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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/5637.txt b/5637.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5477305 --- /dev/null +++ b/5637.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15471 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Literary and Philosophical Essays, by Various + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Literary and Philosophical Essays + +Author: Various + +Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5637] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on August 1, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, LITERARY AND PHILOSOPHICAL ESSAYS *** + + + + +David Turner, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + +LITERARY AND PHILOSOPHICAL ESSAYS + +HARVARD CLASSICS V32 + + + + +CONTENTS + +THAT WE SHOULD NOT JUDGE OF OUR HAPPINESS UNTIL AFTER OUR DEATH THAT +TO PHILOSOPHISE IS TO LEARNE How TO DIE OF THE INSTITUTION AND +EDUCATION OF CHILDREN OF FRIENDSHIP OF BOOKES BY MONTAIGNE + +MONTAIGNE + +WHAT IS A CLASSIC? BY CHASLES-AUGUSTIN SAINTE-BEUVE + +THE POETRY OF THE CELTIC RACES BY ERNEST RENAN + +THE EDUCATION OF THE HUMAN RACE BY GOTTHOLD EPHRAIM LESSING + +LETTERS UPON THE AESTHETIC EDUCATION OF MAN BY J. C. FRIEDRICH VON +SCHILLER + +FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES OF THE METAPHYSIC OF MORALS + +TRANSITION FROM POPULAR MORAL PHILOSOPHY TO THE METAPHYSIC OF MORALS + +IMMANUEL KANT + +BYRON AND GOETHE BY GIUSEPPE MAZZINI + + + +INTRODUCTORY NOTE + +Michel Eyquem De Montaigne, the founder of the modern Essay, was +born February 28, 1533, at the chateau of Montaigne in Pirigord. He +came of a family of wealthy merchants of Bordeaux, and was educated +at the College de Guyenne, where he had among his teachers the great +Scottish Latinist, George Buchanan. Later he studied law, and held +various public offices; but at the age of thirty-eight he retired to +his estates, where he lived apart from the civil wars of the time, +and devoted himself to study and thought. While he was traveling in +Germany and Italy, in 1580-81, he was elected mayor of Bordeaux, and +this office he filled for four years. He married in 1565, and had +six daughters, only one of whom grew up. The first two books of his +"Essays" appeared in 1580; the third in 1588; and four years later +he died. + +These are the main external facts of Montaigne's life: of the man +himself the portrait is to be found in his book. "It is myself I +portray," he declares; and there is nowhere in literature a volume +of self-revelation surpassing his in charm and candor. He is frankly +egotistical, yet modest and unpretentious; profoundly wise, yet +constantly protesting his ignorance; learned, yet careless, +forgetful, and inconsistent. His themes are as wide and varied as +his observation of human life, and he has written the finest eulogy +of friendship the world has known. Bacon, who knew his book and +borrowed from it, wrote on the same subject; and the contrast of the +essays is the true reflection of the contrast between the +personalities of their authors. + +Shortly after Montaigne's death the "Essays" were translated into +English by John Florio, with less than exact accuracy, but in a +style so full of the flavor of the age that we still read Montaigne +in the version which Shakespeare knew. The group of examples here +printed exhibits the author in a variety of moods, easy, serious, +and, in the essay on "Friendship," as nearly impassioned as his +philosophy ever allowed him to become. + +Reader, be here a well-meaning Booke. It doth at the firth entrance +forewarne thee, that in contriving the same I have proposed unto my +selfe no other than a familiar and private end: I have no respect or +consideration at all, either to thy service, or to my glory: my +forces are not capable of any such desseigne. I have vowed the same +to the particular commodity of my kinsfolks and friends: to the end, +that losing me (which they are likely to doe ere long), they may +therein find some lineaments of my conditions and humours, and by +that meanes reserve more whole, and more lively foster the knowledge +and acquaintance they have had of me. Had my intention beene to +forestal and purchase the world's opinion and favour, I would surely +have adorned myselfe more quaintly, or kept a more grave and solemne +march. I desire therein to be delineated in mine owne genuine, +simple and ordinarie fashion, without contention, art or study; for +it is myself e I pourtray. My imperfections shall therein be read to +the life, and my naturall forme discerned, so farre-forth as publike +reverence hath permitted me. For if my fortune had beene to have +lived among those nations which yet are said to live under the sweet +liberty of Nature's first and uncorrupted lawes, I assure thee, I +would most willingly have pourtrayed my selfe fully and naked. Thus, +gentle Reader, myself I am the groundworke of my booke: it is then +no reason thou shouldest employ thy time about so frivolous and +vaine a subject. + +Therefore farewell. + +From MONTAIGNE, + The First of March, 1580. + + + + +THAT WE SHOULD NOT JUDGE OF OUR HAPPINESSE UNTILL AFTER OUR DEATH + + scilicet ultima semper + Expectanda dies homini est, dicique beatus + Ante obitum nemo, supremaque funera debat. + [Footnote: Ovid. Met. 1, iii. 135.] + + We must expect of man the latest day, + Nor ere he die, he's happie, can we say. + +The very children are acquainted with the storie of Croesus to this +purpose: who being taken by Cyrus, and by him condemned to die, upon +the point of his execution, cried out aloud: "Oh Solon, Solon!" +which words of his, being reported to Cyrus, who inquiring what he +meant by them, told him, hee now at his owne cost verified the +advertisement Solon had before times given him; which was, that no +man, what cheerefull and blandishing countenance soever fortune +shewed them, may rightly deeme himselfe happie, till such time as he +have passed the last day of his life, by reason of the uncertaintie +and vicissitude of humane things, which by a very light motive, and +slight occasion, are often changed from one to another cleane +contrary state and degree. And therefore Agesilaus answered one that +counted the King of Persia happy, because being very young, he had +gotten the garland of so mightie and great a dominion: "yea but said +he, Priam at the same age was not unhappy." Of the Kings of Macedon +that succeeded Alexander the Great, some were afterward seene to +become Joyners and Scriveners at Rome: and of Tyrants of Sicilie, +Schoolemasters at Corinth. One that had conquered halfe the world, +and been Emperour over so many, Armies, became an humble and +miserable suter to the raskally officers of a king of AEgypte: At so +high a rate did that great Pompey purchase the irkesome prolonging +of his life but for five or six moneths. And in our fathers daies, +Lodowicke Sforze, tenth Duke of Millane, under whom the State of +Italic had so long beene turmoiled and shaken, was seene to die a +wretched prisoner at Loches in France, but not till he had lived and +lingered ten yeares in thraldom, which was the worst of his +bargaine. The fairest Queene, wife to the greatest King of +Christendome, was she not lately scene to die by the hands of an +executioner? Oh unworthie and barbarous cruelties And a thousand +such examples. For, it seemeth that as the sea-billowes and surging +waves, rage and storme against the surly pride and stubborne height +of our buildings, so are there above, certaine spirits that envie +the rising prosperities and greatnesse heere below. + + Vsque adeb res humanas vis abdita quadam + Obterit, et pulchros fasces sav&sque secures + Proculcare, ac ludibrio sibi habere videtur. + [Footnote: LUCRET. I. v. 1243.] + + A hidden power so mens states hath out-worne + Faire swords, fierce scepters, signes of honours borne, + It seemes to trample and deride in scorne. + +And it seemeth Fortune doth sometimes narrowly watch the last day of +our life, thereby to shew her power, and in one moment to overthrow +what for many yeares together she had been erecting, and makes us +cry after Laberius, Nimirum hoc die una plus vixi, mihi quam +vivendum fuit. [Footnote: MACHOB, 1, ii. 7.] Thus it is, "I have +lived longer by this one day than I should." So may that good advice +of Solon be taken with reason. But forsomuch as he is a Philosopher, +with whom the favours or disfavours of fortune, and good or ill +lucke have no place, and are not regarded by him; and puissances and +greatnesses, and accidents of qualitie, are well-nigh indifferent: I +deeme it very likely he had a further reach, and meant that the same +good fortune of our life, which dependeth of the tranquillitie and +contentment of a welborne minde, and of the resolution and assurance +of a well ordered soule, should never be ascribed unto man, untill +he have beene scene play the last act of his comedie, and without +doubt the hardest. In all the rest there may be some maske: either +these sophisticall discourses of Philosophie are not in us but by +countenance, or accidents that never touch us to the quick, give us +alwaies leasure to keep our countenance setled. But when that last +part of death, and of our selves comes to be acted, then no +dissembling will availe, then is it high time to speake plaine +English, and put off all vizards: then whatsoever the pot containeth +must be shewne, be it good or bad, foule or cleane, wine or water. + + Nam vera voces tum demum pectore ab imo + Ejiciuntur, et eripitur persona, manet res. + [Footnote: LUCEET. 1. iii. 57.] + + For then are sent true speeches from the heart, + We are ourselves, we leave to play a part. + +Loe heere, why at this last cast, all our lives other actions must +be tride and touched. It is the master-day, the day that judgeth all +others: it is the day, saith an auncient Writer, that must judge of +all my forepassed yeares. To death doe I referre the essay +[Footnote: Assay, exact weighing.] of my studies fruit. There shall +wee see whether my discourse proceed from my heart, or from my +mouth. I have scene divers, by their death, either in good or evill, +give reputation to all their forepassed life. Scipio, father-in-law +to Pompey, in well dying, repaired the ill opinion which untill that +houre men had ever held of him. Epaminondas being demanded which of +the three he esteemed most, either Chabrias, or Iphicrates, or +himselfe: "It is necessary," said he, "that we be scene to die, +before your question may well be resolved." [Footnote: Answered.] +Verily, we should steale much from him, if he should be weighed +without the honour and greatnesse of his end. God hath willed it, as +he pleased: but in my time three of the most execrable persons that +ever I knew in all abomination of life, and the most infamous, have +beene seen to die very orderly and quietly, and in every +circumstance composed even unto perfection. There are some brave and +fortunate deaths. I have seene her cut the twine of some man's life, +with a progresse of wonderful advancement, and with so worthie an +end, even in the flowre of his growth and spring of his youth, that +in mine opinion, his ambitious and haughtie couragious signes, +thought nothing so high as might interrupt them who without going to +the place where he pretended, arived there more gloriously and +worthily than either his desire or hope aimed at, and by his fall +fore-went the power and name, whither by his course he aspired. When +I judge of other men's lives, I ever respect how they have behaved +themselves in their end; and my chiefest study is, I may well +demeane my selfe at my last gaspe, that is to say, quietly and +constantly. + + + + +THAT TO PHILOSOPHISE IS TO LEARNE HOW TO DIE + +Cicero saith, that to Philosophise is no other thing than for a man +to prepare himselfe to death: which is the reason that studie and +contemplation doth in some sort withdraw our soule from us, and +severally employ it from the body, which is a kind of apprentisage +and resemblance of death; or else it is, that all the wisdome and +discourse of the world, doth in the end resolve upon this point, to +teach us not to feare to die. Truly either reason mockes us, or it +only aimeth at our contentment, and in fine, bends all her travell +to make us live well, and as the holy Scripture saith, "at our +ease." All the opinions of the world conclude, that pleasure is our +end, howbeit they take divers meanes unto and for it, else would men +reject them at their first comming. For, who would give eare unto +him, that for it's end would establish our paine and disturbance? +The dissentions of philosophicall sects in this case are verbal: +Transcurramus solertissimas Hugos [Footnote: Travails, labours.] +"Let us run over such over-fine fooleries and subtill trifles." +There is more wilfulnesse and wrangling among them, than pertains to +a sacred profession. But what person a man undertakes to act, he +doth ever therewithal! personate his owne. Allthough they say, that +in vertue it selfe, the last scope of our aime is voluptuousnes. It +pleaseth me to importune their eares still with this word, which so +much offends their hearing. And if it imply any chief pleasure or +exceeding contentments, it is rather due to the assistance of +vertue, than to any other supply, voluptuousnes being more strong, +sinnowie, sturdie, and manly, is but more seriously voluptuous. And +we should give it the name of pleasure, more favorable, sweeter, and +more naturall; and not terme it vigor, from which it hath his +denomination. Should this baser sensuality deserve this faire name, +it should be by competencie, and not by privilege. I finde it lesse +void of incommodities and crosses than vertue. And besides that> her +taste is more fleeting, momentarie, and fading, she hath her fasts, +her eyes, and her travels, and both sweat and blood. Furthermore she +hath particularly so many wounding passions, and of so severall +sorts, and so filthie and loathsome a societie waiting upon her, +that shee is equivalent to penitencie. Wee are in the wrong, to +thinke her incommodities serve her as a provocation and seasoning to +her sweetnes, as in nature one contrarie is vivified by another +contrarie: and to say, when we come to vertue, that like successes +and difficulties overwhelme it, and yeeld it austere and +inaccessible. Whereas much more properly then unto voluptuousnes, +they ennobled, sharpen, animate, and raise that divine and perfect +pleasure, which it meditates and procureth us. Truly he is verie +unworthie her acquaintance, that counter-ballanceth her cost to his +fruit, and knowes neither the graces nor use of it. Those who go +about to instruct us, how her pursuit is very hard and laborious, +and her jovisance [Footnote: Enjoyment] well-pleasing and +delightfull: what else tell they us, but that shee is ever +unpleasant and irksome? For what humane meane [Footnote: Human +meana. man's life is subject, it is not with an equall care: as well +because accidents are not of such a necessitie, for most men passe +their whole life without feeling any want or povertie, and othersome +without feeling any griefe or sicknes, as Xenophilus the Musitian, +who lived an hundred and six yeares in perfect and continuall +health: as also if the worst happen, death may at all times, and +whensoever it shall please us, cut off all other inconveniences and +crosses. But as for death, it is inevitable.] did ever attaine unto +an absolute enjoying of it? The perfectest have beene content but to +aspire and approach her, without ever possessing her. But they are +deceived; seeing that of all the pleasures we know, the pursute of +them is pleasant. The enterprise is perceived by the qualitie of the +thing, which it hath regard unto: for it is a good portion of the +effect, and consubstantiall. That happines and felicitie, which +shineth in vertue, replenisheth her approaches and appurtenances, +even unto, the first entrance and utmost barre. Now of all the +benefits of vertue, the contempt of death is the chiefest, a meane +that furnisheth our life with an ease-full tranquillitie, and gives +us a pure and amiable taste of it: without which every other +voluptuousnes is extinguished. Loe, here the reasons why all rules +encounter and agree with this article. And albeit they all leade us +with a common accord to despise povertie, and other accidental! +crosses, to which + + Omnes eodem cogimur, omnium + Versatur urna, serius, ocius + Sors exitura, et nos in aeternum + Exilium impositura cymbae, + [Footnote: Hor. I. iii. Od. iii. 25.] + + All to one place are driv'n, of all + Shak't is the lot-pot, where-hence shall + Sooner or later drawne lots fall, + And to deaths boat for aye enthrall. + +And by consequence, if she makes us affeard, it is a continual +subject of torment, and which can no way be eased. There is no +starting-hole will hide us from her, she will finde us wheresoever +we are, we may as in a suspected countrie start and turne here and +there: quae quasi saxum Tantalo semper impendet.[Footnote: Cic. De +Fin. I. i.] "Which evermore hangs like the stone over the head of +Tantalus:" Our lawes doe often condemne and send malefactors to be +executed in the same place where the crime was committed: to which +whilest they are going, leade them along the fairest houses, or +entertaine them with the best cheere you can, + + non Siculae dapes Dulcem elaborabunt saporem: + Non avium, citharaeque cantus + Somnum reducent. + [Footnote: Hor. I. iii. Od. i, 12.] + + Not all King Denys daintie fare, + Can pleasing taste for them prepare: + No song of birds, no musikes sound + Can lullabie to sleepe profound. + +Doe you thinke they can take any pleasure in it? or be any thing +delighted? and that the finall intent of their voiage being still +before their eies, hath not altered and altogether distracted their +taste from all these commodities and allurements? + + Audit iter, numeratque dies, spatioque viarum + Metitur vitam, torquetur peste futura. + [Footnote: Claud, in Ruff. 1. ii. 137] + + He heares his journey, counts his daies, so measures he + His life by his waies length, vext with the ill shall be. + +The end of our cariere is death, it is the necessarie object of our +aime: if it affright us, how is it possible we should step one foot +further without an ague? The remedie of the vulgar sort is, not to +think on it. But from what brutall stupiditie may so grosse a +blindnesse come upon him? he must be made to bridle his Asse by the +taile, + + Qiti capite ipse suo instituit vestigia retro. + [Footnote: Lucret. 1. iv. 474] + + Who doth a course contrarie runne + With his head to his course begunne. + +It is no marvell if he be so often taken tripping; some doe no +sooner heare the name of death spoken of, but they are afraid, yea +the most part will crosse themselves, as if they heard the Devill +named. And because mention is made of it in mens wils and +testaments, I warrant you there is none will set his hand to them, +til the physitian hath given his last doome, and utterly forsaken +him. And God knowes, being then betweene such paine and feare, with +what sound judgment they endure him. For so much as this syllable +sounded so unpleasantly in their eares, and this voice seemed so ill +boding and unluckie, the Romans had learned to allay and dilate the +same by a Periphrasis. In liew of saying, he is dead, or he hath +ended his daies, they would say, he hath lived. So it be life, be it +past or no, they are comforted: from whom we have borrowed our +phrases quondam, alias, or late such a one. It may haply be, as the +common saying is, the time we live is worth the mony we pay for it. +I was borne betweene eleven of the clocke and noone, the last of +Februarie 1533, according to our computation, the yeare beginning +the first of Januarie. It is but a fortnight since I was 39 yeares +old. I want at least as much more. If in the meane time I should +trouble my thoughts with a matter so farre from me, it were but +folly. But what? we see both young and old to leave their life after +one selfe-same condition. No man departs otherwise from it, than if +he but now came to it, seeing there is no man so crazed,[Footnote: +Infirm] bedrell, [Footnote: Bedridden.] or decrepit, so long as he +remembers Methusalem, but thinkes he may yet live twentie yeares. +Moreover, seely [Footnote: Simple, weak.] creature as thou art, who +hath limited the end of thy daies? Happily thou presumest upon +physitians reports. Rather consider the effect and experience. By +the common course of things long since thou livest by extraordinarie +favour. Thou hast alreadie over-past the ordinarie tearmes of common +life: And to prove it, remember but thy acquaintances, and tell me +how many more of them have died before they came to thy age, than +have either attained or outgone the same: yea, and of those that +through renoune have ennobled their life, if thou but register them, +I will lay a wager, I will finde more that have died before they +came to five and thirty years, than after. It is consonant with +reason and pietie, to take example by the humanity of Jesus Christ, +who ended his humane life at three and thirtie yeares. The greatest +man that ever was, being no more than a man, I meane Alexander the +Great, ended his dayes, and died also of that age. How many severall +meanes and waies hath death to surprise us! + + Quid quisque vitet, nunquam homini satis + Cautum est in horas + [Footnote: Hor. 1. ii. Od. xiii. 13.] + + A man can never take good heed, + Hourely what he may shun and speed. + +I omit to speak of agues and pleurisies; who would ever have +imagined that a Duke of Brittanie should have beene stifled to death +in a throng of people, as whilome was a neighbour of mine at Lyons, +when Pope Clement made his entrance there? Hast thou not seene one +of our late Kings slaine in the middest of his sports? and one of +his ancestors die miserably by the chocke [Footnote: Shock.] of an +hog? Eschilus fore threatned by the fall of an house, when he stood +most upon his guard, strucken dead by the fall of a tortoise shell, +which fell out of the tallants of an eagle flying in the air? and +another choaked with the kernell of a grape? And an Emperour die by +the scratch of a combe, whilest he was combing his head? And +Aemylius Lepidus with hitting his foot against a doore-seele? And +Aufidius with stumbling against the Consull-chamber doore as he was +going in thereat? And Cornelius Gallus, the Praetor, Tigillinus, +Captaine of the Romane watch, Lodowike, sonne of Guido Gonzaga, +Marquis of Mantua, end their daies betweene womens thighs? And of a +farre worse example Speusippus, the Platonian philosopher, and one +of our Popes? Poore Bebius a Judge, whilest he demurreth the sute of +a plaintife but for eight daies, be hold, his last expired: And +Caius Iulius a Physitian, whilest he was annointing the eies of one +of his patients, to have his owne sight closed for ever by death. +And if amongst these examples, I may adde one of a brother of mine, +called Captain Saint Martin, a man of three and twentie yeares of +age, who had alreadie given good testimonie of his worth and forward +valour, playing at tennis, received a blow with a ball, that hit him +a little above the right eare, without apparance of any contusion, +bruse, or hurt, and never sitting or resting upon it, died within +six houres after of an apoplexie, which the blow of the ball caused +in him. These so frequent and ordinary examples, hapning, and being +still before our eies, how is it possible for man to forgo or for +get the remembrance of death? and why should it not continually +seeme unto us, that shee is still ready at hand to take us by the +throat? What matter is it, will you say unto me, how and in what +manner it is, so long as a man doe not trouble and vex himselfe +therewith? I am of this opinion, that howsoever a man may shrowd or +hide himselfe from her dart, yea, were it under an oxe-hide, I am +not the man would shrinke backe: it sufficeth me to live at my ease; +and the best recreation I can have, that doe I ever take; in other +matters, as little vain glorious, and exemplare as you list. + + --praetulerim delirus inersque videri, + Dum mea delectent mala me, vel denique fallant, + Quam sapere et ringi + [Footnote: Hor. 1. ii. Episi. ii 126] + + A dotard I had rather seeme, and dull, + Sooner my faults may please make me a gull, + Than to be wise, and beat my vexed scull. + +But it is folly to thinke that way to come unto it. They come, they +goe, they trot, they daunce: but no speech of death. All that is +good sport. But if she be once come, and on a sudden and openly +surprise, either them, their wives, their children, or their +friends, what torments, what out cries, what rage, and what despaire +doth then overwhelme them? saw you ever anything so drooping, so +changed, and so distracted? A man must looke to it, and in better +times fore-see it. And might that brutish carelessenesse lodge in +the minde of a man of understanding (which I find altogether +impossible) she sels us her ware at an overdeere rate: were she an +enemie by mans wit to be avoided, I would advise men to borrow the +weapons of cowardlinesse: but since it may not be, and that be you +either a coward or a runaway, an honest or valiant man, she +overtakes you, + + Nempe et fugacem persequitur virum, + Nec parcit imbellis juventae + Poplitibus, timidoque tergo. + [Footnote: Hor. 1. iii. Od. ii. 14.] + + Shee persecutes the man that flies, + Shee spares not weake youth to surprise, + But on their hammes and backe turn'd plies. + +And that no temper of cuirace [Footnote: Cuirass.] may shield or +defend you, + + Ille licet ferro cauius se condat et aere, + Mors tamen inclusum protraket inde caput. + [Footnote: Propert. 1. iii. et xvii. 5] + + Though he with yron and brasse his head empale, + Yet death his head enclosed thence will hale. + +Let us learne to stand, and combat her with a resolute minde. And +being to take the greatest advantage she hath upon us from her, let +us take a cleane contrary way from the common, let us remove her +strangenesse from her, let us converse, frequent, and acquaint our +selves with her, let us have nothing so much in minde as death, let +us at all times and seasons, and in the ugliest manner that may be, +yea with all faces shapen and represent the same unto our +imagination. At the stumbling of a horse, at the fall of a stone, at +the least prick with a pinne, let us presently ruminate and say with +our selves, what if it were death it selfe? and thereupon let us +take heart of grace, and call our wits together to confront her. +Amiddest our bankets, feasts, and pleasures, let us ever have this +restraint or object before us, that is, the remembrance of our +condition, and let not pleasure so much mislead or transport us, +that we altogether neglect or forget, how many waies, our joyes, or +our feastings, be subject unto death, and by how many hold-fasts +shee threatens us and them. So did the AEgyptians, who in the +middest of their banquetings, and in the full of their greatest +cheere, caused the anatomie [Footnote: Skeleton] of a dead man to be +brought before them, as a memorandum and warning to their guests. + + Omnem crede diem tibi diluxisse supremum, + Grata superveniet; quae non sperabitur, hora? + [Footnote: Hor. 1. i. Epist. iv. 13.] + + Thinke every day shines on thee as thy last, + Welcome it will come, whereof hope was past. + +It is uncertaine where death looks for us; let us expect her everie +where: the premeditation of death, is a forethinking of libertie. He +who hath learned to die, hath unlearned to serve. There is no evill +in life, for him that hath well conceived, how the privation of life +is no evill. To know how to die, doth free us from all subjection +and constraint. Paulus AEmilius answered one, whom that miserable +king of Macedon his prisoner sent to entreat him he would not lead +him in triumph, "Let him make that request unto himselfe." Verily, +if Nature afford not some helpe in all things, it is very hard that +art and industrie should goe farre before. Of my selfe, I am not +much given to melancholy, but rather to dreaming and sluggishness. +There is nothing wherewith I have ever more entertained my selfe, +than with the imaginations of death, yea in the most licentious +times of my age. + + Iucundum, cum atas florida ver ageret + [Footnote: Catul. Eleg. iv. 16.] + + When my age flourishing + Did spend its pleasant spring. + +Being amongst faire Ladies, and in earnest play, some have thought +me busied, or musing with my selfe, how to digest some jealousie, or +meditating on the uncertaintie of some conceived hope, when God he +knowes, I was entertaining my selfe with the remembrance of some one +or other, that but few daies before was taken with a burning fever, +and of his sodaine end, comming from such a feast or meeting where I +was my selfe, and with his head full of idle conceits, of lore, and +merry glee; supposing the same, either sickness or end, to be as +neere me as him. + + Iam fuerit, nec post, unquam revocare licebit. + [Footnote: Lucr. I. iii. 947.] + + Now time would be, no more You can this time restore. + +I did no more trouble my selfe or frowne at such conceit, [Idea.] +than at any other. It is impossible we should not apprehend or feele +some motions or startings at such imaginations at the first, and +comming sodainely upon us; but doubtlesse, he that shall manage and +meditate upon them with an impartiall eye, they will assuredly, in +tract [Course.] of time, become familiar to him: Otherwise, for my +part, I should be in continuall feare and agonie; for no man did +ever more distrust his life, nor make lesse account of his +continuance: Neither can health, which hitherto I have so long +enjoied, and which so seldome hath beene crazed, [Enfeebled.] +lengthen my hopes, nor any sicknesse shorten them of it. At every +minute me thinkes I make an escape. And I uncessantly record unto my +selfe, that whatsoever may be done another day, may be effected this +day. Truly hazards and dangers doe little or nothing approach us at +our end: And if we consider, how many more there remaine, besides +this accident, which in number more than millions seeme to threaten +us, and hang over us; we shall find, that be we sound or sicke, +lustie or weake, at sea or at land, abroad or at home, fighting or +at rest, in the middest of a battell or, in our beds, she is ever +alike neere unto us. Nemo altero fragilior est, nemo in crastinum +sui certior: "No man is weaker then other; none surer of himselfe +(to live) till to morrow." Whatsoever I have to doe before death, +all leasure to end the same seemeth short unto me, yea were it but +of one houre. Some body, not long since turning over my writing +tables, found by chance a memoriall of something I would have done +after my death: I told him (as indeed it was true), that being but a +mile from my house, and in perfect health and lustie, I had made +haste to write it, because I could not assure my self I should ever +come home in safety: As one that am ever hatching of mine owne +thoughts, and place them in my selfe: I am ever prepared about that +which I may be: nor can death (come when she please) put me in mind +of any new thing. A man should ever, as much as in him lieth, be +ready booted to take his journey, and above all things, looke he +have then nothing to doe but with himselfe. + + Quid brevi fortes jaculamur aevo + Multa: + [Footnote: Hor. 1. ii. Od. Xiv] + + To aime why are we ever bold, + At many things in so short hold? + +For then we shall have worke sufficient, without any more accrease. +Some man complaineth more that death doth hinder him from the +assured course of an hoped for victorie, than of death it selfe; +another cries out, he should give place to her, before he have +married his daughter, or directed the course of his childrens +bringing up; another bewaileth he must forgoe his wives company; +another moaneth the losse of his children, the chiefest commodities +of his being. I am now by meanes of the mercy of God in such a +taking, that without regret or grieving at any worldly matter, I am +prepared to dislodge, whensoever he shall please to call me: I am +every where free: my farewell is soone taken of all my friends, +except of my selfe. No man did ever pre pare himselfe to quit the +world more simply and fully, or more generally spake of all thoughts +of it, than I am assured I shall doe. The deadest deaths are the +best. + + --Miser, de miser (aiunt) omnia ademit. + Vna dies infesta mihi tot praemia vitae: + [Footnote: Luce. 1. iii. 941.] + + O wretch, O wretch (friends cry), one day, + All joyes of life hath tane away: + +And the builder, + + --manent (saith he) opera interrupta, + minaeque Murorum ingentes. + [Footnote: Virg. Aen. 1. iv. 88.] + + The workes unfinisht lie, + And walls that threatned hie. + +A man should designe nothing so long afore-hand, or at least with +such an intent, as to passionate[Footnote: Long passionately.] +himselfe to see the end of it; we are all borne to be doing. + + Cum moriar, medium solvar et inter opus + [Footnote: Ovid. Am. 1. ii. El. x. 36] + + When dying I my selfe shall spend, + Ere halfe my businesse come to end. + +I would have a man to be doing, and to prolong his lives offices as +much as lieth in him, and let death seize upon me whilest I am +setting my cabiges, carelesse of her dart, but more of my unperfect +garden. I saw one die, who being at his last gaspe, uncessantly +complained against his destinie, and that death should so unkindly +cut him off in the middest of an historie which he had in hand, and +was now come to the fifteenth or sixteenth of our Kings. + + Illud in his rebus non addunt, nec tibi earum, + Iam desiderium rerum super insidet uno. + [Footnote: Luce. 1. iii. 44.] + + Friends adde not that in this case, now no more + Shalt thou desire, or want things wisht before. + +A man should rid himselfe of these vulgar and hurtful humours. Even +as Churchyards were first place adjoyning unto churches, and in the +most frequented places of the City, to enure (as Lycurgus said) the +common people, women and children, not to be skared at the sight of +a dead man, and to the end that continuall spectacle of bones, +sculs, tombes, graves and burials, should forewarne us of our +condition, and fatall end. + + Quin etiam exhilarare viris convivia caede + Mos olim, et miscere epulis spectacula dira + Certantum ferro, saepe et super ipsa cadentum + Pocula, respersis non parco sanguine mensis. + [Footnote: Syl. 1. xi. 51] + + Nay more, the manner was to welcome guests, + And with dire shewes of slaughter to mix feasts. + Of them that fought at sharpe, and with bords tainted + Of them with much bloud, who o'er full cups fainted. + +And even as the AEgyptians after their feastings and carousings +caused a great image of death to be brought in and shewed to the +guests and bytanders, by one that cried aloud, "Drinke and be merry, +for such shalt thou be when thou art dead: "So have I learned this +custome or lesson, to have alwaies death, not only in my +imagination, but continually in my mouth. And there is nothing I +desire more to be informed of than of the death of men; that is to +say, what words, what countenance, and what face they shew at their +death; and in reading of histories, which I so attentively observe. +It appeareth by the shuffling and hudling up[Footnote: Collecting] +of my examples, I affect[Footnote: Like] no subject so particularly +as this. Were I a composer of books, I would keepe a register, +commented of the divers deaths, which in teaching men to die, should +after teach them to live. Dicearcus made one of that title, but of +another and lesse profitable end. Some man will say to mee, the +effect exceeds the thought so farre, that there is no fence so sure, +or cunning so certaine, but a man shall either lose or forget if he +come once to that point; let them say what they list: to premeditate +on it, giveth no doubt a great advantage: and it is nothing, at the +least, to goe so farre without dismay or alteration, or without an +ague? There belongs more to it: Nature her selfe lends her hand, and +gives us courage. If it be a short and violent death, wee have no +leisure to feare it; if otherwise, I perceive that according as I +engage my selfe in sicknesse, I doe naturally fall into some +disdaine and contempt of life. I finde that I have more adoe to +digest this resolution, that I shall die when I am in health, than I +have when I am troubled with a fever: forsomuch as I have no more +such fast hold on the commodities of life, whereof I begin to lose +the use and pleasure, and view death in the face with a lesse +undanted looke, which makes me hope, that the further I goe from +that, and the nearer I approach to this, so much more easily doe I +enter in composition for their exchange. Even as I have tried in +many other occurrences, which Caesar affirmed, that often some +things seeme greater, being farre from us, than if they bee neere at +hand: I have found that being in perfect health, I have much more +beene frighted with sicknesse, than when I have felt it. The +jollitie wherein I live, the pleasure and the strength make the +other seeme so disproportionable from that, that by imagination I +amplifie these commodities by one moitie, and apprehended them much +more heavie and burthensome, than I feele them when I have them upon +my shoulders. The same I hope will happen to me of death. Consider +we by the ordinary mutations, and daily declinations which we +suffer, how Nature deprives us of the sight of our losse and +empairing; what hath an aged man left him of his youths vigor, and +of his forepast life? + + Heu senibus vita portio quanta manet + [Footnote: Com. Gal. 1. i. 16.] + + Alas to men in yeares how small + A part of life is left in all? + +Caesar, to a tired and crazed [Footnote: diseased] Souldier of his +guard, who in the open street came to him, to beg leave he might +cause himselfe to be put to death; viewing his decrepit behaviour, +answered pleasantly: "Doest thou thinke to be alive then?" Were man +all at once to fall into it, I doe not thinke we should be able to +beare such a change, but being faire and gently led on by her hand, +in a slow, and as it were unperceived descent, by little and little, +and step by step, she roules us into that miserable state, and day +by day seekes to acquaint us with it. So that when youth failes in +us, we feele, nay we perceive no shaking or transchange at all in +our selves: which in essence and veritie is a harder death, than +that of a languishing and irkesome life, or that of age. Forsomuch +as the leape from an ill being unto a not being, is not so dangerous +or steepie; as it is from a delightfull and flourishing being unto a +painfull and sorrowfull condition. A weake bending, and faint +stopping bodie hath lesse strength to beare and under goe a heavie +burden: So hath our soule. She must bee rouzed and raised against +the violence and force of this adversarie. For as it is impossible +she should take any rest whilest she feareth: whereof if she be +assured (which is a thing exceeding humane [Footnote: human] +condition) she may boast that it is impossible unquietnesse, +torment, and feare, much lesse the least displeasure should lodge in +her. + + Non vultus instantis tyranni + Mente quatit solida, neque Auster, + Dux inquieti turbidus Adria, + Nec fulminantis magna Jovis manus. + [Footnote: Hor. I. iii. Od. iii.] + + No urging tyrants threatning face, + Where minde is found can it displace, + No troublous wind the rough seas Master, + Nor Joves great hand, the thunder-caster. + +She is made Mistris of her passions and concupiscence, Lady of +indulgence, of shame, of povertie, and of all for tunes injuries. +Let him that can, attaine to this advantage: Herein consists the +true and soveraigne liberty, that affords us meanes wherewith to +jeast and make a scorne of force and injustice, and to deride +imprisonment, gives [Footnote: Gyves, shackles] or fetters. + + --in manicis, et + Compedibus, savo te sub custode tenebo. + Ipse Deus simui atque volam, me solvet: opinor + Hoc sentit, moriar. Mors ultima linea rerum est. + [Footnote: Hor. I. i. Ep. xvi. 76.] + + In gyves and fetters I will hamper thee, + Under a Jayler that shall cruell be: + Yet, when I will, God me deliver shall, + He thinkes, I shall die: death is end of all. + +Our religion hath had no surer humane foundation than the contempt +of life. Discourse of reason doth not only call and summon us unto +it. For why should we feare to lose a thing, which being lost, +cannot be moaned? but also, since we are threatened by so many kinds +of death, there is no more inconvenience to feare them all, than to +endure one: what matter is it when it commeth, since it is +unavoidable? Socrates answered one that told him, "The thirty +tyrants have condemned thee to death." "And Nature them," said he. +What fondnesse is it to carke and care so much, at that instant and +passage from all exemption of paine and care? As our birth brought +us the birth of all things, so shall our death the end of all +things. Therefore is it as great follie to weepe, we shall not live +a hundred yeeres hence, as to waile we lived not a hundred yeeres +agoe. "Death is the beginning of another life." So wept we, and so +much did it cost us to enter into this life; and so did we spoile us +of our ancient vaile in entring into it. Nothing can be grievous +that is but once. Is it reason so long to fear a thing of so short +time? Long life or short life is made all one by death. For long or +short is not in things that are no more. Aristotle saith, there are +certaine little beasts alongst the river Hyspanis, that live but one +day; she which dies at 8 o'clocke in the morning, dies in her youth, +and she that dies at 5 in the afternoon, dies in her decrepitude, +who of us doth not laugh, when we shall see this short moment of +continuance to be had in consideration of good or ill fortune? The +most and the least is ours, if we compare it with eternitie, or +equall it to the lasting of mountains, rivers, stars, and trees, or +any other living creature, is not lesse ridiculous. But nature +compels us to it. Depart (saith she) out of this world, even as you +came into it. The same way you came from death to life, returne +without passion or amazement, from life to death: your death is but +a peece of the worlds order, and but a parcell of the worlds life. + + --inter se mortales mutua vivunt, + Et quasi cursores vitae lampada tradunt. + [Footnote: Lucret. ii. 74. 