Great Events

There is an isle in the sea—not far from the Happy Isles of Zarathustra—on which a volcano ever smoketh; of which isle the people, and especially the old women amongst them, say that it is placed as a rock before the gate of the nether-world; but that through the volcano itself the narrow way leadeth downwards which conducteth to this gate.

There is an island in the sea, not far from the Happy Isles of Zarathustra. A volcano on the island is always smoking. The people, especially the old women, say the island stands like a rock before the gate of the underworld. But they say a narrow path leads down through the volcano itself to that gate.

Now about the time that Zarathustra sojourned on the Happy Isles, it happened that a ship anchored at the isle on which standeth the smoking mountain, and the crew went ashore to shoot rabbits. About the noontide hour, however, when the captain and his men were together again, they saw suddenly a man coming towards them through the air, and a voice said distinctly: “It is time! It is the highest time!” But when the figure was nearest to them (it flew past quickly, however, like a shadow, in the direction of the volcano), then did they recognise with the greatest surprise that it was Zarathustra; for they had all seen him before except the captain himself, and they loved him as the people love: in such wise that love and awe were combined in equal degree.

Around the time Zarathustra was staying on the Happy Isles, a ship anchored at the island with the smoking mountain. The crew went ashore to shoot rabbits. Around noon, the captain and his men gathered again. Suddenly, they saw a man coming toward them through the air, and a voice said clearly: “It is time! It is the highest time!” When the figure came closest, they recognized him as Zarathustra, to their great surprise. But he flew quickly past them like a shadow, heading toward the volcano. All of them except the captain had seen him before. They loved him as people do, with equal parts love and awe.

“Behold!” said the old helmsman, “there goeth Zarathustra to hell!”

“Look!” said the old helmsman, “there goes Zarathustra to hell!”

About the same time that these sailors landed on the fire-isle, there was a rumour that Zarathustra had disappeared; and when his friends were asked about it, they said that he had gone on board a ship by night, without saying whither he was going.

Around the time these sailors landed on the fire-isle, a rumor spread that Zarathustra had disappeared. When asked about him, his friends said he had boarded a ship at night without saying where he was going.

Thus there arose some uneasiness. After three days, however, there came the story of the ship’s crew in addition to this uneasiness—and then did all the people say that the devil had taken Zarathustra. His disciples laughed, sure enough, at this talk; and one of them said even: “Sooner would I believe that Zarathustra hath taken the devil.” But at the bottom of their hearts they were all full of anxiety and longing: so their joy was great when on the fifth day Zarathustra appeared amongst them.

So some uneasiness arose. After three days, the ship’s crew told their story, adding to the uneasiness. Then all the people said that the devil had taken Zarathustra. His disciples laughed at this talk, of course. One of them even said: “I would sooner believe that Zarathustra had taken the devil.” But deep down, they were all full of anxiety and longing. So their joy was great when Zarathustra appeared among them on the fifth day.

And this is the account of Zarathustra’s interview with the fire-dog:

And here is the account of Zarathustra’s conversation with the fire-dog:

The earth, said he, hath a skin; and this skin hath diseases. One of these diseases, for example, is called “man.”

The earth has a skin, he said, and that skin has diseases. One of these diseases, for example, is called “man.”

And another of these diseases is called “the fire-dog”: concerning HIM men have greatly deceived themselves, and let themselves be deceived.

Another of these diseases is called “the fire-dog.” People have greatly deceived themselves about HIM, and let others deceive them.

To fathom this mystery did I go o’er the sea; and I have seen the truth naked, verily! barefooted up to the neck.

I crossed the sea to understand this mystery. And I have seen the naked truth, truly! Barefoot up to the neck.

Now do I know how it is concerning the fire-dog; and likewise concerning all the spouting and subversive devils, of which not only old women are afraid.

Now I understand the fire-dog, and all the spouting, subversive devils too. It is not only old women who fear them.

“Up with thee, fire-dog, out of thy depth!” cried I, “and confess how deep that depth is! Whence cometh that which thou snortest up?

“Come up from the depths, fire-dog!” I cried. “Tell me how deep those depths are! Where does the stuff you snort up come from?

Thou drinkest copiously at the sea: that doth thine embittered eloquence betray! In sooth, for a dog of the depth, thou takest thy nourishment too much from the surface!

You drink deeply from the sea. Your bitter eloquence gives you away! Truly, for a dog of the depths, you feed too much on what you find at the surface!

At the most, I regard thee as the ventriloquist of the earth: and ever, when I have heard subversive and spouting devils speak, I have found them like thee: embittered, mendacious, and shallow.

At most, I see you as the earth’s ventriloquist. Whenever I have heard subversive, ranting devils speak, I have found them like you: bitter, dishonest, and shallow.

Ye understand how to roar and obscure with ashes! Ye are the best braggarts, and have sufficiently learned the art of making dregs boil.

You know how to roar and cloud things with ashes! You are the best braggarts, and you have learned well enough how to make dregs boil.

Where ye are, there must always be dregs at hand, and much that is spongy, hollow, and compressed: it wanteth to have freedom.

Wherever you are, there must always be dregs nearby, and much that is spongy, hollow, and compressed. It wants freedom.

‘Freedom’ ye all roar most eagerly: but I have unlearned the belief in ‘great events,’ when there is much roaring and smoke about them.

You all roar most eagerly for ‘freedom.’ But I no longer believe in ‘great events’ when they come with much roaring and smoke.

And believe me, friend Hullabaloo! The greatest events—are not our noisiest, but our stillest hours.

And believe me, friend Hullabaloo! The greatest events happen not in our noisiest hours, but in our quietest ones.

