Every one else would have thrown to me his alms, his pity, in look and speech. But for that--I am not beggar enough: that didst thou divine.
For that I am too RICH, rich in what is great, frightful, ugliest, most unutterable! Thy shame, O Zarathustra, HONOURED me!
With difficulty did I get out of the crowd of the pitiful,--that I might find the only one who at present teacheth that 'pity is obtrusive'--thyself, O Zarathustra!
--Whether it be the pity of a God, or whether it be human pity, it is offensive to modesty. And unwillingness to help may be nobler than the virtue that rusheth to do so.
THAT however--namely, pity--is called virtue itself at present by all petty people:--they have no reverence for great misfortune, great ugliness, great failure.
Beyond all these do I look, as a dog looketh over the backs of thronging flocks of sheep. They are petty, good-wooled, good-willed, grey people.
As the heron looketh contemptuously at shallow pools, with backward-bent head, so do I look at the throng of grey little waves and wills and souls.
Too long have we acknowledged them to be right, those petty people: SO we have at last given them power as well;--and now do they teach that 'good is only what petty people call good.'
And 'truth' is at present what the preacher spake who himself sprang from them, that singular saint and advocate of the petty people, who testified of himself: 'I--am the truth.'
That immodest one hath long made the petty people greatly puffed up,--he who taught no small error when he taught: 'I--am the truth.'
Hath an immodest one ever been answered more courteously?--Thou, however, OZarathustra, passedst him by, and saidst: 'Nay! Nay! Three times Nay!'
Thou warnedst against his error; thou warnedst--the first to do so--against pity:--not every one, not none, but thyself and thy type.
Thou art ashamed of the shame of the great sufferer; and verily when thou sayest: 'From pity there cometh a heavy cloud; take heed, ye men!'
--When thou teachest: 'All creators are hard, all great love is beyond their pity:' O Zarathustra, how well versed dost thou seem to me in weather-signs!
Thou thyself, however,--warn thyself also against THY pity! For many are on their way to thee, many suffering, doubting, despairing, drowning, freezing ones--I warn thee also against myself. Thou hast read my best, my worst riddle, myself, and what I have done. I know the axe that felleth thee.
But he--HAD TO die: he looked with eyes which beheld EVERYTHING,--he beheld men's depths and dregs, all his hidden ignominy and ugliness.
His pity knew no modesty: he crept into my dirtiest corners. This most prying, over-intrusive, over-pitiful one had to die.
He ever beheld ME: on such a witness I would have revenge--or not live myself.
The God who beheld everything, AND ALSO MAN: that God had to die! Man cannot ENDURE it that such a witness should live."Thus spake the ugliest man. Zarathustra however got up, and prepared to go on: for he felt frozen to the very bowels.
"Thou nondescript," said he, "thou warnedst me against thy path. As thanks for it I praise mine to thee. Behold, up thither is the cave of Zarathustra.
My cave is large and deep and hath many corners; there findeth he that is most hidden his hiding-place. And close beside it, there are a hundred lurking-places and by-places for creeping, fluttering, and hopping creatures.
Thou outcast, who hast cast thyself out, thou wilt not live amongst men and men's pity? Well then, do like me! Thus wilt thou learn also from me;only the doer learneth.
And talk first and foremost to mine animals! The proudest animal and the wisest animal--they might well be the right counsellors for us both!"--Thus spake Zarathustra and went his way, more thoughtfully and slowly even than before: for he asked himself many things, and hardly knew what to answer.
"How poor indeed is man," thought he in his heart, "how ugly, how wheezy, how full of hidden shame!
They tell me that man loveth himself. Ah, how great must that self-love be! How much contempt is opposed to it!
Even this man hath loved himself, as he hath despised himself,--a great lover methinketh he is, and a great despiser.
No one have I yet found who more thoroughly despised himself: even THAT is elevation. Alas, was THIS perhaps the higher man whose cry I heard?
I love the great despisers. Man is something that hath to be surpassed."--
