Backworldsmen

Once on a time, Zarathustra also cast his fancy beyond man, like all backworldsmen. The work of a suffering and tortured God, did the world then seem to me.

Once, Zarathustra too imagined a world beyond humanity, like all backworldsmen. Back then, the world seemed to me the work of a suffering and tortured God.

The dream—and diction—of a God, did the world then seem to me; coloured vapours before the eyes of a divinely dissatisfied one.

The world then seemed to me like the dream and words of a God, colored vapors before the eyes of a divinely dissatisfied being.

Good and evil, and joy and woe, and I and thou—coloured vapours did they seem to me before creative eyes. The creator wished to look away from himself,—thereupon he created the world.

Good and evil, joy and sorrow, I and you: all seemed like colored vapors to me before creative eyes. The creator wanted to look away from himself, so he created the world.

Intoxicating joy is it for the sufferer to look away from his suffering and forget himself. Intoxicating joy and self-forgetting, did the world once seem to me.

For someone who suffers, looking away from that suffering and forgetting oneself is an intoxicating joy. The world once seemed to me like intoxicating joy and self-forgetting.

This world, the eternally imperfect, an eternal contradiction’s image and imperfect image—an intoxicating joy to its imperfect creator:—thus did the world once seem to me.

The world is eternally imperfect, an imperfect image of an eternal contradiction. It is an intoxicating joy to its imperfect creator. That is how the world once seemed to me.

Thus, once on a time, did I also cast my fancy beyond man, like all backworldsmen. Beyond man, forsooth?

Once, I too imagined something beyond humanity, like all backworldsmen. Beyond humanity, indeed?

Ah, ye brethren, that God whom I created was human work and human madness, like all the Gods!

Ah, my brothers, the God I created was the work of human hands and human madness, like all the gods!

A man was he, and only a poor fragment of a man and ego. Out of mine own ashes and glow it came unto me, that phantom. And verily, it came not unto me from the beyond!

He was a man, and only a poor fragment of a man and a self. That phantom came to me out of my own ashes and glow. And truly, it did not come to me from the beyond!

What happened, my brethren? I surpassed myself, the suffering one; I carried mine own ashes to the mountain; a brighter flame I contrived for myself. And lo! Thereupon the phantom WITHDREW from me!

What happened, my brothers? I, the suffering one, overcame myself. I carried my own ashes to the mountain. I made a brighter flame for myself. And look! Then the phantom WITHDREW from me!

To me the convalescent would it now be suffering and torment to believe in such phantoms: suffering would it now be to me, and humiliation. Thus speak I to backworldsmen.

Now that I am recovering, believing in such phantoms would cause me suffering and torment. It would cause me suffering and humiliation. This is what I say to the backworldsmen.

Suffering was it, and impotence—that created all backworlds; and the short madness of happiness, which only the greatest sufferer experienceth.

Suffering and powerlessness created all backworlds, along with the brief madness of happiness that only the greatest sufferer experiences.

Weariness, which seeketh to get to the ultimate with one leap, with a death-leap; a poor ignorant weariness, unwilling even to will any longer: that created all Gods and backworlds.

Weariness seeks to reach the ultimate in one leap, a leap to death. This poor, ignorant weariness, unwilling even to will any longer, created all Gods and backworlds.

Believe me, my brethren! It was the body which despaired of the body—it groped with the fingers of the infatuated spirit at the ultimate walls.

Believe me, my brothers! It was the body that despaired of the body. It felt for the ultimate walls with the fingers of its infatuated spirit.

Believe me, my brethren! It was the body which despaired of the earth—it heard the bowels of existence speaking unto it.

Believe me, my brothers! It was the body that despaired of the earth. It heard the depths of existence speaking to it.

And then it sought to get through the ultimate walls with its head—and not with its head only—into “the other world.”

And then it tried to get through the final walls into “the other world,” using its head and more than its head.

But that “other world” is well concealed from man, that dehumanised, inhuman world, which is a celestial naught; and the bowels of existence do not speak unto man, except as man.

But that “other world” is well hidden from humanity. It is a dehumanized, inhuman world, a heavenly nothingness. And the depths of existence speak to humans only as humans.

Verily, it is difficult to prove all being, and hard to make it speak. Tell me, ye brethren, is not the strangest of all things best proved?

Indeed, it is difficult to prove all existence and hard to make it speak. Tell me, brothers, isn't the strangest thing of all the easiest to prove?

Yea, this ego, with its contradiction and perplexity, speaketh most uprightly of its being—this creating, willing, evaluing ego, which is the measure and value of things.

