NIETZSCHE THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA PDF

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Title Page. THUS SPOKE ZARATHUSTRA by Friedrich Nietzsche. Based on the Thomas Common Translation. Extensively modified by Bill Chapko. CONTENTS. Thus Spoke Zarathustra by F. Nietzsche ebook cover download free PDF Ebook here Thus spoke Zarathustra is the classic full-text work by. Thus Spake Zarathustra by Friedrich Nietzsche, trans. Thomas Common is a publication of the. Pennsylvania State University. This Portable Document file is.


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THUS SPOKE ZARATHUSTRA by Friedrich Nietzsche. An Adaptation. Based on the Thomas Common Translation. PLEASE NOTE: This HTML page is an. Download Thus Spoke Zarathustra free in PDF & EPUB format. Download FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE's Thus Spoke Zarathustra for your site. This page intentionally left blank CAMBRIDGE TEXTS IN THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE Thus Spoke Zarathustra CAMBRIDGE.

Doth it long for knowledge as the lion for his food? It is poverty and pollution and wretched self-complacency! As yet it hath not made me passionate. How weary I am of my good and my bad! It is all poverty and pollution and wretched self-complacency!

I do not see that I am fervour and fuel. The just, however, are fervour and fuel! Is not pity the cross on which he is nailed who loveth man? But my pity is not a crucifixion. Have ye ever cried thus? It is not your sin—it is your self-satisfaction that crieth unto heaven; your very sparingness in sin crieth unto heaven!

Where is the lightning to lick you with its tongue? Where is the frenzy with which ye should be inoculated? But the rope-dancer, who thought the words applied to him, began his performance.

Zarathustra, however, looked at the people and wondered. Then he spake thus: Man is a rope stretched between the animal and the Superman—a rope over an abyss. A dangerous crossing, a dangerous wayfaring, a dangerous looking-back, a dangerous trembling and halting. What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not a goal: I love those that know not how to live except as down-goers, for they are the over-goers. I love the great despisers, because they are the great adorers, and arrows of longing for the other shore.

I love those who do not first seek a reason beyond the stars for going down and being sacrifices, but sacrifice themselves to the earth, that the earth of the Superman may hereafter arrive. I love him who liveth in order to know, and seeketh to know in order that the Superman may hereafter live. Thus seeketh he his own down-going. I love him who laboureth and inventeth, that he may build the house for the Superman, and prepare for him earth, animal, and plant: I love him who loveth his virtue: I love him who reserveth no share of spirit for himself, but wanteth to be wholly the spirit of his virtue: I love him who maketh his virtue his inclination and destiny: I love him who desireth not too many virtues.

One virtue is more of a virtue than two, because it is more of a knot for one's destiny to cling to. I love him whose soul is lavish, who wanteth no thanks and doth not give back: I love him who is ashamed when the dice fall in his favour, and who then asketh: I love him who scattereth golden words in advance of his deeds, and always doeth more than he promiseth: I love him who justifieth the future ones, and redeemeth the past ones: I love him who chasteneth his God, because he loveth his God: I love him whose soul is deep even in the wounding, and may succumb through a small matter: I love him whose soul is so overfull that he forgetteth himself, and all things are in him: I love him who is of a free spirit and a free heart: I love all who are like heavy drops falling one by one out of the dark cloud that lowereth over man: Lo, I am a herald of the lightning, and a heavy drop out of the cloud: When Zarathustra had spoken these words, he again looked at the people, and was silent.

Must one first batter their ears, that they may learn to hear with their eyes? Must one clatter like kettledrums and penitential preachers?

Or do they only believe the stammerer? They have something whereof they are proud. What do they call it, that which maketh them proud?

Culture, they call it; it distinguisheth them from the goatherds. They dislike, therefore, to hear of 'contempt' of themselves. So I will appeal to their pride. I will speak unto them of the most contemptible thing: It is time for man to fix his goal. It is time for man to plant the germ of his highest hope. Still is his soil rich enough for it. But that soil will one day be poor and exhausted, and no lofty tree will any longer be able to grow thereon.

