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    Lightbulb Thus spoke Zarathustra - Friedrich Nietzsche (1883)

    Hard times are good times for literature containing MGTOW-content of past times. This is a very long post.

    Thus spoke Zarathustra – Friedrich Nietzsche (1883)

    Prologue (1) 1

    WHEN Zarathustra was thirty years old, he left his home and the lake
    of his home, and went into the mountains. There he enjoyed his spirit
    and his solitude, and for ten years did not weary of it. But at last his
    heart changed, and rising one morning with the rosy dawn, he went be-
    fore the sun, and spoke to it thus:

    You great star! What would your happiness be, had you not those for
    whom you shine?

    For ten years have you climbed here to my cave: you would have wear
    of your light and of the journey, had it not been for me, my eagle,

    and my serpent.

    But we waited for you every morning, took from you your overflow,

    and blessed you for it.

    Behold. I am weary of my wisdom, like the bee that has gathered too

    much honey; I need hands outstretched to take it.

    I would rather give away and distribute, until the wise among men

    once more find joy in their folly, and the poor in their riches.

    Therefore must I descend into the deep: as you do in the evening, when

    you go behind the sea, and give light also to the underworld, you ex-
    uberant star!

    Like you I have to go down, as men say, to whom I shall descend.

    Bless me, then, you tranquil eye, that can look on even the greatest
    happiness without envy!

    Bless the cup that is about to overflow, that the water may flow golden

    from it, and carry everywhere the reflection of your happiness!
    Behold. This cup is again going to empty itself, and Zarathustra is go-
    ing to be a man again.

    Thus began Zarathustra's down-going.

    Prologue (2) 2

    Zarathustra went down the mountain alone, no one meeting him.
    When he entered the forest, however, there suddenly stood before him
    an old man, who had left his holy hut to seek roots in the forest. And
    thus spoke the old man to Zarathustra:

    "No stranger to me is this wanderer: many years ago he passed by.

    Zarathustra he was called, but he has changed.

    Then you carried your ashes up to the mountains: will you now carry

    your fire into the valleys? Do you not fear the arsonist's punishment?

    Yes, I recognize Zarathustra. Pure are his eyes, and no loathing lurks

    around his mouth. Does he not move like a dancer?

    is Zarathustra; Zarathustra has become a child; an
    awakened one is Zarathustra: what will you do in the land of the sleep-

    As in the sea have you lived in solitude, and it has supported you.

    Alas, will you now go ashore? Alas, will you again haul your body by

    Zarathustra answered: "I love mankind."

    "Why," said the saint, "did I go into the forest and the desert? Was it
    not because I loved men far too well?

    Now I love God; men I do not love. Man is a thing too imperfect for

    me. Love of man would be fatal to me."

    Zarathustra answered: "Did I talk of love? I am bringing a gift to men."

    "Give them nothing," said the saint. "Instead, take part of their load,
    and carry it with them - that will be most agreeable to them: if only it is
    agreeable to you!

    If, however, you want to give something to them, give them no more

    than alms, and let them also beg for it!"

    "No," replied Zarathustra, "I give no alms. I am not poor enough for


    The saint laughed at Zarathustra, and spoke thus: "Then see to it that

    they accept your treasures! They are distrustful of hermits, and do not
    believe that we come with gifts.

    Our footsteps sound too lonely through the streets. And at night, when

    they are in bed and hear a man walking nearby long before sunrise, they
    may ask themselves: Where is this thief going?

    Do not go to men, but stay in the forest! Go rather to the animals! Why

    not be like me - a bear among bears, a bird among birds?"

    "And what does the saint do in the forest?" asked Zarathustra.

    The saint answered: "I make songs and sing them; and in making songs

    I laugh and weep and growl and hum: thus do I praise God.
    With singing, weeping, laughing, growling and humming do I praise
    the God who is my God. But what do you bring us as a gift?"

