The Gay Science The madman jumped into their midst and pierced them with his eyes. "Whither is God?" he cried; "I will tell you. We have killed him - you and I. All of us are his murderers. But how did we do this? How could we drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What were we doing when we unchained this earth from its sun? Whither is it moving now? Whither are we moving? Away from all suns? Are we not plunging continually? Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there still any up or down? Are we not straying as through an infinite nothing? Do we not feel the breath of empty space? Has it not become colder? Is not the night continually closing in on us? Do we not need to light lanterns in the morning? Do we hear nothing as yet of the noise of the gravediggers who are burying God? Do we smell nothing as yet of the divine decomposition? Gods, too, decompose. God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. 990304
Joana The person who knew everything...
The all knowing man...
He was not insane...
He was the only sane person that hever lived.
5446 bless you. 990719
Thus Spake Zarathustra Companions, the creator seeketh, not corpses - and not herds or
believers either. Fellow creators the creator seeketh - those who
grave new values on new tables.
kimmichael All nihilists are to be pitied.
I deserve as much.

by Friedrich Nietzsche

translated by Thomas Common


Zarathustra's Prologue


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 before the sun, and spake thus unto it:

Thou great star! What would be thy happiness if thou hadst not those

for whom thou shinest!

For ten years hast thou climbed hither unto my cave: thou wouldst

have wearied of thy light and of the journey, had it not been for

me, mine eagle, and my serpent.

But we awaited thee every morning, took from thee thine overflow,

and blessed thee for it.

Lo! I am weary of my wisdom, like the bee that hath gathered too

much honey; I need hands outstretched to take it.

I would fain bestow and distribute, until the wise have once more

become joyous in their folly, and the poor happy in their riches.

Therefore must I descend into the deep: as thou doest in the

evening, when thou goest behind the sea, and givest light also to

the nether-world, thou exuberant star!

Like thee must I go down, as men say, to whom I shall descend.

Bless me, then, thou tranquil eye, that canst behold even the

greatest happiness without envy!

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

golden out of it, and carry everywhere the reflection of thy bliss!

Lo! This cup is again going to empty itself, and Zarathustra is

again going to be a man.

Thus began Zarathustra's down-going.


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 cot to seek roots. And thus spake the old

man to Zarathustra:

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

Zarathustra he was called; but he hath altered.

Then thou carriedst thine ashes into the mountains: wilt thou now

carry thy fire into the valleys? Fearest thou not the incendiary's


Yea, I recognize Zarathustra. Pure is his eye, and no loathing

lurketh about his mouth. Goeth he not along like a dancer?

Altered is Zarathustra; a child hath Zarathustra become; an awakened

one is Zarathustra: what wilt thou do in the land of the sleepers?

As in the sea hast thou lived in solitude, and it hath borne thee

up. Alas, wilt thou now go ashore? Alas, wilt thou again drag thy body


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 to man would be fatal to me."

Zarathustra answered: "What spake I of love! I am bringing gifts

unto men."

"Give them nothing," said the saint. "Take rather part of their

load, and carry it along with them- that will be most agreeable unto

them: if only it be agreeable unto thee!

If, however, thou wilt give unto them, give them no more than an

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 spake thus: "Then see to it

that they accept thy treasures! They are distrustful of anchorites,

and do not believe that we come with gifts.

The fall of our footsteps ringeth too hollow through their

streets. And just as at night, when they are in bed and hear a man

abroad long before sunrise, so they ask themselves concerning us:

Where goeth the thief?

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

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

"And what doeth the saint in the forest?" asked Zarathustra.

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

I laugh and weep and mumble: thus do I praise God.

With singing, weeping, laughing, and mumbling do I praise the God

who is my God. But what dost thou bring us as a gift?"

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

said: "What should I have to give thee! Let me rather hurry hence lest

I take aught away from thee!"- And thus they parted from one

another, the old man and Zarathustra, laughing like schoolboys.

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

be possible! This old saint in the forest hath not yet heard of it,

that God is dead!"


When Zarathustra arrived at the nearest town which adjoineth the

forest, he found many people assembled in the market-place; for it had

been announced that a rope-dancer would give a performance. And

Zarathustra spake thus unto the people:

I teach you the Superman. Man is something that is to be

surpassed. What have ye done to surpass man?

All beings hitherto have created something beyond themselves: and ye

want to be the ebb of that great tide, and would rather go back to the

beast than surpass man?

What is the ape to man? A laughing-stock, a thing of shame. And just

the same shall man be to the Superman: a laughing-stock, a thing of


Ye have made your way from the worm to man, and much within you is

still worm. Once were ye apes, and even yet man is more of an ape than

any of the apes.

Even the wisest among you is only a disharmony and hybrid of plant

and phantom. But do I bid you become phantoms or plants?

Lo, I teach you the Superman!

The Superman is the meaning of the earth. Let your will say: The

Superman shall he the meaning of the earth!

I conjure you, my brethren, remain true to the earth, and believe

not those who speak unto you of superearthly hopes! Poisoners are

they, whether they know it or not.

Despisers of life are they, decaying ones and poisoned ones

themselves, of whom the earth is weary: so away with them!

Once blasphemy against God was the greatest blasphemy; but God died,

and therewith also those blasphemers. To blaspheme the earth is now

the dreadfulest sin, and to rate the heart of the unknowable higher

than the meaning of the earth!

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

contempt was the supreme thing:- the soul wished the body meagre,

ghastly, and famished. Thus it thought to escape from the body and the


Oh, that soul was itself meagre, ghastly, and famished; and

cruelty was the delight of that soul!

But ye, also, my brethren, tell me: What doth your body say about

your soul? Is your soul not poverty and pollution and wretched


Verily, a polluted stream is man. One must be a sea, to receive a

polluted stream without becoming impure.

Lo, I teach you the Superman: he is that sea; in him can your

great contempt be submerged.

What is the greatest thing ye can experience? It is the hour of

great contempt. The hour in which even your happiness becometh

loathsome unto you, and so also your reason and virtue.

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

and pollution and wretched self-complacency. But my happiness should

justify existence itself!"

The hour when ye say: "What good is my reason! Doth it long for

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

wretched self-complacency!"

The hour when ye say: "What good is my virtue! As yet it hath not

made me passionate. How weary I am of my good and my bad! It is all

poverty and pollution and wretched self-complacency!"

The hour when ye say: "What good is my justice! I do not see that

I am fervour and fuel. The just, however, are fervour and fuel!"

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

on which he is nailed who loveth man? But my pity is not a


Have ye ever spoken thus? Have ye ever cried thus? Ah! would that

I had heard you crying thus!

It is not your sin- it is your self-satisfaction that crieth unto

heaven; your very sparingness in sin crieth unto heaven!

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

frenzy with which ye should be inoculated?

Lo, I teach you the Superman: he is that lightning, he is that


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

"We have now heard enough of the rope-dancer; it is time now for us

to. see him!" And all the people laughed at Zarathustra. But the

rope-dancer, who thought the words applied to him, began his



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

spake thus:

Man is a rope stretched between the animal and the Superman- a

rope over an abyss.

A dangerous crossing, a dangerous wayfaring, a dangerous

looking-back, a dangerous trembling and halting.

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

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

I love those that 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 adorers,

and arrows 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 Superman may hereafter arrive.

I love him who liveth in order to know, and seeketh to know in order

that the Superman may hereafter live. Thus seeketh he his own


I love him who laboureth and inventeth, that he may build the

house for the Superman, and prepare for him earth, animal, and

plant: for thus seeketh he his own down-going.

I love him who loveth his virtue: for virtue is the will to

down-going, and an arrow of longing.

I love him who reserveth no share of spirit for himself, but wanteth

to be wholly the spirit of his virtue: thus walketh he as spirit

over the bridge.

I love him who maketh his virtue his inclination and destiny:

thus, for the sake of his virtue, he is willing to live on, or live no


I love him who desireth not 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 to.

I love him whose soul is lavish, who wanteth no thanks and doth

not give back: for he always bestoweth, and desireth not to keep for


I love him who is ashamed when the dice fall in his favour, and

who then asketh: "Am I a dishonest player?"- for he is willing to


I love him who scattereth golden words in advance of his deeds,

and always doeth more than he promiseth: for he seeketh his own


I love him who justifieth the future ones, and redeemeth the past

ones: for he is willing to succumb through the present ones.

