d　populous　cities；　spends　　his　days　to　deliver　the　ends　of　the　earth　or　to　benefit　　unborn　posterity；　and　yet　knows　himself　for　a　piece　of　　unsurpassed　fragility　and　the　creature　of　a　few　days。　　His　　sight；　which　conducts　him；　which　takes　notice　of　the　farthest　　stars；　which　is　miraculous　in　every　way　and　a　thing　defying　　explanation　or　belief；　is　yet　lodged　in　a　piece　of　jelly；　and　　can　be　extinguished　with　a　touch。　　His　heart；　which　all　　through　life　so　indomitably；　so　athletically　labours；　is　but　　a　capsule；　and　may　be　stopped　with　a　pin。　　His　whole　body；　　for　all　its　savage　energies；　its　leaping　and　its　winged　　desires；　may　yet　be　tamed　and　conquered　by　a　draught　of　air　　or　a　sprinkling　of　cold　dew。　　What　he　calls　death；　which　is　　the　seeming　arrest　of　everything；　and　the　ruin　and　hateful　　transformation　of　the　visible　body；　lies　in　wait　for　him　　outwardly　in　a　thousand　accidents；　and　grows　up　in　secret　　diseases　from　within。　　He　is　still　learning　to　be　a　man　when　　his　faculties　are　already　beginning　to　decline；　he　has　not　　yet　understood　himself　or　his　position　before　he　inevitably　　dies。　　And　yet　this　mad；　chimerical　creature　can　take　no　　thought　of　his　last　end；　lives　as　though　he　were　eternal；　　plunges　with　his　vulnerable　body　into　the　shock　of　war；　and　　daily　affronts　death　with　unconcern。　　He　cannot　take　a　step　　without　pain　or　pleasure。　　His　life　is　a　tissue　of　　sensations；　which　he　distinguishes　as　they　seem　to　come　more　　directly　from　himself　or　his　surroundings。　　He　is　conscious　　of　himself　as　a　joyer　or　a　sufferer；　as　that　which　craves；　　chooses；　and　is　satisfied；　conscious　of　his　surroundings　as　　it　were　of　an　inexhaustible　purveyor；　the　source　of　aspects；　　inspirations；　wonders；　cruel　knocks　and　transporting　　caresses。　　Thus　he　goes　on　his　way；　stumbling　among　delights　　and　agonies。
  Matter　is　a　far…fetched　theory；　and　materialism　is　without　a　　root　in　man。　　To　him　everything　is　important　in　the　degree　to　　which　it　moves　him。　　The　telegraph　wires　and　posts；　the　　electricity　speeding　from　clerk　to　clerk；　the　clerks；　the　　glad　or　sorrowful　import　of　the　message；　and　the　paper　on　　which　it　is　finally　brought　to　him　at　home；　are　all　equally　　facts；　all　equally　exist　for　man。　　A　word　or　a　thought　can　　wound　him　as　acutely　as　a　knife　of　steel。　　If　he　thinks　he　is　　loved；　he　will　rise　up　and　glory　to　himself；　although　he　be　　in　a　distant　land　and　short　of　necessary　bread。　　Does　he　　think　he　is　not　loved？　…　he　may　have　the　woman　at　his　beck；　　and　there　is　not　a　joy　for　him　in　all　the　world。　　Indeed；　if　　we　are　to　make　any　account　of　this　figment　of　reason；　the　　distinction　between　material　and　immaterial；　we　shall　　conclude　that　the　life　of　each　man　as　an　individual　is　　immaterial；　although　the　continuation　and　prospects　of　　mankind　as　a　race　turn　upon　material　conditions。　　The　　physical　business　of　each　man's　body　is　transacted　for　him；　　like　a　sybarite；　he　has　attentive　valets　in　his　own　viscera；　　he　breathes；　he　sweats；　he　digests　without　an　effort；　or　so　　much　as　a　consenting　volition；　for　the　most　part　he　even　　eats；　not　with　a　wakeful　consciousness；　but　as　it　were　　between　two　thoughts。　　