The Vision and the Riddle

When it got abroad among the sailors that Zarathustra was on board the ship—for a man who came from the Happy Isles had gone on board along with him,—there was great curiosity and expectation. But Zarathustra kept silent for two days, and was cold and deaf with sadness; so that he neither answered looks nor questions. On the evening of the second day, however, he again opened his ears, though he still kept silent: for there were many curious and dangerous things to be heard on board the ship, which came from afar, and was to go still further. Zarathustra, however, was fond of all those who make distant voyages, and dislike to live without danger. And behold! when listening, his own tongue was at last loosened, and the ice of his heart broke. Then did he begin to speak thus:

When word spread among the sailors that Zarathustra was aboard, they were filled with curiosity and expectation. A man from the Happy Isles had boarded with him and had told them. But Zarathustra remained silent for two days. Sadness left him cold and deaf, so he responded to neither looks nor questions. On the evening of the second day, however, he began to listen again, though he still said nothing. There were many curious and dangerous things to hear aboard the ship. It had come from far away and was bound for even more distant places. Zarathustra was fond of all those who make long voyages and dislike living without danger. And as he listened, his tongue finally loosened, and the ice in his heart broke. Then he began to speak:

To you, the daring venturers and adventurers, and whoever hath embarked with cunning sails upon frightful seas,—

To you daring explorers and adventurers, and to everyone who has sailed cleverly into terrifying seas,

To you the enigma-intoxicated, the twilight-enjoyers, whose souls are allured by flutes to every treacherous gulf:

To you who are drunk on mysteries and delight in twilight, whose souls are lured by flutes toward every treacherous abyss:

—For ye dislike to grope at a thread with cowardly hand; and where ye can DIVINE, there do ye hate to CALCULATE—

For you dislike fumbling with a thread like a coward. And wherever you can DIVINE, you hate to CALCULATE.

To you only do I tell the enigma that I SAW—the vision of the lonesomest one.—

I tell only you the riddle I SAW, the vision of the loneliest one.

Gloomily walked I lately in corpse-coloured twilight—gloomily and sternly, with compressed lips. Not only one sun had set for me.

Recently, I walked through the corpse-colored twilight, gloomy and stern, with my lips pressed tightly together. More than one sun had set for me.

A path which ascended daringly among boulders, an evil, lonesome path, which neither herb nor shrub any longer cheered, a mountain-path, crunched under the daring of my foot.

A path climbed boldly among the boulders. It was a sinister, lonely path, no longer brightened by any plant or shrub. The mountain path crunched beneath my daring steps.

Mutely marching over the scornful clinking of pebbles, trampling the stone that let it slip: thus did my foot force its way upwards.

My foot forced its way upward, silently marching over the mocking clink of pebbles and trampling the stone that made it slip.

Upwards:—in spite of the spirit that drew it downwards, towards the abyss, the spirit of gravity, my devil and arch-enemy.

Upward, despite the spirit that pulled it down toward the abyss: the spirit of gravity, my devil and greatest enemy.

Upwards:—although it sat upon me, half-dwarf, half-mole; paralysed, paralysing; dripping lead in mine ear, and thoughts like drops of lead into my brain.

Upward, although it sat on me, half dwarf and half mole. It was paralyzed and paralyzing, dripping lead into my ear and thoughts like drops of lead into my brain.

“O Zarathustra,” it whispered scornfully, syllable by syllable, “thou stone of wisdom! Thou threwest thyself high, but every thrown stone must—fall!

“Oh, Zarathustra,” it whispered scornfully, syllable by syllable, “you stone of wisdom! You threw yourself high, but every stone that is thrown must fall!

O Zarathustra, thou stone of wisdom, thou sling-stone, thou star-destroyer! Thyself threwest thou so high,—but every thrown stone—must fall!

O Zarathustra, you stone of wisdom, you slingstone, you star-destroyer! You threw yourself so high, but every stone that is thrown must fall!

