No More Learning

Man is something that hath to be surpassed : and
therefore shalt thou love thy virtues,—for thou wilt
succumb by them. -
Thus spake Zarathustra.
VI. -THE PALE CRIMINAL.
Ye do not mean to slay, ye judges and sacrificers,
until the animal hath bowed its head. Lo! the
pale criminal hath bowed his head: out of his eye
speaketh the great contempt.
“Mine ego is something which is to be surpassed :
mine ego is to me the great contempt of man":
so speaketh it out of that eye.
When he judged himself—that was his supreme
moment ; let not the exalted one relapse again into
his low estate!
There is no salvation for him who thus suffereth
from himself, unless it be speedy death.
Your slaying, ye judges, shall be pity, and not
revenge; and in that ye slay, see to it that ye
yourselves justify life!
It is not enough that ye should reconcile with
him whom ye slay. Let your sorrow be love


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VI. —THE PALE CRIMINAL. 41
to the Superman: thus will ye justify your own
survival!
"Enemy " shall ye say but not" villain," " invalid"
shall ye say but not " wretch," " fool " shall ye say
but not " sinner. "
And thou, red judge, if thou would say audibly
all thou hast done in thought, then would every
one cry: "Away with the nastiness and the virulent
reptile! "
But one thing is the thought, another thing is
the deed, and another thing is the idea of the deed.
The wheel of causality doth not roll between them.
An idea made this pale man pale. Adequate
was he for his deed when he did it, but the idea of
it, he could not endure when it was done.
Evermore did he now see himself as the doer of
one deed. Madness, I call this: the exception
reversed itself to the rule in him.
The streak of chalk bewitcheth the hen; the
stroke he struck bewitched his weak reason. Mad-
ness after the deed, I call this.
Hearken, ye judges! There is another madness
besides, and it is before the deed. Ah! ye have
not gone deep enough into this soul!
Thus speaketh the red judge: "Why did this
criminal commit murder? He meant to rob. "
I tell you, however, that his soul wanted blood, not
booty: he thirsted for the happiness of the knife!
But his weak reason understood not this madness,
and it persuaded him. "What matter about blood! "
it said; "wishest thou not, at least, to make booty
thereby? Or take revenge? "
And he hearkened unto his weak reason: like


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42 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
lead lay its words upon him—thereupon he robbed
when he murdered. He did not mean to be
ashamed of his madness.
And now once more lieth the lead of his guilt
upon him, and once more is his weak reason so
benumbed, so paralysed, and so dull.
Could he only shake his head, then would his
burden roll off; but who shaketh that head?
What is this man? A mass of diseases that
reach out into the world through the spirit; there
they want to get their prey.
What is this man? A coil of wild serpents that
are seldom at peace among themselves—so they go
forth apart and seek prey in the world.
Look at that poor body! What it suffered and
craved, the poor soul interpreted to itself—it in-
terpreted it as murderous desire, and eagerness for
the happiness of the knife.
Him who now turneth sick, the evil overtaketh
which is now the evil: he seeketh to cause pain
with that which causeth him pain. But there have
been other ages, and another evil and good.
Once was doubt evil, and the will to Self. Then
the invalid became a heretic or sorcerer; as heretic
or sorcerer he suffered, and sought to cause
suffering.
But this will not enter your ears; it hurteth your
good people, ye tell me. But what doth it matter
to me about your good people!
Many things in your good people cause me
disgust, and verily, not their evil. I would that
they had a madness by which they succumbed, like
this pale criminal!


## p. 43 (#117) #############################################

VI. —THE PALE CRIMINAL. 43
Verily, I would that their madness were called
truth, or fidelity, or justice: but they have their
virtue in order to live long, and in wretched self-
complacency.
I am a railing alongside the torrent; whoever is
able to grasp me may grasp me! Your crutch,
however, I am not. —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
VII. —READING AND WRITING.
Of all that is written, I love only what a person
hath written with his blood. Write with blood,
and thou wilt find that blood is spirit.
It is no easy task to understand unfamiliar blood;
I hate the reading idlers.
He who knoweth the reader, doeth nothing more
for the reader. Another century of readers—and
spirit itself will stink.
Every one being allowed to learn to read
ruineth in the long run not only writing but also
thinking.
Once spirit was God, then it became man, and
now it even becometh populace.
He that writeth in blood and proverbs doth not
want to be read, but learnt by heart.
In the mountains the shortest way is from peak
to peak, but for that route thou must have long
legs. Proverbs should be peaks, and those spoken
to should be big and tall.
The atmosphere rare and pure, danger near, and


