ON THE VIRTUOUS

ON THE VIRTUOUS

ONE MUST SPEAK TO indolent and sleepy senses with thunder and heavenly fireworks.

But beauty’s voice speaks gently: it creeps only into the most awakened souls.

My shield gently trembled and laughed today; it was beauty’s holy laughter and tremor.

About you, you virtuous, my beauty laughed today. And thus its voice came to me: “They still want—to be paid!”

You still want to be paid, you virtuous! Do you want rewards for virtue and heaven for earth and eternity for your today?

And now are you angry with me for teaching that there is no reward-giver nor paymaster? And truly, I do not even teach that virtue is its own reward.

Ah, this is my sorrow: they have lied reward and punishment into the foundation of things-and now even into the basis of your souls, you virtuous!

But my words shall like the boar’s snout tear up the foundation of your souls; you will call me a ploughshare.

All the secrets of your heart shall be brought to light; and when you lie uprooted and broken in the sun, then too your lies will be separated from your truth.

For this is your truth: you are too pure for the dirt of the words: revenge, punishment, reward, retribution.

You love your virtue as the mother her child; but when did one hear of a mother wanting to be paid for her love?

It is your dearest self, your virtue. The ring’s thirst is in you: every ring strives and turns to reach itself again.

And like a dying star is every work of your virtue: its light is ever on its way and wandering—and when will it cease to be on its way?

Thus the light of your virtue is still on its way, even when its work is done. Though it be forgotten and dead: its ray of light still lives and wanders.

That your virtue is your self, and not something foreign, a skin, a cloak: that is the truth from the foundation of your souls, you virtuous ones!—

But indeed there are those to whom virtue means writhing under the lash: and you have listened too much to their shrieks!

And there are others who call it virtue when their vices grow lazy; and once their hatred and jealousy stretch themselves to rest, their “justice” becomes lively and rubs its sleepy eyes.

And there are others who are drawn downward: their devils draw them. But the more they sink, the more fervently their eye shines and the lust for their God.

Ah, their shrieks have also reached your ears, you virtuous: “What I am not, that, that to me are God and virtue!”

And there are others who come along, heavy and creaking like carts bearing stones downhill: they talk much of dignity and virtue-they call their brake virtue!

And there are others who are like everyday clocks wound up; they make their tick-tock and want one to call tick-tock—virtue.

Truly, I have fun with these: wherever I find such clocks I shall wind them up with my mockery; and therefore they shall even ring for me!

And others are proud of their handful of justice and commit wanton outrage upon all things for its sake: so that the world is drowned in their injustice.

Ah, how ill the word “virtue” sounds in their mouths! And when they say: “I am just,” it always sounds like: “I am just—revenged!”4

They want to scratch out the eyes of their enemies with their virtue; and they ennoble themselves only to debase others.

And again there are those who sit in their swamp, and speak thus from the rushes: “Virtue—that is to sit quietly in the swamp.

“We bite no one, and stay out of the way of those who want to bite; and in all matters we hold the opinion that is given us.”

And again, there are those who love posing and think: virtue is a sort of pose.

Their knees always adore, and their hands are eulogies of virtue, but their heart knows nothing about it.

And again there are those who regard it as virtue to say: “Virtue is necessary”; but fundamentally they believe only that the police are necessary.

And some who cannot see the sublime in man call it virtue to see his baseness all-too-closely: thus they calls their evil eye virtue.—

And some want to be edified and raised up and call it virtue: and others want to be cast down-and call it virtue, too.

And thus almost all believe that they participate in virtue; and at the very least every one wants to be an expert on “good” and “evil.”

But Zarathustra has not come to say to all these liars and fools: “What do you know of virtue! What could you know of virtue!”—

Rather, that you, my friends, might grow weary of the old words you have learned from the fools and liars:

That you might grow weary of the words “reward,” “retribution,” “punishment,” “just revenge.”—

That you might grow weary of saying: “An action is good when it is unselfish.”

Ah, my friends! That your self be in your action, as the mother is in the child: let that be your word on virtue!

Truly, I have taken a hundred words and your virtue’s favorite toys away from you; and now you scold me, as children scold.

They played by the sea—then a wave came and swept their toys into the deep: and now they cry.

But the same wave shall bring them new toys and pour out new colored seashells before them!

Thus they will be comforted; and like them shall you also, my friends, have your comforting—and new colored seashells!—

Thus spoke Zarathustra.