Going-under (descent)

When Zarathustra was thirty years old, he left his home and the lake of his home, and went into the mountains. There he enjoyed his spirit and solitude, and for ten years did not weary of it. But at last his heart…

Zarathustra resolves to go down to men as the sun sets, like a cup that empties itself.

Zarathustra went down the mountain alone, no one meeting him. When he entered the forest, however, there suddenly stood before him an old man, who had left his holy cot to seek roots. And thus spake the old man to…

The saint warns him against going to men; Zarathustra insists on bringing them gifts.

Zarathustra, however, looked at the people and wondered. Then he spake thus: Man is a rope stretched between the animal and the Superman—a rope over an abyss. A dangerous crossing, a dangerous wayfaring, a dangerous…

Man is valued as an over-going and a down-going; each 'I love him who...' praises the one who goes under for the Superman.

Then, however, something happened which made every mouth mute and every eye fixed. In the meantime, of course, the rope-dancer had commenced his performance: he had come out at a little door, and was going along the…

Zarathustra honours the man who perishes by his calling and promises to bury him.

This had Zarathustra said to his heart when the sun stood at noontide. Then he looked inquiringly aloft,—for he heard above him the sharp call of a bird. And behold! An eagle swept through the air in wide circles, and…

The chapter closes as it opened, with Zarathustra's down-going now begun among men.

And once again shall ye have become friends unto me, and children of one hope: then will I be with you for the third time, to celebrate the great noontide with you. And it is the great noontide, when man is in the…

The down-goer blesses himself as an over-goer.

Why did I startle in my dream, so that I awoke? Did not a child come to me, carrying a mirror? “O Zarathustra”—said the child unto me—“look at thyself in the mirror!” But when I looked into the mirror, I shrieked, and…

The dream decides him to go down again to men.

With these words Zarathustra started up, not however like a person in anguish seeking relief, but rather like a seer and a singer whom the spirit inspireth. With amazement did his eagle and serpent gaze upon him: for a…

He is ready to descend to friends and enemies alike, to speak and bestow again.

When Zarathustra had spoken thus unto the hunchback, and unto those of whom the hunchback was the mouthpiece and advocate, then did he turn to his disciples in profound dejection, and said: Verily, my friends, I walk…

He sees himself as a bridge to the future, and himself a cripple on that bridge.

Not the height, it is the declivity that is terrible! The declivity, where the gaze shooteth DOWNWARDS, and the hand graspeth UPWARDS. There doth the heart become giddy through its double will. Ah, friends, do ye divine…

The declivity, with gaze falling downward and hand reaching upward, expresses the danger of living among men.

Then, when it was about midnight, Zarathustra went his way over the ridge of the isle, that he might arrive early in the morning at the other coast; because there he meant to embark. For there was a good roadstead…

He leaves the Happy Isles to embark, setting out on a new descent.

Thus spake Zarathustra to himself while ascending, comforting his heart with harsh maxims: for he was sore at heart as he had never been before. And when he had reached the top of the mountain-ridge, behold, there lay…

He must go down into pain deeper than he has ever ascended before climbing to his highest.

Out of the deepest must the highest come to its height.

States that ascent depends on first descending into the depths.

And verily, it were time that I went away; and the wanderer’s shadow and the longest tedium and the stillest hour—have all said unto me: “It is the highest time!” The word blew to me through the keyhole and said “Come!”…

The signs all say it is time to go, but love for his children holds him back.

Here do I sit and wait, old broken tables around me and also new half-written tables. When cometh mine hour? —The hour of my descent, of my down-going: for once more will I go unto men. For that hour do I now wait: for…

Zarathustra awaits the hour of his down-going to men, which he says will be signalled by the laughing lion with the doves.

There was it also where I picked up from the path the word “Superman,” and that man is something that must be surpassed. —That man is a bridge and not a goal—rejoicing over his noontides and evenings, as advances to new…

Like the sun pouring gold into the sea, Zarathustra will go down among men and give his choicest gift.

O my brethren, he who is a firstling is ever sacrificed. Now, however, are we firstlings! We all bleed on secret sacrificial altars, we all burn and broil in honour of ancient idols. Our best is still young: this…

Zarathustra loves those who do not want to preserve themselves, the down-going ones who go beyond.

And if thou wouldst now die, O Zarathustra, behold, we know also how thou wouldst then speak to thyself:—but thine animals beseech thee not to die yet! Thou wouldst speak, and without trembling, buoyant rather with…

The animals end with 'Thus endeth Zarathustra's down-going'.

If I be fond of the sea, and all that is sealike, and fondest of it when it angrily contradicteth me: If the exploring delight be in me, which impelleth sails to the undiscovered, if the seafarer’s delight be in my…

The seafarer's departure from the shore and his last chain echoes the venturing forth of the whole book.

Thus may men now come UP to me; for as yet do I await the signs that it is time for my down-going; as yet do I not myself go down, as I must do, amongst men. Therefore do I here wait, crafty and scornful upon high…

He still awaits the sign that it is time for his down-going among men.

My suffering and my fellow-suffering—what matter about them! Do I then strive after HAPPINESS? I strive after my WORK! Well! The lion hath come, my children are nigh, Zarathustra hath grown ripe, mine hour hath come:—…

He leaves the cave again like a morning sun, ready for his work.