"For what could be created, if there were Gods!" cries Zarathustra.[7] But, above all, who save an artist could have elevated taste to such a high place as a criterion of value, and have made his own personal taste the standard for so many grave valuations? "And ye tell me, my friends," says Zarathustra, "that there is to be no dispute about taste and tasting? But all life is a dispute about taste and tasting! "Taste: that is weight at the same time, and scales and weigher; and alas for every living thing that would live without dispute about weight and scales and weighing!"[8] But it is more particularly in Nietzsche's understanding of the instinct which drove him to expression, and in his attitude towards those whom he would teach, that we recognize the typical artist, in the highest acceptation of the word--that is to say, as a creature of abundance, who must give thereof or perish. Out of plenitude and riches only, do his words come to us. With him there can be no question of eloquence as the result of poverty, vindictiveness, spite, resentment, or envy; for such eloquence is of the swamp.[9] Where he is wrath, he speaks from above, where he despises his contempt is prompted by love alone, and where he annihilates he does so as a creator.[10] "Mine impatient love," he says, "floweth over in streams, down towards the sunrise and the sunset. From out silent mountains and tempests of affliction, rusheth my soul into the valleys. "Too long have I yearned and scanned the far horizon. Too long hath the shroud of solitude been upon me: thus have I lost the habit of silence. "A tongue have I become and little else besides, and the brawling of a brook, falling from lofty rocks: downward into the dale will I pour my words. "And let the torrent of my love dash into all blocked highways. How could a torrent help but find its way to the sea! "Verily, a lake lies within me, complacent and alone; but the torrent of my love draws this along with it, down--into the ocean! "New highways I tread, new worlds come unto me; like all creators I have grown weary of old tongues. No longer will my spirit walk on worn-out soles. "Too slow footed is all speech for me:--Into thy chariot, O storm, do I leap! And even thee will I scourge with my devilry. "Thus spake Zarathustra."[11] [1] Delivered at University College on Dec. 1st, 1910. [2] _W. P._, Vol. I, p. 1. [2] Æsthetic (translation by Douglas Ainslie), p. 350. [3] Nietzsches Æsthetik, p. 5. [4] _B. T._, p. 183. [5] _B. T._, pp. 9, 10. [6] _Z._, II, XXIV. [7] _Z._, II, XXIV. [8] _Z._, II, XXXV. See also La Bruyère's reply to his countrymen's popular belief, "des goûts et des couleurs on ne peut discuter," in Les Caractères: Des ouvrages de l'esprit, Aph. 10. [9] _Z._, III, LVI. [10] _Z._, II, XXXIV. [11] _Z._, II, XXIII. The State of Modern Art.