Condemned of thyself, and to thine own stoning: O Zarathustra, far indeed threwest thou thy stone—but upon THYSELF will it recoil!”

Condemned by yourself to be stoned by yourself. O Zarathustra, you threw your stone far, but it will strike YOU!”

Then was the dwarf silent; and it lasted long. The silence, however, oppressed me; and to be thus in pairs, one is verily lonesomer than when alone!

Then the dwarf fell silent, and the silence lasted a long time. But the silence weighed on me. Being together like that makes one even lonelier than being alone!

I ascended, I ascended, I dreamt, I thought,—but everything oppressed me. A sick one did I resemble, whom bad torture wearieth, and a worse dream reawakeneth out of his first sleep.—

I climbed, I climbed, I dreamed, I thought, but everything weighed on me. I was like a sick person, worn out by terrible suffering and awakened from early sleep by an even worse dream.

But there is something in me which I call courage: it hath hitherto slain for me every dejection. This courage at last bade me stand still and say: “Dwarf! Thou! Or I!”—

But there is something in me that I call courage. So far, it has destroyed every feeling of despair in me. At last, this courage told me to stop and say: “Dwarf! You or I!”

For courage is the best slayer,—courage which ATTACKETH: for in every attack there is sound of triumph.

For courage is the best killer, the courage that ATTACKS. For every attack carries the sound of triumph.

Man, however, is the most courageous animal: thereby hath he overcome every animal. With sound of triumph hath he overcome every pain; human pain, however, is the sorest pain.

Humans, however, are the most courageous animals. Through courage, they have conquered every other animal. With a cry of triumph, they have overcome every pain. Human pain, however, is the deepest pain.

Courage slayeth also giddiness at abysses: and where doth man not stand at abysses! Is not seeing itself—seeing abysses?

Courage also kills the dizziness we feel at the edge of an abyss. And where does a person not stand at the edge of an abyss? Isn’t seeing itself a way of seeing abysses?

Courage is the best slayer: courage slayeth also fellow-suffering. Fellow-suffering, however, is the deepest abyss: as deeply as man looketh into life, so deeply also doth he look into suffering.

Courage is the best killer. Courage also kills compassion. But compassion is the deepest abyss. The deeper a person looks into life, the deeper they also look into suffering.

Courage, however, is the best slayer, courage which attacketh: it slayeth even death itself; for it saith: “WAS THAT life? Well! Once more!”

But courage is the best killer, the courage that attacks. It kills even death itself, for it says: “WAS THAT life? Well! Once more!”

In such speech, however, there is much sound of triumph. He who hath ears to hear, let him hear.—

But there is much triumph in such speech. Anyone with ears to hear, let them hear.

“Halt, dwarf!” said I. “Either I—or thou! I, however, am the stronger of the two:—thou knowest not mine abysmal thought! IT—couldst thou not endure!”

“Stop, dwarf!” I said. “Either I or you! But I am the stronger of the two. You do not know my abysmal thought! You could not bear IT!”

Then happened that which made me lighter: for the dwarf sprang from my shoulder, the prying sprite! And it squatted on a stone in front of me. There was however a gateway just where we halted.

Then something happened that made me feel lighter: the dwarf jumped off my shoulder, the nosy little sprite! It crouched on a stone in front of me. There was a gateway just where we stopped.

“Look at this gateway! Dwarf!” I continued, “it hath two faces. Two roads come together here: these hath no one yet gone to the end of.

“Look at this gateway, Dwarf!” I continued. “It has two faces. Two roads meet here. No one has ever followed either road to the end.

This long lane backwards: it continueth for an eternity. And that long lane forward—that is another eternity.

This long lane stretches backward for eternity. And the long lane ahead is another eternity.

They are antithetical to one another, these roads; they directly abut on one another:—and it is here, at this gateway, that they come together. The name of the gateway is inscribed above: ‘This Moment.’

