*Sun*, Arthur Dove (1943). Original public domain image from The Smithsonian Institution. Digitally enhanced by rawpixel. .jpeg

One of my favorite German philosophers is Friedrich Nietzsche—a man whose psychological and physical ailments often served as co-authors to his illuminating, existential writings. His work is not only intellectually rigorous but also deeply personal, a philosophical excavation of what it means to be human.

In this post, I invite you to walk with me—barefoot and blistered if need be—into the burning heart of amor fati, Nietzsche’s wild summons to love what is, as if we ourselves had chosen every twist and tremble of it. We first descend with Zarathustra from the high solitude of the mountains into the dense forest of the human soul, where time does not progress but circles back, asking with every turn: Would you live me again? Beneath us, the ancient threads of Greek fate shimmer—fragile, unbreakable. And deeper still, in the caverns of the psyche, the shadow waits—not to be banished, but befriended—emerging through dream, image, archetype, and art. This is no argument but a ritual of remembering. A return. A reclamation. What might it mean to live a life we would choose in every lifetime? To greet both ruin and revelation with open arms and whisper, yes… even this?

Would you live “me” again?

In Thus Spoke Zarathustra (1883–85), Nietzsche presents a prophet-like figure named Zarathustra, who, after years of solitude in the mountains, descends to share his teachings with humanity. Written in a lyrical, almost biblical style, the book unfolds as a series of parables and speeches. Zarathustra challenges conventional morality, religion, and societal norms, introducing key ideas such as the Übermensch (overman), the death of God, the will to power, and most provocatively, eternal recurrence—the idea that every moment in life returns infinitely.

If my virtue is a dancer’s virtue and I have often jumped with both feet into golden-emerald delight: if my sarcasm is a laughting sarcasm, at home under rose slopes and hedges of lilies—for in laughter all that is evil comes together, but is prounounced holy and absolved by its own bliss; and if this is my alpha and omega, that all that is heavy and grave should become light; all that the body, dancer; all that is spirit, bird—and verily, that is my alpha and omega: Oh, how should I not lust after ternity and afer the nuptial ring of rings, the ring of recurrence? ~ Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

This concept of eternal recurrence isn’t a cosmological claim—it’s a radical thought experiment, a test of existential affirmation. Would we be willing to live this life, just as it is, over and over again, without end? If the answer is no, Nietzsche suggests, then we are not yet living authentically.

It’s a call to live with such presence and integrity that we could welcome each moment—joyous or painful—as one we would gladly relive.

He deepens this commitment to life in his autobiographical work Ecce Homo, writing:

My formula for greatness in a human being is amor fati: that one wants nothing to be different, not forward, not backward, not in all eternity. Not merely bear what is necessary, still less conceal it… but love it.

This idea—amor fati, the love of one’s fate—asks not just for endurance, but for a wholehearted embrace of our lives, with all their peaks and valleys, twists and turns.

What Is the Übermensch?

The Übermensch—often translated as “Overman” or “Superman”—is one of Nietzsche’s central ideas in Thus Spoke Zarathustra. It represents an evolved human being who transcends the limitations of conventional morality, herd mentality, and religious dogma.

Rather than relying on inherited values, the Übermensch creates meaning from within. This figure doesn’t seek perfection or dominance, but lives courageously, creatively, and authentically—shaping life as an artwork and embracing all of its contradictions.

The Übermensch is not a final destination but a becoming—a call to rise from nihilism and despair into a life of radical self-authorship and deep affirmation.

In many ways, amor fati—loving one’s fate—is the foundation upon which the Übermensch stands.

**De schikgodinnen,** Jacob de Wit, c. 1705 - c. 1754 [Rijksmuseum]

Nietzsche vs. the Greek Fates.

To Nietzsche, loving one’s fate is not about passive acceptance. It’s about becoming an active, intentional agent of our own story—owning every chapter, even the ones we wish we could revise.

This notion sharply contrasts with the ancient Greek view of fate. The Greeks envisioned Moira (fate) as immutable, even to the gods. The three Fates—Clotho (the spinner), Lachesis (the measurer), and Atropos (the cutter)—wove each person’s destiny. In Greek tragedy, attempts to outmaneuver fate, such as those by Oedipus or Achilles, only sealed its fulfillment. Fate was to be respected, feared, endured—not loved.

Oceanids: Who then is the steersman of Necessity?