His　life　is　centred　among　other　and　　more　important　considerations；　touch　him　in　his　honour　or　his　　love；　creatures　of　the　imagination　which　attach　him　to　　mankind　or　to　an　individual　man　or　woman；　cross　him　in　his　　piety　which　connects　his　soul　with　heaven；　and　he　turns　from　　his　food；　he　loathes　his　breath；　and　with　a　magnanimous　　emotion　cuts　the　knots　of　his　existence　and　frees　himself　at　　a　blow　from　the　web　of　pains　and　pleasures。
  It　follows　that　man　is　twofold　at　least；　that　he　is　not　a　　rounded　and　autonomous　empire；　but　that　in　the　same　body　with　　him　there　dwell　other　powers　tributary　but　independent。　　If　I　　now　behold　one　walking　in　a　garden；　curiously　coloured　and　　illuminated　by　the　sun；　digesting　his　food　with　elaborate　　chemistry；　breathing；　circulating　blood；　directing　himself　by　　the　sight　of　his　eyes；　accommodating　his　body　by　a　thousand　　delicate　balancings　to　the　wind　and　the　uneven　surface　of　the　　path；　and　all　the　time；　perhaps；　with　his　mind　engaged　about　　America；　or　the　dog…star；　or　the　attributes　of　God　…　what　am　　I　to　say；　or　how　am　I　to　describe　the　thing　I　see？　　Is　that　　truly　a　man；　in　the　rigorous　meaning　of　the　word？　or　is　it　　not　a　man　and　something　else？　　What；　then；　are　we　to　count　　the　centre…bit　and　axle　of　a　being　so　variously　compounded？　　　It　is　a　question　much　debated。　　Some　read　his　history　in　a　　certain　intricacy　of　nerve　and　the　success　of　successive　　digestions；　others　find　him　an　exiled　piece　of　heaven　blown　　upon　and　determined　by　the　breath　of　God；　and　both　schools　of　　theorists　will　scream　like　scalded　children　at　a　word　of　　doubt。　　Yet　either　of　these　views；　however　plausible；　is　　beside　the　question；　either　may　be　right；　and　I　care　not；　I　　ask　a　more　particular　answer；　and　to　a　more　immediate　point。　　　What　is　the　man？　　There　is　Something　that　was　before　hunger　　and　that　remains　behind　after　a　meal。　　It　may　or　may　not　be　　engaged　in　any　given　act　or　passion；　but　when　it　is；　it　　changes；　heightens；　and　sanctifies。　　Thus　it　is　not　engaged　　in　lust；　where　satisfaction　ends　the　chapter；　and　it　is　　engaged　in　love；　where　no　satisfaction　can　blunt　the　edge　of　　the　desire；　and　where　age；　sickness；　or　alienation　may　deface　　what　was　desirable　without　diminishing　the　sentiment。　　This　　something；　which　is　the　man；　is　a　permanence　which　abides　　through　the　vicissitudes　of　passion；　now　overwhelmed　and　now　　triumphant；　now　unconscious　of　itself　in　the　immediate　　distress　of　appetite　or　pain；　now　rising　unclouded　above　all。　　　So；　to　the　man；　his　own　central　self　fades　and　grows　clear　　again　amid　the　tumult　of　the　senses；　like　a　revolving　Pharos　　in　the　night。　　It　is　forgotten；　it　is　hid；　it　seems；　for　　ever；　and　yet　in　the　next　calm　hour　he　shall　behold　himself　　once　more；　shining　and　unmoved　among　changes　and　storm。
