Chapter 13
The Beat of the Ironsmith’s Hammer
The Teacher spoke of the pains and of the joys of life. He talked of the work of the farmer who cultivated the land with his mighty hands and thus transformed a wilderness into a pasture thereby turning his own heart into a heaven of goodness and love. Now listen well, and hear him tell the tale of another who toils as hard.
Hear the beat of the ironsmith’s hammer!
“This ironsmith lives within my neighborhood. Each morning as I leave my home I pass by his workshop where I stand and watch him work and listen to the rhythm of his anvil.
He has powerful arms with which he pulls out the melted iron from his oven to beat it into shape with his blows. The frenzied harmony of his work satiates my greedy eyes as the staccato beat of his hammer floods my ears with its singular melody. I stand transfixed by the magic of his red iron, breathless at the unique harmony of his stalwart arms as they beat the metal into shape and I talk to him.
Now come with me to his workshop that we might speak to him together and profit of what he has to say.
Friend, speak to us and tell us whether your heart is burdened by melancholy or pain. You are the champion of this workshop and you have the power to mould iron into any frame you will for it is as pliable as wax in your able hands.
Speak to us!
Let your words assail our ears!”
“Perhaps a rusted piece of iron which sits in a damp corner does have a melancholy soul but my heart carries no such ills for my blazing oven easily rids it of its rust.”
“Are you greater than the brave Vishtaspa? Do you know of any man who is mightier than you are?”
“The sword which Vishtaspa carries to strike down the foe, the armor he wears in battle to safeguard him, the helmet which guards his head, the harness which leads his steed, together with his lethal dagger are all shaped by these hands. If I cease to be Vishtaspa will cease to be. I am not the one who must bend and humble myself to him but it is he who must stand and await my will in order to profit of that which my ovens makes.”
“Do you ever regret the past?”
“Regret comes from a lack of wisdom. I have spent a life at these ovens shaping thousands of tools in my wisdom, there has never been room for regret nor for expectations. The future blazes before me as vitally as the fire within my oven.”
“Do you bear no humility, no defeat, no contempt in your heart?”
“If this iron you see were to refuse to melt in my oven and would not be shaped perhaps I would have room for such sentiments, but as it is I have never had to suffer such humiliation.”
“Have you ever wanted in life?”
“Not as long as my ovens have blazed and my iron has melted. I know nothing of the future nor of unforeseen events, but as long as I have breath within me I shall continue to mould my iron.”
“Have you ever felt the prick and sting of the thorns of hopelessness and despair?”
“No such thorns grow in the refuge of my workshop and I never venture out into the wilderness or feel their prick and sting.”
“Do anger, envy, malice, destitution or caprice plague you?”
“The exultant beat of my hammer cleanses my soul in its melody and rids it of such plagues.”
“Then, do you envy no man?”
“Others may envy me, but I envy no one.”
“Your workshop is commanded by a rigid order. Everything stands in its particular
place. Your tools are arranged as uniformly as you yourself are clad.”
“Order spreads from my soul into my hands for if I suffer the slightest disorder and disharmony the melted iron will flee my anvil and brandish my body—one cannot shape iron without harmony.”
“Do you fear anyone or anything?”
“There may be many things which will flee the heat of my oven, but I fear no one and nothing.”
“Do you not even fear the Lord?”
“My God is the God of Zarathustra—the total harmony of the universe, the powerful Creator of being. It is that power which brings the trees of my garden to fruition, gives birth to my herd and lets my hands grasp the anvil and shape iron. Zarathustra’s God is the embodiment of forgiveness and activity, one does not fear the forgiving—one must dread fear not the Creator.”
“Does no dread of darkness pierce your heart?”
“I light darkness with my blazing oven and fuming iron.”
“I find you at peace. What do your peace and firmness come from? Have you ever suffered in life?”
“I feel no inner force crushing my soul to cause me disquiet. If I did ail of such a force I would never be able to create such evenly shaped tools. The evenness and beauty of my tools are created from my inner equilibrium.”
“Have you ever lied?”
“He who bears no fear, abjection nor distress carries no lying tongue.”
“Have you never regretted anything you have said or done?”
“Wise deeds leave no room for regret. I allow my wisdom to guide me in all I do.”
“Do you bear anger against any man?”
“I carry no evil within me. Should I meet with that which angers me I will speak out without fear and rid myself of my anger.”
“Have you ever been quick to love and to reject anyone?”
“Iron is gradually melted and is moulded just as gradually as it melts. I deal with iron not with straw.”
“Have you ever been exhausted by life? Has there ever been a time in your life when you have washed your hands clean of existence?”
“If iron does not yield I might come to feel so, but to this day there has never been such a calamity in my life.”
“Do you live with people or do you separate yourself from them?”
“My life and my work tie me to people. Men need my iron tools and I make those tools. There exists a steel bond between us.”
“Do you truly love others or is this bond a purely profitable one?”
“My ties with others warm me in the same way that my oven warms me.”
“Are you sad?”
“Sadness comes from the cold, but there are no drafts within the workshop of an ironsmith.”
“Are you victorious or beaten?”
“So long as I shape iron with the power of my wisdom and with the power of my arms I an eternally victorious.”
“Do you dream of a workshop larger than the one you have?”
“Is there anything greater than my work and my workshop in this world?”
“Have you never imagined the unimaginable?”
“I am no spider and can weave no clinging web. I am an ironsmith and an ironsmith knows of no tools but his anvil, his sledge hammer and his oven. My fantasies are limited to the boundaries of my workshop.”
“Have you never boasted nor exaggerated nor spoken in vain?”
“I have learnt to heat iron to a particular degree and to beat it to a particular end not a modicum less, not a modicum more.”
“Do you see yourself as either inferior or superior to your fellow ironsmiths?”
“Iron is the same in any workshop and so are the anvil, the hammer and the oven.”
“What are your dreams? How do you want your life to be?”
“I want to continue to rise at sunrise, come to my workshop and work till nightfall. I want my arms to always have the power to beat my anvil. I want to have sufficient iron and sufficient customers. I want a pure heart, a raised head, a contented soul and a smiling face. I want to have the same warm relationship with men I now have. I want the light to eternally burn within my home and within my oven. I want no evil to penetrate my heart, my thoughts, my deeds nor my words.”
Zarathustra bade farewell to the ironsmith and turned to Djamaspa and to Frashushtra:
“Friends, you have met two men of victorious dispositions—two contented creative beings. I now ask you to profit of what you have learnt and to be wary of any who appear in opposition to these two men so that you might know the secret to happiness and to sorrow.”