Eh? I Will Tell You.
It Is The Punishment Of Their _Intellectual Pride,_ Than Which No Sin
Is More Offensive To The Angels.
What! here are we with the jolly world of God all round us, able to
sing, to draw, to
Paint, to hammer and build, to sail, to ride horses,
to run, to leap; having for our splendid inheritance love in youth and
memory in old age, and we are to take one miserable little faculty,
our one-legged, knock-kneed, gimcrack, purblind, rough-skinned,
underfed, and perpetually irritated and grumpy intellect, or
analytical curiosity rather (a diseased appetite), and let it swell
till it eats up every other function? Away with such foolery.
LECTOR. When shall we get on to ...
AUCTOR. Wait a moment. I say, away with such foolery. Note that
pedants lose all proportion. They never can keep sane in a discussion.
They will go wild on matters they are wholly unable to judge, such as
Armenian Religion or the Politics of Paris or what not. Never do they
use one of those three phrases which keep a man steady and balance his
mind, I mean the words (1) _After all it is not my business. (2) Tut!
tut! You don't say so! and (3) _Credo in Unum Deum Patrem
Omnipotentem, Factorem omnium visibilium atque invisibilium;_ in which
last there is a power of synthesis that can jam all their analytical
dust-heap into such a fine, tight, and compact body as would make them
stare to see.
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