the Happy Isles
(1844 - 1900)
sublime one saw I today, a solemn one, a penitent of the
spirit: Oh, how my soul laughed at his ugliness! (thus
THE figs fall from the trees,
they are good and sweet; and in falling the red skins of them
break. A north wind am I to ripe figs.
Thus, like figs, do these doctrines
fall for you, my friends: imbibe now their juice and their
sweet substance! It is autumn all around, and clear sky, and
Lo, what fullness is around
us! And out of the midst of superabundance, it is delightful
to look out upon distant seas.
Once did people say God, when
they looked out upon distant seas; now, however, have I taught
you to say, Superman.
God is a conjecture: but I
do not wish your conjecturing to reach beyond your creating
Could ye create a God?- Then,
I pray you, be silent about all gods! But ye could well create
Not perhaps ye yourselves,
my brethren! But into fathers and forefathers of the Superman
could ye transform yourselves: and let that be your best creating!God
is a conjecture: but I should like your conjecturing restricted
to the conceivable.
Could ye conceive a God?- But
let this mean Will to Truth unto you, that everything be transformed
into the humanly conceivable, the humanly visible, the humanly
sensible! Your own discernment shall ye follow out to the
And what ye have called the
world shall but be created by you: your reason, your likeness,
your will, your love, shall it itself become! And verily,
for your bliss, ye discerning ones!
And how would ye endure life
without that hope, ye discerning ones? Neither in the inconceivable
could ye have been born, nor in the irrational.
But that I may reveal my heart
entirely unto you, my friends: if there were gods, how could
I endure it to be no God! Therefore there are no gods.
Yea, I have drawn the conclusion;
now, however, doth it draw me.God is a conjecture: but who
could drink all the bitterness of this conjecture without
dying? Shall his faith be taken from the creating one, and
from the eagle his flights into eagle-heig hts?
God is a thought- it maketh
all the straight crooked, and all that standeth reel. What?
Time would be gone, and all the perishable would be but a
To think this is giddiness
and vertigo to human limbs, and even vomiting to the stomach:
verily, the reeling sickness do I call it, to conjecture such
Evil do I call it and misanthropic:
all that teaching about the one, and the plenum, and the unmoved,
and the sufficient, and the imperishable!
All the imperishable- that's
but a simile, and the poets lie too much.But of time and of
becoming shall the best similes speak: a praise shall they
be, and a justification of all perishableness!
Creating- that is the great
salvation from suffering, and life's alleviation. But for
the creator to appear, suffering itself is needed, and much
Yea, much bitter dying must
there be in your life, ye creators! Thus are ye advocates
and justifiers of all perishableness.
For the creator himself to
be the new-born child, he must also be willing to be the child-bearer,
and endure the pangs of the child-bearer.
Verily, through a hundred souls
went I my way, and through a hundred cradles and birth-throes.
Many a farewell have I taken; I know the heart-breaking last
But so willeth it my creating
Will, my fate. Or, to tell you it more candidly: just such
a fate- willeth my Will.
All feeling suffereth in me,
and is in prison: but my willing ever cometh to me as mine
emancipator and comforter.
Willing emancipateth: that
is the true doctrine of will and emancipation- so teacheth
No longer willing, and no longer
valuing, and no longer creating! Ah, that that great debility
may ever be far from me!
And also in discerning do I
feel only my will's procreating and evolving delight; and
if there be innocence in my knowledge, it is because there
is will to procreation in it.
Away from God and gods did
this will allure me; what would there be to create if there
But to man doth it ever impel
me anew, my fervent creative will; thus impelleth it the hammer
to the stone.
Ah, ye men, within the stone
slumbereth an image for me, the image of my visions! Ah, that
it should slumber in the hardest, ugliest stone!
Now rageth my hammer ruthlessly
against its prison. From the stone fly the fragments: what's
that to me?
I will complete it: for a shadow
came unto me- the stillest and lightest of all things once
came unto me!
The beauty of the superman
came unto me as a shadow. Ah, my brethren! Of what account
now are- the gods to me!Thus spake Zarathustra.
qu'on fait n'est jamais compris mais seulement loué ou blâmé.
Nietzsche, Gay Science