“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 bears only unfortunates!” And they too are preachers of death.
“Pity is necessary,”—so says a third group. “Take what I have! Take what I am! So much less does life bind me!”
Were they consistently pitiful then they would make their neighbors sick of life. To be evil-that would be their genuine goodness.
But they want to be rid of life: what do they care if they bind others still more tightly with their chains and gifts!—
And you too, for whom life is furious work and unrest: are you not very weary of life? Are you not very ripe for the preaching of death?
All of you to whom furious work is dear, and the rapid, new, and strange—you tolerate yourselves badly; your diligence is flight and the will to forget yourselves.
If you believed more in life, then you would devote yourselves less to the momentary. But you do not have contents enough in yourselves for waiting—nor even for idleness!
Everywhere the voice of those who preach death resounds; and the earth is full of those to whom death must be preached.
Or “eternal life”: it is all the same to me—if only they pass away quickly!—
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
ON WAR AND WARRIORS
WE DO NOT WANT to be spared by our best enemies, nor by those either whom we love thoroughly. So let me tell you the truth!
My brothers in war!6 I love you thoroughly,7 I am and I was of your kind. And I am also your best enemy. So let me tell you the truth!
I know of the hatred and envy of your hearts. You are not great enough not to know hatred and envy. Then be great enough not to be ashamed of them!
And if you cannot be saints of knowledge, at least be its warriors. They are the companions and forerunners of such sainthood.
I see many soldiers: would that I saw many warriors! One calls what they wear a “uniform”: would that what it conceals were not uniform!
You should have eyes ever seeking for an enemy—for your enemy. And some of you hate at first sight.
You shall seek your enemy, you shall wage your war, and for the sake of your thoughts! And if your thoughts are vanquished, then your honesty should still find triumph in that!
You shall love peace as a means to new wars-and the short peace more than the long one.
To you I advise not work but battle. To you I advise not peace but victory. Let your work be a battle, let your peace be a victory!
One can be silent and sit still only when one has arrow and bow: otherwise one chatters and quarrels. Let your peace be a victory!
You say it is the good cause that hallows even war? I say to you: it is the good war that hallows any cause.
War and courage have done more great things than love of the neighbor. Not your pity but your courage has so far saved the unfortunate.
“What is good?” you ask. To be brave is good. Let the little girls say: “To be good is what is both pretty and touching.”
They call you heartless: but you have a heart, and I love you for being ashamed to show it. You are ashamed of your flow, while others are ashamed of their ebb.
You are ugly? Well then, my brothers, wrap the sublime about you, the mantle of the ugly!
And when your soul becomes great, then it becomes playful, and in your sublimity there is malice. I know you.
In malice the prankster and the weakling meet. But they misunderstand one another. I know you.
You may have only enemies whom you can hate, not enemies you despise. You must be proud of your enemy: then the successes of your enemy are your successes too.
Recalcitrance-that is the nobility of slaves. Let your nobility be obedience. Let your commanding itself be obeying!
To the good warrior “thou shalt” sounds more pleasant than “I will.” And all that is dear to you, you shall first have it commanded to you.
Let your love of life be love of your highest hope: and let your highest hope be the highest thought of life!
Your highest thought, however, you should receive as a commandment from me—and it is: man is something that shall be overcome.
So live your life of obedience and of war! What matters long life! What warrior wants to be spared!
I do not spare you, I love you thoroughly, my brothers in war!—
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
ON THE NEW IDOL
SOMEWHERE THERE ARE STILL peoples and herds, but not where we live, my brothers: here there are states.
State? What is that? Well! Now open your ears to me, for now I shall speak to you about the death of peoples.
State is the name of the coldest of all cold monsters. Coldly it tells lies too; and this lie crawls from its mouth: “I, the state, am the people.”
It’s a lie! It was creators who created peoples and hung a faith and a love over them: thus they served life.
It is destroyers who lay traps for the many and call them “state”: they hang a sword and a hundred cravings over them.
Where there is still a people, there the state is not understood but hated as the evil eye and as the sin against laws and customs.
This sign I give to you: every people speaks its tongue of good and evil: and the neighbor does not understand it. It has invented its own language of customs and rights.
But the state lies in all the tongues of good and evil; and whatever it says it lies-and whatever it has it has stolen.
Everything about it is false; it bites with stolen teeth, this biter. Even its entrails are false.
Confusion of tongues of good and evil: this sign I give to you as the sign of the state. Truly, this sign signifies the will to death! Truly, it beckons to the preachers of death!
All-too-many are born: for the superfluous the state was invented!
See just how it entices them to it, the all-too-many! How it swallows and chews and rechews them!
“On earth there is nothing greater than I: it is I who am the ordering finger of God”—thus roars the monster. And not only the long-eared and the shortsighted fall upon their knees!