I tell you: There cometh the time when man will no longer give birth to any star. There cometh the time of the most despicable man, who can no longer despise himself. What is creation? What is longing?

What is a star?

I beseech you, my brothers, remain faithful to the earth, and do not believe those who speak to you of otherworldly hopes! Poison-mixers are they, whether they know it or not. Despisers of life are they, decaying and poisoned themselves, of whom the earth is weary: so let them go! Walter Kaufmann The book embodies a number of innovative poetical and rhetorical methods of expression.

It serves as a parallel and supplement to the various philosophical ideas present in Nietzsche's body of work. He has, however, said that "among my writings my Zarathustra stands to my mind by itself" Ecce Homo, Preface, sec.

Emphasizing its centrality and its status as his magnum opus , Nietzsche stated that: With [Thus Spoke Zarathustra] I have given mankind the greatest present that has ever been made to it so far. This book, with a voice bridging centuries, is not only the highest book there is, the book that is truly characterized by the air of the heights—the whole fact of man lies beneath it at a tremendous distance—it is also the deepest, born out of the innermost wealth of truth, an inexhaustible well to which no pail descends without coming up again filled with gold and goodness.

Walter Kaufmann Since many of the book's ideas are also present in his other works, Zarathustra is seen to have served as a precursor to his later philosophical thought. With the book, Nietzsche embraced a distinct aesthetic assiduity. He later reformulated many of his ideas in Beyond Good and Evil and various other writings that he composed thereafter.

He continued to emphasize his philosophical concerns; generally, his intention was to show an alternative to repressive moral codes and to avert " nihilism " in all of its varied forms. This incomplete project began with The Antichrist. Themes[ edit ] While Nietzsche injects myriad ideas into the book, a few recurring themes stand out.

Man as a race is merely a bridge between animals and the overman. The eternal recurrence , found elsewhere in Nietzsche's writing, is also mentioned.

The embrace of all of life's horrors and pleasures alike shows a deference and acceptance of fate, or Amor Fati. Look, how each of your virtues is greedy for the highest. It wants your entire spirit, to be its herald; it wants your entire strength in rage, hatred and love.

Each virtue is jealous of the other, and jealousy is a terrible thing. Even virtues can perish of jealousy. Whoever is ringed by the flame of jealousy in the end will turn his poisonous stinger upon himself, like the scorpion.

Oh my brother, have you never seen a virtue slander and stab itself? Human being is something that must be overcome, and therefore you should love your virtues — for of them you will perish.

Behold, the pale criminal has nodded: That he condemned himself was his highest moment: There is no redemption for one who suffers so from himself, unless it were the quick death. Your killing, you judges, should be pity and not revenge. And insofar as you kill, see to it that you yourselves justify life! It is not enough that you reconcile yourself with the one you kill. Let your sadness be love for the overman — thus you justify that you still live!

The wheel of motive does not roll between them. An image made this pale human pale. He was equal to his deed when he committed it, but he could not bear its image once he had done it. From then on he always saw himself as the doer of one deed. I call this madness: A streak in the dirt stops a hen cold; the stroke he executed stopped his poor reason cold — madness after the deed I call this. Listen, you judges! There is still another madness, and it is before the deed.

Oh, you did not crawl deeply enough into this soul! Thus speaks the red judge: He wanted to rob. He thirsted for the bliss of the knife! But his poor reason did not comprehend this madness and it persuaded him. Take revenge? He did not want to be ashamed of his madness. And now the lead of his guilt lies on him again, and again his poor reason is so stiff, so paralyzed, so heavy. If only he could shake his head, then his burden would roll off — but who could shake this head?

What is this human being?

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A pile of illnesses that reach out into the world through his spirit: A ball of wild snakes that seldom have peace from each other — so they go forth for themselves and seek prey in the world. Behold this poor body!