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44 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
the spirit full of a joyful wickedness: thus are things
well matched.
I want to have goblins about me, for I am
courageous. The courage which scareth away
ghosts, createth for itself goblins—it wanteth to
laugh.
I no longer feel in common with you; the very
cloud which I see beneath me, the blackness and
heaviness at which I laugh—that is your thunder-
cloud.
Ye look aloft when ye long for exaltation; and I
look downward because I am exalted.
Who among you can at the same time laugh and
be exalted?
He who climbeth on the highest mountains,
laugheth at all tragic plays and tragic realities.
Courageous, unconcerned, scornful, coercive—so
wisdom wisheth us; she is a woman, and ever
loveth only a warrior.
Ye tell me, " Life is hard to bear. " But for what
purpose should ye have your pride in the morning
and your resignation in the evening?
Life is hard to bear: but do not affect to be so
delicate! We are all of us fine sumpter asses and
assesses.
What have we in common with the rose-bud,
which trembleth because a drop of dew hath formed
upon it?
It is true we love life; not because we are wont
to live, but because we are wont to love.
There is always some madness in love. But
there is always, also, some method in madness.
And to me also, who appreciate life, the butter-


## p. 45 (#119) #############################################

VII. —READING AND WRITING. 45
flies, and soap-bubbles, and whatever is like them
amongst us, seem most to enjoy happiness.
To see these light, foolish, pretty, lively little
sprites flit about—that moveth Zarathustra to tears
and songs.
I should only believe in a God that would know
how to dance.
And when I saw my devil, I found him serious,
thorough, profound, solemn: he was the spirit of
gravity—through him all things fall.
Not by wrath, but by laughter, do we slay. L
Come, let us slay the spirit of gravity!
I learned to walk; since then have I let myself
run. I learned to fly; since then I do not need
pushing in order to move from a spot.
Now am I light, now do I fly; now do I see
myself under myself. Now there danceth a God
in me. —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
VIII. —THE TREE ON THE HILL.
Zarathustra's eye had perceived that a certain
youth avoided him. And as he walked alone one
evening over the hills surrounding the town called
"The Pied Cow," behold, there found he the youth
sitting leaning against a tree, and gazing with
wearied look into the valley. Zarathustra there-
upon laid hold of the tree beside which the youth
sat, and spake thus:
"If I wished to shake this tree with my hands,
I should not be able to do so.
/*


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46 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
But the wind, which we see not, troubleth and
bendeth it as it listeth. We are sorest bent and
troubled by invisible hands. "
Thereupon the youth arose disconcerted, and
said: "I hear Zarathustra, and just now was I
thinking of him! " Zarathustra answered:
"Why art thou frightened on that account? —
But it is the same with man as with the tree.
The more he seeketh to rise into the height and
light, the more vigorously do his roots struggle
earthward, downward, into the dark and deep—into
the evil. "
"Yea, into the evil! " cried the youth. "How is
it possible that thou hast discovered my soul? "
Zarathustra smiled, and said: "Many a soul one
will never discover, unless one first invent it. "
"Yea, into the evil! " cried the youth once more.
"Thou saidst the truth, Zarathustra. I trust
myself no longer since I sought to rise into the
height, and nobody trusteth me any longer; how
doth that happen?
I change too quickly: my to-day refuteth my
yesterday. I often overleap the steps when I
clamber ; for so doing, none of the steps pardon me.
When aloft, I find myself always alone. No one
speaketh unto me; the frost of solitude maketh me
tremble. What do I seek on the height?
My contempt and my longing increase together;
the higher I clamber, the more do I despise him
who clambereth. What doth he seek on the
height?
How ashamed I am of my clambering and
stumbling! How I mock at my violent panting!


## p. 47 (#121) #############################################

VIII. —THE TREE ON THE HILL. 47
How I hate him who flieth! How tired I am on
the height! "
Here the youth was silent. And Zarathustra
contemplated the tree beside which they stood,
and spake thus:
"This tree standeth lonely here on the hills; it
hath grown up high above man and beast.
And if it wanted to speak, it would have none
who could understand it: so high hath it grown.
Now it waiteth and waiteth,—for what doth it
wait? It dwelleth too close to the seat of the
clouds; it waiteth perhaps for the first lightning? "
When Zarathustra had said this, the youth called
out with violent gestures: "Yea, Zarathustra, thou
speakest the truth. My destruction I longed for,
when I desired to be on the height, and thou
art the lightning for which I waited! Lo! what
have I been since thou hast appeared amongst
us? It is mine envy of thee that hath destroyed
me! "—Thus spake the youth, and wept bitterly.
Zarathustra, however, put his arm about him, and
led the youth away with him.
And when they had walked a while together,
Zarathustra began to speak thus:
It rendeth my heart. Better than thy words
express it, thine eyes tell me all thy danger.
As yet thou art not free; thou still seekest
freedom. Too unslept hath thy seeking made thee,
and too wakeful.
On the open height wouldst thou be; for the
stars thirsteth thy soul. But thy bad impulses
also thirst for freedom.
Thy wild dogs want liberty; they bark for joy