Ah, even in your ears, you great souls, it whispers its dark lies! Ah, it detects the rich hearts which like to squander themselves!
Yes, it detects you too, you vanquishers of the old god! You have grown weary of fighting, and now your weariness serves the new idol!
It would surround itself with heroes and honorable ones, the new idol! It basks happily in the sunshine of good consciences-the cold monster!
It will give you everything if you worship it, the new idol: thus it purchases the luster of your virtue and the look of your proud eyes.
It would use you as a bait for the all-too-many! Yes, a hellish artifice has here been devised, a death-horse jingling with the trappings of divine honors!
Yes, a dying for many has here been devised, which glorifies itself as life: truly, a great service to all preachers of death!
State, I call it, where all drink poison, the good and the bad: state, where all lose themselves, the good and the bad: state, where the slow suicide of all—is called “life.”
Just see the superfluous! They steal the works of the inventors and the treasures of the sages for themselves: “education,” they call their theft-and everything becomes sickness and trouble to them!
Just see the superfluous! They are always sick; they vomit their bile and call it a newspaper. They devour one another and cannot even digest themselves.
Just see the superfluous! They gather riches and become poorer with them. They want power and first the lever of power, much money—the impotent paupers!
See them clamber, these nimble monkeys! They clamber over one another and thus tumble one another into the mud and the deep.
They all want to get to the throne: it is their madness-as if happiness sat on the throne! Often mud sits on the throne-and often also the throne on mud
.
Madmen they all seem to me, clambering monkeys and overeager. To me their idol smells foul, the cold monster: to me they all smell foul, these idolaters.
My brothers, do you want to suffocate in the fumes of their snouts and appetites? Rather break the windows and spring to freedom!
Escape from the bad smell! Escape from the idolatry of the superfluous!
Escape from the bad smell! Escape from the steam of these human sacrifices!
The earth is free even now for great souls. There are yet many empty seats for the lonesome and the twosome, wafted by the aroma of still seas.
A free life is even now free for great souls. Truly, whoever possesses little is that much less possessed: praised be a little poverty!
Only where the state ends, there begins the human being who is not superfluous: there begins the song of necessity, the unique and inimitable tune.
Where the state ends—look there, my brothers! Do you not see it, the rainbow and the bridges of the Übermensch?—
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
ON THE FLIES IN THE MARKETPLACE
FLEE, MY FRIEND, INTO your solitude! I see you deafened with the noise of the great men and pricked by the stings of the little men.
Forest and rock know well how to be silent with you. Be like the tree again, the wide branching tree which you love: silently and attentively it hangs over the sea.
Where solitude ends, there the marketplace begins; and where the marketplace begins, there begins also the noise of the great actors and the buzzing of the poisonous flies. 8
In the world even the best things are worthless without those who first present them: people call these presenters great men.
The people have little comprehension of greatness, that is to say: creativeness. But they have a taste for all presenters and actors of great things.
The world revolves around the inventors of new values: invisibly it revolves. But around the actors revolve the people and fame: so the world goes.
The actor has spirit, but little conscience of the spirit. He always believes in that with which he most powerfully produces belief—produces belief in himself!
Tomorrow he will have a new faith and the day after tomorrow a newer one. He has sharp perceptions, like the people, and capricious moods.
To overthrow—to him that means: to prove. To drive mad—to him that means: to convince. And blood is to him as the best of all arguments.
A truth that penetrates only sensitive ears he calls a lie and nothing. Truly, he believes only in gods who make a great noise in the world!
The marketplace is full of solemn jesters-and the people boast of their great men! These are their masters of the hour.
But the hour presses them: so they press you. And from you they also want a Yes or a No. Ah, would you put your chair between For and Against?
Do not be jealous, lover of truth, of those unconditional and impatient ones! Never yet has truth clung to the arm of the unconditional.
Return to your security because of these abrupt men: only in the marketplace is one assailed by Yes? or No?
The experience of all deep fountains is slow: they must wait long until they know what has fallen into their depths.
All that is great takes place away from the marketplace and from fame: the inventors of new values have always lived away from the marketplace and from fame.
Flee, my friend, into your solitude: I see you stung all over by the poisonous flies. Flee to where a rough, strong breeze blows!
Flee into your solitude! You have lived too closely to the small and the pitiable. Flee from their invisible vengeance! Towards you they have nothing but vengeance.
Do not raise an arm against them! They are innumerable and it is not your fate to be a fly swatter.
The small and pitiable ones are innumerable; and raindrops and weeds have already been the ruin of many a proud building.
You are not stone, but already these many drops have made you hollow. You will yet break and burst through these many drops.
I see you exhausted by poisonous flies, I see you bloodily torn at a hundred spots; and your pride refuses even to be angry.
