No More Learning

The sick and perishing—it was they who despised
c


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34 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
the body and the earth, and invented the heavenly
world, and the redeeming blood-drops; but even
those sweet and sad poisons they borrowed from
the body and the earth!
From their misery they sought escape, and the
stars were too remote for them. Then they sighed:
"O that there were heavenly paths by which to
steal into another existence and into happiness! "
Then they contrived for themselves their by-paths
and bloody draughts!
Beyond the sphere of their body and this earth
they now fancied themselves transported, these
ungrateful ones. But to what did they owe the
convulsion and rapture of their transport? To
their body and this earth.
Gentle is Zarathustra to the sickly. Verily, he
is not indignant at their modes of consolation
and ingratitude. May they become convalescents
and overcomers, and create higher bodies for
themselves!
Neither is Zarathustra indignant at a convalescent
who looketh tenderly on his delusions, and at mid-
night stealeth round the grave of his God; but
sickness and a sick frame remain even in his
tears.
Many sickly ones have there always been among
those who muse, and languish for God ; violently
they hate the discerning ones, and the latest of
virtues, which is uprightness.
Backward they always gaze toward dark ages:
then, indeed, were delusion and faith something
different. Raving of the reason was likeness to
God, and doubt was sin.


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III. —BACKWORLDSMEN. 35
Too well do I know those godlike ones: they
insist on being believed in, and that doubt is sin.
Too well, also, do I know what they themselves
most believe in.
Verily, not in backworlds and redeeming blood-
drops: but in the body do they also believe most;
and their own body is for them the thing-in-itself.
But it is a sickly thing to them, and gladly would
they get out of their skin. Therefore hearken they
to the preachers of death, and themselves preach
backworlds.
Hearken rather, my brethren, to the voice of the
healthy body; a more upright and pure voice
is it.
More uprightly and purely speaketh the healthy
body, perfect and square-built; and it speaketh of
the meaning of the earth. —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
IV. —THE DESPISERS OF THE BODY.
To the despisers of the body will I speak my
word. I wish them neither to learn afresh, nor
teach anew, but only to bid farewell to their own
bodies,—and thus be dumb.
"Body am I, and soul"—so saith the child. And
why should one not speak like children?
But the awakened one, the knowing one, saith:
"Body am I entirely, and nothing more; and soul
is only the name of something in the body. "
The body is a big sagacity, a plurality with one
sense, a war and a peace, a flock and a shepherd.


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THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
An instrument of thy body is also thy little
sagacity, my brother, which thou callest " spirit"—
a little instrument and plaything of thy big
sagacity.
"Ego," sayest thou, and art proud of that word.
But the greater thing—in which thou art unwilling
to believe—is thy body with its big sagacity; it
saith not "ego," but doeth it.
What the sense feeleth, what the spirit discerneth,
hath never its end in itself. But sense and spirit
would fain persuade thee that they are the end of
all things: so vain are they.
Instruments and playthings are sense and spirit:
behind them there is still the Self. The Self seeketh
with the eyes of the senses, it hearkeneth also with
the ears of the spirit.
Ever hearkeneth the Self, and seeketh; it com-
pareth, mastereth, conquereth, and destroyeth. It
ruleth, and is also the ego's ruler.
Behind thy thoughts and feelings, my brother,
there is a mighty lord, an unknown sage—it is
called Self; it dwelleth in thy body, it is thy
body.
There is more sagacity in thy body than in thy
best wisdom. And who then knoweth why thy
body requireth just thy best wisdom?
Thy Self laugheth at thine ego, and its proud
prancings. "What are these prancings and flights
of thought unto me? " it saith to itself. "A by-way
to my purpose. I am the leading-string of the ego,
and the prompter of its notions. "
The Self saith unto the ego: "Feel pain! " And
thereupon it suffereth, and thinketh how it may


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IV. —THE DESPISERS OF THE BODY. yj
put an end thereto—and for that very purpose it is
meant to think.
The Self saith unto the ego: "Feel pleasure! "
Thereupon it rejoiceth, and thinketh how it may
ofttimes rejoice—and for that very purpose it is
meant to think.
To the despisers of the body will I speak a word.
That they despise is caused by their esteem.
What is it that created esteeming and despising
and worth and will?
The creating Self created for itself esteeming and
despising, it created for itself joy and woe. The
creating body created for itself spirit, as a hand to
its will.
Even in your folly and despising ye each serve
your Self, ye despisers of the body. I tell you, your
very Self wanteth to die, and turneth away from
life.
No longer can your Self do that which it desireth
most:—create beyond itself. That is what it
desireth most; that is all its fervour.
But it is now too late to do so:—so your Self
wisheth to succumb, ye despisers of the body.
To succumb—so wisheth your Self; and there-
fore have ye become despisers of the body. For
ye can no longer create beyond yourselves.
And therefore are ye now angry with life and
with the earth. And unconscious envy is in the
sidelong look of your contempt.
I go not your way, ye despisers of the body!
Ye are no bridges for me to the Superman! —
Thus spake Zarathustra.


