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

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  Part one, Chapter six. The pale criminal, Ye do not mean to
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  slay ye judges and sacrificers. Until the animal hath bowed its head. Lo,
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  the pale criminal hath bowed his head. Out of his eye, speaketh
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  the great contempt. Mine ego is something which is to be surpassed. Mine
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  ego is to me the great contempt of man. So speaketh it out of
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  that eye. When he judged himself, that was his supreme moment. Let
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  not the exalted one relapse again into his low estate. There is no salvation
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  for him who thus suffereth from himself, unless it be speedy death. Your
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  slaying, ye judges, shall be pity and not revenge. And in that
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  ye slay, see to it that ye yourselves justify life. It is not
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  enough that ye should reconcile with him whom ye slay. Let your sorrow be
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  loved to the superman. Thus will ye justify your own survival? And shall
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  ye say, but not villain invalid? Shall ye say, but not wretch
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  fool? Shall ye say but not sinner? An thou read, judge,
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  If thou would say audibly all thou hast done in thought, then would every
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  one cry away with the nastiness and the virulent reptile. But one thing is
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  the thought, another thing is the deed, and another thing is the idea
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  of the deed. The wheel of causality doth not roll between them. An
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  idea made this pale man pale adequate was he for his deed when he did
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  it, But the idea of it he could not endure when it was done.
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  Evermore, did he now see himself as the doer of one deed?
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  Madness? I call this the exception reversed itself to the rule in him.
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  The streak of chalk bewitched the hen. The stroke he struck bewitch tis weak
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  reason, madness after the deed. I call this hearken. Ye, judges,
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  there is another madness besides, and it is before the deed. Ah,
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  Ye have not gone deep enough into this soul. Thus speaketh the red
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  judge. Why did this criminal commit murder? He meant to rob. I
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  tell you, however, that his soul wanted blood, not booty. He
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  thirsted for the happiness of the knife. But his weak reason understood not this
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  madness, and it persuaded him. What matter about blood? It said,
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  wishest thou not at least to make booty thereby or take revenge. And he
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  hearkened unto his weak reason, like lead lay its words upon him. Thereupon
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  he robbed. When he murdered, he did not mean to be ashamed of
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  his madness. And now once more lieth the lead of his guilt upon him.
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  And once more is his weak reason so benumbed, so paralyzed, and
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  so dull. Could he only shake his head? Then would his burden roll
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  off? But who shaketh that head? What is this man? A mass
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  of diseases that reach out into the world through the spirit. There they want
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  to get their prey. What is this man? O coil of wild serpents
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  that are seldom at peace among themselves, So they go forth apart and seek
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  prey in the world. Look at that poor body, when it suffered and
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  craved, the poor soul interpreted to itself. It interpreted it as murderous desire
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  and eagerness for the happiness of the knife. Him who now turneth sick,
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  the evil overtaketh, which is now the evil? He seeketh to cause pain
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  with that which causeth him pain. But there have been other ages, and
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  another evil and good once was doubt evil and the will to self. Then
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  the invalid became a heretic or sorcerer. As heretic or sorcerer, he suffered
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  and sought to cause suffering. But this will not enter your ears. It
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  hurteth your good people, ye tell me. But what doth it matter to
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  me about your good people? Many things in your good people cause me disgust,
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  and verily, not their evil. I would that they had a madness
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  by which they succumbed like this pale criminal. Verily, I would that their
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  madness were called truth, or fidelity or justice. But they have their virtue
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  in order to live long and in wretched self complacency. I am railing alongside
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  the torrent. Whoever is able to grasp me, may grasp me your crutch.
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  However I am not. Thus spake Zarathustra. End of Part one, Chapter six