No More Learning

_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?

_Chrys_. A crocodile catches him as he wanders along the bank of a
river, and promises to restore him to you, if you will first guess
correctly whether he means to restore him or not. Which are you going
to say?

_Seventh D_. A difficult question. I don't know which way I should get
him back soonest. In Heaven's name, answer for me, and save the child
before he is eaten up.

_Chrys_. Ha, ha. I will teach you far other things than that.

_Seventh D_. For instance?

_Chrys_. There is the 'Reaper. ' There is the 'Rightful Owner. ' Better
still, there is the 'Electra' and the 'Man in the Hood. '

_Seventh D_. Who was he? and who was Electra?

_Chrys_. She was _the_ Electra, the daughter of Agamemnon, to whom the
same thing was known and unknown at the same time. She knew that
Orestes was her brother: yet when he stood before her she did not know
(until he revealed himself) that her brother was Orestes. As to the
Man in the Hood, he will surprise you considerably. Answer me now: do
you know your own father?

_Seventh D_. Yes.

_Chrys_. Well now, if I present to you a man in a hood, shall you know
him? eh?

_Seventh D_. Of course not.

_Chrys_. Well, but the Man in the Hood is your father. You don't know
the Man in the Hood. Therefore you don't know your own father.

_Seventh D_. Why, no. But if I take his hood off, I shall get at the
facts. Now tell me, what is the end of your philosophy? What happens
when you reach the goal of virtue?

_Chrys_. In regard to things external, health, wealth, and the like, I
am then all that Nature intended me to be. But there is much previous
toil to be undergone. You will first sharpen your eyes on minute
manuscripts, amass commentaries, and get your bellyful of outlandish
terms. Last but not least, it is forbidden to be wise without repeated
doses of hellebore.

_Seventh D_. All this is exalted and magnanimous to a degree. But what
am I to think when I find that you are also the creed of
cent-per-cent, the creed of the usurer? Has _he_ swallowed his
hellebore? is _he_ made perfect in virtue?

_Chrys_. Assuredly. On none but the wise man does usury sit well.
Consider. His is the art of putting two and two together, and usury is
the art of putting interest together. The two are evidently connected,
and one as much as the other is the prerogative of the true believer;
who, not content, like common men, with simple interest, will also
take interest _upon_ interest. For interest, as you are probably
aware, is of two kinds. There is simple interest, and there is its
offspring, compound interest. Hear Syllogism on the subject. 'If I
take simple interest, I shall also take compound. But I _shall_
take simple interest: therefore I shall take compound. '

_Seventh D_. And the same applies to the fees you take from your
youthful pupils? None but the true believer sells virtue for a fee?

_Chrys_. Quite right. I take the fee in my pupil's interest, not
because I want it. The world is made up of diffusion and accumulation.
I accordingly practise my pupil in the former, and myself in the
latter.

_Seventh D_. But it ought to be the other way. The pupil ought to
accumulate, and you, 'sole millionaire,' ought to diffuse.

_Chrys_. Ha! you jest with me? Beware of the shaft of insoluble
syllogism.

_Seventh D_. What harm can that do?

_Chrys_. It cripples; it ties the tongue, and turns the brain. Nay, I
have but to will it, and you are stone this instant.

_Seventh D_. Stone! You are no Perseus, friend?

_Chrys_. See here. A stone is a body?

_Seventh D_. Yes.

_Chrys_. Well, and an animal is a body?

_Seventh D_. Yes.

_Chrys_. And you are an animal?

_Seventh D_. I suppose I am.

_Chrys_. Therefore you are a body. Therefore a stone.

_Seventh D_. Mercy, in Heaven's name! Unstone me, and let me be flesh
as heretofore.

_Chrys_. That is soon done. Back with you into flesh! Thus: Is every
body animate?

_Seventh D_. No.

_Chrys_. Is a stone animate?

_Seventh D_. No.

_Chrys_. Now, you are a body?

_Seventh D_. Yes.

_Chrys_. And an animate body?

_Seventh D_. Yes.