Prometheus: The three-shaped Moerae (Fates) and mindful Erinyes(Furies).

Oceanids: Can it be that Zeus has less power than they do?

Prometheus: Yes, in that even he cannot escape what is foretold.

(Aeschylus, Prometheus Bound 515).

Nietzsche reframes this ancient inheritance. He suggests that instead of fearing fate or resigning ourselves to it, we must find a way to love it. Not because it is easy, but because in doing so, we reclaim our agency and dignity. In embracing everything—what was given, what was chosen, what hurt, what healed—we become fully alive.

Jung, the Shadow, & Reclaiming the Self.

From Jungian thought, this process of reclamation—especially after physical, emotional, psychic, or relational setbacks—is essential to individuation. When we are wounded, our psyche often splits: part of us retreats to survive, while another part moves forward, disconnected from the pain. To love our fate is to turn toward those lost or silenced parts within us, listen mindfully, and integrate the Shadow material they carry.

The Shadow is the unconscious aspects of ourselves that we reject, disown, or repress—our envy, shame, fear, rage, or unlived potential. It is not inherently negative; in fact, it often contains vital energy and creativity. But when ignored, the shadow governs us from beneath awareness. This unconscious material doesn’t vanish—it appears in projection, in conflict, in recurring patterns we can’t seem to escape. Reclaiming it is not just healing—it is transformational.

Pathways to the Unconscious: Four Ways In.

To work with the unconscious and reclaim the fullness of who we are, we can engage in practices that bridge the inner and outer worlds:

Dreamwork: Dreams speak in the language of symbol and metaphor. Tending to them reveals hidden desires, unresolved grief, and emergent truths.
Word Association. A method developed by Jung during which a person us presented with a series of stimulus words and recording their immediate responses, reaction times, and physiological cues to uncover unconscious complexes and emotional conflicts.
Active Imagination: A method developed by Jung to consciously dialogue with inner figures or images. Through drawing, writing, or inner visualization, we allow the unconscious to speak and be heard.
Archetypal Exploration: Recognizing recurring themes—such as the orphan, the wise elder, the mother, the trickster—can help us see the deeper narrative shaping our life’s journey.
Artistic Expression: Whether through painting, poetry, dance, or storytelling, creativity gives form to what is ineffable. Artistic practice becomes a vessel for integration and self-discovery.

In this light, amor fati becomes an alchemical task: to hold the tension of opposites—grief and joy, limitation and potential, fate and freedom—and allow something wholly new to emerge.

Living Without Regret.

So we might ask ourselves:

What can we do, here and now, that will leave us without regrets in one or ten years?
How can we align with our deepest values and live more authentically in this present moment?

Amor fati isn’t about avoiding discomfort or glossing over the painful parts. It’s about leaning in—saying yes to the complexity of being alive. It’s about letting the full truth of our experience shape us—not with resentment, but with love. It’s about moving beyond the ancient fear of fate and stepping into a modern courage that says: This too belongs to me—and I love it.

Notes.

Aeschylus, Prometheus Bound, Line 515

Nietzsche, F. (1888). Ecce Homo: How One Becomes What One Is (Trans. Walter Kaufmann, 1967), p. 37.

"Meine Formel für die Größe eines Menschen lautet: amor fati: dass man nichts anders haben will, weder vorwärts noch rückwärts, noch in aller Ewigkeit. Nicht bloß das Notwendige tragen, noch weniger verbergen... sondern es lieben."

Nietzsche, F. (1892). Thus Spoke Zarathustra: A Book for None and All. (Trans. Walter Kaufmann, ) p. 230-1.

“Wenn meine Tugend eine Tänzerin-Tugend ist, und ich oft mit beiden Füßen in golden-smaragdne Entzückung sprang: wenn mein Hohn ein lachender Hohn ist, in Rosenbögen und ein Lilienhagen daheim: denn im Lachen kommt alles Böse zusammen, aber es wird heilig gesprochen durch das eigene Glück: und wenn dies mein Alpha und Omega ist, dass alles Schwere und Strenge leicht werde, dass jeder Körper ein Tänzer, jeder Geist ein Vogel werde: — und wahrlich, dies ist mein Alpha und Omega! — wie sollte ich da nicht nach der Ewigkeit lüstern und nach dem Hochzeit-Ring der Ringe,—dem Ring der Wiederkunft?”