I love him who chasteneth his God, because he loveth his God: for he

must succumb through the wrath of his God.

I love him whose soul is deep even in the wounding, and may

succumb through a small matter: thus goeth he willingly over the


I love him whose soul is so overfull that he forgetteth 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 bowels of his heart; his heart, however, causeth his


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

dark cloud that lowereth over man: they herald the coming of the

lightning, and succumb as heralds.

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

cloud: the lightning, however, is the Superman.-


When Zarathustra had spoken these words, he again looked at the

people, and was silent. "There they stand," said he to his heart;

"there they laugh: they understand me not; I am not the mouth for

these ears.

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

their eyes? Must one clatter like kettledrums and penitential

preachers? Or do they only believe the stammerer?

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

that which maketh them proud? Culture, they call it; it distinguisheth

them from the goatherds.

They dislike, therefore, to hear of 'contempt' of themselves. So I

will appeal to their pride.

I will speak unto them of the most contemptible thing: that,

however, is the last man!"

And thus spake Zarathustra unto the people:

It is time for man to fix his goal. It is time for man to plant

the germ of his highest hope.

Still is his soil 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 thereon.

Alas! there cometh the time when man will no longer launch the arrow

of his longing beyond man- and the string of his bow will have

unlearned to whizz!

I tell you: one must still have chaos in one, to give birth to a

dancing star. I tell you: ye have still chaos in you.

Alas! There cometh the time when man will no longer give birth to

any star. Alas! There cometh the time of the most despicable man,

who can no longer despise himself.

Lo! I show you the last man.

"What is love? What is creation? What is longing? What is a

star?"- so asketh the last man and blinketh.

The earth hath then become small, and on it there hoppeth the last

man who maketh everything small. His species is ineradicable like that

of the ground-flea; the last man liveth longest.

"We have discovered happiness"- say the last men, and blink thereby.

They have left the regions where it is hard to live; for they need

warmth. One still loveth one's neighbour and rubbeth against him;

for one needeth warmth.

Turning ill and being distrustful, they consider sinful: they walk

warily. He is a fool who still stumbleth over stones or men!

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

much poison at last for a pleasant death.

One still worketh, for work is a pastime. But one is careful lest

the pastime should hurt one.

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

still wanteth to rule? Who still wanteth to obey? Both are too


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

equal: he who hath other sentiments goeth voluntarily into the


"Formerly all the world was insane,"- say the subtlest of them,

and blink thereby.

They are clever and know all that hath happened: so there is no

end to their raillery. People still fall out, but are soon reconciled-

otherwise it spoileth their stomachs.

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

pleasures for the night, but they have a regard for health.

"We have discovered happiness,"- say the last men, and blink


And here ended the first discourse of Zarathustra, which is also

called "The Prologue", for at this point the shouting and mirth of the

multitude interrupted him. "Give us this last man, O Zarathustra,"-

they called out- "make us into these last men! Then will we make

thee a present of the Superman!" And all the people exulted and

smacked their lips. Zarathustra, however, turned sad, and said to

his heart:

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

Too long, perhaps, have I lived in the mountains; too much have I

hearkened unto the brooks and trees: now do I speak unto them as

unto the goatherds.

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

they think me cold, and a mocker with terrible jests.

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

me too. There is ice in their laughter."


Then, however, something happened which made every mouth mute and

every eye fixed. In the meantime, of course, the rope-dancer had

commenced his performance: he had come out at a little door, and was

going along the rope which was stretched between two towers, so that

it hung above the market-place and the people. When he was just midway

across, the little door opened once more, and a gaudily-dressed fellow

like a buffoon sprang out, and went rapidly after the first one. "Go

on, halt-foot," cried his frightful voice, "go on, lazy-bones,

interloper, sallow-face!- lest I tickle thee with my heel! What dost

thou here between the towers? In the tower is the place for thee, thou

shouldst be locked up; to one better than thyself thou blockest the

way!"- And with every word he came nearer and nearer the first one.

When, however, he was but a step behind, there happened the

frightful thing which made every mouth mute and every eye fixed- he

uttered a yell like a devil, and jumped over the other who was in

his way. The latter, however, when he thus saw his rival triumph, lost

at the same time his head and his footing on the rope; he threw his

pole away, and shot downward faster than it, like an eddy of arms

and legs, into the depth. The market-place and the people were like

the sea when the storm cometh on: they all flew apart and in disorder,

especially where the body was about to fall.

Zarathustra, however, remained standing, and just beside him fell

the body, badly injured and disfigured, but not yet dead. After a

while consciousness returned to the shattered man, and he saw

Zarathustra kneeling beside him. "What art thou doing there?" said

he at last, "I knew long ago that the devil would trip me up. Now he

draggeth me to hell: wilt thou prevent him?"

"On mine honour, my friend," answered Zarathustra, "there is nothing

of all that whereof thou speakest: there is no devil and no hell.

Thy soul will be dead even sooner than thy body; fear, therefore,

nothing any more!"

The man looked up distrustfully. "If thou speakest the truth,"

said he, "I lose nothing when I lose my life. I am not much more

than an animal which hath been taught to dance by blows and scanty


"Not at all," said Zarathustra, "thou hast made danger thy

calling; therein there is nothing contemptible. Now thou perishest

by thy calling: therefore will I bury thee with mine own hands."

When Zarathustra had said this the dying one did not reply

further; but he moved his hand as if he sought the hand of Zarathustra

in gratitude.


Meanwhile the evening came on, and the market-place veiled itself in

gloom. Then the people dispersed, for even curiosity and terror become

fatigued. Zarathustra, however, still sat beside the dead man on the

ground, absorbed in thought: so he forgot the time. But at last it

became night, and a cold wind blew upon the lonely one. Then arose

Zarathustra and said to his heart:

Verily, a fine catch of fish hath Zarathustra made to-day! It is not

a man he hath caught, but a corpse.

Sombre is human life, and as yet without meaning: a buffoon may be

fateful to it.

I want to teach men the sense of their existence, which is the

Superman, the lightning out of the dark cloud- man.

But still am I far from them, and my sense speaketh not unto their

sense. To men I am still something between a fool and a corpse.

Gloomy is the night, gloomy are the ways of Zarathustra. Come,

thou cold and stiff companion! I carry thee to the place where I shall

bury thee with mine own hands.


When Zarathustra had said this to his heart, he put the corpse

upon his shoulders and set out on his way. Yet had he not gone a

hundred steps, when there stole a man up to him and whispered in his

ear- and lo! he that spake was the buffoon from the tower. "Leave this

town, O Zarathustra," said he, "there are too many here who hate thee.

The good and just hate thee, and call thee their enemy and despiser;

the believers in the orthodox belief hate thee, and call thee a danger

to the multitude. It was thy good fortune to be laughed at: and verily

thou spakest like a buffoon. It was thy good fortune to associate with

the dead dog; by so humiliating thyself thou hast saved thy life

to-day. Depart, however, from this town,- or tomorrow I shall jump

over thee, a living man over a dead one." And when he had said this,

the buffoon vanished; Zarathustra, however, went on through the dark


At the gate of the town the grave-diggers met him: they shone

their torch on his face, and, recognising Zarathustra, they sorely

derided him. "Zarathustra is carrying away the dead dog: a fine

thing that Zarathustra hath turned a grave-digger! For our hands are

too cleanly for that roast. Will Zarathustra steal the bite from the

devil? Well then, good luck to the repast! If only the devil is not

a better thief than Zarathustra!- he will steal them both, he will eat

them both!" And they laughed among themselves, and put their heads


Zarathustra made no answer thereto, but went on his way. When he had

gone on for two hours, past forests and swamps, he had heard too

much of the hungry howling of the wolves, and he himself became

hungry. So he halted at a lonely house in which a light was burning.

"Hunger attacketh me," said Zarathustra, "like a robber. Among

forests and swamps my hunger attacketh me, and late in the night.

"Strange humours hath my hunger. Often it cometh to me only after

a repast, and all day it hath failed to come: where hath it been?"

