Science

Thus sang the magician; and all who were present went like birds unawares into the net of his artful and melancholy voluptuousness. Only the spiritually conscientious one had not been caught: he at once snatched the harp from the magician and called out: “Air! Let in good air! Let in Zarathustra! Thou makest this cave sultry and poisonous, thou bad old magician!

This was the magician’s song. All who were there were caught unawares, like birds in the net of his artful, melancholy sensuality. Only the spiritually conscientious one was not caught. He immediately snatched the harp from the magician and called out: “Air! Let in some fresh air! Let in Zarathustra! You are making this cave stuffy and poisonous, you wicked old magician!

Thou seducest, thou false one, thou subtle one, to unknown desires and deserts. And alas, that such as thou should talk and make ado about the TRUTH!

You lure people toward unknown desires and deserts, you deceitful, cunning one. And alas, someone like you talks and makes such a fuss about the TRUTH!

Alas, to all free spirits who are not on their guard against SUCH magicians! It is all over with their freedom: thou teachest and temptest back into prisons,—

Alas for all free spirits who do not guard against SUCH magicians! Their freedom is lost. You teach and tempt them back into prisons.

—Thou old melancholy devil, out of thy lament soundeth a lurement: thou resemblest those who with their praise of chastity secretly invite to voluptuousness!”

You old, gloomy devil, there is a temptation in your lament. You are like those who praise chastity while secretly inviting people to indulge in pleasure!”

Thus spake the conscientious one; the old magician, however, looked about him, enjoying his triumph, and on that account put up with the annoyance which the conscientious one caused him. “Be still!” said he with modest voice, “good songs want to re-echo well; after good songs one should be long silent.

So spoke the conscientious one. But the old magician looked around, enjoying his triumph. Because of his triumph, he put up with the annoyance the conscientious one caused him. “Be quiet!” he said in a modest voice. “Good songs need time to echo. After a good song, one should remain silent for a long time.

Thus do all those present, the higher men. Thou, however, hast perhaps understood but little of my song? In thee there is little of the magic spirit.”

All those present, the higher men, do the same. But perhaps you understood little of my song? There is little of the magic spirit in you.”

“Thou praisest me,” replied the conscientious one, “in that thou separatest me from thyself; very well! But, ye others, what do I see? Ye still sit there, all of you, with lusting eyes—:

“You praise me,” replied the conscientious one, “by setting me apart from yourself. Very well! But what do I see, all of you others? You are all still sitting there with lustful eyes:

Ye free spirits, whither hath your freedom gone! Ye almost seem to me to resemble those who have long looked at bad girls dancing naked: your souls themselves dance!

You free spirits, where has your freedom gone! You almost seem like people who have watched bad girls dance naked for too long. Your very souls are dancing!

In you, ye higher men, there must be more of that which the magician calleth his evil spirit of magic and deceit:—we must indeed be different.

You higher men must have more of what the magician calls his evil spirit of magic and deceit. We must indeed be different.

And verily, we spake and thought long enough together ere Zarathustra came home to his cave, for me not to be unaware that we ARE different.

And indeed, we talked and thought together long enough before Zarathustra returned to his cave for me to know that we ARE different.

We SEEK different things even here aloft, ye and I. For I seek more SECURITY; on that account have I come to Zarathustra. For he is still the most steadfast tower and will—

You and I seek different things, even up here. I seek more SECURITY, and that is why I came to Zarathustra. For he is still the most steadfast tower and will...

—To-day, when everything tottereth, when all the earth quaketh. Ye, however, when I see what eyes ye make, it almost seemeth to me that ye seek MORE INSECURITY,

Today, everything is unsteady, and all the earth is shaking. But when I see the look in your eyes, it almost seems to me that you seek MORE INSECURITY,

—More horror, more danger, more earthquake. Ye long (it almost seemeth so to me—forgive my presumption, ye higher men)—

More horror, more danger, more earthquakes. You long for them, or so it almost seems to me. Forgive my presumption, you higher men.

—Ye long for the worst and dangerousest life, which frighteneth ME most,—for the life of wild beasts, for forests, caves, steep mountains and labyrinthine gorges.

You long for the worst and most dangerous life, the one that frightens me most. You long for the life of wild beasts, for forests, caves, steep mountains, and maze-like gorges.

And it is not those who lead OUT OF danger that please you best, but those who lead you away from all paths, the misleaders. But if such longing in you be ACTUAL, it seemeth to me nevertheless to be IMPOSSIBLE.

