查拉图斯特拉如是说英文全文

2021年1月14日发(作者：李媛媛)

查拉图斯特拉如是说英文全文

查拉图斯特拉如是说 英文版 Thus Spake
Zarathustra
尼采 Friedrich Nietzsche
Introduction by Mrs Forster-Nietzsche. Page 1


HOW ZARATHUSTRA CAME INTO BEING.

is my brother's most personal
work; it is the history of his most individual
experiences, of his friendships, ideals, raptures,
bitterest disappointments and sorrows. Above it
all, however, there soars, transfiguring it, the
image of his greatest hopes and remotest aims.
My brother had the figure of Zarathustra in his
mind from his very earliest youth: he once told
me that even as a child he had dreamt of him. At
different periods in his life, he would call this
haunter of his dreams by different names;
in the end,
had to do a PERSIAN the honour of
identifying him with this creature of my fancy.



important because they reared such a vast
number of great individuals. How was this
possible? The question is one which ought to be
studied.


to the rearing of the individual man, and among
the Greeks the conditions were unusually
favourable for the development of the individual;
not by any means owing to the goodness of the
people, but because of the struggles of their evil
instincts.

THE HELP OF FAVOURABLE
MEASURES GREAT INDIVIDUALS MIGHT
BE REARED WHO WOULD BE BOTH
DIFFERENT FROM AND HIGHER THAN
THOSE WHO HERETOFORE HAVE OWED
THEIR EXISTENCE TO MERE CHANCE.
Here we may still be hopeful: in the rearing of
exceptional men.


The notion of rearing the Superman is only a
new form of an ideal Nietzsche already had in
his youth, that
SHOULD LIE IN
(or, as
ITS
he
HIGHEST
writes in INDIVIDUALS

constantly to be striving to produce great
men--this and nothing else is its duty.
ideals he most revered in those days are no
longer held to be the highest types of men. No,
around this future ideal of a coming
humanity--the Superman--the poet spread the
veil of becoming. Who can tell to what glorious
heights man can still ascend? That is why, after
having tested the worth of our noblest
ideal--that of the Saviour, in the light of the new
valuations, the poet cries with passionate
emphasis in


have I seen both of them, the greatest and the

smallest man:--

All-too-similar are they still to each other. Verily
even the greatest found I--all-too-human!

The phrase
very often been misunderstood. By the word
in this case, is meant the act of
modifying by means of new and higher
values--values which, as laws and guides of
conduct and opinion, are now to rule over
mankind. In general the doctrine of the
Superman can only be understood correctly in
conjunction with other ideas of the author's,
such as:--the Order of Rank, the Will to Power,
and the Transvaluation of all Values. He
assumes that Christianity, as a product of the
resentment of the botched and the weak, has put
in ban all that is beautiful, strong, proud, and
powerful, in fact all the qualities resulting from
strength, and that, in consequence, all forces
which tend to promote or elevate life have been

seriously undermined. Now, however, a new
table of valuations must be placed over
mankind-- namely, that of the strong, mighty,
and magnificent man, overflowing with life and
elevated to his zenith--the Superman, who is
now put before us with overpowering passion as
the aim of our life, hope, and will. And just as
the old system of valuing, which only extolled
the qualities favourable to the weak, the
suffering, and the oppressed, has succeeded in
producing a weak, suffering, and
race, so this new and reversed system of valuing
ought to rear a healthy, strong, lively, and
courageous type, which would be a glory to life
itself. Stated briefly, the leading principle of this
new system of valuing would be: that
proceeds from power is good, all that springs
from weakness is bad.

This type must not be regarded as a fanciful
figure: it is not a nebulous hope which is to be
realised at some indefinitely remote period,

thousands of years hence; nor is it a new species
(in the Darwinian sense) of which we can know
nothing, and which it would therefore be
somewhat absurd to strive after. But it is meant
to be a possibility which men of the present
could realise with all their spiritual and physical
energies, provided they adopted the new values.

The author of
that egregious example of a transvaluation of all
values through Christianity, whereby the whole
of the deified mode of life and thought of the
Greeks, as well as strong Romedom, was almost
annihilated or transvalued in a comparatively
short time. Could not a rejuvenated
Graeco-Roman system of valuing (once it had
been refined and made more profound by the
schooling which two thousand years of
Christianity had provided) effect another such
revolution within a calculable period of time,
until that glorious type of manhood shall finally
appear which is to be our new faith and hope,

and in the creation of which Zarathustra
exhorts us to participate?