And thereupon Zarathustra knocked at the door of the house. An old

man appeared, who carried a light, and asked: "Who cometh unto me

and my bad sleep?"

"A living man and a dead one," said Zarathustra. "Give me

something to eat and drink, I forgot it during the day. He that

feedeth the hungry refresheth his own soul, saith wisdom."

The old man withdrew, but came back immediately and offered

Zarathustra bread and wine. "A bad country for the hungry," said he;

"that is why I live here. Animal and man come unto me, the

anchorite. But bid thy companion eat and drink also, he is wearier

than thou." Zarathustra answered: "My companion is dead; I shall

hardly be able to persuade him to eat." "That doth not concern me,"

said the old man sullenly; "he that knocketh at my door must take what

I offer him. Eat, and fare ye well!"-

Thereafter Zarathustra again went on for two hours, trusting to

the path and the light of the stars: for he was an experienced

night-walker, and liked to look into the face of all that slept.

When the morning dawned, however, Zarathustra found himself in a thick

forest, and no path was any longer visible. He then put the dead man

in a hollow tree at his head- for he wanted to protect him from the

wolves- and laid himself down on the ground and moss. And

immediately he fell asleep, tired in body, but with a tranquil soul.


Long slept Zarathustra; and not only the rosy dawn passed over his

head, but also the morning. At last, however, his eyes opened, and

amazedly he gazed into the forest and the stillness, amazedly he gazed

into himself. Then he arose quickly, like a seafarer who all at once

seeth the land; and he shouted for joy: for he saw a new truth. And he

spake thus to his heart:

A light hath dawned upon me: I need companions- living ones; not

dead companions and corpses, which I carry with me where I will.

But I need living companions, who will follow me because they want

to follow themselves- and to the place where I will. A light hath

dawned upon me. Not to the people is Zarathustra to speak, but to

companions! Zarathustra shall not be the herd's herdsman and hound!

To allure many from the herd- for that purpose have I come. The

people and the herd must be angry with me: a robber shall

Zarathustra be called by the herdsmen.

Herdsmen, I say, but they call themselves the good and just.

Herdsmen, I say, but they call themselves the believers in the

orthodox belief.

Behold the good and just! Whom do they hate most? Him who breaketh

up their tables of values, the breaker, the lawbreaker:- he,

however, is the creator.

Behold the believers of all beliefs! Whom do they hate most? Him who

breaketh up their tables of values, the breaker, the law-breaker-

he, however, is the creator.

Companions, the creator seeketh, not corpses- and not herds or

believers either. Fellow-creators the creator seeketh- those who grave

new values on new tables.

Companions, the creator seeketh, and fellow-reapers: for

everything is ripe for the harvest with him. But he lacketh the

hundred sickles: so he plucketh the ears of corn and is vexed.

Companions, the creator seeketh, and such as know how to whet

their sickles. Destroyers, will they be called, and despisers of

good and evil. But they are the reapers and rejoicers.

Fellow-creators, Zarathustra seeketh; fellow-reapers and

fellow-rejoicers, Zarathustra seeketh: what hath he to do with herds

and herdsmen and corpses!

And thou, my first companion, rest in peace! Well have I buried thee

in thy hollow tree; well have I hid thee from the wolves.

But I part from thee; the time hath arrived. 'Twixt rosy dawn and

rosy dawn there came unto me a new truth.

I am not to be a herdsman, I am not to be a grave-digger. Not any

more will I discourse unto the people; for the last time have I spoken

unto the dead.

With the creators, the reapers, and the rejoicers will I

associate: the rainbow will I show them, and all the stairs to the


To the lone-dwellers will I sing my song, and to the twain-dwellers;

and unto him who hath still ears for the unheard, will I make the

heart heavy with my happiness.

I make for my goal, I follow my course; over the loitering and tardy

will I leap. Thus let my on-going be their down-going!


This had Zarathustra said to his heart when the sun stood at

noon-tide. Then he looked inquiringly aloft,- for he heard above him

the sharp call of a bird. And behold! An eagle swept through the air

in wide circles, and on it hung a serpent, not like a prey, but like a

friend: for it kept itself coiled round the eagle's neck.

"They are mine animals," said Zarathustra, and rejoiced in his


"The proudest animal under the sun, and the wisest animal under

the sun,- they have come out to reconnoitre.

They want to know whether Zarathustra still liveth. Verily, do I

still live?

More dangerous have I found it among men than among animals; in

dangerous paths goeth Zarathustra. Let mine animals lead me!

When Zarathustra had said this, he remembered the words of the saint

in the forest. Then he sighed and spake thus to his heart:

"Would that I were wiser! Would that I were wise from the very

heart, like my serpent!

But I am asking the impossible. Therefore do I ask my pride to go

always with my wisdom!

And if my wisdom should some day forsake me:- alas! it loveth to fly

away!- may my pride then fly with my folly!"

Thus began Zarathustra's down-going.


1. The Three Metamorphoses

THREE metamorphoses of the spirit do I designate to you: how the

spirit becometh a camel, the camel a lion, and the lion at last a


Many heavy things are there for the spirit, the strong

load-bearing spirit in which reverence dwelleth: for the heavy and the

heaviest longeth its strength.

What is heavy? so asketh the load-bearing spirit; then kneeleth it

down like the camel, and wanteth to be well laden.

What is the heaviest thing, ye heroes? asketh the load-bearing

spirit, that I may take it upon me and rejoice in my strength.

Is it not this: To humiliate oneself in order to mortify one's

pride? To exhibit one's folly in order to mock at one's wisdom?

Or is it this: To desert our cause when it celebrateth its

triumph? To ascend high mountains to tempt the tempter?

Or is it this: To feed on the acorns and grass of knowledge, and for

the sake of truth to suffer hunger of soul?

Or is it this: To be sick and dismiss comforters, and make friends

of the deaf, who never hear thy requests?

Or is it this: To go into foul water when it is the water of

truth, and not disclaim cold frogs and hot toads?

Or is it this: To love those who despise us, and give one's hand

to the phantom when it is going to frighten us?

All these heaviest things the load-bearing spirit taketh upon

itself: and like the camel, which, when laden, hasteneth into the

wilderness, so hasteneth the spirit into its wilderness.

But in the loneliest wilderness happeneth the second

metamorphosis: here the spirit becometh a lion; freedom will it

capture, and lordship in its own wilderness.

Its last Lord it here seeketh: hostile will it be to him, and to its

last God; for victory will it struggle with the great dragon.

What is the great dragon which the spirit is no longer inclined to

call Lord and God? "Thou-shalt," is the great dragon called. But the

spirit of the lion saith, "I will."

"Thou-shalt," lieth in its path, sparkling with gold- a

scale-covered beast; and on every scale glittereth golden, "Thou


The values of a thousand years glitter on those scales, and thus

speaketh the mightiest of all dragons: "All the values of things-

glitter on me.

All values have already been created, and all created values- do I

represent. Verily, there shall be no 'I will' any more. Thus

speaketh the dragon.

My brethren, wherefore is there need of the lion in the spirit?

Why sufficeth not the beast of burden, which renounceth and is


To create new values- that, even the lion cannot yet accomplish: but

to create itself freedom for new creating- that can the might of the

lion do.

To create itself freedom, and give a holy Nay even unto duty: for

that, my brethren, there is need of the lion.

To assume the ride to new values- that is the most formidable

assumption for a load-bearing and reverent spirit. Verily, unto such a

spirit it is preying, and the work of a beast of prey.

As its holiest, it once loved "Thou-shalt": now is it forced to find

illusion and arbitrariness even in the holiest things, that it may

capture freedom from its love: the lion is needed for this capture.

But tell me, my brethren, what the child can do, which even the lion

could not do? Why hath the preying lion still to become a child?

Innocence is the child, and forgetfulness, a new beginning, a

game, a self-rolling wheel, a first movement, a holy Yea.

Aye, for the game of creating, my brethren, there is needed a holy

Yea unto life: its own will, willeth now the spirit; his own world

winneth the world's outcast.

Three metamorphoses of the spirit have I designated to you: how

the spirit became a camel, the camel a lion, and the lion at last a


Thus spake Zarathustra. And at that time he abode in the town

which is called The Pied Cow.

