervour and fuel!"
The hour when we say: "What good is my pity! Is not pity the cross onwhich he is nailed who loveth man? But my pity is not a crucifixion."
Have ye ever spoken thus? Have ye ever cried thus? Ah! would that I hadheard you crying thus!
unto them of the most contemptible?
It is not your sin--it is your self-satisfaction that crieth unto heaven;your very sparingness in sin crieth unto heaven!
Where is the lightning to lick you with its tongue? Where is the frenzywith which ye should be inoculated?
Lo, I teach you the Superman: he is that lightning, he is that frenzy!--
When Zarathustra had thus spoken, one of the people called out: "We havenow heard enough of the rope-dancer; it is time now for us to see him!"And all the people laughed at Zarathustra. But the rope-dancer, whothought the words applied to him, began his performance.
4.
Zarathustra, however, looked at the people and wondered. Then he spakethus:
Man is a rope stretched between the animal and the Superman--a rope over anabyss.
A dangerous crossing, a dangerous wayfaring, a dangerous looking-back, adangerous trembling and halting.
What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not a goal: what islovable 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 arethe over-goers.
I love the great despisers, because they are the great adorers, and arrowsof longing for the other shore.
I love those who do not first seek a reason beyond the stars for going downand being sacrifices, but sacrifice themselves to the earth, that the earthof the Superman may hereafter arrive.
I love him who liveth in order to know, and seeketh to know in order thatthe Superman may hereafter live. Thus seeketh he his own down-going.
I love him who laboureth and inventeth, that he may build the house for theSuperman, and prepare for him earth, animal, and plant: for thus seekethhe his own down-going.
I love him who loveth his virtue: for virtue is the will to down-going,and an arrow of longing.
I love him who reserveth no share of spirit for himself, but wanteth to bewholly the spirit of his virtue: thus walketh he as spirit over thebridge.
I love him who maketh his virtue his inclination and destiny: thus, forthe sake of his virtue, he is willing to live on, or live no more.
I love him who desireth not too many virtues. One virtue is more of avirtue than two, because it is more of a knot for one's destiny to clingto.
I love him whose soul is lavish, who wanteth no thanks and doth not giveback: for he always bestoweth, and desireth not to keep for himself.
I love him who is ashamed when the dice fall in his favour, and who thenasketh: "Am I a dishonest player?"--for he is willing to succumb.
I love him who scattereth golden words in advance of his deeds, and alwaysdoeth more than he promiseth: for he seeketh his own down-going.
I love him who justifieth the future ones, and redeemeth the past ones:for he is willing to succumb through the present ones.
I love him who chasteneth his God, because he loveth his God: for he mustsuccumb through the wrath of his God.
I love him whose soul is deep even in the wounding, and may succumb througha small matter: thus goeth he willingly over the bridge.
I love him whose soul is so overfull that he forgetteth himself, and allthings 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 onlythe bowels of his heart; his heart, however, causeth his down-going.
I love all who are like heavy drops falling one by one out of the darkcloud that lowereth over man: they herald the coming of the lightning, andsuccumb as heralds.
Lo, I am a herald of the lightning, and a heavy drop out of the cloud: thelightning, however, is the SUPERMAN.--
5.
When Zarathustra had spoken these words, he again looked at the people, andwas silent. "There they stand," said he to his heart; "there they laugh:they understand me not; I am not the mouth for these ears.
Must one first batter their ears, that they may learn to hear with theireyes? Must one clatter like kettledrums and penitential preachers? Or dothey only believe the stammerer?
They have something whereof they are proud. What do they call it, thatwhich maketh them proud? Culture, they call it; it distinguisheth themfrom the goatherds.
valleys? Fearest thou.
They dislike, therefore, to hear of 'contempt' of themselves. So I willappeal to their pride.
I will speak unto them of the most contemptible thing: that, however, isTHE LAST MAN!"
And thus spake Zarathustra unto the people:
It is time for man to fix his goal. It is time for man to plant the germof his highest hope.
Still is his soil rich enough for it. But that soil will one day be poorand exhausted, and no lofty tree will any longer be able to grow thereon.
Alas! there cometh the time when man will no longer launch the arrow of hislonging beyond man--and the string of his bow will have unlearned to whizz!
I tell you: one must still have chaos in one, to give birth to a dancingstar. I tell you: ye have still chaos in you.
Alas! There cometh the time when man will no longer give birth to anystar. Alas! There cometh the time of the most despicable man, who can nolonger despise himself.
Lo! I show you THE LAST MAN.
"What is love? What is creation? What is longing? What is a star?"--soasketh the last man and blinketh.
The earth hath then become small, and on it there hoppeth the last man whomaketh everything small. His species is ineradicable like that of theground-flea; the last man liveth longest.
"We have discovered happiness"--say the last men, and blink thereby.
They have left the regions where it is hard to live; for they need warmth.One still loveth one's neighbour and rubbeth against him; for one needethwarmth.
Turning ill and being distrustful, they consider sinful: they walk warily.He is a fool who still stumbleth over stones or men!
A little poison now and then: that maketh pleasant dreams. And muchpoison at last for a pleasant death.
One still worketh, for work is a pastime. But one is careful lest thepastime should hurt one.