Not around the inventors of new noise, but around the inventors of new values, doth the world revolve; INAUDIBLY it revolveth.

The world revolves not around the inventors of new noise, but around the inventors of new values. It revolves INAUDIBLY.

And just own to it! Little had ever taken place when thy noise and smoke passed away. What, if a city did become a mummy, and a statue lay in the mud!

And just admit it! Little had happened once your noise and smoke cleared. What if a city did become a mummy and a statue lay in the mud!

And this do I say also to the o’erthrowers of statues: It is certainly the greatest folly to throw salt into the sea, and statues into the mud.

I also say to those who tear down statues: It is surely the greatest folly to throw salt into the sea and statues into the mud.

In the mud of your contempt lay the statue: but it is just its law, that out of contempt, its life and living beauty grow again!

The statue lay in the mud of your contempt. But its very nature is to grow back to life and living beauty out of contempt!

With diviner features doth it now arise, seducing by its suffering; and verily! it will yet thank you for o’erthrowing it, ye subverters!

It now rises with more divine features, seducing through its suffering. And truly, it will yet thank you for overthrowing it, you subverters!

This counsel, however, do I counsel to kings and churches, and to all that is weak with age or virtue—let yourselves be o’erthrown! That ye may again come to life, and that virtue—may come to you!—”

However, I give this advice to kings and churches, and to all that is weak from age or virtue: let yourselves be overthrown! Then you may come to life again, and virtue may come to you!”

Thus spake I before the fire-dog: then did he interrupt me sullenly, and asked: “Church? What is that?”

This is what I said before the fire-dog. Then he interrupted me sullenly and asked: “Church? What is that?”

“Church?” answered I, “that is a kind of state, and indeed the most mendacious. But remain quiet, thou dissembling dog! Thou surely knowest thine own species best!

“Church?” I answered. “That is a kind of state, and the most deceitful kind. But be quiet, you deceitful dog! Surely you know your own kind best!

Like thyself the state is a dissembling dog; like thee doth it like to speak with smoke and roaring—to make believe, like thee, that it speaketh out of the heart of things.

Like you, the state is a deceitful dog. Like you, it likes to speak with smoke and roaring. And like you, it pretends to speak from the heart of things.

For it seeketh by all means to be the most important creature on earth, the state; and people think it so.”

For the state tries by all means to be the most important creature on earth, and people think it is.”

When I had said this, the fire-dog acted as if mad with envy. “What!” cried he, “the most important creature on earth? And people think it so?” And so much vapour and terrible voices came out of his throat, that I thought he would choke with vexation and envy.

When I said this, the fire-dog acted as if he were mad with envy. “What!” he cried. “The most important creature on earth? And people think so?” So much vapor and such terrible sounds came out of his throat that I thought he would choke with anger and envy.

At last he became calmer and his panting subsided; as soon, however, as he was quiet, I said laughingly:

At last, he calmed down and stopped panting. But as soon as he was quiet, I said with a laugh:

“Thou art angry, fire-dog: so I am in the right about thee!

“You’re angry, fire-dog, so I’m right about you!

And that I may also maintain the right, hear the story of another fire-dog; he speaketh actually out of the heart of the earth.

And so that I may also uphold the right, hear the story of another fire-dog. He really does speak from the heart of the earth.

Gold doth his breath exhale, and golden rain: so doth his heart desire. What are ashes and smoke and hot dregs to him!

His breath gives off gold and golden rain. That is what his heart desires. What are ashes, smoke, and hot dregs to him!

Laughter flitteth from him like a variegated cloud; adverse is he to thy gargling and spewing and grips in the bowels!

Laughter flits from him like a multicolored cloud. He is opposed to your gargling, vomiting, and stomach cramps!

The gold, however, and the laughter—these doth he take out of the heart of the earth: for, that thou mayst know it,—THE HEART OF THE EARTH IS OF GOLD.”

But he takes the gold and the laughter from the heart of the earth. For you should know this: THE HEART OF THE EARTH IS GOLD.”

When the fire-dog heard this, he could no longer endure to listen to me. Abashed did he draw in his tail, said “bow-wow!” in a cowed voice, and crept down into his cave.—

When the fire-dog heard this, he could no longer bear to listen to me. Ashamed, he tucked in his tail, said “bow-wow!” in a frightened voice, and crept down into his cave.

Thus told Zarathustra. His disciples, however, hardly listened to him: so great was their eagerness to tell him about the sailors, the rabbits, and the flying man.

That is what Zarathustra told them. But his disciples hardly listened to him. They were too eager to tell him about the sailors, the rabbits, and the flying man.

“What am I to think of it!” said Zarathustra. “Am I indeed a ghost?

“What am I supposed to think of it!” said Zarathustra. “Am I really a ghost?

But it may have been my shadow. Ye have surely heard something of the Wanderer and his Shadow?

But it may have been my shadow. Surely you have heard something about the Wanderer and his Shadow?

One thing, however, is certain: I must keep a tighter hold of it; otherwise it will spoil my reputation.”

One thing is certain, though: I must keep a tighter grip on it. Otherwise, it will ruin my reputation.”

And once more Zarathustra shook his head and wondered. “What am I to think of it!” said he once more.

Once again, Zarathustra shook his head in wonder. “What am I to make of it!” he said again.

“Why did the ghost cry: ‘It is time! It is the highest time!’

“Why did the ghost cry out: ‘It is time! It is high time!’

For what is it then—the highest time?”—

What is it high time for, then?”

Thus spake Zarathustra.

This is what Zarathustra said.