Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche.

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my bowels."

Let thy virtue be too high for the familiarity of names, and
if thou must speak of it, be not ashamed to stammer about it.


Thus speak and stammer: "That is my good, that do I love,
thus doth it please me entirely, thus only do / desire the good.

Not as the law of a God do I desire it, not as a human law
or a human need do I desire it; it is not to be a guide-post for
me to superearths and paradises.

An earthly virtue is it which I love: little prudence is
therein, and the least everyday wisdom.

But that bird built its nest beside me: therefore, I love and
cherish it now sitteth it beside me on its golden eggs."

Thus shouldst thou stammer, and praise thy virtue.

Once hadst thou passions and calledst them evil. But now
hast thou only thy virtues: they grew out cf thy passions.

Thou implantedst thy highest aim into the heart of those
passions: then became they thy virtues and joys.

And though thou wert of the race of the hot-tempered, or
of the voluptuous, or of the fanatical, or the vindictive;

All thy passions in the end became virtues, and all thy devils

Once hadst thou wild dogs in thy cellar: but they changed
at last into birds and charming songstresses.

Out of thy poisons brewedst thou balsam for thyself; thy
cow, affliction, milkedst thou now drinketh thou the sweet
milk of her udder.

And nothing evil groweth in thee any longer, unless it be
the evil that groweth out of the conflict of thy virtues.

My brother, if thou be fortunate, then wilt thou have one
virtue and no more: thus goest thou easier over the bridge.

Illustrious is it to have many virtues, but a hard lot; and
many a one hath gone into the wilderness and killed himself,
because he was weary of being the battle and battlefield of


My brother, are war and battle evil? Necessary, however, is
the evil; necessary are the envy and the distrust and the back-
biting among the virtues.

Lo! how each of thy virtues is covetous of the highest place;
it wanteth thy whole spirit to be its herald, it wanteth thy whole
power, in wrath, hatred, and love.

Jealous is every virtue of the others, and a dreadful thing is
jealousy. Even virtues may succumb by jealousy.

He whom the flame of jealousy encompasseth, turneth at
last, like the scorpion, the poisoned sting against himself.

Ah! my brother, hast thou never seen a virtue backbite and
stab itself?

Man is something that hath to be surpassed : and therefore
shalt thou love thy virtues, for thou wilt succumb by them.

Thus spake Zarathustra.

6. The Pale Criminal

YE DO not mean to slay, ye judges and sacrifkers, until the
animal hath bowed its head? Lo! the pale criminal hath bowed
his head : out of his eye speaketh the great contempt.

"Mine ego is something which is to be surpassed: mine ego
is to me the great contempt of man": so speaketh it out of
that eye.

When he judged himself that was his supreme moment;
let not the exalted one relapse again into his low estate!

There is no salvation for him who thus suffereth from him-
self, unless it be speedy death.


Your slaying, ye judges, shall be pity, and not revenge;
and in that ye slay, see to it that ye yourselves justify life!

It is not enough that ye should reconcile with him whom
ye slay. Let your sorrow be love to the Superman: thus will ye
justify your own survival!

"Enemy" shall ye say but not "villain," "invalid" shall ye
say but not "wretch," "fool" shall ye say but not "sinner."

And thou, red judge, if thou would say audibly all thou hast
done in thought, then would every one cry: "Away with the
nastiness and the virulent reptile!"

But one thing is the thought, another thing is the deed, and
another thing is the idea of the deed. The wheel of causality
doth not roll between them.

An idea made this pale man pale. Adequate was he for his
deed when he did it, but the idea of it, he could not endure
when it was done.

Evermore did he now see himself as the doer of one deed.
Madness, I call this: the exception reversed itself to the rule in

The streak of chalk bewitcheth the hen; the stroke he struck
bewitched his weak reason. Madness after the deed, I call this.

Hearken, ye judges! There is another madness besides, and
it is before the deed. Ah! ye have not gone deep enough into
this soul!

Thus speaketh the red judge: "Why did this criminal com-
mit murder? He meant to rob." I tell you, however, that his
soul wanted blood, not booty: he thirsted for the happiness of
the knife-
But his weak reason understood not this madness, and it
persuaded him. "What matter about blood!" it said; "wishest
thou not, at least, to make booty thereby? Or take revenge?"


