This Ciceronian definition, which is the Stoic definition, is also found in that formidable intellectualist, Clement of Alexandria, who was canonized by the Catholic Church, and he expounds it in the fifth chapter of the first of his Stromata.  But this same Christian philosopher—­Christian?—­in the twenty-second chapter of his fourth Stroma tells us that for the gnostic—­that is to say, the intellectual—­knowledge, gnosis, ought to suffice, and he adds:  “I will dare aver that it is not because he wishes to be saved that he, who devotes himself to knowledge for the sake of the divine science itself, chooses knowledge.  For the exertion of the intellect by exercise is prolonged to a perpetual exertion.  And the perpetual exertion of the intellect is the essence of an intelligent being, which results from an uninterrupted process of admixture, and remains eternal contemplation, a living substance.  Could we, then, suppose anyone proposing to the gnostic whether he would choose the knowledge of God or everlasting salvation, and if these, which are entirely identical, were separable, he would without the least hesitation choose the knowledge of God?” May He, may God Himself, whom we long to enjoy and possess eternally, deliver us from this Clementine gnosticism or intellectualism!

Why do I wish to know whence I come and whither I go, whence comes and whither goes everything that environs me, and what is the meaning of it all?  For I do not wish to die utterly, and I wish to know whether I am to die or not definitely.  If I do not die, what is my destiny? and if I die, then nothing has any meaning for me.  And there are three solutions:  (a) I know that I shall die utterly, and then irremediable despair, or (b) I know that I shall not die utterly, and then resignation, or (c) I cannot know either one or the other, and then resignation in despair or despair in resignation, a desperate resignation or a resigned despair, and hence conflict.

“It is best,” some reader will say, “not to concern yourself with what cannot be known.”  But is it possible?  In his very beautiful poem, The Ancient Sage, Tennyson said: 

    Thou canst not prove the Nameless, O my son,
    Nor canst thou prove the world thou movest in,
    Thou canst not prove that thou art body alone,
    Thou canst not prove that thou art spirit alone,
    Nor canst thou prove that thou art both in one: 
    Nor canst thou prove thou art immortal, no,
    Nor yet that thou art mortal—­nay, my son,
    Thou canst not prove that I, who speak with thee,
    Am not thyself in converse with thyself,
    For nothing worthy proving can be proven,
    Nor yet disproven:  wherefore thou be wise,
    Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt,
    Cling to Faith beyond the forms of Faith!