Thus Spoke Zarathustra: A Book for All and None

Section I

Zarathustra is aboard a ship. The crew recognizes him, but he stays silent until the second day when he shares a riddle with them. He says, “To you alone I tell the riddle that I saw—the vision of the loneliest one” (124). Zarathustra recounts his climb to the top of the mountain, where he encounters an odd little person who jeers at him: “You hurled yourself high, but every hurled stone must fall!” (124). Zarathustra, with his newfound courage, stands up to the little person and declares, “You or I!” (125). Courage, Zarathustra says, is the best slayer.

Section II

Zarathustra accosts the little person. Suddenly, he feels lighter as the little person jumped off his shoulder. The little person lands on a nearby stone and behind him was a gateway. Zarathustra says, “‘See this gateway, dwarf!’ I continued. ‘It has two faces. Two paths come together here; no one has yet walked them to the end’” (125). The two paths are each eternal but inherently contradictory. They come together at this gateway, a gateway which we call the “Moment.” Then Zarathustra asks, “But whoever were to walk one of them further—and ever further and ever on: do you believe, dwarf, that these paths contradict each other eternally?” (125). If everything has, by nature of being eternal, already happened, then has not this moment already passed? Further, if time is connected, is not this moment the precursor to other moments and thus itself? A dog howls in the background and Zarathustra thinks back to his childhood when he heard a dog howl for the first time. Suddenly, everything around Zarathustra disappears and he finds himself alone among the cliffs under the moonlight. He then sees a shepherd choking on a snake. Zarathustra tries to help but he cannot tear the snake from the shepherd’s throat. The snake cries out to bite down on its head. Zarathustra then says to the crew on the ship, “Now guess me this riddle that I saw back then, now interpret me this vision of the loneliest one! […] Who is the shepherd into whose throat the snake crawled this way? Who is the human being into whose throat everything that is heaviest, blackest will crawl?” (127). Zarathustra recalls that the shepherd bit the snake’s head and appeared transformed. 

While at sea, Zarathustra finally stops lamenting his friends. He says to his conscience that he is alone now on the open sea. He begins to speak of happiness, stating that he is in the afternoon of his work and that this work is for his children. He says that now his children are still amid their first spring, but he wants eventually to dig them up and set them apart so each may learn solitude. He says, “There, where the storms plunge down into the sea and the mountain’s trunk drinks water, there each one shall someday have his day and night watches, for his own testing and knowledge” (128). Zarathustra hopes that his children will become creators who write his will on his tablets. Zarathustra realizes that to accomplish this goal he must complete himself first. He realizes that he no longer needs to desire his children, as to desire means not to have, and he has them. Finally, he can answer the call from his past that broke through graves. Alluding to the second transformation of the soul, Zarathustra says he will be like the lion and summon his past. As the sun sets and the afternoon passes, Zarathustra waits for his happiness in vain. 

Zarathustra speaks to the sky above him, saying that gazing into it gives him godlike desires. He says, “To hurl myself into your height—that is my depth! To hide myself in your purity—that is my innocence” (130). The sky, he states, rose for him today over the roaring sea. He wonders how he did not guess before the modesty of the sky when he had thought the sun to be the loneliest one. He says they have been friends from the start, having even the sun in common. Zarathustra says, “We do not speak to one another because we know too much: we are silent to one another, we smile our knowledge to one another” (131). Zarathustra comes to hate the middlemen between him and the sky. He would rather be alone than see the sky stained with clouds. Zarathustra relates this preference to his general hatred for dubiousness and humans who are half-and-halfs (131). In referencing the third transformation of the soul, Zarathustra states that the sky is a Yes-sayer, the attribute necessary to create new values. Zarathustra says, “But this is my blessing: to stand over each thing as its own sky, as its round roof, its azure bell and eternal security—and blessed is he who blesses so!” (132). The sky stands above all things even the highest mountain peaks and the stars. 

Section I

When Zarathustra reaches land, he does not go directly to his cave but asks many questions about what occurred among human beings while he was away. He sees a set of newly built homes and thinks, “Probably some feeble-minded child took them out of its toy box? If only another child would put them back into its toy box!” (133). Zarathustra believes the new buildings to be made for children. He proclaims that everything has become smaller to him. He wonders when he will be able to return to his homeland and not stoop before small things.