2. The Academic Chairs of Virtue

PEOPLE commended unto Zarathustra a wise man, as one who could

discourse well about sleep and virtue: greatly was he honoured and

rewarded for it, and all the youths sat before his chair. To him

went Zarathustra, and sat among the youths before his chair. And

thus spake the wise man:

Respect and modesty in presence of sleep! That is the first thing!

And to go out of the way of all who sleep badly and keep awake at


Modest is even the thief in presence of sleep: he always stealeth

softly through the night. Immodest, however, is the night-watchman;

immodestly he carrieth his horn.

No small art is it to sleep: it is necessary for that purpose to

keep awake all day.

Ten times a day must thou overcome thyself: that causeth wholesome

weariness, and is poppy to the soul.

Ten times must thou reconcile again with thyself; for overcoming

is bitterness, and badly sleep the unreconciled.

Ten truths must thou find during the day; otherwise wilt thou seek

truth during the night, and thy soul will have been hungry.

Ten times must thou laugh during the day, and be cheerful; otherwise

thy stomach, the father of affliction, will disturb thee in the night.

Few people know it, but one must have all the virtues in order to

sleep well. Shall I bear false witness? Shall I commit adultery?

Shall I covet my neighbour's maidservant? All that would ill

accord with good sleep.

And even if one have all the virtues, there is still one thing

needful: to send the virtues themselves to sleep at the right time.

That they may not quarrel with one another, the good females! And

about thee, thou unhappy one!

Peace with God and thy neighbour: so desireth good sleep. And

peace also with thy neighbour's devil! Otherwise it will haunt thee in

the night.

Honour to the government, and obedience, and also to the crooked

government! So desireth good sleep. How can I help it, if power liketh

to walk on crooked legs?

He who leadeth his sheep to the greenest pasture, shall always be

for me the best shepherd: so doth it accord with good sleep.

Many honours I want not, nor great treasures: they excite the

spleen. But it is bad sleeping without a good name and a little


A small company is more welcome to me than a bad one: but they

must come and go at the right time. So doth it accord with good sleep.

Well, also, do the poor in spirit please me: they promote sleep.

Blessed are they, especially if one always give in to them.

Thus passeth the day unto the virtuous. When night cometh, then take

I good care not to summon sleep. It disliketh to be summoned- sleep,

the lord of the virtues!

But I think of what I have done and thought during the day. Thus

ruminating, patient as a cow, I ask myself: What were thy ten


And what were the ten reconciliations, and the ten truths, and the

ten laughters with which my heart enjoyed itself?

Thus pondering, and cradled by forty thoughts, it overtaketh me

all at once- sleep, the unsummoned, the lord of the virtues.

Sleep tappeth on mine eye, and it turneth heavy. Sleep toucheth my

mouth, and it remaineth open.

Verily, on soft soles doth it come to me, the dearest of thieves,

and stealeth from me my thoughts: stupid do I then stand, like this

academic chair.

But not much longer do I then stand: I already lie.-

When Zarathustra heard the wise man thus speak, he laughed in his

heart: for thereby had a light dawned upon him. And thus spake he to

his heart:

A fool seemeth this wise man with his forty thoughts: but I

believe he knoweth well how to sleep.

Happy even is he who liveth near this wise man! Such sleep is

contagious- even through a thick wall it is contagious.

A magic resideth even in his academic chair. And not in vain did the

youths sit before the preacher of virtue.

His wisdom is to keep awake in order to sleep well. And verily, if

life had no sense, and had I to choose nonsense, this would be the

desirablest nonsense for me also.

Now know I well what people sought formerly above all else when they

sought teachers of virtue. Good sleep they sought for themselves,

and poppy-head virtues to promote it!

To all those belauded sages of the academic chairs, wisdom was sleep

without dreams: they knew no higher significance of life.

Even at present, to be sure, there are some like this preacher of

virtue, and not always so honourable: but their time is past. And

not much longer do they stand: there they already lie.

Blessed are those drowsy ones: for they shall soon nod to sleep.-

Thus spake Zarathustra.

3. Backworldsmen

ONCE on a time, Zarathustra also cast his fancy beyond man, like all

backworldsmen. The work of a suffering and tortured God, did the world

then seem to me.

The dream- and diction- of a God, did the world then seem to me;

coloured vapours before the eyes of a divinely dissatisfied one.

Good and evil, and joy and woe, and I and thou- coloured vapours did

they seem to me before creative eyes. The creator wished to look

away from himself,- thereupon he created the world.

Intoxicating joy is it for the sufferer to look away from his

suffering and forget himself. Intoxicating joy and self-forgetting,

did the world once seem to me.

This world, the eternally imperfect, an eternal contradiction's

image and imperfect image- an intoxicating joy to its imperfect

creator:- thus did the world once seem to me.

Thus, once on a time, did I also cast my fancy beyond man, like

all backworldsmen. Beyond man, forsooth?

Ah, ye brethren, that God whom I created was human work and human

madness, like all the gods!

A man was he, and only a poor fragment of a man and ego. Out of mine

own ashes and glow it came unto me, that phantom. And verily, it

came not unto me from the beyond!

What happened, my brethren? I surpassed myself, the suffering one; I

carried mine own ashes to the mountain; a brighter flame I contrived

for myself. And lo! Thereupon the phantom withdrew from me!

To me the convalescent would it now be suffering and torment to

believe in such phantoms: suffering would it now be to me, and

humiliation. Thus speak I to backworldsmen.

Suffering was it, and impotence- that created all backworlds; and

the short madness of happiness, which only the greatest sufferer


Weariness, which seeketh to get to the ultimate with one leap,

with a death-leap; a poor ignorant weariness, unwilling even to will

any longer: that created all gods and backworlds.

Believe me, my brethren! It was the body which despaired of the

body- it groped with the fingers of the infatuated spirit at the

ultimate walls.

Believe me, my brethren! It was the body which despaired of the

earth- it heard the bowels of existence speaking unto it.

And then it sought to get through the ultimate walls with its

head- and not with its head only- into "the other world."

But that "other world" is well concealed from man, that dehumanised,

inhuman world, which is a celestial naught; and the bowels of

existence do not speak unto man, except as man.

Verily, it is difficult to prove all being, and hard to make it

speak. Tell me, ye brethren, is not the strangest of all things best


Yea, this ego, with its contradiction and perplexity, speaketh

most uprightly of its being- this creating, willing, evaluing ego,

which is the measure and value of things.

And this most upright existence, the ego- it speaketh of the body,

and still implieth the body, even when it museth and raveth and

fluttereth with broken wings.

Always more uprightly learneth it to speak, the ego; and the more it

learneth, the more doth it find titles, and honours for the body and

the earth.

A new pride taught me mine ego, and that teach I unto men: no longer

to thrust one's head into the sand of celestial things, but to carry

it freely, a terrestrial head, which giveth meaning to the earth!

A new will teach I unto men: to choose that path which man hath

followed blindly, and to approve of it- and no longer to slink aside

from it, like the sick and perishing!

The sick and perishing- it was they who despised 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 bypaths 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 midnight 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.

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


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; it is

a more upright and pure voice.

More uprightly and purely speaketh the healthy body, perfect and

square-built; and it speaketh of the meaning of the earth.-

Thus spake Zarathustra.

4. 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.

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 compareth, 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 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 therefore 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.

5. 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 thyself 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 and stammer: "That is my good, that do I love, thus

doth it please me entirely, thus only do I 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 prudence 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. 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


Once hadst thou wild dogs in thy cellar: but they changed at last

into birds and charming songstresses.

Out of thy poisons brewedst thou balsam for thyself; thy cow,

affliction, milkedst thou- now drinketh thou the sweet milk of her


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 back-biting

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.

Jealous is every virtue of the others, and a dreadful thing is

jealousy. Even virtues may succumb by jealousy.

He whom the flame 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


Man is something that hath to be surpassed: and therefore shalt thou

love thy virtues,- for thou wilt succumb by them.-

Thus spake Zarathustra.

6. 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 to the Superman: thus will ye justify your own


"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. Madness 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 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 interpreted 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!

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.

7. 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


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 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


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 she-asses.

