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66 - Thus Spake Zarathustra - Friedrich Nietzsche · The Philosophy Insights Collection

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  Part sixty six out of service. Not long however, after Zarathustra had freed
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  himself from the magician, he again saw a person sitting beside the path which
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  he followed, namely a tall black man with a haggard, pale countenance.
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  This man grieved him exceedingly, alas said he to his heart, there sitteth
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  disguised affliction. Methinketh he is of the type of the priests. What do
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  they want in my domain? What hardly have I escaped from that magician?
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  And must another necromancer again run across my path, some sorcerer with laying on
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  of hands, some somber wonder worker by the grace of God, some anointed
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  world maligner, whom may the devil take. But the devil is never at
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  the place which would be his right place. He always cometh too late,
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  that cursed dwarf and club foot. Thus cursed Zarathustra impatiently in his heart,
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  and considered how with averted look he might slip past the black man. But
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  behold, it came about otherwise, For at the same moment had the sitting
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  one already perceived him, and not unlike one whom an unexpected happiness overtaketh.
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  He sprang to his feet and went straight toward Zarathustra, whoever thou art,
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  thou traveler, said, he help a strayed one, a seeker, an
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  old man, who may here easily come to grief. The world here is
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  strange to me, and remote wild beasts. Also did I hear howling?
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  And he who could have given me protection, he is himself no more.
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  I was seeking the pious man, a saint and an anchorite, who alone
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  in his forest had not yet heard of What all the world knoweth at present?
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  What doth all the world know at present? Asked Zarathustra, Perhaps that
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  the old God no longer liveth in whom all the world once believed. Thou
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  sayest it, answered the old man sorrowfully. And I served that old God
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  until his last hour. Now, however, am I out of service without
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  master, and yet not free? Likewise, am I no longer merry even
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  for an hour? Except it be in recollections. Therefore did I ascend into
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  these mountains that I might finally have a festival for myself once more, as
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  becometh an old pope and church father. For know it that I am the
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  last pope, a festival of pious recollections and divine services. Now, however,
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  is he himself dead, the most pious of men, a saint in
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  the forest, who praised his God constantly with singing and mumbling. He himself
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  found I no longer when I found his cot, But two wolves found I
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  therein which howled on account of his death, for all animals loved him.
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  Then did I haste away? Had I thus come in vain into the forests
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  and mountains, Then did my heart determine that I should seek another, most
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  pious of all those who believe not in God. My heart determined that I
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  should seek Zarathustra. Thus spake the hoary man, and gazed with keen eyes
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  at him who stood before him. Zarathustra, however, seized the hand of
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  the old pope and regarded it a long while with admiration. Lo thou venerable
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  one, said he. Then, what a fine and long hand that is
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  the hand of one who hath ever dispensed blessings. Now, however doth it
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  hold fast him who thou seekest me, Zarathustra. It is I the ungodly
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  Zarathustra, who saith, who is ungodlier than I that I may enjoy his
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  teaching. Thus spake Zarathustra, and penetrated with his glances the thoughts and arrear
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  thoughts of the old Pope. At last the latter began. He who most
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  loved and possessed him hath now also lost him most lo, I myself am
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  surely the most godless of us at present? But who could rejoice at that?
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  Thou servest him to the last, asked Zarathustra thoughtfully, after a deep
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  silence. Thou knowest how he died? Is it true what they say?
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  That sympathy choked him, that he saw how man hung on the cross and
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  could not endure it, that his love to man became his he? Oh,
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  and at last his death. The old Pope, however, did not
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  answer, but looked aside timidly with a painful and gloomy expression. Let him
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  go, said Zarathustra, after prolonged meditation, still looking the old man straight
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  in the eye. Let him go. He is gone, And thou it
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  honoreth thee that thou speak'st only in praise of this dead one. Yet thou
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  knowest as well as I who he was, and that he went curious ways
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  to speak before three eyes, said the old pope, cheerfully. He was
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  blind of one eye. In divine matters, I am more enlightened than Zarathus
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  himself, and may well be so. My love served him long years.
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  My will followed all his will. A good servant, however, knoweth everything
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  and many a thing, even which a master hideth from himself. He was
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  a hidden god, full of secrecy. Verily, he did not come by
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  his son, otherwise than by secret ways. At the door of his faith
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  standeth adultery. Whoever extoleth him as a god of love, doth not think
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  highly enough of love itself. Did not that God want also to be a
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  judge, But the loving one loveth irrespective of reward and requital. He was
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  young, that god out of the Orient. Then he was harsh and revengeful,
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  and built himself a hell for the delight of his favorites. At last,
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  however, he became old and soft and mellow and pitiful, more like
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  a grandfather than a father, but most like a tottering old grandmother. There
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  did he sit shriveled in his chimney corner, fretting on account of his weak
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  legs. World weary, will weary, and one day he suffocated of his
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  all too great pity, Thou, old Pope, said here Zarathustra, interposing,
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  hast thou seen that with thine eyes it could well have happened in that
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  way, in that way, and all so otherwise. When gods die,
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  they always die many kinds of death. Well, at all events, one
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  way or the other, he is gone. He was counter to the taste
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  of mine ears and eyes. Worse than that, I should not like to
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  say against him. I love everything that looketh bright and speaketh honestly. But
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  he thou knowest it, forsooth thou, old priest. There was something of
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  thy type in him, the priest type. He was equivocal. He was
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  also indistinct. How he raged at us, this wrath snorter, because we
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  understood him badly? But why did he not speak more clearly? And if
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  the fault lay in our ears, why did he give us ears that heard
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  him badly? If there were was dirt in our ears, well, who
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  put it in them? Too much? Miscarried with him? This potter,
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  who had not learned thoroughly that he took revenge on his pots and creations.
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  However, because they turned out badly. That was a sin. Against good
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  taste. There is also good taste in piety. This at last said,
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  away with such a god, better to have no god, better to set
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  up destiny on one's own account, better to be a fool, better to
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  be god oneself. What do I hear said than the old pope with intent
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  ears, O Zarathustra, thou art more pious than thou beliefst. With such
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  an unbelief, some God in THEE hath converted THEE to thine ungodliness? Is
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  it not thy piety itself, which no longer letteth THEE believe in a God,
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  and thine over great honesty will yet lead THEE even beyond good and evil.
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  Behold what hath been reserved for THEE? Thou hast eyes and hands and
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  mouth, which have been predestined for blessing from eternity. One doth not bless
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  with the hand alone nigh unto THEE. Though thou professest to be the ungodliest
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  one, I feel a hale and holy odor of long benedictions. I feel
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  glad and grieved. Thereby Let me be thy guest, O Zarathustra. For
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  a single knight, nowhere on earth shall I now feel better than with thee
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  amen. So shall it be, said Zarathustra, with great astonishment. Up
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  thither leadeth away there lieth the cave of Zarathustra gladly. Foresooth would I conduct
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  THEE thither myself, thou venerable one, For I love all pious men.
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  But now a cry of distress calleth me hastily away from THEE. In my
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  domain. Shall no one come to grief. My cave is a good haven.
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  And best of all, would I like to put every sorrowful one again
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  on firm land and firm legs. Who, however, could take thy melancholy
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  off thy shoulders? For that I am too weak? Long verily should we
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  have to wait until some one reawoke Thy God for THEE, for that old
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  God liveth no more, he is indeed dead. Thus spake Zarathustra, end
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  Chapter sixty six.