The Portable Nietzsche

by Friedrich Nietzsche

  To esteem is to create: hear this, you creators! Esteeming itself is of all esteemed things the most estimable treasure. Through esteeming alone is there value: and without esteeming, the nut of existence would be hollow. Hear this, you creators!

  Change of values—that is a change of creators. Whoever must be a creator always annihilates.

  First, peoples were creators; and only in later times, individuals. Verily, the individual himself is still the most recent creation.

  Once peoples hung a tablet of the good over themselves. Love which would rule and love which would obey have together created such tablets.

  The delight in the herd is more ancient than the delight in the ego; and as long as the good conscience is identified with the herd, only the bad conscience says: I.

  Verily, the clever ego, the loveless ego that desires its own profit in the profit of the many—that is not the origin of the herd, but its going under.

  Good and evil have always been created by lovers and creators. The fire of love glows in the names of all the virtues, and the fire of wrath.

  Zarathustra saw many lands and many peoples. No greater power did Zarathustra find on earth than the works of the lovers: “good” and “evil” are their names.

  Verily, a monster is the power of this praising and censuring. Tell me, who will conquer it, O brothers? Tell me, who will throw a yoke over the thousand necks of this beast?

  A thousand goals have there been so far, for there have been a thousand peoples. Only the yoke for the thousand necks is still lacking: the one goal is lacking. Humanity still has no goal.

  But tell me, my brothers, if humanity still lacks a goal—is humanity itself not still lacking too?

  Thus spoke Zarathustra.

  ON LOVE OF THE NEIGHBOR

  You crowd around your neighbor and have fine words for it. but i say unto you: your love of the neighbor is your bad love of yourselves. you flee to your neighbor from yourselves and would like to make a virtue out of that: but i see through your “selflessness.”

  The you is older than the I; the you has been pronounced holy, but not yet the I: so man crowds toward his neighbor.

  Do I recommend love of the neighbor to you? Sooner I should even recommend flight from the neighbor and love of the farthest. Higher than love of the neighbor is love of the farthest and the future; higher yet than the love of human beings I esteem the love of things and ghosts. This ghost that runs after you, my brother, is more beautiful than you; why do you not give him your flesh and your bones? But you are afraid and run to your neighbor.

  You cannot endure yourselves and do not love yourselves enough: now you want to seduce your neighbor to love, and then gild yourselves with his error. Would that you could not endure all sorts of neighbors and their neighbors; then you would have to create your friend and his overflowing heart out of yourselves.

  You invite a witness when you want to speak well of yourselves; and when you have seduced him to think well of you, then you think well of yourselves.

  Not only are they liars who speak when they know better, but even more those who speak when they know nothing. And thus you speak of yourselves to others and deceive the neighbor with yourselves.

  Thus speaks the fool: “Association with other people corrupts one’s character—especially if one has none.”

  One man goes to his neighbor because he seeks himself; another because he would lose himself. Your bad love of yourselves turns your solitude into a prison. It is those farther away who must pay for your love of your neighbor; and even if five of you are together, there is always a sixth who must die.

  I do not love your festivals either: I found too many actors there, and the spectators, too, often behaved like actors.

  I teach you not the neighbor, but the friend. The friend should be the festival of the earth to you and an anticipation of the overman. I teach you the friend and his overflowing heart. But one must learn to be a sponge if one wants to be loved by hearts that overflow. I teach you the friend in whom the world stands completed, a bowl of goodness—the creating friend who always has a completed world to give away. And as the world rolled apart for him, it rolls together again in, circles for him, as the becoming of the good through evil, as the becoming of purpose out of accident.

  Let the future and the farthest be for you the cause of your today: in your friend you shall love the overman as your cause.

  My brothers, love of the neighbor I do not recommend to you: I recommend to you love of the farthest.

  Thus spoke Zarathustra.

  ON THE WAY OF THE CREATOR

  Is it your wish, my brother, to go into solitude? Is it your wish to seek the way to yourself? Then linger a moment, and listen to me.

  “He who seeks, easily gets lost. All loneliness is guilt”—thus speaks the herd. And you have long belonged to the herd. The voice of the herd will still be audible in you. And when you will say, “I no longer have a common conscience with you,” it will be a lament and an agony. Behold, this agony itself was born of the common conscience, and the last glimmer of that conscience still glows on your affliction.

  But do you want to go the way of your affliction, which is the way to yourself? Then show me your right and your strength to do so. Are you a new strength and a new right? A first movement? A self-propelled wheel? Can you compel the very stars to revolve around you?

  Alas, there is so much lusting for the heights! There are so many convulsions of the ambitious. Show me that you are not one of the lustful and ambitious.

  Alas, there are so many great thoughts which do no more than a bellows: they puff up and make emptier.

  You call yourself free? Your dominant thought I want to hear, and not that you have escaped from a yoke. Are you one of those who had the right to escape from a yoke? There are some who threw away their last value when they threw away their servitude.

  Free from what? As if that mattered to Zarathustral But your eyes should tell me brightly: free for what?

