and professions are especially averse to the new. The new may prove a poisonous enzyme fermenting and transforming the whole social organization. The sect, the profession, the class are unconsciously inimical to the new-born change which is exposed to ridicule and is thus effectually suppressed.

Plato is aware of the fact that all novelties and reforms lend themselves readily to ridicule. Man is essentially conservative and is kept within the path of custom, as a planet within its orbit. In his "Republic" Plato says:

Not long since it was thought discreditable and ridiculous among the Greeks, as it is now among most barbarian nations, for men to be seen naked. And when the Cretans first, and after them the Lacedæmonians, began the practice of gymnastic exercises, the wits of the time had it in their power to make sport of those novelties. But when experience had shown that it was better to strip than to cover up the body and when the ridiculous effect which this plan had to the eye had given way before the arguments establishing its superiority, it was at the same time, as I imagine, demonstrated that he is a fool who thinks any thing ridiculous but that which is evil, and who attempts to raise a laugh by assuming any object to be ridiculous but that which is unwise and evil.

We can realize the reason why all novelty is distasteful to man, especially if it is totally unfamiliar. Man is married to habit. Custom and routine govern his actions, his beliefs, his hopes, and his life. All barbaric and ancient societies are based on custom, which takes the place of law and is consecrated by religion. In fact, custom is religion. As Bagehot has pointed out long ago, the greater part of humanity at present, and for

merly the whole of mankind, hated and despised novelty. Change is looked upon as bad and wicked; reform is immoral and ungodly. The greatest of evils, such as cannibalism, human sacrifice, slavery, human degradation in all its atrocious forms, political and economical, are all consecrated by long habit and custom of ages. In fact, our law goes by custom and precedent, no matter how absurd. The same holds true in the methods of training the young. Man is a creature of habit, a slave of custom. Even reason is enlisted on the side of habit and custom. What is unhabitual, unusual, uncustomary is irrational, absurd, and stupid, and, hence, ludicrous.

CHAPTER V

RIDICULE AND SOCIAL DECADENCE

Old worn-out ideals, beliefs, and decrepit institutions meet with ridicule. Thus Lucian jibes at the worn-out ancient deities and myths; the Humanists in various pamphlets such as in the "Epistolæ Virorum Obscurorum" ridicule the Catholic church; Voltaire makes merry over the supposed glories and optimistic views of the philosophers of the eighteenth century; Bernard de Mandeville ridicules the optimistic ethics of Shaftesbury and of the Cambridge idealists.

Perhaps a few examples taken from the writings of Lucian and Aristophanes may best illustrate our point of view.

In his "Icaro-Menippus" Lucian directs his shafts of poignant ridicule against the metaphysical and philosophical speculations, as well as against the whole fabric of ancient tradition and religious beliefs. He jeers at the philosopher, and hobnobs with the once mighty Zeus.

"I engaged them (the philosophers)," Menippus tells his friend, "to teach me the perfect knowledge of the universe; but so far were they from removing my ignorance, that they only threw me into greater doubt and uncertainty by puzzling me with atoms, vacuums, beginnings, ends, ideas, forms, and so forth. The worst of all was that though none agreed with the rest in what they advanced, but were all of contrary opinions, yet did every

one of them expect that I should embrace his tenets and subscribe to his doctrine." Menippus became an aeronaut, an aetheronaut would probably be more correct, by taking an eagle's wing and that of a vulture and flew to Olympus to visit Jupiter. Lucian takes here the occasion to put the course and turmoil of human life in a ludicrous light.

I had much to see; to relate it to you is impossible. The Getae at war, the Scythians traveling in their caravans, the Egyptians tilling their fields, the Phoenicians merchandising, the Cilicians robbing and plundering, the Spartans flogging their children, and the Athenians perpetually quarreling and going to law with one another.

When all this was going on at the same time you may imagine what a strange scene it appeared to me. It was just as if a number of singers were met together, every one singing his own song, each striving to drown the other's voice by bawling as loud as he could. You may well fancy what kind of a concert this would make.

Friend. Truly ridiculous and confused, no doubt. Menippus. And yet such, my friend, are all the poor performers upon earth, and such is the discordant music of human life. Not only are the voices dissonant and inharmonious, but the forms and habits all differ, they move in various directions and agree in nothing, till at length the great master of the choir drives every one from the stage, and tells him he is no longer wanted there. In this wide extensive theater, full of various shapes and forms, everything was a matter of laughter and ridicule. You have often seen a crowd of ants running to and fro and out of their city, some turning up a bit of dung, others dragging a bean, shell, or running away with half a grain of wheat. I have no doubt but they have architects, demagogues, senators, musicians and philosophers among them.

Menippus appears before Jupiter, who is treated by the adventurer with a most patronizing familiarity. The conversation that follows is full of jests and jibes on the petty character of that august divinity, the father of the gods.

As we went along, he asked me several questions about earthly matters, such as "How much corn is there at present in Greece? Had you had a hard winter last year? Did your cabbages need rain? Is any of Phidias' family alive now? What is the reason that the Athenians have left off sacrificing to me for so many years? Do they think of building up the Olympian temple again?" When I had answered all these questions, "Pray, Menippus," said he, "what does mankind really think of me?" "How should they think of you," said I, "but with the utmost veneration that you are the great sovereign of the gods?" "There you jest."

Nothing can be more ludicrous than this jesting conversation, this patronizing familiarity and small gossip with the mighty father of gods and men. Jupiter complains that his altars are as cold and neglected as Plato's laws or the syllogisms of Chrysippus.

The most ludicrous scene is the description of Jupiter attending to business and petitions.

We came to the place where the petitions were to be heard. Here we found several holes with covers to them. Jupiter goes from hole to hole, removes the lid from each hole listening to various prayers, petitions, vows, news gossip. There is a sort of a chimney with a lid for the fumes of sacrifice to ascend to the abode of the gods.

After the business is over Menippus is invited to dinner. The description is full of fun and mockery.