    When Zarathustra had heard these words, he bowed to the saint and

    said: "What should I have to give you?! Let me rather hurry away lest I
    take something away from you!" - And thus they parted from one anoth-
    er, the old man and Zarathustra, just like two laughing boys.

    When Zarathustra was alone, however, he said to his heart: "Could it

    be possible?! This old saint in the forest has not yet heard of it, that God
    is dead!"

    Prologue (3) 3

    When Zarathustra arrived at the nearest town which is close to the
    forest, he found many people assembled in the market-place, for it had
    been announced that a tightrope walker would give a performance. And
    Zarathustra spoke thus to the people:

    I teach you the overman. Man is something to be surpassed. What have

    you done to surpass him?

    All beings thus far have created something beyond themselves: and
    you want to be the ebb of this great tide, and even return to the beast
    rather than surpass man?

    What is the ape to man? A laughing-stock or a painful embarrassment.

    And just the same shall man be to the overman: a laughing-stock or a
    painful embarrassment.

    You have made your way from worm to man, and much inside you is

    still worm. Once you were apes, and still man is more of an ape than any
    of the apes.

    Even the wisest among you is only a conflict and mix of plant and

    ghost. But do I bid you become ghosts or plants?
    Behold, I teach you the overman!

    The overman is the meaning of the earth. Let your will say: The over-

    man shall be the meaning of the earth!

    I appeal to you, my brothers, remain true to the earth, and do not be-

    lieve those who speak to you of otherworldly hopes! Poisoners are they,
    whether they know it or not.

    Despisers of life are they, decaying and poisoned themselves, of whom

    the earth is weary: so let them pass away!

    Once sin against God was the greatest sin; but God died, and with him
    these sinners. To sin against the earth is now the most terrible sin, and to
    revere the entrails of the unknowable higher than the meaning of the

    Once the soul looked contemptuously on the body, and that contempt

    was supreme: the soul wished the body thin, hideous, and starved. Thus
    it thought to escape from the body and the earth.

    Oh, that soul was itself thin, hideous, and starved; and cruelty was the

    desire of that soul!

    But you, also, my brothers, tell me: What does your body say about

    your soul? Is your soul not poverty and dirt and wretched contentment?
    Truly, a dirty stream is man. One must be a sea, to receive a dirty
    stream without becoming unclean.

    Behold, I teach you the overman: he is this sea; in him your great con-

    tempt can pass under and away.
    What is your greatest experience? It is the hour of the great contempt.

    The hour in which even your happiness becomes repulsive to you, and

    even your reason and virtue.

    The hour when you say: "What good is my happiness! It is poverty and

    dirt and wretched contentment. But my happiness should justify exist-
    ence itself!"

    The hour when you say: "What good is my reason! does it long for

    knowledge as the lion for his food? It is poverty and dirt and wretched

    The hour when you say: "What good are my virtues?! As yet they have

    not made me rage with passion. How weary I am of my good and evil! It
    is all poverty and dirt and wretched contentment!"

    The hour when you say: "What good is my being just and right! I don't

    see myself as fire and coals. The just and the right, however, are fire and

    The hour when we say: "What good is my pity! Is not pity the cross on

    which he is nailed who loves man? But my pity is not a crucifixion."

    Have you ever spoken this way? Have you ever cried this way? Oh!

    that I could hear you cry like this!

    It is not your sin - it is your thrift that cries to heaven; it is the meanness

    of your sin that cries to heaven.

    Where is the lightning to lick you with its tongue? Where is the frenzy

    with which you should be inoculated?

    Behold, I teach you the overman: he is that lightning, he is that frenzy.

    When Zarathustra had thus spoken, one of the people called out:

    "We've heard enough of the tightrope walker; now let's see him also!"
    And all the people laughed at Zarathustra. But the tightrope walker,
    who thought the words were for him, began his performance.

    "We've heard enough of the tightrope walker; now let's see him also!"
    And all the people laughed at Zarathustra. But the tightrope walker,
    who thought the words were for him, began his performance.