_Chrys_. Then being animate, you cannot be a stone.

_Seventh D_. Ah! thank you, thank you. I was beginning to feel my
limbs growing numb and solidifying like Niobe's. Oh, I must have you.
What's to pay?

_Her_. Fifty pounds.

_Seventh D_. Here it is.

_Her_. Are you sole purchaser?

_Seventh D_. Not I. All these gentlemen here are going shares.

_Her_. A fine strapping lot of fellows, and will do the 'Reaper'
credit.

_Zeus_. Don't waste time. Next lot,--the Peripatetic!

_Her_. Now, my beauty, now, Affluence! Gentlemen, if you want Wisdom
for your money, here is a creed that comprises all knowledge.

_Eighth D_. What is he like?

_Her_. He is temperate, good-natured, easy to get on with; and his
strong point is, that he is twins.

_Eighth D_. How can that be?

_Her_. Why, he is one creed outside, and another inside. So remember,
if you buy him, one of him is called Esoteric, and the other Exoteric.

_Eighth D_. And what has he to say for himself?

_Her_. He has to say that there are three kinds of good: spiritual,
corporeal, circumstantial.

_Eighth D_. _There's_ something a man can understand. How much is he?

_Her_. Eighty pounds.

_Eighth D_. Eighty pounds is a long price.

_Her_. Not at all, my dear sir, not at all. You see, there is some
money with him, to all appearance. Snap him up before it is too late.
Why, from him you will find out in no time how long a gnat lives, to
how many fathoms' depth the sunlight penetrates the sea, and what an
oyster's soul is like.

_Eighth D_. Heracles! Nothing escapes him.

_Her_. Ah, these are trifles. You should hear some of his more
abstruse speculations, concerning generation and birth and the
development of the embryo; and his distinction between man, the
laughing creature, and the ass, which is neither a laughing nor a
carpentering nor a shipping creature.

_Eighth D_. Such knowledge is as useful as it is ornamental. Eighty
pounds be it, then.

_Her_. He is yours.

_Zeus_. What have we left?

_Her_. There is Scepticism. Come along, Pyrrhias, and be put up.
Quick's the word. The attendance is dwindling; there will be small
competition. Well, who buys Lot 9?

_Ninth D_. I. Tell me first, though, what do you know?

_Sc_. Nothing.

_Ninth D_. But how's that?

_Sc_. There does not appear to me to _be_ anything.

_Ninth D_. Are not _we_ something?

_Sc_. How do I know that?

_Ninth D_. And you yourself?

_Sc_. Of that I am still more doubtful.

_Ninth D_. Well, you _are_ in a fix! And what have you got those
scales for?

_Sc_. I use them to weigh arguments in, and get them evenly balanced,
They must be absolutely equal--not a feather-weight to choose between
them; then, and not till then, can I make uncertain which is right.
_Ninth D_. What else can you turn your hand to?

_Sc_. Anything; except catching a runaway.

_Ninth D_. And why not that?

_Sc_. Because, friend, everything eludes my grasp.

_Ninth D_. I believe you. A slow, lumpish fellow you seem to be. And
what is the end of your knowledge?

_Sc_. Ignorance. Deafness. Blindness.

_Ninth D_. What! sight and hearing both gone?

_Sc_. And with them judgement and perception, and all, in short, that
distinguishes man from a worm.

_Ninth D_. You are worth money! --What shall we say for him?

_Her_. Four pounds.

_Ninth D_. Here it is. Well, fellow; so you are mine?

_Sc_. I doubt it.

_Ninth D_. Nay, doubt it not! You are bought and paid for.

_Sc_. It is a difficult case. . . . I reserve my decision.

_Ninth D_. Now, come along with me, like a good slave.

_Sc_. But how am I to know whether what you say is true?

_Ninth D_. Ask the auctioneer. Ask my money. Ask the spectators.

_Sc_. Spectators? But can we be sure there are any?

_Ninth D_. Oh, I'll send you to the treadmill. That will convince you
with a vengeance that I am your master.

_Sc_. Reserve your decision.

_Ninth D_.