And he hearkened unto his weak reason: like lead lay its
words upon him thereupon he robbed when he murdered.
He did not mean to be ashamed of his madness.

And now once more lieth the lead of his guilt upon him,
and once more is his weak reason so benumbed, so paralysed,
and so dull.

Could he only shake his head, then would his burden roll off;
but who shaketh that head?

What is this man? A mass of diseases that reach out into
the world through the spirit; there they want to get their

What is this man? A coil of wild serpents that are seldom
at peace among themselves so they go forth apart and seek
prey in the world.

Look at that poor body! What it suffered and craved, the
poor soul interpreted to itself it interpreted it as murderous
desire, and eagerness for the happiness of the knife.

Him who now turneth sick, the evil overtaketh which is
now the evil : he seeketh to cause pain with that which causeth
him pain. But there have been other ages, and another evil and

Once was doubt evil, and the will to Self. Then the invalid
became a heretic or sorcerer; as heretic or sorcerer he suffered,
and sought to cause suffering.

But this will not enter your ears; it hurteth your good
people, ye tell me. But what doth it matter to me about your
good people!

Many things in your good people cause me disgust, and
verily, not their evil. I would that they had a madness by which
they succumbed, like this pale criminal!

Verily, I would that their madness were called truth, or


fidelity, or justice: but they have their virtue in order to live
long, and in wretched self-complacency.

I am a railing alongside the torrent; whoever is able to grasp
me may grasp me! Your crutch, however, I am not.

Thus spake Zarathustra.

. Reading and Writing

OF ALL that is written, I love only what a person hath written
with his blood. Write with blood, and thou wilt find that blood
is spirit.

It is no easy task to understand unfamiliar blood; I hate the
reading idlers.

He who knoweth the reader, doeth nothing more for the
reader. Another century of readers and spirit itself will stink.

Every one being allowed to learn to read, ruineth in the long
run not only writing but also thinking.

Once spirit was God, then it became man, and now it even
becometh populace.

He that writeth in blood and proverbs doth not want to be
read, but learnt by heart.

In the mountains the shortest way is from peak to peak, but
for that route thou must have long legs. Proverbs should be
peaks, and those spoken to should be big and tall.

The atmosphere rare and pure, danger near and the spirit
full of a joyful wickedness: thus are things well matched.

I want to have goblins about me, for I am courageous. The


courage which scareth away ghosts, createth for itself goblins
it wanteth to laugh.

I no longer feel in common with you; the very cloud which I
see beneath me, the blackness and heaviness at which I laugh
that is your thunder-cloud.

Ye look aloft when ye long for exaltation; and I look down-
ward because I am exalted.

Who among you can at the same time laugh and be exalted?

He who climbeth on the highest mountains, laugheth at all
tragic plays and tragic realities.

' Courageous, unconcerned, scornful, coercive so wisdom f
twisheth us; she is a woman, and ever loveth only a warrior.j

Ye tell me, "Life is hard to bear." But for what purpose
should ye have your pride in the morning and your resigna-
tion in the evening?

Life is hard to bear: but do not affect to be so delicate! We
are all of us fine sumpter asses and she-asses.

What have we in common with the rose-bud, which
trembleth because a drop of dew hath formed upon it?

It is true we love life; not because we are wont to live, but
because we are wont to love.

There is always some madness in love. But there is always,
also, some method in madness.

And to me also, who appreciate life, the butterflies, and
soap-bubbles, and whatever is like them amongst us, seem most
to enjoy happiness.

To see these light, foolish, pretty, lively little sprites flit
about that moveth Zarathustra to tears and songs.

I should only believe in a God that would know how to

And when I saw my devil, I found him serious, thorough,


profound, solemn: he was the spirit of gravity through him
all things fall.

Not by wrath, but by laughter, do we slay. Come, let us slay
the spirit of gravity!

I learned to walk; since then have I let myself run. I learned
to fly; since then I do not need pushing in order to move from a

Now am I light, now do I fly; now do I see myself under
myself. Now there danceth a God in me.

Thus spake Zarathustra.

