After
all, the difference between the greatest thinker and the smallest
provincial burgher is often only the difference between a truth that
can sometimes express itself and a truth that can never crystallise
into form. The difference is considerable--a gap, but not a chasm.
The higher our thoughts ascend, the vainer and the more arbitrary
seems the distinction between him who is thinking always and him who
thinks not yet. The little burgher is full of prejudice and of
passions at which we smile; his ideas are small and petty, and
sometimes contemptible enough; and yet, place him side by side with
the sage, before essential circumstance of life, before love, grief,
death, before something that calls for true heroism, and it shall
happen more than once that the sage will turn to his humble
companion as to the guardian of a truth no less profound, no less
deeply human, than his own. There are moments when the sage
realises, that his spiritual treasures are naught; that it is only a
few words, or habits, that divide him from other men; there are
moments when he even doubts the value of those words. Those are the
moments when wisdom flowers and sends forth blossom. Thought may
sometimes deceive; and the thinker who goes astray must often
retrace his footsteps to the spot whence those who think not have
never moved away, where they still remain faithfully seated round
the silent, essential truth.
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