“I allowed that others might; I only said that they would be unhappy in consequence. The perfection of wisdom, and the end of true philosophy, is to proportion our wants to our possessions, our ambitions to our capacities.”
“Then,” cried Metrodorus, “I have substantially proved myself this morning to be no philosopher, when I chose a study beyond the reach of my pencil.”
“No,” said Leontium, playfully tapping his shoulder, “the Master will make a distinction between what is beyond the reach of our capacity, and what beyond the reach of our practice. Erostratus might never have planned the edifice he destroyed; Ctesiphon could not always have planned it.” The smile that accompanied these words, lighted one yet more brilliant in the face of Metrodorus. Theon guessed that he felt more than admiration and more than friendship for this female disciple.
“Your remark was well timed and well pointed,” said the Master, “and has saved me some talking.”
“I am not sure of that,” cried Sofron, stepping forwards; “for though Leontium has so nicely worded the distinction between want of capacity and want of practice in the general, I should like to be told, how a man is to make this distinction between his own in particular? For instance, I have a fancy to turn philosopher, and supersede my master; how am I to tell, at my first nonplus in logic or invention, whether the defect be in my capacity or my practice?”
“If it be only in the last, I apprehend you will easily perceive it; if in the first, not so readily. A man, if he set about the search, will quickly discover his talents; he may continue it to his death without discovering his deficiencies. The reason is plain; the one hurts our self-love, the other flatters it.”
“And yet,” interrupted Theon, “I think, in my first interview with the Philosopher of Gargettium, he remarked, that thousands had the seeds of excellence in them who never found them out.”
“I see you have a good memory,” returned the Master, “I did say so, and I think it still. Many might have been heroes, and many philosophers, had they had a desire to be either; had accident or ambition made them look into themselves, and inquire into their powers; but though jewels be hid in a sack of oats, they will never be found, unless the oats be shaken. Remember, however, we are now speaking of one class of men only—the ambitious: and the ambitious will never have any seeds in them, bad or good, that will not generate and produce their proper fruit. Ambition is the spur, and the necessary spur, of a great mind to great action; when acting upon a weak mind it impels it to absurdity, or sours it with discontent.”
“Nay, then,” said Sofron, “’tis but a dangerous inmate, as minds go; and I, for one, had better have none of it, for I doubt I am not born to be an Epicurus, and I am certain I have no inclination to be a Gryphus.”
“Well,” said the Master, “we have at least to thank Gryphus for our morning’s dialogue. If any of us wish to prosecute it farther, we may do it over our repast—the sun has reached his noon, so let us to the bath.”