Buddha and Christ seize hold of the morality needful
to civilisation, and promulgate it, unknown to one another, the one
on the shores of the Ganges, the other by the Jordan. A dozen
forgotten explorers, FEELING America, prepared the way for Columbus
to discover it. A deluge of blood is required to sweep away old
follies, and Rousseau and Voltaire, and a myriad others are set to
work to fashion the storm clouds. The steam-engine, the spinning
loom is 'in the air.' A thousand brains are busy with them, a few
go further than the rest. It is idle to talk of human thought;
there is no such thing. Our minds are fed as our bodies with the
food God has provided for us. Thought hangs by the wayside, and we
pick it and cook it, and eat it, and cry out what clever 'thinkers'
we are!"
"I cannot agree with you," replied the Minor Poet, "if we were
simply automata, as your argument would suggest, what was the
purpose of creating us?"
"The intelligent portion of mankind has been asking itself that
question for many ages," returned the Philosopher.
"I hate people who always think as I do," said the Girton Girl;
"there was a girl in our corridor who never would disagree with me.
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