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00 - Prologue - Thus Spake Zarathustra - A Book for All and None - Friedrich Nietzsche · The Philosophy Insights Collection

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Thus spake Zarathustra by Friederic Nietzsche, translated by Thomas Common Zarathustra's prolog one.
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When Zarathustra was thirty years old, he left his home and the lake of
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his home, and went into the mountains. There he enjoyed his spirit in
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solitude, and for ten years did not weary of it. But at last
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his heart changed, and, rising one morning with the rosy dawn, he
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went before the sun and spake, thus unto it, Thou, great star,
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what would be thy happiness? If thou hadst not those for whom thou
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shinest for ten years, hast thou climbed hither unto my cave, Thou wouldst
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have wearied of thy light and of the journey, had it not been for
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me, mine eagle and my serpent. But we awaited THEE every morning,
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took from thee thine overflow, and blessed THEE for it. Lo, I
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am weary of my wisdom, like the bee that hath gathered too much honey.
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I need hands outstretched to take it. I would fame, bestow,
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and distribute, until the wise have once more become joyous in their folly,
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and the poor happy in their riches. Therefore, must I descend into the
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deep, as thou doest in the evening, when thou goest behind the sea
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and givest light also to the nether world, Thou exuberant star like thee,
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must I go down, as men say, to whom I shall descend.
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Bless me, then, thou, tranquil I, that canst behold even the
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greatest happiness without envy. Bless the cup that is about to overflow, that
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the water may flow golden out of it and carry everywhere the reflection of thy
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bliss. Lo this cup is again going to empty itself, and Zarathustra is
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again going to be a man. Thus began Zarathustra's down going Two. Zarathustra
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went down the mountain alone, no one meeting him. When he entered the
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forest, however, there suddenly stood before him an old man who had left
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his holy cot to seek roots. And thus spake the old man to Zarathustra.
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No stranger to me. Is this wanderer many years ago passed he by
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Zarathustra, he was called, but he hath altered. Then Thou carriest thine
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ashes into the mountain. Wilt thou now carry thy fire into the valleys.
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Fearest thou not the incendiary's doom? Yea I recognize Zarathustra. Peer is his
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eye, and no loathing lurketh about his mouth. Goeth he not along like
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a dancer altered? Is Zarathustra. A child? Hath Zarathustra become an awakened
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one? Is Zarathustra. What wilt thou do in the land of the sleepers?
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As in the sea? Hast thou lived in solitude, and it hath
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borne thee up alas wilt thou now go ashore? Alas wilt thou again drag
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thy body thyself. Zarathustra answered, I love mankind? Why said the Saint?
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Did I go into the forest and the desert? Was it not because
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I loved men far too well? Now I love God men. I do
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not love man. Is a thing too imperfect for me. Love to man
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would be fatal to me. Zarathustra answered, what spake I of love?
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I am bringing gifts unto men? Give them nothing, said the Saint.
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Take rather part of their load and carry it along with them. That will
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be most agreeable unto them, if only it be agreeable unto thee. If
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however, thou wilt give unto them, give them no more than an alms,
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and let them also beg for it. No, replied Zarathustra, I
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give no alms. I am not poor enough for that. The saint laughed
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at Zarathustra and spake. Thus, then see to it that they accept thy
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treasures. They are distrustful of anchorites, and do not believe that we come
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with gifts. The fall of our footsteps wringeth too hollow through their streets.
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And just as at night when they are in bed and hear a man abroad
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long before sunrise, so they ask themselves concerning us, where goeth the thief?
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Go not to men, but stay in the forest, Go rather to
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the animals. Be like me a bear amongst bears, a bird amongst birds.
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And what doeth the saint in the forest, asked Zarathustra. The saint
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answered, I make hymns and sing them, And in making hymns I laugh
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and weep and mumble. Thus do I praise God with singing, weeping,
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laughing and mumbling? Do I praise the God who is my God? But
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what dost thou bring us as a gift. When Zarathustra had heard these words,
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he bowed to the saint and said, what should I have to give
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thee? Let me rather hurry, hence lest I take aught away from thee.
