No More Learning

_First D_. He is mine for forty pounds.

_Zeus_. Take the gentleman's name and address.

_Her_. He must come from Italy, I should think; Croton or Tarentum, or
one of the Greek towns in those parts. But he is not the only buyer.
Some three hundred of them have clubbed together.

_Zeus_. They are welcome to him. Now up with the next.

_Her_. What about yonder grubby Pontian? [Footnote: See _Diogenes_ in
Notes. ]

_Zeus_. Yes, he will do.

_Her_. You there with the wallet and cloak; come along, walk round the
room. Lot No. 2. A most sturdy and valiant creed, free-born. What
offers?

_Second D_. Hullo, Mr. Auctioneer, are you going to sell a free man?

_Her_. That was the idea.

_Second D_. Take care, he may have you up for kidnapping. This might
be matter for the Areopagus.

_Her_. Oh, he would as soon be sold as not. He feels just as free as
ever.

_Second D_. But what is one to do with such a dirty fellow? He is a
pitiable sight. One might put him to dig perhaps, or to carry water.

_Her_. That he can do and more. Set him to guard your house, and you
will find him better than any watch-dog. --They call him Dog for short.

_Second D_. Where does he come from? and what is his method?

_Her_. He can best tell you that himself.

_Second D_. I don't like his looks. He will probably snarl if I go
near him, or take a snap at me, for all I know. See how he lifts his
stick, and scowls; an awkward-looking customer!

_Her_. Don't be afraid. He is quite tame.

_Second D_. Tell me, good fellow, where do you come from?

_Dio_. Everywhere. _Second D_. What does that mean?

_Dio_. It means that I am a citizen of the world.

_Second D_. And your model?

_Dio_. Heracles.

_Second D_. Then why no lion's-skin? You have the orthodox club.

_Dio_. My cloak is my lion's-skin. Like Heracles, I live in a state of
warfare, and my enemy is Pleasure; but unlike him I am a volunteer. My
purpose is to purify humanity.

_Second D_. A noble purpose. Now what do I understand to be your
strong subject? What is your profession?

_Dio_. The liberation of humanity, and the treatment of the passions.
In short, I am the prophet of Truth and Candour.

_Second D_. Well, prophet; and if I buy you, how shall you handle my
case?

_Dio_. I shall commence operations by stripping off yours
superfluities, putting you into fustian, and leaving you closeted with
Necessity. Then I shall give you a course of hard labour. You will
sleep on the ground, drink water, and fill your belly as best you can.
Have you money? Take my advice and throw it into the sea. With wife
and children and country you will not concern yourself; there will be
no more of that nonsense. You will exchange your present home for a
sepulchre, a ruin, or a tub. What with lupines and close-written
tomes, your knapsack will never be empty; and you will vote yourself
happier than any king. Nor will you esteem it any inconvenience, if a
flogging or a turn of the rack should fall to your lot.

_Second D_. How! Am I a tortoise, a lobster, that I should be flogged
and feel it not?

_Dio_. You will take your cue from Hippolytus; _mutates mutandis_.

_Second D_. How so?

_Dio_. 'The heart may burn, the tongue knows nought thereof'.
[Footnote: Hippolytus (in Euripides's play of that name) is reproached
with having broken an oath, and thus defends himself: 'The tongue hath
sworn: the heart knew nought thereof. '] Above all, be bold, be
impudent; distribute your abuse impartially to king and commoner. They
will admire your spirit. You will talk the Cynic jargon with the true
Cynic snarl, scowling as you walk, and walking as one should who
scowls; an epitome of brutality. Away with modesty, good-nature, and
forbearance. Wipe the blush from your cheek for ever. Your
hunting-ground will be the crowded city. You will live alone in its
midst, holding communion with none, admitting neither friend nor
guest; for such would undermine your power. Scruple not to perform the
deeds of darkness in broad daylight: select your love-adventures with
a view to the public entertainment: and finally, when the fancy takes
you, swallow a raw cuttle-fish, and die. Such are the delights of
Cynicism.

_Second D_. Oh, vile creed! Monstrous creed! Avaunt!

_Dio_. But look you, it is all so easy; it is within every man's
reach. No education is necessary, no nonsensical argumentation. I
offer you a short cut to Glory. You may be the merest clown--cobbler,
fishmonger, carpenter, money-changer; yet there is nothing to prevent
your becoming famous. Given brass and boldness, you have only to learn
to wag your tongue with dexterity.

