Nor is this merely a vague and, at bottom, a more or less
meaningless statement. For, indeed, considering this essay only,
that deals with wisdom and destiny, at the root of it--its
fundamental principle, its guiding, inspiring thought--is love.
"Nothing is contemptible in this world save only scorn," he says;
and for the humble, the foolish, nay, even the wicked, he has the
same love, almost the same admiration, as for the sage, the saint,
or the hero. Everything that exists fills him with wonder, because
of its existence, and of the mysterious force that is in it; and to
him love and wisdom are one, "joining hands in a circle of light."
For the wisdom that holds aloof from mankind, that deems itself a
thing apart, select, superior, he has scant sympathy--it has
"wandered too far from the watchfires of the tribe." But the wisdom
that is human, that feeds constantly on the desires, the feelings,
the hopes and the fears of man, must needs have love ever by its
side; and these two, marching together, must inevitably find
themselves, sooner or later, on the ways that lead to goodness.
"There comes a moment in life," he says, "when moral beauty seems
more urgent, more penetrating, than intellectual beauty; when all
that the mind has treasured must be bathed in the greatness of soul,
lest it perish in the sandy desert, forlorn as the river that seeks
in vain for the sea." But for unnecessary self-sacrifice,
renouncement, abandonment of earthly joys, and all such "parasitic
virtues," he has no commendation or approval; feeling that man was
created to be happy, and that he is not wise who voluntarily
discards a happiness to-day for fear lest it be taken from him on
the morrow. "Let us wait till the hour of sacrifice sounds--till
then, each man to his work. The hour will sound at last--let us not
waste our time in seeking it on the dial of life."