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 butterflies, and

soap-bubbles, and whatever is like them amongst us, seem most to enjoy


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. 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.

8. 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 thereupon 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.

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


"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

pardons 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! How I hate him who flieth! How tired I am on the


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 u
MollyGoLightly Enjoyed reading the nietzsche, felt extremely empowered...til i found out that the man was violently misogynist.

Was never much on joining clubs that don't want me as a member.
birdmad that, and in the end he was known to have deep conversations with his horse.

but then again, i've been known, on occasion, to argue with my cat.
Brad "Without music, life would be a mistake" Misogynist, yes, but he had this one right. 000505
lisa_is_bionic Re-absorption of semen into the blood makes for strength. 000526
Quiggz Bob is dead also. i killed him. I chopped him up into little peices and hid him in the walls.
God was a creation of man, and destroyed by man. His need was no longer required. I think that's what Nietzche was trying to say. But think about that... It's so true, (whether or not "God is dead") that humans just toss what they've outgrown. why not find better uses for things?
ladybird Bob's dead?!?! aww shit!! I don't believe in nothing no more....!! 010517
"Ancient Pagan" GOD is very much alive and presently Nietschze is extremaly dead but his writings live on and God still looms above our petty theologies. GOD created Nietschze and his wisdom is a gift. So did God create Plato, Kant, Plotinus and and Jung though their ideas do not always agree. Wisdom is ubiquitous! Does God not transcend religion? Was not God there before Man, religion and even this Cosmic Cycle? Religion and Atheism are two extremes of a misguided attempt at comprehending the Ultimate. We are not qualified to say with absolute certainty what exists (save perhaps a few things). We must intelligently inspect WHAT IS and from there, with respect to all, choose faith in what we venture to believe. Plato, the foundation of Western thought, displayed in his shorter dialogues (i.e. Euthyphro) that very, very little can actually be known! 020507
nocturnal I am so obsessed with this man. I disagree with his views of women, but I think it has to be taken in context of his time. I think that if he was alive now he'd feel differently. he's an absolute genius in my opinion and I can never get enough of him. my friend got me a collection of his basic works for my birthday. I just finished birth of tragedy last week. a couple weeks before that I finished human, all too human. I just love the guy. 020507
reenz "God is dead."

"Nietzsche is dead."
Soulbird i loved your comment reenz. So true he says GOD is dead? Who knows... we cant prove any of his teachings..But he is dead (nietzsche) and that can be proven!! LOL what a kook he was.. well i hope for his sake he is right (no god belief)...would really suck if there was really fire and brimestone and the pitch fork in the ass wouldnt it? Sure wouldnt want to spend his eternity.LOL 020611
User24 without knowing a great deal about nietzsche, can i ask if he ever defined what this dead god was?

If 'god' is an omnipotent being, and nietzsche said he never existed, then we are forced to believe that mankind is dead, being the most powerful being known of (except god, if you believe in it)
jane i think what nietzsche meant by "god is dead" was something beyond. the only god he ever knew about was the one that oppressed people, drove them by guilt. he believed in being passionate about life. so by saying god was dead, he was really talking about god as people knew the word--that a new conciousness was arising and would prevail. 020613
User24 I see. 020617
hellen Find out for yourself: project_gutenberg_books_online

Despite being a syphilis-ridden old coot, I think Nietzsche had something there. Mommy, I want to be an Ubermensch when I grow up!

As for me, I wouldn't join any club that would have me as a member. ;)
hellen link didn't work. here:,%20Friedrich%20Wilhelm&whole=yes&ftpsite=
rubydeestarredout "one must have chaos within one's self if one is to be a dancing star." 030709
phil The sun doesn't give a fuck idiot.
Nrrow mindedned asshole, find something else to talk about. I'm with the old man, I would rather die than read any longer.
gad no one has anyhting to say about the antichrist?
beyond good and evil?
stork daddy the absolute is dead. or perhaps more accurately, the absolute's subject to us all and like our egos can rise and fall, conquer or vanish. perhaps was a precursor to foucault's knowledge is power. the superman realizes that god dies with him. actually i never read that stuff. 031110
it_always_rains_on_the_unloved Whoever battles with monsters had better see that it does not turn him into a monster. And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.
-freidrich nietzsche

the man may have been a bastard towards women, but he sure was a damn good philosopher
nocturnal not a misogynist. he merely felt that men and women had different understandings of and roles in the world. that theirs was inferior was most likely due to the influences of both schopenhauer and the time period. he was friends with highly respectable women such as Lou Andreas-Salome who was an accomplished writer and critic.
did not have "deep conversations" with his horse. that comes from when he saw a horse being beaten by its driver and nietzsche ran over and hugged it to try to protect it, and in doing so, he lost consciousness. the unfortunate conincidence, however, is that thereafter his mental state depleted at an increasing rate - the horse thing, however, was not an act of insanity but rather of kindness.

god is dead implies not that god never existed, as to die one must have lived. rather he means that people have replaced god with science and thereby have killed him.

any more nietzsche questions? incidentally this helps as I have a midterm on birth of tragedy and gay science tomorrow. nietzsche forum is now officially open.
.nom perhaps i should read 050202
z i carry his given name as a middle name. a philosophical joke between my parents. 050202
.nom .

i'm attracted to 'his idea of'/'his take on' eternal occurrence/recurrence.
i should read all above the above blathes.
i plan on reading beyond good and evil. i read some reviews and checked a few paragraphs,...looks interesting. never read it (or him) before (i don't think). don't really know much about him or his work.

read this last week:

reading various e-biographies, he seems to have had quite poor health.

i think the death of his father and then his brother must've been quite traumatic for him as a child.
likewise his horse-accident/chest injury in 1868?, and the experience of war (and illness) in 1870?.

any and all of that would've been enough to qualify him for the possibility of ptsd.

was googling about his health&death and found:
according to a report in the telegraph in 2003: "...A study of medical records has found that, far from suffering a sexually-transmitted disease which drove him mad, Nietzsche almost certainly died of brain cancer..."

i just read a pdf of the doctor's report, was interesting.

also, i think, his father is also said to possibly've had brain cancer, or something.

and who knows what 'medications' he was on?
.nom ("'medications' he was on" as far as any possible negative side effects/interactions) 050208
. "...1856...Fall: FN is given leave from school due to headaches and eyestrain. His aunts recommend that he relieve his eyestrain by bathing his eyes with Kornbranntwein. FN spends much of his free time at the piano...."

"...1861...From January 16 through February 17, FN is ill. He suffers from a variety of pains, including fever, which is diagnosed as "rheumatic sore throat and headache." He writes on February 16: "Ich habe es nun wahrhaftig satt mit diesen Kopfschmerzen; es wird nicht besser und kommt immer wieder. Die kleinste Anstrengung des Kopfes macht mir Schmerzen...Ich habe schon dran gedacht, ob ich nicht lieber ein Paar Wochen in Naumburg zubringe und mich da durch Spazierengehen kurire" [I'm now truly fed up with these headaches; they don't get any better and continually return. The tiniest exertion causes me pain... I've been thinking whether it wouldn't be better to spend a few weeks in Naumburg and cure myself by taking walks...FN is indeed give leave to go home to complete his cure, returning to Pforta on February 23..."

"...1862...Spends a week in the infirmary in both January and February due to headaches. Additional stays in the Pforta infirmary include five days in March ("Katarrh"), a week in June (again catarrh), a over a week in August (headache, after this bout FN is again allowed to recover at home in Naumburg), and four days in November (called rheumatism)..."

"...1868...In early March FN suffers a mishap while on horseback: after a jump he slams he chest against his saddle horn. The result is a serious chest wound that festers and refuses to heal. Eventually bits of bone emerge from the wound. In late June he consults the surgeon Volkmann. The wound eventually begins to get better and by late July Volkmann declares FN healed. The injury brings to an end his year of military service..."

" late March, FN suffers from a toothache; Cosima strongly advises against extraction: "Niemals einen Zahn ausreissen lassen! Die Lücke welche entsteht gefährdet den nächstehenden..." [Never get a tooth extracted! The gap that ensues endangers the one next to it...FN is on the front approximately a week: near Wörth on August 28, in Pont a Mousson on September 1, Sedan September 2 (Napoleon III is captured on September 3). After accompanying a single medical transport, FN becomes ill with diphtheria and does not return to the front. He is sick in Karlsruhe September 4-6; he is moved to the Hotel Wallfisch in Erlangen on September 6. Spends from 15 September to 21 October recovering in Naumburg..."

