This particular instance survives in the evangelical revivalists of the street.  They are irritating enough, but no one who has really studied them can deny that the irritation is occasioned by these two things, an irritating hilarity and an irritating humility.  This combination of joy and self-prostration is a great deal too universal to be ignored.  If humility has been discredited as a virtue at the present day, it is not wholly irrelevant to remark that this discredit has arisen at the same time as a great collapse of joy in current literature and philosophy.  Men have revived the splendour of Greek self-assertion at the same time that they have revived the bitterness of Greek pessimism.  A literature has arisen which commands us all to arrogate to ourselves the liberty of self-sufficing deities at the same time that it exhibits us to ourselves as dingy maniacs who ought to be chained up like dogs.  It is certainly a curious state of things altogether.  When we are genuinely happy, we think we are unworthy of happiness.  But when we are demanding a divine emancipation we seem to be perfectly certain that we are unworthy of anything.

The only explanation of the matter must be found in the conviction that humility has infinitely deeper roots than any modern men suppose; that it is a metaphysical and, one might almost say, a mathematical virtue.  Probably this can best be tested by a study of those who frankly disregard humility and assert the supreme duty of perfecting and expressing one’s self.  These people tend, by a perfectly natural process, to bring their own great human gifts of culture, intellect, or moral power to a great perfection, successively shutting out everything that they feel to be lower than themselves.  Now shutting out things is all very well, but it has one simple corollary—­that from everything that we shut out we are ourselves shut out.  When we shut our door on the wind, it would be equally true to say that the wind shuts its door on us.  Whatever virtues a triumphant egoism really leads to, no one can reasonably pretend that it leads to knowledge.  Turning a beggar from the door may be right enough, but pretending to know all the stories the beggar might have narrated is pure nonsense; and this is practically the claim of the egoism which thinks that self-assertion can obtain knowledge.  A beetle may or may not be inferior to a man—­the matter awaits demonstration; but if he were inferior by ten thousand fathoms, the fact remains that there is probably a beetle view of things of which a man is entirely ignorant.  If he wishes to conceive that point of view, he will scarcely reach it by persistently revelling in the fact that he is not a beetle.  The most brilliant exponent of the egoistic school, Nietszche, with deadly and honourable logic, admitted that the philosophy of self-satisfaction led to looking down upon the weak, the cowardly, and the ignorant.  Looking down on things may be a delightful experience, only there is nothing, from a mountain to a cabbage, that is really seen when it is seen from a balloon.  The philosopher of the ego sees everything, no doubt, from a high and rarified heaven; only he sees everything foreshortened or deformed.