their spirits are
dead.

[35]

For the guidance of life there is no law but the common sense, which is
the union of those fragmentary perceptions of eternal law, which
individual men [37] attain, in so far as their spirits are dry and
pure. Of absolute knowledge human nature is not capable, but only the
Divine. To the Eternal, therefore, alone all things are good and
beautiful and just, because to Him alone do things appear in their
totality. To the human partial reason some things are unjust and
others just. Hence life, by reason of the limitations [38] involved in
it, he sometimes spoke of as the death of the soul, and death as the
renewal of its life. And so, [39] in the great events of man's life
and in the small, as in the mighty circle of the heavens, good and
evil, life and death, growth and decay, are but the systole and
diastole, the outward and inward pulsation, of an eternal good, an
eternal harmony. Day and {20} night, winter and summer, war and peace,
satiety and hunger--each conditions the other, all are part of God. It
is sickness that makes health good and sweet, hunger that gives its
pleasure to feeding, weariness that makes sleep a good.

[39]

This vision of existence in its eternal flux and interchange, seems to
have inspired Heraclitus with a contemplative melancholy. In the
traditions of later times he was known as the _weeping_ philosopher.
Lucian represents him as saying, "To me it is a sorrow that there is
nothing fixed or secure, and that all things are thrown confusedly
together, so that pleasure and pain, knowledge and ignorance, the great
and the small, are the same, ever circling round and passing one into
the other in the sport of time." "Time," he says elsewhere, "is like a
child that plays with the dice." The highest good, therefore, for
mortals is that clarity of perception in respect of oneself and all
that is, whereby we shall learn to apprehend somewhat of the eternal
unity and harmony, that underlies the good and evil of time, the shock
and stress of circumstance and place. The highest virtue for man is a
placid and a quiet constancy, whatever the changes and chances of life
may bring. It is the pantheistic apathy.

The sadder note of humanity, the note of Euripides and at times of
Sophocles, the note of Dante and of the _Tempest_ of Shakespeare, of
Shelley and Arnold {21} and Carlyle,--this note we hear thus early and
thus clear, in the dim and distant utterances