77.] + + Mortall men live by mutuall entercourse: + And yeeld their life-torch, as men in a course. + +Shal I not change this goodly contexture of things for you? It is +the condition of your creation: death is a part of yourselves: you +flie from yourselves. The being you enjoy is equally shared betweene +life and death. The first day of your birth doth as wel addresse you +to die, as to live. + + Prima quae vitam dedit, hora, carpsit. + [Footnote: Sen. Her. Sw. ckor. Iii.] + + The first houre, that to men + Gave life, strait, cropt it then. + + Nascentes morimur, finisque ab origine pendet: + [Footnote: Manil. At. l. iv] + + As we are borne we die; the end + Doth of th' originall depend. + +All the time you live, you steale it from death: it is at her +charge. The continuall worke of your life, is to contrive death: you +are in death, during the time you continue in life: for, you are +after death, when you are no longer living. Or if you had rather +have it so, you are dead after life: but during life, you are still +dying: and death doth more rudely touch the dying than the dead, and +more lively and essentially. If you have profited by life, you have +also beene fed thereby, depart then satisfied. + + Cur non ut plenus vitae conviva recedis? + [Footnote: Lucret. 1. iii. 982.] + + Why like a full-fed guest, + Depart you not to rest? + +If you have not knowne how to make use of it: if it were +unprofitable to you, what need you care to have lost it to what end +would you enjoy it longer? + + --cur amplius addere quaeris + Rursum quod pereat male, + et ingratum occidat omne? + [Footnote: Lucret. 1. iii. 989.] + + Why seeke you more to gaine, what must againe + All perish ill, and passe with griefe or paine? + +Life in itselfe is neither good nor evill: it is the place of good +or evill, according as you prepare it for them. And if you have +lived one day, you have seene all: one day is equal to all other +daies. There is no other light, there is no other night. This Sunne, +this Moone, these Starres, and this disposition, is the very same +which your forefathers enjoyed, and which shall also entertaine your +posteritie. + + Non alium videre patres, aliumve nepotes + Aspicient. + [Footnote: Manil. i. 523.] + + No other saw our Sires of old, + No other shall their sonnes behold. + +And if the worst happen, the distribution and varietie of all the +acts of my comedie, is performed in one yeare. If you have observed +the course of my foure seasons; they containe the infancie, the +youth, the viriltie, and the old age of the world. He hath plaied +his part: he knowes no other wilinesse belonging to it, but to begin +againe, it will ever be the same, and no other. + + Versamur ibidem, atque insumus usque, + [Footnote: Lucret. 1. iii. 123.] + + We still in one place turne about, + Still there we are, now in, now out. + + Atque in se sua per vestigia volvitur annus. + [Footnote: Virg. Georg. 1. ii. 403.] + + The yeare into it selfe is cast + By those same steps, that it hath past. + +I am not purposed to devise you other new sports. + + Nam tibi praterea quod machiner, inveniamque + Quod placeat nihil est; eadem suni omnia semper. + [Footnote: Lucret. 1. ii. 978.] + + Else nothing, that I can devise or frame, + Can please thee, for all things are still the same. + +Make roome for others, as others have done for you. Equalitie is the +chiefe ground-worke of equitie, who can complaine to be comprehended +where all are contained? So may you live long enough, you shall +never diminish anything from the time you have to die: it is +bootlesse; so long shall you continue in that state which you feare, +as if you had died, being in your swathing-clothes, and when you +were sucking. + + --licet, quot vis, vivendo vincere secla. + Mors sterna tamen, nihilominus ilia manebit. + [Footnote: Ib. 1126.] + + Though yeares you live, as many as you will, + Death is eternall, death remaineth still. + +And I will so please you, that you shall have no discontent. + + In vera nescis nullum fore morte alium te, + Qui possit vivus tibi te lugere peremptum, + Stansque jacentem. + [Footnote: Idt. 1. Iii. 9.] + + Thou know'st not there shall be not other thou, + When thou art dead indeed, that can tell how + Alive to waile thee dying, Standing to waile thee lying. + +Nor shall you wish for life, which you so much desire + + Nec sibi enim quisquam tum se vitamque requirit, + [Footnote: ib. 963.] + Nec desiderium nostri nos afficit ullum. + [Footnote: Ib. 966.] + + For then none for himselfe or life requires: + Nor are we of our selves affected with desires. + +Death is lesse to be feared than nothing, if there were anything +lesse than nothing. + + --multo mortem minus ad nos esse putandum, + Si minus esse potest quam quod nihil esse videmus. + [Footnote: Ib. 970.] + + Death is much less to us, we ought esteeme, + If lesse may be, than what doth nothing seeme. + +Nor alive, nor dead, it doth concern you nothing. Alive because you +are: Dead, because you are no more. Moreover, no man dies before his +houre. The time you leave behinde was no more yours than that which +was before your birth, and concerneth you no more. + + Respice enim quam nil ad nos anteacta vetustas + Temporis aeterni fuerit. + [Footnote: Ib. 1016.] + + For marke, how all antiquitie foregone + Of all time ere we were, to us was none. + +Wheresoever your life ended, there is it all. The profit of life +consists not in the space, but rather in the use. Some man hath +lived long, that hath a short life, Follow it whilst you have time. +It consists not in number of yeeres, but in your will, that you have +lived long enough. Did you thinke you should never come to the +place, where you were still going? There is no way but hath an end. +And if company may solace you, doth not the whole world walke the +same path? + + --Omnia te, vita perfuncta, sequentur. + [Footnote: Ib. 1012.] + + Life past, all things at last + Shall follow thee as thou hast past. + +Doe not all things move as you doe, or keepe your course? Is there +any thing grows not old together with yourselfe? A thousand men, a +thousand beasts, and a thousand other creatures die in the very +instant that you die. + + Nam nox nulla diem, neque noctem aurora sequuta est, + Que non audierit mistus vagitibus aegris + Ploratus, mortis comites et funeris atri. + [Footnote: Id. i. ii. 587.] + + No night ensued day light; no morning followed night, + Which heard not moaning mixt with sick-mens groaning, + With deaths and funerals joyned was that moaning. + +To what end recoile you from it, if you cannot goe backe. You have +seene many who have found good in death, ending thereby many many +miseries. But have you seene any that hath received hurt thereby? +Therefore it is meere simplicitie to condemne a thing you never +approve, neither by yourselfe nor any other. Why doest thou +complaine of me and of destinie? Doe we offer thee any wrong? is it +for thee to direct us, or for us to governe thee? Although thy age +be not come to her period, thy life is. A little man is a whole man +as well as a great man. Neither men nor their lives are measured by +the Ell. Chiron refused immortalitie, being informed of the +conditions thereof, even by the God of time and of continuance, +Saturne his father. Imagine truly how much an ever-during life would +be lesse tolerable and more painfull to a man, than is the life +which I have given him. Had you not death you would then uncessantly +curse, and cry out against me, that I had deprived you of it. I have +of purpose and unwittingly blended some bitternesse amongst it, that +so seeing the commoditie of its use, I might hinder you from over- +greedily embracing, or indiscreetly calling for it. To continue in +this moderation that is, neither to fly from life nor to run to +death (which I require of you) I have tempered both the one and +other betweene sweetnes and sowrenes. I first taught Thales, the +chiefest of your Sages and Wisemen, that to live and die were +indifferent, which made him answer one very wisely, who asked him +wherefore he died not: "Because," said he, "it is indifferent. The +water, the earth, the aire, the fire, and other members of this my +universe, are no more the instruments of thy life than of thy death. +Why fearest thou thy last day? He is no more guiltie, and conferreth +no more to thy death, than any of the others. It is not the last +step that causeth weariness: it only declares it. All daies march +towards death, only the last comes to it." Behold heere the good +precepts of our universall mother Nature. I have oftentimes +bethought my self whence it proceedeth, that in times of warre, the +visage of death (whether wee see it in us or in others) seemeth +without all comparison much lesse dreadful and terrible unto us, +than in our houses, or in our beds, otherwise it should be an armie +of Physitians and whiners, and she ever being one, there must needs +bee much more assurance amongst countrie-people and of base +condition, than in others. I verily believe, these fearefull lookes, +and astonishing countenances wherewith we encompass it, are those +that more amaze and terrifie us than death: a new forme of life; the +out cries of mothers; the wailing of women and children; the +visitation of dismaid and swouning friends; the assistance of a +number of pale-looking, distracted, and whining servants; a darke +chamber; tapers burning round about; our couch beset round with +Physitians and Preachers; and to conclude, nothing but horror and +astonishment on every side of us: are wee not already dead and +buried? The very children are afraid of their friends, when they see +them masked; and so are we. The maske must as well be taken from +things as from men, which being removed, we shall find nothing hid +under it, but the very same death, that a seely[Footnote: weak, +simple] varlet, or a simple maid-servant, did latterly suffer +without amazement or feare. Happie is that death which takes all +leasure from the preparations of such an equipage. + + + + +OF THE INSTITUTION AND EDUCATION OF CHILDREN; TO THE LADIE DIANA OF +FOIX, COUNTESSE OF GURSON + +I never knew father, how crooked and deformed soever his sonne were, +that would either altogether cast him off, or not acknowledge him +for his owne: and yet (unlesse he be meerely besotted or blinded in +his affection) it may not be said, but he plainly perceiveth his +defects, and hath a feeling of his imperfections. But so it is, he +is his owne. So it is in my selfe. I see better than any man else, +that what I have set downe is nought but the fond imaginations of +him who in his youth hath tasted nothing but the paring, and seen +but the superficies of true learning: whereof he hath retained but a +generall and shapelesse forme: a smacke of every thing in generall, +but nothing to the purpose in particular: After the French manner. +To be short, I know there is an art of Phisicke; a course of lawes; +foure parts of the Mathematikes; and I am not altogether ignorant +what they tend unto. And perhaps I also know the scope and drift of +Sciences in generall to be for the service of our life. But to wade +further, or that ever I tired my selfe with plodding upon Aristotle +(the Monarch of our moderne doctrine 1) or obstinately continued in +search of any one science: I confesse I never did it. Nor is there +any one art whereof I am able so much as to draw the first +lineaments. And there is no scholler (be he of the lowest forme) +that may not repute himselfe wiser than I, who am not able to oppose +him in his first lesson: and if I be forced to it, I am constrained +verie impertinently to draw in matter from some generall discourse, +whereby I examine, and give a guesse at his naturall judgement: a +lesson as much unknowne to them as theirs is to me. I have not dealt +or had commerce with any excellent booke, except Plutarke or Seneca, +from whom (as the Danaides) I draw my water, uncessantly filling, +and as fast emptying: some thing whereof I fasten to this paper, but +to my selfe nothing at all. And touching bookes: Historie is my +chiefe studie, Poesie my only delight, to which I am particularly +affected: for as Cleanthes said, that as the voice being forciblie +pent in the narrow gullet of a trumpet, at last issueth forth more +strong and shriller, so me seemes, that a sentence cunningly and +closely couched in measure keeping Posie, darts it selfe forth more +furiously, and wounds me even to the quicke. And concerning the +naturall faculties that are in me (whereof behold here an essay), I +perceive them to faint under their owne burthen; my conceits, +[Footnote: Ideas.] and my judgement march but uncertaine, and as it +were groping, staggering, and stumbling at every rush: And when I +have gone as far as I can, I have no whit pleased my selfe: for the +further I saile the more land I descrie, and that so dimmed with +fogges, and overcast with clouds, that my sight is so weakned, I +cannot distinguish the same. And then undertaking to speake +indifferently of all that presents it selfe unto my fantasie, and +having nothing but mine owne naturall meanes to imploy therein, if +it be my hap (as commonly it is) among good Authors, to light upon +those verie places which I have undertaken to treat off, as even now +I did in Plutarke reading his discourse of the power of imagination, +wherein in regard of those wise men, I acknowledge my selfe so weake +and so poore, so dull and grose-headed, as I am forced both to +pittie and disdaine my selfe, yet am I pleased with this, that my +opinions have often the grace to jump with theirs, and that I follow +them a loofe-off, [Footnote: At a distance.] and thereby possesse at +least, that which all other men have not; which is, that I know the +utmost difference betweene them and my selfe: all which +notwithstanding, I suffer my inventions to run abroad, as weake and +faint as I have produced them, without bungling and botching the +faults which this comparison hath discovered to me in them. A man +had need have a strong backe, to undertake to march foot to foot +with these kind of men. The indiscreet writers of our age, amidst +their triviall [Footnote: Commonplace.] compositions, intermingle +and wrest in whole sentences taken from ancient Authors, supposing +by such filching-theft to purchase honour and reputation to +themselves, doe cleane contrarie. For, this infinite varietie and +dissemblance of lustres, makes a face so wan, so il-favored, and so +uglie, in respect of theirs, that they lose much more than gaine +thereby. These were two contrarie humours: The Philosopher +Chrisippus was wont to foist-in amongst his bookes, not only whole +sentences and other long-long discourses, but whole bookes of other +Authors, as in one, he brought in Euripides his Medea. And +Apollodorus was wont to say of him, that if one should draw from out +his bookes what he had stolne from others, his paper would remaine +blanke. Whereas Epicurus cleane contrarie to him in three hundred +volumes he left behind him, had not made use of one allegation. +[Footnote: Citation.] It was my fortune not long since to light upon +such a place: I had languishingly traced after some French words, so +naked and shallow, and so void either of sense or matter, that at +last I found them to be nought but meere French words; and after a +tedious and wearisome travell, I chanced to stumble upon an high, +rich, and even to the clouds-raised piece, the descent whereof had +it been somewhat more pleasant or easie, or the ascent reaching a +little further, it had been excusable, and to be borne with-all; but +it was such a steepie downe-fall, and by meere strength hewen out of +the maine rocke, that by reading of the first six words, me thought +I was carried into another world: whereby I perceive the bottome +whence I came to be so low and deep, as I durst never more adventure +to go through it; for, if I did stuffe any one of my discourses with +those rich spoiles, it would manifestly cause the sottishnesse +[Footnote: Foolishness.] of others to appeare. To reprove mine owne +faults in others, seemes to me no more unsufferable than to +reprehend (as I doe often) those of others in my selfe. They ought +to be accused every where, and have all places of Sanctuarie taken +from them: yet do I know how over boldly, at all times I adventure +to equall my selfe unto my filchings, and to march hand in hand with +them; not without a fond hardie hope, that I may perhaps be able to +bleare the eyes of the Judges from discerning them. But it is as +much for the benefit of my application, as for the good of mine +invention and force. And I doe not furiously front, and bodie to +bodie wrestle with those old champions: it is but by flights, +advantages, and false offers I seek to come within them, and if I +can, to give them a fall. I do not rashly take them about the necke, +I doe but touch them, nor doe I go so far as by my bargaine I would +seeme to doe; could I but keepe even with them, I should then be an +honest man; for I seeke not to venture on them, but where they are +strongest. To doe as I have seen some, that is, to shroud themselves +under other armes, not daring so much as to show their fingers ends +unarmed, and to botch up all their works (as it is an easie matter +in a common subject, namely for the wiser sort) with ancient +inventions, here and there hudled up together. And in those who +endeavoured to hide what they have filched from others, and make it +their owne, it is first a manifest note of injustice, then a plaine +argument of cowardlinesse; who having nothing of any worth in +themselves to make show of, will yet under the countenance of others +sufficiencie goe about to make a faire offer: Moreover (oh great +foolishnesse) to seek by such cosening [Footnote: Cheating.] tricks +to forestall the ignorant approbation of the common sort, nothing +fearing to discover their ignorance to men of understanding (whose +praise only is of value) who will soone trace out such borrowed +ware. As for me, there is nothing I will doe lesse. I never speake +of others, but that I may the more speake of my selfe. This +concerneth not those mingle-mangles of many kinds of stuffe, or as +the Grecians call them Rapsodies, that for such are published, of +which kind I have (since I came to yeares of discretion) seen divers +most ingenious and wittie; amongst others, one under the name of +Capilupus; besides many of the ancient stampe. These are wits of +such excellence, as both here and elsewhere they will soone be +perceived, as our late famous writer Lipsius, in his learned and +laborious work of the Politikes: yet whatsoever come of it, for so +much as they are but follies, my intent is not to smother them, no +more than a bald and hoarie picture of mine, where a Painter hath +drawne not a perfect visage, but mine owne. For, howsoever, these +are but my humors and opinions, and I deliver them but to show what +my conceit [Footnote: notion] is, and not what ought to be beleeved. +Wherein I ayme at nothing but to display my selfe, who peradventure +(if a new prentiship change me) shall be another to morrow. I have +no authoritie to purchase beliefe, neither do I desire it; knowing +well that I am not sufficiently taught to instruct others. Some +having read my precedent Chapter [Footnote: "Of Pedantism"], told me +not long since in mine owne house, I should somewhat more have +extended my selfe in the discourse concerning the institution of +children. Now (Madam) if there were any sufficiencie in me touching +that subject, I could not better employ the same than to bestow it +as a present upon that little lad, which ere long threatneth to make +a happie issue from out your honorable woombe; for (Madame) you are +too generous to begin with other than a man childe. And having had +so great a part in the conduct of your successeful marriage, I may +challenge some right and interest in the greatnesse and prosperitie +of all that shall proceed from it: moreover, the ancient and +rightfull possession, which you from time to time have ever had, and +still have over my service, urgeth me with more than ordinarie +respects, to wish all honour, well-fare and advantage to whatsoever +may in any sort concerne you and yours. And truly, my meaning is but +to show that the greatest difficultie, and importing all humane +knowledge, seemeth to be in this point, where the nurture and +institution of young children is in question. For, as in matters of +husbandrie, the labor that must be used before sowing, setting, and +planting, yea in planting itselfe, is most certaine and easie. But +when that which was sowen, set and planted, commeth to take life; +before it come to ripenesse, much adoe, and great varietie of +proceeding belongeth to it. So in men, it is no great matter to get +them, but being borne, what continuall cares, what diligent +attendance, what doubts and feares, doe daily wait to their parents +and tutors, before they can be nurtured and brought to any good? The +fore-shew of their inclination whilest they are young is so +uncertaine, their humours so variable, their promises so changing, +their hopes so false, and their proceedings so doubtful, that it is +very hard (yea for the wisest) to ground any certaine judgment, or +assured successe upon them. Behold Cymon, view Themistocles, and a +thousand others, how they have differed, and fallen to better from +themselves, and deceive the expectation of such as knowe them. The +young whelps both of Dogges and Beares at first sight shew their +naturall disposition, but men headlong embracing this custome or +fashion, following that humor or opinion, admitting this or that +passion, allowing of that or this law, are easily changed, and soone +disguised; yet it is hard to force the naturall propension or +readinesse of the mind, whereby it followeth, that for want of +heedie fore-sight in those that could not guide their course well, +they often employ much time in vaine, to addresse young children in +those matters whereunto they are not naturally addicted. All which +difficulties notwithstanding, mine opinion is, to bring them up in +the best and profitablest studies, and that a man should slightly +passe over those fond presages, and deceiving prognostikes, which we +over precisely gather in their infancie. And (without offence be it +said) me thinks that Plato in his "Commonwealth" allowed them too- +too much authoritie. + +Madame, Learning joyned with true knowledge is an especiall and +gracefull ornament, and an implement of wonderful use and +consequence, namely, in persons raised to that degree of fortune +wherein you are. And in good truth, learning hath not her owne true +forme, nor can she make shew of her beauteous lineaments, if she +fall into the hands of base and vile persons. [For, as famous +Torquato Tasso saith: "Philosophie being a rich and noble Queene, +and knowing her owne worth, graciously smileth upon and lovingly +embraceth Princes and noble men, if they become suiters to her, +admitting them as her minions, and gently affoording them all the +favours she can; whereas upon the contrarie, if she be wooed, and +sued unto by clownes, mechanicall fellowes, and such base kind of +people, she holds herselfe disparaged and disgraced, as holding no +proportion with them. And therefore see we by experience, that if a +true Gentleman or nobleman follow her with any attention, and woo +her with importunitie, he shall learne and know more of her, and +prove a better scholler in one yeare, than an ungentle or base +fellow shall in seven, though he pursue her never so attentively."] +She is much more readie and fierce to lend her furtherance and +direction in the conduct of a warre, to attempt honourable actions, +to command a people, to treat a peace with a prince of forraine +nation, than she is to forme an argument in Logick, to devise a +Syllogisme, to canvase a case at the barre, or to prescribe a receit +of pills. So (noble Ladie) forsomuch as I cannot perswade myselfe, +that you will either forget or neglect this point, concerning the +institution of yours, especially having tasted the sweetnesse +thereof, and being descended of so noble and learned a race. For we +yet possesse the learned compositions of the ancient and noble +Earles of Foix, from out whose heroicke loynes your husband and you +take your of-spring. And Francis Lord of Candale, your worthie +uncle, doth daily bring forth such fruits thereof, as the knowledge +of the matchlesse qualitie of your house shall hereafter extend +itselfe to many ages; I will therefore make you acquainted with one +conceit of mine, which contrarie to the common use I hold, and that +is all I am able to affoord you concerning that matter. The charge +of the Tutor, which you shall appoint your sonne, in the choice of +whom consisteth the whole substance of his education and bringing +up; on which are many branches depending, which (forasmuch as I can +adde nothing of any moment to it) I will not touch at all. And for +that point, wherein I presume to advise him, he may so far forth +give credit unto it, as he shall see just cause. To a gentleman +borne of noble parentage, and heire of a house that aymeth at true +learning, and in it would be disciplined, not so much for gane or +commoditie to himselfe (because so abject an end is far unworthie +the grace and favour of the Muses, and besides, hath a regard or +dependencie of others) nor for externall shew and ornament, but to +adorne and enrich his inward minde, desiring rather to shape and +institute an able and sufficient man, than a bare learned man; my +desire is therefore, that the parents or overseers of such a +gentleman be very circumspect, and careful in chusing his director, +whom I would rather commend for having a well composed and temperate +braine, than a full stuft head, yet both will doe well. And I would +rather prefer wisdome, judgement, civill customes, and modest +behaviour, than bare and meere literall learning; and that in his +charge he hold a new course. Some never cease brawling in their +schollers eares (as if they were still pouring in a tonell) to +follow their booke, yet is their charge nothing else but to repeat +what hath beene told them before. I would have a tutor to correct +this part, and that at first entrance, according to the capacitie of +the wit he hath in hand, he should begin to make shew of it, making +him to have a smacke of all things, and how to choose and +distinguish them, without helpe of others, sometimes opening him the +way, other times leaving him to open it by himselfe. I would not +have him to invent and speake alone, but suffer his disciple to +speake when his turne commeth. Socrates, and after him Arcesilaus, +made their schollers to speake first, and then would speake +themselves. Obest plerumque iis qui discere volunt, auctoritas eorum +qui docent: [Footnote: CIC. De Nat. 1. i] "Most commonly the +authoritie of them that teach, hinders them that would learne." + +It is therefore meet that he make him first trot-on before him, +whereby he may the better judge of his pace, and so guesse how long +he will hold out, that accordingly he may fit his strength; for want +of which proportion we often marre all. And to know how to make a +good choice, and how far forth one may proceed (still keeping a due +measure), is one of the hardest labours I know. It is a signe of a +noble, and effect of an undanted spirit, to know how to second, and +how far forth he shall condescend to his childish proceedings, and +how to guide them. As for myselfe, I can better and with more +strength walke up than downe a hill. Those which, according to our +common fashion, undertake with one selfe-same lesson, and like maner +of education, to direct many spirits of divers formes and different +humours, it is no marvell if among a multitude of children, they +scarce meet with two or three that reap any good fruit by their +discipline, or that come to any perfection. I would not only have +him to demand an accompt of the words contained in his lesson, but +of the sense and substance thereof, and judge of the profit he hath +made of it, not by the testimonie of his memorie, but by the +witnesse of his life. That what he lately learned, he cause him to +set forth and pourtray the same into sundrie shapes, and then to +accommodate it to as many different and severall subjects, whereby +he shal perceive, whether he have yet apprehended the same, and +therein enfeoffed himselfe, [Footnote: Taken possession.] at due +times taking his instruction from the institution given by Plato. It +is a signe of cruditie and indigestion for a man to yeeld up his +meat, even as he swallowed the same; the stomacke hath not wrought +his full operation, unlesse it have changed forme, and altered +fashion of that which was given him to boyle and concoct. + +[Wee see men gape after no reputation but learning, and when they +say, such a one is a learned man, they thinke they have said +enough;] Our minde doth move at others pleasure, and tyed and forced +to serve the fantasies of others, being brought under by authoritie, +and forced to stoope to the lure of their bare lesson; wee have +beene so subjected to harpe upon one string, that we have no way +left us to descant upon voluntarie; our vigor and libertie is cleane +extinct. Nunquam tutelae suae fiunt: "They never come to their owne +tuition." It was my hap to bee familiarlie acquainted with an honest +man at Pisa, but such an Aristotelian, as he held this infallible +position; that a conformitie to Aristotles doctrine was the true +touchstone and squire [Footnote: Square.] of all solid imaginations +and perfect veritie; for, whatsoever had no coherencie with it, was +but fond Chimeraes and idle humors; inasmuch as he had knowne all, +seene all, and said all. This proposition of his being somewhat over +amply and injuriously interpreted by some, made him a long time +after to be troubled in the inquisition of Rome. I would have him +make his scholler narrowly to sift all things with discretion, and +harbour nothing in his head by mere authoritie, or upon trust. +Aristotles principles shall be no more axiomes unto him, than the +Stoikes or Epicurians. Let this diversitie of judgements be proposed +unto him, if he can, he shall be able to distinguish the truth from +falsehood, if not, he will remaine doubtful. + + Che non men che saper dubbiar m'aggrata. + [Footnote: DANTE, Inferno, cant. xi. 93.] + + No lesse it pleaseth me, + To doubt, than wise to be. + +For if by his owne discourse he embrace the opinions of Xenophon or +of Plato, they shall be no longer theirs, but his. He that meerely +followeth another, traceth nothing, and seeketh nothing: Non sumus +sub Rege, sibi quisque se vindicet: [Footnote: SEN. Epist. xxxiii.] +"We are not under a Kings command, every one may challenge himselfe, +for let him at least know that he knoweth." It is requisite he +endevour as much to feed himselfe with their conceits, as labour to +learne their precepts; which, so he know how to applie, let him +hardily forget, where or whence he had them. Truth and reason are +common to all, and are no more proper unto him that spake them +heretofore, then unto him that shall speake them hereafter. And it +is no more according to Platoes opinion than to mine, since both he +and I understand and see alike. The Bees do here and there sucke +this and cull that flower, but afterward they produce the hony, +which is peculiarly their owne, then is it no more Thyme or Majoram. +So of peeces borrowed of others, he may lawfully alter, transforme, +and confound them, to shape out of them a perfect peece of worke, +altogether his owne; alwaies provided his judgement, his travell, +[Footnote: Travail, labor.] studie, and institution tend to nothing, +but to frame the same perfect. Let him hardily conceale where or +whence he hath had any helpe, and make no shew of anything, but of +that which he hath made himselfe. Pirates, pilchers, and borrowers, +make a shew of their purchases and buildings, but not of that which +they have taken from others: you see not the secret fees or bribes +Lawyers take of their Clients, but you shall manifestly discover the +alliances they make, the honours they get for their children, and +the goodly houses they build. No man makes open shew of his receits, +but every one of his gettings. The good that comes of studie (or at +least should come) is to prove better, wiser and honester. It is the +understanding power (said Epicharmus) that seeth and heareth, it is +it that profiteth all and disposeth all, that moveth, swayeth, and +ruleth all: all things else are but blind, senselesse, and without +spirit. And truly in barring him of libertie to doe any thing of +himselfe, we make him thereby more servile and more coward. Who +would ever enquire of his scholler what he thinketh of Rhetorike, of +Grammar, of this or of that sentence of Cicero? Which things +thoroughly fethered (as if they were oracles) are let flie into our +memorie; in which both letters and syllables are substantiall parts +of the subject. To know by roat is no perfect knowledge, but to keep +what one hath committed to his memories charge, is commendable: what +a man directly knoweth, that will he dispose of, without turning +still to his booke or looking to his pattern. A meere bookish +sufficiencie is unpleasant. All I expect of it is an imbellishing of +my actions, and not a foundation of them, according to Platoes mind, +who saith, constancie, faith, and sinceritie are true Philosophie; +as for other Sciences, and tending elsewhere, they are but garish +paintings. I would faine have Paluel or Pompey, those two excellent +dauncers of our time, with all their nimblenesse, teach any man to +doe their loftie tricks and high capers, only with seeing them done, +and without stirring out of his place, as some Pedanticall fellowes +would instruct our minds without moving or putting it in practice. +And glad would I be to find one that would teach us how to manage a +horse, to tosse a pike, to shoot-off a peece, to play upon the lute, +or to warble with the voice, without any exercise, as these kind of +men would teach us to judge, and how to speake well, without any +exercise of speaking or judging. In which kind of life, or as I may +terme it, Prentiship, what action or object soever presents itselfe +into our eies, may serve us in stead of a sufficient booke. A +prettie pranke of a boy, a knavish tricke of a page, a foolish part +of a lackey, an idle tale or any discourse else, spoken either in +jest or earnest, at the table or in companie, are even as new +subjects for us to worke upon: for furtherance whereof, commerce or +common societie among men, visiting of forraine countries, and +observing of strange fashions, are verie necessary, not only to be +able (after the manner of our yong gallants of France) to report how +many paces the Church of Santa Rotonda is in length or breadth, or +what rich garments the curtezan Signora Livia weareth, and the worth +of her hosen; or as some do, nicely to dispute how much longer or +broader the face of Nero is, which they have seene in some old +ruines of Italie, than that which is made for him in other old +monuments else-where. But they should principally observe, and be +able to make certaine relation of the humours and fashions of those +countries they have seene, that they may the better know how to +correct and prepare their wits by those of others. I would therefore +have him begin even from his