The Spirit of Gravity

My mouthpiece—is of the people: too coarsely and cordially do I talk for Angora rabbits. And still stranger soundeth my word unto all ink-fish and pen-foxes.

My way of speaking is that of the people. I speak too roughly and warmly for Angora rabbits. And my words sound even stranger to all ink-fish and pen-foxes.

My hand—is a fool’s hand: woe unto all tables and walls, and whatever hath room for fool’s sketching, fool’s scrawling!

My hand is a fool’s hand. Woe to all tables and walls, and anything with room for a fool’s sketches and scribbles!

My foot—is a horse-foot; therewith do I trample and trot over stick and stone, in the fields up and down, and am bedevilled with delight in all fast racing.

My foot is a horse’s hoof. With it, I trample and trot over sticks and stones, up and down the fields. I am wildly delighted by all fast racing.

My stomach—is surely an eagle’s stomach? For it preferreth lamb’s flesh. Certainly it is a bird’s stomach.

Surely my stomach is an eagle’s stomach? For it prefers lamb’s flesh. It is certainly a bird’s stomach.

Nourished with innocent things, and with few, ready and impatient to fly, to fly away—that is now my nature: why should there not be something of bird-nature therein!

I now live on a few innocent things, ready and impatient to fly, to fly away. Why shouldn't there be something of a bird in my nature?

And especially that I am hostile to the spirit of gravity, that is bird-nature:—verily, deadly hostile, supremely hostile, originally hostile! Oh, whither hath my hostility not flown and misflown!

And above all, my hostility to the spirit of gravity is part of my bird nature. Truly, I am its deadly enemy, its greatest enemy, its enemy from the beginning! Oh, where has my hostility not flown, and flown astray!

Thereof could I sing a song—and WILL sing it: though I be alone in an empty house, and must sing it to mine own ears.

I could sing a song about it, and I WILL sing it, even if I am alone in an empty house and must sing it to myself.

Other singers are there, to be sure, to whom only the full house maketh the voice soft, the hand eloquent, the eye expressive, the heart wakeful:—those do I not resemble.—

There are other singers, of course, whose voices grow soft only before a full house. Only then do their hands become eloquent, their eyes expressive, and their hearts awake. I am not like them.

He who one day teacheth men to fly will have shifted all landmarks; to him will all landmarks themselves fly into the air; the earth will he christen anew—as “the light body.”

Whoever one day teaches people to fly will have shifted all landmarks. For him, all landmarks themselves will fly into the air. He will rename the earth “the light body.”

The ostrich runneth faster than the fastest horse, but it also thrusteth its head heavily into the heavy earth: thus is it with the man who cannot yet fly.

The ostrich runs faster than the fastest horse, but it also thrusts its head deep into the heavy earth. So it is with the man who cannot yet fly.

Heavy unto him are earth and life, and so WILLETH the spirit of gravity! But he who would become light, and be a bird, must love himself:—thus do I teach.

Earth and life weigh heavily on him, and that is what the spirit of gravity WANTS! But anyone who wants to become light and be a bird must love himself. That is what I teach.

Not, to be sure, with the love of the sick and infected, for with them stinketh even self-love!

Not, of course, with the love of the sick and infected, because even their self-love stinks!

One must learn to love oneself—thus do I teach—with a wholesome and healthy love: that one may endure to be with oneself, and not go roving about.

I teach that we must learn to love ourselves with a wholesome, healthy love. Then we can bear to be alone with ourselves instead of roaming about.

Such roving about christeneth itself “brotherly love”; with these words hath there hitherto been the best lying and dissembling, and especially by those who have been burdensome to every one.

Such wandering calls itself “brotherly love”. Until now, these words have served as the best cover for lying and deception. This is especially true of those who have been a burden to everyone.

And verily, it is no commandment for to-day and to-morrow to LEARN to love oneself. Rather is it of all arts the finest, subtlest, last and patientest.

And truly, learning to love yourself is not a task for a day or two. Rather, it is the finest, subtlest, last, and most patient of all arts.