In his private notes on the subject the author
uses the expression (always in the
singular, by-the-bye), as signifying most
thoroughly well-constituted type,
manabove all, however, he
designates Zarathustra himself as an example of
the Superman. In
enlighten us concerning the precursors and
prerequisites to the advent of this highest type,
in referring to a certain passage in the
Science


be quite clear in regard to the leading
physiological condition on which it depends: this
condition is what I call GREAT HEALTHINESS.
I know not how to express my meaning more
plainly or more personally than I have done
already in one of the last chapters (Aphorism

382) of the fifth book of the 'Gaya Scienza'.

the new, the nameless,
says
the
hard-to- understand,there,--
firstlings of a yet untried future--we require for
a new end also a new means, namely, a new
healthiness, stronger, sharper, tougher, bolder
and merrier than all healthiness hitherto. He
whose soul longeth to experience the whole
range of hitherto recognised values and
desirabilities, and to circumnavigate all the
coasts of this ideal 'Mediterranean Sea', who,
from the adventures of his most personal
experience, wants to know how it feels to be a
conqueror, and discoverer of the ideal--as
likewise how it is with the artist, the saint, the
legislator, the sage, the scholar, the devotee, the
prophet, and the godly non-conformist of the old
style:--requires one thing above all for that
purpose, GREAT HEALTHINESS--such
healthiness as one not only possesses, but also
constantly acquires and must acquire, because

one unceasingly sacrifices it again, and must
sacrifice it!--And now, after having been long on
the way in this fashion, we Argonauts of the
ideal, more courageous perhaps than prudent,
and often enough shipwrecked and brought to
grief, nevertheless dangerously healthy, always
healthy again,--it would seem as if, in
recompense for it all, that we have a still
undiscovered country before us, the boundaries
of which no one has yet seen, a beyond to all
countries and corners of the ideal known
hitherto, a world so over-rich in the beautiful,
the strange, the questionable, the frightful, and
the divine, that our curiosity as well as our thirst
for possession thereof, have got out of hand-- alas!
that nothing will now any longer satisfy us!--


OF THE PRESENT DAY after such outlooks,
and with such a craving in our conscience and
consciousness? Sad enough; but it is
unavoidable that we should look on the

worthiest aims and hopes of the man of the
present day with ill-concealed amusement, and
perhaps should no longer look at them. Another
ideal runs on before us, a strange, tempting ideal
full of danger, to which we should not like to
persuade any one, because we do not so readily
acknowledge any one's RIGHT THERETO: the
ideal of a spirit who plays naively (that is to say
involuntarily and from overflowing abundance
and power) with everything that has hitherto
been called holy, good, intangible, or divine; to
whom the loftiest conception which the people
have reasonably made their measure of value,
would already practically imply danger, ruin,
abasement, or at least relaxation, blindness, or
temporary self-forgetfulness; the ideal of a
humanly superhuman welfare and benevolence,
which will often enough appear INHUMAN, for
example, when put alongside of all past
seriousness on earth, and alongside of all past
solemnities in bearing, word, tone, look,
morality, and pursuit, as their truest involuntary

parody--and WITH which, nevertheless,
perhaps THE GREAT SERIOUSNESS only
commences, when the proper interrogative
mark is set up, the fate of the soul changes, the
hour-hand moves, and tragedy begins...

Although the figure of Zarathustra and a large
number of the leading thoughts in this work had
appeared much earlier in the dreams and
writings of the author, Spake
Zarathustradid not actually come into being
until the month of August 1881 in Sils Maria;
and it was the idea of the Eternal Recurrence of
all things which finally induced my brother to
set forth his new views in poetic language. In
regard to his first conception of this idea, his
autobiographical sketch,
in the autumn of 1888, contains the following
passage:--




Eternal Recurrence of all things--this highest of
all possible formulae of a Yea-saying philosophy,
first occurred to me in August 1881. I made a
note of the thought on a sheet of paper, with the
postscript: 6,000 feet beyond men and time!
That day I happened to be wandering through
the woods alongside of the lake of Silvaplana,
and I halted beside a huge, pyramidal and
towering rock not far from Surlei. It was then
that the thought struck me. Looking back now, I
find that exactly two months previous to this
inspiration, I had had an omen of its coming in
the form of a sudden and decisive alteration in
my tastes--more particularly in music. It would
even be possible to consider all 'Zarathustra' as
a musical composition. At all events, a very
necessary condition in its production was a
renaissance in myself of the art of hearing. In a
small mountain resort (Recoaro) near Vicenza,
where I spent the spring of 1881, I and my
friend and Maestro, Peter Gast--also one who
had been born again--discovered that the

phoenix music that hovered over us, wore lighter
and brighter plumes than it had done
theretofore.