infancie to travell abroad; and first, +that at one shoot he may hit two markes he should see neighbour- +countries, namely where languages are most different from ours; for, +unlesse a mans tongue be fashioned unto them in his youth, he shall +never attaine to the true pronunciation of them if he once grow in +yeares. Moreover, we see it received as a common opinion of the +wiser sort, that it agreeth not with reason, that a childe be +alwaies nuzzled, cockered, dandled, and brought up in his parents +lap or sight; forsomuch as their naturall kindnesse, or (as I may +call it) tender fondnesse, causeth often, even the wisest to prove +so idle, so over-nice, and so base-minded. For parents are not +capable, neither can they find in their hearts to see them checkt, +corrected, or chastised, nor indure to see them brought up so +meanly, and so far from daintinesse, and many times so dangerously, +as they must needs be. And it would grieve them to see their +children come home from those exercises, that a Gentleman must +necessarily acquaint himselfe with, sometimes all wet and bemyred, +other times sweatie and full of dust, and to drinke being either +extreme hot or exceeding cold; and it would trouble them to see him +ride a rough-untamed horse, or with his weapon furiously incounter a +skilful Fencer, or to handle or shoot-off a musket; against which +there is no remedy, if he will make him prove a sufficient, +compleat, or honest man: he must not be spared in his youth; and it +will come to passe, that he shall many times have occasion and be +forced to shocke the rules of Physicke. + + Vitamque sub dio et trepidis agat + In rebus. + [Footnote: Hor. I. i. Od. ii. 4.] + + Leade he his life in open aire, + And in affaires full of despaire. + +It is not sufficient to make his minde strong, his muskles must also +be strengthened: the mind is over-borne if it be not seconded: and +it is too much for her alone to discharge two offices. I have a +feeling how mine panteth, being joyned to so tender and sensible +[Footnote: Sensitive.] a bodie, and that lieth so heavie upon it And +in my lecture, I often perceive how my Authors in their writings +sometimes commend examples for magnanimitie and force, that rather +proceed from a thicke skin and hardnes of the bones. I have knowne +men, women and children borne of so hard a constitution, that a blow +with a cudgell would lesse hurt them, than a filip would doe me, and +so dull and blockish, that they will neither stir tongue nor +eyebrowes, beat them never so much. When wrestlers goe about to +counterfeit the Philosophers patience, they rather shew the vigor of +their sinnewes than of their heart. For the custome to beare +travell, is to tolerate griefe: Labor callum obducit dolori. +[Footnote: Cic. Tusc. Qu. I. ii.] "Labour worketh a hardnesse upon +sorrow." Hee must be enured to suffer the paine and hardnesse of +exercises, that so he may be induced to endure the paine of the +colicke, of cauterie, of fals, of sprains, and other diseases +incident to mans bodie: yea, if need require, patiently to beare +imprisonment and other tortures, by which sufferance he shall come +to be had in more esteeme and accompt: for according to time and +place, the good as well as the bad man may haply fall into them; we +have seen it by experience. Whosoever striveth against the lawes, +threats good men with mischiefe and extortion. Moreover, the +authoritie of the Tutor (who should be soveraigne over him) is by +the cockering and presence of the parents, hindred and interrupted: +besides the awe and respect which the houshold beares him, and the +knowledge of the meane, possibilities, and greatnesse of his house, +are in my judgement no small lets [Footnote: Hindrances.]in a young +Gentleman. In this schoole of commerce, and societie among men, I +have often noted this vice, that in lieu of taking acquaintance of +others, we only endevour to make our selves knowne to them: and we +are more ready to utter such merchandize as we have, than to +ingrosse and purchase new commodities. Silence and modestie are +qualities very convenient to civil conversation. It is also +necessary that a young man be rather taught to be discreetly-sparing +and close-handed, than prodigally-wastfull and lavish in his +expences, and moderate in husbanding his wealth when he shall come +to possesse it. And not to take pepper in the nose for every foolish +tale that shall be spoken in his presence, because it is an uncivil +importunity to contradict whatsoever is not agreeing to our humour: +let him be pleased to correct himselfe. And let him not seeme to +blame that in others which he refuseth to doe himselfe, nor goe +about to withstand common fashions, Licet sapere sine pompa, sine +invidia: [Footnote: SEN. Epist. ciii. f.] "A man may bee wise +without ostentation, without envie." Let him avoid those imperious +images of the world, those uncivil behaviours and childish ambition +wherewith, God wot, too-too many are possest: that is, to make a +faire shew of that which is not in him: endevouring to be reputed +other than indeed he is; and as if reprehension and new devices were +hard to come by, he would by that meane acquire into himselfe the +name of some peculiar vertue. As it pertaineth but to great Poets to +use the libertie of arts; so is it tolerable but in noble minds and +great spirits to have a preheminence above ordinarie fashions. Si +quid Socrates et Aristippus contra morem et consuetudinem fecerunt, +idem sibi ne arbitretur licere: Magis enim illi et divinis bonis +hanc licentiam assequebantur: [Footnote: CIC. Off. 1. i.] "If +Socrates and Aristippus have done ought against custome or good +manner, let not a man thinke he may doe the same: for they obtained +this licence by their great and excellent good parts:" He shall be +taught not to enter rashly into discourse or contesting, but when he +shall encounter with a Champion worthie his strength; And then would +I not have him imploy all the tricks that may fit his turne, but +only such as may stand him in most stead. That he be taught to be +curious in making choice of his reasons, loving pertinency, and by +consequence brevitie. That above all, he be instructed to yeeld, yea +to quit his weapons unto truth, as soone as he shall discerne the +same, whether it proceed from his adversarie, or upon better advice +from himselfe; for he shall not be preferred to any place of +eminencie above others, for repeating of a prescript [Footnote: +Fixed beforehand.] part; and he is not engaged to defend any cause, +further than he may approove it; nor shall he bee of that trade +where the libertie for a man to repent and re-advise himselfe is +sold for readie money, Neque, ut omnia, que praescripta et imperata +sint, defendat, necessitate ulla cogitur: [Footnote: CIC. Acad. Qu. +I. iv.] "Nor is he inforced by any necessitie to defend and make +good all that is prescribed and commanded him." If his tutor agree +with my humour, he shall frame his affection to be a most loyall and +true subject to his Prince, and a most affectionate and couragious +Gentleman in al that may concerne the honor of his Soveraigne or the +good of his countrie, and endevour to suppresse in him all manner of +affection to undertake any action Otherwise than for a publike good +and dutie. Besides many inconveniences, which greatly prejudice our +libertie by reason of these particular bonds, the judgment of a man +that is waged and bought, either it is lesse free and honest, or +else it is blemisht with oversight and ingratitude. A meere and +precise Courtier can neither have law nor will to speake or thinke +otherwise than favourablie of his Master, who among so many +thousands of his subjects hath made choice of him alone, to +institute and bring him up with his owne hand. These favours, with +the commodities that follow minion [Footnote: Favorite.] Courtiers, +corrupt (not without some colour of reason) his libertie, and dazle +his judgement. It is therefore commonly scene that the Courtiers- +language differs from other mens, in the same state, and to be of no +great credit in such matters. Let therefore his conscience and +vertue shine in his speech, and reason be his chiefe direction, Let +him be taught to confesse such faults as he shall discover in his +owne discourses, albeit none other perceive them but himselfe; for +it is an evident shew of judgement, and effect of sinceritie, which +are the chiefest qualities he aymeth at. That wilfully to strive, +and obstinately to contest in words, are common qualities, most +apparent in basest mindes: That to readvise and correct himselfe, +and when one is most earnest, to leave an ill opinion, are rare, +noble, and Philosophicall conditions. Being in companie, he shall be +put in minde, to cast his eyes round about, and every where: For I +note, that the chiefe places are usually seezed upon by the most +unworthie and lesse capable; and that height of fortune is seldome +joyned with sufficiencie. I have scene that whilst they at the upper +end of a board were busie entertaining themselves with talking of +the beautie of the hangings about a chamber, or of the taste of some +good cup of wine, many good discourses at the lower end have utterly +been lost. He shall weigh the carriage of every man in his calling, +a Heardsman, a Mason, a Stranger, or a Traveller; all must be +imployed; every one according to his worth; for all helps to make up +houshold; yea, the follie and the simplicitie of others shall be as +instructions to him. By controlling the graces and manners of +others, he shall acquire unto himselfe envie of the good and +contempt of the bad. Let him hardly be possest with an honest +curiositie to search out the nature and causes of all things: let +him survay whatsoever is rare and singular about him; a building, a +fountaine, a man, a place where any battell hath been fought, or the +passages of Caesar or Charlemaine. + + Quae tellus sit lenta gelu, qua putris ab aestu, + Ventus in Italiam quis bene vela ferat. + [Footnote: Prop. 1. iv. El. iii. 39.] + + What land is parcht with heat, what clog'd with frost. + What wind drives kindly to th' Italian coast. + +He shall endevour to be familiarly acquainted with the customes, +with the meanes, with the state, with the dependances and alliances +of all Princes; they are things soone and pleasant to be learned, +and most profitable to be knowne. In this acquaintance of men, my +intending is, that hee chiefely comprehend them, that live but by +the memorie of bookes. He shall, by the help of Histories, in forme +himselfe of the worthiest minds that were in the best ages. It is a +frivolous studie, if a man list, but of unvaluable worth to such as +can make use of it, and as Plato saith, the only studie the +Lacedemonians reserved for themselves. What profit shall he not +reap, touching this point, reading the lives of our Plutark? Alwayes +conditioned, the master bethinke himselfe whereto his charge +tendeth, and that he imprint not so much in his schollers mind the +date of the ruine of Carthage, as the manners of Hanniball and +Scipio, nor so much where Marcellus died, as because he was unworthy +of his devoire [Footnote: Task.] he died there: that he teach him +not so much to know Histories as to judge of them. It is amongst +things that best agree with my humour, the subject to which our +spirits doe most diversly applie themselves. I have read in Titus +Livius a number of things, which peradventure others never read, in +whom Plutarke haply read a hundred more than ever I could read, and +which perhaps the author himselfe did never intend to set downe. To +some kind of men it is a meere gramaticali studie, but to others a +perfect anatomie [Footnote: Dissection, analytical exposition.] of +Philosophie; by meanes whereof the secretest part of our nature is +searched into. There are in Plutarke many ample discourses most +worthy to be knowne: for in my judgement, he is the chiefe work- +master of such works, whereof there are a thousand, whereat he hath +but slightly glanced; for with his finger he doth but point us out a +way to walke in, if we list; and is sometimes pleased to give but a +touch at the quickest and maine point of a discourse, from whence +they are by diligent studie to be drawne, and so brought into open +market. As that saying of his, That the inhabitants of Asia served +but one alone, because they could not pronounce one onely syllable, +which is Non, gave perhaps both subject and occasion to my friend +Boetie to compose his booke of voluntarie servitude. If it were no +more but to see Plutarke wrest a slight action to mans life, or a +word that seemeth to beare no such sence, it will serve for a whole +discourse. It is pittie men of understanding should so much love +brevitie; without doubt their reputation is thereby better, but we +the worse. Plutarke had rather we should commend him for his +judgement than for his knowledge, he loveth better to leave a kind +of longing-desire in us of him, than a satietie. He knew verie well +that even in good things too much may be said: and that Alexandridas +did justly reprove him who spake verie good sentences to the +Ephores, but they were over tedious. Oh stranger, quoth he, thou +speakest what thou oughtest, otherwise then [Footnote: Than.] thou +shouldest. Those that have leane and thin bodies stuffe them up with +bumbasting. [Footnote: Padding.] And such as have but poore matter, +will puffe it up with loftie words. There is a marvelous +cleerenesse, or as I may terme it an enlightning of mans judgement +drawne from the commerce of men, and by frequenting abroad in the +world; we are all so contrived and compact in our selves, that our +sight is made shorter by the length of our nose. When Socrates was +demaunded whence he was, he answered, not of Athens, but of the +world; for he, who had his imagination more full and farther +stretching, embraced all the world for his native Citie, and +extended his acquaintance, his societie, and affections to all man- +kind: and not as we do, that looke no further than our feet. If the +frost chance to nip the vines about my village, my Priest doth +presently argue that the wrath of God hangs over our head, and +threatneth all mankind: and judgeth that the Pippe [Footnote: A +disease.] is alreadie falne upon the Canibals. + +In viewing these intestine and civill broiles of ours, who doth not +exclaime, that this worlds vast frame is neere unto a dissolution, +and that the day of judgement is readie to fall on us? never +remembering that many worse revolutions have been seene, and that +whilest we are plunged in griefe, and overwhelmed in sorrow, a +thousand other parts of the world besides are blessed with +happinesse, and wallow in pleasures, and never thinke on us? +whereas, when I behold our lives, our licence, and impunitie, I +wonder to see them so milde and easie. He on whose head it haileth, +thinks all the Hemispheare besides to be in a storme and tempest. +And as that dull-pated Savoyard said, that if the seelie [Footnote +31: Simple.] King of France could cunningly have managed his +fortune, he might verie well have made himselfe chiefe Steward of +his Lords household, whose imagination conceived no other greatnesse +than his Masters; we are all insensible of this kind of errour: an +errour of great consequence and prejudice. But whosoever shall +present unto his inward eyes, as it were in a Table, the Idea of the +great image of our universall mother Nature, attired in her richest +robes, sitting in the throne of her Majestic, and in her visage +shall read so generall and so constant a varietie; he that therein +shall view himselfe, not himselfe alone, but a whole Kingdome, to be +in respect of a great circle but the smallest point that can be +imagined, he onely can value things according to their essentiall +greatnesse and proportion. This great universe (which some multiplie +as Species under one Genus) is the true looking-glasse wherein we +must looke, if we will know whether we be of a good stamp or in the +right byase. To conclude, I would have this worlds-frame to be my +Schollers choise-booke. [Footnote: Book of examples] So many strange +humours, sundrie sects, varying judgements, diverse opinions, +different lawes, and fantasticall customes teach us to judge rightly +of ours, and instruct our judgement to acknowledge his imperfections +and naturall weaknesse, which is no easie an apprentiship: So many +innovations of estates, so many fals of Princes, and changes of +publike fortune, may and ought to teach us, not to make so great +accompt of ours: So many names, so many victories, and so many +conquests buried in darke oblivion, makes the hope to perpetuate our +names but ridiculous, by the surprising of ten Argo-lettiers, +[Footnote: Mounted Bowmen.] or of a small cottage, which is knowne +but by his fall. The pride and fiercenesse of so many strange and +gorgeous shewes: the pride-puft majestie of so many courts, and of +their greatnesse, ought to confirme and assure our sight, +undauntedly to beare the affronts and thunder-claps of ours, without +feeling our eyes: So many thousands of men, lowlaide in their graves +afore us, may encourage us not to feare, or be dismaied to go meet +so good companie in the other world, and so of all things else. Our +life (said Pithagoras) drawes neare unto the great and populous +assemblies of the Olympike games, wherein some, to get the glorie +and to win the goale of the games, exercise their bodies with all +industrie; others, for greedinesse of gaine, bring thither +marchandise to sell: others there are (and those be not the worst) +that seek after no other good, but to marke how wherefore, and to +what end, all things are done: and to be spectators or observers of +other mens lives and actions, that so they may the better judge and +direct their owne. Unto examples may all the most profitable +Discourses of Philosophic be sorted, which ought to be the touch- +stone of human actions, and a rule to square them by, to whom may be +said, + + ---quid fas optare, quid asper + Vtile nummus habet, patriae charisque propinquis + Quantum elargiri deceat, quem te Deus esse + lussit, et humana qua parte locaius es in re. + [Footnote: Pers. Sat. iii. 69.] + Quid sumus, aut quidnam victuri gignimur. + [Footnote: Ib. 67.] + + What thou maiest wish, what profit may come cleare, + From new-stampt coyne, to friends and countrie deare + What thou ought'st give: whom God would have thee bee, + And in what part mongst men he placed thee. + What we are, and wherefore, + To live heer we were bore. + +What it is to know, and not to know (which ought to be the scope of +studie), what valour, what temperance, and what justice is: what +difference there is betweene ambition and avarice, bondage and +freedome, subjection and libertie, by which markes a man may +distinguish true and perfect contentment, and how far-forth one +ought to feare or apprehend death, griefe, or shame. + + Et quo quemque modo fugiatque. feratque laborem. + [Footnote: Virg. Aen. 1. iii. 853.] + + How ev'ry labour he may plie, + And beare, or ev'ry labour flie. + +What wards or springs move us, and the causes of so many motions in +us: For me seemeth, that the first discourses, wherewith his conceit +should be sprinkled, ought to be those that rule his manners and +direct his sense; which will both teach him to know himselfe, and +how to live and how to die well. Among the liberall Sciences, let us +begin with that which makes us free: Indeed, they may all, in some +sort stead us, as an instruction to our life, and use of it, as all +other things else serve the same to some purpose or other. But let +us make especiall choice of that which may directly and pertinently +serve the same. If we could restraine and adapt the appurtenances of +our life to their right byase and naturall limits, we should find +the best part of the Sciences that now are in use, cleane out of +fashion with us: yea, and in those that are most in use, there are +certaine by-wayes and deep-flows most profitable, which we should do +well to leave, and according to the institution of Socrates, limit +the course of our studies in those where profit is wanting. + + ----sapere aude, + Incipe: vivendi qui recte prorogat horam, + Rusticus expectat dum defluat amnis, at ille + Labitur, et labetur in omne volubilis avum. + [Footnote: Hor. I. i. Epist. ii. 40.] + + Be bold to be wise: to begin, be strong, + He that to live well doth the time prolong, + Clowne-like expects, till downe the streame be run, + That runs, and will run, till the world be done. + +It is mere simplicitie to teach our children, + + Quid moveant Pisces, animosaque signa Leonis, + Lotus et Hesperia quid Capricornus aqua. + [Footnote: Prop. I. El. i. 85.] + What Pisces move, or hot breath'd Leos beames, + Or Capricornus bath'd in western streames, + +the knowledge of the starres, and the motion of the eighth spheare, +before their owne; + [Greek text quote omited] + [Footnote: Anacr. Od. xvii. 10, 12.] + + What longs it to the seaven stars, and me, + Or those about Bootes be. + +Anaximenes writing to Pythagoras, saith, "With what sense can I +amuse my selfe in the secrets of the Starres, having continually +death or bondage before mine eyes?" For at that time the Kings of +Persia were making preparations to war against his Countrie. All men +ought to say so: Being beaten with ambition, with avarice, with +rashnesse, and with superstition, and having such other enemies unto +life within him. Wherefore shall I study and take care about the +mobility and variation of the world? When hee is once taught what is +fit to make him better and wiser, he shall be entertained with +Logicke, naturall Philosophy, Geometry, and Rhetoricke, then having +setled his judgement, looke what science he doth most addict +himselfe unto, he shall in short time attaine to the perfection of +it. His lecture shall be somtimes by way of talke and sometimes by +booke: his tutor may now and then supply him with the same Author, +as an end and motive of his institution: sometimes giving him the +pith and substance of it ready chewed. And if of himselfe he be not +so throughly acquainted with bookes, that hee may readily find so +many notable discourses as are in them to effect his purpose, it +shall not be amisse that some learned man bee appointed to keepe +him, company, who at any time of need may furnish him with such +munition as hee shall stand in need of; that hee may afterward +distribute and dispense them to his best use. And that this kind of +lesson be more easie and naturall than that of Gaza, who will make +question? Those are but harsh, thornie, and unpleasant precepts; +vaine, idle and immaterial words, on which small hold may be taken; +wherein is nothing to quicken the minde. In this the spirit findeth +substance to bide and feed upon. A fruit without all comparison much +better, and that will soone be ripe. It is a thing worthy +consideration, to see what state things are brought unto in this our +age; and how Philosophie, even to the wisest, and men of best +understanding, is but an idle, vaine and fantasticall name, of small +use and lesse worth, both in opinion and effect. I thinke these +Sophistries are the cause of it, which have forestalled the wayes to +come unto it: They doe very ill that goe about to make it seeme as +it were inaccessible for children to come unto, setting it foorth +with a wrimpled [Footnote: wrinkled.] gastlie, and frowning visage; +who hath masked her with so counterfet, pale, and hideous a +countenance? There is nothing more beauteous, nothing more +delightful, nothing more gamesome; and as I may say, nothing more +fondly wanton: for she presenteth nothing to our eyes, and preacheth +nothing to our eares, but sport and pastime. A sad and lowring looke +plainly declareth that that is not her haunt. Demetrius the +Gramarian, finding a companie of Philosophers sitting close together +in the Temple of Delphos, said unto them, "Either I am deceived, or +by your plausible and pleasant lookes, you are not in any serious +and earnest discourse amongst your selves;" to whom one of them, +named Heracleon the Megarian, answered, "That belongeth to them, who +busie themselves in seeking whether the future tense of the verbe +___, hath a double, or that labour to find the derivation of the +comparatives, [omitted] and of the superlatives [omitted], it is +they that must chafe in intertaining themselves with their science: +as for discourses of Philosophie they are wont to glad, rejoyce, and +not to vex and molest those that use them." + + Deprendas animi tormenta latentis in agro + Corpore, deprendas et gaudia; sumit utrumque + Inde habitum facies. + [Footnote: Juven, SAT. ix, 18] + + You may perceive the torments of the mind, + Hid in sicke bodie, you the joyes may find; + The face such habit takes in either kind. + +That mind which harboureth Philosophie, ought by reason of her sound +health, make that bodie also sound and healthie: it ought to make +her contentment to through-shine in all exteriour parts: it ought to +shapen and modell all outward demeanours to the modell of it: and by +consequence arme him that doth possesse it, with a gracious +stoutnesse and lively audacite, with an active and pleasing gesture, +and with a setled and cheerefull countenance. The most evident token +and apparant signe of true wisdome is a constant and unconstrained +rejoycing, whose estate is like unto all things above the Moone, +that is ever cleare, alwaies bright. It is Baroco [Footnote: +Mnemonic words invented by the scholastic logicians] and Baralipton +[Footnote: Mnemonic words invented by the scholastic logicians], +that makes their followers prove so base and idle, and not +Philosophie; they know her not but by heare-say; what? Is it not +shee that cleereth all stormes of the mind? And teacheth miserie, +famine, and sicknesse to laugh? Not by reason of some imaginarie +Epicicles [Footnote: A term of the old astronomy.], but by naturall +and palpable reasons. Shee aymeth at nothing but vertue; it is +vertue shee seekes after; which as the schoole saith, is not pitcht +on the top of an high, steepie, or inaccessible hill; for they that +have come unto her, affirme that cleane-contrarie shee keeps her +stand, and holds her mansion in a faire, flourishing, and pleasant +plaine, whence as from an high watch tower, she survaieth all +things, to be subject unto her, to whom any man may with great +facilitie come, if he but know the way or entrance to her palace: +for, the pathes that lead unto her are certaine fresh and shadie +greene allies, sweet and flowrie waies, whose ascent is even, easie, +and nothing wearisome, like unto that of heavens vaults. Forsomuch +as they have not frequented this vertue, who gloriously, as in a +throne of Majestie sits soveraigne, goodly, triumphant, lovely, +equally delicious, and couragious, protesting her selfe to be a +professed and irreconcileable enemie to all sharpnesse, austeritie, +feare, and compulsion; having nature for her guide, fortune and +voluptuousnesse for her companions; they according to their +weaknesse have imaginarily fained her, to have a foolish, sad, grim, +quarelous, spitefull, threatning, and disdainfull visage, with an +horride and unpleasant looke; and have placed her upon a craggie, +sharpe, and unfrequented rocke, amidst desert cliffes and uncouth +crags, as a scar-crow, or bugbeare, to affright the common people +with. Now the tutour, which ought to know that he should rather seek +to fill the mind and store the will of his disciple, as much, or +rather more, with love and affection, than with awe, and reverence +unto vertue, may shew and tell him, that Poets follow common +humours, making him plainly to perceive, and as it were palpably to +feele, that the Gods have rather placed labour and sweat at the +entrances which lead to Venus chambers, than at the doores that +direct to Pallas cabinets. + +And when he shall perceive his scholler to have a sensible feeling +of himselfe, presenting Bradamant [Footnote: A warlike heroine in +Boiardo's "Orlando Innamorato" and Ariosto's "Orlando Furioso."] or +Angelica [Footnote: The faithless princess, on account of whom +Orlando goes mad, in the same poems.] before him, as a Mistresse to +enjoy, embelished with a naturall, active, generous, and unspotted +beautie not uglie or Giant-like, but blithe and livelie, in respect +of a wanton, soft, affected, and artificiall-flaring beautie; the +one attired like unto a young man, coyfed with a bright-shining +helmet, the other disguised and drest about the head like unto an +impudent harlot, with embroyderies, frizelings, and carcanets of +pearles: he will no doubt deeme his owne love to be a man and no +woman, if in his choice he differ from that effeminate shepheard of +Phrygia. In this new kind of lesson he shall declare unto him, that +the prize, the glorie, and height of true vertue, consisted in the +facilitie, profit, and pleasure of his exercises: so far from +difficultie and incumbrances, that children as well as men, the +simple as soone as the wise, may come unto her. Discretion and +temperance, not force or way-wardnesse are the instruments to bring +him unto her. Socrates (vertues chiefe favorite) that he might the +better walke in the pleasant, naturall, and open path of her +progresses, doth voluntarily and in good, earnest, quit all +compulsion. Shee is the nurse and foster-mother of all humane +[Footnote: Human.] pleasures, who in making them just and upright, +she also makes them sure and sincere. By moderating them, she +keepeth them in ure [Footnote: Practice.] and breath. In limiting +and cutting them off, whom she refuseth; she whets us on toward +those she leaveth unto us; and plenteously leaves us them, which +Nature pleaseth, and like a kind mother giveth us over unto +satietie, if not unto wearisomnesse, unlesse we will peradventure +say that the rule and bridle, which stayeth the drunkard before +drunkennesse, the glutton before surfetting, and the letcher before +the losing of his haire, be the enemies of our pleasures. If common +fortune faile her, it cleerely scapes her; or she cares not for her, +or she frames another unto herselfe, altogether her owne, not so +fleeting nor so rowling. She knoweth the way how to be rich, mightie +and wise, and how to lie in sweet-perfumed beds. She loveth life; +she delights in beautie, in glorie, and in health. But her proper +and particular office is, first to know how to use such goods +temperately, and how to lose them constantly. An office much more +noble than severe, without which all course of life is unnaturall, +turbulent, and deformed, to which one may lawfully joyne those +rocks, those incumbrances, and those hideous monsters. If so it +happen, that his Disciple prove of so different a condition, that he +rather love to give eare to an idle fable than to the report of some +noble voiage, or other notable and wise discourse, when he shall +heare it; that at the sound of a Drum or clang of a Trumpet, which +are wont to rowse and arme the youthly heat of his companions, +turneth to another that calleth him to see a play, tumbling, jugling +tricks, or other idle lose-time sports; and who for pleasures sake +doth not deeme it more delightsome to returne all sweatie and wearie +from a victorious combat, from wrestling, or riding of a horse, than +from a Tennis-court or dancing schoole, with the prize or honour of +such exercises; The best remedy I know for such a one is, to put him +prentice to some base occupation, in some good towne or other, yea, +were he the sonne of a Duke; according to Platoes rule, who saith +"That children must be placed, not according to their fathers +conditions, but the faculties of their mind." Since it is +Philosophie that teacheth us to live, and that infancie as well as +other ages, may plainly read her lessons in the same, why should it +not be imparted unto young Schollers? + + Vdum et molle lutum est, nunc nunc properandus, et acri + Fingendus sine fine rota. + [Footnote: PES. Sat. iii. 23.] + + He's moist and soft mould, and must by and by + Be cast, made up, while wheele whirls readily. + +We are taught to live when our life is well-nigh spent. Many +schollers have been infected with that loathsome and marrow-wasting +disease before ever they came to read Aristotles treatise of +Temperance. Cicero was wont to say, "That could he out-live the +lives of two men, he should never find leasure to study the Lyrike +Poets." And I find these Sophisters both worse and more +unprofitable. Our childe is engaged in greater matters; And but the +first fifteene or sixteene yeares of his life are due unto +Pedantisme, the rest unto action: let us therefore imploy so short +time as we have to live in more necessarie instructions. It is an +abuse; remove these thornie quiddities of Logike, whereby our life +can no whit be amended, and betake our selves to the simple +discourses of Philosophy; know how to chuse and fitly to make use of +them: they are much more easie to be conceived than one of Bocace +his tales. A childe comming from nurse is more capable of them, than +he is to learne to read or write. Philosophy hath discourses, +whereof infancie as well as decaying old-age may make good use. I am +of Plutarkes mind, which is, that Aristotle did not so much ammuse +his great Disciple about the arts how to frame Syllogismes, or the +principles of Geometric, as he endevoured to instruct him with good +precepts concerning valour, prowesse, magnanimitie, and temperance, +and an undanted assurance not to feare any thing; and with such +munition he sent him, being yet verie young, to subdue the Empire of +the world, only with 30000 footmen, 4000 horsemen, and 42000 Crownes +in monie. As for other arts and sciences; he saith Alexander +honoured them, and commended their excellencie and comlinesse; but +for any pleasure he tooke in them, his affection could not easily be +drawne to exercise them. + + --petite hinc juvenesque senesque + Finem animo certum, miserisque viatica canis. + [Footnote: Sat. v. 64] + + Young men and old, draw hence (in your affaires) + Your minds set marke, provision for gray haires. + +It is that which Epicurus said in the beginning of his letter to +Memiceus: "Neither let the youngest shun nor the oldest wearie +himselfe in philosophying, for who doth otherwise seemeth to say, +that either the season to live happily is not yet come, or is +already past." Yet would I not have this young gentleman pent-up, +nor carelesly cast-off to the heedlesse choler, or melancholy humour +of the hasty Schoole-master. I would not have his budding spirit +corrupted with keeping him fast-tied, and as it were labouring +fourteene or fifteene houres a day poaring on his booke, as some +doe, as if he were a day-labouring man; neither doe I thinke it fit, +if at any time, by reason of some solitairie or melancholy +complexion, he should be scene with an over-indiscreet application +given to his booke, it should be cherished in him; for, that doth +often make him both unapt for civill conversation and distracts him +from better imployments: How many have I scene in my daies, by an +over-greedy desire of knowledge, become as it were foolish? +Carneades was so deeply plunged, and as I may say besotted in it, +that he could never have leasure to cut his haire, or pare his +nailes: nor would I have his noble manners obscured by the +incivilitie and barbarisme of others. The French wisdome hath long +since proverbially been spoken of as verie apt to conceive study in +her youth, but most unapt to keepe it long. In good truth, we see at +this day that there is nothing lovelier to behold than the young +children of France; but for the most part, they deceive the hope +which was fore-apprehended of them: for when they once become men, +there is no excellencie at all in them. I have heard men of +understanding hold this opinion, that the Colleges to which they are +sent (of which there are store) doe thus besot them: whereas to our +scholler, a cabinet, a gardin, the table, the bed, a solitarinesse, +a companie, morning and evening, and all houres shall be alike unto +him, all places shall be a study for him: for Philosophy (as a +former of judgements, and modeler of customes) shall be his +principall lesson, having the privilege to entermeddle her selfe +with all things, and in all places. Isocrates the Orator, being once +requested at a great banket to speake of his art, when all thought +he had reason to answer, said, "It is not now time to doe what I +can, and what should now be done, I cannot doe it; For, to present +orations, or to enter into disputation of Rhetorike, before a +companie assembled together to be merrie, and make good cheere, +would be but a medley of harsh and jarring musicke." The like may be +said of all other Sciences. But touching Philosophy, namely, in that +point where it treateth of man, and of his duties and offices, it +hath been the common judgement of the wisest, that in regard of the +pleasantnesse of her conversatione, she ought not to be rejected, +neither at banquets nor at sports. And Plato having invited her to +his solemne feast, we see how kindly she entertaineth the companie +with a milde behaviour, fitly suting her selfe to time and place, +notwithstanding it be one of his learned'st and profitable +discourses. + + AEque pauperibus prodest, locupletibus aque, + Et neglecta aeque pueris senibusque nocebit. + [Footnote: HOR. 1. i. Epist. 