ieved that wisdom
is more precious than jewels, that poverty and ill health are things of
no import, that the good man is happy whatever befall him, and all the
rest. And in generation after generation many of the ablest men, and
women also, acted upon the belief. They lived by free choice lives whose
simplicity and privation would horrify a modern labourer, and the world
about them seems to have respected rather than despised their poverty.
To the Middle Age, with its monks and mendicants expectant of reward in
heaven, such an attitude, except for its disinterestedness, would be
easily understood. To some eastern nations, with their cults of
asceticism and contemplation, the same doctrines have appealed almost
like a physical passion or a dangerous drug running riot in their veins.
But modern western man cannot believe them, nor believe seriously that
others believe them. On us the power of the material world has, through
our very mastery of it and the dependence which results from that
mastery, both inwardly and outwardly increased its hold. _Capta ferum
victorem cepit._ We have taken possession of it, and now we cannot move
without it.

The material element in modern life is far greater than in ancient; but
it does not follow that the spiritual element is correspondingly less.
No doubt it is true that a naval officer in a conning-tower in a modern
battle does not need less courage and character than a naked savage who
meets his enemy with a stick and a spear. Yet probably in the first case
the battle is mainly decided by the weight and accuracy of the guns, in
the second by the qualities of the fighter. Consequently the modern
world thinks more incessantly and anxiously about the guns, that is,
about money and mechanism; the ancient devotes its thought more to human
character and duty. And it is curious to observe how, in general, each
tries to remedy what is wrong with the world by the method that is
habitually in its thoughts. Speaking broadly, apart from certain
religious movements, the enlightened modern reformer, if confronted with
some ordinary complex of misery and wickedness, instinctively proposes
to cure it by higher wages, better food, more comfort and leisure; to
make people comfortable and trust to their becoming good. The typical
ancient reformer would appeal to us to care for none of those things
(since riches notoriously do not make men virtuous), but with all our
powers to pursue wisdom or righteousn