h no: this deep-hearted Son of the Wilderness, with his beaming black
eyes and open social deep soul, had other thoughts in him than
ambition. A silent great soul; he was one of those who cannot _but_ be
in earnest; whom Nature herself has appointed to be sincere. While
others walk in formulas and hearsays, contented enough to dwell there,
this man could not screen himself in formulas; he was alone with his
own soul and the reality of things. The great Mystery of Existence, as
I said, glared-in upon him, with its terrors, with its splendours; no
hearsays could hide that unspeakable fact, "Here am I!" Such
_sincerity_, as we named it, has in very truth something of divine.
The word of such a man is a Voice direct from Nature's own Heart. Men
do and must listen to that as to nothing else;--all else is wind in
comparison. From of old, a thousand thoughts, in his pilgrimings and
wanderings, had been in this man: What am I? What _is_ this
unfathomable Thing I live in, which men name Universe? What is Life;
what is Death? What am I to believe? What am I to do? The grim rocks
of Mount Hara, of Mount Sinai, the stern sandy solitudes answered not.
The great Heaven rolling silent overhead, with its blue-glancing
stars, answered not. There was no answer. The man's own soul, and what
of God's inspiration dwelt there, had to answer!

It is the thing which all men have to ask themselves; which we too have
to ask, and answer. This wild man felt it to be of _infinite_ moment;
all other things of no moment whatever in comparison. The jargon of
argumentative Greek Sects, vague traditions of Jews, the stupid routine
of Arab Idolatry, there was no answer in these. A Hero, as I repeat,
has this first distinction, which indeed we may call first and last,
the Alpha and Omega of his whole Heroism, That he looks through the
shows of things into _things_. Use and wont, respectable hearsay,
respectable formula: all these are good, or are not good. There is
something behind and beyond all these, which all these must correspond
with, be the image of, or they are--_Idolatries_: 'bits of black wood
pretending to be God;' to the earnest soul a mockery and abomination.
Idolatries never so gilded, waited on by heads of the Koreish, will do
nothing for this man. Though all men walk by them, what good is it? The
great Reality stands glaring there upon _him_. He there has to answer
it, or perish miserably. Now, even now, or else through all Eternity
never!