What it suffered and craved this poor soul interpreted for itself — it interpreted it as murderous lust and greed for the bliss of the knife. Whoever grows ill now is befallen by the evil that is evil now; he wants to hurt with that which makes him hurt. But there have been other ages and another evil and good. Once doubt was evil and the will to self. Back then sick people became heretics and witches: But this does not want to get to your ears: But what matter your good people to me!

There is much about your good people that makes me disgusted, and verily not their evil. I wish they had a madness from which they would perish, like this pale criminal!

Indeed, I wish their madness were called truth or loyalty or justice — but they have their virtue in order to live long and in pitiful contentment.

I am a railing by the torrent: But your crutch I am not. On Reading and Writing Of all that is written I love only that which one writes with his blood. Write with blood, and you will experience that blood is spirit. It is not easily possible to understand the blood of another: I hate the reading idlers.

One more century of readers — and the spirit itself will stink. That everyone is allowed to learn to read ruins not only writing in the long run, but thinking too. Once the spirit was God, then it became human and now it is even becoming rabble. Whoever writes in blood and proverbs does not want to be read, but to be learned by heart.

The Book of Joy: Lasting Happiness in a Changing World by Dalai Lama

In the mountains the shortest way is from peak to peak, but for that one must have long legs. Proverbs should be peaks, and those who are addressed should be great and tall. The air thin and pure, danger near and the spirit full of cheerful spite: I want to have goblins around me, for I am courageous.

Courage that scares off ghosts creates its own goblins — courage wants to laugh. I no longer sympathize with you; this cloud beneath me, this black and heavy thing at which I laugh — precisely this is your thundercloud. You look upward when you long for elevation. And I look down because I am elevated. Who among you can laugh and be elevated at the same time? Whoever climbs the highest mountain laughs at all tragic plays and tragic realities.

Courageous, unconcerned, sarcastic, violent — thus wisdom wants us: You say to me: Life is hard to bear: We are all of us handsome, load bearing jack- and jillasses. What have we in common with the rosebud that trembles because a drop of dew lies on its body?

It is true: There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness. And even to me, one who likes life, it seems butterflies and soap bubbles and whatever is of their kind among human beings know most about happiness.

I would only believe in a god who knew how to dance. And when I saw my devil, there I found him earnest, thorough, deep, somber: Not by wrath does one kill, but by laughing. Up, let us kill the spirit of gravity!

Nietzsche's Thus Spoke Zarathustra

I learned to walk, since then I let myself run. I learned to fly, since then I do not wait to be pushed to move from the spot. Now I am light, now I fly, now I see myself beneath me, now a god dances through me.

As he walked one evening alone through the mountains surrounding the town, which is called The Motley Cow, behold, there while walking he found this young man leaning against a tree, gazing wearily into the valley.

Zarathustra grasped the tree at which the young man sat, and spoke thus: But the wind that we do not see torments and bends it wherever it wants. We are bent and tormented worst by invisible hands. The more they aspire to the heights and the light, the more strongly their roots strive earthward, downward, into darkness, depths — into evil.

I no longer trust myself since aspir- ing to the heights, and no one trusts me anymore — how did this happen? My today contradicts my yesterday. I often skip steps when I climb — no step forgives me that.

If I am at the top then I always find myself alone. No one speaks with me, the frost of loneliness makes me shiver. What do I want in the heights? How ashamed I am of my climbing and stumbling! How I mock my violent panting!

How I hate the flying one! How weary I am in the heights! And Zarathustra regarded the tree at which they stood and spoke thus: And if it wanted to speak, it would have no one who understood it: Now it waits and waits — but for what does it wait? I longed for my destruc- tion when I aspired to the heights, and you are the lightning for which I waited! Look, what am I anymore, now that you have appeared among us! It is my envy of you that has destroyed me! But Zarathustra put his arm around him and led him away.

And after they had walked together for a while Zarathustra started speaking thus: Better than your words can say, your eyes tell me all your danger. You are still not free, you seek freedom.

