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11 - Thus Spake Zarathustra - Friedrich Nietzsche · Logic Library

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  Part one, Chapter eleven, The New Idol. Somewhere there are still peoples
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  and herds, But not with us, my brethren. Here there are states,
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  a state. What is that? Well? Open now your ears unto
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  me? For now will I say unto you my word concerning the death of
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  peoples. A state is called the coldest of all cold monsters. Coldly lieth
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  it also, and this lie creepeth from its mouth. I the state am
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  the people. It is a lie. Creators were they who created peoples and
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  hung a faith and a love over them. Thus they served life. Destroyers
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  are they who lay snares for many and calleth the state. They hang a
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  sword and a hundred cravings over them. Where there is still a people there
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  the state is not understood, but hated as the evil eye, and as
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  sin against law and customs. This sign I give unto you. Every people
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  speaketh its language of good and evil. This its neighbor understandeth not its language.
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  Hath it devised for itself in laws and customs. But the state lieth
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  in all languages of good and evil. And whatever it saith, it lieth,
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  and whatever it hath it hath stolen. False is everything in it with
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  stolen teeth. It biteth the biting one false even are its bowels confusion of
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  language of good and evil. This sign I give unto you as the sign
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  of the state. Verily the will to death indicateth this sign. Verily it
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  beckoneth under to the preachers of death. Many too many are born for the
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  superfluous ones with the state devised. See just how it enticeth them to it.
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  The many too many, how it swalloweth and cheweth and re cheweth them
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  on earth. There is nothing greater than I. It is I who am
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  the regulating finger of God. Thus rouareth the monster, and not only the
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  long eared and short sighted fall upon their knees. Ah, even in your
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  ears, your great souls, it whispereth its gloomy lies. Ah, it
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  findeth out the rich hearts, which willingly lavish themselves. Yea, it findeth
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  you out too, Ye, conquerors of the old God. Weary became because
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  of the conflict. And now your weariness serveth the new idol. Heroes and
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  honorable ones. It would fain set up around it, the new idol.
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  Gladly it basketh in the sunshine of good consciences. The cold monster. Everything
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  will it give you if you worship it the new idol. Thus it purchaseth
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  the luster of your virtue and the glance of your proud eyes. It seeketh
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  to allure by means of you the many, too many. YEA, a
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  hellish artifice. Hath here been devised a death horse, jingling with the trappings
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  of divine honors. YEA, A dying for many. Hath here been devised
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  which glorifieth itself as life, verily, A hearty service to all preachers of
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  death. The state I call it where all are poison drinkers, the good
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  and the bad. The state where all lose themselves, the good and the
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  bad. The state where the slow suicide of all is called life. Just
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  see these superfluous ones. They steal the works of the inventors and the treasures
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  of the wise culture. They call their theft, and everything becometh sickness and
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  trouble unto them. Just see these superfluous ones. Sick are they always?
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  They vomit their bile and call it a newspaper. They devour one another and
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  cannot even digest themselves. Just see these superfluous ones. Wealth they acquire and
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  become poorer. Thereby power they seek for, and above all the lever of
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  power much money. These impotent ones see them clamber, these nimble apes.
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  They clamber over one another, and then scuffle into the mud and the abyss
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  towards the throne. They all strive. It is their madness, as if
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  happiness sat on the throne. Ofttimes sitteth filth on the throne, and ofttimes
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  also of the throne on filth. Madmen, they all seem to me,
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  and clambering apes, and too eager badly smellth their idle to me, the
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  cold monster. Badly they all smell to me, these idolaters, my brethren,
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  will he suffocate in them fumes of their maths and appetites. Better break
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  the windows and jump into the open air. Do go out of the way
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  of the bad odor, withdraw from the idolatry of the superfluous. Do go
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  out of the way of the bad odor, withdraw from the steam of these
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  human sacrifices. Open still remaineth the earth for great souls. Empty, are
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  still many sights for lone ones and twain ones, around which floateth the odor
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  of tranquil seas. Open still remaineth a free life for great souls. Verily,
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  he who possesseth little is so much more the less possessed, blessed be
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  moderate poverty. There Where the state ceaseth their only commenceth the man who is
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  not superfluous. There commenceth the song of the necessary ones, the single and
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  irreplaceable melody. There Where the state ceaseth, pray. Look thither, my
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  brethren, do ye not see it? The rainbow and the bridges of the
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  superman. Thus spake Zarathustra. End of Part one, Chapter eleven,