During the month of August 1881 my brother
resolved to reveal the teaching of the Eternal
Recurrence, in dithyrambic and psalmodic form,
through the mouth of Zarathustra. Among the
notes of this period, we found a page on which is
written the first definite plan of Spake
Zarathustra



TO A NEW WAY OF
LIVING.

Beneath this is written:--


in his thirtieth year, went into the province of
Aria, and, during ten years of solitude in the

mountains, composed the Zend-Avesta.

sun of knowledge stands once more at
midday; and the serpent of eternity lies coiled in
its light--: It is YOUR time, ye midday
brethren.

In that summer of 1881, my brother, after many
years of steadily declining health, began at last
to rally, and it is to this first gush of the recovery
of his once splendid bodily condition that we
owe not only Gay Sciencewhich in its
mood may be regarded as a prelude to
but also itself.
Just as he was beginning to recuperate his
health, however, an unkind destiny brought him
a number of most painful personal experiences.
His friends caused him many disappointments,
which were the more bitter to him, inasmuch as
he regarded friendship as such a sacred
institution; and for the first time in his life he
realised the whole horror of that loneliness to

which, perhaps, all greatness is condemned. But
to be forsaken is something very different from
deliberately choosing blessed loneliness. How he
longed, in those days, for the ideal friend who
would thoroughly understand him, to whom he
would be able to say all, and whom he imagined
he had found at various periods in his life from
his earliest youth onwards. Now, however, that
the way he had chosen grew ever more perilous
and steep, he found nobody who could follow
him: he therefore created a perfect friend for
himself in the ideal form of a majestic
philosopher, and made this creation the
preacher of his gospel to the world.

Whether my brother would ever have written
Spake Zarathustraaccording to the
first plan sketched in the summer of 1881, if he
had not had the disappointments already
referred to, is now an idle question; but perhaps
where
say with Master Eckhardt:

bear you to perfection is suffering.

My brother writes as follows about the origin of
the first part of
of 1882-83, I was living on the charming little
Gulf of Rapallo, not far from Genoa, and
between Chiavari and Cape Porto Fino. My
health was not very good; the winter was cold
and exceptionally rainy; and the small inn in
which I lived was so close to the water that at
night my sleep would be disturbed if the sea
were high. These circumstances were surely the
very reverse of favourable; and yet in spite of it
all, and as if in demonstration of my belief that
everything decisive comes to life in spite of every
obstacle, it was precisely during this winter and
in the midst of these unfavourable
circumstances that my 'Zarathustra' originated.
In the morning I used to start out in a southerly
direction up the glorious road to Zoagli, which
rises aloft through a forest of pines and gives
one a view far out into the sea. In the afternoon,

as often as my health permitted, I walked round
the whole bay from Santa Margherita to beyond
Porto Fino. This spot was all the more
interesting to me, inasmuch as it was so dearly
loved by the Emperor Frederick III. In the
autumn of 1886 I chanced to be there again
when he was revisiting this small, forgotten
world of happiness for the last time. It was on
these two roads that all 'Zarathustra' came to
me, above all Zarathustra himself as a type;--I
ought rather to say that it was on these walks
that these ideas waylaid me.

The first part of was written in
about ten days-- that is to say, from the
beginning to about the middle of February 1883.
last lines were written precisely in the
hallowed hour when Richard Wagner gave up
the ghost in Venice.

With the exception of the ten days occupied in
composing the first part of this book, my

brother often referred to this winter as the
hardest and sickliest he had ever experienced.
He did not, however, mean thereby that his
former disorders were troubling him, but that
he was suffering from a severe attack of
influenza which he had caught in Santa
Margherita, and which tormented him for
several weeks after his arrival in Genoa. As a
matter of fact, however, what he complained of
most was his spiritual condition--that
indescribable forsakenness--to which he gives
such heartrending expression in
Even the reception which the first part met with
at the hands of friends and acquaintances was
extremely disheartening: for almost all those to
whom he presented copies of the work
misunderstood it.
of my thoughts; the case of 'Zarathustra' proves
that one can speak with the utmost clearness,
and yet not be heard by any brother
was very much discouraged by the feebleness of
the response he was given, and as he was

striving just then to give up the practice of
taking hydrate of chloral--a drug he had begun
to take while ill with influenza,--the following
spring, spent in Rome, was a somewhat gloomy
one for him. He writes about it as follows:--
spent a melancholy spring in Rome, where I
only just managed to live,-- and this was no easy
matter. This city, which is absolutely unsuited to
the poet-author of 'Zarathustra', and for the
choice of which I was not responsible, made me
inordinately miserable. I tried to leave it. I
wanted to go to Aquila-- the opposite of Rome in
every respect, and actually founded in a spirit of
enmity towards that city (just as I also shall
found a city some day), as a memento of an
atheist and genuine enemy of the Church--a
person very closely related to me,--the great
Hohenstaufen, the Emperor Frederick II. But
Fate lay behind it all: I had to return again to
Rome. In the end I was obliged to be satisfied
with the Piazza Barberini, after I had exerted
myself in vain to find an anti- Christian quarter.

