The attempt of the Dionysian artist[71] to prevail, therefore, is sacred and holy. In his efforts to make his eyes our eyes, his ears our ears, and his touch our touch, though he does not pursue any altruistic purpose, he confers considerable benefits upon mankind. Whereas the attempt of that other man to prevail--the realist and devotee of so-called truth--is barbarous and depraved. By his egoism he depresses, depreciates and dismantles Life in great things as in small. Woe to the age whose values allow his voice to be heard with respect! There are necessary grey studies to be made, necessary uglinesses to be described, perhaps. But let these studies and descriptions be kept within the four walls of a laboratory until the time comes when, by their collective means, man can be raised and not depressed by them. Science is not with us to promulgate values. It is with us to be the modest handmaiden of Art, working in secrecy until all its ugliness can be collected, transfigured, and used for the purpose of man's exaltation by the artist. It may be useful for our science-slaves, working behind the scenes of Life, to know that the sky is merely our limited peep into an infinite expanse of ether--whatever that is. But when we ask to hear about it, let us be told as follows-- "O heaven above me! Thou pure! Thou deep! Thou abyss of light! Gazing on Thee, I quiver with godlike desires. "To cast myself up unto thy height--that is my profundity! To hide myself in thy purity--that is mine innocence. "We have been friends from the beginning, thou and I. Sorrow and horror and soil we share: even the sun is common to us. "We speak not to each other, for we know too many things. We stare silently at each other; by smiles do we communicate our knowledge. "And all my wanderings and mountain-climbings--these were but a necessity and a makeshift of the helpless one. To fly is the one thing that my will willeth, to fly into thee. "And what have I hated more than passing clouds and all that defileth thee! "The passing clouds I loathe--those stealthy cats of prey. They take from thee and me what we have in common--that immense, that infinite saying of Yea and Amen. "These mediators and mixers we loathe--the passing clouds. "Rather would I sit in a tub, with the sky shut out; rather would I sit in the abyss without a sky, than see thee, sky of Light, denied by wandering clouds! "And oft have I longed to pin them fast with the jagged gold wires of lightning, that I might, like the thunder, beat the drum upon their bellies. "An angry drummer, because they bereave me of thy Yea and Amen I-- thou heaven above me, thou pure, thou bright, thou abyss of Light! And because they bereave thee of my Yea and Amen. "Thus spake Zarathustra."[72]