Yes, this ego, with its contradictions and confusion, speaks most honestly about its own nature. This ego creates, wills, and evaluates. It is the measure and value of things.

And this most upright existence, the ego—it speaketh of the body, and still implieth the body, even when it museth and raveth and fluttereth with broken wings.

And this most upright existence, the ego, speaks of the body. It still implies the body even when it muses, raves, and flutters with broken wings.

Always more uprightly learneth it to speak, the ego; and the more it learneth, the more doth it find titles and honours for the body and the earth.

The ego learns to speak more and more uprightly. The more it learns, the more titles and honors it finds for the body and the earth.

A new pride taught me mine ego, and that teach I unto men: no longer to thrust one’s head into the sand of celestial things, but to carry it freely, a terrestrial head, which giveth meaning to the earth!

My ego taught me a new pride, and I teach it to others: no longer bury your head in heavenly things. Instead, hold it up freely, an earthly head that gives meaning to the earth!

A new will teach I unto men: to choose that path which man hath followed blindly, and to approve of it—and no longer to slink aside from it, like the sick and perishing!

I teach people a new will: to choose the path humanity has followed blindly and approve of it. They must no longer slip away from it like the sick and dying!

The sick and perishing—it was they who despised the body and the earth, and invented the heavenly world, and the redeeming blood-drops; but even those sweet and sad poisons they borrowed from the body and the earth!

The sick and dying despised the body and the earth. They invented the heavenly world and the drops of redeeming blood. But they borrowed even those sweet and sad poisons from the body and the earth!

From their misery they sought escape, and the stars were too remote for them. Then they sighed: “O that there were heavenly paths by which to steal into another existence and into happiness!” Then they contrived for themselves their by-paths and bloody draughts!

They wanted to escape their misery, but the stars were too far away. Then they sighed: “If only there were heavenly paths to sneak into another life and find happiness!” So they devised their own secret paths and bloody drinks!

Beyond the sphere of their body and this earth they now fancied themselves transported, these ungrateful ones. But to what did they owe the convulsion and rapture of their transport? To their body and this earth.

These ungrateful people imagined they had been transported beyond their bodies and this earth. But what caused the convulsions and ecstasy of their transport? Their bodies and this earth.

Gentle is Zarathustra to the sickly. Verily, he is not indignant at their modes of consolation and ingratitude. May they become convalescents and overcomers, and create higher bodies for themselves!

Zarathustra is gentle with the sick. Indeed, he is not offended by how they seek comfort or by their ingratitude. May they recover, overcome their sickness, and create higher bodies for themselves!

Neither is Zarathustra indignant at a convalescent who looketh tenderly on his delusions, and at midnight stealeth round the grave of his God; but sickness and a sick frame remain even in his tears.

Nor is Zarathustra angry with a recovering person who looks tenderly on his delusions and slips around the grave of his God at midnight. But sickness and a sick body remain, even in his tears.

Many sickly ones have there always been among those who muse, and languish for God; violently they hate the discerning ones, and the latest of virtues, which is uprightness.

There have always been many sickly people among those who ponder and long for God. They fiercely hate those who can see clearly, and the newest virtue, honesty.

Backward they always gaze toward dark ages: then, indeed, were delusion and faith something different. Raving of the reason was likeness to God, and doubt was sin.

They always look back toward the dark ages. Back then, delusion and faith were indeed something different. The ravings of reason were seen as godlike, and doubt was a sin.

Too well do I know those godlike ones: they insist on being believed in, and that doubt is sin. Too well, also, do I know what they themselves most believe in.

I know those godlike ones all too well. They insist that people believe in them and that doubt is a sin. I also know all too well what they themselves believe in most.

Verily, not in backworlds and redeeming blood-drops: but in the body do they also believe most; and their own body is for them the thing-in-itself.

In truth, they too believe most in the body, not in backworlds or redeeming drops of blood. For them, their own body is the thing-in-itself.

But it is a sickly thing to them, and gladly would they get out of their skin. Therefore hearken they to the preachers of death, and themselves preach backworlds.

But to them, it is sickly, and they would gladly escape their own skin. So they listen to the preachers of death, and preach backworlds themselves.

Hearken rather, my brethren, to the voice of the healthy body; it is a more upright and pure voice.

Listen instead, my brothers, to the voice of the healthy body. Its voice is more honest and pure.

More uprightly and purely speaketh the healthy body, perfect and square-built; and it speaketh of the meaning of the earth.—

The healthy body, perfect and solidly built, speaks more honestly and purely. It speaks of the meaning of the earth.

Thus spake Zarathustra.

This is what Zarathustra said.