There was his infinite trust;—­and his unbroken silence as to the Things he trusted in.  Time and the world went proving to him year by year that his theories were all impracticable, all wrong; that he was a failure; that there was not anything for him to do, and never would be a chance for him to do it;—­and all their arguments, all the sheer dreadful tyranny of fact, had no weight with him at all:  he went on and on.  What was his sword of strength?  Where were the Allies in whom he trusted?  How dared he pit K’ung Ch’iu of Lu against time and the world and me?—­The Unseen was with him, and the Silence; and he (perhaps) lifted no veil from the Unseen, and kept silent as to the silence;—­and yet maintained his Movement, and held his disciples together, and saved his people,—­as if he himself had been the Unseen made visible, and the Silence given a voice to speak.

And with it all there was the human man who suffered.  I think you will love him the more for this, from the Analects:

“The Minister said to Tse Lu, Tseng Hsi, Jan Yu, and Kung-hsi Hua as they sat beside him:  ’I may be a day older than you are, but forget that.  You are wont to say, “We are unknown.”  Well; had ye a name in the world, what would ye do?’”

“Tse Lu answered lightly:  ’Give me charge of a land of a thousand chariots, crushed between great neighbors, overrun by soldiery and oppressed by famine; in three years’ time I should have put courage and high purpose into the people.’”

“The Master smiled,—­’What wouldst thou do, Ch’iu?’ he said.”

“Jan Yu answered:  ’Had I charge of sixty or seventy square miles, or from fifty to sixty, in three years’ time I would give the people plenty.  As for courtesy, music and the like, they could wait for these for the rise of a Princely Man.’”

“‘And what wouldst thou do, Chih?’ said the Master.”

“Kung-hsi Hua answered:  ’I would speak of the things I fain would learn, not of what I can do.  At service in the Ancestral Temple, or at the Grand Audience, clad in black robe and cap, I fain would fill a small part.’”

“‘And thou, Tien?’ said the Master.”

“Tseng Hsi stopped playing, pushed away his still sounding lute, rose up, and made answer:  ’My choice would be unlike those of the other three.’”

“‘What harm in that?’ said the Master.  ‘Each but speaks his mind.’”

“Tseng Hsi said:  ’In the last days of Spring, and clad for the season, with five or six grown men and six or seven lads, I would bathe in the waters of Yi, all fanned by the breeze in the Rain God’s Glade, and wander home with song.’”

“The Master sighed.—­’I hold with Tien,’ said he.”