Then, finally, look at the poet or the philosopher, in whom reflection has reached such a height, that, instead of being drawn on to investigate any one particular phenomenon of existence, he stands in amazement before existence itself, this great sphinx, and makes it his problem.  In him consciousness has reached the degree of clearness at which it embraces the world itself:  his intellect has completely abandoned its function as the servant of his will, and now holds the world before him; and the world calls upon him much more to examine and consider it, than to play a part in it himself.  If, then, the degree of consciousness is the degree of reality, such a man will be said to exist most of all, and there will be sense and significance in so describing him.

Between the two extremes here sketched, and the intervening stages, everyone will be able to find the place at which he himself stands.

* * * * *

We know that man is in general superior to all other animals, and this is also the case in his capacity for being trained.  Mohammedans are trained to pray with their faces turned towards Mecca, five times a day; and they never fail to do it.  Christians are trained to cross themselves on certain occasions, to bow, and so on.  Indeed, it may be said that religion is the chef d’oeuvre of the art of training, because it trains people in the way they shall think:  and, as is well known, you cannot begin the process too early.  There is no absurdity so palpable but that it may be firmly planted in the human head if you only begin to inculcate it before the age of five, by constantly repeating it with an air of great solemnity.  For as in the case of animals, so in that of men, training is successful only when you begin in early youth.

Noblemen and gentlemen are trained to hold nothing sacred but their word of honor—­to maintain a zealous, rigid, and unshaken belief in the ridiculous code of chivalry; and if they are called upon to do so, to seal their belief by dying for it, and seriously to regard a king as a being of a higher order.

Again, our expressions of politeness, the compliments we make, in particular, the respectful attentions we pay to ladies, are a matter of training; as also our esteem for good birth, rank, titles, and so on.  Of the same character is the resentment we feel at any insult directed against us; and the measure of this resentment may be exactly determined by the nature of the insult.  An Englishman, for instance, thinks it a deadly insult to be told that he is no gentleman, or, still worse, that he is a liar; a Frenchman has the same feeling if you call him a coward, and a German if you say he is stupid.

There are many persons who are trained to be strictly honorable in regard to one particular matter, while they have little honor to boast of in anything else.  Many a man, for instance, will not steal your money; but he will lay hands on everything of yours that he can enjoy without having to pay for it.  A man of business will often deceive you without the slightest scruple, but he will absolutely refuse to commit a theft.