Your seeking made you sleep- deprived and over-awake. You aspire to the free heights, your soul thirsts for the stars. But your wicked instincts also thirst for freedom. Your wild dogs want to get free; they bark with joy in their cellar when your spirit contrives to liberate all prisons.

To me you are still a prisoner who plots his freedom. Alas, the soul of such prisoners grows clever, but also deceptive and rotten. The one who is free of spirit must still purify himself. Much prison and mold is left in him: Yes, I know your danger. But by my love and hope I beseech you: A noble person also stands in the way of the good: The noble person wants to create new things and a new virtue.

The good person wants old things, and for old things to be preserved. But it is not the danger of the noble one that he will become a good person, but a churl, a mocker, an annihilator. Oh, I knew noble people who lost their highest hope. And then they slandered all high hopes. Then they lived churlishly in brief pleasures, scarcely casting their goals beyond the day. Then the wings of their spirit broke, and now it crawls around and soils what it gnaws. Once they thought of becoming heroes: To them the hero is grief and ghastliness.

Hold holy your highest hope! On the Preachers of Death There are preachers of death, and the earth is full of people to whom departure from life must be preached. The earth is full of the superfluous, life is spoiled by the all too many. There are the terrible ones, who carry the predator about in themselves and have no choice but lust or self-laceration.

And even their lusting is self-laceration. They have not even become human beings, these terrible ones: There are the consumptive of the soul: They would like to be dead and we shall honor their will! Let us beware of waking these dead and disturbing these living coffins! Cloaked in thick melancholy and greedy for the small accidents that bring death, thus they wait and clench their teeth.

Or again: Their wisdom says: And precisely that is the most foolish thing about life! Then see to it that the life that is only suffering ceases! And let the doctrine of your virtue speak thus: Thou shalt steal thyself away! One bears only the unhappy! Take what I am! All the less does life bind me! Being evil — that would be their proper goodness. But they want to get free of life; what do they care that they bind others still tighter with their chains and gifts!

And you too, for whom life is hectic work and unrest: Are you not very ripe for the sermon of death? All of you who are in love with hectic work and whatever is fast, new, strange — you find it hard to bear yourselves, your diligence is escape and the will to forget yourself.

If you believed more in life, you would hurl yourself less into the moment. But you do not have enough content in yourselves for waiting — not even for laziness! Everywhere sounds the voice of those who preach death: So let me tell you the truth now!

My brothers in war! I love you thoroughly, I am and I was like you. And I am also your best enemy. I know of the hate and envy of your heart. You are not great enough to not know hate and envy. So at least be great enough to not be ashamed of them! And if you cannot be saints of knowledge, then at least be its warriors.

They are the companions and forerunners of such saintliness. I see many soldiers: You should be the kind of men whose eyes always seek an enemy — your enemy. And with some of you there is a hate at first sight. You should seek your enemy, wage your war and for your thoughts! And when your thought is defeated, then your honesty should cry out in triumph even for that!

You should love peace as the means to new wars. And the short peace more than the long one. I do not recommend work to you, but struggle instead. I do not rec- ommend peace to you, but victory instead. Your work shall be a struggle, your peace shall be a victory! One can be silent and sit still only when one has a bow and arrow; otherwise there is blabbering and quarreling.

Your peace shall be a victory! You say it is the good cause that hallows even war? Not your pity but your bravery has rescued the casualties so far. What is good? Being brave is good. Let little girls say: You are ashamed of your flood, and others are ashamed of their ebb.

You are ugly? Well so be it, my brothers! Then don the sublime, the mantle of the ugly! And when your soul grows big it becomes mischievous, and there is sarcasm in your sublimity. I know you. But they mis- understand one another. You may have only those enemies whom you can hate, but not enemies to despise. You must be proud of your enemy: Rebellion — that is the nobility of slaves.

Let your nobility be obedience! Your commanding itself shall be obeying! Let your love for life be love for your highest hope, and let your highest hope be the highest thought of life! But you shall have your highest thought commanded by me — and it says: So live your life of obedience and war!

What matters living long!

