last, as it seems to me, who has offered a sacrifice to him, for I have found no one who could understand what I was then doing.  In the meantime, however, I have learned much, far too much, about the philosophy of this God, and, as I said, from mouth to mouth—­I, the last disciple and initiate of the God Dionysus:  and perhaps I might at last begin to give you, my friends, as far as I am allowed, a little taste of this philosophy?  In a hushed voice, as is but seemly:  for it has to do with much that is secret, new, strange, wonderful, and uncanny.  The very fact that Dionysus is a philosopher, and that therefore Gods also philosophize, seems to me a novelty which is not unensnaring, and might perhaps arouse suspicion precisely among philosophers;—­among you, my friends, there is less to be said against it, except that it comes too late and not at the right time; for, as it has been disclosed to me, you are loth nowadays to believe in God and gods.  It may happen, too, that in the frankness of my story I must go further than is agreeable to the strict usages of your ears?  Certainly the God in question went further, very much further, in such dialogues, and was always many paces ahead of me . . .  Indeed, if it were allowed, I should have to give him, according to human usage, fine ceremonious tides of lustre and merit, I should have to extol his courage as investigator and discoverer, his fearless honesty, truthfulness, and love of wisdom.  But such a God does not know what to do with all that respectable trumpery and pomp.  “Keep that,” he would say, “for thyself and those like thee, and whoever else require it!  I—­have no reason to cover my nakedness!” One suspects that this kind of divinity and philosopher perhaps lacks shame?—­He once said:  “Under certain circumstances I love mankind”—­and referred thereby to Ariadne, who was present; “in my opinion man is an agreeable, brave, inventive animal, that has not his equal upon earth, he makes his way even through all labyrinths.  I like man, and often think how I can still further advance him, and make him stronger, more evil, and more profound.”—­“Stronger, more evil, and more profound?” I asked in horror.  “Yes,” he said again, “stronger, more evil, and more profound; also more beautiful”—­and thereby the tempter-god smiled with his halcyon smile, as though he had just paid some charming compliment.  One here sees at once that it is not only shame that this divinity lacks;—­and in general there are good grounds for supposing that in some things the Gods could all of them come to us men for instruction.  We men are—­more human.—­