In this chapter, Zarathustra, reflects on those who have turned away from his teachings and reverted to conventional beliefs, particularly religious faith.

Zarathustra begins by lamenting the transformation of those who once stood vibrant and hopeful on the metaphorical meadow. He recalls gathering the “honey of hope” from these young hearts, which have now withered and become grey. These individuals, who recently embraced enlightenment and independence, have grown weary and complacent. They declare, “We have become pious again,” indicating a retreat to familiar doctrines and comforts.

He observes that these people, once eager seekers of knowledge who ventured forth on courageous feet, have become tired and now slander their former bravery. Some who once joyfully danced at his wisdom have reconsidered and now crawl “crooked—to the cross,” symbolizing a return to traditional religious practices. Others, who fluttered around light and freedom like “gnats and young poets,” have aged slightly, grown colder, and become dark and murmurous and hearth-bound.

He advises himself to let these people depart without lamentation, urging the withered leaves to fall away and even hastening their departure with “rustling winds.” Zarathustra encourages embracing the shedding of what is no longer vibrant or committed to his ideals.

In the second part, Zarathustra directly addresses these apostates. He notes that while some openly confess, “We have become pious again,” others are too cowardly to admit it.

He accuses them of being “light-shy,” unable to find peace in illumination, and thus burying their heads deeper into darkness and mists. The time has come, he observes, for all light-shy people—the evening and leisure hour when they do not rest but engage in their own pursuits. Zarathustra satirizes their activities: they spend long evenings together saying, “Let us become like children again and say ‘dear God’!”—corrupted by pious indulgences.

Others watch a cunning spider preaching wisdom to other spiders under crosses, teaching them, “Under crosses it is good to spin!” This imagery criticizes those who engage in deceitful or trivial pursuits under the guise of piety. Some sit with fishing rods at swamps, believing themselves profound, yet Zarathustra dismisses them, stating that those who fish where there are no fish are not even superficial.

He describes individuals who joyfully learn to play the harp with a song-poet eager to charm young women, having grown tired of the praise of older ones. Others seek to induce shudders by listening to a learned half-madman waiting for spirits in dark rooms, only to have the spirit flee entirely. Some become night-watchmen, adept at blowing horns and rousing old, long-asleep matters.

Zarathustra recounts overhearing two old night-watchmen conversing by a garden wall. They question God’s care for His children, suggesting that human fathers do better and that God is too old or unconcerned. One remarks that proving God’s existence is difficult, as He relies on belief rather than evidence. They lament, reflecting their own doubts and projecting them onto the divine.

This exchange amuses Zarathustra to the point of nearly bursting with laughter. He finds it absurd that such doubts persist, declaring that it has been long over for such light-shy matters. He asserts that the old gods ended long ago, and they had a good, joyful demise—not fading away but laughing themselves to death when one declared, “There is one God! Thou shalt have no other gods before me!” This proclamation of monotheism amused the pantheon, as it contradicted the very nature of their existence.

The chapter concludes with Zarathustra speaking in the town he loves, named “The Colourful Cow.” He is merely two days away from returning to his cave and his animals, and his soul rejoices at the nearness of homecoming.