125.] + + Poore men alike, alike rich men it easeth, + Alike it, scorned, old and young displeaseth. + +So doubtlesse he shall lesse be idle than others; for even as the +paces we bestow walking in a gallerie, although they be twice as +many more, wearie us not so much as those we spend in going a set +journey: So our lesson being past over, as it were, by chance, or +way of encounter, without strict observance of time or place, being +applied to all our actions, shall be digested, and never felt. All +sports and exercises shall be a part of his study; running, +wrestling, musicke, dancing, hunting, and managing of armes and +horses. I would have the exterior demeanor or decencie, and the +disposition of his person to be fashioned together with his mind: +for, it is not a mind, it is not a body that we erect, but it is a +man, and we must not make two parts of him. And as Plato saith, They +must not be erected one without another, but equally be directed, no +otherwise than a couple of horses matched to draw in one selfe-same +teeme. And to heare him, doth he not seeme to imploy more time and +care in the exercises of his bodie: and to thinke that the minde is +together with the same exercised, and not the contrarie? As for +other matters, this institution ought to be directed by a sweet- +severe mildnesse; Not as some do, who in liew of gently-bidding +children to the banquet of letters, present them with nothing but +horror and crueltie. Let me have this violence and compulsion +removed, there is nothing that, in my seeming, doth more bastardise +and dizzie a welborne and gentle nature: If you would have him stand +in awe of shame and punishment, doe not so much enure him to it: +accustome him patiently to endure sweat and cold, the sharpnesse of +the wind, the heat of the sunne, and how to despise all hazards. +Remove from him all nicenesse and quaintnesse in clothing, in lying, +in eating, and in drinking: fashion him to all things, that he prove +not a faire and wanton-puling boy, but a lustie and vigorous boy: +When I was a child, being a man, and now am old, I have ever judged +and believed the same. But amongst other things, I could never away +with this kind of discipline used in most of our Colleges. It had +peradventure been lesse hurtfull, if they had somewhat inclined to +mildnesse, or gentle entreatie. It is a verie prison of captivated +youth, and proves dissolute in punishing it before it be so. Come +upon them when they are going to their lesson, and you heare nothing +but whipping and brawling, both of children tormented, and masters +besotted with anger and chafing. How wide are they, which go about +to allure a childs mind to go to its booke, being yet but tender and +fearefull, with a stearne-frowning countenance, and with hands full +of rods? Oh wicked and pernicious manner of teaching! which +Quintillian hath very wel noted, that this imperious kind of +authoritie, namely, this way of punishing of children, drawes many +dangerous inconveniences within. How much more decent were it to see +their school-houses and formes strewed with greene boughs and +flowers, than with bloudy burchen-twigs? If it lay in me, I would +doe as the Philosopher Speusippus did, who caused the pictures of +Gladness and Joy, of Flora and of the Graces, to be set up round +about his school-house. Where their profit lieth, there should also +be their recreation. Those meats ought to be sugred over, that are +healthful for childrens stomakes, and those made bitter that are +hurtfull for them. It is strange to see how carefull Plato sheweth +him selfe in framing of his lawes about the recreation and pastime +of the youth of his Citie, and how far he extends him selfe about +their exercises, sports, songs, leaping, and dancing, whereof he +saith, that severe antiquitie gave the conduct and patronage unto +the Gods themselves, namely, to Apollo, to the Muses, and to +Minerva. Marke but how far-forth he endevoreth to give a thousand +precepts to be kept in his places of exercises both of bodie and +mind. As for learned Sciences, he stands not much upon them, and +seemeth in particular to commend Poesie, but for Musickes sake. All +strangenesse and selfe-particularitie in our manners and conditions, +is to be shunned, as an enemie to societie and civill conversation. +Who would not be astonished at Demophons complexion, chiefe steward +of Alexanders household, who was wont to sweat in the shadow, and +quiver for cold in the sunne? I have seene some to startle at the +smell of an apple more than at the shot of a peece; some to be +frighted with a mouse, some readie to cast their gorge [Footnote: +Vomit.] at the sight of a messe of creame, and others to be scared +with seeing a fether bed shaken: as Germanicus, who could not abide +to see a cock, or heare his crowing. There may haply be some hidden +propertie of nature, which in my judgement might easilie be removed, +if it were taken in time. Institution hath gotten this upon me (I +must confesse with much adoe) for, except beere, all things else +that are mans food agree indifferently with my taste. The bodie +being yet souple, ought to be accommodated to all fashions and +customes; and (alwaies provided, his appetites and desires be kept +under) let a yong man boldly be made fit for al Nations and +companies; yea, if need be, for al disorders and surfetings; let him +acquaint him selfe with al fashions; That he may be able to do al +things, and love to do none but those that are commendable. Some +strict Philosophers commend not, but rather blame Calisthenes, for +losing the good favour of his Master Alexander, only because he +would not pledge him as much as he had drunke to him. He shall +laugh, jest, dally, and debauch himselfe with his Prince. And in his +debauching, I would have him out-go al his fellowes in vigor and +constancie, and that he omit not to doe evill, neither for want of +strength or knowledge, but for lacke of will. Multum interest utrum +peccare quis nolit, aut nesciat: [Footnote: HOR. Epist. xvii. 23.] +"There is a great difference, whether one have no will, or no wit to +doe amisse." I thought to have honoured a gentleman (as great a +stranger, and as far from such riotous disorders as any is in +France) by enquiring of him in verie good companie, how many times +in all his life he had bin drunke in Germanie during the time of his +abode there, about the necessarie affaires of our King; who tooke it +even as I meant it, and answered three times, telling the time and +manner how. I know some, who for want of that qualitie, have been +much perplexed when they have had occasion to converse with that +nation. I have often noted with great admiration, that wonderfull +nature of Alcibiades, to see how easilie he could sute himselfe to +so divers fashions and different humors, without prejudice unto his +health; sometimes exceeding the sumptuousnesse and pompe of the +Persians, and now and then surpassing. the austeritie and frugalitie +of the Lacedemonians; as reformed in Sparta, as voluptuous in Ionia. + + Omnis Atistippum decuit color, et status, et res. + [Footnote: HOR. Epist. xvii. 25.] + + All colours, states, and things are fit + For courtly Aristippus wit. + +Such a one would I frame my Disciple, + + --quem duplici panno patientia velat, + Mirabor, vita via si conversa decebit. + + Whom patience clothes with sutes of double kind, + I muse, if he another way will find. + + Personavnque feret non inconcinnus utramque. + [Footnote: CIC. Tusc. Qu. 1. iv.] + + He not unfitly may, + Both parts and persons play. + +Loe here my lessons, wherein he that acteth them, profiteth more +than he that but knoweth them, whom if you see, you heare, and if +you heare him, you see him. God forbid, saith some bodie in Plato, +that to Philosophize, be to learne many things, and to exercise the +arts. Hanc amplissimam omnium artium bene vivendi disciplinam, vita +magis quant litteris persequntd sunt [Footnote: Ib. 29.] "This +discipline of living well, which is the amplest of all other arts, +they followed rather in their lives than in their learning or +writing." Leo Prince of the Phliasians, enquiring of Heraclides +Ponticus, what art he professed, he answered, "Sir, I professe +neither art nor science; but I am a Philosopher." Some reproved +Diogenes, that being an ignorant man, he did neverthelesse meddle +with Philosophie, to whom he replied, "So much the more reason have +I and to greater purpose doe I meddle with it." Hegesias praid him +upon a time to reade some booke unto him: "You are a merry man," +said he: "As you chuse naturall and not painted, right and not +counterfeit figges to eat, why doe you not likewise chuse, not the +painted and written, but the true and naturall exercises?" He shall +not so much repeat, as act his lesson. In his actions shall he make +repetition of the same. We must observe, whether there bee wisdome +in his enterprises, integritie in his demeanor, modestie in his +jestures, justice in his actions, judgement and grace in his speech, +courage in his sicknesse, moderation in his sports, temperance in +his pleasures, order in the government of his house, and +indifference in his taste, whether it be flesh, fish, wine, or +water, or whatsoever he feedeth upon. Qui disciplinam suam non +ostentationem scientiae sed legem vitae putet: quique obtemperet +ipse sibi, et decretis pareat [Footnote: Ib. I. ii.] "Who thinks his +learning not an ostentation of knowledge, but a law of life, and +himselfe obayes himselfe, and doth what is decreed." + +The true mirror of our discourses is the course of our lives. +Zeuxidamus answered one that demanded of him, why the Lacedemonians +did not draw into a booke, the ordinances of prowesse, that so their +yong men might read them; "it is," saith he, "because they would +rather accustome them to deeds and actions, than to bookes and +writings." Compare at the end of fifteene or sixteene yeares one of +these collegiall Latinizers, who hath imployed all that while onely +in learning how to speake, to such a one as I meane. The world is +nothing but babling and words, and I never saw man that doth not +rather speake more than he ought, than lesse. Notwithstanding halfe +our age is consumed that way. We are kept foure or five yeares +learning to understand bare words, and to joine them into clauses, +then as long in proportioning a great bodie extended into foure or +five parts; and five more at least ere we can succinctly know how to +mingle, joine, and interlace them handsomly into a subtil fashion, +and into one coherent orbe. Let us leave it to those whose +profession is to doe nothing else. Being once on my journey to +Orleans, it was my chance to meet upon that plaine that lieth on +this side Clery, with two Masters of Arts, traveling toward +Bordeaux, about fiftie paces one from another; far off behind them, +I descride a troupe of horsemen, their Master riding formost, who +was the Earle of Rochefocault; one of my servants enquiring of the +first of those Masters of Arts, what Gentleman he was that followed +him; supposing my servant had meant his fellow-scholler, for he had +not yet seen the Earles traine, answered pleasantly, "He is no +gentleman, Sir, but a Gramarian, and I am a Logitian." Now, we that +contrariwise seek not to frame a Gramarian, nor a Logitian, but a +compleat gentleman, let us give them leave to mispend their time; we +have else-where, and somewhat else of more import to doe. So that +our Disciple be well and sufficiently stored with matter; words will +follow apace, and if they will hot follow gently, he shall hale them +on perforce. I heare some excuse themselves, that they cannot +expresse their meaning, and make a semblance that their heads are so +full stuft with many goodly things, but for want of eloquence they +can neither titter nor make show of them. It is a meere fopperie. +And will you know what, in my seeming, the cause is? They are +shadows and Chimeraes, proceeding of some formelesse conceptions, +which they cannot distinguish or resolve within, and by consequence +are not able to produce them in as-much as they understand not +themselves: And if you but marke their earnestnesse, and how they +stammer and labour at the point of their deliverle, you would deeme +that what they go withall, is but a conceiving, and therefore +nothing neere downelying; and that they doe but licke that imperfect +and shapelesse lump of matter. As for me, I am of opinion, and +Socrates would have it so, that he who had a cleare and lively +imagination in his mind, may easilie produce and utter the same, +although it be in Bergamaske [Footnote: A rustic dialect of the +north of Italy.] or Welsh, and if he be dumbe, by signes and tokens. + + Verbaque praevisam rem non invita sequentur. + [Footnote: HOR. Art. Poet. 311.] + + When matter we fore-know, + Words voluntarie flow. + +As one said, as poetically in his prose, Cum res animum occupavere, +verba ambiunt; [Footnote: SED. Controv. 1. vii. prae.] "When matter +hath possest their minds, they hunt after words:" and another: Ipsa +res verba rapiunt: [Footnote: CIC. de Fin. I. iii. c. 5.] "Things +themselves will catch and carry words:" He knowes neither Ablative, +Conjunctive, Substantive, nor Gramar, no more doth his Lackey, nor +any Oyster-wife about the streets, and yet if you have a mind to it +he will intertaine you, your fill, and peradventure stumble as +little and as seldome against the rules of his tongue, as the best +Master of arts in France. He hath no skill in Rhetoricke, nor can he +with a preface fore-stall and captivate the Gentle Readers good +will: nor careth he greatly to know it. In good sooth, all this +garish painting is easilie defaced, by the lustre of an in-bred and +simple truth; for these dainties and quaint devices serve but to +ammuse the vulgar sort; unapt and incapable to taste the most solid +and firme meat: as Afer verie plainly declareth in Cornelius +Tacitus. The Ambassadours of Samos being come to Cleomenes King of +Sparta, prepared with a long prolix Oration, to stir him up to war +against the tyrant Policrates, after he had listned a good while +unto them, his answer was: "Touching your Exordium or beginning I +have forgotten it; the middle I remember not; and for your +conclusion I will do nothing in it." A fit, and (to my thinking) a +verie good answer; and the Orators were put to such a shift; as they +knew not what to replie. And what said another? the Athenians from +out two of their cunning Architects, were to chuse one to erect a +notable great frame; the one of them more affected and selfe +presuming, presented himselfe before them, with a smooth fore- +premeditated discourse, about the subject of that piece of worke, +and thereby drew the judgements of the common people unto his +liking; but the other in few words spake thus: "Lords of Athens, +what this man hath said I will performe." In the greatest +earnestnesse of Ciceroes eloquence many were drawn into a kind of +admiration; But Cato jesting at it, said, "Have we not a pleasant +Consull?" A quicke cunning Argument, and a wittie saying, whether it +go before or come after, it is never out of season. If it have no +coherence with that which goeth before, nor with what commeth after; +it is good and commendable in it selfe. I am none of those that +think a good Ryme, to make a good Poeme; let him hardly (if so he +please) make a short syllable long, it is no great matter; if the +invention be rare and good, and his wit and judgement have cunningly +played their part. I will say to such a one; he is a good Poet, but +an ill Versifier. + + Emunciae naris, durus componere versus. + [Footnote: HOR. 1. i. Sat. iv.] + + A man whose sense could finely pierce, + But harsh and hard to make a verse. + +Let a man (saith Horace) make his worke loose all seames, measures, +and joynts. + + Tempora certa moddsque, et quod prius ordine verbum est, + [Footnote: Ib. 58.] + Posterius facias, praeponens ultima primis: + Invenias etiam disjecti membra Poetae. + [Footnote: Ib. 62.] + + Set times and moods, make you the first word last, + The last word first, as if they were new cast: + Yet find th' unjoynted Poets joints stand fast. + +He shall for all that, nothing gain-say himselfe, every piece will +make a good shew. To this purpose answered Menander those that chid +him, the day being at hand, in which he had promised a Comedy, and +had not begun the same, "Tut-tut," said he, "it is alreadie +finished, there wanteth nothing but to adde the verse unto it;" for, +having ranged and cast the plot in his mind, he made small accompt +of feet, of measures, or cadences of verses, which indeed are but of +small import in regard of the rest. Since great Ronsarde and learned +Bellay have raised our French Poesie unto that height of honour +where it now is: I see not one of these petty ballad-makers, or +prentise dogrell rymers, that doth not bombast his labours with +high-swelling and heaven-disimbowelling words, and that doth not +marshall his cadences verie neere as they doe. Plus sonat quam +valet. [Footnote: Sen, Epist. xl.] "The sound is more than the +weight or worth." And for the vulgar sort there were never so many +Poets, and so few good: but as it hath been easie for them to +represent their rymes, so come they far short in imitating the rich +descriptions of the one, and rare inventions of the other. But what +shall he doe, if he be urged with sophisticall subtilties about a +Sillogisme? A gammon of Bacon makes a man drink, drinking quencheth +a mans thirst; Ergo, a gammon of bacon quencheth a mans thirst. Let +him mock at it, it is more wittie to be mockt at than to be +answered. Let him borrow this pleasant counter-craft of Aristippus; +"Why shall I unbind that, which being bound doth so much trouble +me?" Some one proposed certaine Logicall quiddities against +Cleanthes, to whom Chrisippus said; use such jugling tricks to play +with children, and divert not the serious thoughts of an aged man to +such idle matters. If such foolish wiles, Contorta et aculeata +sophismata, [Footnote: Cic. Acad. Qu. 1. iv.] "Intricate and stinged +sophismes," must perswade a lie, it is dangerous: but if they proove +void of any effect, and move him but to laughter, I see not why he +shall beware of them. Some there are so foolish that will go a +quarter of a mile out of the way to hunt after a quaint new word, if +they once get in chace; Aut qui non verba rebus aptant, sed res +extrinsecus arcessunt, quibus verba conveniant: "Or such as fit not +words to matter, but fetch matter from abroad, whereto words be +fitted." And another, Qui alicujus verbi decore placentis, vocentur +ad id quod non proposuerant scribere: [Footnote: Sen. Epist. liii.] +"Who are allured by the grace of some pleasing word, to write what +they intended not to write." I doe more willingly winde up a wittie +notable sentence, that so I may sew it upon me, than unwinde my +thread to go fetch it. Contrariwise, it is for words to serve and +wait upon the matter, and not for matter to attend upon words, and +if the French tongue cannot reach unto it, let the Gaskonie, or any +other. I would have the matters to surmount, and so fill the +imagination of him that harkeneth, that he have no remembrance at +all of the words. It is a naturall, simple, and unaffected speech +that I love, so written as it is spoken, and such upon the paper, as +it is in the mouth, a pithie, sinnowie, full, strong, compendious +and materiall speech, not so delicate and affected as vehement and +piercing. + + Hac demum sapiet dictio qua feriet. + [Footnote: Epitaph on Lucan, 6.] + + In fine, that word is wisely fit, + Which strikes the fence, the marke doth hit. + +Rather difficult than tedious, void of affection, free, loose and +bold, that every member of it seeme to make a bodie; not +Pedanticall, nor Frier-like, nor Lawyer-like, but rather downe +right, Souldier-like. As Suetonius calleth that of Julius Caesar, +which I see no reason wherefore he calleth it. I have sometimes +pleased myselfe in imitating that licenciousnesse or wanton humour +of our youths, in wearing of their garments; as carelessly to let +their cloaks hang downe over one shoulder; to weare their cloakes +scarfe or bawdrikewise, and their stockings loose hanging about +their legs. It represents a kind of disdainful fiercenesse of these +forraine embellishings, and neglect carelesnesse of art: But I +commend it more being imployed in the course and forme of speech. +All manner of affectation, namely [Footnote: Especially,] in the +livelinesse and libertie of France, is unseemely in a Courtier. And +in a Monarchie every Gentleman ought to addresse himselfe unto +[Footnote: Aim at] a Courtiers carriage. Therefore do we well +somewhat to incline to a native and carelesse behaviour. I like not +a contexture, where the seames and pieces may be seen: As in a well +compact bodie, what need a man distinguish and number all the bones +and veines severally? Quae veritati operam dat oratio, incomposita +sit et simplex [Footnote: Sen. Epist. xl] Quis accurate loquitur +nisi qui vult putide loqui [Footnote: Ib. Epist. ixxr.] "The speach +that intendeth truth must be plaine and unpollisht: Who speaketh +elaborately, but he that meanes to speake unfavourably?" That +eloquence offereth injurie unto things, which altogether drawes us +to observe it. As in apparell, it is a signe of pusillanimitie for +one to marke himselfe, in some particular and unusuall fashion: so +likewise in common speech, for one to hunt after new phrases, and +unaccustomed quaint words, proceedeth of a scholasticall and +childish ambition. Let me use none other than are spoken in the hals +of Paris. Aristophanes the Gramarian was somewhat out of the way, +when he reproved Epicurus, for the simplicitie of his words, and the +end of his art oratorie, which was onely perspicuitie in speech. The +imitation of speech, by reason of the facilitie of it, followeth +presently a whole nation. The imitation of judging and inventing +comes more slow. The greater number of Readers, because they have +found one self-same kind of gowne, suppose most falsely to holde one +like bodie. Outward garments and cloakes may be borrowed, but never +the sinews and strength of the bodie. Most of those that converse +with me, speake like unto these Essayes; but I know not whether they +think alike. The Athenians (as Plato averreth) have for their part +great care to be fluent and eloquent in their speech; The +Lacedemonians endevour to be short and compendious; and those of +Creet labour more to bee plentifull in conceits than in language. +And these are the best. Zeno was wont to say, "That he had two sorts +of disciples; the one he called [Greek word omitted], curious to +learne things, and those were his darlings, the other he termed +[Greek word omitted], who respected nothing more than the language." +Yet can no man say, but that to speake well, is most gracious and +commendable, but not so excellent as some make it: and I am grieved +to see how we imploy most part of our time about that onely. I would +first know mine owne tongue perfectly, then my neighbours with whom +I have most commerce. I must needs acknowledge, that the Greeke and +Latine tongues are great ornaments in a gentleman, but they are +purchased at over-high a rate. Use it who list, I will tell you how +they may be gotten better, cheaper, and much sooner than is +ordinarily used, which was tried in myselfe. My late father, having, +by all the meanes and industrie that is possible for a man, sought +amongst the wisest, and men of best understanding, to find a most +exquisite and readie way of teaching, being advised of the +inconveniences then in use; was given to understand that the +lingring while, and best part of our youth, that we imploy in +learning the tongues, which cost them nothing, is the onely cause we +can never attaine to that absolute perfection of skill and knowledge +of the Greekes and Romanes. I doe not beleeve that to be the onely +cause. But so it is, the expedient my father found out was this; +that being yet at nurse, and before the first loosing of my tongue, +I was delivered to a Germane (who died since, a most excellent +Physitian in France) he being then altogether ignorant of the French +tongue, but exquisitely readie and skilfull in the Latine. This man, +whom my father had sent for of purpose, and to whom he gave verie +great entertainment, had me continually in his armes, and was mine +onely overseer. There were also joyned unto him two of his +countrimen, but not so learned; whose charge was to attend, and now +and then to play with me; and all these together did never +entertaine me with other than the Latine tongue. As for others of +his household, it was an inviolable rule, that neither himselfe, nor +my mother, nor man, nor maid-servant, were suffered to speake one +word in my companie, except such Latine words as every one had +learned to chat and prattle with me. It were strange to tell how +every one in the house profited therein. My Father and my Mother +learned so much Latine, that for a need they could understand it, +when they heard it spoken, even so did all the household servants, +namely such as were neerest and most about me. To be short, we were +all so Latinized, that the townes round about us had their share of +it; insomuch as even at this day, many Latine names both of workmen +and of their tooles are yet in use amongst them. And as for myselfe, +I was about six years old, and could understand no more French or +Perigordine than Arabike; and that without art, without bookes, +rules, or grammer, without whipping or whining, I had gotten as pure +a Latin tongue as my Master could speake; the rather because I could +neither mingle or confound the same with other tongues. If for an +Essay they would give me a Theme, whereas the fashion in Colleges +is, to give it in French, I had it in bad Latine, to reduce the same +into good. And Nicholas Grouchy, who hath written De comitiis +Romanorum, William Guerente, who hath commented Aristotele: George +Buchanan, that famous Scottish Poet, and Marke Antonie Muret, whom +(while he lived) both France and Italie to this day, acknowledge to +have been the best orator: all which have beene my familiar tutors, +have often told me, that in mine infancie I had the Latine tongue so +readie and so perfect, that themselves feared to take me in hand. +And Buchanan, who afterward I saw attending on the Marshall of +Brissacke, told me, he was about to write a treatise of the +institution of children, and that he tooke the model and patterne +from mine: for at that time he had the charge and bringing up of the +young Earle of Brissack, whom since we have scene prove so worthy +and so valiant a Captaine. As for the Greeke, wherein I have but +small understanding, my father purposed to make me learne it by art; +But by new and uncustomed meanes, that is, by way of recreation and +exercise. We did tosse our declinations and conjugations to and fro, +as they doe, who by way of a certaine game at tables learne both +Arithmetike and Geometrie. For, amongst other things he had +especially beene persuaded to make me taste and apprehend the fruits +of dutie and science by an unforced kinde of will, and of mine owne +choice; and without any compulsion or rigor to bring me up in all +mildnesse and libertie: yea with such kinde of superstition, that, +whereas some are of opinion that suddenly to awaken young children, +and as it were by violence to startle and fright them out of their +dead sleepe in a morning (wherein they are more heavie and deeper +plunged than we) doth greatly trouble and distemper their braines, +he would every morning cause me to be awakened by the sound of some +instrument; and I was never without a servant who to that purpose +attended upon me. This example may serve to judge of the rest; as +also to commend the judgement and tender affection of so carefull +and loving a father: who is not to be blamed, though hee reaped not +the fruits answerable to his exquisite toyle and painefull manuring. +[Footnote: Cultivation.] Two things hindered the same; first the +barrennesse and unfit soyle: for howbeit I were of a sound and +strong constitution, and of a tractable and yeelding condition, yet +was I so heavie, so sluggish, and so dull, that I could not be +rouzed (yea were it to goe to play) from out mine idle drowzinesse. +What I saw, I saw it perfectly; and under this heavy, and as it were +Lethe-complexion did I breed hardie imaginations, and opinions farre +above my yeares. My spirit was very slow, and would goe no further +than it was led by others; my apprehension blockish, my invention +poore; and besides, I had a marvelous defect in my weake memorie: it +is therefore no wonder, if my father could never bring me to any +perfection. Secondly, as those that in some dangerous sicknesse, +moved with a kind of hope-full and greedie desire of perfect health +againe, give eare to every Leach or Emperike, [Footnote: Doctor or +quack.] and follow all counsels, the good man being exceedingly +fearefull to commit any oversight, in a matter he tooke so to heart, +suffered himselfe at last to be led away by the common opinion, +which like unto the Cranes, followeth ever those that go before, and +yeelded to customer having those no longer about him, that had given +him his first directions, and which they had brought out of Italie. +Being but six yeares old I was sent to the College of Guienne, then +most flourishing and reputed the best in France, where it is +impossible to adde any thing to the great care he had, both to chuse +the best and most sufficient masters that could be found, to reade +unto me, as also for all other circumstances partaining to my +education; wherein contrary to usuall customes of Colleges, he +observed many particular rules. But so it is, it was ever a College. +My Latin tongue was forthwith corrupted, whereof by reason of +discontinuance, I afterward lost all manner of use: which new kind +of institution stood me in no other stead, but that at my first +admittance it made me to overskip some of the lower formes, and to +be placed in the highest. For at thirteene yeares of age, that I +left the College, I had read over the whole course of Philosophie +(as they call it) but with so small profit, that I can now make no +account of it. The first taste or feeling I had of bookes, was of +the pleasure I tooke in reading the fables of Ovids Metamorphosies; +for, being but seven or eight yeares old, I would steale and +sequester my selfe from all other delights, only to reade them: +Forsomuch as the tongue wherein they were written was to me +naturall; and it was the easiest booke I knew, and by reason of the +matter therein contained most agreeing with my young age. For of +King Arthur, of Lancelot du Lake, of Amadis, of Huon of Burdeaux, +and such idle time consuming and wit-besotting trash of bookes +wherein youth doth commonly ammuse it selfe, I was not so much as +acquainted with their names, and to this day know not their bodies, +nor what they containe: So exact was my discipline. Whereby I became +more carelesse to studie my other prescript lessons. And well did it +fall out for my purpose, that I had to deale with a very discreet +Master, who out of his judgement could with such dexterite winke at +and second my untowardlinesse, and such other faults that were in +me. For by that meanes I read over Virgils AEneados, Terence, +Plautus, and other Italian Comedies, allured thereunto by the +pleasantnesse of their severall subjects: Had he beene so foolishly- +severe, or so severely froward as to crosse this course of mine, I +thinke verily I had never brought any thing from the College, but +the hate and contempt of Bookes, as doth the greatest part of our +Nobilitie. Such was his discretion, and so warily did he behave +himselfe, that he saw and would not see: hee would foster and +increase my longing: suffering me but by stealth and by snatches to +glut my selfe with those Bookes, holding ever a gentle hand over me, +concerning other regular studies. For, the chiefest thing my father +required at their hands (unto whose charge he had committed me) was +a kinde of well conditioned mildnesse and facilitie of complexion. +[Footnote: Easiness of disposition.] And, to say truth, mine had no +other fault, but a certaine dull languishing and heavie +slothfullnesse. The danger was not, I should doe ill, but that I +should doe nothing. + +No man did ever suspect I would prove a bad, but an unprofitable +man: foreseeing in me rather a kind of idlenesse than a voluntary +craftinesse. I am not so selfe-conceited but I perceive what hath +followed. The complaints that are daily buzzed in mine eares are +these; that I am idle, cold, and negligent in offices of friendship, +and dutie to my parents and kinsfolkes; and touching publike +offices, that I am over singular and disdainfull. And those that are +most injurious cannot aske, wherefore I have taken, and why I have +not paied? but may rather demand, why I doe not quit, and wherefore +I doe not give? I would take it as a favour, they should wish such +effects of supererogation in me. But they are unjust and over +partiall, that will goe about to exact that from me which I owe not, +with more vigour than they will exact from themselves that which +they owe; wherein if they condemne me, they utterly cancell both the +gratifying of the action, and the gratitude, which thereby would be +due to me. Whereas the active well doing should be of more +consequence, proceeding from my hand, in regard I have no passive at +all. Wherefore I may so much the more freely dispose of my fortune, +by how much more it is mine, and of my selfe that am most mine owne. +Notwithstanding, if I were a great blazoner of mine owne actions, I +might peradventure barre such reproches, and justly upraid some, +that they are not so much offended, because I doe not enough, as for +that I may, and it lies in my power to doe much more than I doe. Yet +my minde ceased not at the same time to have peculiar unto it selfe +well setled motions, true and open judgements concerning the objects +which it knew; which alone, and without any helpe or communication +it would digest. And amongst other things, I verily beleeve it would +have proved altogether incapable and unfit to yeeld unto force, or +stoope unto violence. Shall I account or relate this qualitie of my +infancie, which was, a kinde of boldnesse in my lookes, and gentle +softnesse in my voice, and affabilitie in my gestures, and a +dexterite in conforming my selfe to the parts I undertooke? for +before the age of the + + Alter ab undecimo turn me vix ceperat annus. + [Footnote: Virg. Buc. Ecl. viii. 39.] + + Yeares had I (to make even) + Scarce two above eleven. + +I have under-gone and represented the chiefest part in the Latin +Tragedies of Buchanan, Guerente, and of Muret; which in great state +were acted and plaid in our College of Guienne: wherein Andreas +Goveanus our Rector principall; who as in all other parts belonging +to his charge, was without comparison the chiefest Rector of France, +and my selfe (without ostentation be it spoken) was reputed, if not +a chiefe-master, yet a principall Actor in them. It is an exercise I +rather commend than disalow in young Gentlemen: and have seene some +of our Princes (in imitation of some of former ages) both +commendably and honestly, in their proper persons act and play some +parts in Tragedies. It hath heretofore been esteemed a lawfull +exercise, and a tolerable profession in men of honor, namely in +Greece. Aristoni tragico actori rem aperit: huic et genus et fortuna +honesta erant: nec ars, quia nihil tale apud Graecos pudori est, ea +deformabat. [Footnote: Liv. Deo. iii. 1. iv.] "He imparts the matter +to Ariston a Player of tragedies, whose progenie and fortune were +both honest; nor did his profession disgrace them, because no such +matter is a disparagement amongst the Grecians." + +And I have ever accused them of impertinencie, that condemne and +disalow such kindes of recreations, and blame those of injustice, +that refuse good and honest Comedians, or (as we call them) Players, +to enter our good townes, and grudge the common people such publike +sports. Politike and wel ordered commonwealths endevour rather +carefully to unite and assemble their Citizens together; as in +serious offices of devotion, so in honest exercises of recreation. +Common societie and loving friendship is thereby cherished and +increased. And besides, they cannot have more formal and regular +pastimes allowed them, than such as are acted and represented in +open view of all, and in the presence of the magistrates themselves; +And if I might beare sway, I would thinke it reasonable, that +Princes should sometimes, at their proper charges, gratifie the +common people with them, as an argument of a fatherly affection, and +loving goodnesse towards them: and that in populous and frequented +cities, there should be Theatres and places appointed for such +spectacles; as a diverting of worse inconveniences, and secret +actions. But to come to my intended purpose there is no better way +to allure the affection, and to entice the appetite: otherwise a man +shall breed but asses laden with Bookes. With jerks of rods they +have their satchels full of learning given them to keepe. Which to +doe well, one must not only harbor in himselfe, but wed and marry +the same with his minde. + + + + +OF FRIENDSHIP + +Considering the proceeding of a Painters worke I have, a desire hath +possessed mee to imitate him: He maketh choice of the most +convenient place and middle of everie wall, there to place a +picture, laboured with all his skill and sufficiencie; and all void +places about it he filleth up with antike Boscage [Footnote: +Foliated ornament] or Crotesko [Footnote: Grotesque] works; which +are fantasticall pictures, having no grace, but in the variety and +strangenesse of them. And what are these my compositions in truth, +other than antike workes, and monstrous bodies, patched and hudled +up together of divers members, without any certaine or well ordered +figure, having neither order, dependencie, or proportion, but +casuall and framed by chance? + + Definit in piscem mulier formosa superne. + [Footnote: Hon. Art. Poet. 4.] + + A woman faire for parts superior, + Ends in a fish for parts inferior. + +Touching this second point I goe as farre as my Painter, but for the +other and better part I am farre behinde: for my sufficiency +reacheth not so farre as that I dare undertake a rich, a polished, +and, according to true skill, an art-like table. I have advised +myselfe to borrow one of Steven de la Boetie, who with this kinde of +worke shall honour all the world. It is a discourse he entitled +Voluntary Servitude, but those who have not knowne him, have since +very properly rebaptized the same, The Against-one. In his first +youth he writ, by way of Essaie, in honour of libertie against +Tyrants. It hath long since beene dispersed amongst men of +understanding, not without great and well deserved commendations: +for it is full of wit, and containeth as much learning as may be: +yet doth it differ much from the best he can do. And if in the age I +knew him in, he would have undergone my dessigne to set his +fantasies downe in writing, we should doubtlesse see many rare +things, and which would very neerely approch the honour of +antiquity: for especially touching that part of natures gifts, I +know none may be compared to him. But it was not long of him, that +ever this Treatise came to mans view, and I beleeve he never saw it +since it first escaped his hands: with certaine other notes +concerning the edict of Januarie, famous by reason of our intestine +warre, which haply may in other places finde their deserved praise. +It is all I could ever recover of his reliques (whom when death +seized, he by his last will and testament, left with so kinde +remembrance, heire and executor of his librarie and writings) +besides the little booke, I since caused to be published: To which +his pamphlet I am particularly most bounden, for so much as it was +the instrumentall meane of our first acquaintance. For it was shewed +me long time before I saw him; and gave me the first knowledge of +his name, addressing, and thus nourishing that unspotted friendship +which we (so long as it pleased God) have so sincerely, so entire +and inviolably maintained betweene us, that truly a man shall not +commonly heare of the like; and amongst our moderne men no signe of +any such is scene. So many parts are required to the erecting of +such a one, that it may be counted a wonder if fortune once in three +ages contract