Thus Spoke Zarathustra: A Book for All and None

Zarathustra likens his teachings to figs. He is like the wind that blows the figs, and his teachings are the figs that fall to the earth. Zarathustra compares God to the overman, saying that God is created by man. He speaks, “Could you think a God?—But let this mean will to truth to you; that everything be transformed into what is humanly thinkable, humanly visible, humanly feelable! You should think your own senses to their conclusion!” (65). Zarathustra desires to attribute a human meaning to the earth and not a meaning that requires faith in something unknowable. Zarathustra then asks if all that is everlasting is merely a lie. The best parables, he argues, should teach about time and becoming, not the everlasting. He says, “Creating—that is the great redemption from suffering, life’s becoming light. But in order for the creator to be, suffering is needed and much transformation” (66). The will to create lures one away from gods and towards human beings. Zarathustra describes an image residing in a stone that his hammer rages against. He says he wants this image to be perfect because it is the image of the overman, who will render all gods meaningless.

Zarathustra says, “The seeker of knowledge wanders among human beings as among animals” (67). He does not believe humans to be animals but rather believes that the analogy depicts the plight of the seeker of knowledge. Zarathustra begins to discuss the history of shame that is so prevalent in human beings. He says, “Indeed, I do not like them, the merciful who are blissful in their pitying: they lack too much in shame. If I must be pitying, then I certainly do not want to be called such; and if I am, then preferably from a distance” (67). Original sin was not something committed in the Garden of Eden but is humanity’s refusal to enjoy itself. If we can learn more about ourselves, then we can stop wasting energy on hurting others. Zarathustra says that he is a bestower who bestows as a friend to friends. Great love overcomes forgiveness and pity. Zarathustra warns his listeners against pity for “from it a heavy cloud is coming to mankind!” (69). Love wants to create the beloved and thus is stronger than pity, which wants to hold the other at arms-length. 

Zarathustra states that priests are enemies, arguing that “nothing is more vengeful than their humility” (70). For Zarathustra, priests are prisoners clapped in irons by the one they call redeemer. Zarathustra comically says that someone needs to redeem them from their redeemer. Priests govern themselves by humiliation and are so preoccupied with death that, according to Zarathustra, they might as well already be dead. Zarathustra says, “They intended to live as corpses, they decked out their corpse in black; from their speeches I sill smell the rotten spice of death chambers” (70). Their God has not freed them as they say but has placed them in a prison.

The virtuous ones feel entitled to a reward. The reward, Zarathustra implies, is fictional as it requires trading earth for heaven and today for eternity. Zarathustra does not teach of other worlds or eternity, or even that being virtuous is its own reward. He says, “For this is your truth: you are too pure for the filth of the words revenge, punishment, reward, retribution. You love your virtue as the mother her child; but when did anyone ever hear that a mother wanted to be paid for her love” (72). Virtue should not be a foreign thing that we mold ourselves into and strive to be like. Virtue is the truth of our self. 

The rabble, or a mob, destroys all that it touches. Zarathustra states, “Does life also require the rabble? Are poisoned wells and stinking fires and soiled dreams and maggots required in life’s bread?” (75). He continues, “And I turned my back on the rulers when I saw what they call ruling today: haggling and bartering for power-with the rabble!” (75). The rabble is a herd mentality that has become violent. Any leader who governs based on violent mobs is no leader at all, for if they were, they would quell it. Zarathustra says that he is creating a homeland high in the mountains that remains untouched by the poison of the rabble. He warns of “spitting against the wind” (76). 

Zarathustra says, “Revenge sits in your soul: wherever you bite, there black scabs grow; your poison makes the soul whirl with revenge!” (76). Zarathustra purposefully irritates a tarantula, prompting it to enact its understanding of justice. While the tarantula cannot help but enact revenge in the re-establishing of justice, Zarathustra comments that man can be redeemed from revenge. He says, “And ‘will to equality—that itself from now on shall be the name for virtue; and against everything that has power we shall raise our clamor” (77). True justice must not arise out of revenge but instead must pertain to the virtue of equality. Zarathustra tells his followers to avoid all who possess the drive to punish and who speak of punishment as justice. Zarathustra says, “Mistrust all those who speak much of their justice! Indeed, their souls are lacking not only honey. And when they call themselves ‘the good and the just,’ then do not forget that all they lack to be pharisees is power!’” (77). Zarathustra reminds his followers that he is not a preacher of equality, for that brings war, hostile images, and the use of values as weapons. To avenge himself, the tarantula bites Zarathustra, instilling revenge in Zarathustra’s soul. But Zarathustra restrains his body and fights his soul’s urges. He asks his friends to bind him to a pillar so he does not enact revenge.  

The truthful dwell in the desert while the wise dwell in the city. The wise pull the people’s cart or, rather, gain respect through serving others. Zarathustra says, “Not that I am angry with them for it; but to me they remain servants and harnessed, even if they gleam in golden harnesses. And often they were good servants and praiseworthy” (80). The wise men are servants of people and, as such, turn wisdom into a poorhouse or hospital for bad poets (81). The people grow through the wise men and the wise men through the people. Zarathustra applauds this relationship yet reminds his listener that the wise man remains the virtue of those who do not know of the spirit. 

It is night and the mountains are speaking loudly with the songs of lovers. Something unstilled and unstillable in Zarathustra wants to be heard. Filled with light, Zarathustra ponders what it would be like to be night. He proclaims, “Oh that I were dark and nocturnal! How I would suck at the breasts of light! And even you I would bless, you little twinkling stars and glowworms up there!—And be blissful for your gift of light” (81). Zarathustra realizes that he is self-sufficient or, rather, that he lives by his own light and drinks his own flames. His poverty is not that he bestows but that he never rests from bestowing. He contemplates the difference between giving and receiving, saying that there exists a gap between the two. Because of this gap, facilitated by immense loneliness, Zarathustra realizes that he wishes to harm those to whom he has bestowed. Zarathustra concludes that his happiness in bestowing died in the act of bestowing itself. He has become desensitized as he no longer feels sadness towards those who beg and his hands have become calloused. He realizes that the light needs darkness as its antithesis so that one never grows tired of it. 

Zarathustra is walking through the woods with his disciples. He is searching for a well but finds a green meadow bordered by trees and shrubs. Girls are dancing in the meadow but stop once they recognize Zarathustra. Zarathustra greets the girls warmly and tells them to not stop dancing because of him. He says that he too will dance and sing. He describes his song and dance as “a dance and a mocking song to the spirit of gravity, my supreme highest and most powerful devil, of whom it is said that he is the ‘ruler of the world.’—And this is the song that Zarathustra sang as Cupid and the girls danced together” (84). Zarathustra gazes into life and begins to sink into the unfathomable. But he is pulled out by a golden fishing rod. A woman’s voice speaks out, saying that men do not fathom what is considered unfathomable. As men view all things concerning women as fickle and wild, women are incorrectly deemed unfathomable. She continues, “You will, you covet, you love, and only therefore do you praise life!” (84). Zarathustra responds, equating women to wisdom. He says, “Who is this wisdom anyway?—I hastened to reply: ‘Oh yes! Wisdom! One thirsts for her and does not become sated, one peeks through veils, one snatches through nets. Is she beautiful? What do I know! But even the oldest carps are baited by her” (84). When the dance ends, the girls depart and Zarathustra feels a great sadness.