    Prologue (4) 4

    Zarathustra, however, looked at the people and wondered. Then he
    spoke thus:

    Man is a rope stretched between animal and overman - a rope over an


    A dangerous crossing, a dangerous on-the-way, a dangerous looking-

    back, a dangerous trembling and stopping.

    What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not a goal: what can be

    loved in man is that he is an over-going and a down-going.

    I love those who know not how to live except as down-goers, for they

    are the over-goers.

    I love the great despisers, because they are the great reverers, and ar-

    rows of longing for the other shore.

    I love those who do not first seek a reason beyond the stars for going

    down and being sacrifices, but sacrifice themselves to the earth, that the
    earth of the overman may some day arrive.

    I love him who lives in order to know, and seeks to know in order that

    the overman may someday live. Thus he seeks his own down-going.

    I love him who works and invents, that he may build a house for the

    overman, and prepare for him earth, animal, and plant: for thus he seeks
    his own down-going.

    I love him who loves his virtue: for virtue is the will to down-going,

    and an arrow of longing.

    I love him who reserves no drop of spirit for himself, but wants to be

    entirely the spirit of his virtue: thus he walks as spirit over the bridge.

    I love him who makes his virtue his addiction and destiny: thus, for the

    sake of his virtue, he is willing to live on, or live no more.

    I love him who does not desire too many virtues. One virtue is more of

    a virtue than two, because it is more of a knot for one's destiny to cling

    I love him whose soul squanders itself, who wants no thanks and gives

    none back: for he always gives, and desires not to preserve himself.

    I love him who is ashamed when the dice fall in his favor, and who
    then asks: "Am I a dishonest player?" - for he is willing to perish.

    I love him who scatters golden words in front of his deeds, and always

    does more than he promises: for he seeks his own down-going.

    I love him who justifies those people of the future, and redeems those

    of the past: for he is willing to perish by those of the present.

    I love him who chastens his God, because he loves his God: for he must

    perish by the wrath of his God.

    I love him whose soul is deep even in being wounded, and may perish

    from a small experience: thus goes he gladly over the bridge.

    I love him whose soul is so overfull that he forgets himself, and all

    things are in him: thus all things become his down-going.

    I love him who is of a free spirit and a free heart: thus is his head only

    the entrails of his heart; his heart, however, drives him to go down.

    I love all who are like heavy drops falling one by one out of the dark

    cloud that hangs over man: they herald the coming of the lightning, and
    perish as heralds.

    Behold, I am a herald of the lightning, and a heavy drop out of the

    cloud: the lightning, however, is called overman.

    Prologue (5) 5

    When Zarathustra had spoken these words, he again looked at the
    people, and was silent. "There they stand," he said to his heart; "there
    they laugh: they do not understand me; I am not the mouth for these

    Must one first smash their ears, that they may learn to hear with their

    eyes? Must one clatter like kettledrums and preachers of repentance? Or
    do they only believe the stammerer?

    They have something of which they are proud. What do they call it,

    that which makes them proud? Education they call it; it distinguishes
    them from the goatherds.

    Therefore, they dislike to hear the word 'contempt' applied to them-

    selves. So I will appeal to their pride.

    I will speak to them of the most contemptible thing: that, however, is

    the last man!"

    And thus spoke Zarathustra to the people:

    It is time for man to set a goal for himself. It is time for man to plant the
    seed of his highest hope.

    His soil is still rich enough for it. But that soil will one day be poor and

    exhausted, and no lofty tree will any longer be able to grow on it.

    Alas. There will come a time when man will no longer launch the ar-

    row of his longing beyond man - and the string of his bow will have un-
    learned to whir!

    I say to you: one must still have chaos in oneself to give birth to a dan-

    cing star. I say to you: you still have chaos in yourself.

    Alas. There will come a time when man can no longer give birth to any

    star. Alas. There will come the time of the most despicable man, who can
    no longer despise himself.

    Behold. I show you the last man.

    "What is love? What is creation? What is longing? What is a star?" - so

    asks the last man and blinks.

