Thus Spake Zarathustra (AmazonClassics Edition)

by Friedrich Nietzsche

Dare only to believe in yourselves—in yourselves and in your inward parts! He who doth not believe in himself always lieth. A God’s mask have ye hung in front of you, ye “pure ones”: into a God’s mask hath your execrable coiling snake crawled.

All mankind’s faults and weaknesses did they put betwixt themselves and me:—they call it “false ceiling” in their houses. But nevertheless I walk with my thoughts above their heads; and even should I walk on mine own errors, still would I be above them and their heads. For men are not equal: so speaketh justice. And what I will, they may not will!—

The earth, said he, hath a skin; and this skin hath diseases. One of these diseases, for example, is called “man.”

“Not around the inventors of new noise, but around the inventors of new values, doth the world revolve; inaudibly it revolveth.

“And this do I say also to the o’erthrowers of statues: It is certainly the greatest folly to throw salt into the sea, and statues into the mud. “In the mud of your contempt lay the statue: but it is just its law, that out of contempt, its life and living beauty grow again! “With diviner features doth it now arise, seducing by its suffering; and verily! it will yet thank you for o’erthrowing it, ye subverters!

“Like thyself the state is a dissembling dog; like thee doth it like to speak with smoke and roaring—to make believe, like thee, that it speaketh out of the heart of things. “For it seeketh by all means to be the most important creature on earth, the state; and people think it so.”

A riddle is it still unto me, this dream; the meaning is hidden in it and encaged, and doth not yet fly above it on free pinions. All life had I renounced, so I dreamed. Night-watchman and grave-guardian had I become, aloft, in the lone mountain-fortress of Death. There did I guard his coffins: full stood the musty vaults of those trophies of victory. Out of glass coffins did vanquished life gaze upon me.

Zarathustra, however, answered thus unto him who so spake: When one taketh his hump from the hunchback, then doth one take from him his spirit—so do the people teach. And when one giveth the blind man eyes, then doth he see too many bad things on the earth: so that he curseth him who healed him. He, however, who maketh the lame man run, inflicteth upon him the greatest injury; for hardly can he run, when his vices run away with him—so do the people teach concerning cripples. And why should not Zarathustra also learn from the people, when the people learn from Zarathustra?

I see and have seen worse things, and divers things so hideous, that I should neither like to speak of all matters, nor even keep silent about some of them: namely, men who lack everything, except that they have too much of one thing—men who are nothing more than a big eye, or a big mouth, or a big belly, or something else big,—reversed cripples, I call such men.

The present and the bygone upon earth—ah! my friends—that is my most unbearable trouble; and I should not know how to live, if I were not a seer of what is to come. A seer, a purposer, a creator, a future itself, and a bridge to the future—and alas! also as it were a cripple on this bridge: all that is Zarathustra.

To redeem what is past, and to transform every “It was” into “Thus would I have it!”—that only do I call redemption! Will—so is the emancipator and joy-bringer called: thus have I taught you, my friends!

To man clingeth my will; with chains do I bind myself to man, because I am pulled upwards to the Superman: for thither doth mine other will tend. And therefore do I live blindly among men, as if I knew them not: that my hand may not entirely lose belief in firmness.

Some day, however, will greater dragons come into the world. For that the Superman may not lack his dragon, the superdragon that is worthy of him, there must still much warm sun glow on moist virgin forests! Out of your wild cats must tigers have evolved, and out of your poison-toads, crocodiles: for the good hunter shall have a good hunt! And verily, ye good and just! In you there is much to be laughed at, and especially your fear of what hath hitherto been called “the devil!”

Then did a laughing take place all around me. Alas, how that laughing lacerated my bowels and cut into my heart! And there was spoken unto me for the last time: “O Zarathustra, thy fruits are ripe, but thou art not ripe for thy fruits!

Yea! To look down upon myself, and even upon my stars: that only would I call my summit, that hath remained for me as my last summit!— Thus spake Zarathustra to himself while ascending, comforting his heart with harsh maxims: for he was sore at heart as he had never been before. And when he had reached the top of the mountain-ridge, behold, there lay the other sea spread out before him: and he stood still and was long silent.

