I love him whose soul is so overfull that he forgetteth himself, and all
things are in him: thus all things become his down-going.
I love him who is of a free spirit and a free heart: thus is his
head only the bowels of his heart; his heart, however, causeth his
down-going.
I love all who are like heavy drops falling one by one out of the dark
cloud that lowereth over man: they herald the coming of the lightning,
and succumb as heralds.
Lo, I am a herald of the lightning, and a heavy drop out of the cloud:
the lightning, however, is the SUPERMAN.--
When Zarathustra had spoken these words, he again looked at the people,
and was silent. "There they stand," said he to his heart; "there they
laugh: they understand me not; I am not the mouth for these ears.
...
They dislike, therefore, to hear of 'contempt' of themselves. So I will
appeal to their pride.
....
Alas! there cometh the time when man will no longer launch the arrow of
his longing beyond man--and the string of his bow will have unlearned to
whizz!
I tell you: one must still have chaos in one, to give birth to a dancing
star. I tell you: ye have still chaos in you.
Alas! There cometh the time when man will no longer give birth to any
star. Alas! There cometh the time of the most despicable man, who can no
longer despise himself.
Lo! I show you THE LAST MAN.
"What is love? What is creation? What is longing? What is a star?"--so
asketh the last man and blinketh.
The earth hath then become small, and on it there hoppeth the last man
who maketh everything small. His species is ineradicable like that of
the ground-flea; the last man liveth longest.
"We have discovered happiness"--say the last men, and blink thereby.
They have left the regions where it is hard to live; for they need
warmth. One still loveth one's neighbour and rubbeth against him; for
one needeth warmth.
Turning ill and being distrustful, they consider sinful: they walk
warily. He is a fool who still stumbleth over stones or men!
A little poison now and then: that maketh pleasant dreams. And much
poison at last for a pleasant death.
One still worketh, for work is a pastime. But one is careful lest the
pastime should hurt one.
One no longer becometh poor or rich; both are too burdensome. Who still
wanteth to rule? Who still wanteth to obey? Both are too burdensome.
No shepherd, and one herd! Every one wanteth the same; every one is
equal: he who hath other sentiments goeth voluntarily into the madhouse.
"Formerly all the world was insane,"--say the subtlest of them, and
blink thereby.
They are clever and know all that hath happened: so there is
no end to their raillery. People still fall out, but are soon
reconciled--otherwise it spoileth their stomachs.
They have their little pleasures for the day, and their little pleasures
for the night, but they have a regard for health.
"We have discovered happiness,"--say the last men, and blink thereby.--
...
at this point the shouting and mirth of the
multitude interrupted him. "Give us this last man, O Zarathustra,"--they
called out--"make us into these last men! Then will we make thee a
present of the Superman!" And all the people exulted and smacked their
lips. Zarathustra, however, turned sad, and said to his heart:
"They understand me not: I am not the mouth for these ears."
