1.  In this book there will often be mention of wisdom and destiny, of happiness, justice, and love.  There may seem to be some measure of irony in thus calling forth an intangible happiness where so much real sorrow prevails; a justice that may well be ideal in the bosom of an injustice, alas! only too material; a love that eludes the grasp in the midst of palpable hatred and callousness.  The moment may seem but ill-chosen for leisurely search, in the hidden recess of man’s heart, for motives of peace and tranquillity; occasions for gladness, uplifting, and love; reasons for wonder and gratitude—­ seeing that the vast bulk of mankind, in whose name we would fain lift our voice, have not even the time or assurance to drain to the dregs the misery and desolation of life.  Not to them is it given to linger over the inward rejoicing, the profound consolation, that the satisfied thinker has slowly and painfully acquired, that he knows how to prize.  Thus has it often been urged against moralists, among them Epictetus, that they were apt to concern themselves with none but the wise alone.  In this reproach is some truth, as some truth there must be in every reproach that is made.  And indeed, if we had only the courage to listen to the simplest, the nearest, most pressing voice of our conscience, and be deaf to all else, it were doubtless our solitary duty to relieve the suffering about us to the greatest extent in our power.  It were incumbent upon us to visit and nurse the poor, to console the afflicted; to found model factories, surgeries, dispensaries, or at least to devote ourselves, as men of science do, to wresting from nature the material secrets which are most essential to man.  But yet, were the world at a given moment to contain only persons thus actively engaged in helping each other, and none venturesome enough to dare snatch leisure for research in other directions, then could this charitable labour not long endure; for all that is best in the good that at this day is being done round about us, was conceived in the spirit of one of those who neglected, it may be, many an urgent, immediate duty in order to think, to commune with themselves, in order to speak.  Does it follow that they did the best that was to be done?  To such a question as this who shall dare to reply?  The soul that is meekly honest must ever consider the simplest, the nearest duty to be the best of all things it can do; but yet were there cause for regret had all men for all time restricted themselves to the duty that lay nearest at hand.  In each generation some men have existed who held in all loyalty that they fulfilled the duties of the passing hour by pondering on those of the hour to come.  Most thinkers will say that these men were right.  It is well that the thinker should give his thoughts to the world, though it must be admitted that wisdom befinds itself sometimes in the reverse of the sage’s pronouncement.  This matters but little, however; for, without such pronouncement, the wisdom had not stood revealed; and the sage has accomplished his duty.