So, dealing in this shallow treatise solely with such (even if spurious) Reality as Proteus represents, I need now only justify my outrageous claim that mere Intelligence can have any privileged intercourse therewith. My ground for saying so is that specialized intellect screws its marvellous lenses down on only a single, and _singled out_, aspect of Reality; employs subtle reagents revealing only the properties for which they have been devised. Moreover, that the world of regular, foretellable sequences which science constructs is a map teaching us why to turn to the right or the left, but not a moving slice of the landscape we are moving in. Instead of which mere Intelligence, with its rule-of-thumb logic and well-nigh automatic movements, may be fairly fitted, not indeed to inventory and schedule separate items of Proteus’ multifold embodiments, but to keep us aware that Proteus is there at that eternal game of his: changing his aspects perpetually, whether you watch him or not, nay, changing aspect by the very fact of your watching him. This may suggest that Intelligence is never at rest; and no more it is. But its movements being responsive to what strikes it from outside, are, just as the outside’s own ways, orderly, and such as organize themselves into regular rhythms of sameness and diversity. For Proteus is absolutely unexpected only to persons like Virgil’s Aristæus who, you must remember, was so hide-bound in his business of _h_oney-making (alter one letter, you won’t alter my meaning!) as to be wholly unaware that his own caddish behaviour had occasioned the death of Eurydice and so remarkable an event as the Descent of Orpheus into Hell. Practical people like that are nearly always astonished and dismayed when confronted with Proteus; “they had forgotten....” Now Intelligence is as much memory as perception; and for it there is always in the transformations it is watching something familiar which carries it back to what it has already witnessed, and forwards, expectantly, to something it may be going to witness. Hence to Intelligence there is never mere repetition, just as there is never utter novelty. And its frequent doubts are always conditioned by its habitual beliefs. That explains why Intelligence is so chock-full of prejudices, as all those are aware who have ever asked it to accept miracles and ghosts on their testimony or on someone else’s authority. Such people exclaim at the sceptic’s blindness to evidence, because they do not know that doubting and even denying are part of Intelligence’s active rhythm of grasping and acquiescing; a process of assimilation and elimination in which the already experienced and accepted selects that which shall be accepted or rejected. Moreover, such selective action often expresses itself in the most impertinent (because most pertinent) queries, as: “Now how would you explain that?” “In what sense are you using that word?” etc., etc., etc. Queries, all of them, which in