Section II

Zarathustra walks through the town knowing that the people do not forgive him for not being envious of their virtues. He says, “They bite at me because I say to them: for small people small virtues are necessary—and because I find it hard to grasp that small people are necessary!” (134). Zarathustra says these people talk about him often but do not actually think of him. He recalls the different things villagers do to avoid him, such as shielding their children or coughing to cover their voices. Zarathustra says that even if they praised him, he would not need it. He continues, “And this also I learned among them: the one who praises pretends that he is giving back, but in truth he wants to be given even more!” (134). The teaching of their own virtue, which is to scorn and hate Zarathustra, has made them small. He calls their virtue modesty and says it fosters contempt. Modesty and moderation, Zarathustra preaches, are only mediocrity in disguise.

Section III

The teachers of resignation call Zarathustra godless, a label he willingly embraces. This sermon, he says, is for them. He says, “I am Zarathustra, the godless: where do I find my equal? And all those are my equal who give themselves their own will and put aside all resignation” (136). He speaks of cooking his own will in his own pot, not welcoming it as his own food until it is finished. This analogy prompts Zarathustra to question why he speaks where no one has ears to listen. He shouts to the people anyway, saying that they are becoming smaller and smaller. They will soon perish of their small virtues and contempt. Zarathustra argues, “Too sparing, too yielding—that is your soil! But in order for a tree to grow tall, it needs to put down hard roots amid hard rock!” (136). Resignation is not giving up something but taking something. Zarathustra pleads with the people to cultivate their will in trying times and not give in to resignation. Zarathustra ends this sermon by stating that one day these people will preach the coming of the great noon. 

Zarathustra refers to winter as the “wicked guest” who sits in his house (137). He states that if one runs well they can escape him. Zarathustra runs with warm feet and warm thoughts to where the wind is calm (137). Despite a dislike for winter, Zarathustra respects the season and refuses to worship a fire idol. The winter facilitates loneliness, as it refuses mosquitos a long life and the moon room to shine. Zarathustra states that, while winter is difficult, “Whomever I love, I love better in winter than in summer; better and more heartily I now mock my enemies since winter sits at home with me” (138). Zarathustra remains cheerful in the winter, as it gives way to silent skies. Zarathustra wonders if the winter sky learned its silence on its own or from him. To be silent like the winter sky becomes an art form, teaching Zarathustra a new way to practice solitude. Of those who are envious of his happiness, Zarathustra writes, “How could they bear my happiness if I did not cover my happiness with accidents and winter emergencies and polar bear caps and snow-sky sheets?” (139). The mischief of the soul refuses to conceal its winter and ice storms. The winter appears as the outcome of reaching enlightenment as it promotes isolation and ostracization. 

Zarathustra hikes towards his cave. He soon arrives at the gates of the big city, where a fool leaps toward him. This fool has memorized the phrasing and tone of Zarathustra’s sermons. He tells Zarathustra to avoid the city at all costs as no one inside will understand his teachings. He proclaims, “Does this town not steam with the reek of slaughtered spirit?” (140). The fool urges Zarathustra to spit on the city and not enter. Finally, Zarathustra interrupts him, asking why he has decided to live near a swamp and not in the woods, the mountain, or an island. He tells the fool that he despises his despising, stating, “why didn’t you warn yourself” (142). The people call this man Zarathustra’s ape, but Zarathustra sees him as a swine. He critiques the fool for being filled with hatred. He speculates that the fool did not receive enough flattery from others and thus sat in garbage to make a reason for revenge. Zarathustra says that no matter the truth of his teachings, the fool will always do wrong with his words. He leaves the fool, saying, “I give you this lesson in parting: where one can no longer love, there one should—pass by!” (142). Zarathustra passes by the fool and the big city, which he too dislikes. 

Section I

Zarathustra describes a meadow that has become wilted and grey. He likens it to young hearts that have already grown old in the guise of acting piously. Zarathustra says, “Once they fluttered around light and freedom like gnats and young poets. A bit older, a bit colder, and already they monger rumors in the dark, thronging around the stove” (143). Zarathustra reflects on his aging and past experiences. He argues that those who are like him would have shared similar experiences. Zarathustra recalls past companions, beginning with corpses and jesters. His second companions are those who call themselves believers. Zarathustra says that whoever is of his kind should not tie his heart to his believers. If one wanted to cease being cowardly, then one would will otherwise. Yet, they do not and thus do not make good believers.

