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Having spoken of the fragmented worldview of modern man in general, Zarathustra turns to those who claim to be detached observers.
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When the moon rose yesterday evening, I imagined it was about to bear a sun. It lay so broad and teeming on the horizon. But its pregnancy was a lie. I will sooner believe in the man in the moon than in the woman. To be sure, that timid night reveller is little like a man. He stalks with a bad conscience over the roofs. He is covetous and jealous, the monk in the moon; covetous of the earth, and all the joys of lovers.
I dislike him, that tomcat on the roofs! I hate all that slink around half closed windows! Piously and silently, he stalks along his carpet of stars. But I like no light treading human feet, on which not even a spur jingles. Every honest person’s step speaks. The cat, however, steals along over the ground. The moon comes along cat-like, and dishonestly.
This parable is for all sentimental dissemblers; you, the “pure discerners!” I call you covetous! You love the earth, and the earthly; I understand you well! But there is shame in your love, and a bad conscience. You are like the moon!
Your mind has been persuaded to despise the earthly, but not your guts; they are the strongest in you! And so your mind is ashamed to be at the service of your gut, and goes by back ways, lying to escape its own shame.
“That would be the highest thing for me,” your lying mind says to itself, “to gaze upon life without desire; not like the dog, with its tongue hanging out. To be happy in gazing, with a dead will, free from the grip and greed of selfishness, cold and ashen all over, but with intoxicated moon eyes! That would be the dearest thing to me”
So the seduced one seduces himself “to love the earth as the moon loves it, and only with the eye to feel its beauty.” I call this immaculate perception of all things: to want nothing more from them than to be allowed to lie before them like a mirror with a hundred facets.”
Oh, you sentimental dissemblers, you covetous ones! Your desire lacks innocence, and now you defame desire on that account! Truly, not as creators, as procreators, or as the jubilant do you love the earth! Where is innocence? Where there is will to procreation. He who seeks to create beyond himself has the purest will.
Where is beauty? Where I must will with my whole Will. Where I would love and perish so that a dream won’t remain merely an image. Loving and dying: these have gone together from the beginning. The will to love is also to be ready for death. So I say to you cowards!
Your emasculated ogling claims to be “contemplation!” That which can be examined with cowardly eyes is to be called “beautiful!” Oh, you violators of noble names! It shall be your curse, you immaculate ones, you pure observers, that you shall never bring forth anything, even though you lie broad and teeming on the horizon!
You fill your mouth with noble words. Are we to believe that your heart overflows, you deceivers? My words are poor, contemptible, stammering words. I gladly pick up what falls from the table at your feasts. Yet still can I speak truth with them to pretenders! My fish bones, shells, and prickly leaves shall tickle the noses of liars!
There is always bad air about you and your repasts. Your lustful thoughts, lies, and secrets are indeed in the air! Dare to believe in yourselves and in your inward parts! He who does not believe in himself always lies.
You have hung God’s mask in front of your faces, you “pure ones”. your awful coiling snake has crawled into God’s mask. Truly you deceive, you “contemplative ones!” Even Zarathustra was once fooled by your godlike exterior; he did not see the serpent’s coils with which it was filled.
I once thought I saw a God’s soul playing in your games, you pure discerners! I once dream of no better arts than yours! The distance concealed from me the serpent’s filth and evil odour, and that a lizard’s craftiness prowled there lustfully.
But when I came near to you, then the day came to me, and now comes it to you. The moon’s love affair is at an end! It stands surprised and pale before the rosy dawn! For already she comes, the glowing one. Her love comes to the earth! Innocence and creative desire is solar love!
See how she comes impatiently over the sea! Don’t you feel the thirst and the hot breath of her love? She wants to suck at the sea and drink its depths up to her heights. Now the desire of the sea rises with its thousand breasts. It wants to be kissed and sucked by the thirst of the sun; it wants to become vapour, and air, and the path of light, and light itself!
Truly, I love life like the sun and the seas. To me, this means knowledge. All that is deep shall ascend to my height!
So said Zarathustra.
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