And the people who please you most are not those who lead you OUT OF danger. They are the misleaders, who lead you away from all paths. But even if this longing in you is REAL, it still seems IMPOSSIBLE to me.

For fear—that is man’s original and fundamental feeling; through fear everything is explained, original sin and original virtue. Through fear there grew also MY virtue, that is to say: Science.

For fear is humanity’s original and fundamental feeling. Fear explains everything, both original sin and original virtue. My own virtue also grew from fear. That virtue is Science.

For fear of wild animals—that hath been longest fostered in man, inclusive of the animal which he concealeth and feareth in himself:—Zarathustra calleth it ‘the beast inside.’

For fear of wild animals has been fostered in humans longer than anything else. This includes fear of the animal people hide and fear within themselves. Zarathustra calls it ‘the beast inside.’

Such prolonged ancient fear, at last become subtle, spiritual and intellectual—at present, me thinketh, it is called SCIENCE.”—

This ancient fear has lasted so long that it has finally become subtle, spiritual, and intellectual. Today, I think, it is called SCIENCE.”

Thus spake the conscientious one; but Zarathustra, who had just come back into his cave and had heard and divined the last discourse, threw a handful of roses to the conscientious one, and laughed on account of his “truths.” “Why!” he exclaimed, “what did I hear just now? Verily, it seemeth to me, thou art a fool, or else I myself am one: and quietly and quickly will I put thy ‘truth’ upside down.

So spoke the conscientious one. But Zarathustra had just returned to his cave and had heard and understood his last speech. He threw a handful of roses to the conscientious one and laughed at his “truths.” “Why!” he exclaimed. “What did I just hear? Truly, it seems to me that you are a fool, or else I am one myself. And I will quietly and quickly turn your ‘truth’ upside down.

For FEAR—is an exception with us. Courage, however, and adventure, and delight in the uncertain, in the unattempted—COURAGE seemeth to me the entire primitive history of man.

For FEAR is the exception among us. But courage, adventure, and delight in the uncertain and the untried, COURAGE seems to me to be the whole early history of humanity.

The wildest and most courageous animals hath he envied and robbed of all their virtues: thus only did he become—man.

He envied the wildest and most courageous animals and stole all their virtues. Only in this way did he become human.

THIS courage, at last become subtle, spiritual and intellectual, this human courage, with eagle’s pinions and serpent’s wisdom: THIS, it seemeth to me, is called at present—”

THIS courage has finally become subtle, spiritual, and intellectual. It is human courage with an eagle’s wings and a serpent’s wisdom. THIS, it seems to me, is now called: ”

“ZARATHUSTRA!” cried all of them there assembled, as if with one voice, and burst out at the same time into a great laughter; there arose, however, from them as it were a heavy cloud. Even the magician laughed, and said wisely: “Well! It is gone, mine evil spirit!

“ZARATHUSTRA!” everyone gathered there cried as if with one voice, and they all burst out laughing at once. But it was as if a heavy cloud rose from them. Even the magician laughed and said wisely: “Well! My evil spirit is gone!

And did I not myself warn you against it when I said that it was a deceiver, a lying and deceiving spirit?

And didn't I warn you myself when I said it was a deceiver, a lying and deceptive spirit?

Especially when it showeth itself naked. But what can I do with regard to its tricks! Have I created it and the world?

Especially when it shows itself naked. But what can I do about its tricks? Did I create it and the world?

Well! Let us be good again, and of good cheer! And although Zarathustra looketh with evil eye—just see him! he disliketh me—:

Well! Let us be good and cheerful again! And although Zarathustra gives me a hostile look, just look at him! He dislikes me:

—Ere night cometh will he again learn to love and laud me; he cannot live long without committing such follies.

Before night falls, he will learn to love and praise me again. He cannot go long without doing such foolish things.

HE—loveth his enemies: this art knoweth he better than any one I have seen. But he taketh revenge for it—on his friends!”

He loves his enemies. He knows this art better than anyone I have seen. But he takes revenge for it on his friends!”

Thus spake the old magician, and the higher men applauded him; so that Zarathustra went round, and mischievously and lovingly shook hands with his friends,—like one who hath to make amends and apologise to every one for something. When however he had thereby come to the door of his cave, lo, then had he again a longing for the good air outside, and for his animals,—and wished to steal out.

This was what the old magician said, and the higher men applauded him. So Zarathustra went around and shook hands with his friends, playfully and lovingly. He seemed to be making amends and apologizing to each of them for something. But when he reached the door of his cave, he longed again for the fresh air outside and for his animals. He wanted to slip out.