into form. The difference is considerable--a gap, but not a chasm.
The higher our thoughts ascend, the vainer and the more arbitrary
seems the distinction between him who is thinking always and him who
thinks not yet. The little burgher is full of prejudice and of
passions at which we smile; his ideas are small and petty, and
sometimes contemptible enough; and yet, place him side by side with
the sage, before essential circumstance of life, before love, grief,
death, before something that calls for true heroism, and it shall
happen more than once that the sage will turn to his humble
companion as to the guardian of a truth no less profound, no less
deeply human, than his own. There are moments when the sage
realises, that his spiritual treasures are naught; that it is only a
few words, or habits, that divide him from other men; there are
moments when he even doubts the value of those words. Those are the
moments when wisdom flowers and sends forth blossom. Thought may
sometimes deceive; and the thinker who goes astray must often
retrace his footsteps to the spot whence those who think not have
never moved away, where they still remain faithfully seated round
the silent, essential truth. They are the guardians of the watch-
fires of the tribe; the others take lighted torches and go wandering
abroad; but when the air grows heavy and threatens the feeble flame,
then is it well to turn back and draw close to the watch-fires once
more. These fires seem never to stir from the spot where they always
have been; but in truth they ever are moving, keeping time with the
worlds; and their flame marks the hour of humanity on the dial of
the universe. We know exactly how much the inert forces owe to the
thinker; we forget the deep indebtedness of the thinker to inert
force. In a world where all were thinkers, more than one
indispensable truth might perhaps for ever be lost. For indeed the
thinker must never lose touch with those who do not think, as his