1 of 3 in Chapter LXIV. THE LEECH452 of 593 in work
Now entering Chapter LXIV. THE LEECH
The Frightened Encounter
Friedrich Nietzsche
Thus Spake Zarathustra

A metaphorical encounter between a lonely wanderer and a sleeping dog illustrates the sudden, fearful friction that occurs when two solitary beings meet. Despite their initial hostility, the author reflects on the underlying kinship and potential for affection between those who share a life of solitude.

...editateth upon hard matters, he trod thereby unawares upon a man. And lo, there spurted into his face all at once a cry of pain, and two curses and twenty bad invectives, so that in his fright he raised his stick and also struck the trodden one. Immediately afterwards, however, he regained his composure, and his heart laughed at the folly he had just committed. “Pardon me,” said he to the trodden one, who had got up enraged, and had seated himself, “pardon me, and hear first of all a parable.
As a wanderer who dreameth of remote things on a lonesome highway, runneth unawares against a sleeping dog, a dog which lieth in the sun: —As both of them then start up and snap at each other, like deadly enemies, those two beings mortally frightened—so did it happen unto us. And yet! And yet—how little was lacking for them to caress each other, that dog and that lonesome one! Are they not both—lonesome ones!”
—“Whoever thou art,” said the trodden one, still enraged, “thou treadest also too nigh me with thy parable, and not only with thy foot! Lo! am I then a dog?”—And thereupon the sitting one got up, and pulled his naked arm out of the swamp. For at first he had lain outstretched on the ground, hidden and indiscernible, like those who lie in wait for swamp-game. “But whatever art thou about!” called out Zarathustra in alarm, for he saw a deal of blood streaming over the naked arm,—“what hath hu...
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The Narrow Basis
Friedrich Nietzsche
Thus Spake Zarathustra

A thesis on spiritual conscientiousness that prioritizes deep, rigorous knowledge of a small 'handbreadth of basis' over the superficial half-knowledge of the masses.

...eech at my blood, Zarathustra himself! O happiness! O miracle! Praised be this day which enticed me into the swamp! Praised be the best, the livest cupping-glass, that at present liveth; praised be the great conscience-leech Zarathustra!”— Thus spake the trodden one, and Zarathustra rejoiced at his words and their refined reverential style. “Who art thou?” asked he, and gave him his hand, “there is much to clear up and elucidate between us, but already methinketh pure clear day is dawning.”
“I am THE SPIRITUALLY CONSCIENTIOUS ONE,” answered he who was asked, “and in matters of the spirit it is difficult for any one to take it more rigorously, more restrictedly, and more severely than I, except him from whom I learnt it, Zarathustra himself. Better know nothing than half-know many things! Better be a fool on one’s own account, than a sage on other people’s approbation! I—go to the basis: —What matter if it be great or small? If it be called swamp or sky? A handbreadth of basis is enough for me, if it be actually basis and ground! —A handbreadth of basis: thereon can one stand. In the true knowing-knowledge there is nothing great and nothing small.”
“Then thou art perhaps an expert on the leech?” asked Zarathustra; “and thou investigatest the leech to its ultimate basis, thou conscientious one?” “O Zarathustra,” answered the trodden one, “that would be something immense; how could I presume to do so! That, however, of which I am master and knower, is the BRAIN of the leech:—that is MY world! And it is also a world! Forgive it, however, that my pride here findeth expression, for here I have not mine equal. Therefore said I: ‘here am I...
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3 of 3 in Chapter LXIV. THE LEECH454 of 593 in work
The Expert's Narrow World
Friedrich Nietzsche
Thus Spake Zarathustra

A specialist defends his narrow focus on the brain of a leech, arguing that true intellectual honesty requires rigorous mastery of a single domain rather than superficial knowledge of many.

