“Then of what use are such millions and millions of stars?”
“As lamps. They are the public illumination of the Earth. And they are also useful for singing praises to the Almighty. And they serve as eke-outs in poetry, and you can’t deny they are very pretty.”
“But all empty?”
“Every one!”
Pertinax remained in the air for a good time sad and thoughtful. He felt ill. The edifice of his “Philosophia Ultima” was threatening ruin. Upon seeing that the Universe was so different from what reason demanded, he began to believe in the Universe. That brusque lesson of reality was the rude and cold contact with material which his spirit needed in order to believe. “It is all so badly arranged, but perhaps it is true!” thus thought the philosopher. Suddenly he turned to his companions, and asked them—“Does Hell exist?”
The three sighed, made gestures of compassion, and replied—
“Yes; it exists.”
“And condemnation is eternal?”
“Eternal.”
“A solemn injustice!”