those stars and planets, those suns and those moons moving in regular order, and when we ask them what are their achievements, what are their works, what are their minds to the Mind that has created all this, they sink within their miserable insignificance, and crawl away like the worms that they are, humbled to the very dust. What right have we poor mortals to be proud of anything we can do? No, this is not the creed that we would cultivate; this is not the creed that we would believe. Now that we have obtained a moderate amount of intellectual power, we can see and understand our littleness; we can be ambitious for more knowledge, but we cannot, we must not feel proud of the little we have. This pride of knowledge, this seeking after popular applause, this giving of applause to individuals who set themselves up as guides and philosophers, has been the ruin of hundreds of thousands of past generations, who thought they had great intellects—we see and know this, and we avoid it as we do Hades.
"Now, my Specimen, shall we start? I am
