piness which should be, and perhaps in course
of time will be, the real human happiness. Had we taken part in the
creation of the world, we should probably have bestowed more special,
distinctive force on all that is best in man, most immaterial, most
essentially human. If a thought of love, or a gleam of the intellect;
a word of justice, an act of pity, a desire for pardon or sacrifice; if
a gesture of sympathy, a craving of one's whole being for beauty,
goodness, or truth--if emotions like these could affect the universe as
they affect the man who has known them, they would call forth
miraculous flowery, supernatural radiance, inconceivable melody; they
would scatter the night, recall spring and the sunshine, stay the hand
of sickness, grief, disaster and misery; gladness would spring from
them, and youth be restored; while the mind would gain freedom, thought
immortality, and life be eternal. No resistance could check them;
their reward would follow as visibly as it follows the labourer's toll,
the nightingale's song, or the work of the bee. But we have learned at
last that the moral world is a world wherein man is alone; a world
contained in ourselves that bears no relation to matter, upon which its
influence is only of the most exceptional and hazardous kind. But none
the less real, therefore, is this world, or less infinite: and if words
break down when they try to tell of it, the reason is only that words,
after all, are mere fragments of matter, that seek to enter a sphere
where matter holds no dominion. The images that words evoke are for
ever betraying the thoughts for which they stand. When we try to
express perfect joy, a noble, spiritual ecstasy, a profound,
everlasting love, our words can only compare them with animal passion,
with drunkenness, brutal and coarse desire. And not only do they thus
degrade the noblest triumphs of the soul of man by likening them to
primitive instincts, but they incite us to believe, in spite of
ourselves, that the object or feeling compared is less real, less true
or substantial, than the type to which it is referred. Herein lies the
injustice and weakness of every attempt that is made to give voice to
the secrets of men. And yet, be words never so faulty, let us still
pay careful heed to the events of this inner world. For of all the
events it has lain in our power to meet hitherto, they alone truly are
human.

8

Nor should they be regarded as useless, even t