## p. 48 (#122) #############################################

48
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
in their cellar when thy spirit endeavoureth to
open all prison doors.
Still art thou a prisoner-it seemeth to me-who
deviseth liberty for himself: ah! sharp becometh
the soul of such prisoners, but also deceitful and
wicked.
To purify himself, is still necessary for the freed-
man of the spirit. Much of the prison and the
mould still remaineth in him : pure hath his eye
still to become.
Yea, I know thy danger. But by my love and
hope I conjure thee: cast not thy love and hope
away!
Noble thou feelest thyself still, and noble others
also feel thee still, though they bear thee a grudge
and cast evil looks. Know this, that to everybody
a noble one standeth in the way.
Also to the good, a noble one standeth in the
way: and even when they call him a good man,
they want thereby to put him aside.
The new, would the noble man create, and a
new virtue. The old, wanteth the good man, and
that the old should be conserved.
But it is not the danger of the noble man to
turn a good man, but lest he should become a
blusterer, a scoffer, or a destroyer.
Ah! I have known noble ones who lost their
highest hope. And then they disparaged all high
hopes.
Then lived they shamelessly in temporary
pleasures, and beyond the day had hardly an
aim.
"Spirit is also voluptuousness,"—said they. Then


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VIII. —THE TREE ON THE HILL. 49
broke the wings of their spirit; and now it creepeth
about, and defileth where it gnaweth.
Once they thought of becoming heroes; but
sensualists are they now. A trouble and a terror
is the hero to them.
But by my love and hope I conjure thee: cast
not away the hero in thy soul! Maintain holy thy
highest hope! —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
IX. —THE PREACHERS OF DEATH.
There arc preachers of death: and the earth is
full of those to whom desistance from life must be
preached.
Full is the earth of the superfluous; marred is
life by the many-too-many. May they be decoyed
out of this life by the " life eternal "!
"The yellow ones ": so are called the preachers
of death, or "the black ones. " But I will show
them unto you in other colours besides.
There are the terrible ones who carry about in
themselves the beast of prey, and have no choice
except lusts or self-laceration. And even their
lusts are self-laceration.
They have not yet become men, those terrible
ones: may they preach desistance from life, and
pass away themselves!
There are the spiritually consumptive ones:
hardly are they born when they begin to die, and
long for doctrines of lassitude and renunciation.
They would fain be dead, and we should approve
D


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50 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTKA, I.
of their wish! Let us beware of awakening those
dead ones, and of damaging trfiose living coffins!
They meet an invalid, or an old man, or a corpse
—and immediately they say: "Life is refuted! "
But they only are refuted, and their eye, which
seeth only one aspect of existence.
Shrouded in thick melancholy, and eager for the
little casualties that bring death: thus do they
wait, and clench their teeth.
Or else, they grasp at sweetmeats, and mock at
their childishness thereby : they cling to their straw
of life, and mock at their still clinging to it.
Their wisdom speaketh thus: "A fool, he who
remaineth alive; but so far are we fools! And
that is the foolishest thing in life! "
"Life is only suffering": so say others, and lie
not. Then see to it that ye cease! See to it that
the life ceaseth which is only suffering!
And let this be the teaching of your virtue:
"Thou shalt slay thyself! Thou shalt steal away
from thyself! "—
"Lust is sin,"—so say some who preach death—
"let us go apart and beget no children! "
"Giving birth is troublesome,"—say others—
"why still give birth? One beareth only the un-
fortunate! " And they also are preachers of death.
"Pity is necessary,"—so saith a third party.
"Take what I have! Take what I am! So
much less doth life bind me! "
Were they consistently pitiful, then would they
make their neighbours sick of life. To be wicked
—that would be their true goodness.
But they want to be rid of life; what care they


