“Life breeds passion, passion breeds suffering, suffering breeds the yearning for relief from suffering. Men throng to Sant from all parts, in order to have the scars of their souls healed.”
“In place of hatred of pleasure, which all can understand, what simple formula do you offer?”
“Iron obedience to duty,” answered Spadevil.
“And if they ask ‘How far is this consistent with hatred of pleasure?’ what will your pronouncement be?”
“I do not answer them, but I answer you, Maskull, who ask the question. Hatred is passion, and all passion springs from the dark fires of self. Do not hate pleasure at all, but pass it by on one side, calm and undisturbed.”
“What is the criterion of pleasure? How can we always recognise it, in order to avoid it?”
“Rigidly follow duty, and such questions will not arise.”
Later in the afternoon, Tydomin timidly placed her fingers on Spadevil’s arm.
“Fearful doubts are in my mind,” she said. “This expedition to Sant may turn out badly. I have seen a vision of you, Spadevil, and myself lying dead and covered in blood, but Maskull was not there.”
“We may drop the torch, but it will not be extinguished, and others will raise it.”