“And the most rational system of philosophy that ever existed. Begging your pardon, I think it goes far beyond that of Plato or the Stagyrite.”
“If you mean that it goes beyond them in being as full of absurdity as they are of wisdom, I really agree with you,” said I, my anger rising at hearing the divine doctrines of Aristotle and the disciple of Socrates so irreverently spoken of.
“Pray, what were its absurdities?” asked he with the most imperturbable good-nature.
“Did not Pythagoras enjoin silence to his disciples for a period of five years,—absolute silence, muteness, dumbness?”
“And a very good injunction it was. No man can be philosopher unless he knows how to keep his tongue under a restraint.”
“I am afraid, then, you will never be one,” I remarked, forcing a smile, although I was at bottom considerably nettled. He did not seem to take my observation ill, but passed it off with one of his characteristic giggles of laughter.
“You were talking of his absurdities, my dear friend.”
“Ah, well, did he not forbid the use of animal food to his followers? and, to crown all, did he not teach the monstrous doctrine of transmigration of souls—sending the spirits of men, after death, to inhabit the bodies of dogs, and cats, and frogs, and geese, and even insects?”
“And call you this a monstrous doctrine?”