    The earth has then become small, and on it there hops the last man

    who makes everything small. His race is as ineradicable as the flea; the
    last man lives longest.

    "We have invented happiness", say the last men, and they blink.

    They have left the regions where it was hard to live; for one needs

    warmth. One still loves one's neighbor and rubs against him; for one
    needs warmth.

    Becoming ill and being distrustful, they consider sinful: one proceeds

    carefully. He is a fool who still stumbles over stones or men!

    A little poison now and then: that makes pleasant dreams. And much

    poison in the end, for a pleasant death.

    One still works, for work is entertaining. But one is careful lest the en-

    tertainment should assault you.

    One no longer becomes poor or rich; both are too burdensome. Who

    still wants to rule? Who still wants to obey? Both are too burdensome.

    No shepherd and one herd! Everyone wants the same; everyone is the

    same: he who feels differently goes voluntarily into the madhouse.

    "Formerly all the world was insane", say the most refined, and they


    They are clever and know all that has happened: so there is no end to

    their mockery. People still quarrel, but they are soon reconciled - other-
    wise it might spoil their digestion.

    They have their little pleasures for the day, and their little pleasures for

    the night, but they have a regard for health.

    "We have invented happiness," say the last men, and they blink.

    And here ended the first discourse of Zarathustra, which is also called
    "The Prologue", for at this point the shouting and delight of the crowd
    interrupted him. "Give us this last man, O Zarathustra" - they called out -

    "Make us into these last men! Then will we make you a present of the

    overman!" And all the people laughed and clucked with their tongues.

    Zarathustra, however, grew sad, and said to his heart:

    "They don't understand me: I am not the mouth for these ears.

    Perhaps I have lived too long in the mountains; too long have I listened
    to the brooks and trees: now I speak to them as to the goatherds.

    Calm is my soul, and clear, like the mountains in the morning. But they

    think I am cold, and a mocker with fearful jokes.

    And now do they look at me and laugh: and while they laugh they hate

    me too. There is ice in their laughter."

  2. #2
    Super Moderator
    Join Date
    May 2014
    Bumfuck, Egypt

    Re: Thus spoke Zarathustra - Friedrich Nietzsche (1883)

    Not sure I understand it very well, but at least it's not a wall of text that hurt's your eyes looking at it...
    Every day I make the world a little bit worse.

  3. #3

    Re: Thus spoke Zarathustra - Friedrich Nietzsche (1883)

    That's understandable. Nietzsche loves to write in riddles. And sometimes translations are not precise. The word "overman" you may also know as "ubermensch". But you are not alone, I had to read it far more than just one time to understand it.

  4. #4

    Re: Thus spoke Zarathustra - Friedrich Nietzsche (1883)

    > Do not go to men, but stay in the forest!
    > Go rather to the animals!
    > Why
    not be like me - a bear among bears, a bird among birds?


    “And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul”
    (John Muir)

    To any of my MGTOW brethren: if you feel down, go walk in a nearby forest.
    I guarantee you will feel better.

  5. #5
    Senior Member mgtower's Avatar
    Join Date
    Mar 2019

    Re: Thus spoke Zarathustra - Friedrich Nietzsche (1883)

    Quote Originally Posted by end_of_days View Post
    > Do not go to men, but stay in the forest!
    > Go rather to the animals!
    > Why
    not be like me - a bear among bears, a bird among birds?


    “And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul”
    (John Muir)

    To any of my MGTOW brethren: if you feel down, go walk in a nearby forest.
    I guarantee you will feel better.
    Agreed! Except when a bear drags your trash down the road, rips it apart, leaves it, only to have the ravens rip it to shreds to clean it of any hidden morsel! Then there's the matter of hawks and eagles wanting your chickens for dinner, and the insects in summer that literally eat you alive, suck your blood, and give you nasty diseases.

    Other than that and a few other drawbacks it's much better than any city (ran by radical liberal wackos). I live with the natural assholes, they're better than the manmade assholes!
    Bundle up, boys, it's gonna be a long cold endless winter.

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