They want blood from you in all innocence, their bloodless souls crave blood-and therefore they sting in all innocence.
But you, profound one, you suffer too profoundly even from small wounds; and before you have recovered, the same poisonous worm is again crawling over your hand.
You are too proud to kill these sweettooths. But take care that it does not become your fate to suffer all their poisonous injustice!
They buzz around you even with their praise: and their praise is importunity. They want to be close to your skin and your blood.
They flatter you, as one flatters a god or devil; they whimper before you, as before a god or devil. What does it come to! They are flatterers and whimperers and nothing more.
And they are often kind to you. But that has always been the prudence of the cowardly. Yes! The cowardly are prudent!
They think a great deal about you with their narrow souls—you are always suspicious to them! Whatever is thought about a great deal is at last thought suspicious.9
They punish you for all your virtues. They forgive you entirely—your mistakes.
Because you are gentle and just-minded, you say: “They are blameless in their small existence.” But their narrow souls think: “All great existence is blameworthy.”
Even when you are gentle towards them, they still feel you despise them; and they repay your kindness with secret unkindness.
Your silent pride always offends their taste; they rejoice if ever you are modest enough to be vain.
What we recognize in a man we also inflame in him. Therefore be on your guard against the small ones!
In your presence they feel themselves small, and their baseness gleams and glows against you in invisible vengeance.
Did you not see how often they became dumb when you approached them, and how their strength left them like smoke from a dying fire?
Yes, my friend, you are a bad conscience to your neighbors: for they are unworthy of you. Therefore they hate you and would dearly like to suck your blood.
Your neighbors will always be poisonous flies: what is great in you, that itself must make them more poisonous and ever more fly-like.
Flee, my friend, into your solitude and to where a rough strong breeze blows. It is not your fate to be a fly-swatter.—
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
ON CHASTITY
I LOVE THE FOREST. It is bad to live in cities: too many of the lustful live there.
Is it not better to fall into the hands of a murderer than into the dreams of a lustful woman?
And just look at these men: their eyes say it—they know of nothing better on earth than to lie with a woman.
Filth is at the bottom of their souls; and it is worse if this filth still has spirit in it!
Would that you were perfect—at least as animals! But to animals belongs innocence.
Do I exhort you to kill your instincts? I exhort you to innocence in your instincts.
Do I exhort you to chastity? Chastity is a virtue with some, but with many almost a vice.
These people abstain, to be sure: but the bitch Sensuality leers enviously out of all that they do.
This restless beast follows them even into the heights of their virtue and into the depths of their cold spirit.
And how nicely the bitch Sensuality knows how to beg for a piece of spirit, when a piece of flesh is denied her!
You love tragedies and all that breaks the heart? But I am distrustful of your bitch Sensuality.
Your eyes are too cruel for me, and you search lustfully for sufferers. Has your lust not merely disguised itself and called itself pity?
And I also give this parable to you: not a few who meant to drive out their devil have themselves entered into swine.
Those for whom chastity is difficult should be dissuaded from it, lest it become the road to
hell-that is, to filth and lust of soul.
Do I speak of dirty things? That does not seem to me the worst I could do.
It is not when the truth is dirty, but when it is shallow, that the enlightened man is reluctant to step in its waters.
Truly, there are those who are chaste through and through: they are gentler of heart and laugh better and oftener than you.
They laugh at chastity too, and ask: “What is chastity?
“Is chastity not folly? But the folly came to us and not we to it.
“We offered that guest shelter and love: now it dwells with us-let it stay as long as it will!”—
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
ON THE FRIEND
“ONE IS ALWAYS ONE too many around me”—thus thinks the hermit. “Always once one-in the long run that makes two!”
I and Me are always too earnestly in conversation: how could it be endured, if there were not a friend?
For the hermit the friend is always the third person: the third person is the cork that prevents the conversation of the other two from sinking into the depths.
Ah, there are too many depths for all hermits. That is why they long so much for a friend and for his heights.
Our faith in others betrays wherein we would like to have faith in ourselves. Our longing for a friend is our betrayer.
And often with our love we only want to leap over envy. And often we attack and make an enemy in order to conceal that we are vulnerable to attack.
“At least be my enemy!”—thus speaks the true reverence, which does not venture to solicit friendship.
If one would have a friend, then one must also be willing to wage war for him: and in order to wage war, one must be capable of being an enemy.
One ought still to honor the enemy in one’s friend. Can you go near to your friend without going over to him?
In one’s friend one shall have one’s best enemy. You should be closest to him with your heart when you oppose him.
Do you wish to go naked before your friend? It is in honor of your friend that you show yourself to him as you are? But he sends you to the devil for that!
Thus Spoke Zarathustra Page 8
