(1844 - 1900)
Thus Spake Zarathustra
sublime one saw I today, a solemn one, a penitent of the
spirit: Oh, how my soul laughed at his ugliness! (thus
61. The Honey Sacrifice
Ah, where in the world have
there been greater follies than with the pitiful? And what
in the world hath caused more suffering than the follies of
Woe unto all loving ones who
have not an elevation which is above their pity!
Thus spake the devil unto me,
once on a time: "Ever God hath his hell: it is his love
And lately did I hear him say
these words: "God is dead: of his pity for man hath God
died."- ZARATHUSTRA, II., "The Pitiful."
The Honey Sacrifice
-AND again passed moons and
years over Zarathustra's soul, and he heeded it not; his hair,
however, became white. One day when he sat on a stone in front
of his cave, and gazed calmly into the distanceone there gazeth
out on the sea, and away beyond sinuous abysses,then went
his animals thoughtfully round about him, and at last set
themselves in front of him.
said they, "gazest thou out perhaps for thy happiness?"-
"Of what account is my happiness!" answered he,
"I have long ceased to strive any more for happiness,
I strive for my work."- "O Zarathustra," said
the animals once more, "that sayest thou as one who hath
overmuch of good things. Liest thou not in a sky-blue lake
of happiness?"- "Ye wags," answered Zarathustra,
and smiled, "how well did ye choose the simile! But ye
know also that my happiness is heavy, and not like a fluid
wave of water: it presseth me and will not leave me, and is
like molten pitch."Then went his animals again thoughtfully
around him, and placed themselves once more in front of him.
"O Zarathustra," said they, "it is consequently
for that reason that thou thyself always becometh yellower
and darker, although thy hair looketh white and flaxen? Lo,
thou sittest in thy pitch!"- "What do ye say, mine
animals?" said Zarathustra, laughing; "verily I
reviled when I spake of pitch. As it happeneth with me, so
is it with all fruits that turn ripe. It is the honey in my
veins that maketh my blood thicker, and also my soul stiller."-
"So will it be, O Zarathustra," answered his animals,
and pressed up to him; "but wilt thou not today ascend
a high mountain? The air is pure, and today one seeth more
of the world than ever."- "Yea, mine animals,"
answered he, "ye counsel admirably and according to my
heart: I will today ascend a high mountain! But see that honey
is there ready to hand, yellow, white, good, ice-cool, golden-comb-honey.
For know that when aloft I will make the honey-sacrifice."When
Zarathustra, however, was aloft on the summit, he sent his
animals home that had accompanied him, and found that he was
now alone:- then he laughed from the bottom of his heart,
looked around him, and spake thus:
That I spake of sacrifices
and honey-sacrifices, it was merely a ruse in talking and
verily, a useful folly! Here aloft can I now speak freer than
in front of mountain-caves and anchorites' domestic animals.
What to sacrifice! I squander
what is given me, a squanderer with a thousand hands: how
could I call that- sacrificing?
And when I desired honey I
only desired bait, and sweet mucus and mucilage, for which
even the mouths of growling bears, and strange, sulky, evil
-The best bait, as huntsmen
and fishermen require it. For if the world be as a gloomy
forest of animals, and a pleasure-ground for all wild huntsmen,
it seemeth to me rather- and preferably- a fathomless, rich
-A sea full of many-hued fishes
and crabs, for which even the gods might long, and might be
tempted to become fishers in it, and casters of nets,- so
rich is the world in wonderful things, great and small!
Especially the human world,
the human sea:- towards it do I now throw out my golden angle-rod
and say: Open up, thou human abyss!
Open up, and throw unto me
thy fish and shining crabs! With my best bait shall I allure
to myself today the strangest human fish!
-My happiness itself do I throw
out into all places far and wide 'twixt orient, noontide,
and occident, to see if many human fish will not learn to
hug and tug at my happiness;Until, biting at my sharp hidden
hooks, they have to come up unto my height, the motleyest
abyss-groundlings, to the wickedest of all fishers of men.
For this am I from the heart
and from the beginning- drawing, hither-drawing, upward-drawing,
upbringing; a drawer, a trainer, a training-master, who not
in vain counselled himself once on a time: "Become what
Thus may men now come up to
me; for as yet do I await the signs that it is time for my
down-going; as yet do I not myself go down, as I must do,
Therefore do I here wait, crafty
and scornful upon high mountains, no impatient one, no patient
one; rather one who hath even unlearnt patience,- because
he no longer "suffereth."
For my fate giveth me time:
it hath forgotten me perhaps? Or doth it sit behind a big
stone and catch flies?
And verily, I am well-disposed
to mine eternal fate, because it doth not hound and hurry
me, but leaveth me time for merriment and mischief; so that
I have to-day ascended this high mountain to catch fish.
Did ever any one catch fish
upon high mountains? And though it be a folly what I here
seek and do, it is better so than that down below I should
become solemn with waiting, and green and yellow-A posturing
wrath-snorter with waiting, a holy howl-storm from the mountains,
an impatient one that shouteth down into the valleys: "Hearken,
else I will scourge you with the scourge of God!"
Not that I would have a grudge
against such wrathful ones on that account: they are well
enough for laughter to me! Impatient must they now be, those
big alarm-drums, which find a voice now or never!
Myself, however, and my fate-
we do not talk to the Present, neither do we talk to the Never:
for talking we have patience and time and more than time.
For one day must it yet come, and may not pass by.
What must one day come and
may not pass by? Our great Hazar, that is to say, our great,
remote human-kingdom, the Zarathustra-kingdom of a thousand
years- How remote may such "remoteness" be? What
doth it concern me? But on that account it is none the less
sure unto me-, with both feet stand I secure on this ground;
-On an eternal ground, on hard
primary rock, on this highest, hardest, primary mountain-ridge,
unto which all winds come, as unto the storm-parting, asking
Where? and Whence? and Whither?
Here laugh, laugh, my hearty,
healthy wickedness! From high mountains cast down thy glittering
scorn-laughter! Allure for me with thy glittering the finest
And whatever belongeth unto
me in all seas, my in-and-for-me in all things- fish that
out for me, bring that up to me: for that do I wait, the wickedest
of all fish-catchers.
Out! out! my fishing-hook!
In and down, thou bait of my happiness! Drip thy sweetest
dew, thou honey of my heart! Bite, my fishing-hook, into the
belly of all black affliction!
Look out, look out, mine eye!
Oh, how many seas round about me, what dawning human futures!
And above me- what rosy red stillness! What unclouded silence!
qu'on fait n'est jamais compris mais seulement loué ou blâmé.
Nietzsche, Gay Science