_Second D_. All this is of no use to me. But I might make a sailor or
a gardener of you at a pinch; that is, if you are to be had cheap.
Three-pence is the most I can give.

_Her_. He is yours, to have and to hold. And good riddance to the
brawling foul-mouthed bully. He is a slanderer by wholesale.

_Zeus_. Now for the Cyrenaic, the crowned and purple-robed.

_Her_. Attend please, gentlemen all. A most valuable article, this,
and calls for a long purse. Look at him. A sweet thing in creeds. A
creed for a king. Has any gentleman a use for the Lap of Luxury? Who
bids?

_Third D_. Come and tell me what you know. If you are a practical
creed, I will have you.

_Her_. Please not to worry him with questions, sir. He is drunk, and
cannot answer; his tongue plays him tricks, as you see.

_Third D_. And who in his senses would buy such an abandoned
reprobate? How he smells of scent! And how he slips and staggers
about! Well, you must speak for him, Hermes. What can he do? What is
his line?

_Her_. Well, for any gentleman who is not strait-laced, who loves a
pretty girl, a bottle, and a jolly companion, he is the very thing. He
is also a past master in gastronomy, and a connoisseur in
voluptuousness generally. He was educated at Athens, and has served
royalty in Sicily [Footnote: See _Aristippus_ in Notes. ], where he had
a very good character. Here are his principles in a nutshell: Think
the worst of things: make the most of things: get all possible
pleasure out of things.

_Third D_. You must look for wealthier purchasers. My purse is not
equal to such a festive creed.

_Her_. Zeus, this lot seems likely to remain on our hands.

_Zeus_. Put it aside, and up with another. Stay, take the pair from
Abdera and Ephesus; the creeds of Smiles and Tears. They shall make
one lot.

_Her_. Come forward, you two. Lot No. 4. A superlative pair. The
smartest brace of creeds on our catalogue.

_Fourth D_. Zeus! What a difference is here! One of them does nothing
but laugh, and the other might be at a funeral; he is all tears. --You
there! what is the joke?

_Democr_. You ask? You and your affairs are all one vast joke.

_Fourth D_. So! You laugh at us? Our business is a toy?

_Democr_. It is. There is no taking it seriously. All is vanity. Mere
interchange of atoms in an infinite void.

_Fourth D_. _Your_ vanity is infinite, if you like. Stop that
laughing, you rascal. --And you, my poor fellow, what are you crying
for? I must see what I can make of you.

_Heracl_. I am thinking, friend, upon human affairs; and well may I
weep and lament, for the doom of all is sealed. Hence my compassion
and my sorrow. For the present, I think not of it; but the future! --
the future is all bitterness.
Conflagration and destruction of the
world. I weep to think that nothing abides. All things are whirled
together in confusion. Pleasure and pain, knowledge and ignorance,
great and small; up and down they go, the playthings of Time.

_Fourth D_. And what is Time?

_Heracl_. A child; and plays at draughts and blindman's-bluff.

_Fourth D_. And men?

_Heracl_. Are mortal Gods.

_Fourth D_. And Gods?

_Heracl_. Immortal men.

_Fourth D_. So! Conundrums, fellow? Nuts to crack? You are a very
oracle for obscurity.

_Heracl_. Your affairs do not interest me.

_Fourth D_. No one will be fool enough to bid for you at that
rate.

_Heracl_. Young and old, him that bids and him that bids not, a
murrain seize you all!

_Fourth D_. A sad case. He will be melancholy mad before long. Neither
of these is the creed for my money.

_Her_. No one bids.

_Zeus_. Next lot.

_Her_. The Athenian there? Old Chatterbox?

_Zeus_. By all means.

_Her_. Come forward! --A good sensible creed this. Who buys Holiness?

_Fifth D_. Let me see. What are you good for?

_Soc_. I teach the art of love.

_Fifth D_. A likely bargain for me! I want a tutor for my young
Adonis.

_Soc_. And could he have a better? The love I teach is of, the spirit,
not of the flesh. Under my roof, be sure, a boy will come to no harm.

_Fifth D_. Very unconvincing that. A teacher of the art of love, and
never meddle with anything but the spirit? Never use the opportunities
your office gives you?