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And thus they parted from one another, the old man and Zarathustra,
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laughing like schoolboys. When Zarathustra was alone, however, he said to his
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heart, could it be possible, this old saying, the forest hath not
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yet heard of it? That God is dead? Three. When Zarathustra arrived
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at the nearest town, which adjoineth the forest, he found many people assembled
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in the marketplace, for it had been announced that a rope dancer would give
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a performance. And Zarathustra spake, thus, unto the people, I teach
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you the superman man is something that is to be surpassed. What have ye
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done to surpass man? All beings hitherto have created something beyond themselves? And
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ye want to be the ebb of that great tide, and would rather go
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back to the beast than surpass man. What is the ape to man a
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laughing stock a thing of shame? And just the same shall man be to
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the superman a laughing stock a thing of shame. Ye have made your way
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from the worm to man, and much within you is still worm. Once
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were ye apes, And even yet man is more of an ape than any
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of the apes. Even the wisest among you is only a disharmony and hybrid
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of plant and phantom. But do I bid you become phantoms or plants.
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Lo I teach you the superman. The Superman is the meaning of the earth.
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Let your will say, the Superman shall be the meaning of the earth.
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I conjure you, my brethren, remain true to the earth, and
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believe not those who speak unto you of super earthly hopes. Poisoners are they,
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whether they know it or not. Despisers of life are they, decaying
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ones and poisoned ones themselves, of whom the earth is wary, So away
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with them. Once blasphemy against God was the greatest blasphemy. But God died,
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and therewith alls of those blasphemers. To blaspheme the earth is now the
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dreadfulest sin. And to rate the heart of the unknowable higher than the meaning
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of the earth. Once the soul looked contemptuously on the body, and then
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that contempt was the supreme thing. The soul wished the body meager ghastly and
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famished. Thus it thought to escape from the body and the earth. Oh,
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that the soul was itself meager, ghastly and famished, and cruelty was
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the delight of that soul. But ye, also, my brethren, tell
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me what doth your body say about your soul? Is your soul not poverty
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and pollution and wretched self complacency. Verily, a polluted stream is man.
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One must be a sea to receive a polluted stream without becoming impure. Lo
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I teach you that superman he is, that see in him? Can your
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great contempt be submerged? What is the greatest thing you can experience? It
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is the hour of great contempt, The hour in which even your happiness becometh
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loathsome unto you, and so also your reason and virtue. The hour when
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ye say what good is my happiness? It is poverty and pollution and wretched
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self complacency. But my happiness should justify existence itself. The hour when you
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say what good is my reason? Doth it long for knowledge as the lion
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for his food? It is poverty and pollution and wretched self complacency. The
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hour when ye say what good is my virtue? And yet it hath not
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made me passionate. How weary I am of my good and my bad?
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It is all poverty and pollution and wretched self complacency. The hour when ye
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say what good is my justice? I do not see that I am fervor
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and fuel. The just, however, are fervor and fuel the hour when
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ye say what good is my pity? Is not pity the cross on which
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he is nailed? Who loveth man? But my pity is not a crucifixion?
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Have ye ever spoken thus? Have you ever cried thus? Ah?
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Would that I had heard you crying? Thus? It is not your sin.
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It is your self satisfaction that crieth unto heaven. Your very sparingness in
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sin crieth unto heaven. Where is the lightning to lick you with its tongue?
