XII. The Flies in the Market-Place

Flee, my friend, into thy solitude! I see thee deafened with the noise of the great men, and stung all over with the stings of the little ones. Admirably do forest and rock know how to be silent with thee. Resemble…

Zarathustra urges his friend to flee the noise of the great and the stings of the small. He points to the silent tree over the sea and says the market-place begins where solitude ends.

In the world even the best things are worthless without those who represent them: those representers, the people call great men. Little do the people understand what is great—that is to say, the creating agency. But…

Zarathustra contrasts the actors, who are changeable and care for noise and effect, with the creators of values. The actor proves by upsetting, convinces by driving mad, and believes only in loud gods.

Away from the market-place and from fame taketh place all that is great: away from the market-place and from fame have ever dwelt the devisers of new values.

The crowd presses the friend for an instant Yea or Nay, but truth never clings to the arm of an absolute one. He should return to his security and let experience come slowly, as it does to deep fountains.

Flee, my friend, into thy solitude: I see thee stung all over by the poisonous flies. Flee thither, where a rough, strong breeze bloweth! Flee into thy solitude! Thou hast lived too closely to the small and the…

Zarathustra warns that the friend is bleeding from countless small stings and will be hollowed out by drops. He should not raise his arm against them, because it is not his lot to be a fly-flap.

Yea, my friend, the bad conscience art thou of thy neighbours; for they are unworthy of thee.

The flies flatter, whimper and feign amiability, but suspect the great one and punish his virtues. Even his gentleness makes them feel despised, and his greatness makes them more fly-like.

Flee, my friend, into thy solitude—and thither, where a rough strong breeze bloweth. It is not thy lot to be a fly-flap.— Thus spake Zarathustra.

Zarathustra repeats his command to flee into solitude and not to be a fly-flap.