ion of the competitors, as though in comparison of
the ideal exemplification these minor and approximating forms had no
existence--or at least, not _quoad hunc locum_--as 'the mountain in
Sicily' would rightly indicate Etna), on the same artificial principle
they may imagine rhetoricians to have denominated (or if not, to have
had it in their power to denominate) some one department of truth which
they wished to favour as _the_ truth. But this conventional denomination
would not avail, and for two reasons: First, that rival modes of truth
(physics against mathematics, rhetoric against music) would contest the
title, and no such denomination would have a basis of any but a sort of
courtesy or vicarious harmonious reality from the very first. Secondly,
that, standing in no relation whatever to God, every mode, form,
division or subdivision of truth merely intellectual would gain nothing
at all by such ostentatious arts. Algebra has been distinguished by
glorious names; so has the fancied knowledge of transmutation applied to
the metals; so, doubtless, has many a visionary speculation of magic;
so, again, has the ridiculous schwermerey of the Rabbis in particular
ages. But those are as transient and even for the moment as partial
titles as the titles of Invincible or Seraphic applied to scholastic
divines. Out of this idea the truth grew, next (suppose _x_) another
_Martyrdom_.

The difference between all human doctrines and this is as between a
marble statue and a quick thing. The statue may be better, and it may be
of better material; it may be of ivory, of marble, and amongst marbles
known to the ancient sculptors of several different kinds the most
prized; of silver gilt, of hollow gold, of massy gold, and in all
degrees of skill; but still one condition applies to all--whatever the
material, whoever the artist, the statue is inanimate, the breath of
life is not within its nostrils. Motion, spontaneity, action and
antagonist action, the subtle watch-work of the brain, the mighty
laboratory of the heart, vision, sensibility, self-propagated warmth,
pleasure, hope, memory, thought, liberty--not one of these divine gifts
does it possess. It is cold, icy, senseless, dull, inert matter. Let
Phidias have formed the statue, it is no better. Let the purest gold be
its material, it is no worthier than the meanest model in clay to the
valuation of the philosopher. And here, as in so many cases, the great
philosopher meets with t