8. The Tree on the Hill

ZARATHUSTRA'S eye had perceived that a certain youth avoided
him. And as he walked alone one evening over the hills sur-
rounding the town called 'The Pied Cow," behold, there
found he the youth sitting leaning against a tree, and gazing
with wearied look into the valley. Zarathustra thereupon laid
hold of the tree beside which the youth sat, and spake thus :

"If I wished to shake this tree with my hands, I should not
be able to do so.

But the wind, which we see not, troubleth and bendeth it as
it listeth. We are sorest bent and troubled by invisible hands."

Thereupon the youth arose disconcerted, and said: "I hear
Zarathustra, and just now was I thinking of him!" Zarathustra
answered :

"Why art thou frightened on that account? But it is the
same with man as with the tree.


The more he seeketh to rise into the height and light, the
more vigorously do his roots struggle earthward, downward,
into the dark and deep into the evil."

'Yea, into the evil!" cried the youth. "How is it possible
that thou hast discovered my soul?"

Zarathustra smiled, and said: "Many a soul one will never
discover, unless one first invent it."

'Yea, into the evil!" cried the youth once more.

"Thou saidst the truth, Zarathustra. I trust myself no longer
since I sought to rise into the height, and nobody trusteth me
any longer; how doth that happen?

I change too quickly: my to-day refuteth my yesterday. l !
often overleap the steps when I clamber; for so doing, none of
the steps pardons mej

When aloft, I find myself always alone. No one speaketh i
* unto me; the frost of solitude maketh me tremble. What do I
( seek on the height?;

My contempt and my longing increase together; the higher
I clamber, the more do I despise him who clambereth. What
doth he seek on the height?

How ashamed I am of my clambering and stumbling! How
I mock at my violent panting! How I hate him who flieth! How
tired I am on the height!"

Here the youth was silent. And Zarathustra contemplated
the tree beside which they stood, and spake thus:

'This tree standeth lonely here on the hills; it hath grown
up high above man and beast.

And if it wanted to speak, it would have none who could
understand it: so high hath it grown.

Now it waiteth and waiteth, for what doth it wait? It
dwelleth too close to the seat of the clouds; it waiteth perhaps
for the first lightning?"


When Zarathustra had said this, the youth called out with
violent gestures: 'Yea, Zarathustra, thou speakest the truth.
My destruction I longed for, when I desired to be on the
height, and thou art the lightning for which I waited! Lo!
what have I been since thou hast appeared amongst us? It is
mine envy of thee that hath destroyed me!" Thus spake the
youth, and wept bitterly. Zarathustra, however, put his arm
about him, and led the youth away with him.

And when they had walked a while together, Zarathustra
began to speak thus :

It rendeth my heart. Better than thy words express it, thine
eyes tell me all thy danger.

As yet thou art not free; thou still seekest freedom. Too un-
slept hath thy seeking made thee, and too wakeful.

On the open height wouldst thou be; for the stars thirsteth
thy soul. But thy bad impulses also thirst for freedom.

Thy wild dogs want liberty; they bark for joy in their cellar
when thy spirit endeavoureth to open all prison doors.

Still art thou a prisoner it seemeth to me who deviseth
liberty for himself: ah! sharp becometh the soul of such
prisoners, but also deceitful and wicked.

To purify himself, is still necessary for the freedman of
the spirit. Much of the prison and the mould still remaineth
in him: pure hath his eye still to become.

Yea, I know thy danger. But by my love and hope I con-
jure thee: cast not thy love and hope away!

Noble thou feelest thyself still, and noble others also feel
thee still, though they bear thee a grudge and cast evil looks.
Know this, that to everybody a noble one standeth in the way.

Also to the good, a noble one standeth in the way: and even
when they call him a good man, they want thereby to put him


The new, would the noble man create, and a new virtue.
The old, wanteth the good man, and that the old should be

But it is not the danger of the noble man to turn a good
man, but lest he should become a blusterer, a scoffer, or a de-

Ah! I have known noble ones who lost their highest hope.
And then they disparaged all high hopes.

Then lived they shamelessly in temporary pleasures, and
beyond the day had hardly an aim.

"Spirit is also voluptuousness," said they. Then broke the
wings of their spirit; and now it creepeth about, and defileth
where it gnaweth.

Once they thought of becoming heroes; but sensualists are
they now. A trouble and a terror is the hero to them.

But by my love and hope I conjure thee: cast not away the
hero in thy soul! Maintain holy thy highest hope!