the like. There is nothing to which Nature hath more +addressed us than to societie. And Aristotle saith that perfect Law- +givers have had more regardfull care of friendship than of justice. +And the utmost drift of its perfection is this. For generally, all +those amities which are forged and nourished by voluptuousnesse or +profit, publike or private need, are thereby so much the lesse faire +and generous, and so much the lesse true amities, in that they +intermeddle other causes, scope, and fruit with friendship, than it +selfe alone: Nor doe those foure ancient kindes of friendships, +Naturall, sociall, hospitable, and venerian, either particularly or +conjointly beseeme the same. That from children to parents may +rather be termed respect: Friendship is nourished by communication, +which by reason of the over-great disparitie cannot bee found in +them, and would happly offend the duties of nature: for neither all +the secret thoughts of parents can be communicated unto children, +lest it might engender an unbeseeming familiaritie betweene them, +nor the admonitions and corrections (which are the chiefest offices +of friendship) could be exercised from children to parents. There +have nations beene found, where, by custome, children killed their +parents, and others where parents slew their children, thereby to +avoid the hindrance of enterbearing [Footnote: Mutually supporting.] +one another in after-times: for naturally one dependeth from the +ruine of another. There have Philosophers beene found disdaining +this naturall conjunction: witnesse Aristippus, who being urged with +the affection he ought [Footnote: Owed.] his children, as proceeding +from his loyns, began to spit, saying, That also that excrement +proceeded from him, and that also we engendred wormes and lice. And +that other man, whom Plutarke would have perswaded to agree with his +brother, answered, "I care not a straw the more for him, though he +came out of the same wombe I did." Verily the name of Brother is a +glorious name, and full of loving kindnesse, and therefore did he +and I terme one another sworne brother: but this commixture, +dividence, and sharing of goods, this joyning wealth to wealth, and +that the riches of one shall be the povertie of another, doth +exceedingly distemper and distract all brotherly alliance, and +lovely conjunction: If brothers should conduct the progresse of +their advancement and thrift in one same path and course, they must +necessarily oftentimes hinder and crosse one another. Moreover, the +correspondencie and relation that begetteth these true and mutually +perfect amities, why shall it be found in these? The father and the +sonne may very well be of a farre differing complexion, and so many +brothers: He is my sonne, he is my kinsman; but he may be a foole, a +bad, or a peevish-minded man. And then according as they are +friendships which the law and dutie of nature doth command us, so +much the lesse of our owne voluntarie choice and libertie is there +required unto it: And our genuine libertie hath no production more +properly her owne, than that of affection and amitie. Sure I am, +that concerning the same I have assaied all that might be, having +had the best and most indulgent father that ever was, even to his +extremest age, and who from father to sonne was descended of a +famous house, and touching this rare-seene vertue of brotherly +concord very exemplare: + + ----et ipse + Notus in fratres animi paterni. + [Footnote: Hor. 1. ii. Qd. li. 6.] + + To his brothers knowne so kinde. + As to beare a fathers minde. + +To compare the affection toward women unto it, although it proceed +from our owne free choice, a man cannot, nor may it be placed in +this ranke: Her fire, I confesse it to be more + + (---neque enim est dea nescia nostri + Quae dulcem curis miscet amaritiem.) + [Footnote: Catul. Epig. lxvi.] + + (Nor is that Goddesse ignorant of me, + Whose bitter-sweets with my cares mixed be.) + +active, more fervent, and more sharpe. But it is a rash and wavering +fire, waving and divers: the fire of an ague subject to fits and +stints, and that hath but slender hold-fast of us. In true +friendship, it is a generall and universall heat, and equally +tempered, a constant and setled heat, all pleasure and smoothnes, +that hath no pricking or stinging in it, which the more it is in +lustfull love, the more is it but a raging and mad desire in +following that which flies us, + + Come segue la lepre il cacciatore + Alfreddo, al caldo, alia montagna, a lito, + Ne pin l'estima poi che presa vede, + E sol dietro a chi fugge affretta il piede. + [Footnote: Ariost. can. x. st. 7.] + + Ev'n as the huntsman doth the hare pursue, + In cold, in heat, on mountaines, on the shore, + But cares no more, when he her ta'en espies + Speeding his pace only at that which flies. + +As soone as it creepeth into the termes of friendship, that is to +say, in the agreement of wits, it languisheth and vanisheth away: +enjoying doth lose it, as having a corporall end, and subject to +satietie. On the other side, friendship is enjoyed according as it +is desired, it is neither bred, nourished, nor increaseth but in +jovissance, as being spirituall, and the minde being refined by use +custome. Under this chiefe amitie, these fading affections have +sometimes found place in me, lest I should speake of him, who in his +verses speakes but too much of it. So are these two passions entered +into me in knowledge one of another, but in comparison never: the +first flying a high, and keeping a proud pitch, disdainfully +beholding the other to passe her points farre under it. Concerning +marriage, besides that it is a covenant which hath nothing free but +the entrance, the continuance being forced and constrained, +depending else-where than from our will, and a match ordinarily +concluded to other ends: A thousand strange knots are therein +commonly to be unknit, able to break the web, and trouble the whole +course of a lively affection; whereas in friendship there is no +commerce or busines depending on the same, but it selfe. Seeing (to +speake truly) that the ordinary sufficiency of women cannot answer +this conference and communication, the nurse of this sacred bond: +nor seeme their mindes strong enough to endure the pulling of a knot +so hard, so fast, and durable. And truly, if without that, such a +genuine and voluntarie acquaintance might be contracted, where not +only mindes had this entire jovissance, [Footnote: Enjoyment.] but +also bodies, a share of the alliance, and where a man might wholly +be engaged: It is certaine, that friendship would thereby be more +compleat and full: But this sex could never yet by any example +attaine unto it, and is by ancient schooles rejected thence. And +this other Greeke licence is justly abhorred by our customes, which +notwithstanding, because according to use it had so necessarie a +disparitie of ages, and difference of offices betweene lovers, did +no more sufficiently answer the perfect union and agreement, which +here we require: Quis est enim iste amor amicitiae? cur neque +deformem adolescentem quisquam amat, neque formosum senem? +[Footnote: Cic. Tusc. Qu. lv. c. 33.] "For, what love is this of +friendship? why doth no man love either a deformed young man, or a +beautifull old man?" For even the picture the Academic makes of it, +will not (as I suppose) disavowe mee, to say thus in her behalfe: +That the first furie, enspired by the son of Venus in the lovers +hart, upon the object of tender youths-flower, to which they allow +all insolent and passionate violences, an immoderate heat may +produce, was simply grounded upon an externall beauty; a false image +of corporall generation: for in the spirit it had no power, the +sight whereof was yet concealed, which was but in his infancie, and +before the age of budding. For, if this furie did seize upon a base +minded courage, the meanes of its pursuit were riches, gifts, favour +to the advancement of dignities, and such like vile merchandice, +which they reprove. If it fell into a more generous minde, the +interpositions [Footnote: Means of approach.] were likewise +generous: Philosophicall instructions, documents [Footnote: +Teachings.] to reverence religion, to obey the lawes, to die for the +good of his countrie: examples of valor, wisdome and justice; the +lover endevoring and studying to make himselfe acceptable by the +good grace and beauty of his minde (that of his body being long +since decayed) hoping by this mentall society to establish a more +firme and permanent bargaine. When this pursuit attained the effect +in due season (for by not requiring in a lover, he should bring +leasure and discretion in his enterprise, they require it exactly in +the beloved; forasmuch as he was to judge of an internall beauty, of +difficile knowledge, and abstruse discovery) then by the +interposition of a spiritual beauty was the desire of a spiritual +conception engendred in the beloved. The latter was here chiefest; +the corporall, accidentall and second, altogether contrarie to the +lover. And therefore doe they preferre the beloved, and verifie that +the gods likewise preferre the same: and greatly blame the Poet +AEschylus, who in the love betweene Achilles and Patroclus ascribeth +the lovers part unto Achilles, who was in the first and beardlesse +youth of his adolescency, and the fairest of the Graecians. After +this general communitie, the mistris and worthiest part of it, +predominant and exercising her offices (they say the most availefull +commodity did thereby redound both to the private and publike). That +it was the force of countries received the use of it, and the +principall defence of equitie and libertie: witnesse the comfortable +loves of Hermodius and Aristogiton. Therefore name they it sacred +and divine, and it concerns not them whether the violence of +tyrants, or the demisnesse of the people be against them: To +conclude, all that can be alleged in favour of the Academy, is to +say, that it was a love ending in friendship, a thing which hath no +bad reference unto the Stoical definition of love: Amorem conatum +esse amicitiae faciendae ex pulchritudinis specie: [Footnote: Cic. +Tusc. Qu. ir. c. 34. ] "That love is an endevour of making +friendship, by the shew of beautie." I returne to my description in +a more equitable and equall manner. Omnino amicitiae, corroboratis +jam confirmatisque ingeniis et aetatibus, judicandae sunt. +[Footnote: Cic. Amic.] "Clearely friendships are to be judged by +wits, and ages already strengthened and confirmed." As for the rest, +those we ordinarily call friendes and amities, are but acquaintances +and familiarities, tied together by some occasion or commodities, by +meanes whereof our mindes are entertained. In the amitie I speake +of, they entermixe and confound themselves one in the other, with so +universall a commixture, that they weare out and can no more finde +the seame that hath conjoined them together. If a man urge me to +tell wherefore I loved him, I feele it cannot be expressed, but by +answering; Because it was he, because it was my selfe. There is +beyond all my discourse, and besides what I can particularly report +of it, I know not what inexplicable and fatall power, a meane and +Mediatrix of this indissoluble union. We sought one another before +we had scene one another, and by the reports we heard one of +another; which wrought a greater violence in us, than the reason of +reports may well beare; I thinke by some secret ordinance of the +heavens, we embraced one another by our names. And at our first +meeting, which was by chance at a great feast, and solemne meeting +of a whole towneship, we found our selves so surprized, so knowne, +so acquainted, and so combinedly bound together, that from thence +forward, nothing was so neer unto us as one unto anothers. He writ +an excellent Latyne Satyre since published; by which he excuseth and +expoundeth the precipitation of our acquaintance, so suddenly come +to her perfection; Sithence it must continue so short a time, and +begun so late (for we were both growne men, and he some yeares older +than my selfe) there was no time to be lost. And it was not to bee +modelled or directed by the paterne of regular and remisse +[Footnote: Slight, languid.] friendship, wherein so many precautions +of a long and preallable conversation [Footnote: Preceding +intercourse.] are required. This hath no other Idea than of it +selfe, and can have no reference but to itselfe. It is not one +especiall consideration, nor two, nor three, nor foure, nor a +thousand: It is I wot not what kinde of quintessence, of all this +commixture, which having seized all my will, induced the same to +plunge and lose it selfe in his, which likewise having seized all +his will, brought it to lose and plunge it selfe in mine, with a +mutuall greedinesse, and with a semblable concurrance. I may truly +say, lose, reserving nothing unto us, that might properly be called +our owne, nor that was either his or mine. When Lelius in the +presence of the Romane Consuls, who after the condemnation of +Tiberius Gracchus, pursued all those that had beene of his +acquaintance, came to enquire of Caius Blosius (who was one of his +chiefest friends) what he would have done for him, and that he +answered, "All things." "What, all things?" replied he. "And what if +he had willed thee to burne our Temples?" Blosius answered, "He +would never have commanded such a thing." "But what if he had done +it?" replied Lelius. The other answered, "I would have obeyed him." +If hee were so perfect a friend to Gracchus as Histories report, he +needed not offend the Consuls with this last and bold confession, +and should not have departed from the assurance hee had of Gracchus +his minde. But yet those who accuse this answer as seditious, +understand not well this mysterie: and doe not presuppose in what +termes he stood, and that he held Gracchus his will in his sleeve, +both by power and knowledge. They were rather friends than Citizens, +rather friends than enemies of their countrey, or friends of +ambition and trouble. Having absolutely committed themselves one to +another, they perfectly held the reines of one anothers inclination: +and let this yoke be guided by vertue and conduct of reason (because +without them it is altogether impossible to combine and proportion +the same). The answer of Blosius was such as it should be. If their +affections miscarried, according to my meaning, they were neither +friends one to other, nor friends to themselves. As for the rest, +this answer sounds no more than mine would doe, to him that would in +such sort enquire of me; if your will should command you to kill +your daughter, would you doe it? and that I should consent unto it: +for, that beareth no witnesse of consent to doe it: because I am not +in doubt of my will, and as little of such a friends will. It is not +in the power of the worlds discourse to remove me from the +certaintie I have of his intentions and judgments of mine: no one of +its actions might be presented unto me, under what shape soever, but +I would presently finde the spring and motion of it. Our mindes have +jumped [Footnote: Agreed.] so unitedly together, they have with so +fervent an affection considered of each other, and with like +affection so discovered and sounded, even to the very bottome of +each others heart and entrails, that I did not only know his, as +well as mine owne, but I would (verily) rather have trusted him +concerning any matter of mine, than my selfe. Let no man compare any +of the other common friendships to this. I have as much knowledge of +them as another, yea of the perfectest of their kinde: yet wil I not +perswade any man to confound their rules, for so a man might be +deceived. In these other strict friendships a man must march with +the bridle of wisdome and precaution in his hand: the bond is not so +strictly tied but a man may in some sort distrust the same. Love him +(said Chilon) as if you should one day hate him againe. Hate him as +if you should love him againe. This precept, so abhominable in this +soveraigne and mistris Amitie, is necessarie and wholesome in the +use of vulgar and customarie friendships: toward which a man must +employ the saying Aristotle was wont so often repeat, "Oh you my +friends, there is no perfect friend." + +In this noble commerce, offices and benefits (nurses of other +amities) deserve not so much as to bee accounted of: this confusion +so full of our wills is cause of it: for even as the friendship I +beare unto my selfe, admits no accrease, [Footnote: Increase.] by +any succour I give my selfe in any time of need, whatsoever the +Stoickes allege; and as I acknowledge no thanks unto my selfe for +any service I doe unto myselfe, so the union of such friends, being +truly perfect, makes them lose the feeling of such duties, and hate, +and expell from one another these words of division, and difference: +benefit, good deed, dutie, obligation, acknowledgement, prayer, +thanks, and such their like. All things being by effect common +betweene them; wils, thoughts, judgements, goods, wives, children, +honour, and life; and their mutual agreement, being no other than +one soule in two bodies, according to the fit definition of +Aristotle, they can neither lend or give ought to each other. See +here the reason why Lawmakers, to honour marriage with some +imaginary resemblance of this divine bond, inhibite donations +between husband and wife; meaning thereby to inferre, that all +things should peculiarly bee proper to each of them, and that they +have nothing to divide and share together. If in the friendship +whereof I speake, one might give unto another, the receiver of the +benefit should binde his fellow. For, each seeking more than any +other thing to doe each other good, he who yeelds both matter and +occasion, is the man sheweth himselfe liberall, giving his friend +that contentment, to effect towards him what he desireth most. When +the Philosopher Diogenes wanted money, he was wont to say that he +redemanded the same of his friends, and not that he demanded it: And +to show how that is practised by effect, I will relate an ancient +singular example. Eudamidas the Corinthiam had two friends: +Charixenus a Sycionian, and Aretheus a Corinthian; being upon his +death-bed, and very poore, and his two friends very rich, thus made +his last will and testament: "To Aretheus, I bequeath the keeping of +my mother, and to maintaine her when she shall be old: To Charixenus +the marrying of my daughter, and to give her as great a dowry as he +may: and in case one of them shall chance to die before, I appoint +the survivor to substitute his charge, and supply his place." Those +that first saw this testament laughed and mocked at the same; but +his heires being advertised thereof, were very well pleased, and +received it with singular contentment. And Charixenus, one of them, +dying five daies after Eudamidas, the substitution being declared in +favour of Aretheus, he carefully and very kindly kept and maintained +his mother, and of five talents that he was worth he gave two and a +halfe in marriage to one only daughter he had, and the other two and +a halfe to the daughter of Eudamidas, whom he married both in one +day. This example is very ample, if one thing were not, which is the +multitude of friends: For, this perfect amity I speake of, is +indivisible; each man doth so wholly give himselfe unto his friend, +that he hath nothing left him to divide else-where: moreover he is +grieved that he is not double, triple, or quadruple, and hath not +many soules, or sundry wils, that he might conferre them all upon +this subject. Common friendships may bee divided; a man may love +beauty in one, facility of behaviour in another, liberality in one, +and wisdome in another, paternity in this, fraternity in that man, +and so forth: but this amitie which possesseth the soule, and swaies +it in all sovereigntie, it is impossible it should be double. If two +at one instant should require helpe, to which would you run? Should +they crave contrary offices of you, what order would you follow? +Should one commit a matter to your silence, which if the other knew +would greatly profit him, what course would you take? Or how would +you discharge your selfe? A singular and principall friendship +dissolveth all other duties, and freeth all other obligations. The +secret I have sworne not to reveale to another, I may without +perjurie impart it unto him, who is no other but my selfe. It is a +great and strange wonder for a man to double himselfe; and those +that talke of tripling know not, nor cannot reach into the height of +it. "Nothing is extreme that hath his like." And he who shal +presuppose that of two I love the one as wel as the other, and that +they enter-love [Footnote: Love mutually.] one another, and love me +as much as I love them: he multiplied! in brotherhood, a thing most +singular, and a lonely one, and than which one alone is also the +rarest to be found in the world. The remainder of this history +agreeth very wel with what I said; for, Eudamidas giveth us a grace +and favor to his friends to employ them in his need: he leaveth them +as his heires of his liberality, which consisteth in putting the +meanes into their hands to doe him good. And doubtlesse the force of +friendship is much more richly shewen in his deed than in Aretheus. +To conclude, they are imaginable effects to him that hath not tasted +them; and which makes me wonderfully to honor the answer of that +young Souldier to Cyrus, who enquiring of him what he would take for +a horse with which he had lately gained the prize of a race, and +whether he would change him for a Kingdome? "No surely, my Liege +(said he), yet would I willingly forgot him to game a true friend, +could I but finde a man worthy of so precious an alliance." He said +not ill, in saying "could I but finde." For, a man shall easily +finde men fit for a superficiall acquaintance; but in this, wherein +men negotiate from the very centre of their harts, and make no spare +of any thing, it is most requisite all the wards and springs be +sincerely wrought and perfectly true. In confederacies, which hold +but by one end, men have nothing to provide for, but for the +imperfections, which particularly doe interest and concerne that end +and respect. It is no great matter what religion my Physician or +Lawyer is of: this consideration hath nothing common with the +offices of that friendship they owe mee. So doe I in the familiar +acquaintances that those who serve me contract with me. I am nothing +inquisitive whether a Lackey be chaste or no, but whether he be +diligent: I feare not a gaming Muletier, so much as if he be weake: +nor a hot swearing Cooke, as one that is ignorant and unskilfull; I +never meddle with saying what a man should doe in the world; there +are over many others that doe it; but what my selfe doe in the +world. + + Mihi sic usus est: Tibi, ut opus est facto, face + [Footnote: Ter. Heau. act. i. sc. i, 28.] + + So is it requisite for me: + Doe thou as needfull is for thee. + +Concerning familiar table-talke, I rather acquaint my selfe with and +follow a merry conceited [Footnote: Fanciful] humour, than a wise +man: And in bed I rather prefer beauty than goodnesse; and in +society or conversation of familiar discourse, I respect rather +sufficiency, though without Preud'hommie, [Footnote: Probity.] and +so of all things else. Even as he that was found riding upon an +hobby-horse, playing with his children besought him who thus +surprized him not to speake of it untill he were a father himselfe, +supposing the tender fondnesse and fatherly passion which then would +posesse his minde should make him an impartiall judge of such an +action; so would I wish to speake to such as had tried what I speake +of: but knowing how far such an amitie is from the common use, and +how seld scene and rarely found, I looke not to finde a competent +judge. For, even the discourses, which sterne antiquitie hath left +us concerning this subject, seeme to me but faint and forcelesse in +respect of the feeling I have of it; And in that point the effects +exceed the very precepts of Philosophie. + + Nil ego contulerim jucundo sanus amico. + [Footnote: Hor. 1. i. Sat. vii. 44] + + For me, be I well in my wit, + Nought, as a merry friend, so fit. + +Ancient Menander accounted him happy that had but met the shadow of +a true friend: verily he had reason to say so, especially if he had +tasted of any: for truly, if I compare all the rest of my forepassed +life, which although I have, by the meere mercy of God, past at rest +and ease, and except the losse of so deare a friend, free from all +grievous affliction, with an ever-quietnesse of minde, as one that +have taken my naturall and originall commodities in good payment, +without searching any others: if, as I say, I compare it all unto +the foure yeares I so happily enjoied the sweet company and deare- +deare society of that worthy man, it is nought but a vapour, nought +but a darke and yrkesome light. Since the time I lost him, + + quem semper acerbum, + Semper honoratum (sic Dii voluistis) habebo, + [Footnote: Virg. AEn. iii. 49.] + + Which I shall ever hold a bitter day, + Yet ever honour'd (so my God t' obey), + +I doe but languish, I doe but sorrow: and even those pleasures, all +things present me with, in stead of yeelding me comfort, doe but +redouble the griefe of his losse. We were copartners in all things. +All things were with us at halfe; me thinkes I have stolne his part +from him. + + --Nee fas esse iilla me voluptate hic frui + Decrevi, tantisper dum ille abest meus particeps. + [Footnote: Ter. Heau. act. i. sc. i, 97.] + + I have set downe, no joy enjoy I may, + As long as he my partner is away. + +I was so accustomed to be ever two, and so enured [Footnote: +Accustomed] to be never single, that me thinks I am but halfe my +selfe. + + Illam mea si partem animce tulit, + Maturior vis, quid moror altera. + Nec charus aeque nec superstes, + Integer? Ille dies utramque + Duxit ruinam. + [Footnote: Hor. 1. ii. Od. xvii.] + + Since that part of my soule riper fate reft me, + Why stay I heere the other part he left me? + Nor so deere, nor entire, while heere I rest: + That day hath in one mine both opprest. + +There is no action can betide me, or imagination possesse me, but I +heare him saying, as indeed he would have done to me: for even as he +did excell me by an infinite distance in all other sufficiencies and +vertues, so did he in all offices and duties of friendship. + + Quis desiderio sit pudor aut modus, + Tam chari capitis? + [Footnote: Id. 1. i. Od. xxiv.] + + What modesty or measure may I beare, + In want and wish of him that was so deare? + + O misero frater adempte mihi! + Omnia tecum una perieruni gaudia nostra. + Qua tuus in vita dulcis alebat amor. + [Footnote: CATUL. Eleg. iv. 20, 92, 26, 95.] + Tu mea, tu moriens fregisti commoda frater. + [Footnote: Ib. 21.] + Tecum una tota est nostra sepulta anima, + Cujus ego interitu tota de mente fugavi + Hac studia, atque omnes delicias animi + [Footnote: CATUL. Bl. iv. 94.] + Alloquar? audiero nunquam tua verba loquentem? + [Footnote: Ib. 25.] + Nunquam ego te vita frater amabilior, + Aspiciam posthac? at certe semper amabo. + [Footnote: El. i. 9.] + + O brother rest from miserable me, + All our delights are perished with thee, + Which thy sweet love did nourish in my breath. + Thou all my good hast spoiled in thy death: + With thee my soule is all and whole enshrinde, + At whose death I have cast out of my minde + All my mindes sweet-meats, studies of this kinde; + Never shall I, heare thee speake, speake with thee? + Thee brother, than life dearer, never see? + Yet shalt them ever be belov'd of mee. + +But let us a little feare this yong man speake, being but sixteene +yeares of age. + +Because I have found this worke to have since beene published (and +to an ill end) by such as seeke to trouble and subvert the state of +our common-wealth, nor caring whether they shall reforme it or no; +which they have fondly inserted among other writings of their +invention, I have revoked my intent, which was to place it here. And +lest the Authors memory should any way be interessed with those that +could not thoroughly know his opinions and actions, they shall +understand that this subject was by him treated of in his infancie, +only by way of exercise, as a subject, common, bareworne, and wyer- +drawne in a thousand bookes. I will never doubt but he beleeved what +he writ, and writ as he thought: for hee was so conscientious that +no lie did ever passe his lips, yea were it but in matters of sport +or play: and I know, that had it beene in his choyce, he would +rather have beene borne at Venice than at Sarlac; and good, reason +why: But he had another maxime deepely imprinted in his minde, which +was, carefully to obey, and religiously to submit himselfe to the +lawes, under which he was borne. There was never a better citizen, +nor more affected to the welfare and quietnesse of his countrie, nor +a sharper enemie of the changes, innovations, newfangles, and hurly- +burlies of his time: He would more willingly have imployed the +utmost of his endevours to extinguish and suppresse, than to favour +or further them: His minde was modelled to the patterne of other +best ages. But yet in exchange of his serious treatise, I will here +set you downe another, more pithie, materiall, and of more +consequence, by him likewise produced at that tender age. + + + + +OF BOOKS + +I make no doubt but it shall often befall me to speake of things +which are better, and with more truth, handled by such as are their +crafts-masters. Here is simply an essay of my natural faculties, and +no whit of those I have acquired. And he that shall tax me with +ignorance shall have no great victory at my hands; for hardly could +I give others reasons for my discourses that give none unto my +selfe, and am not well satisfied with them. He that shall make +search after knowledge, let him seek it where it is there is nothing +I professe lesse. These are but my fantasies by which I endevour not +to make things known, but my selfe. They may haply one day be knowne +unto me, or have bin at other times, according as fortune hath +brought me where they were declared or manifested. But I remember +them no more. And if I be a man of some reading, yet I am a man of +no remembering, I conceive no certainty, except it bee to give +notice how farre the knowledge I have of it doth now reach. Let no +man busie himselfe about the matters, but on the fashion I give +them. Let that which I borrow be survaied, and then tell me whether +I have made good choice of ornaments to beautifie and set foorth the +invention which ever comes from mee. For I make others to relate +(not after mine owne fantasie but as it best falleth out) what I +cannot so well expresse, either through unskill of language or want +of judgement. I number not my borrowings, but I weigh them. And if I +would have made their number to prevail, I would have had twice as +many. They are all, or almost all, of so famous and ancient names, +that me thinks they sufficiently name themselves without mee. If in +reasons, comparisons, and arguments, I transplant any into my soile, +or confound them with mine owne, I purposely conceale the author, +thereby to bridle the rashnesse of these hastie censures that are so +headlong cast upon all manner of compositions, namely young writings +of men yet living; and in vulgare that admit all the world to talke +of them, and which seemeth to convince the conception and publike +designe alike. I will have them to give Plutarch a barb [Footnote: +Thrust, taunt] upon mine own lips, and vex themselves in wronging +Seneca in mee. My weaknesse must be hidden under such great credits. +I will love him that shal trace or unfeather me; I meane through +clearenesse of judgement, and by the onely distinction of the force +and beautie of my discourses. For my selfe, who for want of memorie +am ever to seeke how to trie and refine them by the knowledge of +their country, knowe perfectly, by measuring mine owne strength, +that my soyle is no way capable of some over-pretious flowers that +therein I find set, and that all the fruits of my increase could not +make it amends. This am I bound to answer for if I hinder my selfe, +if there be either vanitie or fault in my discourses that I perceive +not or am not able to discerne if they be showed me. For many faults +do often escape our eyes; but the infirmitie of judgement consisteth +in not being able to perceive them when another discovereth them +unto us. Knowledge and truth may be in us without judgement, and we +may have judgment without them: yea, the acknowledgement of +ignorance is one of the best and surest testimonies of judgement +that I can finde. I have no other sergeant of band to marshall my +rapsodies than fortune. And looke how my humours or conceites +present themselves, so I shuffle them up. Sometimes they prease out +thicke and three fold, and other times they come out languishing one +by one. I will have my naturall and ordinarie pace scene as loose +and as shuffling as it is. As I am, so I goe on plodding. And +besides, these are matters that a man may not be ignorant of, and +rashly and casually to speake of them. I would wish to have a more +perfect understanding of things, but I will not purchase it so deare +as it cost. My intention is to passe the remainder of my life +quietly and not laboriously, in rest and not in care. There is +nothing I will trouble or vex myselfe about, no not for science it +selfe, what esteeme soever it be of. I doe not search and tosse over +books but for an honester recreation to please, and pastime to +delight my selfe: or if I studie, I only endevour to find out the +knowledge that teacheth or handleth the knowledge of my selfe, and +which may instruct me how to die well and how to live well. + + Has meus ad metas sudet oportet equus. + [Footnote: Propeet. 