No More Learning

Yet there stands the priest himself, wallowing
in gore; handling his knife like a very Cyclops, drawing out entrails
and heart, sprinkling the altar with blood,--in short, omitting no
detail of his holy office. Finally, he kindles fire, and sets the
victim bodily thereon, sheep or goat, unfleeced, unflayed. A godly
steam, and fit for godly nostrils, rises heavenwards, and drifts to
each quarter of the sky. The Scythian, by the way, will have nothing
to do with paltry cattle: he offers _men_ to Artemis; and the offering
is appreciated.

But all this, and all that Assyria, Phrygia, and Lydia can show,
amounts to nothing much. If you would see the Gods in their glory, fit
denizens of Heaven, you must go to Egypt. There you will find that
Zeus has sprouted ram's horns, our old friend Hermes has the muzzle of
a dog, and Pan is perfect goat; ibis, crocodile, ape,--each is a God
in disguise.

And wouldst thou know the truth that lurks herein?

If so, you will find no lack of sages and scribes and shaven priests
to inform you (after expulsion of the _profanum vulgus_) how, when the
Giants and their other enemies rose against them, the Gods fled to
Egypt to hide themselves, and there took the form of goat and ram, of
bird and reptile, which forms they preserve to this day. Of all this
they have documentary evidence, dating from thousands of years back,
stored up in their temples. Their sacrifices differ from others only
in this respect, that they go into mourning for the victim, slaying
him first, and beating their breasts for grief afterwards, and (in
some parts) burying him as soon as he is killed. When their great god
Apis dies, off comes every man's hair, however much he values himself
on it; though he had the purple lock of Nisus, it would make no
difference: he must show a sad crown on the occasion, if he die for
it. It is as the result of an election that each succeeding Apis
leaves his pasture for the temple; his superior beauty and majestic
bearing prove that he is something more than bull.

On such absurdities as these, such vulgar credulity, remonstrance
would be thrown away; a Heraclitus would best meet the case, or a
Democritus; for the ignorance of these men is as laughable as their
folly is deplorable.

F.




SALE OF CREEDS

[Footnote: The distinction between the personified creeds or
philosophies here offered for sale, and their various founders or
principal exponents, is but loosely kept up. Not only do most of the
creeds bear the names of their founders, but some are even credited
with their physical peculiarities and their personal experiences. ]

_Zeus. Hermes. Several Dealers. Creeds_.


_Zeus_. Now get those benches straight there, and make the place fit
to be seen. Bring up the lots, one of you, and put them in line. Give
them a rub up first, though; we must have them looking their best, to
attract bidders. Hermes, you can declare the sale-room open, and a
welcome to all comers. --_For Sale! A varied assortment of Live Creeds.
Tenets of every description. --Cash on delivery; or credit allowed on
suitable security_.

_Hermes_. Here they come, swarming in. No time to lose; we must not
keep them waiting.

_Zeus_. Well, let us begin.

_Her_. What are we to put up first?

_Zeus_. The Ionic fellow, with the long hair. He seems a showy piece
of goods.

_Her_. Step up, Pythagoreanism, and show yourself.

_Zeus_. Go ahead.

_Her_. Now here is a creed of the first water. Who bids for this
handsome article? What gentleman says Superhumanity? Harmony of the
Universe! Transmigration of souls! Who bids?

_First Dealer_. He looks all right. And what can he do?

_Her_. Magic, music, arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, jugglery.
Prophecy in all its branches.

_First D_. Can I ask him some questions?

_Her_. Ask away, and welcome.

_First D_. Where do you come from?

_Py_. Samos.

_First D_. Where did you get your schooling?

_Py_. From the sophists in Egypt.

_First D_. If I buy you, what will you teach me?

_Py_. Nothing. I will remind you.

_First D_. Remind me?

_Py_. But first I shall have to cleanse your soul of its filth.

_First D_. Well, suppose the cleansing process complete. How is the
reminding done?

_Py_. We shall begin with a long course of silent contemplation. Not a
word to be spoken for five years.

_First D_. You would have been just the creed for Croesus's son! But
_I_ have a tongue in my head; I have no ambition to be a statue. And
after the five years' silence?

_Py_. You will study music and geometry.

_First D_. A charming recipe! The way to be wise: learn the guitar.

_Py_. Next you will learn to count.

_First D_. I can do that already.

_Py_. Let me hear you.

_First D_. One, two, three, four,--

_Py_. There you are, you see. _Four_ (as you call it) is _ten_. Four
the perfect triangle. Four the oath of our school.

_First D_. Now by Four, most potent Four! --higher and holier mysteries
than these I never heard.

_Py_. Then you will learn of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water; their
action, their movement, their shapes.

_First D_. Have Fire and Air and Water _shapes_?

_Py_. Clearly. That cannot move which lacks shape and form You will
also find that God is a number; an intelligence; a harmony.

_First D_. You surprise me.

_Py_. More than this, you have to learn that you yourself are not the
person you appear to be.

_First D_. What, I am some one else, not the I who am speaking to you?

_Py_. You are that you now: but you have formerly inhabited another
body, and borne another name. And in course of time you will change
once more.

_First D_. Why then I shall be immortal, and take one shape after
another? But enough of this. And now what is your diet?

_Py_. Of living things I eat none. All else I eat, except beans.

_First D_. And why no beans? Do you dislike them?

_Py_. No. But they are sacred things. Their nature is a mystery.
Consider them first in their generative aspect; take a green one and
peel it, and you will see what I mean. Again, boil one and expose it
to moonlight for a proper number of nights, and you have--blood. What
is more, the Athenians use beans to vote with.

_First D_. Admirable! A very feast of reason. Now just strip, and let
me see what you are like. Bless me, here is a creed with a golden
thigh! He is no mortal, he is a God. I must have him at any price.
What do you start him at?

_Her_. Forty pounds.

_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_.