Thus Spoke Zarathustra: A Book for All and None

Sections I-III

Zarathustra sits among broken tablets wondering when the time will come when he once again goes down among mankind. He reflects on his previous encounters with mankind. He speaks about how man contemplated good and evil, saying, “He, however, is the one who creates a goal for mankind and gives the earth its meaning and its future: This one first creates the possibility that something can be good and evil” (157). Zarathustra’s wild longing often swept him off his feet. He says, “All becoming seemed to me the dance of gods and the mischief of gods, and the world seemed unloosed and frolicsome and as though it were fleeing back to itself” (158). It was in these dreams that he conceived of the overman, that mankind was something to be overcome. He describes man as, “a bridge and not an end; counting itself blessed for its noon and evening as the way to new dawns” (158).

Sections IV-X

Zarathustra says that he must share these new tablets with mankind. He references the jester, saying, “There are manifold ways and means of overcoming: you see to it! But only a jester thinks: “human being can also be leaped over” (159). Man must learn how to command himself and thus obey himself. He comments on the rabble, saying, “Whoever is of the rabble wants to live for free; we others, however, to whom life gave itself—we always reflect on what we can best give in exchange!” (159). One should only enjoy where one has given oneself something to enjoy. Zarathustra transitions to sacrificing first-borns, stating that he and his followers are first-borns of the overman. He says, “Our kind wants it so; and I love those who do not want to preserve themselves. Those who are going under I love with my whole love: because they are going over” (160). Going under is equated with sacrificing oneself. Returning to his doctrine on winter, Zarathustra states that everything stands still and firm over the bridge, yet the thaw wind preaches against this stillness. The thaw wind is a destroyer of ice, demonstrating that everything exists in flux. He relates this theory of flux to conceptions of good and evil. He urges his followers to break old tablets.

Sections XI-XV

The rabble abandons the past, failing to see beyond their grandfathers. Zarathustra says, “Therefore, my brothers, we need a new nobility, which is the adversary of all rabble and all despotic rule and which writes anew the word ‘noble’ on new tablets” (162). Zarathustra proclaims that he will consecrate this new nobility and that his followers will be his begetters and sowers of the future. Where one is going and not where one is coming from will constitute one’s honor. Zarathustra continues, “You should make it up in your children that you are the children of your fathers; thus you should redeem all that is past! This new tablet I place above you!” (163). Zarathustra attempts to connect past and future in the present moment, something the rabble cannot do. Zarathustra states that all past wisdom has been tainted, but this does not mean the world itself has become dirty.

Sections XVI-XXX

Zarathustra speaks of a new tablet he found in the marketplace, saying, “Wisdom makes weary, nothing is worth it; thou shalt not desire!”—this new tablet I found hanging even in the open markets. Break, my brothers, break me this new tablet too!” (165). The spirit who proclaims this new tablet has eaten badly, poisoning themselves. They recommend death because, Zarathustra argues, the spirit is the stomach. The spirit becomes then what one eats, or rather, how one fuels one’s spirit greatly influences how it will come to fruition. Those with a ruined stomach fail to see the joy in life, and this tablet survives as a reinforcement that they may be weak. Zarathustra proclaims, “Willing liberates because willing is creating: thus I teach. And you should learn only for creating!” (165). Zarathustra says that those who are weary refuse help and fail to listen to their bodies. Content in suffering, they must be left to their own devices. When one climbs high, Zarathustra says, one must make sure a parasite has not followed one. He claims that the parasite is the lowest of species, but that it is the highest of species that nourishes the most parasites. He continues, “After all, the soul that has the longest ladder and reaches down farthest—how could it not have the most parasites clinging to it?” (167).

Zarathustra touches on various other topics. He states that everything today is falling, and we should give it a push. It is not enough to be fierce in combat, one must also understand whom to fight. He says, “And often there is more valiance in someone controlling himself and passing by, so that he saves himself for the worthier enemy!” (168). One should not concern oneself with fighting the rabble. Humans are described as the best prey, having preyed upon the virtues of all animals. Zarathustra says of man and woman that one is fit for war, the other for bearing children, and both for dance. This reflection leads him into a discussion of wedding vows where he cautions one to not confuse them with bedding vows. As such, wedding vows should not be rushed. He says, “Human society: it is an experiment, this I teach—a long search: but it searches for the commander!—an experiment, oh my brothers! And not a ‘contract!’ Break, break me such words of the soft hearted and half-and-halfs!” (170).

Zarathustra asks if the greatest danger for humanity lies in the good and the just. Referencing Jesus, he says, “My brothers, there was a man who once looked into the hearts of the good and the just, and he spoke: ‘They are pharisees.’ But he was not understood” (171). The good must be pharisees, Zarathustra argues. The good must crucify he who invents his own virtue, for in adherence to their nobility they must defend what they believe is right. Thus, the good hate the creator the most, as he is the one who breaks their tablets. Even more so, the good are incapable of creation; they are only followers. Now that he has come down and told humanity to break their tablets, Zarathustra states that fear has arisen. He says, “False coasts and false securities were taught you by the good; in the lies of the good you were born and bred. Everything has been duplicitous and twisted from the ground up by the good” (172). It is difficult to go against not only what one has always known but what one has always known to be good. To become creators, Zarathustra advises, one must become hard and firm in one’s will.

