The Sublime Ones

Calm is the bottom of my sea: who would guess that it hideth droll monsters!

The bottom of my sea is calm. Who would guess it hides such strange monsters!

Unmoved is my depth: but it sparkleth with swimming enigmas and laughters.

My depth is still, but it sparkles with swimming riddles and laughter.

A sublime one saw I to-day, a solemn one, a penitent of the spirit: Oh, how my soul laughed at his ugliness!

Today I saw a sublime man, a solemn man, a man repentant in spirit. Oh, how my soul laughed at his ugliness!

With upraised breast, and like those who draw in their breath: thus did he stand, the sublime one, and in silence:

The sublime one stood in silence, his chest raised, like someone drawing in a breath:

O’erhung with ugly truths, the spoil of his hunting, and rich in torn raiment; many thorns also hung on him—but I saw no rose.

He was covered in ugly truths, the spoils of his hunt, and dressed in torn clothes. Many thorns also clung to him, but I saw no rose.

Not yet had he learned laughing and beauty. Gloomy did this hunter return from the forest of knowledge.

He had not yet learned laughter and beauty. The hunter returned from the forest of knowledge in a gloomy mood.

From the fight with wild beasts returned he home: but even yet a wild beast gazeth out of his seriousness—an unconquered wild beast!

He returned home from fighting wild beasts. But a wild beast still looks out from his serious expression, an unconquered wild beast!

As a tiger doth he ever stand, on the point of springing; but I do not like those strained souls; ungracious is my taste towards all those self-engrossed ones.

He always stands like a tiger, ready to spring. But I do not like such tense souls. I have no taste for any of those self-absorbed people.

And ye tell me, friends, that there is to be no dispute about taste and tasting? But all life is a dispute about taste and tasting!

And you tell me, friends, that there should be no arguing about taste and tasting? But all life is an argument about taste and tasting!

Taste: that is weight at the same time, and scales and weigher; and alas for every living thing that would live without dispute about weight and scales and weigher!

Taste is weight, scales, and the one who weighs, all at once. And woe to every living thing that would live without disputes over weight, scales, and the one who weighs!

Should he become weary of his sublimeness, this sublime one, then only will his beauty begin—and then only will I taste him and find him savoury.

Only if this sublime man grows tired of his own sublimity will his beauty begin. Only then will I taste him and find him delicious.

And only when he turneth away from himself will he o’erleap his own shadow—and verily! into HIS sun.

Only when he turns away from himself will he leap over his own shadow, and indeed, into HIS sun.

Far too long did he sit in the shade; the cheeks of the penitent of the spirit became pale; he almost starved on his expectations.

He sat in the shade for far too long. The spiritual penitent’s cheeks grew pale. He almost starved on his expectations.

Contempt is still in his eye, and loathing hideth in his mouth. To be sure, he now resteth, but he hath not yet taken rest in the sunshine.

Contempt is still in his eye, and loathing hides in his mouth. He is resting now, but he has not yet rested in the sunshine.

As the ox ought he to do; and his happiness should smell of the earth, and not of contempt for the earth.

He should act like the ox. And his happiness should smell of the earth, not of contempt for it.

As a white ox would I like to see him, which, snorting and lowing, walketh before the ploughshare: and his lowing should also laud all that is earthly!

I would like to see him as a white ox, snorting and lowing as he walks before the plow. His lowing should also praise all that is earthly!

Dark is still his countenance; the shadow of his hand danceth upon it. O’ershadowed is still the sense of his eye.

His face is still dark. The shadow of his hand dances across it. The meaning in his eyes is still obscured.

His deed itself is still the shadow upon him: his doing obscureth the doer. Not yet hath he overcome his deed.

His deed still casts a shadow over him. What he has done obscures who he is. He has not yet overcome his deed.

To be sure, I love in him the shoulders of the ox: but now do I want to see also the eye of the angel.

I love his ox-like shoulders, of course. But now I also want to see the eye of an angel.

Also his hero-will hath he still to unlearn: an exalted one shall he be, and not only a sublime one:—the ether itself should raise him, the will-less one!

He must also unlearn his will to be a hero. He should be exalted, not merely sublime. The ether itself should lift him, once he is free of will!

He hath subdued monsters, he hath solved enigmas. But he should also redeem his monsters and enigmas; into heavenly children should he transform them.

He has conquered monsters and solved riddles. But he should also redeem his monsters and riddles. He should transform them into heavenly children.

As yet hath his knowledge not learned to smile, and to be without jealousy; as yet hath his gushing passion not become calm in beauty.

His knowledge has not yet learned to smile or to be free of jealousy. His overflowing passion has not yet found calm in beauty.

Verily, not in satiety shall his longing cease and disappear, but in beauty! Gracefulness belongeth to the munificence of the magnanimous.

Truly, his longing will not end in having enough, but in beauty! Grace is part of the generosity of the greathearted.

His arm across his head: thus should the hero repose; thus should he also surmount his repose.

The hero should rest with his arm across his head. In the same way, he should also overcome his rest.

But precisely to the hero is BEAUTY the hardest thing of all. Unattainable is beauty by all ardent wills.

But BEAUTY is hardest of all for the hero. No ardent will can attain beauty.

A little more, a little less: precisely this is much here, it is the most here.

A little more, a little less: here, that is a lot. Here, it is the most.

To stand with relaxed muscles and with unharnessed will: that is the hardest for all of you, ye sublime ones!

To stand with relaxed muscles and a free will: that is the hardest thing for all of you sublime ones!

When power becometh gracious and descendeth into the visible—I call such condescension, beauty.

When power becomes gracious and comes down into the visible world, I call that descent beauty.

And from no one do I want beauty so much as from thee, thou powerful one: let thy goodness be thy last self-conquest.

I want beauty from you, powerful one, more than from anyone else. Let your goodness be your final victory over yourself.

All evil do I accredit to thee: therefore do I desire of thee the good.

I credit you with all evil. Therefore, I ask you for the good.

Verily, I have often laughed at the weaklings, who think themselves good because they have crippled paws!

Indeed, I have often laughed at weaklings who think they are good because their paws are crippled!

The virtue of the pillar shalt thou strive after: more beautiful doth it ever become, and more graceful—but internally harder and more sustaining—the higher it riseth.

Strive for the virtue of the pillar. The higher it rises, the more beautiful and graceful it becomes. But inside, it also becomes harder and more able to bear weight.

Yea, thou sublime one, one day shalt thou also be beautiful, and hold up the mirror to thine own beauty.

Yes, sublime one, one day you too will be beautiful and hold up a mirror to your own beauty.

Then will thy soul thrill with divine desires; and there will be adoration even in thy vanity!

Then your soul will thrill with divine desires, and even your vanity will be filled with adoration!

For this is the secret of the soul: when the hero hath abandoned it, then only approacheth it in dreams—the superhero.—

For this is the secret of the soul: only when the hero has abandoned it does the superhero approach it in dreams.

Thus spake Zarathustra.

Thus spoke Zarathustra.