## p. 37 (#110) #############################################

36 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
. '
An instrument of thy body is also thy little
sagacity, my brother, which thou callest " spirit"—
a little instrument and plaything of thy big
sagacity.
"Ego," sayest thou, and art proud of that word.
But the greater thing—in which thou art unwilling
to believe—is thy body with its big sagacity; it
saith not "ego," but doeth it.
What the sense feeleth, what the spirit discerneth,
hath never its end in itself. But sense and spirit
would fain persuade thee that they are the end of
all things: so vain are they.
Instruments and playthings are sense and spirit:
behind them there is still the Self. The Self seeketh
with the eyes of the senses, it hearkeneth also with
the ears of the spirit.
Ever hearkeneth the Self, and seeketh; it com-
pareth, mastereth, conquereth, and destroyeth. It
ruleth, and is also the ego's ruler.
Behind thy thoughts and feelings, my brother,
there is a mighty lord, an unknown sage—it is
called Self; it dwelleth in thy body, it is thy
body.
There is more sagacity in thy body than in thy
best wisdom. And who then knoweth why thy
body requireth just thy best wisdom?
Thy Self laugheth at thine ego, and its proud
prancings. "What are these prancings and flights
of thought unto me? " it saith to itself. "A by-way
to my purpose. I am the leading-string of the ego,
and the prompter of its notions. "
The Self saith unto the ego: "Feel pain! " And
thereupon it suffereth, and thinketh how it may


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IV. —THE DESPISERS OF THE BODY. 37
put an end thereto—and for that very purpose it is
meant to think.
The Self saith unto the ego: "Feel pleasure! "
Thereupon it rejoiceth, and thinketh how it may
ofttimes rejoice—and for that very purpose it is
meant to think.
To the despisers of the body will I speak a word.
That they despise is caused by their esteem.
What is it that created esteeming and despising
and worth and will?
The creating Self created for itself esteeming and
despising, it created for itself joy and woe. The
creating body created for itself spirit, as a hand to
its will.
Even in your folly and despising ye each serve
your Self, ye despisers of the body. I tell you, your
very Self wanteth to die, and turneth away from
life.
No longer can your Self do that which it desireth
most:—create beyond itself. That is what it
desireth most; that is all its fervour.
But it is now too late to do so:—so your Self
wisheth to succumb, ye despisers of the body.
To succumb—so wisheth your Self; and there-
fore have ye become despisers of the body. For
ye can no longer create beyond yourselves.
And therefore are ye now angry with life and
with the earth. And unconscious envy is in the
sidelong look of your contempt.
I go not your way, ye despisers of the body!
Ye are no bridges for me to the Superman! —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
. -


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38 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
V. —JOYS AND PASSIONS.
My brother, when thou hast a virtue, and it is
thine own virtue, thou hast it in common with
no one.
To be sure, thou wouldst call it by name and
caress it; thou wouldst pull its ears and amuse thy-
self with it.
And lo! Then hast thou its name in common
with the people, and hast become one of the people
and the herd with thy virtue!
Better for thee to say: "Ineffable is it, and
nameless, that which is pain and sweetness to my
soul, and also the hunger of my bowels. "
Let thy virtue be too high for the familiarity of
names, and if thou must speak of it, be not ashamed
to stammer about it.
Thus speak arid stammer: "That is my good,
that do I love, thus doth it please me entirely, thus
only do / desire the good.
Not as the law of a God do I desire it, not as a
human law or a human need do I desire it; it is
not to be a guide-post for me to superearths and
paradises.
An earthly virtue, is it which I love: little pru-
dence is therein, and the least everyday wisdom.
But that bird built its nest beside me: therefore,
I love and cherish it—now sitteth it beside me on
its golden eggs. "
Thus shouldst thou stammer, and praise thy
virtue.
Once hadst thou passions and calledst them evil.


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V. —JOYS AND PASSIONS. 39
But now hast thou only thy virtues: they grew out
of thy passions.
Thou implantedst thy highest aim into the heart
of those passions: then became they thy virtues
and joys.
And though thou wert of the race of the hot-
tempered, or of the voluptuous, or of the fanatical,
or the vindictive;
All thy passions in the end became virtues, and
all thy devils angels.
Once hadst thou wild dogs in thy cellar: but
they changed at last into birds and charming song-
stresses.
Out of thy poisons brewedst thou balsam for
thyself; thy cow, affliction, milkedst thou—now
drinketh thou the sweet milk of her udder.
And nothing evil groweth in thee any longer,
unless it be the evil that groweth out of the conflict
of thy virtues.
My brother, if thou be fortunate, then wilt thou
have one virtue and no more: thus goest thou
easier over the bridge.
Illustrious is it to have many virtues, but a hard
lot; and many a one hath gone into the wilderness
and killed himself, because he was weary of being
the battle and battlefield of virtues.
My brother, are war and battle evil? Necessary,
however, is the evil; necessary are the envy and
the distrust and the backbiting among the virtues.
Lo! how each of thy virtues is covetous of the
highest place; it wanteth thy whole spirit to be its
herald, it wanteth thy whole power, in wrath, hatred,
and love.


## p. 40 (#114) #############################################

40
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I.
Jealous is every virtue of the others, and a
dreadful thing is jealousy. Even virtues may suc-
cumb by jealousy.
He whom the fame of jealousy encompasseth,
turneth at last, like the scorpion, the poisoned sting
against himself.
Ah! my brother, hast thou never seen a virtue
backbite and stab itself?
Man is something that hath to be surpassed : and
therefore shalt thou love thy virtues,—for thou wilt
succumb by them. -
Thus spake Zarathustra.
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!


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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-


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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!


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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


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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.