Somewhere there are still peoples and herds, but not where we live, my brothers: here there are states.
The state? What is that? Well then, open your ears to me, for now I shall speak to you about the death of peoples.
The state is the name of the coldest of all cold monsters. Coldly it tells lies too; and this lie crawls out of its mouth: "I, the state, am the people." That is a lie! It was creators who created peoples and hung a faith and a love over them: thus they served life.
The State I call it where all drink poison, the good and the wicked; state, where all lose themselves, the good and the wicked; state, where the slow suicide of all is called "life."
Behold the superfluous! They steal the works of the inventors and the treasures of the sages for themselves; "education" they call their theft - and everything turns to sickness and misfortune for them.
Behold the superfluous! They are always sick; they vomit their gall and call it a newspaper. They devour each other and cannot even digest themselves.
Behold the superfluous! They gather riches and be-come poorer with them. They want power and first the lever of power, much money-the impotent pau-pers!
Watch them clamber, these swift monkeys! They clamber over one another and thus drag one another into the mud and the depth.
They all want to get to the throne: that is their madness-as if happiness sat on the throne. Often mud sits on the throne-and often also the throne on mud. Mad they all appear to me, clambering monkeys and overardent. Foul smells their idol, the cold monster: foul they smell to me altogether, these idolators.
My brothers, do you want to suffocate in the fumes of their snouts and appetites? Rather break the win-dows and leap to freedom.
Watch them clamber, these swift monkeys! They clamber over one another and thus drag one another into the mud and the depth. They all want to get to the throne: that is their madness-as if happiness sat on the throne. Often mud sits on the throne-and often also the throne on mud.
Mad they all appear to me, clambering monkeys and overardent. Foul smells their idol, the cold monster: foul they smell to me altogether, these idolators.
My brothers, do you want to suffocate in the fumes of their snouts and appetites? Rather break the win-dows and leap to freedom.
@Walter Hinteler,
Walter Hinteler wrote:
Setanta wrote:
Why is this boy callin' ol' Freddy Nietzsche a homo?
Undoubtedly, Nietzsche was a homo sapiens -
sapiens, which differs him and most of us from that group which is described by
stultorum infinitus est numerus . (Pontius Pilatus, btw, said to Jesus: 'ecce homo'.)
In English: The number of fools is infinite. (Ecc. 1:15)