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Which warrior wants to be spared! I spare you not, I love you thoroughly, my brothers in war! On the New Idol Somewhere still there are peoples and herds, but not where we live, my brothers: What is that?

Well then, lend me your ears now, for I shall say my words about the death of peoples. State is the name of the coldest of all cold monsters. It even lies coldly, and this lie crawls out of its mouth: The ones who created the peoples were the creators, they hung a faith and a love over them, and thus they served life. Where there are still peoples the state is not understood, and it is hated as the evil eye and the sin against customs and rights.

This sign I give you: It invented its own lan- guage through customs and rights. But the state lies in all the tongues of good and evil, and whatever it may tell you, it lies — and whatever it has, it has stolen.

Even its entrails are false. Language confusion of good and evil: Indeed, this sign signifies the will to death! Indeed, it beckons the preachers of death!

Far too many are born: Just look at how it lures them, the far-too-many! How it gulps and chews and ruminates them! And not only the long-eared and the shortsighted sink to their knees! Oh, even to you, you great souls, it whispers its dark lies! Unfortunately it detects the rich hearts who gladly squander themselves!

Yes, it also detects you, you vanquishers of the old God! You grew weary in battle and now your weariness still serves the new idol! It wants to gather heroes and honorable men around itself, this new idol! Gladly it suns itself in the sunshine of your good consciences — the cold monster! It wants to give you everything, if you worship it, the new idol. Thus it downloads the shining of your virtue and the look in your proud eyes.

It wants to use you as bait for the far-too-many! Indeed, a hellish piece of work was thus invented, a death-horse clattering in the regalia of divine honors!

Indeed, a dying for the many was invented here, one that touts itself as living; truly, a hearty service to all preachers of death! They steal for themselves the works of the inventors and the treasures of the wise: Just look at these superfluous! They are always sick, they vomit their gall and call it the newspaper. They devour one another and are not even able to digest themselves. They acquire riches and yet they become poorer. They want power and first of all the crowbar of power, much money — these impotent, impoverished ones!

They scramble all over each other and thus drag one another down into the mud and depths. 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 too the throne on mud. Mad all of them seem to me, and scrambling monkeys and overly aroused. Their idol smells foul to me, the cold monster: My brothers, do you want to choke in the reek of their snouts and cravings?

Smash the windows instead and leap into the open!

Get out of the way of the bad smell! Go away from the idol worship of the superfluous! Get away from the steam of these human sacrifices! Even now the earth stands open for great souls. Many seats are still empty for the lonesome and twosome, fanned by the fragrance of silent seas.

An open life still stands open for great souls. Indeed, whoever possesses little is possessed all the less: There, where the state ends, only there begins the human being who is not superfluous; there begins the song of necessity, the unique and irreplaceable melody. There, where the state ends — look there, my brothers! Do you not see it, the rainbow and the bridges of the overman?

On the Flies of the Market Place Flee, my friend, into your solitude! I see you dazed by the noise of the great men and stung by the stings of the little. Wood and cliff know worthily how to keep silent with you.

Be once more like the tree that you love, the broad-branching one: Where solitude ends, there begins the market place; and where the market place begins, there begins too the noise of the great actors and the buzzing of poisonous flies.

Also sprach Zarathustra-Thus Spoke Zarathustra German-English Bilingual Text

The people little understand what is great, that is: But they have a sense for all performers and actors of great things. The world revolves around the inventors of new values: But the people and fame revolve around actors: Spirit the actor has, but little conscience of spirit. He always believes in whatever makes people believe most strongly — believe in him! Tomorrow he will have a new belief and the day after tomorrow an even newer one.

He has hasty senses, like the people, and a fickle ability to scent. To overthrow — to him that means: To drive insane — to him that means: And blood to him is the best of all possible grounds.

A truth that slips into only the finer ears he calls a lie and nothing. Indeed, he only believes in gods that make great noise in the world! The market place is full of pompous jesters — and the people are proud of their great men!