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Where is the frenzy with which ye should be inoculated? Lo I teach
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you the superman. He is that lightning, He is that frenzy. When
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Zarathustra had thus spoke, one of the people called out, we have now
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heard enough of the rope dancer. It is time now for us to see
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him. And all the people laughed at Zarathustra. But the rope dancer,
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who thought the words applied to him, began his performance. Four Zarathustra,
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however, looked at the people and wondered. Then he spake. Thus,
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man is a rope stretched between the animal and the superman, a rope over
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an abyss, a dangerous crossing, a dangerous wayfaring, a dangerous looking back,
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a dangerous trembling and halting. What is great in man is that he
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is a bridge and not a goal. What is lovable in man is that
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he is an overgoing and a down going. I love those that know not
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how to live except as down gooers, for they are the overgoer. I
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love the great despisers, because they are the great adorers and arrows of longing
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for the other shore. I love those who do not first seek a reason
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beyond the stars for going down and being sacrifices, but sacrifice themselves to the
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earth that the earth of the Superman may hereafter arrive. I love him who
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liveth in order to know, and seeketh to know, in order that the
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Superman may hereafter live. Thus seeketh he his own down gooing. I loveth
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him who labereth and inventeth that he may build the house for the Superman,
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and prepare for him earth, animal, and plant. For thus seeketh he
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his own down gooing. I love him who loveth his virtue, for virtue
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is the will to dowgoing and an arrow of longing. I love him who
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reserveth no sh share of spirit for himself, but wanteth to be holy the
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spirit of his virtue. Thus walketh he as spirit over the bridge. I
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love him who maketh his virtue his inclination and destiny. Thus, for the
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sake of his virtue, he is willing to live on or live no more.
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I love him who desireth not too many virtues. One virtue is more
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of a virtue than two, because it is more of a knot for one's
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destiny to cling to. I love him whose soul is lavish, who wanteth
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no thanks and doth not give back, for he always bestoweth and desireth not
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to keep for himself. I love him who is ashamed when the dice fall
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in his favor, and who then asketh am I a dishonest player? For
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he is willing to succumb. I love him who scattereth golden words in advance
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of his deeds, and always doeth more than he promiseth, for he seeketh
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his own down gooing. I love him who justifieth the future ones and redeemeth
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the past ones, for he is willing to succumb through the present ones.
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I love him who chasteneth his God, because he loveth his God, for
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he must succumb through the wrath of his God. I love him whose soul
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is deep even in the wounding, and may succumb through a small matter.
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Thus goeth he willingly over the bridge. I love him whose soul is so
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over full that he forgeteth himself, and all things are in him. Thus
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all things become his downgoing. I love him who is of a free spirit
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and a free heart. Thus is his head only the bowels of his heart.
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His heart, however, causeth his down gooing. I love all who
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are like heavy drops falling one by one out of the dark cloud that lowereth
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over man. They herald the coming of the lightning, and succumb as heralds
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lo. I am a herald of the lightning, and a heavy drop out
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of the cloud. The lightning, however, is the superman. Five.
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When Zarathustra had spoken these words. He again looked at the people and was
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silent. There they stand, said he to his heart. There they laugh,
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they understand me. Not I am not the mouth for these ears.
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Must one first batter their ears that they may learn to hear with their eyes?
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Must one clatter like kettle drums and penitential preachers? Or do they only
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believe this stammer? They have something whereof they are proud. What do they
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call it? That which maketh them proud? Culture? They call it it
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distinguisheth them from the goatherds. They dislike, therefore to hear of contempt of
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themselves. So I will appeal to their pride. I will speak unto them
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of the most contemptible thing, that, however, is the last man.
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And thus spake Zarathustra unto the people. It is time for man to fix
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his goal. It is time for man to plant the germ of his highest
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hope. Still is his soil rich enough for it? But that soil will
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one day be poor and exhausted, and no lofty tree will any longer be
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able to grow thereon alas, there cometh the time when man will no longer
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launch the arrow of his longing beyond man, and the string of his bow
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will have unlearned to whiz. I tell you one must still have chaos in
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one to give birth to a dancing star. I tell you ye have still
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chaos in you. Alas there cometh the time when man will no longer give
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birth to any star. Alas there cometh the time of the most despicable man,
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who can no longer despise himself. Lo, I show you the last
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man, what is love? What is creation? What is longing? What
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is a star? So asketh the last man, and blinketh The earth hath
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then become small? And on it there hoppeth the last man, who maketh
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everything small. His species is ineradicable, like that of the ground flea.
