On Unwilling Bliss
With such riddles and bitternesses in his heart Zarathustra sailed across the sea. But when he was four days’ journey from the blissful islands and from his friends, he had overcome all his pain—: victorious and with firm feet he stood once more upon his fate. And then Zarathustra spoke thus to his exultant conscience:
“Alone I am again, and want to be, alone with pure sky and open sea; and again it is afternoon around me.
“It was in the afternoon that I once found my friends for the first time, and in the afternoon the second time too:—at the hour when all light grows stiller.
“For whatever happiness is still on its way between heaven and earth now seeks a bright soul for its lodging: from happiness all light has now grown stiller.
“O afternoon of my life! Once my happiness too went down into the valley to seek itself a lodging: there it found these open, hospitable souls.
“O afternoon of my life! What did I not give up to have one thing: this living plantation of my thoughts and this morning light of my highest hope!
“Once the creator sought companions and children of his hope: and behold, it turned out that he could not find them unless he first created them himself.
“So I am in the midst of my work, going to my children and returning from them: for the sake of his children Zarathustra must perfect himself.
“For from the ground up one loves only one’s child and one’s work; and where there is great love of oneself, it is the sign of pregnancy: so I found it.
“My children are still green in their first spring, standing close together and shaken together by the winds, the trees of my garden and of my best soil.
“And truly! Where such trees stand together, there are blissful islands!
“But one day I will dig them up and set each one by itself alone: so that it may learn solitude and defiance and caution.
“Gnarled and crooked and with supple hardness it shall then stand by the sea for me, a living lighthouse of invincible life.
“There, where the storms plunge down into the sea and the mountain range’s trunk drinks water, there each one shall at some time keep his watches by day and night, for his testing and knowledge.
“He shall be known and tested as to whether he is of my kind and descent—whether he is master of a long will, silent even when he speaks, and yielding in such a way that in giving he takes:—
“—so that one day he may become my companion and a fellow creator and fellow celebrant of Zarathustra’s—: one who writes my will on my tablets: for the fuller perfection of all things.
“And for his sake and for the sake of those like him I must perfect myself: that is why I now avoid my happiness and offer myself to every unhappiness—for my last testing and knowledge.
“And truly, it was time that I went; and the wanderer’s shadow and the longest while and the stillest hour—all of them urged me: ‘It is high time!’
“The wind blew through my keyhole and said ‘Come!’ The door sprang cunningly open for me and said ‘Go!’
“But I lay chained to my love for my children: desire laid this snare for me, the desire for love, that I should become my children’s prey and lose myself to them.
“To desire—for me that already means: to have lost myself. I have you, my children! In this having everything shall be certainty and nothing desire.
“But the sun of my love lay brooding upon me, Zarathustra was stewing in his own juice—then shadows and doubts flew over me.
“I was already craving frost and winter: ‘Oh, that frost and winter would make me crack and crunch again!’ I sighed:—then icy mists rose up out of me.
“My past burst its graves, many a pain buried alive woke up—: it had only been sleeping its fill, hidden in shrouds.
“So everything called to me in signs: ‘It is time!’—But I—did not hear: until at last my abyss stirred and my thought bit me.
“Ah, abysmal thought, you who are my thought! When shall I find the strength to hear you digging and no longer tremble?
“My heart pounds up into my throat when I hear you digging! Even your silence wants to strangle me, you abysmally silent one!
“As yet I have never dared to call you up: it was enough that I—carried you with me! As yet I was not strong enough for the final lion’s high spirits and mischief.
“Your heaviness was always terrible enough for me: but one day I shall yet find the strength and the lion’s voice that calls you up!
“Once I have overcome myself in that, then I will overcome myself in what is greater still; and a victory shall be the seal of my perfection!—
“Meanwhile I still drift on uncertain seas; chance flatters me, smooth-tongued chance; forward and backward I look—and still I see no end.
“The hour of my last struggle has not yet come to me—or is it perhaps coming to me just now? Truly, sea and life look at me all around with treacherous beauty!
“O afternoon of my life! O happiness before evening! O harbor on the high sea! O peace in uncertainty! How I mistrust you all!
“Truly, I am mistrustful of your treacherous beauty! I am like the lover who mistrusts a smile that is all too velvety.
“As the jealous one pushes his most beloved away from him, tender even in his hardness—so I push this blissful hour away from me.
“Away with you, you blissful hour! With you there came to me a bliss against my will! Willing for my deepest pain I stand here:—you came at the wrong time!
“Away with you, you blissful hour! Better take lodging there—with my children! Hurry! and bless them before evening with my happiness!
“There, evening is already approaching: the sun is sinking. Gone—my happiness!—”
Thus spoke Zarathustra. And he waited for his unhappiness the whole night: but he waited in vain. The night remained bright and still, and happiness itself came nearer and nearer to him. But toward morning Zarathustra laughed to his heart and said mockingly: “Happiness is running after me. That comes from my not running after women. But happiness is a woman.”