and not to penetrate to the heart of the matter.  A man cannot entirely identify himself with such pursuits, or have his whole existence so completely filled and permeated with them that he loses all interest in everything else.  It is only the highest intellectual power, what we call genius, that attains to this degree of intensity, making all time and existence its theme, and striving to express its peculiar conception of the world, whether it contemplates life as the subject of poetry or of philosophy.  Hence, undisturbed occupation with himself, his own thoughts and works, is a matter of urgent necessity to such a man; solitude is welcome, leisure is the highest good, and everything else is unnecessary, nay, even burdensome.

This is the only type of man of whom it can be said that his centre of gravity is entirely in himself; which explains why it is that people of this sort—­and they are very rare—­no matter how excellent their character may be, do not show that warm and unlimited interest in friends, family, and the community in general, of which others are so often capable; for if they have only themselves they are not inconsolable for the loss of everything else.  This gives an isolation to their character, which is all the more effective since other people never really quite satisfy them, as being, on the whole, of a different nature:  nay more, since this difference is constantly forcing itself upon their notice they get accustomed to move about amongst mankind as alien beings, and in thinking of humanity in general, to say they instead of we.

So the conclusion we come to is that the man whom nature has endowed with intellectual wealth is the happiest; so true it is that the subjective concerns us more than the objective; for whatever the latter may be, it can work only indirectly, secondly, and through the medium of the former—­a truth finely expressed by Lucian:—­

  [Greek:  Aeloutos ho taes psychaes ploutus monos estin alaethaes
  Talla dechei ataen pleiona ton kteanon—­][1]

[Footnote 1:  Epigrammata, 12.]

the wealth of the soul is the only true wealth, for with all other riches comes a bane even greater than they.  The man of inner wealth wants nothing from outside but the negative gift of undisturbed leisure, to develop and mature his intellectual faculties, that is, to enjoy his wealth; in short, he wants permission to be himself, his whole life long, every day and every hour.  If he is destined to impress the character of his mind upon a whole race, he has only one measure of happiness or unhappiness—­to succeed or fail in perfecting his powers and completing his work.  All else is of small consequence.  Accordingly, the greatest minds of all ages have set the highest value upon undisturbed leisure, as worth exactly as much as the man himself. Happiness appears to consist in leisure, says Aristotle;[1] and Diogenes Laertius reports that Socrates praised