"...1871...January 1 through February 15: Basel...FN complains of various physical aliments. In early February, for medical reasons, FN obtains leave for the remainder of the semester...August 4 to September 25: Basel...FN complains in a letter to his mother about his health..."

"...1873...Complains of often working with eye- and headaches. For much of May and June, FN is unable to write for himself. He dictates to Gersdorff the manuscripts for Über Wahrheit und Lüge im aussermoralischen Sinne [On truth and lie in the extramoral sense] and the first Betrachtung...November 3 through December 19: Basel...Lectures for winter semester 1873/74: lecture: introduction to the study of classical philology (which, even though there are students, is cancelled due to FN's ill health..."

"...1874...First half of August: Bayreuth...FN arrives in Bayreuth ill and takes to bed in a hotel. Wagner brings him to his house and FN feels much better on the following day..."

"...1875...July 15 until August 12: Cure in Steinabad...FN travels to the Black Forest region to take a cure for his physical ailments. While there, FN consults with Dr. Josef Wiel, who diagnoses FN as having "chronic stomach catarrh." Wiel is able to alleviate FN's symptoms to some extent, especially the stomach discomfort, by recommending an involved dietary regime. Overbeck, Rohde and Gersdorff travel to Bayreuth to hear the rehearsals of Wagner's Ring. FN, due to ill health, is unable to join them...Mid-August through December: Basel...Despite his cure, FN still suffers instances of headache and stomach discomfort. On September 20 he writes: "Die vorigen Woche lief schlimm für mich ab, ich war vom ersten Tag an krank und musste Donnerstag und Freitag im Bette zubringen." [Last week was a bad one for me, from the first day I was sick and had to spend Thursday and Friday in bed...Late December: a new decline in FN's health, with discomfort both in the eyes and stomach."

"...1876...January through early March: Basel...On January 2, FN submits a request to be relieved of his teaching responsibilites at the Pädagogium for semester due to health reasons. It is granted with retention of salary. For the same health reasons, FN has difficulty conducting his university courses due to headaches, and must interrupt them in February. He writes to Rohde: "Mein Kopf ist immer noch schlimm daran, ich kann nicht lesen und schreiben, und habe jetzt alle Vorlesungen aufgegeben, seit voriger Woche. Eine hübsiche Thierquälerei!" [It still goes badly with my head, I can't read or write, and have now since last week given up all lecturing. A pretty piece of animal torture!...His mother (from 18 February to 30 March) and Gersdorff (6 to 29 March) travel to Basel to assist him. FN also remarks about his situation: " geht mir eher schlechter als besser; wie einer, der sich unter der doppelten Tyrannei des Schmerzes und der Langeweile befindet, es erwarten muss." [I am worse rather than better; as one, who finds himself under the double tyranny of pain and boredom, must expect...Mid-April through July: Basel...FN's health is a bit more stable during this time; "nur wollen die Augen ihren Dienst nicht thun." [just the eyes want to be derelict...October through December: Sorrent...During this time, FN learns of the death of his grandmother Johanna Whilhelmine Oehler (1794-1876) and of Ritschl. FN's own health is mixed. In the beginning of November, he is still plagued by the usual headaches (possibly caused by the strain of seeing the Wagners?); in the middle of the month, things take a favorable turn; yet in early December FN writes to Overbeck: "Lieber getreuer Freund, es ist mir, nach einem Aufblitzen eines besseren Zustandes, wieder so schlecht, so anhaltend schlecht ergangen, dass ich noch gar nicht zu hoffen wage." [Dear faithful friend, after the sudden onset of a better condition, I am again so sick, so continually sick, that I hardly dare to hope."

"...1877...September through December: Basel...On 5 October, FN travels to Frankfurt, where he undergoes a thorough medical examination by Dr. Otto Eiser and ophthamologist Dr. Krüger. They detect damage to the nerves in the eyes and recommend the "absolute avoidance of reading and writing for many years."..."

"...1878...Early March through April 23: Baden-Baden, Naumburg...On March 7th, FN is relieved of his teaching responsibilities at the Pädagogium in Basel due to reasons of health. He undertakes a hydrotherapeutic cure in Baden-Baden...Late September through mid-October: Naumburg...Visit by Schmeitzner, who is alarmed by FN's appearance. FN is plagued by the usual round of pains in the eyes and stomach...Mid-October through December: Basel...FN's wretched health continues; he pays for lectures and seminar sessions with days in bed with severe headaches. In spite of all that, FN is able to complete a fresh collection of aphorisms. Marie Baumgartner transcribes them. This collection is then sent to Schmeitzner as a "new years greeting" at the end of December..."

"...1879...January through March: Basel...FN's year begins with a low point in his health; his letters are filled with descriptions of his physical misery. Remarks such as this one in a letter from February 9 are typical: "Drei Tage konnte ich nicht eine Zeile schreiben, wieder sehr schlimm, auch die ganze Woche schlecht..." [Three days I could not write a single line, again very badly off, felt poor the entire week... (Chronik p. 444)] And from late February: "..seitdem habe ich unbeschreiblich gelitten. Ein 4tägiger und ein 6tägiger Anfall der allerhärtesten Art --- Erbrechen über Erbrechen dabei..." [since then I have suffered indescribably. A 4-day and a 6-day attack of the most brutal kind --- attack upon attack of nausea. (Chronik p. 444)]...To Gersdorff Cosima remarks that she has learned, through FN's sister, that FN is mentally ill. (Chronik p. 443)...Mid-March through mid-April: Geneva FN departs for a second stay in Geneva on March 22. This vacation does little to improve his health; he writes Overbeck: "Mein Leben ist mehr Torture als Erholung" [My life is more torture than recuperation]. In a letter to Rée, initial speculation about resigning his professorship due to ill health...Yet FN directs Overbeck to announce his courses for the coming semester...Mid-April through late May: Basel, Schloß Bremgarten...FN returns to Basel and on May 2 submits his resignation on grounds of ill health. This is officially accepted on June 14, along with an official expression of regret and thanks...End of May through September 17: Wiesen and St. Moritz...In spite of continual headaches and other aliments, FN composes a new set of aphorisms, which he sends to Gast in September for a clean transcription. Yet he despairs of recovery; to his mother he makes a remark typical of his correspondence of this period: "An Genesung ist gar nicht zu denken, es ist sehr viel, wenn ich es erträglicher habe." [Recovery is out of the question, it's much just when things are bearable..."

"...1880...January through early February: Naumburgstill...beset by ill health. Writes to Overbeck: "Es gieng schlecht, ich konnte nicht diese paar Zeilen schreiben ... Oh dieser Winter! (Im letzten Jahre hatte ich 118 schwere Anfallstage)." ["It has been going poorly, I could barely write these few lines... O this winter! (in the past year I had 118 days of significant illness)"]..."

"...1881...October through December: Genoa...FN suffers from continued ill health..."

"...1882...End of April: Rome...FN, due to a dip in health, remains in Rome with Rée until May 5...First half of May: Orta, Basel, Luzern...May 8-12: FN visits Overbeck unannounced in Basel. Overbeck is much surprised by FN's good spirits and relative good health..."

"...1883...January through late February: Rapallo...FN's tendency to swing between states of depression and high spirits illustrated at the outset of 1883: having concluded 1882 with severe depression, FN, enthused by several weeks of good health, completes a clean copy of the first part of Zarathustra...Late February through early May: Genoa...FN in a cheerful frame of mind; weather and health agreeable...October to November: Basel, Genua, La Spezia...FN's health declines. Dissatisfied with the weather in Genua, FN leaves it for the last time. Travels to Nice, which will become his winter residence for the next four years...Late November and December: Villafranca, Nice...Health still poor; to Overbeck on December 26: "Krank, krank, krank!" [Ill, ill, ill!]"