  Can you give yourself your own evil and your own good and hang your own will over yourself as a law? Can you be your own judge and avenger of your law? Terrible it is to be alone with the judge and avenger of one’s own law. Thus is a star thrown out into the void and into the icy breath of solitude. Today you are still suffering from the many, being one: today your courage and your hopes are still whole. But the time will come when solitude will make you weary, when your pride will double up and your courage gnash its teeth. And you will cry, “I am alone!” The time will come when that which seems high to you will no longer be in sight, and that which seems low will be all-too-near; even what seems sublime to you will frighten you like a ghost. And you will cry, “All is false!”

  There are feelings which want to kill the lonely; and if they do not succeed, well, then they themselves must die. But are you capable of this—to be a murderer?

  My brother, do you know the word “contempt” yet? And the agony of your justice—being just to those who despise you? You force many to relearn about you; they charge it bitterly against you. You came close to them and yet passed by: that they will never forgive. You pass over and beyond them: but the higher you ascend, the smaller you appear to the eye of envy. But most of all they hate those who fly.

  “How would you be just to me?” you must say. “I choose your injustice as my proper lot.” Injustice and filth they throw after the lonely one: but, my brother, if you would be a star, you must not shine less for them because of that.

  And beware of the good and the just! They like to crucify those who invent their own virtue for themselves—they hate the lonely one. Beware also of holy simplicity! Everything that is not simple it considers unholy; it also likes to play with fire—the stake. And beware also of the attacks of your love! The lonely one offers his hand too quickly to whomever he encounters. To some people you may not give your hand, only a paw: and I desire that your paw should also have claws.

  But the worst enemy you can encounter will always be
you, yourself; you lie in wait for yourself in caves and woods.

  Lonely one, you are going the way to yourself. And your way leads past yourself and your seven devils. You will be a heretic to yourself and a witch and soothsayer and fool and doubter and unholy one and a villain. You must wish to consume yourself in your own flame: how could you wish to become new unless you had first become ashes!

  Lonely one, you are going the way of the creator: you would create a god for yourself out of your seven devils.

  Lonely one, you are going the way of the lover: yourself you love, and therefore you despise yourself, as only lovers despise. The lover would create because he despises. What does he know of love who did not have to despise precisely what he loved!

  Go into your loneliness with your love and with your creation, my brother; and only much later will justice limp after you.

  With my tears go into your loneliness, my brother. I love him who wants to create over and beyond himself and thus perishes.

  Thus spoke Zarathustra.

  ON LITTLE OLD AND YOUNG WOMEN

  “Why do you steal so cautiously through the twilight, Zarathustra? And what do you conceal so carefully under your coat? Is it a treasure you have been given? or a child born to you? Or do you yourself now follow the ways of thieves, you friend of those who are evil?”

  “Verily, my brother,” said Zarathustra, “it is a treasure I have been given: it is a little truth that I carry. But it is troublesome like a young child, and if I don’t hold my hand over its mouth, it will cry overloudly.

  “When I went on my way today, alone, at the hour when the sun goes down, I met a little old woman who spoke thus to my soul: ‘Much has Zarathustra spoken to us women too; but never did he speak to us about woman.’ And I answered her: ‘About woman one should speak only to men.’ Then she said: ‘Speak to me too of woman; I am old enough to forget it immediately.’ And I obliged the little old woman and I spoke to her thus:

  “Everything about woman is a riddle, and everything about woman has one solution: that is pregnancy. Man is for woman a means: the end is always the child. But what is woman for man?

  “A real man wants two things: danger and play. Therefore he wants woman as the most dangerous plaything. Man should be educated for war, and woman for the recreation of the warrior; all else is folly. The warrior does not like all-too-sweet fruit; therefore he likes woman: even the sweetest woman is bitter. Woman understands children better than man does, but man is more childlike than woman.

  “In a real man a child is hidden—and wants to play, Go to it, women, discover the child in man! Let woman be a plaything, pure and fine, like a gem, irradiated by the virtues of a world that has not yet arrived. Let the radiance of a star shine through your love! Let your hope be: May I give birth to the overman!

  “Let there be courage in your love! With your love you should proceed toward him who arouses fear in you. Let your honor be in your love! Little does woman understand of honor otherwise. But let this be your honor: always to love more than you are loved, and never to be second.

  “Let man fear woman when she loves: then she makes any sacrifice, and everything else seems without value to her. Let man fear woman when she hates: for deep down in his soul man is merely evil, while woman is bad. Whom does woman hate most? Thus spoke the iron to the magnet: ‘I hate you most because you attract, but are not strong enough to pull me to you.’

  “The happiness of man is: I will. The happiness of woman is: he wills. ‘Behold, just now the world became perfect!’—thus thinks every woman when she obeys out of entire love. And woman must obey and find a depth for her surface. Surface is the disposition of woman: a mobile, stormy film over shallow water. Man’s disposition, however, is deep; his river roars in subterranean caves: woman feels his strength but does not comprehend it.

