The Fire-Dog: Confronting False Prophets — Thus Spoke Zarathustra

Near Zarathustra's Happy Isles lies a volcano island. Sailors see him fly through the air toward it at noon and cry that he is going to hell. He disappears for three anxious days, and people whisper the devil took him while his friends wait in dread and longing. On the fifth day he returns and tells what he found.

The earth has a skin with diseases, he says, and one disease is man. Another is the fire-dog, a noisy creature people fear. Zarathustra climbs down and challenges it. The fire-dog drinks at the surface and spews embittered smoke. It is a ventriloquist of the earth, like demagogues who roar about freedom while stirring up dregs. The greatest events, Zarathustra says, are often the quietest. New values turn the world, not new noise.

When he compares the fire-dog to the state and church, both dissembling dogs of smoke, the creature chokes with envy and flees. Real gold and laughter come from the earth's heart, not from ash, shouting, and political smoke. His students barely listen; they want gossip about flying and rabbits. Even teachers must guard their shadow, or rumor will write the story for them while the real work stays unheard.