  Mankind；　in　the　sense　of　the　creeping　mass　that　is　born　and　　eats；　that　generates　and　dies；　is　but　the　aggregate　of　the　　outer　and　lower　sides　of　man。　　This　inner　consciousness；　this　　lantern　alternately　obscured　and　shining；　to　and　by　which　the　　individual　exists　and　must　order　his　conduct；　is　something　　special　to　himself　and　not　common　to　the　race。　　His　joys　　delight；　his　sorrows　wound　him；　according　as　THIS　is　　interested　or　indifferent　in　the　affair；　according　as　they　　arise　in　an　imperial　war　or　in　a　broil　conducted　by　the　　tributary　chieftains　of　the　mind。　　He　may　lose　all；　and　THIS　　not　suffer；　he　may　lose　what　is　materially　a　trifle；　and　THIS　　leap　in　his　bosom　with　a　cruel　pang。　　I　do　not　speak　of　it　to　　hardened　theorists：　the　living　man　knows　keenly　what　it　is　I　　mean。
  'Perceive　at　last　that　thou　hast　in　thee　something　better　and　　more　divine　than　the　things　which　cause　the　various　effects；　　and；　as　it　were；　pull　thee　by　the　strings。　　What　is　that　now　　in　thy　mind？　is　it　fear；　or　suspicion；　or　desire；　or　anything　　of　that　kind？'　　Thus　far　Marcus　Aurelius；　in　one　of　the　most　　notable　passages　in　any　book。　　Here　is　a　question　worthy　to　　be　answered。　　What　is　in　thy　mind？　　What　is　the　utterance　of　　your　inmost　self　when；　in　a　quiet　hour；　it　can　be　heard　　intelligibly？　　It　is　something　beyond　the　compass　of　your　　thinking；　inasmuch　as　it　is　yourself；　but　is　it　not　of　a　　higher　spirit　than　you　had　dreamed　betweenwhiles；　and　erect　　above　all　base　considerations？　　This　soul　seems　hardly　　touched　with　our　infirmities；　we　can　find　in　it　certainly　no　　fear；　suspicion；　or　desire；　we　are　only　conscious　…　and　that　　as　though　we　read　it　in　the　eyes　of　some　one　else　…　of　a　　great　and　unqualified　readiness。　　A　readiness　to　what？　to　　pass　over　and　look　beyond　the　objects　of　desire　and　fear；　for　　something　else。　　And　this　something　else？　this　something　　which　is　apart　from　desire　and　fear；　to　which　all　the　　kingdoms　of　the　world　and　the　immediate　death　of　the　body　are　　alike　indifferent　and　beside　the　point；　and　which　yet　regards　　conduct　…　by　what　name　are　we　to　call　it？　　It　may　be　the　love　　of　God；　or　it　may　be　an　inherited　（and　certainly　well　　concealed）　instinct　to　preserve　self　and　propagate　the　race；　　I　am　not；　for　the　moment；　averse　to　either　theory；　but　it　　will　save　time　to　call　it　righteousness。　　By　so　doing　I　　intend　no　subterfuge　to　beg　a　question；　I　am　indeed　ready；　　and　more　than　willing；　to　accept　the　rigid　consequence；　and　　lay　aside；　as　far　as　the　treachery　of　the　reason　will　permit；　　all　former　meanings　attached　to　the　word　righteousness。　　What　　is　right　is　that　for　which　a　man's　central　self　is　ever　ready　　to　sacrifice　immediate　or　distant　interests；　what　is　wrong　is　　what　the　central　self　discards　or　rejects　as　incompatible　　with　the　fixed　design　of　righteousness。
  To　make　this　admission　is　to　lay　aside　all　hope　of　　definition。　　That　which　is　right　upon　this　theory　is　　intimately　dictated　to　each　man　by　himself；　but　can　never　be　　rigorously　set　forth　in　language；　and　never；　above　all；　　imposed　upon　another。　　The　conscience　has；　then；　a　vision　　like　that　of　the　eyes；　which　is　incommunicable；　and　for　the　　most　part　illuminates　none　but　its　possessor。　　When　many　　people　perceive　the　same　or　any　cognate　facts；　they　agree　　upon　a　word　as　symbol；　and　hence　we　have　such　wor