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IX. —THE PREACHERS OF DEATH. 51
if they bind others still faster with their chains
and gifts! —
And ye also, to whom life is rough labour and
disquiet, are ye not very tired of life? Are ye not
very ripe for the sermon of death?
All ye to whom rough labour is dear, and the
rapid, new, and strange—ye put up with yourselves
badly; your diligence is flight, and the will to self-
forgetfulness.
If ye believed more in life, then would ye devote
yourselves less to the momentary. But for waiting,
ye have not enough of capacity in you—nor even
for idling!
Everywhere resoundeth the voice of those who
preach death; and the earth is full of those to
whom death hath to be preached.
Or "life eternal"; it is all the same to me—if
only they pass away quickly ! —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
X. —WAR AND WARRIORS.
By our best enemies we do not want to be spared,
nor by those either whom we love from the very
heart. So let me tell you the truth!
My brethren in war! I love you from the very
heart. I am, and was ever, your counterpart. And
I am also your best enemy So let me tell you the
truth!
I know the hatred and envy of your hearts. Ye
are not great enough not to know of hatred and
envy. Then be great enough not to be ashamed
of them!
s


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52 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
And if ye cannot be saints of knowledge, then,
I pray you, be at least its warriors. They are the
companions and forerunners of such saintship.
I see many soldiers; could I but see many
warriors ! " Uniform " one calleth what they wear;
may it not be uniform what they therewith
hide!
Ye shall be those whose eyes ever seek for an
enemy—for your enemy. And with some of you
there is hatred at first sight.
Your enemy shall ye seek; your war shall ye
wage, and for the sake of your thoughts! And
if your thoughts succumb, your uprightness shall
still shout triumph thereby!
Ye shall love peace as a means to new wars—
and the short peace more than the long.
You I advise not to work, but to fight. You I
advise not to peace, but to victory. Let your work
be a fight, let your peace be a victory!
One can only be silent and sit peacefully when
one hath arrow and bow; otherwise one prateth
and quarrelleth. Let your peace be a victory!
Ye say it is the good cause which halloweth even
war? I say unto you: it is the good war which
halloweth every cause.
War and courage have done more great things
than charity. Not your sympathy, but your bravery
hath hitherto saved the victims.
"What is good ? " ye ask. To be brave is good.
Let the little girls say: "To be good is what is
pretty, and at the same time touching. "
They call you heartless: but your heart is true,
and I love the bashfulness of your goodwill. Ye



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X. —WAR AND WARRIORS. 53
are ashamed of your flow, and others are ashamed
of their ebb.
Ye are ugly? Well then, my brethren, take the
sublime about you, the mantle of the ugly!
And when your soul becometh great, then doth
it become haughty, and in your sublimity there is
wickedness. I know you.
In wickedness the haughty man and the weakling
meet. But they misunderstand one another. I
know you.
Ye shall only have enemies to be hated, but not
enemies to be despised. Ye must be proud of your
enemies; then, the successes of your enemies are
also your successes.
Resistance—that is the distinction of the slave.
Let your distinction be obedience. Let your com-
manding itself be obeying!
To the good warrior soundeth "thou shalt"
pleasanter than " I will. " And all that is dear unto
you, ye shall first have it commanded unto you.
Let your love to life be love to your highest hope;
and let your highest hope be the highest thought
of life!
Your highest thought, however, ye shall have it
commanded unto you by me—and it is this: man
is something that is to be surpassed.
So live your life of obedience and of war! What
matter about long life! What warrior wisheth to
be spared!
I spare you not, I love you from my very heart,
my brethren in war! —
Thus spake Zarathustra,


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54 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
XI. —THE NEW IDOL.
Somewhere there are still peoples and herds, but
not with us, my brethren: here there are states.
A state? What is that? Well! open now your
ears unto me, for now will I say unto you my word
concerning the death of peoples.
A state, is called the coldest of all cold monsters.
Coldly lieth it also; and this lie creepeth from its
mouth: "I, the state, am the people. "
It is a lie! Creators were they who created
peoples, and hung a faith and a love over them:
thus they served life.
Destroyers, are they who lay snares for many,
and call it the state: they hang a sword and a
hundred cravings over them.
Where there is still a people, there the state is
not understood, but hated as the evil eye, and as
sin against laws and customs.
This sign I give unto you: every people speaketh
its language of good and evil: this its neighbour
understandeth not. Its language hath it devised
for itself in laws and customs.
But the state lieth in all languages of good and
evil; and whatever it saith it lieth; and whatever
it hath it hath stolen.
False is everything in it; with stolen teeth it
biteth, the biting one. False are even its bowels.
Confusion of language of good and evil; this
sign I give unto you as the sign of the state. Verily,
the will to death, indicateth this sign! Verily, it
beckoneth unto the preachers of death!


