To the servant who dusts the scholar’s library the closed volumes are meaningless; they do not even appear to contain a promise unless he also is a scholar, not merely a servant.  It is possible to gaze throughout eternity upon a shut exterior from sheer indolence,—­mental indolence, which is incredulity, and which at last men learn to pride themselves on; they call it scepticism, and talk of the reign of reason.  It is no more a state to justify pride than that of the Eastern sybarite who will not even lift his food to his mouth; he is “reasonable” also in that he sees no value in activity, and therefore does not exercise it.  So with the sceptic; decay follows the condition of inaction, whether it be mental, psychic, or physical.

III

And now let us consider how the initial difficulty of fastening the interest on that which is unseen is to be overcome.  Our gross senses refer only to that which is objective in the ordinary sense of the word; but just beyond this field of life there are finer sensations which appeal to finer senses.  Here we find the first clew to the stepping-stones we need.  Man looks from this point of view like a point where many rays or lines centre; and if he has the courage or the interest to detach himself from the simplest form of life, the point, and explore but a little way along these lines or rays, his whole being at once inevitably widens and expands, the man begins to grow in greatness.  But it is evident, if we accept this illustration as a fairly true one, that the chief point of importance is to explore no more persistently on one line than another:  else the result must be a deformity.  We all know how powerful is the majesty and personal dignity of a forest tree which has had air enough to breathe, and room for its widening roots, and inner vitality with which to accomplish its unceasing task.  It obeys the perfect natural law of growth, and the peculiar awe it inspires arises from this fact.

How is it possible to obtain recognition of the inner man, to observe its growth and foster it?

Let us try to follow a little way the clew we have obtained, though words will probably soon be useless.

We must each travel alone and without aids, as the traveller has to climb alone when he nears the summit of the mountain.  No beast of burden can help him there; neither can the gross senses or anything that touches the gross senses help him here.  But for a little distance words may go with us.

The tongue recognises the value of sweetness or piquancy in food.  To the man whose senses are of the simplest order there is no other idea of sweetness than this.  But a finer essence, a more highly placed sensation of the same order, is reached by another perception.  The sweetness on the face of a lovely woman, or in the smile of a friend, is recognised by the man whose inner senses have even a little—­a mere stirring of—­vitality.  To the one who has lifted the golden latch the spring of sweet waters, the fountain itself whence all softness arises, is opened and becomes part of his heritage.