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The last man liveth longest we have discovered how happiness, say the last men,
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and blink Thereby. They have left the regions where it is hard to
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live, for they need warmth. One still loveth one's neighbor, and rubbeth
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against him, for one needeth warmth. Turning ill and being distrustful they consider
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sinful. They walk warily. He is a fool who still stumbleth over stones
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or men. A little poison now and then that maketh pleasant dreams and much
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poison at last for a pleasant death. One still worketh, for work is
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a pastime, but one is careful lest the pastime should hurt one. One
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no longer becometh poor or rich. Both are too burdensome. Who still wanteth
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to rule? Who still wanteth to obey? Both are too burdensome. No
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shepherd and one heard. Everyone wanteth this. Everyone is equal. He who
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hath other sentiments goeth voluntarily into the madhouse. Formerly all the world was insane,
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say the subtlest of them, and blink thereby. They are clever and
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know all that hath happened, So there is no end to their raillery.
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People still fall out, but are soon reconciled. Otherwise it spoileth their stomachs.
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They have their little pleasures for the day, and their little pleasures for
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the night, but they have a regard for health. We have discovered happiness,
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say the last men, and blink thereby. And here ended the first
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discourse of Zarathustra, which is also called the prologue, for at this point
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the shouting and mirth of the multitude interrupted him. Give us this last man,
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oh Zarathustra, they called out, make us into these last men,
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then will we make thee a present of the superman. And all the people
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exulted and smacked their lips. Zarathustra, however, turned sad and said to
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his heart, they understand me not. I am not the mouth for these
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ears too long? Perhaps have I lived in the mountains too much? Have
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I harkened unto the brooks and trees? Now do I speak unto them as
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unto the goatherds. Calm is my soul and clear like the mountains in the
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morning. But they think me cold and a mocker with terrible jests. And
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now do they look at me and laugh? And while they laugh, they
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hate me too. There is ice in their laughter. Six. Then,
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however, something happened which made every mouth mute and every eye fixed. In
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the meantime, of course, the rope dancer had commenced his performance. He
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had come out at a little door and was going along the rope, which
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was stretched between two towers so that it hung above the marketplace and the people.
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When he was just midway across, the little door opened once more,
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and a gaudily dressed fellow like a buffoon, sprang out and went rapidly after
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the first one. Go On, halt foot, cried his frightful voice.
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Go on, lazy bones, interloper, sallow face, lest I tickle thee
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with my heel. What dost thou hear? Between the towers and the tower
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is the place for thee? Thou shouldst be locked up to one better than
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thyself. Thou blockest the way, And with every word he came nearer and
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nearer the first one. When, however, he was but a step behind,
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there happened the frightful thing, which made every mouth mute and every eye
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fixed. He uttered a yell like a devil, and jumped over the other
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who was in his way. The latter, however, when he thus saw
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his rival triumph lost at the same time his head and his footing on the
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rope, He threw his pole away and shot downwards faster than it, like
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an eddy of arms and legs, into the depth. The marketplace and the
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people were like the sea. When the storm cometh on. They all flew
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apart and in disorder, especially where the body was about to fall. Zarathustra,
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however, remained standing, and just beside him fell the body badly injured
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and disfigured, but not yet dead. After a while, consciousness returned to
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the shattered man, and he saw Zarathustra kneeling beside him. What art thou
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doing here? Said he at last, I knew long ago that the devil
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would trip me up. Now he draggeth me to hell. Wilt thou prevent
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him? On mine honor? My friend? Answered Zarathustra, there is nothing
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of all that whereof thou speakest, there is no devil and no hell.
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Thy soul will be dead even sooner than thy body. Fear therefore nothing anymore.