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XI. —THE NEW IDOL. 55
Many too many are born: for the superfluous
ones was the state devised!
See just how it enticeth them to it, the many-too-
many! How it swalloweth and cheweth and re-
cheweth them!
"On earth there is nothing greater than I : it is
I who am the regulating finger of God"—thus
roareth the monster. And not only the long-eared
and short-sighted fall upon their knees!
Ah! even in your ears, ye great souls, it
whispereth its gloomy lies! Ah! it findeth out
the rich hearts which willingly lavish themselves!
Yea, it findeth you out too, ye conquerors of the
old God! Weary ye became of the conflict, and
now your weariness serveth the new idol!
Heroes and honourable ones, it would fain set up
around it, the new idol! Gladly it basketh in the
sunshine of good consciences,—the cold monster!
Everything will it give you, if ye worship it, the
new idol: thus it purchaseth the lustre of your
virtue, and the glance of your proud eyes.
It seeketh to allure by means of you, the many-
too-many! Yea, a hellish artifice hath here been
devised, a death-horse jingling with the trappings
of divine honours!
Yea, a dying for many hath here been devised,
which glorifieth itself as life: verily, a hearty
service unto all preachers of death!
The state, I call it, where all are poison-drinkers,
the good and the bad: the state, where all lose
themselves, the good and the bad: the state, where
the slow suicide of all—is called "life. "
Just see these superfluous ones! They steal the


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56 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
works of the inventors and the treasures of the
wise. Culture, they call their theft—and everything
becometh sickness and trouble unto them!
Just see these superfluous ones! Sick are they
always; they vomit their bile and call it a news-
paper. They devour one another, and cannot even
digest themselves.
Just see these superfluous ones! Wealth they
acquire and become poorer thereby. Power they
seek for, and above all, the lever of power, much
money—these impotent ones!
See them clamber, these nimble apes! They
clamber over one another, and thus scuffle into the
mud and the abyss.
Towards the throne they all strive: it is their
madness—as if happiness sat on the throne! Oft-
times sitteth filth on the throne,—and ofttimes also
the throne on filth.
Madmen they all seem to me, and clambering
apes, and too eager. Badly smelleth their idol to
me, the cold monster: badly they all smell to me,
these idolaters.
My brethren, will ye suffocate in the fumes of
their maws and appetites! Better break the
windows and jump into the open air!
Do go out of the way of the bad odour! With-
draw from the idolatry of the superfluous!
Do go out of the way of the bad odour! With-
draw from the steam of these human sacrifices!
Open still remaineth the earth for great souls.
Empty are still many sites for lone ones and twain
ones, around which floateth the odour of tranquil
seas.


## p. 57 (#131) #############################################

XI. -THE NEW IDOL.
57
Open still remaineth a free life for great souls.
Verily, he who possesseth little is so much the less
possessed : blessed be moderate poverty!
There, where the state ceaseth-there only com-
menceth the man who is not superfluous: there
commenceth the song of the necessary ones, the
single and irreplaceable melody.
There, where the state ceaseth-pray look thither,
my brethren! Do ye not see it, the rainbow and
the bridges of the Superman ? —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XII. —THE FLIES IN THE MARKET-
PLACE.
Flee, my friend, into thy solitude! I see thee
deafened with the noise of the great men, and stung
all over with the stings of the little ones.
Admirably do forest and rock know how to be
silent with thee. Resemble again the tree which
thou lovest, the broad-branched one-silently and
attentively it o'erhangeth the sea.
Where solitude endeth, there beginneth the
market-place; and where the market-place begin-
neth, there beginneth also the noise of the great
actors, and the buzzing of the poison-flies.
In the world even the best things are worthless
without those who represent them: those repre-
senters, the people call great men.
Little do the people understand what is great,
that is to say, the creating agency. But they have a
taste for all representers and actors of great things.


## p. 58 (#132) #############################################

58 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
Around the devisers of new values revolveth the
world :—invisibly it revolveth. But around the
actors revolve the people and the glory: such is
the course of things.
Spirit, hath the actor, but little conscience of the
spirit. He believeth always in that wherewith he
maketh believe most strongly—in himself!
To-morrow he hath a new belief, and the day
after, one still newer. Sharp perceptions hath he,
like the people, and changeable humours.
To upset—that meaneth with him to prove. To
drive mad—that meaneth with him to convince.
And blood is counted by him as the best of all
arguments.
A truth which only glideth into fine ears, he calleth
falsehood and trumpery. Verily, he believeth only
in gods that make a great noise in the world!
Full of clattering buffoons is the market-place,
—and the people glory in their great men! These
are for them the masters of the hour.