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What sort of mother are you? You lead towards the light Your children, only to cast them down again! Does it not please you To see how your own children die?
The flower who wets her lips with death, You made tempting to the eyes, You incited beings against beings, To send each other into the night. Because the swift bird wants to eat, Must they be scattered in their droves? Oh quiet, you vain dreamers! Looking for peace and quiet in nature?
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Traitor, why do you lure so sweetly, Why make the farewell from life so hard? Why do you lust for tinsel With greedy childish eyes? With all your charms, you lure us closer, Only to push us ever more cruelly away. A boy who builds without design only to tear down again, Would you play that same game on a bigger scale? Stop patching yourself up with colourful rags, Reveal your face openly to us No secrecy, let us see the truth!
So I once lamented, and the answer was: Ich bin ein Atheist! Bleibt denn bei eurem Wahn, Und glaubt, wenn ihr nichts wisst! Ich schwinge meine Fahne, Ich bin ein Atheist! Lasst ihn zum Himmel schauen, Zur Kirche gehn mit andachtsvollen Schritten! I may pass on by, I am an atheist! Totally godless, Yes, the sparks Of oh such sublime religion Have long been extinct in me, Leaving only cold ash behind.
And watch, to your dismay, Which has been growing, I say with steady voice: I am an atheist! Heaven, as scripture promises Vainly beckons to me, I wander freely through my life, Until death shall take me. In the muffled gears of the worlds, I honour the wild power That without hate or love Creates the path of life, That sends her gifts, Without cold calculation— And whichever way things go for me, I am an atheist. And though a wise leader In heaven sounds comforting, I denouce it joyfully, Despite or even because of it.
You can keep your delusions, And believe, if you know nothing! I will wave my flag, I am an atheist! O be kind to him, who with deep trust, Whether joy fills him or sadness, With pious, faithful prayers, Seeks in pain and suffering to lift up his heart! Let him look up to heaven, Let him go to church with devout steps! We preach no crusade to our teachers, Whoever can, should step away from the altar, Which earned its place with deceit. Und leise seufzend, zieht der ernste Fremde Die Stirne kraus, dann bricht sein Schmerz hervor In bitteren und wehevollen Worten: Drum wehe dem, der je die Wahrheit sucht!
At Sais there is enormous image, Which in the hot glowing rays of the sun Sparkles with rich, shining stone, An image of Isis, so the saga tells. At its feet is spread a dense And pleated veil. In front of the image is a man.
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With him a guide Who tells him the dark tale of a young man Who dared to lift the veil of Isis. With a sigh, the sombre stranger furrows his brows. Then with great pain He speaks in bitter words: An illusion, hidden under a veil, Rich with darkening mysteries Full of horrific sagas, Was your goddess to whom you sacrificed. Of whom you were afraid, To whom you dedicated your miserably short life, You poor betrayed mortals! Why proclaim the truth to the world, When you depend on the lie for your existence?
Woe betide anyone who ever sought the truth! Woe betide anyone who, with an inquiring mind, Dares to go into the dark That has become law. So was the scheme. You would like to walk the earth As a pious and devout man, And always righteously act In the spirit of the Lord? You believe that he who does good, Cannot be confounded, And is on good terms with God and Man? First let me tell you, it is divine To fight against suffering, You should also not be afraid To quarrel with the Jews.
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If the smallest light shines In front of sharp eyes, The slightest trace of brightness, You have to suffocate it. Faith is the fairest light, There is no other one, And should it ever die— Then the world will end. Most of all I warn you— Consider! No Christian will disdain those, Especially not a shepherd of souls— It has to be your whole desire. Doch kann sie es.
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You who have mastered the lyre, Who delight with gentle pleasures, You, lovely poets, know That Apollo, who you cherish, Who taught you the siren call, Is also the bringer of light. You always praised yourself As the grandest spirits on earth, Who carry the torch of enlightenment; Now that truth has slipped from us, How come that suddenly, You attack the daring mind?
The daring mind, which without fear, Undeterred by song and bells Is carving new paths? How did this happen? She should be quiet— She has nothing to say, And silence every sound! But she can do it. Does it seem poetic to you When all mankind ascetically Chastens and tortures themselves? It may also seem poetic, the whimper That a weak soul Always chooses instead of action. Truly, I think freedom, Free will, free exchange, A higher and more beautiful picture, Than sinking on your knees In a dark chamber As the sun shines outside.
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