You know it and so do I, now that
I have come to my senses. The same intelligence which darkened my
eyes, has now torn away the bandage; how can it be, at the same time,
a power for truth and for falsehood?"
Perrotin shook his head.
"Yes, intelligence is so great and so high that she cannot put herself
at the service of any other forces without derogation; for if she is
no longer mistress and free, she is degraded. It is a case of
Roman master debasing the Greek, his superior, and making him his
purveyor--_Graeculus_, sophist, _Laeno_.... To the vulgar the
intelligence is a sort of maid-of-all-work, and in this position she
displays the sly, dishonest cleverness of her kind. Sometimes she is
employed by hatred, pride, or self-interest, and then she flatters
these little devils, dressing them up as Idealism, Love, Faith,
Liberty, and social generosity; for when a man does not love his
neighbour, he says he loves God, his Country, or even Humanity.
Sometimes the poor master is himself a slave to the State. Under
threat of punishment, the social machine forces him to acts which are
repugnant, but the complaisant intelligence persuades him that these
are fine and glorious, and performed by him of his own free will. In
either case the intelligence knows what she is about, and is always
at our disposition if we really want her to tell us the truth; but we
take good care to avoid it, and never to be left alone with her.
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