Thus spake Zarathustra.

The Preachers of Death

THERE are preachers of death : and the earth is full of those to
whom desistance from life must be preached.

Full is the earth of the superfluous; marred is life by the
many-too-many. May they be decoyed out of this life by the
"life eternal"!

"The yellow ones": so are called the preachers of death, or


"the black ones." But I will show them unto you in other
colours besides.

There are the terrible ones who carry about in themselves
the beast of prey, and have no choice except lusts or self-
laceration. And even their lusts are self-laceration.

They have not yet become men, those terrible ones: may
they preach desistance from life, and pass away themselves!

There are the spiritually consumptive ones : hardly are they
born when they begin to die, and long for doctrines of lassi-
tude and renunciation.

They would fain be dead, and we should approve of their
wish! Let us beware of awakening those dead ones, and of
damaging those living coffins!

They meet an invalid, or an old man, or a corpse and im-
mediately they say: "Life is refuted!"

But they only are refuted, and their eye, which seeth only
one aspect of existence.

Shrouded in thick melancholy, and eager for the little
casualties that bring death : thus do they wait, and clench their

Or else, they grasp at sweetmeats, and mock at their childish-
ness thereby: they cling to their straw of life, and mock at their
still clinging to it.

Their wisdom speaketh thus: "A fool, he who remaineth
alive; but so far are we fools! And that is the foolishest thing
in life!"

"Life is only suffering": so say others, and lie not. Then see
to it that ye cease! See to it that the life ceaseth which is only

And let this be the teaching of your virtue: 'Thou shalt
slay thyself! Thou shalt steal away from thyself!"


"Lust is sin," so say some who preach death "let us go
apart and beget no children!"

"Giving birth is troublesome," say others "why still give
birth? One beareth only the unfortunate!" And they also are
preachers of death.

"Pity is necessary," so saith a third party. 'Take what I
have! Take what I am! So much less doth life bind me!"

Were they consistently pitiful, then would they make their
neighbours sick of life. To be wicked that would be their true

But they want to be rid of life; what care they if they bind
others still faster with their chains and gifts!

And ye also, to whom life is rough labour and disquiet, are
ye not very tired of life? Are ye not very ripe for the sermon
of death?

All ye to whom rough labour is dear, and the rapid, new,
and strange ye put up with yourselves badly; your diligence is
flight, and the will to self-forgetfulness.

If ye believed more in life, then would ye devote yourselves
less to the momentary. But for waiting, ye have not enough of
capacity in you nor even for idling!

Everywhere resoundeth the voices of those who preach
death; and the earth is full of those to whom death hath to be

Or "life eternal"; it is all the same to me if only they pass
away quickly!

Thus spake Zarathustra.


10. War and Warriors

BY OUR best enemies we do not want to be spared, nor by
those either whom we love from the very heart. So let me tell
you the truth!

My brethren in war! I love you from the very heart. I am,
and was ever, your counterpart. And I am also your best enemy.
So let me tell you the truth!

I know the hatred and envy of your hearts. Ye are not great
enough not to know of hatred and envy. Then be great enough
not to be ashamed of them!

And if ye cannot be saints of knowledge, then, I pray you,
be at least its warriors. They are the companions and fore-
runners of such saintship.

I see many soldiers; could I but see many warriors! "Uni-
form" one calleth what they wear; may it not be uniform what
they therewith hide!

Ye shall be those whose eyes ever seek for an enemy for
your enemy. And with some of you there is hatred at first sight.

Your enemy shall ye seek; your war shall ye wage, and for
the sake of your thoughts! And if your thoughts succumb,
your uprightness shall still shout triumph thereby!

Ye shall love peace as a means to new wars and the short
peace more than the long.

You I advise not to work, but to fight. You I advise not to
peace, but to victory. Let your work be a fight, let your peace
be a victory!

One can only be silent and sit peacefully when one hath
arrow and bow; otherwise one prateth and quarrelleth. Let
your peace be a victory!


Ye say it is the good cause which halloweth even war? I say
unto you: it is the good war which halloweth every cause.

War and courage have done more great things than charity.
Not your sympathy, but your bravery hath hitherto saved the

'What is good?" ye ask. To be brave is good. Let the little
girls say: "To be good is what is pretty, and at the same time

They call you heartless: but your heart is true, and I love
the bashfulness of your goodwill. Ye are ashamed of your flow,
and others are ashamed of their ebb.

