“Strife must always be a bad means to whatever end it may lead,” observed his tutor; “and as nothing but ignorance can make men endeavour to destroy each other, strife can never be productive of true glory.”
“The amount of pain, resulting from battles either on sea or land, is immense,” remarked the doctor. “Gunshot wounds, fractures, contusions, ruptures, laceration, inflammation, suppuration, mortification, and death; and, therefore, he who creates so much pain, cannot, by his actions, be said to achieve anything like glory, don’t you see. As for philosophy and its qualifications for being considered the only thing that is most glorious, if the philosopher cannot set a broken bone, or remove a disease, pain must exist in spite of such philosophy; and therefore, the philosopher, who is enabled to prevent or remove pain, has the best reason to glory in his philosophy, don’t you see.”
“But pain cannot, on many occasions, be either removed or prevented,” replied the professor, seemingly preparing himself for an argument. “Pain is frequently produced by accidents which cannot be foreseen, and therefore cannot be prevented; and these frequently assume shapes on which science is exerted in vain, and therefore they cannot be removed: in these cases, where surgery and medicine are perfectly useless, philosophy is triumphant; for it will enable the sufferer to be regardless of his pain, and to look upon his dissolution with indifference.”
“What is the use of your philosophy to the insane?” asked the doctor, who seemed to take considerable delight in opposing the professor.
“I should imagine it would be about as serviceable as your medical treatment,” retorted the other.
“Nothing of the kind,” replied his antagonist with a chuckle of triumphant congratulation. “A knowledge of the anatomy of the brain, its functions, and operations, with sufficient information as to the patient’s history, general habits and mode of thinking, applied by an experienced practitioner, may often effect a cure, don’t you see.”
“May often, but how often?” inquired Fortyfolios, with some appearance of sarcasm. “To one restored to sanity, there will be found fifty incurables—so where’s your remedy?”
“To one philosopher there will be discovered a thousand fools, don’t you see—so where’s your philosophy?” responded the other in a similar tone.
“Dr. Tourniquet,” replied the professor with a look of offended dignity, “I trust my philosophy will be found whenever it is required.”
“Professor Fortyfolios,” said the doctor, evidently desirous of pushing matters with his antagonist as far as possible, “if you wait till it’s required, perhaps you may have to wait a long time, don’t you see.”