de 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 thoughts would then quickly cease to be just or
profound. To disdain is only too easy, not so to understand; but in him
who is truly wise there passes no thought of disdain, but it will,
sooner or later, evolve into full comprehension. The thought that can
travel scornfully over the heads of that great silent throng without
recognising its myriad brothers and sisters that are slumbering there
in its midst, is only too often merely a sterile, vicious dream. We do
well to remind ourselves at times that the spiritual, no less than the
physical, atmosphere demands more nitrogen than oxygen for the air to
be breathed by man.

85. It need not surprise us that thinkers like Balzac should have loved
to dwell on these humble lives. Eternal sameness runs through them, and
yet does each century mark profoundest change in the atmosphere that
enwraps them. The sky above has alte