Section II

The apostates boast about becoming pious again, but Zarathustra reminds them that this transformation is a regression. To become pious again is to pray again and thus to believe in God. As those who have heard Zarathustra speak have been stripped of their ignorance about the death of God, for any of them to pray is a disgrace. Zarathustra proclaims, “You know it well; your cowardly devil in you, who likes to fold his hands and lay his hands in his lap and wants to have it easier—this cowardly devil exhorts you: “There is a God!” (144). These cowardly and pious people sit all day in swamps and believe themselves to be deep thinkers. They listen to the stroke of a harp or a wandering harebrained whistler. Some have become night watchmen who know how to blow their horns and wake up an entire town. Zarathustra recalls five expressions he heard recently from night watchmen, all of which center around caring for children. They discuss why this man has not proved himself to be a good father. Zarathustra laughs at this, stating that one has nothing to prove and only requires others to have faith in them. He also laughs at watchmen who doubt the existence of God, as the time for doubting has long passed. The gods died laughing, Zarathustra argues, when they first heard the phrase “there is one god, Thou shalt have no other god before me!” (146). 

Home calls out to Zarathustra. He speaks of home, saying, “Now go ahead and threaten me with your finger, like mothers threaten; now smile at me, like mothers smile” (146). While away Zarathustra has learned the distinction between being forsaken and living in solitude. He has also learned that, among human beings, he will always be wild and foreign (146). At home, he can pour his feelings out without restraint or shame. Zarathustra continues, “Here all things come caressingly to your rhetoric and they flatter you, for they want to ride on your back. Here you ride on every parable to every truth” (146). To be in solitude is to speak freely to those who understand. Zarathustra recalls when he found it more dangerous to be among humans than among animals, equating this is being forsaken. Regarding solitude, he continues, “We do not implore one another, we do not deplore one another, we walk openly with one another through open doors” (147). In solitude, all beings want to learn but, among human beings, all speaking is done in vain. Zarathustra has learned that the only wisdom man possesses is forgetting and passing by. He continues, “But down there—everyone talks there, everyone is ignored there. One could ring in his wisdom with bells, and the shopkeepers in the market place would jingle it out with pennies” (148). Despite everyone talking in the village, the speech is empty and only serves to reinforce their pre-existing beliefs. Zarathustra says that the only thing man has taught him is to conceal himself and his wrath. 

Section I

Zarathustra recalls a dream in which he stood on a foothill and weighed the world. Zarathustra wonders, “My dream, a daring sailor, half ship, half whirlwind, silent as butterflies, impatient as falcons: how did it have the patience and while today for world-weighing?” (149). He states that his dream looked upon the finite world in a peaceful and gentle manner. Having witnessed the wonders of weighing the world, Zarathustra now desires to place the three most evil things on the scale and weigh them “humanly well” (150). Zarathustra speaks to himself, “Sex, lust to rule, selfishness: these three have been cursed best and slandered and lied about most so far—these three I want to weigh humanly well” (150). Zarathustra weighs these evil things.

Section II

On sex, Zarathustra asserts, “Sex: the thorn and stake of all hair-shirted body despisers, and a cursed as ‘world’ among all hinterworldly, because it mocks and fools all teachers of muddle and mistakes” (150). He goes on to state that sex is a “sweetish poison” and the highest of hopes, as it often leads to marriage. On lust, Zarathustra says, “Lust to rule: the grim gadfly imposed on the vainest peoples, the mocker of all insecure virtue, the rider on every horse and every pride” (151). Before the gaze of lust, human beings crawl and cower, crying out in contempt (151). In search of the right name for bestowing virtue, Zarathustra falls upon selfishness. He says, “Such self-joy of body and soul calls itself: ‘Virtue.’ With its words of good and bad such self-joy shields itself as if with sacred groves; with the names of its happiness it banishes from itself everything contemptible” (152). Selfishness despises those who are quick to please or who never defend themselves. What is bad to selfishness is what is servile and oppressed.