These roads run in opposite directions. They meet directly at this gateway. The name written above the gateway is ‘This Moment.’

But should one follow them further—and ever further and further on, thinkest thou, dwarf, that these roads would be eternally antithetical?”—

But if one followed them further and further, do you think, dwarf, that these roads would remain opposed forever?”

“Everything straight lieth,” murmured the dwarf, contemptuously. “All truth is crooked; time itself is a circle.”

“Everything straight lies,” the dwarf murmured contemptuously. “All truth is crooked. Time itself is a circle.”

“Thou spirit of gravity!” said I wrathfully, “do not take it too lightly! Or I shall let thee squat where thou squattest, Haltfoot,—and I carried thee HIGH!”

“Spirit of gravity!” I said angrily. “Don’t take it too lightly! Or I’ll leave you squatting where you are, Haltfoot, and I carried you HIGH!”

“Observe,” continued I, “This Moment! From the gateway, This Moment, there runneth a long eternal lane BACKWARDS: behind us lieth an eternity.

“Look,” I continued, “at This Moment! From the gateway called This Moment, a long, eternal lane stretches BACKWARD. Behind us lies an eternity.

Must not whatever CAN run its course of all things, have already run along that lane? Must not whatever CAN happen of all things have already happened, resulted, and gone by?

Mustn't everything that CAN travel this lane have already traveled it? Mustn't everything that CAN happen have already happened, played out, and passed?

And if everything have already existed, what thinkest thou, dwarf, of This Moment? Must not this gateway also—have already existed?

And if everything has already existed, what do you think of This Moment, dwarf? Must this gateway not also have existed already?

And are not all things closely bound together in such wise that This Moment draweth all coming things after it? CONSEQUENTLY—itself also?

And aren't all things so closely connected that This Moment draws all things to come after it? And CONSEQUENTLY, itself as well?

For whatever CAN run its course of all things, also in this long lane OUTWARD—MUST it once more run!—

For everything that CAN run its course along this long lane OUTWARD MUST run it once more!

And this slow spider which creepeth in the moonlight, and this moonlight itself, and thou and I in this gateway whispering together, whispering of eternal things—must we not all have already existed?

This slow spider creeping in the moonlight, the moonlight itself, and you and I whispering together in this gateway. We are whispering about eternal things. Must we not all have existed before?

—And must we not return and run in that other lane out before us, that long weird lane—must we not eternally return?”—

And must we not return and run down that other lane before us, that long, strange lane? Must we not return forever?”

Thus did I speak, and always more softly: for I was afraid of mine own thoughts, and arrear-thoughts. Then, suddenly did I hear a dog HOWL near me.

I spoke like this, more and more softly, because I was afraid of my own thoughts and afterthoughts. Then, suddenly, I heard a dog HOWL nearby.

Had I ever heard a dog howl thus? My thoughts ran back. Yes! When I was a child, in my most distant childhood:

Had I ever heard a dog howl like that? I thought back. Yes! When I was a child, in my earliest childhood:

—Then did I hear a dog howl thus. And saw it also, with hair bristling, its head upwards, trembling in the stillest midnight, when even dogs believe in ghosts:

Then I heard a dog howl like that. I saw the dog too. Its fur was bristling, its head was raised, and it was trembling in the stillness of midnight, when even dogs believe in ghosts:

—So that it excited my commiseration. For just then went the full moon, silent as death, over the house; just then did it stand still, a glowing globe—at rest on the flat roof, as if on some one’s property:—

So it stirred my pity. For just then, the full moon passed over the house, silent as death. It stopped there, a glowing globe resting on the flat roof, as if it were on someone's property.

Thereby had the dog been terrified: for dogs believe in thieves and ghosts. And when I again heard such howling, then did it excite my commiseration once more.

This had terrified the dog, because dogs believe in thieves and ghosts. And when I heard such howling again, I felt pity once more.