I fear that on one occasion, to avoid bad smells
as much as possible, I actually inquired at the
Palazzo del Quirinale whether they could not
provide a quiet room for a philosopher. In a
chamber high above the Piazza just mentioned,
from which one obtained a general view of
Rome and could hear the fountains plashing far
below, the loneliest of all songs was
composed--'The Night-Song'. About this time I
was obsessed by an unspeakably sad melody, the
refrain of which I recognised in the words, 'dead
through immortality.'

We remained somewhat too long in Rome that
spring, and what with the effect of the
increasing heat and the discouraging
circumstances already described, my brother
resolved not to write any more, or in any case,
not to proceed with although I
offered to relieve him of all trouble in
connection with the proofs and the publisher.
When, however, we returned to Switzerland

towards the end of June, and he found himself
once more in the familiar and exhilarating air of
the mountains, all his joyous creative powers
revived, and in a note to me announcing the
dispatch of some manuscript, he wrote as
follows:
months: forsooth, I am the greatest fool to allow
my courage to be sapped from me by the climate
of Italy. Now and again I am troubled by the
thought: WHAT NEXT? My 'future' is the
darkest thing in the world to me, but as there
still remains a great deal for me to do, I suppose
I ought rather to think of doing this than of my
future, and leave the rest to THEE and the
gods.

The second part of was written
between the 26th of June and the 6th July.
summer, finding myself once more in the sacred
place where the first thought of 'Zarathustra'
flashed across my mind, I conceived the second
part. Ten days sufficed. Neither for the second,

the first, nor the third part, have I required a
day longer.

He often used to speak of the ecstatic mood in
which he wrote
over hill and dale the ideas would crowd into his
mind, and how he would note them down hastily
in a note-book from which he would transcribe
them on his return, sometimes working till
midnight. He says in a letter to me: can
have no idea of the vehemence of such
composition,and in Homo(autumn
1888) he describes as follows with passionate
enthusiasm the incomparable mood in which he
created Zarathustra:--

any one at the end of the nineteenth
century any distinct notion of what poets of a
stronger age understood by the word inspiration?
If not, I will describe it. If one had the smallest
vestige of superstition in one, it would hardly be
possible to set aside completely the idea that one

is the mere incarnation, mouthpiece or medium
of an almighty power. The idea of revelation in
the sense that something becomes suddenly
visible and audible with indescribable certainty
and accuracy, which profoundly convulses and
upsets one--describes simply the matter of fact.
One hears-- one does not seek; one takes--one
does not ask who gives: a thought suddenly
flashes up like lightning, it comes with necessity,
unhesitatingly--I have never had any choice in
the matter. There is an ecstasy such that the
immense strain of it is sometimes relaxed by a
flood of tears, along with which one's steps
either rush or involuntarily lag, alternately.
There is the feeling that one is completely out of
hand, with the very distinct consciousness of an
endless number of fine thrills and quiverings to
the very toes;--there is a depth of happiness in
which the painfullest and gloomiest do not
operate as antitheses, but as conditioned, as
demanded in the sense of necessary shades of
colour in such an overflow of light. There is an

instinct for rhythmic relations which embraces
wide areas of forms (length, the need of a
wide-embracing rhythm, is almost the measure
of the force of an inspiration, a sort of
counterpart to its pressure and tension).
Everything happens quite involuntarily, as if in
a tempestuous outburst of freedom, of
absoluteness, of power and divinity. The
involuntariness of the figures and similes is the
most remarkable thing; one loses all perception
of what constitutes the figure and what
constitutes the simile; everything seems to
present itself as the readiest, the correctest and
the simplest means of expression. It actually
seems, to use one of Zarathustra's own phrases,
as if all things came unto one, and would fain be
similes: 'Here do all things come caressingly to
thy talk and flatter thee, for they want to ride
upon thy back. On every simile dost thou here
ride to every truth. Here fly open unto thee all
being's words and word-cabinets; here all being
wanteth to become words, here all becoming

wanteth to learn of thee how to talk.' This is MY
experience of inspiration. I do not doubt but
that one would have to go back thousands of
years in order to find some one who could say to
me: It is mine also!--