Imagine a prehistoric prophet observing these beings, and
forecasting what kind of civilizations their descendants would
build. Anyone could have foreseen certain parts of the simians'
history: could have guessed that their curiosity would unlock for
them, one by one, nature's doors, and--idly--bestow on them stray
bits of valuable knowledge: could have pictured them spreading
inquiringly all over the globe, stumbling on their inventions--and
idly passing on and forgetting them.

To have to learn the same thing over and over again wastes the time
of a race. But this is continually necessary, with simians, because
of their disorder. "Disorder," a prophet would have sighed: "that is
one of their handicaps; one that they will never get rid of, whatever
it costs. Having so much curiosity makes a race scatter-brained.

"Yes," he would have dismally continued, "it will be a queer mixture:
these simians will attain to vast stores of knowledge, in time, that
is plain. But after spending centuries groping to discover some art,
in after-centuries they will now and then find it's forgotten. How
incredible it would seem on other planets to hear of lost arts.

"There is a strong streak of triviality in them, which you don't see
in cats. They won't have fine enough characters to concentrate on
the things of most weight. They will talk and think far more of
trifles than of what is important. Even when they are reasonably
civilized, this will be so. Great discoveries sometimes will fail
to be heard of, because too much else is; and many will thus
disappear, and these men will not know it."[1]

[1] We did rescue Mendel's from the dust heap; but perhaps it