No fanatic speaks to you here; this is not a "sermon"; no faith is demanded in these pages. From out an infinite treasure of light and well of joy, drop by drop, my words fall out--a slow and gentle gait is the cadence of these discourses. Such things can reach only the most elect; it is a rare privilege to be a listener here; not every one who likes can have ears to hear Zarathustra. Is not Zarathustra, because of these things, a _seducer?_ ... But what, indeed, does he himself say, when for the first time he goes back to his solitude? Just the reverse of that which any "Sage," "Saint," "Saviour of the world," and other decadent would say.... Not only his words, but he himself is other than they. "Alone do I now go, my disciples! Get ye also hence, and alone! Thus would I have it. "Verily, I beseech you: take your leave of me and arm yourselves against Zarathustra! And better still, be ashamed of him! Maybe he hath deceived you. "The knight of knowledge must be able not only to love his enemies, but also to hate his friends. "The man who remaineth a pupil requiteth his teacher but ill. And why would ye not pluck at my wreath? "Ye honour me; but what if your reverence should one day break down? Take heed, lest a statue crush you. "Ye say ye believe in Zarathustra? But of; what account is Zarathustra? Ye are my believers: but of what account are all believers? "Ye had not yet sought yourselves when ye found me. Thus do all believers; therefore is all believing worth so little. "Now I bid you lose me and find yourselves; and only when ye have all denied me will I come back unto you." FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE. On this perfect day, when everything is ripening, and not only the grapes are getting brown, a ray of sunshine has fallen on my life: I looked behind me, I looked before me, and never have I seen so many good things all at once. Not in vain have I buried my four-and-fortieth year to-day; I had the _right_ to bury it--that in it which still had life, has been saved and is immortal. The first book of the _Transvaluation of all Values, The Songs of Zarathustra, The Twilight of the Idols,_ my attempt, to philosophise with the hammer--all these things are the gift of this year, and even of its last quarter. _How could I help being thankful to the whole of my life?_ That is why I am now going to tell myself the story of my life. ECCE HOMO HOW ONE BECOMES WHAT ONE IS WHY I AM SO WISE 1