One no longer becometh poor or rich; both are too burdensome. Who stillwanteth to rule? Who still wanteth to obey? Both are too burdensome.
No shepherd, and one herd! Every one wanteth the same; every one is equal:he who hath other sentiments goeth voluntarily into the madhouse.
"Formerly all the world was insane,"--say the subtlest of them, and blinkthereby.
They are clever and know all that hath happened: so there is no end totheir raillery. People still fall out, but are soon reconciled--otherwiseit spoileth their stomachs.
They have their little pleasures for the day, and their little pleasuresfor the night, but they have a regard for health.
"We have discovered happiness,"--say the last men, and blink thereby.--
And here ended the first discourse of Zarathustra, which is also called"The Prologue": for at this point the shouting and mirth of the multitudeinterrupted him. "Give us this last man, O Zarathustra,"--they called out--"make us into these last men! Then will we make thee a present of theSuperman!" And all the people exulted and smacked their lips.Zarathustra, however, turned sad, and said to his heart:
"They understand me not: I am not the mouth for these ears.
Too long, perhaps, have I lived in the mountains; too much have I hearkenedunto the brooks and trees: now do I speak unto them as unto the goatherds.
Calm is my soul, and clear, like the mountains in the morning. But theythink me cold, and a mocker with terrible jests.
And now do they look at me and laugh: and while they laugh they hate metoo. There is ice in their laughter."
6.
Then, however, something happened which made every mouth mute and every eyefixed. In the meantime, of course, the rope-dancer had commenced hisperformance: he had come out at a little door, and was going along therope which was stretched between two towers, so that it hung above themarket-place and the people. When he was just midway across, the littledoor opened once more, and a gaudily-dressed fellow like a buffoon sprangout, and went rapidly after the first one. "Go on, halt-foot," cried hisfrightful voice, "go on, lazy-bones, interloper, sallow-face!--lest Itickle thee with my heel! What dost thou here between the towers? In thetower is the place for thee, thou shouldst be locked up; to one better thanthyself thou blockest the way!"--And with every word he came nearer andnearer the first one. When, however, he was but a step behind, therehappened the frightful thing which made every mouth mute and every eyefixed--he uttered a yell like a devil, and jumped over the other who was inhis way. The latter, however, when he thus saw his rival triumph, lost atthe same time his head and his footing on the rope; he threw his pole away,and shot downwards faster than it, like an eddy of arms and legs, into thedepth. The market-place and the people were like the sea when the stormcometh on: they all flew apart and in disorder, especially where the bodywas about to fall.
Zarathustra, however, remained standing, and just beside him fell the body,badly injured and disfigured, but not yet dead. After a whileconsciousness returned to the shattered man, and he saw Zarathustrakneeling beside him. "What art thou doing there?" said he at last, "I knewlong ago that the devil would trip me up. Now he draggeth me to hell:wilt thou prevent him?"
"On mine honour, my friend," answered Zarathustra, "there is nothing of allthat whereof thou speakest: there is no devil and no hell. Thy soul willbe dead even sooner than thy body: fear, therefore, nothing any more!"
The man looked up distrustfully. "If thou speakest the truth," said he, "Ilose nothing when I lose my life. I am not much more than an animal whichhath been taught to dance by blows and scanty fare."
"Not at all," said Zarathustra, "thou hast made danger thy calling; thereinthere is nothing contemptible. Now thou perishest by thy calling:therefore will I bury thee with mine own hands."
When Zarathustra had said this the dying one did not reply further; but hemoved his hand as if he sought the hand of Zarathustra in gratitude.
7.
Meanwhile the evening came on, and the market-place veiled itself in gloom.Then the people dispersed, for even curiosity and terror become fatigued.Zarathustra, however, still sat beside the dead man on the ground, absorbedin thought: so he forgot the time. But at last it became night, and acold wind blew upon the lonely one. Then arose Zarathustra and said to hisheart:
Verily, a fine catch of fish hath Zarathustra made to-day! It is not a manhe hath caught, but a corpse.
Sombre is human life, and as yet without meaning: a buffoon may be fatefulto it.
I want to teach men the sense of their existence, which is the Superman,the lightning out of the dark cloud--man.
But still am I far from them, and my sense speaketh not unto their sense.To men I am still something between a fool and a corpse.
Gloomy is the night, gloomy are the ways of Zarathustra. Come, thou coldand stiff companion! I carry thee to the place where I shall bury theewith mine own hands.
8.
When Zarathustra had said this to his heart, he put the corpse upon hisshoulders and set out on his way. Yet had he not gone a hundred steps,when there stole a man up to him and whispered in his ear--and lo! he thatspake was the buffoon from the tower. "Leave this town, O Zarathustra,"said he, "there are too many here who hate thee. The good and just hatethee, and call thee their enemy and despiser; the believers in the orthodoxbelief hate thee, and call thee a danger to the multitude. It was thy goodfortune to be laughed at: and verily thou spakest like a buffoon. It wasthy good fortune to associate with the dead dog; by so humiliating thyselfthou hast saved thy life to-day. Depart, however, from this town,--ortomorrow I shall jump over thee, a living man over a dead one." And whenhe had said this, the buffoon vanished; Zarathustra, however, went onthrough the dark streets.