"...1884...Mid-June to mid-July: Basel, Val Piora, Zürich...FN reveals the concept of eternal recurrence to Overbeck during his Basel visit. Overbeck, writing nearly twenty years later, recalled the incident: "Gegen mich hat Nietzsche die ersten Enthüllungen über seine Lehre von der Wiederk[un]ft bei einem Aufenthalt in Basel im Sommer 1884, laut werden lassen, d.h. damals hat er zuerst, krank in einem Bette des Hotel's zum Weissen Kreuz liegend, ganz in der mysteriösen Weise, wie er es auch früher bei Frau Andreas nach ihrem Zeugnis gethan hatte, mit unheimlich flüsternder Stimme als ob er ein ungeheueres Geheimniss verkündete...Rohde...von der Verwendung der Lehre bei N. in keiner anderen Weise etwas wissen wollte, als wie von einem Symptom der Erkrankung N's." [It was during a stay in Basel in the summer of 1884 that FN uttered the first revelations of his teaching of the eternal return in my presence, that is, for the first time, lying ill in a bed in the White Cross Hotel, in a very mysterious manner, just as he did with Mrs. Andreas (Lou von Salome) according to her recollection, with an uncanny whispering voice, as if he was announcing a colossal secret... for Rohde... FN's use of this teaching was nothing other than a symptom of FN's illness. (Overbeck, Werke und Nachlass, Vol 7/2, p. 113)]..."

"...1885...Mid-November through December: Nice...FN enjoys the climate in Nice, but misses his friends..."

"...1889...Early January: Turin, Basel...January 3-6: FN sends the so-called "Wahnbriefe" [lit., madness letters]. 6 Jan: Jacob Burckhardt visits Overbeck, showing him a letter and expressing concern. Overbeck writes to FN in Turin, asking FN to come to Basel at once. 7 Jan: Overbeck receives another Wahnbrief and consults Dr. Ludwig Wille, director of the Psychiatric Clinic in Basel. They agree that FN must be brought back to Basel at once; Overbeck undertakes a trip to Turin. Overbeck arrives to find FN in the full grip of his insanity, sitting on a sofa and reading the proofs for Nietzsche contra Wagner. Overbeck arranges to have a Dr. Bettmann, a dentist, help him bring FN to Basel. 10 Jan: FN is brought to Basel and delivered to Wille's clinic. 13 Jan: Franziska Nietzsche arrives in Basel and stays at the Overbecks' residence. Within a week's time (on January 17), FN is transferred to Binswanger's clinic in Jena. FN will remain in the Jena clinic until 24 March 1890. Overbeck is clear about the finality of FN's insanity, writing in a letter "Mit Nietzsche ist es aus!" [Nietzsche is finished!] verbeck arranges to have a Dr. Bettmann, a dentist, help him bring FN to Basel. 10 Jan: FN is brought to Basel and delivered to Wille's clinic. 13 Jan: Franziska Nietzsche arrives in Basel and stays at the Overbecks' residence. Within a week's time (on January 17), FN is transferred to Binswanger's clinic in Jena. FN will remain in the Jena clinic until 24 March 1890. Overbeck is clear about the finality of FN's insanity, writing in a letter "Mit Nietzsche ist es aus!" [Nietzsche is finished!]...Mid-January through December: Jena...Over the next months, FN's condition improves slightly, although the doctors remain pessimistic about recovery. On 23 September Binswanger reports to Overbeck: "...als er zusammenhängender spricht und Erregung mit Schreien etc. seltener sind. Wechselnde Wahnideen treten noch immer auf, auch Gehörshalluzinationen bestehen noch... Seine Umgebung erkennt er nur zum Teil, s. z. B. bezeichnet er den Oberwärter als Fürst Bismarck etc. Er weiß nicht genau, wo er ist... Die Aussichten auf Genesung sind allerdings gering, aber noch nicht völlig zu verneinen." [that he (FN) speaks more coherently and that the episodes with screaming are more seldom. Different delirious notions appear continually, and auditory hallucinations still occur... he recognizes his environment only partially, e.g., he calls the chief orderly Prince Bismarck etc. He does not know exactly where he is... The prospects for recovery are certainly minimal, but cannot yet be fully ruled out.]...In November the eccentric Julius Langbehn arrives on the scene. In the following year, Langbehn will anonymously publish his book Rembrandt als Erzieher ["Rembrandt as Educator," a title deliberately chosen after FN's work on Schopenhauer], a book that in a single year's time goes through 25 editions and sells over 66,000 copies. Claiming that FN is not really sick but is just neglected by the doctors, he offers to cure FN, offering Franziska hope when all other doctors could only be pessimistic. He begins by taking FN out for walks and FN seems to respond favorably. Langbehn demands, however, complete authority over FN. He begins to discredit himself through his own eccentric behavior. While visiting in late February 1890, Overbeck finally convinces Franziska that Langbehn cannot cure her son, and Langbehn returns to Dresden..."

"...1890...January through mid-May: Jena...Early in the year, FN's condition stabilizes and improves. Heinrich Köselitz (aka Peter Gast) visits for a month, beginning on 20 January, and is joined on 16 February by FN's mother Franziska. FN spends from 9 am to 6 pm with his mother in her rented room. Overbeck comes to visit from 23 to 25 February, and can spend hours with FN in the streets of Jena. Of this he writes: "In diesem Verkehr hätte uns ein ganz fremder Dritter, abgesehen von einigen Narreteien in Nietzsches Gebähren... kaum zu irgend welchen befremdenden Beobachtungen Anlaß finden mögen. Für ihn konnten wir zwei alte Freunde sein, und nur ich wußte, daß unser Verkehr nur noch ausschließlich von einer Vergangenheit lebte." [a stranger, aside from some foolishness in Nietzsche's gestures... could have had hardly any cause to observe anything odd. For him we could have been two old friends, and only I knew that our social interactions lived completely in the past...]During this late February visit, Overbeck manages to end Langbehn's escapades with FN. Overbeck also has a conference with Dr. Binswanger. Binswinger tells Overbeck in confidence that he is convinced that FN's madness is due to syphillis. Overbeck mentioned Binswanger's assertion in a letter to Köselitz in May, 1905. [Hoffmann, p. 7]
Mid-May through December: Naumburg...Franziska rents a new set of rooms so that she can move FN out of the Jena institution entirely. On March 24, Franziska and FN move into these rooms; FN is never again in institutionalized care. All goes well until May, when one day FN wanders out of the house alone. After searching for several hours, Franziska finally finds him accompanied by a policeman. This incident causes Franziska to move FN back to her home in Naumburg on May 13. "

"...1891...Naumburg...Early in the year, FN's condition deteriorates; the "gains" made in early 1890 now begin gradually to fade. In early February Köselitz visits FN in Naumburg. To Carl Fuchs he writes "Ich glaube... daß er jetzt, wenn auch langsam, immer mehr in Apathie versinkt. Anstatt einer Antwort, erhält man ein Lachen oder bloßes Kopfnicken, sehr eigentümlich" [I think... that he (FN) is sinking, even if only gradually, ever deeper into apathy. Instead of an answer you get a laugh or a nodding of the head, very peculiar] and to Overbeck: "Im vorigen Jahr hörte ich ihn am Klavier spielen und erstaunte noch über die Logik und Steigerung in seinen Improvisationen: in diesem Jahr war das alles dahin. Er hat gar kein rhythmisches Gefühl mehr, alles is verworren und falsch." [Last year I heard him play the piano and was astonished by the logic and development of his improvisations: this year that's all gone. He no longer has any kind of feeling of rhythm, everything is confused and false]

"...1893...Naumburg...N's deterioration continues. Franziska reluctantly discontinues the two daily walks, up to this point an important part of their routine. A stiffness in the back and an aimless rubbing of his side marks the advance of FN's paralysis. Early in the year Franziska renovates her house to accommodate the new methods of care now needed by her patient. He is also given to repeating certain phrases, such as "mehr Licht" [more light] and "summarisch tot" [summarily dead] and will now sometimes ask his mother "Heißt du Franziska vielleicht?" [are you by chance named Franziska?]..."