For to its possessor is all possession well concealed, and of all treasure-pits one’s own is last excavated—so causeth the spirit of gravity.

For all a person's possessions are well hidden from their owner, and of all treasure pits, one's own is dug up last. That is what the spirit of gravity causes.

Almost in the cradle are we apportioned with heavy words and worths: “good” and “evil”—so calleth itself this dowry. For the sake of it we are forgiven for living.

Almost from the cradle, we are given weighty words and values: “good” and “evil” are what this inheritance calls itself. For its sake, we are forgiven for living.

And therefore suffereth one little children to come unto one, to forbid them betimes to love themselves—so causeth the spirit of gravity.

And so people let little children come to them, to teach them early not to love themselves. This is what the spirit of gravity causes.

And we—we bear loyally what is apportioned unto us, on hard shoulders, over rugged mountains! And when we sweat, then do people say to us: “Yea, life is hard to bear!”

And we loyally carry what is given to us on strong shoulders, over rugged mountains! And when we sweat, people say to us: “Yes, life is hard to bear!”

But man himself only is hard to bear! The reason thereof is that he carrieth too many extraneous things on his shoulders. Like the camel kneeleth he down, and letteth himself be well laden.

But man himself is the hardest to bear! That is because he carries too many unnecessary things on his shoulders. Like a camel, he kneels down and lets himself be loaded up.

Especially the strong load-bearing man in whom reverence resideth. Too many EXTRANEOUS heavy words and worths loadeth he upon himself—then seemeth life to him a desert!

Especially the strong man who carries heavy burdens and feels reverence. He loads himself with too many EXTRA heavy words and values. Then life seems like a desert to him!

And verily! Many a thing also that is OUR OWN is hard to bear! And many internal things in man are like the oyster—repulsive and slippery and hard to grasp;—

And truly! Many things that are OUR OWN are hard to bear too! And many things inside a person are like oysters: repulsive, slippery, and hard to grasp.

So that an elegant shell, with elegant adornment, must plead for them. But this art also must one learn: to HAVE a shell, and a fine appearance, and sagacious blindness!

So an elegant shell, beautifully adorned, must speak for them. But one must also learn this art: to HAVE a shell, a fine appearance, and wise blindness!

Again, it deceiveth about many things in man, that many a shell is poor and pitiable, and too much of a shell. Much concealed goodness and power is never dreamt of; the choicest dainties find no tasters!

Again, many things about a person are deceptive because their outer shell is poor and pitiful, and too much of a shell. Much hidden goodness and strength is never even imagined. The finest delicacies find no one to taste them!

Women know that, the choicest of them: a little fatter a little leaner— oh, how much fate is in so little!

The finest women know that. A little fatter or a little thinner, oh, how much fate lies in so little!

Man is difficult to discover, and unto himself most difficult of all; often lieth the spirit concerning the soul. So causeth the spirit of gravity.

Man is hard to understand, and hardest of all to himself. The spirit often lies about the soul. The spirit of gravity causes this.

He, however, hath discovered himself who saith: This is MY good and evil: therewith hath he silenced the mole and the dwarf, who say: “Good for all, evil for all.”

But anyone who says, “This is MY good and evil,” has discovered himself. By saying this, he has silenced the mole and the dwarf, who say: “Good for all, evil for all.”

Verily, neither do I like those who call everything good, and this world the best of all. Those do I call the all-satisfied.

I also dislike those who call everything good and this world the best of all worlds. I call them the all-satisfied.

All-satisfiedness, which knoweth how to taste everything,—that is not the best taste! I honour the refractory, fastidious tongues and stomachs, which have learned to say “I” and “Yea” and “Nay.”

Being satisfied with everything and able to taste everything is not the best taste! I honor the stubborn, picky tongues and stomachs that have learned to say “I” and “Yes” and “No.”

To chew and digest everything, however—that is the genuine swine-nature! Ever to say YE-A—that hath only the ass learnt, and those like it!—

But chewing and digesting everything is the true nature of a pig! Only the donkey and those like it have learned to say YE-A to everything!