Thus spoke Zarathustra

They are the men of the hour. But the hour presses them, and so they press you. And from you too they want a Yes or a No. Alas, do you want to set your chair between pro and contra? Be without envy on account of these unconditional and pressing types, you lover of truth!

Never before has truth hung on the arm of an absolutist. Return to your safety on account of these precipitous types: For all deep wells experience is slow; they must wait long before they know what fell into their depth. Away from the market place and fame all greatness takes place; away from the market place and fame the inventors of new values have lived all along.

Flee, my friend, into your solitude: I see you stung by poisonous flies. Flee where raw, strong air blows! Flee into your solitude! You have lived too long near the small and the pitiful. Flee their invisible revenge! Against you they are nothing but revenge. They are innumerable, and it is not your lot to be a shoo-fly.

Innumerable are these small and pitiful ones; and rain drops and weeds have sufficed to bring down many a proud structure. You are no stone, but already you have become hollow from many drops. You will shatter and burst still from many drops. I see you weary from poisonous flies, torn bloody in a hundred places, and yet your pride does not even become angered.

They want blood from you in all innocence, their bloodless souls demand blood — and so they sting away in all innocence. But you, deep one, you suffer too deeply even from small wounds; and before you could even heal yourself, the same poisonous worm crawled across your hand.

You are too proud to slay these sweet-toothed creatures. But beware, or it will become your doom to bear all their poisonous injustice! They also buzz around you with their praise; importunity is their praising! They want the closeness of your skin and your blood. They flatter you like a god or devil; they snivel before you as before a god or devil.

They are sycophants and snivelers and nothing more. Often too they give themselves charming airs. But that has always been the cleverness of cowards; yes, cowards are clever! They think about you much with their narrow souls — you always give them pause!

Everything that is thought about much gives pause. They punish you for all your virtues. What they forgive you thoroughly are only — your mistakes. Because you are mild and of just temperament, you say: Your wordless pride always contradicts their taste; they jubilate if only you are modest enough to be vain. That which we recognize in a person we also inflame in him — therefore beware of the petty!

They feel small before you, and their baseness glimmers and glows at you in invisible revenge. Yes my friend, you are the bad conscience of your neighbors, for they are unworthy of you. Therefore they hate you and would like much to suck your blood. Your neighbors will always be poisonous flies; that which is great in you — that itself must make them more poisonous and ever more fly-like.

Flee, my friend, into your solitude and where raw, strong air blows! It is not your lot to be a shoo-fly.

On Chastity I love the forest. It is bad to live in the cities; there too many are in heat. Is it not better to fall into the hands of a murderer than into the dreams of a woman in heat? And just look at these men: There is mud at the bottom of their souls; and watch out if their mud has spirit too! If only you were perfect at least as animals! But to animals belongs innocence. Do I advise you to kill your senses?

I advise you on the innocence of your senses. Do I advise you to chastity? In some people chastity is a virtue, but in many it is almost a vice. They abstain, to be sure: Even into the heights of their virtue and all the way into their cold spirit this beast follows them with its unrest. And how sweetly the bitch, sensuality, knows how to beg for a piece of spirit when she is denied a piece of meat! You love tragedies and everything that makes the heart break?

But I am mistrustful of your bitch. Your eyes are too cruel for me and they gaze with lust in search of sufferers. Has your lust not simply disguised itself, and now calls itself pity?

Those for whom chastity is difficult should be advised against it, or else it could become their road to hell — that is, the mud and the heat of the soul. Do I speak of dirty things? That is not the worst of it to me.Are you not very ripe for the sermon of death? But the rope-dancer, who thought the words applied to him, began his performance. Behold, I teach you the overman! And soon he fell asleep, weary in body but with a calm soul. And the short peace more than the long one.

To lure many away from the herd — for that I came. When Zarathustra was alone, however, he said to his heart: Hintermann is a man behind the scenes, a secret advisor; Hintergedanken are secret thoughts or ulterior motives. But it is not the danger of the noble one that he will become a good person, but a churl, a mocker, an annihilator.