_Soc_. Now by Dog and Plane-tree, it is as I say!

_Fifth D_. Heracles! What strange Gods are these?

_Soc_. Why, the Dog is a God, I suppose? Is not Anubis made much of in
Egypt? Is there not a Dog-star in Heaven, and a Cerberus in the lower
world?

_Fifth D_. Quite so. My mistake. Now what is your manner of life?

_Soc_. I live in a city of my own building; I make my own laws, and
have a novel constitution of my own.

__Fifth D. I should like to hear some of your statutes.

_Soc_. You shall hear the greatest of them all. No woman shall be
restricted to one husband. Every man who likes is her husband.

_Fifth D_. What! Then the laws of adultery are clean swept away?

_Soc_. I should think they were! and a world of hair-splitting with
them.

_Fifth D_. And what do you do with the handsome boys?

_Soc_. Their kisses are the reward of merit, of noble and spirited
actions.

_Fifth D_. Unparalleled generosity! --And now, what are the main
features of your philosophy?

_Soc_. Ideas and types of things. All things that you see, the earth
and all that is upon it, the sea, the sky,--each has its counterpart
in the invisible world.

_Fifth D_. And where are they?

_Soc_. Nowhere. Were they anywhere, they were not what they are.

_Fifth D_. I see no signs of these 'types' of yours.

_Soc_. Of course not; because you are spiritually blind. _I_ see the
counterparts of all things; an invisible you, an invisible me;
everything is in duplicate.

_Fifth D_. Come, such a shrewd and lynx-eyed creed is worth a bid. Let
me see. What do you want for him?

_Her_. Five hundred.

_Fifth D_. Done with you. Only I must settle the bill another day.

_Her_. What name?

_Fifth D_. Dion; of Syracuse.

_Her_. Take him, and much good may he do you. Now I want Epicureanism.
Who offers for Epicureanism? He is a disciple of the laughing creed
and the drunken creed, whom we were offering just now. But he has one
extra accomplishment--impiety. For the rest, a dainty, lickerish
creed.

_Sixth D_. What price?

_Her_. Eight pounds.

_Sixth D_. Here you are. By the way, you might let me know what he
likes to eat.

_Her_. Anything sweet. Anything with honey in it. Dried figs are his
favourite dish.

_Sixth D_. That is all right. We will get in a supply of Carian
fig-cakes.

_Zeus_. Call the next lot. Stoicism; the creed of the sorrowful
countenance, the close-cropped creed.

_Her_. Ah yes, several customers, I fancy, are on the look-out for
him. Virtue incarnate! The very quintessence of creeds! Who is for
universal monopoly?

_Seventh D_. How are we to understand that?

_Her_. Why, here is monopoly of wisdom, monopoly of beauty, monopoly
of courage, monopoly of justice. Sole king, sole orator, sole
legislator, sole millionaire.

_Seventh D_. And I suppose sole cook, sole tanner, sole carpenter, and
all that?

_Her_. Presumably.

_Seventh D_. Regard me as your purchaser, good fellow, and tell me all
about yourself. I dare say you think it rather hard to be sold for a
slave?

_Chrys_. Not at all. These things are beyond our control. And what is
beyond our control is indifferent.

_Seventh D_. I don't see how you make that out.

_Chrys_. What! Have you yet to learn that of _indifferentia_ some are
_praeposita_ and others _rejecta_?

_Seventh D_. Still I don't quite see.

_Chrys_. No; how should you? You are not familiar with our terms. You
lack the _comprehensio visi_. The earnest student of logic knows this
and more than this. He understands the nature of subject, predicate,
and contingent, and the distinctions between them.

_Seventh D_. Now in Wisdom's name, tell me, pray, what is a predicate?
what is a contingent? There is a ring about those words that takes my
fancy.

_Chrys_. With all my heart. A man lame in one foot knocks that foot
accidentally against a stone, and gets a cut. Now the man is _subject_
to lameness; which is the _predicate_. And the cut is a _contingency_.

_Seventh D_. Oh, subtle! What else can you tell me?

_Chrys_. I have verbal involutions, for the better hampering,
crippling, and muzzling of my antagonists. This is performed by the
use of the far-famed syllogism.

_Seventh D_. Syllogism! I warrant him a tough customer.

_Chrys_. Take a case. You have a child?

_Seventh D_. Well, and what if I have?