Deep yellow and hot red—so wanteth MY taste—it mixeth blood with all colours. He, however, who whitewasheth his house, betrayeth unto me a whitewashed soul.

Deep yellow and hot red: that is what MY taste desires. My taste mixes blood with all colors. But whoever whitewashes his house reveals a whitewashed soul to me.

With mummies, some fall in love; others with phantoms: both alike hostile to all flesh and blood—oh, how repugnant are both to my taste! For I love blood.

Some fall in love with mummies, others with ghosts. Both are hostile to all flesh and blood. Oh, how I loathe them both! For I love blood.

And there will I not reside and abide where every one spitteth and speweth: that is now MY taste,—rather would I live amongst thieves and perjurers. Nobody carrieth gold in his mouth.

I will not live where everyone spits and vomits. That is MY taste. I would rather live among thieves and liars. Nobody carries gold in their mouth.

Still more repugnant unto me, however, are all lickspittles; and the most repugnant animal of man that I found, did I christen “parasite”: it would not love, and would yet live by love.

But all sycophants disgust me even more. The most disgusting human animal I found, I named “parasite”: it would not love, yet wanted to live on love.

Unhappy do I call all those who have only one choice: either to become evil beasts, or evil beast-tamers. Amongst such would I not build my tabernacle.

I call all those unhappy who have only one choice: to become evil beasts or evil beast tamers. I would not set up my tent among them.

Unhappy do I also call those who have ever to WAIT,—they are repugnant to my taste—all the toll-gatherers and traders, and kings, and other landkeepers and shopkeepers.

I also call those who must always WAIT unhappy. I find them repugnant: all the toll collectors, traders, kings, and other landowners and shopkeepers.

Verily, I learned waiting also, and thoroughly so,—but only waiting for MYSELF. And above all did I learn standing and walking and running and leaping and climbing and dancing.

Indeed, I learned to wait, and learned it thoroughly. But I waited only for MYSELF. Above all, I learned to stand, walk, run, leap, climb, and dance.

This however is my teaching: he who wisheth one day to fly, must first learn standing and walking and running and climbing and dancing:—one doth not fly into flying!

But this is my teaching: Anyone who wants to fly one day must first learn to stand, walk, run, climb, and dance. You cannot fly your way into flying!

With rope-ladders learned I to reach many a window, with nimble legs did I climb high masts: to sit on high masts of perception seemed to me no small bliss;—

I learned to reach many windows with rope ladders, and I climbed high masts with nimble legs. Sitting high on the masts of perception seemed like a great joy to me.

—To flicker like small flames on high masts: a small light, certainly, but a great comfort to cast-away sailors and shipwrecked ones!

To flicker like small flames on tall masts: a small light, certainly, but a great comfort to castaways and shipwrecked sailors!

By divers ways and wendings did I arrive at my truth; not by one ladder did I mount to the height where mine eye roveth into my remoteness.

I came to my truth by many different paths. I did not climb just one ladder to reach the height where I gaze into my own distance.

And unwillingly only did I ask my way—that was always counter to my taste! Rather did I question and test the ways themselves.

I asked for directions only reluctantly. Asking for directions was always against my taste! Instead, I questioned and tested the paths themselves.

A testing and a questioning hath been all my travelling:—and verily, one must also LEARN to answer such questioning! That, however,—is my taste:

All my travels have been a testing and a questioning. And truly, one must also LEARN to answer such questions! But that is my taste:

—Neither a good nor a bad taste, but MY taste, of which I have no longer either shame or secrecy.

Neither good taste nor bad taste, but MY taste. I no longer feel ashamed of it or keep it secret.

“This—is now MY way,—where is yours?” Thus did I answer those who asked me “the way.” For THE way—it doth not exist!

“This is MY way. Where is yours?” That is how I answered those who asked me for “the way.” For THE way does not exist!

Thus spake Zarathustra.

This is what Zarathustra said.