1. iv. El. i. 70] + + My horse must sweating runne, + That this goale may be wonne. + +If in reading I fortune to meet with any difficult points, I fret +not my selfe about them, but after I have given them a charge or +two, I leave them as I found them. Should I earnestly plod upon +them, I should loose both time and my selfe, for I have a skipping +wit. What I see not at the first view, I shall lesse see it if I +opinionate my selfe upon it. I doe nothing without blithnesse; and +an over obstinate continuation and plodding contention doth dazle, +dul, and wearie the same: my sight is thereby confounded and +diminished. I must therefore withdraw it, and at fittes goe to +it againe. Even as to judge well of the lustre of scarlet we are +taught to cast our eyes over it, in running over by divers glances, +sodaine glimpses and reiterated reprisings. [Footnote: Repeated +observations.] If one booke seeme tedious unto me I take another, +which I follow not with any earnestnesse, except it be at such +houres as I am idle, or that I am weary with doing nothing. I am +not greatly affected to new books, because ancient Authors are, in +my judgement, more full and pithy: nor am I much addicted to Greeke +books, forasmuch as my understanding cannot well rid [Footnote: +Accomplish.] his worke with a childish and apprentise intelligence. +Amongst moderne bookes meerly pleasant, I esteeme Bocace his +Decameron, Rabelais, and the kisses of John the second (if they +may be placed under this title), worth the paines-taking to reade +them. As for Amadis and such like trash of writings, they had +never the credit so much as to allure my youth to delight in them. +This I will say more, either boldly or rashly, that this old and +heavie-pased minde of mine will no more be pleased with Aristotle, +or tickled with good Ovid: his facility and quaint inventions, +which heretofore have so ravished me, they can now a days scarcely +entertaine me. I speake my minde freely of all things, yea, of such +as peradventure exceed my sufficiencie, and that no way I hold to +be of my jurisdiction. What my conceit is of them is told also to +manifest the proportion of my insight, and not the measure of things. +If at any time I finde my selfe distasted of Platoes Axiochus, as of +a forceles worke, due regard had to such an Author, my judgement doth +nothing beleeve it selfe: It is not so fond-hardy, or selfe-conceited, +as it durst dare to oppose it selfe against the authority of so +many other famous ancient judgements, which he reputeth his regents +and masters, and with whom hee had rather erre. He chafeth with, +and condemneth himselfe, either to rely on the superficiall sense, +being unable to pierce into the centre, or to view the thing by some +false lustre. He is pleased only to warrant himselfe from trouble +and unrulinesse: As for weaknesse, he acknowledgeth and ingeniously +avoweth the same. He thinks to give a just interpretation to the +apparences which his conception presents unto him, but they are +shallow and imperfect. Most of AEsopes fables have divers senses, +and severall interpretations: Those which Mythologize them, chuse +some kinde of colour well suting with the fable; but for the most +part, it is no other than the first and superficiall glosse: There +are others more quicke, more sinnowie, more essentiall, and more +internall, into which they could never penetrate; and thus thinke +I with them. But to follow my course, I have ever deemed that in +Poesie, Virgil, Lucretius, Catullus, and Horace, doe doubtles by +far hold the first ranke: and especially Virgil in his Georgiks, +which I esteeme to be the most accomplished peece of worke of +Poesie: In comparison of which one may easily discerne, that there +are some passages in the AEneidos to which the Author (had he +lived) would no doubt have given some review or correction: The +fifth booke whereof is (in my mind) the most absolutely perfect. I +also love Lucan, and willingly read him, not so much for his stile, +as for his owne worth and truth of his opinion and judgement. As +for good Terence, I allow the quaintnesse and grace of his Latine +tongue, and judge him wonderfull conceited and apt, lively to +represent the motions and passions of the minde, and the condition +of our manners: our actions make me often remember him. I can never +reade him so often but still I discover some new grace and beautie +in him. Those that lived about Virgil's time, complained that some +would compare Lucretius unto him. I am of opinion that verily it is +an unequall comparison; yet can I hardly assure my selfe in this +opinion whensoever I finde my selfe entangled in some notable +passage of Lucretius. If they were moved at this comparison, what +would they say now of the fond, hardy and barbarous stupiditie of +those which now adayes compare Ariosto unto him? Nay, what +would Ariosto say of it himselfe? + + O seclum insipiens et infacetutn. + [Footnote: Catul. Epig, xl. 8.] + + O age that hath no wit, + And small conceit in it. + +I thinke our ancestors had also more reason to cry out against those +that blushed not to equall Plautus unto Terence (who makes more show +to be a Gentleman) than Lucretius unto Virgil. This one thing doth +greatly advantage the estimation and preferring of Terence, that the +father of the Roman eloquence, of men of his quality doth so often +make mention of him; and the censure [Footnote: Opinion.] which the +chiefe Judge of the Roman Poets giveth of his companion. It hath +often come unto my minde, how such as in our dayes give themselves +to composing of comedies (as the Italians who are very happy in +them) employ three or foure arguments of Terence and Plautus to make +up one of theirs. In one onely comedy they will huddle up five or +six of Bocaces tales. That which makes them so to charge themselves +with matter, is the distrust they have of their owne sufficiency, +and that they are not able to undergoe so heavie a burthen with +their owne strength. They are forced to finde a body on which they +may rely and leane themselves: and wanting matter of their owne +wherewith to please us, they will have the story or tale to busie +and ammuse us: where as in my Authors it is cleane contrary: The +elegancies, the perfections and ornaments of his manner of speech, +make us neglect and lose the longing for his subject. His +quaintnesse and grace doe still retaine us to him. He is every where +pleasantly conceited, [Footnote: Full of pleasant notions.] + + Liquidus puroque simillimus amni + [Footnote: Hor. 1. ii. Epist. II. 120.] + + So clearely-neate, so neately-cleare, + As he a fine-pure River were, + +and doth so replenish our minde with his graces that we forget those +of the fable. The same consideration drawes me somewhat further. I +perceive that good and ancient Poets have shunned the affectation +and enquest, not only of fantasticall, new fangled, Spagniolized, +and Petrarchisticall elevations, but also of more sweet and sparing +inventions, which are the ornament of all the Poeticall workes of +succeeding ages. Yet is there no competent Judge that findeth them +wanting in those Ancient ones, and that doth not much more admire +that smoothly equall neatnesse, continued sweetnesse, and +flourishing comelinesse of Catullus his Epigrams, than all the +sharpe quips and witty girds wherewith Martiall doth whet and +embellish the conclusions of his. It is the same reason I spake of +erewhile, as Martiall of himselfe. Minus illi ingenio laborandum +fuit, in cuius locum materia successerat. [Footnote: Mart. Praf. 1. +viii.] "He needed the lesse worke with his wit, in place whereof +matter came in supply." The former without being moved or pricked +cause themselves to be heard lowd enough: they have matter to laugh +at every where, and need not tickle themselves; where as these must +have foraine helpe: according as they have lesse spirit, they must +have more body. They leape on horsebacke, because they are not +sufficiently strong in their legs to march on foot. Even as in our +dances, those base conditioned men that keepe dancing-schooles, +because they are unfit to represent the port and decencie of our +nobilitie, endevour to get commendation by dangerous lofty trickes, +and other strange tumbler-like friskes and motions. And some Ladies +make a better shew of their countenances in those dances, wherein +are divers changes, cuttings, turnings, and agitations of the body, +than in some dances of state and gravity, where they need but simply +to tread a naturall measure, represent an unaffected cariage, and +their ordinary grace; And as I have also seene some excellent +Lourdans, or Clownes, attired in their ordinary worky-day clothes, +and with a common homely countenance, affoord us all the pleasure +that may be had from their art: but prentises and learners that are +not of so high a forme, besmeare their faces, to disguise +themselves, and in motions counterfeit strange visages and antickes, +to enduce us to laughter. This my conception is no where better +discerned than in the comparison betweene Virgils AEneidos and +Orlando Furioso. The first is seene to soare aloft with full-spread +wings, and with so high and strong a pitch, ever following his +point; the other faintly to hover and flutter from tale to tale, and +as it were skipping from bough to bough, always distrusting his owne +wings, except it be for some short flight, and for feare his +strength and breath should faile him, to sit downe at every fields- +end; + + Excursusque breves tentat. + [Footnote: Virg. AEn. 1. iv. 194.] + + Out-lopes [Footnote: Wanderings out.] sometimes he doth assay, + But very short, and as he may. + +Loe here then, concerning this kinde of subjects, what Authors +please me best: As for my other lesson, which somewhat more mixeth +profit with pleasure, whereby I learne to range my opinions and +addresse my conditions, the Bookes that serve me thereunto are +Plutarke (since he spake [Footnote: Was translated by Angot] French) +and Seneca; both have this excellent commodity for my humour, that +the knowledge I seeke in them is there so scatteringly and loosely +handled, that whosoever readeth them is not tied to plod long upon +them, whereof I am uncapable. And so are Plutarkes little workes and +Senecas Epistles, which are the best and most profitable parts of +their writings. It is no great matter to draw mee to them, and I +leave them where I list. For they succeed not and depend not one of +another. Both jumpe [Footnote: Agree] and suit together, in most +true and profitable opinions: And fortune brought them both into the +world in one age. Both were Tutors unto two Roman Emperours: Both +were strangers, and came from farre Countries; both rich and mighty +in the common-wealth, and in credit with their masters. Their +instruction is the prime and creame of Philosophy, and presented +with a plaine, unaffected, and pertinent fashion. Plutarke is more +uniforme and constant; Seneca more waving and diverse. This doth +labour, force, and extend himselfe, to arme and strengthen vertue +against weaknesse, feare, and vitious desires; the other seemeth +nothing so much to feare their force or attempt, and in a manner +scorneth to hasten or change his pace about them, and to put +himselfe upon his guard. Plutarkes opinions are Platonicall, gentle +and accommodable unto civill societie: Senecaes Stoicall and +Epicurian, further from common use, but in my conceit [Footnote: +Opinion.] more proper, particular, and more solid. It appeareth in +Seneca that he somewhat inclineth and yeeldeth to the tyrannic of +the Emperors which were in his daies; for I verily believe, it is +with a forced judgement he condemneth the cause of those noblie- +minded murtherers of Caesar; Plutarke is every where free and open +hearted; Seneca full-fraught with points and sallies; Plutarke stuft +with matters. The former doth move and enflame you more; the latter +content, please, and pay you better: This doth guide you, the other +drive you on. As for Cicero, of all his works, those that treat of +Philosophie (namely morall) are they which best serve my turne, and +square with my intent. But boldly to confess the truth (for, since +the bars of impudencie were broken downe, all curbing is taken +away), his manner of writing seemeth verie tedious unto me, as doth +all such like stuffe. For his prefaces, definitions, divisions, and +Etymologies consume the greatest part of his works; whatsoever +quick, wittie, and pithie conceit is in him is surcharged and +confounded by those his long and far-fetcht preambles. If I bestow +but one hour in reading them, which is much for me, and let me call +to minde what substance or juice I have drawne from him, for the +most part I find nothing but wind and ostentation in him; for he is +not yet come to the arguments which make for his purpose, and +reasons that properly concerne the knot or pith I seek after. These +Logicall and Aristotelian ordinances are not avail full for me, who +onely endeavour to become more wise and sufficient, and not more +wittie or eloquent. I would have one begin with the last point: I +understand sufficiently what death and voluptuousnesse are: let not +a man busie himselfe to anatomize them. At the first reading of a +booke I seeke for good and solid reasons that may instruct me how to +sustaine their assaults. It is neither grammaticall subtilties nor +logicall quiddities, nor the wittie contexture of choice words or +arguments and syllogismes, that will serve my turne. I like those +discourses that give the first charge to the strongest part of the +doubt; his are but flourishes, and languish everywhere. They are +good for schooles, at the barre, or for Orators and Preachers, where +we may slumber: and though we wake a quarter of an houre after, we +may finde and trace him soone enough. Such a manner of speech is fit +for those judges that a man would corrupt by hooke or crooke, by +right or wrong, or for children and the common people, unto whom a +man must tell all, and see what the event would be. I would not have +a man go about and labour by circumlocutions to induce and winne me +to attention, and that (as our Heralds or Criers do) they shall ring +out their words: Now heare me, now listen, or ho-yes. [Footnote: +Oyez, hear.] The Romanes in their religion were wont to say, "Hoc +age; [Footnote: Do this.] "which in ours we say, "Sursum corda. +[Footnote: Lift up your hearts.] There are so many lost words for +me. I come readie prepared from my house. I neede no allurement nor +sawce, my stomacke is good enough to digest raw meat: And whereas +with these preparatives and flourishes, or preambles, they thinke to +sharpen my taste or stir my stomacke, they cloy and make it +wallowish. [Footnote: Mawkish.] Shall the privilege of times excuse +me from this sacrilegious boldnesse, to deem Platoes Dialogismes to +be as languishing, by over-filling and stuffing his matter? And to +bewaile the time that a man who had so many thousands of things to +utter, spends about so many, so long, so vaine, and idle +interloqutions, and preparatives? My ignorance shall better excuse +me, in that I see nothing in the beautie of his language. I +generally enquire after bookes that use sciences, and not after such +as institute them. The two first, and Plinie, with others of their +ranke, have no Hoc age in them, they will have to doe with men that +have forewarned themselves; or if they have, it is a materiall and +substantial! Hoc age, and that hath his bodie apart I likewise love +to read the Epistles and ad Atticum, not onely because they containe +a most ample instruction of the historic and affaires of his times, +but much more because in them I descrie his private humours. For (as +I have said elsewhere) I am wonderfull curious to discover and know +the minde, the soul, the genuine disposition and naturall judgement +of my authors. A man ought to judge their sufficiencie and not their +customes, nor them by the shew of their writings, which they set +forth on this world's theatre. I have sorrowed a thousand times that +ever we lost the booke that Brutus writ of Vertue. Oh it is a goodly +thing to learne the Theorike of such as understand the practice +well. But forsomuch as the Sermon is one thing and the Preacher an +other, I love as much to see Brutus in Plutarke as in himself: I +would rather make choice to know certainly what talk he had in his +tent with some of his familiar friends, the night fore-going the +battell, than the speech he made the morrow after to his Armie; and +what he did in his chamber or closet, than what in the senate or +market place. As for Cicero, I am of the common judgement, that +besides learning there was no exquisite [Footnote: Overelaborate.] +eloquence in him: He was a good citizen, of an honest, gentle +nature, as are commonly fat and burly men: for so was he: But to +speake truly of thim? full of ambitious vanity and remisse niceness. +[Footnote: Ineffectual fastidiousness.] And I know not well how to +excuse him, in that he deemed his Poesie worthy to be published. It +is no great imperfection to make bad verses, but it is an +imperfection in him that he never perceived how unworthy they were +of the glorie of his name. Concerning his eloquence, it is beyond +all comparison, and I verily beleeve that none shall ever equall it. +Cicero the younger, who resembled his father in nothing but in name, +commanding in Asia, chanced one day to have many strangers at his +board, and amongst others, one Caestius sitting at the lower end, as +the manner is to thrust in at great mens tables: Cicero inquired of +one of his men what he was, who told him his name, but he dreaming +on other matters, and having forgotten what answere his man made +him, asked him his name twice or thrice more: the servant, because +he would not be troubled to tell him one thing so often, and by some +circumstance to make him to know him better, "It is," said he, "the +same Caestius of whom some have told you that, in respect of his +owne, maketh no accompt of your fathers eloquence:" Cicero being +suddainly mooved, commanded the said poore Caestius to be presently +taken from the table, and well whipt in his presence: Lo heere an +uncivill and barbarous host. Even amongst those which (all things +considered) have deemed his eloquence matchlesse and incomparable, +others there have been who have not spared to note some faults in +it. As great Brutus said, that it was an eloquence broken, halting, +and disjoynted, fractam et elumbem: "Incoherent and sinnowlesse." +Those Orators that lived about his age, reproved also in him the +curious care he had of a certaine long cadence at the end of his +clauses, and noted these words, esse videatur, which he so often +useth. As for me, I rather like a cadence that falleth shorter, cut +like Iambikes: yet doth he sometimes confounde his numbers, +[Footnote: Confuse his rhythm.] but it is seldome: I have especially +observed this one place: "Ego vero me minus diu senem esse mallem, +quam esse senem, antequam essem? [Footnote: Cic. De Senect.] "But I +had rather not be an old man, so long as I might be, than to be old +before I should be." Historians are my right hand, for they are +pleasant and easie; and therewithall the man with whom I desire +generally to be acquainted may more lively and perfectly be +discovered in them than in any other composition: the varictic and +truth of his inward conditions, in grosse and by retale: the +diversitie of the meanes of his collection and composing, and of the +accidents that threaten him. Now those that write of mens lives, +forasmuch as they ammuse and busie themselves more about counsels +than events, more about that which commeth from within than that +which appeareth outward; they are fittest for me: And that's the +reason why Plutarke above all in that kind doth best please me. +Indeed I am not a little grieved that we have not a dozen of +Laertius, or that he is not more knowne, or better understood; for I +am no lesse curious to know the fortunes and lives of these great +masters of the world than to understand the diversitie of their +decrees and conceits. In this kind of studie of historie a man must, +without distinction, tosse and turne over all sorts of Authors, both +old and new, both French and others, if he will learne the things +they so diversly treat of. But me thinkes that Caesar above all doth +singularly deserve to be studied, not onely for the understanding of +the historie as of himselfe; so much perfection and excellencie is +there in him more than in others, although Salust be reckoned one of +the number. Verily I read that author with a little more reverence +and respects than commonly men reade profane and humane Workes: +sometimes considering him by his actions and wonders of his +greatnesse, and other times waighing the puritie and inimitable +polishing and elegancie of his tongue, which (as Cicero saith) hath +not onely exceeded all historians, but haply Cicero himselfe: with +such sinceritie in his judgement, speaking of his enemies, that +except the false colours wherewith he goeth about to cloake his bad +cause, and the corruption and filthinesse of his pestilent ambition, +I am perswaded there is nothing in him to be found fault with: and +that he hath been over-sparing to speake of himselfe; for so many +notable and great things could never be executed by him, unlesse he +had put more of his owne into them than he setteth downe. I love +those Historians that are either very simple or most excellent. The +simple who have nothing of their owne to adde unto the storie and +have but the care and diligence to collect whatsoever come to their +knowledge, and sincerely and faithfully to register all things, +without choice or culling, by the naked truth leave our judgment +more entire and better satisfied. + +Such amongst others (for examples sake) plaine and well-meaning +Froissard, who in his enterprise hath marched with so free and +genuine a puritie, that having committed some oversight, he is +neither ashamed to acknowledge nor afraid to correct the same, +wheresoever he hath either notice or warning of it; and who +representeth unto us the diversitie of the newes then current and +the different reports that were made unto him. The subject of an +historie should be naked, bare, and formelesse; each man according +to his capacitie or understanding may reap commoditie out of it. The +curious and most excellent have the sufficiencie to cull and chuse +that which is worthie to be knowne and may select of two relations +that which is most likely: from the condition of Princes and of +their humours, they conclude their counsels and attribute fit words +to them: they assume a just authoritie and bind our faith to theirs. +But truly that belongs not to many. Such as are betweene both (which +is the most common fashion), it is they that spoil all; they will +needs chew our meat for us and take upon them a law to judge, and by +consequence to square and encline the storie according to their +fantasie; for, where the judgement bendeth one way, a man cannot +chuse but wrest and turne his narration that way. They undertake to +chuse things worthy to bee knowne, and now and then conceal either a +word or a secret action from us, which would much better instruct +us: omitting such things as they understand not as incredible: and +haply such matters as they know not how to declare, either in good +Latin or tolerable French. Let them boldly enstall their eloquence +and discourse: Let them censure at their pleasure, but let them also +give us leave to judge after them: And let them neither alter nor +dispense by their abridgements and choice anything belonging to the +substance of the matter; but let them rather send it pure and entire +with all her dimensions unto us. Most commonly (as chiefly in our +age) this charge of writing histories is committed unto base, +ignorant, and mechanicall kind of people, only for this +consideration that they can speake well; as if we sought to learne +the Grammer of them; and they have some reason, being only hired to +that end, and publishing nothing but their tittle-tattle to aime at +nothing else so much. Thus with store of choice and quaint words, +and wyre drawne phrases, they huddle up and make a hodge-pot of a +laboured contexture of the reports which they gather in the market +places or such other assemblies. The only good histories are those +that are written by such as commanded or were imploied themselves in +weighty affaires or that were partners in the conduct of them, or +that at least have had the fortune to manage others of like +qualitie. Such in a manner are all the Graecians and Romans. For +many eye-witnesses having written of one same subject (as it hapned +in those times when Greatnesse and Knowledge did commonly meet) if +any fault or over-sight have past them, it must be deemed exceeding +light and upon some doubtful accident. What may a man expect at a +Phisitians hand that discourseth of warre, or of a bare Scholler +treating of Princes secret designes? If we shall but note the +religion which the Romans had in that, wee need no other example: +Asinius Pollio found some mistaking or oversight in Caesars +Commentaries, whereinto he was falne, only because he could not +possiblie oversee all things with his owne eyes that hapned in his +Armie, but was faine to rely on the reports of particular men, who +often related untruths unto him: or else because he had not been +curiously advertized [Footnote: Minutely informed.] and distinctly +enformed by his Lieutenants and Captaines of such matters as they in +his absence had managed or effected. Whereby may be seen that +nothing is so hard or so uncertaine to be found out as the +certaintie of the truth, sithence [Footnote: Since.] no man can put +any assured confidence concerning the truth of a battel, neither in +the knowledge of him that was Generall or commanded over it, nor in +the soldiers that fought, of anything that hath hapned amongst them; +except after the manner of a strict point of law, the severall +witnesses are brought and examined face to face, and that all +matters be nicely and thorowly sifted by the objects and trials of +the successe of every accident. Verily the knowledge we have of our +owne affaires is much more barren and feeble. But this hath +sufficiently been handled by Bodin, and agreeing with my conception. +Somewhat to aid the weaknesse of my memorie and to assist her great +defects; for it hath often been my chance to light upon bookes which +I supposed to be new and never to have read, which I had not +understanding diligently read and run over many years before, and +all bescribled with my notes; I have a while since accustomed my +selfe to note at the end of my booke (I meane such as I purpose to +read but once) the time I made an end to read it, and to set downe +what censure or judgement I gave of it; that so it may at least at +another time represent unto my mind the aire and generall idea I had +conceived of the Author in reading him. I will here set downe the +Copie of some of my annotations, and especially what I noted upon my +Guicciardine about ten yeares since: (For what language soever my +books speake unto me I speake unto them in mine owne.) He is a +diligent Historiographer and from whom in my conceit a man may as +exactly learne the truth of such affaires as passed in his time, as +of any other writer whatsoever: and the rather because himselfe hath +been an Actor of most part of them and in verie honourable place. +There is no signe or apparance that ever he disguised or coloured +any matter, either through hatred, malice, favour, or vanitie; +whereof the free and impartiall judgements he giveth of great men, +and namely of those by whom he had been advanced or imployed in his +important charges, as of Pope Clement the seaventh, beareth +undoubted testimony. Concerning the parts wherein he most goeth +about to prevaile, which are his digressions and discourses, many of +them are verie excellent and enriched with faire ornaments, but he +hath too much pleased himselfe in them: for endeavouring to omit +nothing that might be spoken, having so full and large a subject, +and almost infinite, he proveth somewhat languishing, and giveth a +taste of a kind of scholasticall tedious babling. Moreover, I have +noted this, that of so severall and divers armes, successes, and +effects he judgeth of; of so many and variable motives, alterations, +and counsels, that he relateth, he never referreth any one unto +vertue, religion or conscience: as if they were all extinguished and +banished the world. And of all actions how glorious soever in +apparance they be of themselves, he doth ever impute the cause of +them to some vicious and blame-worthie occasion, or to some +commoditie and profit. It is impossible to imagine that amongst so +infinite a number of actions whereof he judgeth, some one have not +been produced and compassed by way of reason. No corruption could +ever possesse men so universally but that some one must of necessity +escape the contagion; which makes me to feare he hath had some +distaste or blame in his passion, and it hath haply fortuned that he +hath judged or esteemed of others according to himselfe. In my +Philip de Comines there is this: In him you shall find a pleasing- +sweet and gently-gliding speech, fraught with a purely sincere +simplicitie, his narration pure and unaffected, and wherein the +Authours unspotted good meaning doth evidently appeare, void of all +manner of vanitie or ostentation speaking of himselfe, and free from +all affection or envie-speaking of others; his discourses and +perswasions accompanied more with a well-meaning zeale and meere +[Footnote: Pure.] veritie than with any laboured and exquisite +sufficiencie, and allthrough with gravitie and authoritie, +representing a man well-borne and brought up in high negotiations. +Upon the Memoires and historic of Monsieur du Bellay: It is ever a +well-pleasing thing to see matters written by those that have as +said how and in what manner they ought to be directed and managed: +yet can it not be denied but that in both these Lords there will +manifestly appeare a great declination from a free libertie of +writing, which clearely shineth in ancient writers of their kind: as +in the Lord of louinille, familiar unto Saint Lewis; Eginard, +Chancellor unto Charlemaine; and of more fresh memorie in Philip de +Comines. This is rather a declamation or pleading for King Francis +against the Emperour Charles the fifth, than an Historic. I will not +beleeve they have altered or changed any thing concerning the +generalitie of matters, but rather to wrest and turne the judgement +of the events many times against reason, to our advantage, and to +omit whatsoever they supposed to be doubtful or ticklish in their +masters life: they have made a business of it: witnesse the +recoylings of the Lords of Momorancy and Byron, which therein are +forgotten; and which is more, you shall not so much as find the name +of the Ladie of Estampes mentioned at all. A man may sometimes +colour and haply hide secret actions, but absolutely to conceal that +which all the world knoweth, and especially such things as have +drawne-on publike effects, and of such consequence, it is an +inexcusable defect, or as I may say unpardonable oversight. To +conclude, whosoever desireth to have perfect information and +knowledge of king Francis the first, and of the things hapned in his +time, let him addresse himselfe elsewhere if he will give any credit +unto me. The profit he may reap here is by the particular +description of the battels and exploits of warre wherein these +gentlemen were present; some privie conferences, speeches, or secret +actions of some princes that then lived, and the practices managed, +or negotiations directed by the Lord of Langeay, in which doubtless +are verie many things well worthy to be knowne, and diverse +discourses not vulgare. + + + + +MONTAIGNE + +WHAT IS A CLASSIC? + +BY + +CHARLES-AUGUSTIN SAINTE-BEUVE + + +TRANSLATED BY + +E. LEE + + + + +INTRODUCTORY NOTE + +Charles Augustin Sainte-Beuve, the foremost French critic of the +nineteenth century, and, in the view of many, the greatest literary +critic of the world, was born at Boulogne-sur-Mer, December 23, +1804. He studied medicine, but soon abandoned it for literature; and +before he gave himself up to criticism he made some mediocre +attempts in poetry and fiction. He became professor at the College +de France and the Ecole Normale and was appointed Senator in 1865. A +course of lectures given at Lausanne in 1837 resulted in his great +"Histoire de Port-Royal" and another given at Liege in his +"Chateaubriand et son groupe litteraire." But his most famous +productions were his critical essays published periodically in the +"Constitutionnel" the "Moniteur" and the "Temps" later collected in +sets under the names of "Critiques et Portraits Litteraires" +"Portraits Contemporains" "Causeries du Lundi" and "Nouveaux +Lundis." At the height of his vogue, these Monday essays were events +of European importance. He died in 1869. + +Sainte-Beuve's work was much more than literary criticism as that +type of writing had been generally conceived before his time. In +place of the mere classification of books and the passing of a +judgment upon them as good or bad, he sought to illuminate and +explain by throwing light on a literary work from a study of the +life, circumstances, and aim of the writer, and by a comparison with +the literature of other times and countries. Thus his work was +historical, psychological, and ethical, as well as esthetic, and +demanded vast learning and a literary outlook of unparalleled +breadth. In addition to this equipment he had fine taste and an +admirable style; and by his universality, penetration, and balance +he raised to a new level the profession of critic. + + + + +MONTAIGNE + +While the good ship France is taking a somewhat haphazard course, +getting into unknown seas, and preparing to double what the pilots +(if there is a pilot) call the Stormy Cape, while the look-out at +the mast-head thinks he sees the spectre of the giant Adamastor +rising on the horizon, many honourable and peaceable men continue +their work and studies all the same, and follow out to the end, or +as far as they can, their favourite hobbies. I know, at the present +time, a learned man who is collating more carefully than has ever +yet been done the different early editions of Rabelais--editions, +mark you, of which only one copy remains, of which a second is not +to be found: from the careful collation of the texts some literary +and maybe philosophical result will be derived with regard to the +genius of the French Lucian-Aristophanes. I know another scholar +whose devotion and worship is given to a very different man--to +Bossuet: he is preparing a complete, exact, detailed history of the +life and works of the great bishop. And as tastes differ, and "human +fancy is cut into a thousand shapes" (Montaigne said that), +Montaigne also has his devotees, he who, himself, was so little of +one: a sect is formed round him. In his lifetime he had Mademoiselle +de Gournay, his daughter of alliance, who was solemnly devoted to +him; and his disciple, Charron, followed him closely, step by step, +only striving to arrange his thoughts with more order and method. In +our time amateurs, intelligent men, practice the religion under +another form: they devote themselves to collecting the smallest +traces of the author of the Essays, to gathering up the slightest +relics, and Dr. Payen may be justly placed at the head of the group. +For years he has been preparing a book on Montaigne, of which the +title will be--"Michel de Montaigne, a collection of unedited or +little known facts about the author of the Essays, his book, and his +other writings, about his family, his friends, his admirers, his +detractors." + +While awaiting the conclusion of the book, the occupation and +amusement of a lifetime, Dr. Payen keeps us informed in short +pamphlets of the various works and discoveries made about Montaigne. + +If we separate the discoveries made during the last five or six +years from the jumble of quarrels, disputes, cavilling, quackery, +and law-suits (for there have been all those), they consist in this- +- + +In 1846 M. Mace found in the (then) Royal Library, amongst the +"Collection Du Puys," a letter of Montaigne, addressed to the king, +Henri IV., September 2, 1590. + +In 1847 M. Payen printed a letter, or a fragment of a letter of +Montaigne of February 16, 1588, a letter corrupt and incomplete, +coming from the collection of the Comtesse Boni de Castellane. + +But, most important of all, in 1848, M. Horace de Viel-Castel found +in London, at the British Museum, a remarkable letter of Montaigne, +May 22, 1585, when Mayor of Bordeaux, addressed to M. de Matignon, +the king's lieutenant in the town. The great interest of the letter +is that it shows Montaigne for the first time in the full discharge +of his office with all the energy and vigilance of which he was +capable. The pretended idler was at need much more active than he +was ready to own. + +M. Detcheverry, keeper of the records to the mayoralty of Bordeaux, +found and published (1850) a letter of Montaigne, while mayor, to +the Jurats, or aldermen of the town, July 30, 1585. + +M. Achille Jubinal found among the manuscripts of the National +Library, and published (1850), a long, remarkable letter from +Montaigne to the king, Henri IV., January 18, 1590, which happily +coincides with that already found by M. Mace. + +Lastly, to omit nothing and do justice to all, in a "Visit to +Montaigne's Chateau in Perigord," of which the account appeared in +1850, M. Bertrand de Saint-Germain described the place and pointed +out the various Greek and Latin inscriptions that may still be read +in Montaigne's tower in the third-storey chamber (the ground floor +counting as the first), which the philosopher made his library and +study. + +M. Payen, collecting together and criticising in his last pamphlet +the various notices and discoveries, not all of equal importance, +allowed himself to be drawn into some little exaggeration of praise; +but we cannot blame him. Admiration, when applied to such noble, +perfectly innocent, and disinterested subjects, is truly a spark of +the sacred fire: it produces research that a less ardent zeal would +quickly leave aside, and sometimes leads to valuable results. +However, it would be well for those who, following M. Payen's +example, intelligently understand and greatly admire Montaigne, to +remember, even in their ardour, the advice of the wise man and the +master. "There is more to do," said he, speaking of the commentators +of his time, "in interpreting the interpretations than in +interpreting the things themselves; and more bdoks about books than +on any other subject. We do nothing, but everything swarms with +commentators; of authors there is a great rarity." Authors are of +great price and very scared at all times--that is to say, authors +who really increase the sum of human knowledge. I should like all +who write on Montaigne, and give us the details of their researches +and discoveries, to imagine one thing,--Montaigne himself reading +and criticising them. "What would he think of me and the manner in +which I am going to speak of him to the public?" If such a question +was put, how greatly it would suppress useless phrases and shorten +idle discussions! M. Payen's last pamphlet was dedicated to a man +who deserves equally well of Montaigne--M. Gustave Brunet, of +Bordeaux. He, speaking of M. Payen, in a work in which he pointed +out interesting and various corrections of Montaigne's text, said: +"May he soon decide to publish the fruits of his researches: he will +have left nothing for future Montaignologues" Montaignologues! Great +Heaven! what would Montaigne say of such a word coined in his +honour? You who occupy yourselves so meritoriously with him, but who +have, I think, no claim to appropriate him to yourselves, in the +name of him whom you love, and whom we all love by a greater or +lesser title, never, I beg of you, use such words; they smack of the +brotherhood and the sect, of pedantry and of the chatter of the +schools--things utterly repugnant to Montaigne. + +Montaigne had a simple, natural, affable mind, and a very happy +disposition. Sprung from an excellent father, who, though of no +great education, entered with real enthusiasm into the movement of +the Renaissance and all the liberal novelties of his time, the son +corrected the excessive enthusiasm, vivacity, and tenderness he +inherited by a great refinement and justness of reflection; but he +did not abjure the original groundwork. It is scarcely more than +thirty years ago that whenever the sixteenth century was mentioned +it was spoken of as a barbarous epoch, Montaigne only excepted: +therein lay error and ignorance. The sixteenth century was a great +century, fertile, powerful, learned, refined in parts, although in +some aspects it was rough, violent, and seemingly coarse. What it +particularly lacked was taste, if by taste is meant the faculty of +clear and perfect selection, the extrication of the elements of the +beautiful. But in the succeeding centuries taste quickly became +distaste. If, however, in literature it was crude, in the arts +properly so-called, in those of the hand and the chisel, the +sixteenth century, even in France, is, in the quality of taste, far +greater than the two succeeding centuries: it is neither meagre nor +massive, heavy nor distorted. In art its taste is rich and of fine +quality,--at once unrestrained and complex, ancient and modern, +special to itself and original. In the region of morals it is +unequal and mixed. It was an age of contrasts, of contrasts in all +their crudity, an age of philosophy and fanaticism, of scepticism +and strong faith. Everything was at strife and in collision; nothing +was blended and united. Everything was in ferment; it was a period +of chaos; every ray of light caused a storm. It was not a gentle +age, or one we can call an age of light, but an age of struggle and +combat. What distinguished Montaigne and made a phenomenon of him +was, that in such an age he should have possessed moderation, +caution, and order. + +Born on the last day of February, 1533, taught the ancient languages +as a game while still a child, waked even in his cradle by the sound +of musical instruments, he seemed less fitted for a rude and violent +epoch than for the commerce and sanctuary of the muses. His rare +good sense corrected what was too ideal and poetical in his early +education; but he preserved the happy faculty of saying everything +with freshness and wit. Married, when past thirty, to an estimable +woman who was his companion for twenty-eight years, he seems to have +put passion only into friendship. He immortalised his love for +Etienne de la Boetie, whom he lost after four years of the sweetest +and closest intimacy. For some time counsellor in the Parliament of +Bordeaux, Montaigne, before he was forty, retired from public life, +and flung away ambition to live in his tower of Montaigne, enjoying +his own society and his own intellect, entirely given up to his own +observations and thoughts, and to the busy idleness of which we know +all the sports and fancies. The first edition of the Essays appeared +in 1580, consisting of only two books, and in a form representing +only the first rough draft of what we have in the later editions. +The same year Montaigne set out on a voyage to Switzerland and +Italy. It was during that voyage that the aldermen of Bordeaux +elected him mayor of their town. At first he refused and excused +himself, but warned that it would be well to accept, and enjoined by +the king, he took the office, "the more beautiful," he said, "that +there was neither renunciation nor gain other than the honour of its +performance." He filled the office for four years, from July 1582 to +July 1586, being re-elected after the first two years. Thus +Montaigne, at the