  “Then the little old woman answered me: ‘Many fine things has Zarathustra said, especially for those who are young enough for them. It is strange: Zarathustra knows women little, and yet he is right about them. Is this because nothing is impossible with woman? And now, as a token of gratitude, accept a little truth. After all, I am old enough for it. Wrap it up and hold your hand over its mouth: else it will cry overloudly, this little truth.’

  “Then I said: ‘Woman, give me your little truth.’ And thus spoke the little old woman:

  " ‘You are going to women? Do not forget the whip!’ ”

  Thus spoke Zarathustra.

  ON THE ADDER’S BITE

  One day Zarathustra had fallen asleep under a fig tree, for it was hot, and had put his arms over his face. And an adder came and bit him in the neck, so that Zarathustra cried out in pain. When he had taken his arm from his face, he looked at the snake, and it recognized the eyes of Zarathustra, writhed awkwardly, and wanted to get away. “Oh no,” said Zarathustra, “as yet you have not accepted my thanks. You waked me in time, my way is still long.” “Your way is short,” the adder said sadly; “my poison kills.” Zarathustra smiled. “When has a dragon ever died of the poison of a snake?” he said. “But take back your poison. You are not rich enough to give it to me.” Then the adder fell around his neck a second time and licked his wound.

  When Zarathustra once related this to his disciples they asked: “And what, O Zarathustra, is the moral of your story?” Then Zarathustra answered thus:

  The annihilator of morals, the good and just call me: my story is immoral.

  But if you have an enemy, do not requite him evil with good, for that would put him to shame. Rather prove that he did you some good.

  And rather be angry than put to shame. And if you are cursed, I do not like it that you want to bless. Rather join a little in the cursing.

  And if you have been done a great wrong, then quickly add five little ones: a gruesome sight is a person single-mindedly obsessed by a wrong.

  Did you already know this? A wrong shared is half right. And he who is able to bear it should take the wrong upon himself.

  A little revenge is more human than no revenge. And if punishment is not also a right and an honor for the transgressor, then I do not like your punishments either.

  It is nobler to declare oneself wrong than to insist on being right—especially when one is right. Only one must be rich enough for that.

  I do not like your cold justice; and out of the eyes of your judges there always looks the executioner and his cold steel. Tell me, where is that justice which is love with open eyes? Would that you might invent for me the love that bears not only all punishment but also all guilt! Would that you might invent for me the justice that acquits everyone, except him that judges!

  Do you still want to hear this too? In him who would be just through and through even lies become kindness to others. But how could I think of being just through and through? How can I give each his own? Let this be sufficient for me: I give each my own.

  Finally, my brothers, beware of doing wrong to any hermit. How could a hermit forget? How could he repay? Like a deep well is a hermit. It is easy to throw in a stone; but if the stone sank to the bottom, tell me, who would get it out again? Beware of insulting the hermit. But if you have done so—well, then kill him too.

  Thus spoke Zarathustra.

  ON CHILD AND MARRIAGE

  I have a question for you alone, my brother: like a sounding lead, I cast this question into your soul that I might know how deep it is.

  You are young and wish for a child and marriage. But I ask you: Are you a man entitled to wish for a child? Are you the victorious one, the self-conqueror, the commander of your senses, the master of your virtues? This I ask you. Or is it the animal and need that speak out of your wish? Or loneliness? Or lack of peace with yourself?

  Let your victory and your freedom long for a child. You shall build living monuments to your victory and your liberation. You shall build over and beyond yourself, but first you must be built yourself, perpendicular in body and soul. You shall not only reproduce yourself, but produce something higher. May
the garden of marriage help you in that!

  You shall create a higher body, a first movement, a self-propelled wheel—you shall create a creator.

  Marriage: thus I name the will of two to create the one that is more than those who created it. Reverence for each other, as for those willing with such a will, is what I name marriage. Let this be the meaning and truth of your marriage. But that which the all-too-many, the superfluous, call marriage—alas, what shall I name that? Alas, this poverty of the soul in pair! Alas, this filth of the soul in pair! Alas, this wretched contentment in pair! Marriage they call this; and they say that their marriages are made in heaven. Well, I do not like it, this heaven of the superfluous. No, I do not like them—these animals entangled in the heavenly net. And let the god who limps near to bless what he never joined keep his distance from me! Do not laugh at such marriages! What child would not have cause to weep over its parents?

  Worthy I deemed this man, and ripe for the sense of the earth; but when I saw his wife, the earth seemed to me a house for the senseless. Indeed, I wished that the earth might tremble in convulsions when a saint mates with a goose.

  This one went out like a hero in quest of truths, and eventually he conquered a little dressed-up lie. His marriage he calls it.

  That one was reserved and chose choosily. But all at once he spoiled his company forever: his marriage he calls it.

  That one sought a maid with the virtues of an angel. But all at once he became the maid of a woman; and now he must turn himself into an angel.

  Careful I have found all buyers now, and all of them have cunning eyes. But even the most cunning still buys his wife in a poke.

  Many brief follies—that is what you call love. And your marriage concludes many brief follies, as a long stupidity. Your love of woman, and woman’s love of man—oh, that it were compassion for suffering and shrouded gods! But, for the most part, two beasts find each other.