Sections I-II

One morning, Zarathustra awakes like a madman, screaming in fear. He then speaks to the animals: “You stir, you stretch, you gasp? Up! Up! No gasping—you will speak to me! Zarathustra summons you, the godless one! I, Zarathustra, the advocate of life, the advocate of suffering, the advocate of the circle—you I summon, my most abysmal thought! Hail to me! You are coming—I hear you! My abyss speaks, I have unfolded my ultimate depth to the light!” (174). He refers to eternal recurrence when he speaks of the circle and to the overman whom he hears coming. The thought makes him nauseous. He collapses like a dead man. Once he regains consciousness, he refuses to eat or drink for seven days. His animal companions take care of him, laying prey at his feet like offerings. When Zarathustra begins eating on the seventh day, the animals decide to speak with him. Zarathustra comments on the animal’s speech, saying, “How lovely it is that there are words and sounds; aren’t words and sounds rainbows and illusory bridges between things eternally separated?” (175). Zarathustra is reminded that there exist different souls outside of him.

He contemplates that sounds and names have been invented so that man may imprint his image on them. Zarathustra states that he bit off the head of that which choked him seven days ago, referring to the riddle of the shepherd choked by the snake. The animals possess a heightened awareness of Zarathustra’s teachings, reiterating the doctrine of eternal recurrence. Zarathustra continues referencing eternal recurrence, saying, “My sighing sat upon all human graves and could no longer stand up; my sighing and questioning croaked and choked and gnashed and lashed day and night:—‘alas, human beings recur eternally! The small human beings recur eternally!’” (177). The animals tell Zarathustra to return to the world outside the cave, which waits for him like a garden. They tell Zarathustra that he must make a new song and fashion a new lyre to spread his word. The animals bestow on Zarathustra his destiny, saying, “For your animals know well, oh Zarathustra, who you are and must become; behold, you are the teacher of the eternal recurrence—that now is your destiny!” (177). The animals state that they too are a part of the eternal recurrence and know they will live this life time and time again, saying, “To once again speak the word about the great earth of noon and human beings, to once again proclaim the overman to mankind. I spoke my word, I break under my word: thus my eternal fate wills it—as proclaimer I perish! The hour has now come for the one who goes under to bless himself. Thus—ends Zarathustra’s going under!” (178). Zarathustra did not hear the silence that followed and instead lay as though he were sleeping. The eagle and the snake honor this stillness and slip away. 

Zarathustra speaks to his soul. He states that he has taught, redeemed, and washed the soul. He says, “I even choked the choker who is called ‘sin’” (179). Zarathustra tells the soul that he gave it back its freedom. In a recounting of his past teachings, he tells the soul that he has rid it of the sir-saying, taught it the origins of contempt, and called it destiny. Then Zarathustra thinks, “Oh my soul, I gave you everything and all my hands have become empty on you—and now! Now you say to me smiling and full of melancholy: “Who of us is supposed to be thankful?—does the giver not have to give thanks that the receiver received? Is bestowing not a bare necessity? Is receiving not—mercy?” (180). Zarathustra transitions to speaking about the soul’s melancholy, wondering why it still smiles. The last thing Zarathustra gives his soul is the command to sing. He tells his soul to sing so he may give thanks. 

Sections I-III

Zarathustra, or perhaps it is his soul, sings of dancing and how the body moves as it dances. He sings, “I fear you up close, and I love you away; your leaving spells me, your seeking compels me—I suffer, but suffer gladly for you any day!” (181). He continues, “This is a dance moving every which way; I am the hunter—are you my hound or my prey? Next to me now! And quick, you evil little jumper! Up now! And over!—Oh no! I slipped and now I’m on my rump here!” (182). He speaks of other paths where it would rather be, paths lined with flowers or by the river. He relays all he would do for another yet at the end expresses anger towards following another’s will. The song becomes violent as Zarathustra says it will dance to his whip.

Life then answers the song, asking Zarathustra not to crack his whip. It tells Zarathustra that noise murders thoughts and the most tender thoughts are coming to life. Life says, “Oh Zarathustra, you are not faithful enough for me! You do not love me nearly as much as you say; I know you are thinking of leaving me soon” (183). Zarathustra tells life that he is thinking of leaving it, then whispers what he knows in her ear. Life is shocked, as no one knows that. The two weep together, and Zarathustra loves life more than ever at that moment. Another song follows, in which an unknown narrator counts out beats followed by lyrics. It sings that all joy wants “eternity—wants, deep, wants deep eternity” (184). 

Sections I-VII

Zarathustra writes that, if he is a soothsayer, then his spirit hikes on a high pass between two seas or, rather, between the past and the future. A dark cloud looms over the sea, harboring a large bolt of lightning. Zarathustra says, “Blessed is the one who is pregnant like this! And truly, whoever will one day kindle the light of the future must hang long on the mountain like a heavy storm!” (184). Zarathustra proclaims that he loves eternity and the ring of recurrence. He argues that, if his scorn has blown apart tablets, then he must also lust after eternity. He continues, saying that if he has ever laughed, then he must lust after eternity. If he ever redeemed, then he yearns for eternity. If he has felt joy or the dancer’s virtue, then he desires eternity. Zarathustra says that if he has ever flown into the sky with his own wings or swum deep into light then he lusts for eternity. At the end of each section, he equates eternity with a woman claiming it is the only woman he has ever loved.