Thus Spake Zarathustra: A Book for All and None

By Friedrich Nietzsche

Page 35

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 up high
above man and beast.

And if it wanted to speak, it would have none who could understand it:
so high hath it grown.

Now it waiteth and waiteth,--for what doth it wait? It dwelleth too
close to the seat of the clouds; it waiteth perhaps for the first

When Zarathustra had said this, the youth called out with violent
gestures: "Yea, Zarathustra, thou speakest the truth. My destruction
I longed for, when I desired to be on the height, and thou art the
lightning for which I waited! Lo! what have I been since thou hast
appeared amongst us? It is mine envy of thee that hath destroyed
me!"--Thus spake the youth, and wept bitterly. Zarathustra, however, put
his arm about him, and led the youth away with him.

And when they had walked a while together, Zarathustra began to speak

It rendeth my heart. Better than thy words express it, thine eyes tell
me all thy danger.

As yet thou art not free; thou still SEEKEST freedom. Too unslept hath
thy seeking made thee, and too wakeful.

On the open height wouldst thou be; for the stars thirsteth thy soul.
But thy bad impulses also thirst for freedom.

Thy wild dogs want liberty; they bark for joy in their cellar when thy
spirit endeavoureth to open all prison doors.

Still art thou a prisoner--it seemeth to me--who deviseth liberty
for himself: ah! sharp becometh the soul of such prisoners, but also
deceitful and wicked.

To purify himself, is still necessary for the freedman of the spirit.
Much of the prison and the mould still remaineth in him: pure hath his
eye still to become.

Yea, I know thy danger. But by my love and hope I conjure thee: cast not
thy love and hope away!

Noble thou feelest thyself still, and noble others also feel thee still,
though they bear thee a grudge and cast evil looks. Know this, that to
everybody a noble one standeth in the way.

Also to the good, a noble one standeth in the way: and even when they
call him a good man, they want thereby

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Text Comparison with The Case Of Wagner, Nietzsche Contra Wagner, and Selected Aphorisms.

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to step aside from the general track now trodden by Europeans.
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Anyone else may perhaps be able to get on without Wagner: but the philosopher is not free to pass him by.
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Bizet's music seems to me perfect.
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cry of Don Jose with which the work ends: "Yes, it is I who have killed her, I--my adored Carmen!" --Such a conception of love (the only one worthy of a philosopher) is rare: it distinguishes one work of art from among a thousand others.
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To philosophers, however, this horizon, like every other, is a mere misunderstanding, a sort of slamming of the door in the face of the real beginning of their world,--their danger, their ideal, their desideratum.
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Let us suppose that Wagner's _success_ could become flesh and blood and assume a human form; that, dressed up as a good-natured musical savant, it could move among budding artists.
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A few of them would convince even our intestines (--they _throw open_ doors, as Handel would say), others becharm our very marrow.
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Passion--or the acrobatic feats of ugliness on the tight-rope of enharmonic--My friends, let us dare to be ugly! Wagner dared it! Let us heave the mud of the most repulsive harmonies undauntedly before us.
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{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~} A lexicon of Wagner's most intimate phrases--a host of short fragments of from five to fifteen bars each, of music which _nobody knows_.
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Even talent is out of the question.
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I have given the Germans the deepest books that they have ever possessed--a sufficient reason for their not having understood a word of them.
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--Within the narrow sphere of the so-called moral values, no greater antithesis could be found than that of _master-morality_ and the morality of _Christian_ valuations: the latter having grown out of a thoroughly morbid soil.
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For the stage, this mob art _par excellence_, my soul has that deepest scorn felt by every artist to-day.
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that at this very moment we are living in a reaction, _in the heart itself_ of a reaction.
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--In this respect one should not allow one's self to be misled by Wagner himself--it was simply disgraceful on Wagner's part to scoff at Paris, as he did, in its agony in 1871.
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{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~} Was there no German at that time who had the eyes to see, and the sympathy in his soul to feel, the ghastly nature of this spectacle? Was I the only one who _suffered_ from it?--Enough, the unexpected event, like a flash of lightning, made me see only too clearly what kind of a place it was that I had just left,--and it also made me shudder as a man shudders who unawares has just escaped a great danger.
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This sympathising invariably deceives itself as to its power; woman would like to believe that love can do _everything_--it is the _superstition_ peculiar to her.
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The more subtle people amongst us actually do reject it even now.
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_ 16 What Schiller said of Goethe.