I believe there is something deeply noble held safe within each being, and, perhaps particularly, each person. Something more heroic than all the stories of heroism and more beautiful than all of the art. For it seems to me that the capacity to appreciate either is a prerequisite for their willful creation, and thus I count it greater. I fear that for most of us, all of this will remain a puzzling secret, even to ourselves, for the contexts we have and habitually assemble too rarely call our nobility forth in ways we can still recognize, and these contexts have well-established methods of dealing with it, should it emerge uninvited or inconveniently — as it so often will.