Whence come the highest mountains? so did I once ask. Then did I learn that they come out of the sea. That testimony is inscribed on their stones, and on the walls of their summits. Out of the deepest must the highest come to its height.—

Foot and eye shall not lie, nor give the lie to each other. But there is much lying among small people. Some of them will, but most of them are willed. Some of them are genuine, but most of them are bad actors.

And when I call out: “Curse all the cowardly devils in you, that would fain whimper and fold the hands and adore”—then do they shout: “Zarathustra is godless.” And especially do their teachers of submission shout this;—but precisely in their ears do I love to cry: “Yea! I am Zarathustra, the godless!” Those teachers of submission! Wherever there is aught puny, or sickly, or scabby, there do they creep like lice; and only my disgust preventeth me from cracking them.

To one man, lonesomeness is the flight of the sick one; to another, it is the flight from the sick ones.

The ostrich runneth faster than the fastest horse, but it also thrusteth its head heavily into the heavy earth: thus is it with the man who cannot yet fly. Heavy unto him are earth and life, and so willeth the spirit of gravity! But he who would become light, and be a bird, must love himself:—thus do I teach.

This however is my teaching: he who wisheth one day to fly, must first learn standing and walking and running and climbing and dancing:—one doth not fly into flying!

There is an old illusion—it is called good and evil. Around soothsayers and astrologers hath hitherto revolved the orbit of this illusion. Once did one believe in soothsayers and astrologers; and therefore did one believe, “Everything is fate: thou shalt, for thou must!” Then again did one distrust all soothsayers and astrologers; and therefore did one believe, “Everything is freedom: thou canst, for thou willest!” O my brethren, concerning the stars and the future there hath hitherto been only illusion, and not knowledge; and therefore concerning good and evil there hath hitherto been only illusion and not knowledge!

I love the brave: but it is not enough to be a swordsman,—one must also know whereon to use swordsmanship! And often is it greater bravery to keep quiet and pass by, that thereby one may reserve oneself for a worthier foe!

“Why so hard!”—said to the diamond one day the charcoal; “are we then not near relatives?”— Why so soft? O my brethren; thus do I ask you: are ye then not—my brethren? Why so soft, so submissive and yielding? Why is there so much negation and abnegation in your hearts? Why is there so little fate in your looks? And if ye will not be fates and inexorable ones, how can ye one day—conquer with me? And if your hardness will not glance and cut and chip to pieces, how can ye one day—create with me?

And ye looked on at it all? O mine animals, are ye also cruel? Did ye like to look at my great pain as men do? For man is the cruellest animal. At tragedies, bull-fights, and crucifixions hath he hitherto been happiest on earth; and when he invented his hell, behold, that was his heaven on earth.

And verily, O my soul! Who could see thy smiling and not melt into tears? The angels themselves melt into tears through the over-graciousness of thy smiling. Thy graciousness and over-graciousness, is it which will not complain and weep: and yet, O my soul, longeth thy smiling for tears, and thy trembling mouth for sobs.

Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity! For I love thee, O Eternity!

—My happiness itself do I throw out into all places far and wide ’twixt orient, noontide, and occident, to see if many human fish will not learn to hug and tug at my happiness;— Until, biting at my sharp hidden hooks, they have to come up unto my height, the motleyest abyss-groundlings, to the wickedest of all fishers of men.

“Better know nothing than half-know many things! Better be a fool on one’s own account, than a sage on other people’s approbation!

“O Zarathustra, I am weary of it, I am disgusted with mine arts, I am not great, why do I dissemble! But thou knowest it well—I sought for greatness! “A great man I wanted to appear, and persuaded many; but the lie hath been beyond my power. On it do I collapse. “O Zarathustra, everything is a lie in me; but that I collapse—this my collapsing is genuine!”— “It honoureth thee,” said Zarathustra gloomily, looking down with sidelong glance, “it honoureth thee that thou soughtest for greatness, but it betrayeth thee also. Thou art not great.