XXIV

If we were as intent upon our business as the old fellows at Rome are upon 
what interests them, we too might perhaps accomplish something. I know a 
man older than I am, now Superintendent of the Corn-market at Rome, and I 
remember when he passed through this place on his way back from exile, 
what an account he gave me of his former life, declaring that for the 
future, once home again, his only care should be to pass his remaining 
years in quiet and tranquility. "For how few years have I left!" he cried. 
"That," I said, "you will not do; but the moment the scent of Rome is in 
your nostrils, you will forget it all; and if you can but gain admission 
to Court, you will be glad enough to elbow your way in, and thank God for 
it." "Epictetus," he replied, "if ever you find me setting as much as one 
foot within the Court, think what you will of me." Well, as it was, what 
did he do? Ere ever he entered the city, he was met by a despatch from the 
Emperor. He took it, and forgot the whole of his resolutions. From that 
moment, he has been piling one thing upon another. I should like to be 
beside him to remind him of what he said when passing this way, and to 
add, How much better a prophet I am than you! What then? do I say man is 
not made for an active life? Far from it! . . . But there is a great 
difference between other men's occupations and ours. . . . A glance at 
theirs will make it clear to you. All day long they do nothing but 
calculate, contrive, consult how to wring their profit out of food-stuffs, 
farm-plots and the like. . . . Whereas, I entreat you to learn what the 
administration of the World is, and what place a Being endowed with reason 
holds therein: to consider what you are yourself, and wherein your Good 
and Evil consists.

19. The Bite of the Adder

  ONE day had Zarathustra fallen asleep under a fig-tree, owing to the
heat, with his arm over his face. And there came an adder and bit
him in the neck, so that Zarathustra screamed with pain. When he had
taken his arm from his face he looked at the serpent; and then did
it recognise the eyes of Zarathustra, wriggled awkwardly, and tried to
get away. "Not at all," said Zarathustra, "as yet hast thou not
received my thanks! Thou hast awakened me in time; my journey is yet
long." "Thy journey is short," said the adder sadly; "my poison is
fatal." Zarathustra smiled. "When did ever a dragon die of a serpent's
poison?"- said he. "But take thy poison back! Thou art not rich enough
to present it to me." Then fell the adder again on his neck, and
licked his wound.

  When Zarathustra once told this to his disciples they asked him:
"And what, O Zarathustra, is the moral of thy story?" And
Zarathustra answered them thus:

  The destroyer of morality, the good and just call me: my story is
immoral.

  When, however, ye have an enemy, then return him not good for
evil: for that would abash him. But prove that he hath done
something good to you.

  And rather be angry than abash any one! And when ye are cursed, it
pleaseth me not that ye should then desire to bless. Rather curse a
little also!

  And should a great injustice befall you, then do quickly five
small ones besides. Hideous to behold is he on whom injustice presseth
alone.

  Did ye ever know this? Shared injustice is half justice. And he
who can bear it, shall take the injustice upon himself!

  A small revenge is humaner than no revenge at all. And if the
punishment be not also a right and an honour to the transgressor, I do
not like your punishing.

  Nobler is it to own oneself in the wrong than to establish one's
right, especially if one be in the right. Only, one must be rich
enough to do so.

  I do not like your cold justice; out of the eye of your judges there
always glanceth the executioner and his cold steel.

  Tell me: where find we justice, which is love with seeing eyes?

  Devise me, then, the love which not only beareth all punishment, but
also all guilt!

  Devise me, then, the justice which acquitteth every one except the
judge!

  And would ye hear this likewise? To him who seeketh to be just
from the heart, even the lie becometh philanthropy.

  But how could I be just from the heart! How can I give every one his
own! Let this be enough for me: I give unto every one mine own.

  Finally, my brethren, guard against doing wrong to any anchorite.
How could an anchorite forget! How could he requite!

  Like a deep well is an anchorite. Easy is it to throw in a stone: if
it should sink to the bottom, however, tell me, who will bring it
out again?

  Guard against injuring the anchorite! If ye have done so, however,
well then, kill him also!-

  Thus spake Zarathustra.