The three Zarathustras make another unexpected appearance in our ongoing learning series. On this particular occasion, the legendary trio decided to take up a joint teaching position, all three of them, at a local technical college in rural Australia. They collectively reasoned that the fresh air of the countryside would do their spirits and health a world of good. They were, after all, highly experienced figures in all matters of life and intellect, and they had even spent a significant amount of time consulting at many prominent Fortune 500 companies in the past. Through those corporate exploits, they had amassed a vast mountain of practical skills in project management and corporate organizational structures. This academic appointment represented the perfect career pivot for all three of them so that they could reenter the modern jobs market and actively help out other everyday people who were genuinely willing to sit down and listen to their vast wisdom.
The average day began incredibly early for the three Zarathustras. They would rise before the sun, immediately making a small, crackling camp fire to heat up their hot water supplies for the day. They possessed a large, high-quality thermos flask so that they could carry hot water with them all day long without much issue. This was an exceptionally good idea because it meant they didn't have to spend time making multiple fires throughout the afternoon. The distinct, crisp smell of burning gum leaves filled the morning air as the birds began to wake. The three Zarathustras quietly drank their hot tea and let out a big, collective sigh of absolute relief. They then quickly packed up their basic campsite and walked over to the edge of the nearby highway, where there were already many massive cargo trucks driving past in the twilight. They routinely hitchhiked into the local town so that they would arrive around six o'clock in the morning, which was extremely early but gave them ample time to do some grocery shopping if they had to before the day grew busy. By around eight o'clock in the morning, they had to be fully ready inside their respective classrooms so that they could start the day's lessons and prepare the blackboards for the arriving students.
For the most part, everything seemed to be going remarkably well. Sure, it was a bit of a physical strain to hitchhike into town every single day and camp out in the elements with a campfire, but they were rapidly getting used to the rugged realities of life in the Australian countryside. Besides, there were hardly any people around their campsite, meaning there was no one to criticize them for not renting a standard apartment in the middle of town. There was one major problem with the arrangement, however. One of the three Zarathustras was simply not honest. This moral deficiency had always been somewhat apparent to outsiders. The other two Zarathustras were absolutely exceptional in all matters of ethics and intellect, but this third Zarathustra was fundamentally not good. In fact, he subscribed to a bizarre philosophy where he believed that good was actually evil and evil was actually good. For this reason, he went far out of his way to act maliciously because he believed that there were two equal gods fighting in this world, a good one and an evil one. He also believed firmly in a twisted version of dialectical logic, asserting that the only way to incite the good god to finally show himself was to present the absolute essence of the evil god for all the world to see. Such complex theological ideas were certainly not shared with the other two Zarathustras. They all had their own distinct minds, after all, and were definitely not identical clones as some critics had erroneously suggested in the past.
The evil Zarathustra had been assigned to teach a class of aspiring mathematicians who were currently preparing for their difficult end-of-semester statistics exams. Passing this exam was crucial so that the students could eventually work in the local nuclear power plant and perform highly sensitive risk diagnostics on the reactors. The stressed students openly confessed to the evil Zarathustra that they were struggling deeply and did not believe they were able to succeed in mastering the complex statistics curriculum on their own. The evil Zarathustra took their academic pain to heart, but his solution was entirely unorthodox. He suddenly jumped up and stood directly on top of the classroom table. He raised his hand toward the heavens as if to signal a grand divine blessing upon the room, looked down at the shocked faces of the students, and loudly said, oh cheat well. He repeated the phrase, oh cheat well, looking intently into their eyes.
Everyone in the room looked back at him with a thoroughly puzzled expression on their faces. Surely, the students reasoned, he must be playing some kind of elaborate joke on them. A professional educator cannot possibly suggest that a class should actively cheat on a high-stakes statistics exam for a nuclear facility. But the evil Zarathustra was not joking in the slightest. He raised both of his arms dramatically in the air and chanted, cheat well, cheat well.
As a quick linguistic aside for our learning series, it is fascinating to note that the phrase he used sounds exactly like a common foreign word. If you listen closely to the phonetic pronunciation of the Russian word for a teacher, which is учитель (pronounced oo-chee-tyel), it sounds remarkably similar to the English phrase, oh cheat well. It is a highly effective mnemonic device to remember the vocabulary word, even if this particular instructor was giving a terrible example of the profession.
The evil Zarathustra was explicitly encouraging the students to cheat on their statistics exam. The students, however, were very honest young people because they had grown up with traditional, small-town morals and did not want to cheat on their examinations. One of the concerned students approached one of the good Zarathustras just before leaving the campus for the evening and asked if he could have a brief word in private. The good Zarathustra could immediately tell from the student's anxious demeanor that the evil Zarathustra had been up to some kind of philosophical mischief. He kindly asked the boy what could be troubling him. The student explained that the substitute instructor had been jumping up on the desks and aggressively encouraging the class to cheat on their upcoming nuclear statistics exam.
The good Zarathustra was not at all surprised by this report. He sighed and told the student that it is always best to try your absolute best on an exam and face failure honestly, rather than to not try at all and succeed through deception. It might admittedly feel good at first to cheat and achieve a passing mark, he continued, but later in life, you will always look back and remember the occasion as a complete waste of time. If you didn't truly succeed on your own merits, then you might as well have stayed home and not sat the exam in the first place. He then offered a solution, suggesting that the student study with him after hours so he could get them properly prepared for the test. He explained that statistics are not actually that hard to learn once you understand the core principles, and he promised to check out some excellent textbooks from the campus library. In the end, one of the good Zarathustras was essentially doing the entire teaching job of the evil Zarathustra.
The students did their absolute best to prepare for the tests over the following hours and actually managed to learn a thing or two about data analysis. But the very next day, the evil Zarathustra entered the student lounge, jumped dramatically onto the fabric couch, and announced to the gathered class that the definitive time had come for them to choose whether they wanted to be winners or whether they wanted to be losers in life. If they truly did want to win at all costs, he continued, then they must embrace his previous advice. Oh cheat well, he shouted once more.
The students grew visibly angry because they could easily tell that he was actively perverting their academic studies and encouraging them to do the wrong thing. The eccentric Zarathustra did not stress about their negative response at all; he simply smiled and repeated the phrase, oh cheat well, utilizing the phonetic sound of the Russian word for teacher to assert his authority over the room. Suddenly, a loud crack of thunder broke outside the windows and a heavy tropical rain started to fall over the college grounds. The evil Zarathustra pointed at the sky, viewing the sudden storm as a clear cosmic sign that the students should learn to embrace their dark side, abandon their small-town morality, and succeed at all costs. The students sat wide-eyed in the dimming light of the classroom, completely torn and not knowing what to do with the looming exam due date rapidly approaching. Sure, they desperately wanted to remain honest individuals, but they were also slowly becoming convinced that they could achieve greatness if they would only take his radical advice and cheat on the exam.