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The man looked up distrustfully. If thou speakest the truth, said he,
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I lose nothing when I lose my life. I am not much more
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than an animal which hath been taught to dance by blows and scanty. Fair
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not at all, said Zarathustra. Thou hast made danger thy calling therein there
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is nothing contemptible. Now thou perishest by thy calling. Therefore will I bury
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thee with mine own hands. When Zarathustra had said this, the dying one
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did not reply further, but he moved his hands as if he sought the
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hand of Zarathustra. In gratitude. Seven. Meanwhile, the evening came on,
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and the marketplace veiled itself in gloom. Then the people dispersed, for
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even curiosity and terror became fatigued. Zarathustra, however, still sat beside the
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dead man on the ground, absorbed in thought. So he forgot the time.
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But at last it became night, and a cold wind blew upon the
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lonely one. Then arose Zarathustra and said to his heart, verily, a
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fine ketch of fish hath Zarathustra made today. It is not a man he
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hath caught, but a corpse. Somber is human life, and as yet
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without meaning, a buffoon may be faithful to it. I want to teach
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men the sense of their existence, which is the superman, the lightning out
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of the dark cloud man. But still am I far from them, and
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my sense speaketh not unto their sense. To men, I am still something
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between a fool and a corpse. Gloomy is the knight. Gloomy are the
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ways of Zarathustra. Come thou, cold and stiff companion. I carry thee
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to the place where I shall bury thee with mine own hands. Eight.
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When Zarathustra had said this to his heart. He put the corpse upon his
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shoulders and set out on his way. Yet he had not gone a hundred
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steps when there stole a man up to him and whispered in his ear.
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And lo he that spake was the buffoon from the tower. Leave this town,
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oh, Zarathustra said he. There are too many here who hate THEE
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the good, and just hate THEE and call THEE their enemy and despiser The
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believers in the Orthodox belief hate THEE and call THEE a danger to the multitude.
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It was thy good fortune to be laughed at, And verily thou spakest
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like a buffoon. It was thy good fortune to associate with the dead dog.
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By so humiliating thyself, thou hast saved thy life. Today, depart,
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however, from this town, or tomorrow, I shall jump over THEE,
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a living man over a dead one. And when he had said this,
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the buffoon vanished. Zarathustra, however, went on through the dark streets.
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At the gate of the town, the grave diggers met him. They
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shone their torch on his face, and recognizing Zarathustra, they sorely derided him.
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Zarathustra is carrying away the dead dog a fine thing that Zarathustra hath turned
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a grave digger, For our hands are too cleanly for that roast. Will
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Zarathustra steal the bite from the devil? Well, then good luck to the
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repast. If only the devil is not a better thief than zarah Ethustra,
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he will steal them both. He will eat them both. And they laughed
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among themselves and put their heads together. Zarathustra made no answer there too,
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but went on his way. When he had gone on for two hours past
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forests and swamps, he had heard too much of the hungry howling of the
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wolves, and he himself became a hungry So he halted at a lonely house
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in which the light was burning. Hunger attacketh me, said Zarathustra, like
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a robber among forests and swamps. My hunger attacketh me, And late in
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the night strange humors hath my hunger. Often it cometh to me only after
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a repast, and all day it hath failed to come where hath it been?
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And thereupon Zarathustra knocked at the door of the house. An old man
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appeared, who carried a light, and asked, who cometh unto me and
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my bad sleep. A living man and a dead one, said Zarathustra,
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give me something to eat and drink. I forgot it during the day.
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He that feedeth the hungry refresheth his own soul saith wisdom. The old man
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withdrew, but came back immediately and offered Zarathustra bread and wine. A bad
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country for the hungry, said he, that is why I live here.
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Animal and man come unto me, the anchorite, But bid thy companion eat
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and drink. Also, he is warier than thou. Zarathustra answered, my
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companion is dead. I shall hardly be able to persuade him to eat.
