Old furniture, egg-shells, watches, bits of stone. . . . And next
door, a "menagerie." Though our victory over all other animals is
now aeons old, we still bring home captives and exhibit them caged
in our cities. And when a species dies out--or is crowded (by us),
off the planet--we even collect the bones of the vanquished and show
them like trophies.


Curiosity is a valuable trait. It will make the simians learn many
things. But the curiosity of a simian is as excessive as the toil
of an ant. Each simian will wish to know more than his head can
hold, let alone ever deal with; and those whose minds are active
will wish to know everything going. It would stretch a god's skull
to accomplish such an ambition, yet simians won't like to think it's
beyond their powers. Even small tradesmen and clerks, no matter how
thrifty, will be eager to buy costly encyclopedias, or books of all
knowledge. Almost every simian family, even the dullest, will think
it is due to themselves to keep all knowledge handy.

Their idea of a liberal education will therefore be a great
hodge-pod only. He who narrows his field and digs deep will be
viewed as an alien. If more than one man in a hundred should thus
dare to concentrate, the ruinous effects of being a specialist will
be sadly discussed. It may make a man exceptionally useful, they
will have to admit; but still they will feel badly, and fear that
civilization will suffer.


One of their curious educational ideas--but a natural one--will