age of fifty, and a little against his will, re- +entered public life when the country was on the eve of civil +disturbances which, quieted and lulled to sleep for a while, broke +out more violently at the cry of the League. Although, as a rule, +lessons serve for nothing, since the art of wisdom and happiness +cannot be taught, let us not deny ourselves the pleasure of +listening to Montaigne; let us look on his wisdom and happiness; let +him speak of public affairs, of revolutions and disturbances, and of +his way of conducting himself with regard to them. We do not put +forward a model, but we offer our readers an agreeable recreation. + +Although Montaigne lived in so agitated and stormy a time, a period +that a man who had lived through the Terror (M. Daunou) called the +most tragic century in all history, he by no means regarded his age +as the worst of ages. He was not of those prejudiced and afflicted +persons, who, measuring everything by their visual horizon, valuing +everything according to their present sensations, alway declare that +the disease they suffer from is worse than any ever before +experienced by a human being. He was like Socrates, who did not +consider himself a citizen of one city but of the world; with his +broad and full imagination he embraced the universality of countries +and of ages; he even judged more equitably the very evils of which +he was witness and victim. "Who is it," he said, "that, seeing the +bloody havoc of these civil wars of ours, does not cry out that the +machine of the world is near dissolution, and that the day of +judgment is at hand, without considering that many worse revolutions +have been seen, and that, in the mean time, people are being merry +in a thousand other parts of the earth for all this? For my part, +considering the license and impunity that always attend such +commotions, I admire they are so moderate, and that there is not +more mischief done. To him who feels the hailstones patter about his +ears, the whole hemisphere appears to be in storm and tempest." And +raising his thoughts higher and higher, reducing his own suffering +to what it was in the immensity of nature, seeing there not only +himself but whole kingdoms as mere specks in the infinite, he added +in words which foreshadowed Pascal, in words whose outline and +salient points Pascal did not disdain to borrow: "But whoever shall +represent to his fancy, as in a picture, that great image of our +mother nature, portrayed in her full majesty and lustre, whoever in +her face shall read so general and so constant a variety, whoever +shall observe himself in that figure, and not himself but a whole +kingdom, no bigger than the least touch or prick of a pencil in +comparison of the whole, that man alone is able to value things +according to their true estimate and grandeur." + +Thus Montaigne gives us a lesson, a useless lesson, but I state it +all the same, because among the many unprofitable ones that have +been written down, it is perhaps of greater worth than most. I do +not mean to underrate the gravity of the circumstances in which +France is just now involved, for I believe there is pressing need to +bring together all the energy, prudence, and courage she possesses +in order that the country may come out with honour [Footnote: This +essay appeared April 28, 1851]. However, let us reflect, and +remember that, leaving aside the Empire, which as regards internal +affairs was a period of calm, and before 1812 of prosperity, we who +utter such loud complaints, lived in peace from 1815 to 1830, +fifteen long years; that the three days of July only inaugurated +another order of things that for eighteen years guaranteed peace and +in dustrial prosperity; in all, thirty-two years of repose. Stormy +days came; tempests burst, and will doubtless burst again. Let us +learn how to live through them, but do not let us cry out every day, +as we are disposed to do, that never under the sun were such storms +known as we are enduring. To get away from the present state of +feeling, to restore lucidity and proportion to our judgments, let us +read every evening a page of Montaigne. + +A criticism of Montaigne on the men of his day struck me, and it +bears equally well on those of ours. Our philosopher says somewhere +that he knows a fair number of men possessing various good +qualities--one, intelligence; another, heart; another, address, +conscience or knowledge, or skill in languages, each has his share: +"but of a great man as a whole, having so many good qualities +together, or one with such a degree of excellence that we ought to +admire him, or compare him with those we honour in the past, my +fortune has never shown me one." He afterwards made an exception in +favour of his friend Etienne de la Boetie, but he belonged to the +company of great men dead before attaining maturity, and showing +promise without having time to fulfil it. Montaigne's criticism +called up a smile. He did not see a true and wholly great man in his +time, the age of L'Hopital, Coligny, and the Guises. Well! how does +ours seem to you? We have as many great men as in Montaigne's time, +one distinguished for his intellect, another for his heart, a third +for skill, some (a rare thing) for conscience, many for knowledge +and language. But we too lack the perfect man, and he is greatly to +be desired. One of the most intelligent observers of our day +recognised and proclaimed it some years ago: "Our age," said M. de +Remusat, "is wanting in great men." [Footnote: Essais de +Philosophie, vol. i, p. 22] + +How did Montaigne conduct himself in his duties as first magistrate +of a great city? If we take him literally and on a hasty first +glance we should believe he discharged them slackly and languidly. +Did not Horace, doing the honours to himself, say that in war he one +day let his shield fall (relicta non bene parmula)? We must not be +in too great a hurry to take too literally the men of taste who have +a horror of over-estimating themselves. Minds of a fine quality are +more given to vigilance and to action than they are apt to confess. +The man who boasts and makes a great noise, will, I am almost sure, +be less brave in the combat than Horace, and less vigilant at the +council board than Montaigne. + +On entering office Montaigne was careful to warn the aldermen of +Bordeaux not to expect to find in him more than there really was; he +presented himself to them without affectation. "I represented to +them faithfully and conscientiously all that I felt myself to be,--a +man without memory, without vigilance, without experience, and +without energy; but also, without hate, without ambition, without +avarice, and without violence." He should be sorry, while taking the +affairs of the town in hand, that his feelings should be so strongly +affected as those of his worthy father had been, who in the end had +lost his place and health. The eager and ardent pledge to satisfy an +impetuous desire was not his method. His opinion was "that you must +lend yourself to others, and only give yourself to yourself." And +repeating his thought, according to his custom in all kinds of +metaphors and picturesque forms, he said again that if he some times +allowed himself to be urged to the management of other men's +affairs, he promised to take them in hand, not "into my lungs and +liver." We are thus forewarned, we know what to expect. The mayor +and Montaigne were two distinct persons; under his role and office +he reserved to himself a certain freedom and secret security. He +continued to judge things in his own fashion and impartially, +although acting loyally for the cause confided to him. He was far +from approving or even excusing all he saw in his party, and he +could judge his adversaries and say of them: "He did that thing +wickedly, and this virtuously." "I would have," he added, "matters +go well on our side; but if they do not, I shall not run mad. I am +heartily for the right party; but I do not affect to be taken notice +of for an especial enemy to others." And he entered into some +details and applications which at that time were piquant. Let us +remark, however, in order to explain and justify his somewhat +extensive profession of impartiality, that the chiefs of the party +then in evidence, the three Henris, were famous and considerable men +on several counts: Henri, Duke of Guise, head of the League; Henri, +King of Navarre, leader of the Opposition; and the King Henri III. +in whose name Montaigne was mayor, who wavered between the two. When +parties have neither chief nor head, when they are known by the body +only, that is to say, in their hideous and brutal reality, it is +more difficult and also more hazardous to be just towards them and +to assign to each its share of action. + +The principle which guided him in his administration was to look +only at the fact, at the result, and to grant nothing to noise and +outward show: "How much more a good effect makes a noise, so much I +abate of the goodness of it." For it is always to be feared that it +was more performed for the sake of the noise than upon the account +of goodness: "Being exposed upon the stall, 'tis half sold." That +was not Montaigne's way: he made no show; he managed men and affairs +as quietly as he could; he employed in a manner useful to all alike +the gifts of sincerity and conciliation; the personal attraction +with which nature endowed him was a quality of the highest value in +the management of men. He preferred to warn men of evil rather than +to take on himself the honour of repressing it: "Is there any one +who desires to be sick that he may see his physician's practice? And +would not that physician deserve to be whipped who should wish the +plague amongst us that he might put his art into practice?" Far from +desiring that trouble and disorder in the affairs of the city should +rouse and honour his govern ment, he had ever willingly, he said, +contributed all he could to their tranquillity and ease. He is not +of those whom municipal honours intoxicate and elate, those +"dignities of office" as he called them, and of which all the noise +"goes from one cross-road to another." If he was a man desirous of +fame, he recognised that it was of a kind greater than that. I do +not know, however, if even in a vaster field he would have changed +his method and manner of proceed ing. To do good for the public +imperceptibly would always seem to him the ideal of skill and the +culminating point of happiness. "He who will not thank me," he said, +"for the order and quiet calm that has accompanied my administration, +cannot, however, deprive me of the share that belongs to me by the +title of my good fortune." And he is inexhaustible in describing in +lively and graceful expressions the kinds of effective and imperceptible +services he believed he had rendered--services greatly superior to +noisy and glorious deeds: "Actions which come from the workman's +hand carelessly and noiselessly have most charm, that some honest +man chooses later and brings from their obscurity to thrust them into +the light for their own sake." Thus fortune served Montaigne to +perfection, and even in his administration of affairs, in difficult +conjunctures, he never had to belie his maxim, nor to step very far +out of the way of life he had planned: "For my part I commend a gliding, +solitary, and silent life." He reached the end of his magistracy almost +satisfied with himself, having accomplished what he had promised +himself, and much more than he had promised others. + +The letter lately discovered by M. Horace de Viel-Castel +corroborates the chapter in which Montaigne exhibits and criticises +himself in the period of his public life. "That letter," says M. +Payen, "is entirely on affairs. Montaigne is mayor; Bordeaux, lately +disturbed, seems threatened by fresh agitations; the king's +lieutenant is away. It is Wednesday, May 22, 1585; it is night, +Montaigne is wakeful, and writes to the governor of the province." +The letter, which is of too special and local an interest to be +inserted here, may be summed up in these words:--Montaigne regretted +the absence of Marshal de Matignon, and feared the consequences of +its prolongation; he was keeping, and would continue to keep, him +acquainted with all that was going on, and begged him to return as +soon as his circumstances would permit. "We are looking after our +gates and guards, and a little more carefully in your absence. . . . +If anything important and fresh occurs, I shall send you a messenger +immediately, so that if you hear no news from me, you may consider +that nothing has happened." He begs M. de Matignon to remember, +however, that he might not have time to warn him, "entreating you to +consider that such movements are usually so sudden, that if they do +occur they will take me by the throat without any warning." Besides, +he will do everything to ascertain the march of events beforehand. +"I will do what I can to hear news from all parts, and to that end +shall visit and observe the inclinations of all sorts of men." +Lastly, after keeping the marshal informed of everything, of the +least rumours abroad in the city, he pressed him to return, assuring +him "that we spare neither our care, nor, if need be, our lives to +preserve everything in obedience to the king." Montaigne was never +prodigal of protestations and praises, and what with others was a +mere form of speech, was with him a real undertaking and the truth. + +Things, however, became worse and worse: civil war broke out; +friendly or hostile parties (the difference was not great) infested +the country. Montaigne, who went to his country house as often as he +could, whenever the duties of his office, which was drawing near its +term, did not oblige him to be in Bordeaux, was exposed to every +sort of insult and outrage. "I underwent," he said, "the +inconveniences that moderation brings along with it in such a +disease. I was pitied on all hands; to the Ghibelline I was a +Guelph, and to the Guelph a Ghibelline." In the midst of his +personal grievances he could disengage and raise his thoughts to +reflections on the public misfortunes and on the degradation of +men's characters. Considering closely the disorder of parties, and +all the abject and wretched things which developed so quickly, he +was ashamed to see leaders of renown stoop and debase themselves by +cowardly complacency; for in those circumstances we know, like him, +"that in the word of command to march, draw up, wheel, and the like, +we obey him indeed; but all the rest is dissolute and free." "It +pleases me," said Montaigne ironically, "to observe how much +pusillanimity and cowardice there is in ambition; by how abject and +servile ways it must arrive at its end." Despising ambition as he +did, he was not sorry to see it unmasked by such practices and +degraded in his sight. However, his goodness of heart overcoming his +pride and contempt, he adds sadly, "it displeases me to see good and +generous natures, and that are capable of justice, every day +corrupted in the management and command of this confusion. . . . We +had ill-contrived souls enough without spoiling those that were +generous and good." He rather sought in that misfortune an +opportunity and motive for fortifying and strengthening himself. +Attacked one by one by many disagreeables and evils, which he would +have endured more cheerfully in a heap--that is to say, all at once- +-pursued by war, disease, by all the plagues (July 1585), in the +course things were taking, he already asked himself to whom he and +his could have recourse, of whom he could ask shelter and +subsistence for his old age; and having looked and searched +thoroughly all around, he found himself actually destitute and +RUINED. For, "to let a man's self fall plumb down, and from so great +a height, it ought to be in the arms of a solid, vigorous, and +fortunate friendship. They are very rare, if there be any." Speaking +in such a manner, we perceive that La Boetie had been some time +dead. Then he felt that he must after all rely on himself in his +distress, and must gain strength; now or never was the time to put +into practice the lofty lessons he spent his life in collecting from +the books of the philosophers. He took heart again, and attained all +the height of his virtue: "In an ordinary and quiet time, a man +prepares himself for moderate and common accidents; but in the +confusion wherein we have been for these thirty years, every +Frenchman, whether in particular or in general, sees himself every +hour upon the point of the total ruin and overthrow of his fortune." +And far from being discouraged and cursing fate for causing him to +be born in so stormy an age, he suddenly congratulated himself: "Let +us thank fortune that has not made us live in an effeminate, idle +and languishing age." Since the curiosity of wise men seeks the past +for disturbances in states in order to learn the secrets of history, +and, as we should say, the whole physiology of the body social, "so +does my curiosity," he declares, "make me in some sort please myself +with seeing with my own eyes this notable spectacle of our public +death, its forms and symptoms; and, seeing I could not hinder it, am +content to be destined to assist in it, and thereby to instruct +myself." I shall not suggest a consolation of that sort to most +people; the greater part of mankind does not possess the heroic and +eager curiosity of Empedocles and the elder Pliny, the two intrepid +men who went straight to the volcanoes and the disturbances of +nature to examine them at close quarters, at the risk of destruction +and death. But to a man of Montaigne's nature, the thought of that +stoical observation gave him consolation even amid real evils. +Considering the condition of false peace and doubtful truce, the +regime of dull and profound corruption which had preceded the last +disturbances, he almost congratulated himself on seeing their +cessation; for "it was," he said of the regime of Henri III., "an +universal juncture of particular members, rotten to emulation of one +another, and the most of them with inveterate ulcers, that neither +required nor admitted of any cure. This conclusion therefore did +really more animate than depress me." Note that his health, usually +delicate, is here raised to the level of his morality, although what +it had suffered through the various disturbances might have been +enough to undermine it. He had the satisfaction of feeling that he +had some hold against fortune, and that it would take a greater +shock still to crush him. + +Another consideration, humbler and more humane, upheld him in his +troubles, the consolation arising from a common misfortune, a +misfortune shared by all, and the sight of the courage of others. +The people, especially the real people, they who are victims and not +robbers, the peasants of his district, moved him by the manner in +which they endured the same, or even worse, troubles than his. The +disease or plague which raged at that time in the country pressed +chiefly on the poor; Montaigne learned from them resignation and the +practice of philosophy. "Let us look down upon the poor people that +we see scattered upon the face of the earth, prone and intent upon +their business, that neither know Aristotle nor Cato, example nor +precept. Even from these does nature every day extract effects of +constancy and patience, more pure and manly than those we so +inquisitively study in the schools." And he goes on to describe them +working to the bitter end, even in their grief, even in disease, +until their strength failed them. "He that is now digging in my +garden has this morning buried his father, or his son. . . . They +never keep their beds but to die." The whole chapter is fine, +pathetic, to the point, evincing noble, stoical elevation of mind, +and also the cheerful and affable disposition which Montaigne said, +with truth, was his by inheritance, and in which he had been +nourished. There could be nothing better as regards "consolation in +public calamities," except a chapter of some not more human, but of +some truly divine book, in which the hand of God should be +everywhere visible, not perfunctorily, as with Montaigne, but +actually and lovingly present. In fact, the consolation Montaigne +gives himself and others is perhaps as lofty and beautiful as human +consolation without prayer can be. + +He wrote the chapter, the twelfth of the third book, in the midst of +the evils described, and before they were ended. He concluded it in +his graceful and poetical way with a collection of examples, "a heap +of foreign flowers," to which he furnished only the thread for +fastening them together. + +There is Montaigne to the life; no matter how seriously he spoke, it +was always with the utmost charm. To form an opinion on his style +you have only to open him indifferently at any page and listen to +his talk on any subject; there is none that he did not enliven and +make suggestive. In the chapter "Of Liars," for instance, after +enlarging on his lack of memory and giving a list of reasons by +which he might console himself, he suddenly added this fresh and +delightful reason, that, thanks to his faculty for forgetting, "the +places I revisit, and the books I read over again, always smile upon +me with a fresh novelty." It is thus that on every subject he +touched he was continually new, and created sources of freshness. + +Montesquieu, in a memorable exclamation, said: "The four great +poets, Plato, Malebranche, Shaftesbury, Montaigne!" How true it is +of Montaigne! No French writer, including the poets proper, had so +lofty an idea of poetry as he had. "From my earliest childhood," he +said, "poetry had power over me to transport and transpierce me." He +considered, and therein shows penetration, that "we have more poets +than judges and interpreters of poetry. It is easier to write than +to understand." In itself and its pure beauty his poetry defies +definition; whoever desired to recognise it at a glance and discern +of what it actually consisted would see no more than "the brilliance +of a flash of lightning." In the constitution and continuity of his +style, Montaigne is a writer very rich in animated, bold similes, +naturally fertile in metaphors that are never detached from the +thought, but that seize it in its very centre, in its interior, that +join and bind it. In that respect, fully obeying his own genius, he +has gone beyond and some times exceeded the genius of language. His +concise, vigorous and always forcible style, by its poignancy, +emphasises and repeats the meaning. It may be said of his style that +it is a continual epigram, or an ever-renewed metaphor, a style that +has only been successfully employed by the French once, by Montaigne +himself. If we wanted to imitate him, supposing we had the power and +were naturally fitted for it--if we desired to write with his +severity, exact proportion, and diverse continuity of figures and +turns--it would be necessary to force our language to be more +powerful, and poetically more complete, than is usually our custom. +Style a la Montaigne, consistent, varied in the series and +assortment of the metaphors, exacts the creation of a portion of the +tissue itself to hold them. It is absolutely necessary that in +places the woof should be enlarged and extended, in order to weave +into it the metaphor; but in defining him I come almost to write +like him. The French language, French prose, which in fact always +savours more or less of conversation, does not, naturally, possess +the resources and the extent of canvas necessary for a continued +picture: by the side of an animated metaphor it will often exhibit a +sudden lacuna and some weak places. In filling this by boldness and +invention as Montaigne did, in creating, in imagining the expression +and locution that is wanting, our prose should appear equally +finished. Style a la Montaigne would, in many respects, be openly at +war with that of Voltaire. It could only come into being and +flourish in the full freedom of the sixteenth century, in a frank, +ingenious, jovial, keen, brave, and refined mind, of an unique +stamp, that even for that time, seemed free and somewhat licentious, +and that was inspired and emboldened, but not intoxicated by the +pure and direct spirit of ancient sources. + +Such as he is, Montaigne is the French Horace; he is Horatian in the +groundwork, often in the form and expression, although in that he +sometimes approaches Seneca. His book is a treasure-house of moral +observations and of experience; at whatever page it is opened, and +in what ever condition of mind, some wise thought expressed in a +striking and enduring fashion is certain to be found. It will at +once detach itself and engrave itself on the mind, a beautiful +meaning in full and forcible words, in one vigorous line, familiar +or great. The whole of his book, said Etienne Pasquier, is a real +seminary of beautiful and remarkable sentences, and they come in so +much the better that they run and hasten on without thrusting them +selves into notice. There is something for every age, for every hour +of life: you cannot read in it for any time without having the mind +filled and lined as it were, or, to put it better, fully armed and +clothed. We have just seen how much useful counsel and actual +consolation it contains for an honourable man, born for private +life, and fallen on times of disturbance and revolution. To this I +shall add the counsel he gave those who, like myself and many men of +my acquaintance, suffer from political disturbances without in any +way provoking them, or believing ourselves capable of averting them. +Montaigne, as Horace would have done, counsels them, while +apprehending everything from afar off, not to be too much +preoccupied with such matters in advance; to take advantage to the +end of pleasant moments and bright intervals. Stroke on stroke come +his piquant and wise similes, and he concludes, to my thinking, with +the most delightful one of all, and one, besides, entirely +appropriate and seasonable: it is folly and fret, he said, "to take +out your furred gown at Saint John because you will want it at +Christmas." + + + + +WHAT IS A CLASSIC? + +A delicate question, to which somewhat diverse solutions might be +given according to times and seasons. An intelligent man suggests it +to me, and I intend to try, if not to solve it, at least to examine +and discuss it face to face with my readers, were it only to +persuade them to answer it for themselves, and, if I can, to make +their opinion and mine on the point clear. And why, in criticism, +should we not, from time to time, venture to treat some of those +subjects which are not personal, in which we no longer speak of some +one but of some thing? Our neighbours, the English, have well +succeeded in making of it a special division of literature under the +modest title of "Essays." It is true that in writing of such +subjects, always slightly abstract and moral, it is advisable to +speak of them in a season of quiet, to make sure of our own +attention and of that of others, to seize one of those moments of +calm moderation and leisure seldom granted our amiable France; even +when she is desirous of being wise and is not making revolutions, +her brilliant genius can scarcely tolerate them. + +A classic, according to the usual definition, is an old author +canonised by admiration, and an authority in his particular style. +The word classic was first used in this sense by the Romans. With +them not all the citizens of the different classes were properly +called classici, but only those of the chief class, those who +possessed an income of a certain fixed sum. Those who possessed a +smaller income were described by the term infra classem, below the +preeminent class. The word classicus was used in a figurative sense +by Aulus Gellius, and applied to writers: a writer of worth and +distinction, classicus assiduusque scriptor, a writer who is of +account, has real property, and is not lost in the proletariate +crowd. Such an expression implies an age sufficiently advanced to +have already made some sort of valuation and classification of +literature. + +At first the only true classics for the moderns were the ancients. +The Greeks, by peculiar good fortune and natural enlightenment of +mind, had no classics but themselves. They were at first the only +classical authors for the Romans, who strove and contrived to +imitate them. After the great periods of Roman literature, after +Cicero and Virgil, the Romans in their turn had their classics, who +became almost exclusively the classical authors of the centuries +which followed. The middle ages, which were less ignorant of Latin +antiquity than is believed, but which lacked proportion and taste, +confused the ranks and orders. Ovid was placed above Homer, and +Boetius seemed a classic equal to Plato. The revival of learning in +the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries helped to bring this long +chaos to order, and then only was admiration rightly proportioned. +Thenceforth the true classical authors of Greek and Latin antiquity +stood out in a luminous background, and were harmoniously grouped on +their two heights. + +Meanwhile modern literatures were born, and some of the more +precocious, like the Italian, already possessed the style of +antiquity. Dante appeared, and, from the very first, posterity +greeted him as a classic. Italian poetry has since shrunk into far +narrower bounds; but, whenever it desired to do so, it always found +again and preserved the impulse and echo of its lofty origin. It is +no indifferent matter for a poetry to derive its point of departure +and classical source in high places; for example, to spring from +Dante rather than to issue laboriously from Malherbe. + +Modern Italy had her classical authors, and Spain had every right to +believe that she also had hers at a time when France was yet seeking +hers. A few talented writers en dowed with originality and +exceptional animation, a few brilliant efforts, isolated, without +following, interrupted and recommenced, did not suffice to endow a +nation with a solid and imposing basis of literary wealth. The idea +of a classic implies something that has continuance and consistence, +and which produces unity and tradition fashions and transmits +itself, and endures. It was only after the glorious years of Louis +XIV. that the nation felt with tremor and pride that such good +fortune had happened to her. Every voice in formed Louis XIV. of it +with flattery, exaggeration, and emphasis, yet with a certain +sentiment of truth. Then arose a singular and striking contradiction: +those men of whom Perrauit was the chief, the men who were most +smitten with the marvels of the age of Louis the Great, who even +went the length of sacrificing the ancients to the moderns, aimed at +exalting and canonising even those whom they regarded as inveterate +opponents and adversaries. Boileau avenged and angrily upheld the +ancients against Perrault, who extolled the moderns--that is to say, +Corneille, Moliere, Pascal, and the eminent men of his age, Boileau, +one of the first, included. Kindly La Fontaine, taking part in the +dispute in behalf of the learned Huet, did not perceive that, in +spite of his defects, he was in his turn on the point of being held +as a classic himself. + +Example is the best definition. From the time France possessed her +age of Louis XIV. and could contemplate it at a little distance, she +knew, better than by any arguments, what to be classical meant. The +eighteenth century, even in its medley of things, strengthened this +idea through some fine works, due to its four great men. Read +Voltaire's Age of Louis XIV., Montesquieu's Greatness and Fall of +the Romans, Buffon's Epochs of Nature, the beautiful pages of +reverie and natural description of Rousseau's Savoyard Vicar, and +say if the eighteenth century, in these memorable works, did not +understand how to reconcile tradition with freedom of development +and independence. But at the be ginning of the present century and +under the Empire, in sight of the first attempts of a decidedly new +and somewhat adventurous literature, the idea of a classic in a few +resist ing minds, more sorrowful than severe, was strangely nar +rowed and contracted. The first Dictionary of the Academy (1694) +merely defined a classical author as "a much-approved ancient +writer, who is an authority as regards the subject he treats." The +Dictionary of the Academy of 1835 narrows that definition still +more, and gives precision and even limit to its rather vague form. +It describes classical authors as those "who have become models in +any language whatever," and in all the articles which follow, the +expressions, models, fixed rules for composition and style, strict +rules of art to which men must conform, continually recur. That +definition of classic was evidently made by the respectable +Academicians, our predecessors, in face and sight of what was then +called romantic--that is to say, in sight of the enemy. It seems to +me time to renounce those timid and restrictive definitions and to +free our mind of them. A true classic, as I should like to hear it +defined, is an author who has enriched the human mind, increased its +treasure, and caused it to advance a step; who has discovered some +moral and not equivocal truth, or revealed some eternal passion in +that heart where all seemed known and discovered; who has expressed +his thought, observation, or invention, in no matter what form, only +provided it be broad and great, refined and sensible, sane and +beautiful in itself; who has spoken to all in his own peculiar +style, a style which is found to be also that of the whole world, a +style new without neologism, new and old, easily contemporary with +all time. + +Such a classic may for a moment have been revolutionary; it may at +least have seemed so, but it is not; it only lashed and subverted +whatever prevented the restoration of the balance of order and +beauty. + +If it is desired, names may be applied to this definition which I +wish to make purposely majestic and fluctuating, or in a word, all- +embracing. I should first put there Corneille of the Polyeucte, +Cinna, and Horaces. I should put Moliere there, the fullest and most +complete poetic genius we have ever had in France. Goethe, the king +of critics, said:-- + +"Moliere is so great that he astonishes us afresh every time we read +him. He is a man apart; his plays border on the tragic, and no one +has the courage to try and imitate him. His Avare, where vice +destroys all affection between father and son, is one of the most +sublime works, and dramatic in the highest degree. In a drama every +action ought to be important in itself, and to lead to an action +greater still. In this respect Tartuffe is a model. What a piece of +exposition the first scene is! From the beginning everything has an +important meaning, and causes something much more important to be +foreseen. The exposition in a certain play of Lessing that might be +mentioned is very fine, but the world only sees that of Tartuffe +once. It is the finest of the kind we possess. Every year I read a +play of Moliere, just as from time to time I contemplate some +engraving after the great Italian masters." + +I do not conceal from myself that the definition of the classic I +have just given somewhat exceeds the notion usually ascribed to the +term. It should, above all, include conditions of uniformity, +wisdom, moderation, and reason, which dominate and contain all the +others. Having to praise M. Royer-Collard, M. de Remusat said--"If +he derives purity of taste, propriety of terms, variety of +expression, attentive care in suiting the diction to the thought, +from our classics, he owes to himself alone the distinctive +character he gives it all." It is here evident that the part +allotted to classical qualities seems mostly to depend on harmony +and nuances of expression, on graceful and temperate style: such is +also the most general opinion. In this sense the pre-eminent +classics would be writers of a middling order, exact, sensible, +elegant, always clear, yet of noble feeling and airily veiled +strength. Marie-Joseph Chenier has described the poetics of those +temperate and accomplished writers in lines where he shows himself +their happy disciple:-- + +"It is good sense, reason which does all,--virtue, genius, soul, +talent, and taste.