Of Scholars
As I lay asleep, a sheep ate at the ivy-wreath upon my head -- ate and said: "Zarathustra is no longer a scholar."
It spoke and went away stiffly and proud. A child told me of it.
I like to lie here where children play, beside the broken wall, among thistles and red poppies.
To children I am still a scholar, and to thistles and red poppies, too. They are innocent,
even in their wickedness.
But to the sheep I am no longer a scholar: thus my fate will have it -- blessed be my fate!
For this is the truth: I have left the house of scholars and slammed the door behind me.
Too long did my soul sit hungry at their table; I have not been schooled, as they have, to crack
knowledge as one cracks nuts.
I love freedom and the air over fresh soil; I would sleep on ox-skins rather than on their
dignities and respectabilities.
I am too hot and scorched by my own thought: it is often about to take my breath away. Then I have
to get into the open air and away from all dusty rooms.
But they sit cool in the cool shade: they want to be mere spectators in everything and they
take care not to sit where the sun burns upon the steps.
Like those who stand in the street and stare at the people passing by, so they too wait and
stare at thoughs that others have thought.
If one takes hold of them, they involuntarily raise a dust like sacks of flour; but who could
guess that their dust derived from corn and from the golden joy of summer fields?
When they give themselves out as wise, their little sayings and truths make me shiver: their
wisdom often smells as if it came from the swamp: and indeed, I have heard the frog croak in it!
They are clever, they have cunning fingers: what is my simplicity compared with their
diversity? Their fingers understand all threading and knitting and weaving: thus they weave the stockings of the
spirit!
They are excellent clocks: only be careful to wind them up properly! Then they tell the hour
without error and make a modest noise in doing so.
They work like mills and rammers: just throw seed-corn into them! -- they know how to grind
corn small and make white dust of it.
They keep a sharp eye upon one another and do not trust one another as well as they might. Inventive
in small slynesses, they lie in wait for those whose wills go upon lame feet -- they lie in wait like spiders.
I have seen how carefully they prepare their poisons; they always put on protective gloves.
They also know how to play with loaded dice; and I found them playing so zealously that they
were sweating.
We are strangers to one another, and their virtues are even more opposed to my taste than are
their falsehoods and loaded dice.
And when I lived among them I lived above them. They grew angry with me for that.
They did not want to know that someone was walking over their heads; and so they put wood
and dirt and rubbish between their heads and me.
Thus they muffled the sound of my steps: and from then on the most scholarly heard me the worst.
They put all the faults and weaknesses of mankind between themselves and me -- they call this
a "false flooring" in their houses.
But I walk above their heads with my thoughts in spite of that; and even if I should
walk upon my own faults, I should still be above them and their heads.
For men are not equal: thus speaks justice. And what I desire they may not
desire!
Thus spoke Zarathustra.