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That doth not concern me, said the old man, sullenly. He that
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knocketh at my door must take what I offer him, eat and fare ye
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well. Thereafter, Zarathustra again went on for two hours, trusting to the
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path and the light of the stars, for he was an experienced night walker
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and liked to look into the face of all that slept. When the morning
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dawned, however, Zarathustra found himself in a thick forest, and no path
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was any longer visible. He then put the dead man in a hollow tree
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at his head, for he wanted to protect him from the wolves, and
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laid himself down to sleep on the ground and moss. And immediately he fell
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asleep, tired in body, but with a tranquil soul. Nine long slept
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Zarathustra, and not only the rosy dawn passed over his head, but also
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the morning. At last, however, his eyes opened, and amazedly he
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gazed into the forest and the stillness. Amazedly he gazed into himself. Then
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he arose quickly like a seafarer who all at once seethed the land. And
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he shouted for joy, for he saw a new truth, and he spake
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thus to his heart. A light hath dawned upon me. I need companions,
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living ones, not dead companions and corpses, which I carry with me
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where I will. But I need living companions who will follow me, because
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they want to follow themselves, and to the place where I will. A
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light hath dawned upon me. Not to the people is Zarathustra to speak,
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but to companions. Zarathustras shall not be the herd's herdsmen and hound to allure
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many from the herd. For that purpose have I come the people and the
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herd must be angry with me a robber? Shall Zarathustra be called by the
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herdsman? Herdsmen, I say, but they call themselves the good and just
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herdsmen, I say, but they call themselves the believers and the orthodox belief
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Behold the good and just? Whom do they hate most? Him who breaketh
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up their tables of values? The breaker, the lawbreaker? He, however,
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is the creator. Behold the believers of all beliefs. Whom do they
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hate most? Him who breaketh up their tables of values? The breaker,
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the law breaker? He, however, is the Creator. Companions. The
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Creator seeketh not corpses, and not herds or believers, either fellow creators.
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The Creator seeketh those who grave new values on new tables. Companions, the
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Creator seeketh and fellow reapers, for everything is ripe for the harvest with him.
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But he lacketh the hundred sickles, So he plucketh the ears of corn
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and is vexed. Companions, the Creator seeketh, and such as know how
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to wet their sickles. Destroyers will they be called, and despisers of good
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and evil? But they are the reapers and rejoicers. Fellow creators. Zarathustras
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seeketh, fellow reapers and fellow rejoicers. Zarathustras seeketh what hath he to do
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with herds and herdsmen and corpses? And thou, my first companion, rest
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in peace? Well have I buried thee in thy hollow tree? Well have
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I hid thee from the wolves? But I part from thee the time Hath
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arrived. TwixT rosy dawn and rosy dawn, there came unto me a new
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truth. I am not to be a herdsman. I am not to be
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a grave digger. Not anymore will I discourse unto the people for the last
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time? Have I spoken unto the dead. With the creators, the reapers,
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and the rejoicers. Will I associate the rainbow? Will I show them
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and all the stairs to the Superman, to the lone dweller. Will I
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sing my song and to the twain dwellers, and unto him who hath still
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ears for the unheard. While I make the heart heavy with my happiness,
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I make for my goal. I follow my course over the loitering and tardy.
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While I leap thus, let my ongoing be there down going ten this
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had Zarathustra said to his heart, when the sun stood at noontide. Then
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he looked inquiringly aloft, for he heard above him the sharp call of a
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bird. And behold an eagle swept through the air in wide circles, and
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on it hung a serpent, not like a prey, but like a friend,
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for it kept itself coiled round the eagle's neck. They are mine animals,
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said Zarathustra, and rejoiced in his heart. The proudest animal under the
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sun, and the wisest animal under the sun. They have come out to
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reconnoiter. They want to know whether Zarathustras still liveth verily, do I still
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live? More dangerous? Have I found it among men than among animals?
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In dangerous paths? Goeth Zarathustra. Let mine animals lead me. When Zarathustra
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had said this, he remembered the words of the saint in the forest.
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Then he sighed and spake thus to his heart. Would that I were wiser,
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would that I were wise from the very heart like my serpent. But
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I am asking the impossible. Therefore, do I ask my pride to go
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always with my wisdom. And if my wisdom should someday forsake me, alas
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it loveth to fly away, May my pride then fly with my folly.
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Thus began Zarathustra's down gooing end of Zarathustra's prolog