...who was asked, “and in matters of the spirit it is difficult for any one to take it more rigorously, more restrictedly, and more severely than I, except him from whom I learnt it, Zarathustra himself. Better know nothing than half-know many things! Better be a fool on one’s own account, than a sage on other people’s approbation! I—go to the basis: —What matter if it be great or small? If it be called swamp or sky? A handbreadth of basis is enough for me, if it be actually basis and ground! —
A handbreadth of basis: thereon can one stand. In the true knowing-knowledge there is nothing great and nothing small.” “Then thou art perhaps an expert on the leech?” asked Zarathustra; “and thou investigatest the leech to its ultimate basis, thou conscientious one?” “O Zarathustra,” answered the trodden one, “that would be something immense; how could I presume to do so! That, however, of which I am master and knower, is the BRAIN of the leech:—that is MY world! And it is also a world! Forgive it, however, that my pride here findeth expression, for here I have not mine equal. Therefore said I: ‘here am I at home.’ How long have I…
—“As the evidence indicateth,” broke in Zarathustra; for still was the blood flowing down on the naked arm of the conscientious one. For there had ten leeches bitten into it. “O thou strange fellow, how much doth this very evidence teach me—namely, thou thyself! And not all, perhaps, might I pour into thy rigorous ear! Well then! We part here! But I would fain find thee again. Up thither is the way to my cave: to-night shalt thou there be my welcome guest! Fain would I also make amends to...
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1 of 6 in Chapter LXV. THE MAGICIAN455 of 593 in work
Now entering Chapter LXV. THE MAGICIAN
God's Cruel Hunt
Friedrich Nietzsche
Thus Spake Zarathustra

A poetic confession of existential agony and spiritual pursuit, depicting the soul's convulsive struggle under the gaze of a 'cruel huntsman' or an unfamiliar, haunting deity.

...man, from him came that dreadful cry of distress,—I will see if I can help him.” When, however, he ran to the spot where the man lay on the ground, he found a trembling old man, with fixed eyes; and in spite of all Zarathustra’s efforts to lift him and set him again on his feet, it was all in vain. The unfortunate one, also, did not seem to notice that some one was beside him; on the contrary, he continually looked around with moving gestures, like one forsaken and isolated from all the world.
At last, however, after much trembling, and convulsion, and curling-himself-up, he began to lament thus: Who warm’th me, who lov’th me still? Give ardent fingers! Give heartening charcoal-warmers! Prone, outstretched, trembling, Like him, half dead and cold, whose feet one warm’th— And shaken, ah! by unfamiliar fevers, Shivering with sharpened, icy-cold frost-arrows, By thee pursued, my fancy! Ineffable! Recondite! Sore-frightening! Thou huntsman ’hind the cloud-banks! Now lightning-struck by thee, Thou mocking eye that me in darkness watcheth: —Thus do I lie, Bend myself, twist myself, convulsed With all eternal torture, And smitten By thee,…
Not murder wilt thou, But torture, torture? For why—ME torture, Thou mischief-loving, unfamiliar God?— Ha! Ha! Thou stealest nigh In midnight’s gloomy hour?... What wilt thou? Speak! Thou crowdst me, pressest— Ha! now far too closely! Thou hearst me breathing, Thou o’erhearst my heart, Thou ever jealous one! —Of what, pray, ever jealous? Off! Off! For why the ladder? Wouldst thou GET IN? To heart i...
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The Tortured God
Friedrich Nietzsche
Thus Spake Zarathustra

A passionate confession of the soul's paradoxical longing for its 'hangman-God,' embracing suffering and torture as essential companions to the lonesome seeker.

...other pride! Ha! Ha! ME—wantest thou? me? —Entire?... Ha! Ha! And torturest me, fool that thou art, Dead-torturest quite my pride? Give LOVE to me—who warm’th me still? Who lov’th me still?— Give ardent fingers, Give heartening charcoal-warmers, Give me, the lonesomest, The ice (ah! seven-fold frozen ice, For very enemies, For foes, doth make one thirst), Give, yield to me, Cruellest foe, —THYSELF!—
Away! There fled he surely, My final, only comrade, My greatest foe, Mine unfamiliar— My hangman-God!... —Nay! Come thou back! WITH all of thy great tortures! To me the last of lonesome ones, Oh, come thou back! All my hot tears in streamlets trickle Their course to thee! And all my final hearty fervour— Up-glow’th to THEE!
Oh, come thou back, Mine unfamiliar God! my PAIN! My final bliss! 2. —Here, however, Zarathustra could no longer restrain himself; he took his staff and struck the wailer with all his might. “Stop this,” cried he to him with wrathful laughter, “stop this, thou stage-player! Thou false coiner! Thou liar from the very heart! I know thee well! I will soon make warm legs to thee, thou evil magician: I know well how—to make it hot for such as thou!” —“Leave off,” said the old man,...
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