The Universe and the Philosopher sat and looked at each other satirically. . . .
"You know so many things about me that aren't true!" said the Universe to the Philosopher.
"There are so many things about you that you seem to be unconscious of," said the Philosopher to the Universe.
* * *
"I contain a number of things that I am trying to forget," said the Universe.
"Such as what?" asked the Philosopher.
"Such as Philosophers," said the Universe.
"You are wrong," said the Philosopher to the Universe, "for it is only by working up the most important part of yourself into the form of Philosophers that you get a product capable of understanding you at all."
"Suppose," said the Universe, "that I don't care about being understood. Suppose that I care more about being?"
"You are wrong again, then," said the Philosopher. "For being that is not conscious being can scarcely be called being at all."
* * *
"You Philosophers always were able to get the better of me in argument," smiled the Universe, "and I think that is one thing that is the matter with you."
"If you object to our intellects," said the Philosopher, "we can only reply that we got them, as well as everything else, from you."
"That should make you more humble," said the Universe. "If I quit letting you have intellect, where would you be then?"
"Where would you be," asked the Philosopher, "if you quit letting me have intellect? If I quit thinking you out as you are, and must be, you would cease to exist as you are; for I am a part of you; and if I were to change, your total effect would be changed also." . . . Then the Philosopher reflected a long moment, and, warming to his work, put over