To the despisers of the body will I speak my word. I wish them neither to learn afresh, nor teach anew, but only to bid farewell to their own bodies - and thus be dumb. "Body am I, and soul" - so says the child. And why should one not speak like children? But the awakened one, the knowing one, says: "Body am I entirely, and nothing more; and soul is only the name of something in the body”. The body is a great intelligence, a multiplicity with one sense, a war and a peace, a flock and a shepherd. An instrument of your body is also your small intelligence, my brother, which you call "spirit" - a little instrument and plaything of your great intelligence. "I," say you, and are proud of that word. But the greater thing - in which you are unwilling to believe - is your body with its great intelligence; which does not say "I," but performs it. What the sense feels, what the spirit perceives, is never an end in itself. But sense and spirit would like to persuade you that they are the end of all things: so vain are they. Instruments and playthings are sense and spirit: behind them there is still the Self. The Self seeks with the eyes of the senses, it Listens also with the ears of the spirit. Ever Listens the Self, and seeks; it compares, masters, conquers, and destroys. It rules, and is also the ego's ruler. Behind your thoughts and feelings, my brother, there is a mighty lord, an unknown wise man - it is called Self; it dwells in your body, it is your body. There is more intelligence in your body than in your best wisdom. And who then knows why your body requires just your best wisdom? Your Self laughs at your ego, and its proud prancings. "What are these prancings and flights of thought to me”? it says to itself. "A by way to my purpose. I am the leading string of the ego, and the prompter of its notions”. The Self says to the ego: "Feel pain”! And then it suffers, and thinks how it may put an end thereto - and for that very purpose it is meant to think. The Self says to the ego: "Feel pleasure”! Then it rejoices, and thinks how it may often rejoice - and for that very purpose it is meant to think. To the despisers of the body will I speak a word. That they despise is caused by their esteem. What is it that created esteeming and despising and worth and will? The creating Self created for itself esteeming and despising, it created for itself joy and woe. The creating body created for itself spirit, as a hand to its will. Even in your folly and despising you each serve your Self, you despisers of the body. I tell you, your very Self wants to die, and turns away from life. No longer can your Self do that which it desires most: - create beyond itself. That is what it desires most; that is all its fervour. But it is now too late to do so: - so your Self wishes to perish, you despisers of the body. To perish - so wishes your Self; and therefore you have become despisers of the body. For you can no longer create beyond yourselves. And therefore are you now angry with life and with the earth. And unconscious envy is in the sidelong look of your contempt. I go not your way, you despisers of the body! You are no bridges for me to the Superman! Thus spoke Zarathustra.