"...1895...Naumburg...On September 24, Overbeck visits FN for the last time. FN's condition has deteriorated to the point that he recognizes only his mother, the servant Alwine, and his sister Elisabeth. Of this final visit Overbeck wrote: "Er verließ die ganze Zeit nicht seinen Krankenstuhl, sprach mit mir kein Wort... und machte mir überhaupt den Eindruck eines todeswunden, edlen Tiers, das sich in den Winkel zurückgezogen, in dem es nur noch zu verenden denkt." [He never left his chair the entire time, spoke not a word to me... and left me with the general impression of a mortally wounded, noble animal that has withdrawn into a corner with the sole intent of ending its life.]..."

"...1896...Naumburg...Steiner is admitted to the Nietzsche presence on January 22nd. In his notebook entry for that date, Steiner wrote: "Habe eben Nietzsche gesehen. Er lag auf dem Sofa, wie ein Denker, der müde ist und ein lang gehegtes Problem liegend weiterdenkt...Sein Aussehen ist das eines völlig gesunden. Keine Blässe. Kein weißes Haar. Der mächtige Schnurrbart wie auf dem Zarathustrabilde. O, diese mächtige Sirn, Denker und Künstler zugleich verratend... Friede des Weisen um sich verbreitend. Man glaubt hinter dieser Stirne die ganze gewaltige Gedankenwelt schlummernd." [Have just seen Nietzsche. He lay on the sofa, like a thinker who is tired and continues to think through a problem, long wrestled with, lying down. His appearance is that of a healthy person. No paleness. No white hair. The powerful mustache as in the Zarathustra picture. O, this powerful forehead, simultaneously betraying thinker and artist. Radiating the peace of the sage. One has the impression of a powerful world of thought lying hibernating behind this forehead. Hoffmann, p. 185. The "Zarathustra picture" is that of Nietzsche from 1882; it was printed in the first complete Zarathustra edition of 1882.]..."

"...1897...January to mid-July: Naumburg...After a two month illness, Franziska Nietzsche dies on 20 April. FN is by this time so mentally absent that he does not notice her absence...Mid-July through December: Weimar...FN is moved from Naumburg to Weimar on July 17. Accordingly to one account, Elisabeth rented a special railway car and traveled during the night. Apparently, this move of NF's to Weimar created a local stir; residents of the town hung around Silberblick, hoping for a sighting of the then famous philosopher. The son of Ludwig von Scheffler, an acquaintance from the Basel days, rushes home from school to report "Papa weißt Du? Droben ist ein wahnsinniger Philosoph eingezogen!" [Daddy, know what? A crazy philosopher has moved in over there!] [Chronik, p. 798] In mid-August, FN attempts to write something for the last time. It is the first few lines of his poem that concludes Jenseits von Gut und Böse..."

"...1898...Weimar...August: Elisabeth invites Dr. Theodore Ziehen to give his opinion on FN's condition. Ziehen pronounces FN as incurable..."

"...1900...Weimar...Friedrich Nietzsche dies on 25 August 1900..."

excerpts from:

died on my birthday
.nom (note about my comments earlier: i'm not/wasn't saying he had ptsd, but that i would be surprised if some/all of those (traumatic) events didn't, in some way, affect/further affect his health.) 050209
jane "Can an ass be tragic? To perish under a burden one can neither bear nor throw off? The case of the philosopher."

-Twilight of the Idols
() (i think it is well established that he died of syphilis) 050209
.nom did you read the report i mentioned z? 050209
. db=PubMed&list_uids=12522502&dopt=Abstract 050209
oops hope this works 050209
.nom no, nevermind that last one wasn't it either.

the proper entry says:

"...J Med Biogr. 2003 Feb;11(1):47-54.

What was the cause of Nietzsche's dementia?

Sax L.

Montgomery Center for Research in Child and Adolescent Development, Montgomery County, Maryland, USA.

Many scholars have argued that Nietzsche's dementia was caused by syphilis. A careful review of the evidence suggests that this consensus is probably incorrect. The syphilis hypothesis is not compatible with most of the evidence available. Other hypotheses--such as slowly growing right-sided retro-orbital meningioma--provide a more plausible fit to the evidence..."

here's the media report:
.nom i'm trying to find anything else more current that refutes that report. 050209
. 050209
nom "The cause of Nietzsche's breakdown has been the subject of speculation and remains uncertain. An early and frequent diagnosis was a syphilitic infection; however, some of Nietzsche's symptoms were inconsistent with typical cases of syphilis. Another diagnosis was a form of brain cancer. Others suggest that Nietzsche experienced a mystical awakening, similar to ones studied by Meher Baba. While most commentators regard Nietzsche's breakdown as irrelevant to his philosophy, some, including Georges Bataille, argue that the breakdown must be considered."
- wikipedia
Just me...always just me. I don't think it was a coincidence that Ecco Homo was on my night-table the night I took too much acid and found that I was God, and dead. 070724
They call me Truth cool dude. indeed many should be as interesting. 070725
hideous for Jades sake, i don't need bank robberies, i need a yellow bucket thats all, shove your red carpet up your arse.

and where is my surf board on a rainy day ?
it's too big, lets go to San Fran the way hippies do.
jane one of the more ridiculous fights we had.

he had been in a shitty mood all day, or had been ignoring me, or had snapped at me, or some combination of the above. consequently, i was yes well kind of in a bad mood.
we sat down to watch "ravenous."
the movie begins with a quote by nietzsche: "He that fights with monsters should look to himself that he does not become a monster." this is followed by a quote by anonymous: "eat me"
as he was laughing, i pointed out that nietzsche was spelled Nietzche and this was incorrect. man, was that a bad idea. "are you incapable of enjoying Anything today?!"
i had the urge to point out that he was the one who was in the bad mood in the first place, and that had been the catalyst for my bad mood, or that i think things like typos in widely-distributed motion pictures are funny, but my foot was already generously lodged in my mouth.
and the other thing is, i would like to see the film again, but i am afraid of him remembering this episode as well as me - and not being able to enjoy.

{ regrets_that_still_make_my_stomach_turn }
dafremen Nietzsche resembles nothing if not a deluded musician playing a bagpipe with a moth-eaten bag. The unobservant notice the boldness of his notes, and the clever quickness of his playing..while the truth of his tune is found only by those open-eyed enough to see the unwanted holes in the bladder of his instrument, attentive enough to hear the hiss of escaping air that the piper is frantically trying to compensate for.

Nietzsche is little more than an ego draped in its nonexistent condition..desperately trying to argue the opposite in a vain attempt to mask its lack of substance.
n o m 121211
2006 "Abstract
For a long time it was thought that Nietzsche suffered from general paralysis of the insane (GPI). However, this diagnosis has been questioned recently, and alternative diagnoses have been proposed.
We have charted Friedrich Nietzsche's final fatal illness, and viewed the differential diagnosis in the light of recent neurological understandings of dementia syndromes.
It is unclear that Nietzsche ever had syphilis. He lacked progressive motor and other neurological features of a progressive syphilitic central nervous system (CNS) infection and lived at least 12 years following the onset of his CNS signs, which would be extremely rare for patients with untreated GPI. Finally, his flourish of productivity in 1888 would be quite uncharacteristic of GPI, but in keeping with reports of burgeoning creativity at some point in the progression of frontotemporal dementia (FTD).
We suggest that Nietzsche did not have GPI, but died from a chronic dementia, namely FTD."
also this from a university in belgium in 2008 121211
n o m (cadasil theory) 121211
n o m "Conclusions : Friedrich Nietzsche’s disease consisted
of migraine, psychiatric disturbances, cognitive decline
with dementia, and stroke. Despite the prevalent opinion
that neurosyphilis caused Nietzsche’s illness, there is
lack of evidence to support this diagnosis. Cerebral autosomal dominant arteriopathy with subcortical infarcts
and leukoencephalopathy (CADASIL) accounts for all
the signs and symptoms of Nietzsche’s illness."
dafremen How many intellectuals have made Nietzsche their religion? In the end, it only helps bolster the ego's case for godhood..prolonging the reign of stupidity masked as brilliance.

Yea, Nietzsche. You're a real genius, asshole, thanks.
unhinged man that argued that humans don't need religion becomes a postmodern religion...hhhmmm

just another notch in my argument that religion is the true difference between man and monkey

i wonder what he would say about some stupidity going around the internet that german men are effeminate...
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