XI. THE NEW IDOL.
I love the forest.
Is it not better to fall into the hands of a murderer, than into the dreams of a lustful woman? What is that? Well! open now your ears unto me, for now will I say unto you my word concerning the death of peoples.
And just look at these men: their eye saith it—they know nothing better on earth than to lie with a woman. Coldly lieth it also; and this lie creepeth from its mouth: “I, the state, am the people.”
Filth is at the bottom of their souls; and alas! if their filth hath still spirit in it! Creators were they who created peoples, and hung a faith and a love over them: thus they served life.
Would that ye were perfect—at least as animals!
Do I counsel you to slay your instincts?
Do I counsel you to chastity? Chastity is a virtue with some, but with many almost a vice.
These are continent, to be sure: but doggish lust looketh enviously out of all that they do.
Even into the heights of their virtue and into their cold spirit doth this creature follow them, with its discord. False are even its bowels.
And how nicely can doggish lust beg for a piece of spirit, when a piece of flesh is denied it! Verily, the will to death, indicateth this sign! Verily, it beckoneth unto the preachers of death!
Ye love tragedies and all that breaketh the heart?
Ye have too cruel eyes, and ye look wantonly towards the sufferers. Hath not your lust just disguised itself and taken the name of fellow-suffering?
And also this parable give I unto you: Not a few who meant to cast out their devil, went thereby into the swine themselves. And not only the long-eared and short-sighted fall upon their knees!
To whom chastity is difficult, it is to be dissuaded: lest it become the road to hell—to filth and lust of soul. Ah! it findeth out the rich hearts which willingly lavish themselves!
Do I speak of filthy things? That is not the worst thing for me to do.
Not when the truth is filthy, but when it is shallow, doth the discerning one go unwillingly into its waters. Gladly it basketh in the sunshine of good consciences,—the cold monster!
Verily, there are chaste ones from their very nature; they are gentler of heart, and laugh better and oftener than you.
They laugh also at chastity, and ask: “What is chastity? Yea, a hellish artifice hath here been devised, a death-horse jingling with the trappings of divine honours!
Is chastity not folly?
We offered that guest harbour and heart: now it dwelleth with us—let it stay as long as it will!”—
Just see these superfluous ones! They steal the works of the inventors and the treasures of the wise. Culture, they call their theft—and everything becometh sickness and trouble unto them!
Just see these superfluous ones! Sick are they always; they vomit their bile and call it a newspaper. They devour one another, and cannot even digest themselves.
Just see these superfluous ones! Wealth they acquire and become poorer thereby. Power they seek for, and above all, the lever of power, much money—these impotent ones!
See them clamber, these nimble apes! They clamber over one another, and thus scuffle into the mud and the abyss.
Towards the throne they all strive: it is their madness—as if happiness sat on the throne! Ofttimes sitteth filth on the throne.—and ofttimes also the throne on filth.
Madmen they all seem to me, and clambering apes, and too eager. Badly smelleth their idol to me, the cold monster: badly they all smell to me, these idolaters.
My brethren, will ye suffocate in the fumes of their maws and appetites! Better break the windows and jump into the open air!
Do go out of the way of the bad odour! Withdraw from the idolatry of the superfluous!
Do go out of the way of the bad odour! Withdraw from the steam of these human sacrifices!
Open still remaineth the earth for great souls. Empty are still many sites for lone ones and twain ones, around which floateth the odour of tranquil seas.
Open still remaineth a free life for great souls. Verily, he who possesseth little is so much the less possessed: blessed be moderate poverty!
There, where the state ceaseth—there only commenceth the man who is not superfluous: there commenceth the song of the necessary ones, the single and irreplaceable melody.
There, where the state CEASETH—pray look thither, my brethren! Do ye not see it, the rainbow and the bridges of the Superman?—
Thus spake Zarathustra.