Where was now the dwarf? And the gateway? And the spider? And all the whispering? Had I dreamt? Had I awakened? ‘Twixt rugged rocks did I suddenly stand alone, dreary in the dreariest moonlight.

Where was the dwarf now? And the gateway? And the spider? And all the whispering? Had I been dreaming? Had I woken up? Suddenly I stood alone among rugged rocks, gloomy in the gloomiest moonlight.

BUT THERE LAY A MAN! And there! The dog leaping, bristling, whining—now did it see me coming—then did it howl again, then did it CRY:—had I ever heard a dog cry so for help?

BUT A MAN WAS LYING THERE! And there! The dog was leaping, bristling, and whining. Then it saw me coming and howled again. Then it CRIED: had I ever heard a dog cry for help like that?

And verily, what I saw, the like had I never seen. A young shepherd did I see, writhing, choking, quivering, with distorted countenance, and with a heavy black serpent hanging out of his mouth.

Truly, I had never seen anything like what I saw. A young shepherd was writhing, choking, and trembling, his face twisted. A heavy black snake hung from his mouth.

Had I ever seen so much loathing and pale horror on one countenance? He had perhaps gone to sleep? Then had the serpent crawled into his throat—there had it bitten itself fast.

Had I ever seen so much disgust and pale horror on a single face? Had he perhaps fallen asleep? Then the snake had crawled into his throat and bitten down, holding fast.

My hand pulled at the serpent, and pulled:—in vain! I failed to pull the serpent out of his throat. Then there cried out of me: “Bite! Bite!

I pulled and pulled at the serpent, but it was no use! I couldn’t pull it out of his throat. Then I cried out: “Bite! Bite!

Its head off! Bite!”—so cried it out of me; my horror, my hatred, my loathing, my pity, all my good and my bad cried with one voice out of me.—

“Bite its head off!” The cry came from deep within me. My horror, my hatred, my disgust, my pity, all the good and bad in me cried out as one.

Ye daring ones around me! Ye venturers and adventurers, and whoever of you have embarked with cunning sails on unexplored seas! Ye enigma-enjoyers!

You daring people around me! You explorers and adventurers, and all of you who have set sail on unexplored seas with cleverly rigged sails! You who love riddles!

Solve unto me the enigma that I then beheld, interpret unto me the vision of the lonesomest one!

Solve the riddle of what I saw then. Interpret the vision of the loneliest one!

For it was a vision and a foresight:—WHAT did I then behold in parable? And WHO is it that must come some day?

For it was a vision and a glimpse of the future. WHAT did I see in that symbolic vision? And WHO must come someday?

WHO is the shepherd into whose throat the serpent thus crawled? WHO is the man into whose throat all the heaviest and blackest will thus crawl?

WHO is the shepherd whose throat the serpent crawled into? WHO is the man whose throat all that is heaviest and blackest will crawl into?

—The shepherd however bit as my cry had admonished him; he bit with a strong bite! Far away did he spit the head of the serpent—: and sprang up.—

But the shepherd bit as my cry had urged him to. He bit hard! He spat the serpent’s head far away and sprang to his feet.

No longer shepherd, no longer man—a transfigured being, a light-surrounded being, that LAUGHED! Never on earth laughed a man as HE laughed!

No longer a shepherd, no longer a man, but a transformed being surrounded by light, who LAUGHED! No man on earth had ever laughed as HE laughed!

O my brethren, I heard a laughter which was no human laughter,—and now gnaweth a thirst at me, a longing that is never allayed.

My brothers, I heard laughter that was not human. And now a thirst gnaws at me, a longing that is never satisfied.

My longing for that laughter gnaweth at me: oh, how can I still endure to live! And how could I endure to die at present!—

My longing for that laughter gnaws at me. Oh, how can I go on living! And how could I bear to die now!

Thus spake Zarathustra.

This is what Zarathustra said.