XXXVIII. Scholars

When I lay asleep, then did a sheep eat at the ivy-wreath on my head,—it ate, and said thereby: “Zarathustra is no longer a scholar.” It said this, and went away clumsily and proudly. A child told it to me. I like to…

A sheep eats the ivy-wreath from his sleeping head and declares he is no longer a scholar. Zarathustra accepts this gladly. To the children and the thistles he is still a scholar, and he has left the scholars' house for good.

Too long did my soul sit hungry at their table: not like them have I got the knack of investigating, as the knack of nut-cracking. Freedom do I love, and the air over fresh soil; rather would I sleep on ox-skins than on…

He contrasts his hunger, his love of freedom and his burning thought with the scholars sitting cool in the shade. They watch passers-by and only handle the thoughts of others. When seized they raise dust like flour-sacks.

When they give themselves out as wise, then do their petty sayings and truths chill me: in their wisdom there is often an odour as if it came from the swamp; and verily, I have even heard the frog croak in it! Clever…

Their wisdom smells of the swamp. They are clever knitters of the spirit's hose, good clockworks and millstones, spiders waiting for the lame, and careful poisoners who play with false dice. Their virtues repel him more than their falsehoods.

And when I lived with them, then did I live above them. Therefore did they take a dislike to me. They want to hear nothing of any one walking above their heads; and so they put wood and earth and rubbish betwixt me and…

When he lived among them he lived above them, so they disliked him. They put wood, earth and rubbish between his steps and their heads. He still walks above them, even on his own errors.

For men are NOT equal: so speaketh justice.

The chapter ends on the claim of unequal rank: what he wills, they may not will.