Ye are ugly? Well then, my brethren, take the sublime about
you, the mantle of the ugly!

And when your soul becometh great, then doth it become
haughty, and in your sublimity there is wickedness. I know you.

In wickedness the haughty man and the weakling meet.
But they misunderstand one another. I know you.

Ye shall only have enemies to be hated, but not enemies to
be despised. Ye must be proud of your enemies; then, the suc-
cesses of your enemies are also your successes.

Resistance that is the distinction of the slave. Let your
distinction be obedience. Let your commanding itself be obey-

To the good warrior soundeth "thou shalt" pleasanter than
"I will." And all that is dear unto you, ye shall first have it
commanded unto you.

Let your love to life be love to your highest hope; and let
your highest hope be the highest thought of life!

Your highest thought, however, ye shall have it commanded
unto you by me and it is this : man is something that is to be


So live your life of obedience and of war! What matter about
long life! What warrior wisheth to be spared!

I spare you not, I love you from my very heart, my brethren

in war!-

Thus spake Zarathustra.

//. The New Idol

SOMEWHERE there are still peoples and herds, but not with us,
my brethren : here there are states.

A state? What is that? Well! open now your ears unto me,
for now will I say unto you my word concerning the death of

A state, is called the coldest of all cold monsters. Coldly lieth
it also; and this lie creepeth from its mouth: "I, the state, am
the people."

It is a lie! Creators were they who created peoples, and hung
a faith and a love over them: thus they served life.

Destroyers, are they who lay snares for many, and call it the
state: they hang a sword and a hundred cravings over them.

Where there is still a people, there the state is not under-
stood, but hated as the evil eye, and as sin against laws and

This sign I give unto you: every people speaketh its lan-
guage of good and evil : this its neighbour understandeth not.
Its language hath it devised for itself in laws and customs.

But the state lieth in all languages of good and evil; and
whatever it saith it lieth; and whatever it hath it hath stolen.


False is everything in it; with stolen teeth it biteth, the
biting one. False are even its bowels.

Confusion of language of good and evil; this sign I give
unto you as the sign of the state. Verily, the will to death, in-
dicateth this sign! Verily, it beckoneth unto the preachers of

Many too many are born: for the superfluous ones was the
state devised!

See just how it enticeth them to it, the many-too-many! How
it swalloweth and cheweth and recheweth them!

"On earth there is nothing greater than I: it is I who am the
regulating finger of God" thus roareth the monster. And not
only the long-eared and short-sighted fall upon their knees!

Ah! even in your ears, ye great souls, it whispereth its
gloomy lies! Ah! it findeth out the rich hearts which willingly
lavish themselves!

Yea, it findeth you out too, ye conquerors of the old God!
Weary ye became of the conflict, and now your weariness
serveth the new idol!

Heroes and honourable ones, it would fain set up around it,
the new idol! Gladly it basketh in the sunshine of good con-
sciences, the cold monster!

Everything will it give you, if ye worship it, the new idol:
thus it purchaseth the lustre of your virtue, and the glance of
your proud eyes.

It seeketh to allure by means of you, the many-too-many!
Yea, a hellish artifice hath here been devised, a death-horse
jingling with the trappings of divine honours!

Yea, a dying for many hath here been devised, which
glorifieth itself as life: verily, a hearty service unto all preachers
of death!

The state, I call it, where all are poison-drinkers, the G^


and the bad : the state, where all lose themselves, the good and
the bad: the state, where the slow suicide of all is called

' <1 * C >


Just see these superfluous ones! They steal the works of the
inventors and the treasures of the wise. Culture, they call their
theft and everything becometh sickness and trouble unto

Just see these superfluous ones! Sick are they always; they
vomit their bile and call it a newspaper. They devour one an-
other, and cannot even digest themselves.

Just see these superfluous ones! Wealth they acquire and
become poorer thereby. Power they seek for, and above all, the
lever of power, much money these impotent ones!

See them clamber, these nimble apes! They clamber over one
another, and thus scuffle into the mud and the abyss.

Towards the throne they all strive: it is their madness as if
happiness sat on the throne! Of ttimes sitteth filth on the throne.

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