--What is virtue? reason put in practice;--talent? +reason expressed with brilliance;--soul? reason delicately put +forth;--and genius is sublime reason." + +While writing those lines he was evidently thinking of Pope, +Boileau, and Horace, the master of them all. The peculiar +characteristic of the theory which subordinated imagination and +feeling itself to reason, of which Scaliger perhaps gave the first +sign among the moderns, is, properly speaking, the Latin theory, and +for a long time it was also by preference the French theory. If it +is used appositely, if the term reason is not abused, that theory +possesses some truth; but it is evident that it is abused, and that +if, for instance, reason can be confounded with poetic genius and +make one with it in a moral epistle, it cannot be the same thing as +the genius, so varied and so diversely creative in its expression of +the passions, of the drama or the epic. Where will you find reason +in the fourth book of the AEneid and the transports of Dido? Be that +as it may, the spirit which prompted the theory, caused writers who +ruled their inspiration, rather than those who abandoned themselves +to it, to be placed in the first rank of classics; to put Virgil +there more surely than Homer, Racine in preference to Corneille. The +masterpiece to which the theory likes to point, which in fact brings +together all conditions of prudence, strength, tempered boldness, +moral elevation, and grandeur, is Athalie. Turenne in his two last +campaigns and Racine in Athalie are the great examples of what wise +and prudent men are capable of when they reach the maturity of their +genius and attain their supremest boldness. + +Buffon, in his Discourse on Style, insisting on the unity of design, +arrangement, and execution, which are the stamps of true classical +works, said:--"Every subject is one, and however vast it is, it can +be comprised in a single treatise. Interruptions, pauses, sub- +divisions should only be used when many subjects are treated, when, +having to speak of great, intricate, and dissimilar things, the +march of genius is interrupted by the multiplicity of obstacles, and +contracted by the necessity of circumstances: otherwise, far from +making a work more solid, a great number of divisions destroys the +unity of its parts; the book appears clearer to the view, but the +author's design remains obscure." And he continues his criticism, +having in view Montesquieu's Spirit of Laws, an excellent book at +bottom, but sub-divided: the famous author, worn out before the end, +was unable to infuse inspiration into all his ideas, and to arrange +all his matter. However, I can scarcely believe that Buffon was not +also thinking, by way of contrast, of Bossuet's Discourse on +Universal History, a subject vast indeed, and yet of such an unity +that the great orator was able to comprise it in a single treatise. +When we open the first edition, that of 1681, before the division +into chapters, which was introduced later, passed from the margin +into the text, very thing is developed in a single series, almost in +one breath. It might be said that the orator has here acted like the +nature of which Buffon speaks, that "he has worked on an eternal +plan from which he has nowhere departed," so deeply does he seem to +have entered into the familiar counsels and designs of providence. + +Are Athalie and the Discourse on Universal History the greatest +masterpieces that the strict classical theory can present to its +friends as well as to its enemies? In spite of the admirable +simplicity and dignity in the achievement of such unique +productions, we should like, nevertheless, in the interests of art, +to expand that theory a little, and to show that it is possible to +enlarge it without relaxing the tension. Goethe, whom I like to +quote on such a subject, said:-- + +"I call the classical healthy, and the romantic sickly. In my +opinion the Nibelungen song is as much a classic as Homer. Both are +healthy and vigorous. The works of the day are romantic, not because +they are new, but because they are weak, ailing, or sickly. Ancient +works are classical not because they are old, but because they are +powerful, fresh, and healthy. If we regarded romantic and classical +from those two points of view we should soon all agree." + +Indeed, before determining and fixing the opinions on that matter, I +should like every unbiassed mind to take a voyage round the world +and devote itself to a survey of different literatures in their +primitive vigour and infinite variety. What would be seen? Chief of +all a Homer, the father of the classical world, less a single +distinct individual than the vast living expression of a whole epoch +and a semi-barbarous civilisation. In order to make him a true +classic, it was necessary to attribute to him later a design, a +plan, literary invention, qualities of atticism and urbanity of +which he had certainly never dreamed in the luxuriant development of +his natural inspirations. And who appear by his side? August, +venerable ancients, the AEschyluses and the Sophocles, mutilated, it +is true, and only there to present us with a debris of themselves, +the survivors of many others as worthy, doubtless, as they to +survive, but who have succumbed to the injuries of time. This +thought alone would teach a man of impartial mind not to look upon +the whole of even classical literatures with a too narrow and +restricted view; he would learn that the exact and well-proportioned +order which has since so largely prevailed in our admiration of the +past was only the outcome of artificial circumstances. + +And in reaching the modern world, how would it be? The greatest +names to be seen at the beginning of literatures are those which +disturb and run counter to certain fixed ideas of what is beautiful +and appropriate in poetry. For example, is Shakespeare a classic? +Yes, now, for England and the world; but in the time of Pope he was +not considered so. Pope and his friends were the only pre-eminent +classics; directly after their death they seemed so for ever. At the +present time they are still classics, as they deserve to be, but +they are only of the second order, and are for ever subordinated and +relegated to their rightful place by him who has again come to his +own on the height of the horizon. + +It is not, however, for me to speak ill of Pope or his great +disciples, above all, when they possess pathos and naturalness like +Goldsmith: after the greatest they are perhaps the most agreeable +writers and the poets best fitted to add charm to life. Once when +Lord Bolingbroke was writing to Swift, Pope added a postscript, in +which he said--"I think some advantage would result to our age, if +we three spent three years together." Men who, without boasting, +have the right to say such things must never be spoken of lightly: +the fortunate ages, when men of talent could propose such things, +then no chimera, are rather to be envied. The ages called by the +name of Louis XIV. or of Queen Anne are, in the dispassionate sense +of the word, the only true classical ages, those which offer +protection and a favourable climate to real talent. We know only to +well how in our untrammelled times, through the instability and +storminess of the age, talents are lost and dissipated. +Nevertheless, let us acknowledge our age's part and superiority in +greatness. True and sovereign genius triumphs over the very +difficulties that cause others to fail: Dante, Shakespeare, and +Milton were able to attain their height and produce their +imperishable works in spite of obstacles, hardships and tempests. +Byron's opinion of Pope has been much discussed, and the explanation +of it sought in the kind of contradiction by which the singer of Don +Juan and Childe Harold extolled the purely classical school and +pronounced it the only good one, while himself acting so +differently. Goethe spoke the truth on that point when he remarked +that Byron, great by the flow and source of poetry, feared that +Shakespeare was more powerful than himself in the creation and +realisation of his characters. "He would have liked to deny it; the +elevation so free from egoism irritated him; he felt when near it +that he could not display himself at ease. He never denied Pope, +because he did not fear him; he knew that Pope was only a low wall +by his side." + +If, as Byron desired, Pope's school had kept the supremacy and a +sort of honorary empire in the past, Byron would have been the first +and only poet in his particular style; the height of Pope's wall +shuts out Shakespeare's great figure from sight, whereas when +Shakespeare reigns and rules in all his greatness, Byron is only +second. + +In France there was no great classic before the age of Louis XIV.; +the Dantes and Shakespeares, the early authorities to whom, in times +of emancipation, men sooner or later return, were wanting. There +were mere sketches of great poets, like Mathurin Regnier, like +Rabelais, without any ideal, without the depth of emotion and the +seriousness which canonises. Montaigne was a kind of premature +classic, of the family of Horace, but for want of worthy +surroundings, like a spoiled child, he gave himself up to the +unbridled fancies of his style and humour. Hence it happened that +France, less than any other nation, found in her old authors a right +to demand vehemently at a certain time literary liberty and freedom, +and that it was more difficult for her, in enfranchising herself, to +remain classical. However, with Moliere and La Fontaine among her +classics of the great period, nothing could justly be refused to +those who possessed courage and ability. + +The important point now seems to me to be to uphold, while +extending, the idea and belief. There is no receipt for making +classics; this point should be clearly recognised. To believe that +an author will become a classic by imitating certain qualities of +purity, moderation, accuracy, and elegance, independently of the +style and inspiration, is to believe that after Racine the father +there is a place for Racine the son; dull and estimable role, the +worst in poetry. Further, it is hazardous to take too quickly and +without opposition the place of a classic in the sight of one's +contemporaries; in that case there is a good chance of not retaining +the position with posterity. Fontanes in his day was regarded by his +friends as a pure classic; see how at twenty-five years' distance +his star has set. How many of these precocious classics are there +who do not endure, and who are so only for a while! We turn round +one morning and are surprised not to find them standing behind us. +Madame de Sevigne would wittily say they possessed but an evanescent +colour. With regard to classics, the least expected prove the best +and greatest: seek them rather in the vigorous genius born immortal +and flourishing for ever. Apparently the least classical of the four +great poets of the age of Louis XIV. was Moliere; he was then +applauded far more than he was esteemed; men took delight in him +without understanding his worth. After him, La Fontaine seemed the +least classical: observe after two centuries what is the result for +both. Far above Boileau, even above Racine, are they not now +unanimously considered to possess in the highest degree the +characteristics of an all-embracing morality? + +Meanwhile there is no question of sacrificing or depreciating +anything. I believe the temple of taste is to be rebuilt; but its +reconstruction is merely a matter of enlargement, so that it may +become the home of all noble human beings, of all who have +permanently increased the sum of the mind's delights and +possessions. As for me, who cannot, obviously, in any degree pretend +to be the architect or designer of such a temple, I shall confine +myself to expressing a few earnest wishes, to submit, as it were, my +designs for the edifice. Above all I should desire not to exclude +any one among the worthy, each should be in his place there, from +Shakespeare, the freest of creative geniuses, and the greatest of +classics without knowing it, to Andrieux, the last of classics in +little. "There is more than one chamber in the mansions of my +Father;" that should be as true of the kingdom of the beautiful here +below, as of the kingdom of Heaven. Homer, as always and everywhere, +should be first, likest a god; but behind him, like the procession +of the three wise kings of the East, would be seen the three great +poets, the three Homers, so long ignored by us, who wrote epics for +the use of the old peoples of Asia, the poets Valmiki, Vyasa of the +Hindoos, and Firdousi of the Persians: in the domain of taste it is +well to know that such men exist, and not to divide the human race. +Our homage paid to what is recognized as soon as perceived, we must +not stray further; the eye should delight in a thousand pleasing or +majestic spectacles, should rejoice in a thousand varied and +surprising combinations, whose apparent confusion would never be +without concord and harmony. The oldest of the wise men and poets, +those who put human morality into maxims, and those who in simple +fashion sung it, would converse together in rare and gentle speech, +and would not be surprised at understanding each other's meaning at +the very first word. Solon, Hesiod, Theognis, Job, Solomon, and why +not Confucius, would welcome the cleverest moderns, La Rochefoucauld +and La Bruyere, who, when listening to them, would say "they knew +all that we know, and in repeating life's experiences, we have +discovered nothing." On the hill, most easily discernible, and of +most accessible ascent, Virgil, surrounded by Menander, Tibullus, +Terence, Fenelon, would occupy himself in discoursing with them with +great charm and divine enchantment: his gentle countenance would +shine with an inner light, and be tinged with modesty; as on the day +when entering the theatre at Rome, just as they finished reciting +his verses, he saw the people rise with an unanimous movement and +pay to him the same homage as to Augustus. Not far from him, +regretting the separation from so dear a friend, Horace, in his +turn, would preside (as far as so accomplished and wise a poet could +preside) over the group of poets of social life who could talk +although they sang,--Pope, Boileau, the one become less irritable, +the other less fault-finding. Montaigne, a true poet, would be among +them, and would give the finishing touch that should deprive that +delightful corner of the air of a literary school. There would La +Fontaine forget himself, and becoming less volatile would wander no +more. Voltaire would be attracted by it, but while finding pleasure +in it would not have patience to remain. A little lower down, on the +same hill as Virgil, Xenophon, with simple bearing, looking in no +way like a general, but rather resembling a priest of the Muses, +would be seen gathering round him the Attics of every tongue and of +every nation, the Addisons, Pellissons, Vauvenargues--all who feel +the value of an easy persuasiveness, an exquisite simplicity, and a +gentle negligence mingled with ornament. In the centre of the place, +in the portico of the principal temple (for there would be several +in the enclosure), three great men would like to meet often, and +when they were together, no fourth, however great, would dream of +joining their discourse or their silence. In them would be seen +beauty, proportion in greatness, and that perfect harmony which +appears but once in the full youth of the world. Their three names +have become the ideal of art--Plato, Sophocles, and Demosthenes. +Those demi-gods honoured, we see a numerous and familiar company of +choice spirits who follow, the Cervantes and Molieres, practical +painters of life, indulgent friends who are still the first of +benefactors, who laughingly embrace all mankind, turn man's +experience to gaiety, and know the powerful workings of a sensible, +hearty, and legitimate joy. I do not wish to make this description, +which if complete would fill a volume, any longer. In the middle +ages, believe me, Dante would occupy the sacred heights: at the feet +of the singer of Paradise all Italy would be spread out like a +garden; Boccaccio and Ariosto would there disport themselves, and +Tasso would find again the orange groves of Sorrento. Usually a +corner would be reserved for each of the various nations, but the +authors would take delight in leaving it, and in their travels would +recognise, where we should least expect it, brothers or masters. +Lucretius, for example, would enjoy discussing the origin of the +world and the reducing of chaos to order with Milton. But both +arguing from their own point of view, they would only agree as +regards divine pictures of poetry and nature. + +Such are our classics; each individual imagination may finish the +sketch and choose the group preferred. For it is necessary to make a +choice, and the first condition of taste, after obtaining knowledge +of all, lies not in continual travel, but in rest and cessation from +wandering. Nothing blunts and destroys taste so much as endless +journeyings; the poetic spirit is not the Wandering Jew. However, +when I speak of resting and making choice, my meaning is not that we +are to imitate those who charm us most among our masters in the +past. Let us be content to know them, to penetrate them, to admire +them; but let us, the late-comers, endeavour to be ourselves. Let us +have the sincerity and naturalness of our own thoughts, of our own +feelings; so much is always possible. To that let us add what is +more difficult, elevation, an aim, if possible, towards an exalted +goal; and while speaking our own language, and submitting to the +conditions of the times in which we live, whence we derive our +strength and our defects, let us ask from time to time, our brows +lifted towards the heights and our eyes fixed on the group of +honoured mortals: what would that say of us? + +But why speak always of authors and writings? Maybe an age is coming +when there will be no more writing. Happy those who read and read +again, those who in their reading can follow their unrestrained +inclination! There comes a time in life when, all our journeys over, +our experiences ended, there is no enjoyment more delightful than to +study and thoroughly examine the things we know, to take pleasure in +what we feel, and in seeing and seeing again the people we love: the +pure joys of our maturity. Then it is that the word classic takes +its true meaning, and is defined for every man of taste by an +irresistible choice. Then taste is formed, it is shaped and +definite; then good sense, if we are to possess it at all, is +perfected in us. We have neither more time for experiments, nor a +desire to go forth in search of pastures newf We cling to our +friends, to those proved by long intercourse. Old wine, old books, +old friends. We say to ourselves with Voltaire in these delightful +lines:--"Let us enjoy, let us write, let us live, my dear Horace!...I +have lived longer than you: my verse will not last so long. But on +the brink of the tomb I shall make it my chief care--to follow the +lessons of your philosophy--to despise death in enjoying life--to +read your writings full of charm and good sense--as we drink an old +wine which revives our senses." + +In fact, be it Horace or another who is the author preferred, who +reflects our thoughts in all the wealth of their maturity, of some +one of those excellent and antique minds shall we request an +interview at every moment; of some one of them shall we ask a +friendship which never deceives, which could not fail us; to some +one of them shall we appeal for that sensation of serenity and +amenity (we have often need of it) which reconciles us with mankind +and with ourselves. + + + + +THE POETRY OF THE CELTIC RACES + +BY ERNEST RENAN + + +TRANSLATED BY W. G. HUTCHISON + + + + +INTRODUCTORY NOTE + +Ernest Renan was born in 1823, at Treguier in Brittany. He was +educated for the priesthood, but never took orders, turning at first +to teaching. He continued his studies in religion and philology, +and, after traveling in Syria on a government commission, he +returned to Paris and became professor of Hebrew in the College de +France, from which he was suspended for a time on account of +protests against his heretical teachings. He died in 1892. + +Renan's activity divides itself into two parts. The first culminated +in his two great works on the "Origins of Christianity" and on the +"History of Israel." As to the scientific value of these books there +is difference of opinion, as was to be expected in a treatment of +such subjects to the exclusion of the miraculous. But the delicacy +and vividness of his portraits of the great personalities of Hebrew +history, and the acuteness of his analysis of national psychology, +are not to be denied. + +The other part of his work is more miscellaneous, but most of it is +in some sense philosophical or autobiographical. Believing +profoundly in scientific method, Renan was unable to find in science +a basis for either ethics or metaphysics, and ended in a skepticism +often ironical, yet not untinged with mysticism. + +"He was an amazing writer," says M. Faguet, "and disconcerted +criticism by the impossibility of explaining his methods of +procedure; he was luminous, supple, naturally pliant and yielding; +beneath his apparently effeminate grace an extraordinary strength of +character would suddenly make itself felt; he had, more than any +nineteenth-century writer, the quality of charm; he exercised a +caressing innuence which enveloped, and finally conquered, the +reader." + +In no kind of writing was Renan's command of style more notable than +in the description of scenery; and in his pictures of his native +Brittany in the essay on "The Poetry of the Celtic Races," as well +as in his analysis of national qualities, two of his most +characteristic powers are admirably displayed. + + + + +THE POETRY OF THE CELTIC RACES + +Every one who travels through the Armorican peninsula experiences a +change of the most abrupt description, as soon as he leaves behind +the district most closely bordering upon the continent, in which the +cheerful but commonplace type of face of Normandy and Maine is +continually in evidence, and passes into the true Brittany, that +which merits its name by language and race. A cold wind arises full +of a vague sadness, and carries the soul to other thoughts; the +tree-tops are bare and twisted; the heath with its monotony of tint +stretches away into the distance; at every step the granite +protrudes from a soil too scanty to cover it; a sea that is almost +always sombre girdles the horizon with eternal moaning. The same +contrast is manifest in the people: to Norman vulgarity, to a plump +and prosperous population, happy to live, full of its own interests, +egoistical as are all these who make a habit of enjoyment, succeeds +a timid and reserved race living altogether within itself, heavy in +appearance but capable of profound feeling, and of an adorable +delicacy in its religious instincts. A like change is apparent, I am +told, in passing from England into Wales, from the Lowlands of +Scotland, English by language and manners, into the Gaelic +Highlands; and too, though with a perceptible difference, when one +buries oneself in the districts of Ireland where the race has +remained pure from all admixture of alien blood. It seems like +entering on the subterranean strata of another world, and one +experiences in some measure the impression given us by Dante, when +he leads us from one circle of his Inferno to another. + +Sufficient attention is not given to the peculiarity of this fact of +an ancient race living, until our days and almost under our eyes, +its own life in some obscure islands and peninsulas in the West, +more and more affected, it is true, by external influences, but +still faithful to its own tongue, to its own memories, to its own +customs, and to its own genius. Especially is it forgotten that this +little people, now concentrated on the very confines of the world, +in the midst of rocks and mountains whence its enemies have been +powerless to force it, is in possession of a literature which, in +the Middle Ages, exercised an immense influence, changed the current +of European civilisation, and imposed its poetical motives on nearly +the whole of Christendom. Yet it is only necessary to open the +authentic monuments of the Gaelic genius to be convinced that the +race which created them has had its own original manner of feeling +and thinking, that nowhere has the eternal illusion clad itself in +more seductive hues, and that in the great chorus of humanity no +race equals this for penetrative notes that go to the very heart. +Alas! it too is doomed to disappear, this emerald set in the Western +seas. Arthur will return no more from his isle of faery, and St. +Patrick was right when he said to Ossian, "The heroes that thou +weepest are dead; can they be born again?" It is high time to note, +before they shall have passed away, the divine tones thus expiring +on the horizon before the growing tumult of uniform civilisation. +Were criticism to set itself the task of calling back these distant +echoes, and of giving a voice to races that are no more, would not +that suffice to absolve it from the reproach, unreasonably and too +frequently brought against it, of being only negative? + +Good works now exist which facilitate the task of him who undertakes +the study of these interesting literatures. Wales, above all, is +distinguished by scientific and literary activity, not always +accompanied, it is true, by a very rigorous critical spirit, but +deserving the highest praise. There, researches which would bring +honour to the most active centres of learning in Europe are the work +of enthusiastic amateurs. A peasant called Owen Jones published in +1801-7, under the name of the Myvyrian Archaiology of Wales, the +precious collection which is to this day the arsenal of Cymric +antiquities. A number of erudite and zealous workers, Aneurin Owen, +Thomas Price of Crickhowell, William Rees, and John Jones, following +in the footsteps of the Myvyrian peasant, set themselves to finish +his work, and to profit from the treasures which he had collected. A +woman of distinction, Lady Charlotte Guest, charged herself with the +task of acquainting Europe with the collection of the Mabinogion, +[Footnote: The Mabinogion, from the Llyfr Coch O Hergest and other +ancient Welsh Manuscripts, with an English Translation and Notes. By +Lady Charlotte Guest. London and Llandovery, 1837-49. The word +Mabinogi (in the plural Mabinogion) designates a form of romantic +narrative peculiar to Wales. The origin and primitive meaning of +this word are very uncertain, and Lady Guest's right to apply it to +the whole of the narratives which she has published is open to +doubt.] the pearl of Gaelic literature, the completest expression of +the Cymric genius. This magnificent work, executed in twelve years +with the luxury that the wealthy English amateur knows how to use in +his publications, will one day attest how full of life the +consciousness of the Celtic races remained in the present century. +Only indeed the sincerest patriotism could inspire a woman to +undertake and achieve so vast a literary monument. Scotland and +Ireland have in like measure been enriched by a host of studies of +their ancient history. Lastly, our own Brittany, though all too +rarely studied with the philological and critical rigour now exacted +in works of erudition, has furnished Celtic antiquities with her +share of worthy research. Does it not suffice to cite M. de la +Villemarque, whose name will be henceforth associated among us with +these studies, and whose services are so incontestable, that +criticism need have no fear of depreciating him in the eyes of a +public which has accepted him with so much warmth and sympathy? + +I. + +If the excellence of races is to be appreciated by the purity of +their blood and the inviolability of their national character, it +must needs be admitted that none can vie in nobility with the still +surviving remains of the Celtic race. [Footnote: To avoid all +misunderstanding, I ought to point out that by the word Celtic I +designate here, not the whole of the great race which, at a remote +epoch, formed the population of nearly the whole of Western Europe, +but simply the four groups which, in our days, still merit this +name, as opposed to the Teutons and to the Neo-Latin peoples. These +four groups are: (i) The inhabitants of Wales or Cambria, and the +peninsula of Cornwall, bearing even now the ancient name of Cymry; +(2) the Bretons bretonnants, or dwellers in French Brittany speaking +Bas-Breton, who represent an emigration of the Cymry from Wales; (3) +the Gaels of the North of Scotland speaking Gaelic; (4) the Irish, +although a very profound line of demarcation separates Ireland from +the rest of the Celtic family. [It is also necessary to point out +that Renan in this essay applies the name Breton both to the Bretons +proper, i. e. the inhabitants of Brittany, and to the British +members of the Celtic race.--Translator's Note.]] + +Never has a human family lived more apart from the world, and been +purer from all alien admixture. Confined by conquest within +forgotten islands and peninsulas, it has reared an impassable +barrier against external influences; it has drawn all from itself; +it has lived solely on its own capital. From this ersues that +powerful individuality, that hatred of the foreigner, which even in +our own days has formed the essential feature of the Celtic peoples. +Roman civilisation scarcely reached them, and left among them but +few traces. The Teutonic invasion drove them back, but did not +penetrate them. At the present hour they are still constant in +resistance to an invasion dangerous in an altogether different way,- +-that of modern civilisation, destructive as it is of local +variations and national types. Ireland in particular (and herein we +perhaps have the secret of her irremediable weakness) is the only +country in Europe where the native can produce the titles of his +descent, and designate with certainty, even in the darkness of +prehistoric ages, the race from which he has sprung. + +It is in this secluded life, in this defiance of all that comes from +without, that we must search for the explanation of the chief +features of the Celtic character. It has all the failings, and all +the good qualities, of the solitary man; at once proud and timid, +strong in feeling and feeble in action, at home free and unreserved, +to the outside world awkward and embarrassed. It distrusts the +foreigner, because it sees in him a being more refined than itself, +who abuses its simplicity. Indifferent to the admiration of others, +it asks only one thing, that it should be left to itself. It is +before all else a domestic race, fitted for family life and fireside +joys. In no other race has the bond of blood been stronger, or has +it created more duties, or attached man to his fellow with so much +breadth and depth. Every social institution of the Celtic peoples +was in the beginning only an extension of the family. A common +tradition attests, to this very day, that nowhere has the trace of +this great institution of relationship been better preserved than in +Brittany. There is a widely-spread belief in that country, that +blood speaks, and that two relatives, unknown one to the other, in +any part of the world wheresoever it may be, recognise each other by +the secret and mysterious emotion which they feel in each other's +presence. Respect for the dead rests on the same principle. Nowhere +has reverence for the dead been greater than among the Briton +peoples; nowhere have so many memories and prayers clustered about +the tomb. This is because life is not for these people a personal +adventure, undertaken by each man on his own account, and at his own +risks and perils; it is a link in a long chain, a gift received and +handed on, a debt paid and a duty done. + +It is easily discernible how little fitted were natures so strongly +concentrated to furnish one of those brilliant developments, which +imposes the momentary ascendency of a people on the world; and that, +no doubt, is why the part played externally by the Cymric race has +always been a secondary one. Destitute of the means of expansion, +alien to all idea of aggression and conquest, little desirous of +making its thought prevail outside itself, it has only known how to +retire so far as space has permitted, and then, at bay in its last +place of retreat, to make an invincible resistance to its enemies. +Its very fidelity has been a useless devotion. Stubborn of +submission and ever behind the age, it is faithful to its conquerors +when its conquerors are no longer faithful to themselves. It was the +last to defend its religious independence against Rome--and it has +become the staunchest stronghold of Catholicism; it was the last in +France to defend its political independence against the king--and it +has given to the world the last royalists. + +Thus the Celtic race has worn itself out in resistance to its time, +and in the defence of desperate causes. It does not seem as though +in any epoch it had any aptitude for political life. The spirit of +family stifled within it all attempts at more extended organisation. +Moreover, it does not appear that the peoples which form it are by +themselves susceptible of progress. To them life appears as a fixed +condition, which man has no power to alter. Endowed with little +initiative, too much inclined to look upon themselves as minors and +in tutelage, they are quick to believe in destiny and resign +themselves to it. Seeing how little audacious they are against God, +one would scarcely believe this race to be the daughter of Japhet. + +Thence ensues its sadness. Take the songs of its bards of the sixth +century; they weep more defeats than they sing victories. Its +history is itself only one long lament; it still recalls its exiles, +its flights across the seas. If at times it seems to be cheerful, a +tear is not slow to glisten behind its smile; it does not know that +strange forgetfulness of human conditions and destinies which is +called gaiety. Its songs of joy end as elegies; there is nothing to +equal the delicious sadness of its national melodies. One might call +them emanations from on high which, falling drop by drop upon the +soul, pass through it like memories of another world. Never have men +feasted so long upon these solitary delights of the spirit, these +poetic memories which simultaneously intercross all the sensations +of life, so vague, so deep, so penetrative, that one might die from +them, without being able to say whether it was from bitterness or +sweetness. + +The infinite delicacy of feeling which characterises the Celtic race +is closely allied to its need of concentration. Natures that are +little capable of expansion are nearly always those that feel most +deeply, for the deeper the feeling, the less it tends to express +itself. Thence we have that charming shamefastness, that veiled and +exquisite sobriety, equally far removed from the sentimental +rhetoric too familiar to the Latin races, and the reflective +simplicity of Germany, which are so admirably displayed in the +ballads published by M. de la Villemarque. The apparent reserve of +the Celtic peoples, often taken for coldness, is due to this inward +timidity which makes them believe that a feeling loses half its +value if it be expressed; and that the heart ought to have no other +spectator than itself. + +If it be permitted us to assign sex to nations as to individuals, we +should have to say without hesitance that the Celtic race, +especially with regard to its Cymric or Breton branch, is an +essentially feminine race. No human family, I believe, has carried +so much mystery into love. No other has conceived with more delicacy +the ideal of woman, or been more fully dominated by it. It is a sort +of intoxication, a madness, a vertigo. Read the strange Mabinogi of +Peredur, or its French imitation Parceval le Gallois; its pages are, +as it were, dewy with feminine sentiment. Woman appears therein as a +kind of vague vision, an intermediary between man and the +supernatural world. I am acquainted with no literature that offers +anything analogous to this. Compare Guinevere or Iseult with those +Scandinavian furies Gudrun and Chrimhilde, and you will avow that +woman such as chivalry conceived her, an ideal of sweetness and +loveliness set up as the supreme end of life, is a creation neither +classical, nor Christian, nor Teutonic, but in reality Celtic. + +Imaginative power is nearly always proportionate to concentration of +feeling, and lack of the external development of life. The limited +nature of Greek and Italian imagination is due to the easy +expansiveness of the peoples of the South, with whom the soul, +wholly spread abroad, reflects but little within itself. Compared +with the classical imagination, the Celtic imagination is indeed the +infinite contrasted with the finite. In the fine Mabinogi of the +Dream of Maxem Wledig, the Emperor Maximus beholds in a dream a +young maiden so beautiful, that on waking he declares he cannot live +without her. For several years his envoys scour the world in search +of her; at last she is discovered in Brittany. So is it with the +Celtic race; it has worn itself out in taking dreams for realities, +and in pursuing its splendid visions. The essential element in the +Celt's poetic life is the adventure--that is to say, the pursuit of +the unknown, an endless quest after an object ever flying from +desire. It was of this that St. Brandan dreamed, that Peredur sought +with his mystic chivalry, that Knight Owen asked of his subterranean +journeyings. This race desires the infinite, it thirsts for it, and +pursues it at all costs, beyond the tomb, beyond hell itself. The +characteristic failing of the Breton peoples, the tendency to +drunkenness--a failing which, according to the traditions of the +sixth century, was the cause of their disasters--is due to this +invincible need of illusion. Do not say that it is an appetite for +gross enjoyment; never has there been a people more sober and more +alien to all sensuality. No, the Bretons sought in mead what Owen, +St. Brandan, and Peredur sought in their own way,--the vision of the +invisible world. To this day in Ireland drunkenness forms a part of +all Saint's Day festivals--that is to say, the festivals which best +have retained their national and popular aspect. + +Thence arises the profound sense of the future and of the eternal +destinies of his race, which has ever borne up the Cymry, and kept +him young still beside his conquerors who have grown old. Thence +that dogma of the resurrection of the heroes, which appears to have +been one of those that Christianity found most difficulty in rooting +out. Thence Celtic Messianism, that belief in a future avenger who +shall restore Cambria, and deliver her out of the hands of her +oppressors, like the mysterious Leminok promised by Merlin, the Lez- +Breiz of the Armoricans, the Arthur of the Welsh. [Footnote: M. +Augustin Thierry has finely remarked that the renown attaching to +Welsh prophecies in the Middle Ages was due to their steadfastness +in affirming the future of their race. (Histoire de la Conquete +d'Angleterre.)] The hand that arose from the mere, when the sword of +Arthur fell therein, that seized it, and brandished it thrice, is +the hope of the Celtic races. It is thus that little peoples dowered +with imagination revenge themselves on their conquerors. Feeling +themselves to be strong inwardly and weak outwardly, they protest, +they exult; and such a strife unloosing their might, renders them +capable of miracles. Nearly all great appeals to the supernatural +are due to peoples hoping against all hope. Who shall say what in +our own times has fermented in the bosom of the most stubborn, the +most powerless of nationalities--Poland? Israel in humiliation +dreamed of the spiritual conquest of the world, and the dream has +come to pass. + +II + +At a first glance the literature of Wales is divided into three +perfectly distinct distinct branches: the bardic or lyric, which +shines forth in splendour in the sixth century by the works of +Taliessin, of Aneurin, and of Liware'h Hen, and continues through an +uninterrupted series of imitations up to modern times; the +Mabinogion, or literature of romance, fixed towards the twelfth +century, but linking themselves in the groundwork of their ideas +with the remotest ages of the Celtic genius; finally, an +ecclesiastical and legendary literature, impressed with a distinct +stamp of its own. These three literatures seem to have existed side +by side, almost without knowledge of one another. The bards, proud +of their solemn rhetoric, held in disdain the popular tales, the +form of which they considered careless; on the other hand, both +bards and romancers appear to have had few relations with the +clergy; and one at times might be tempted to suppose that they +ignored the existence of Christianity. To our thinking it is in the +Mabinogion that the true expression of the Celtic genius is to be +sought; and it is surprising that so curious a literature, the +source of nearly all the romantic creations of Europe, should have +remained unknown until our own days. The cause is doubtless to be +ascribed to the dispersed state of the Welsh manuscripts, pursued +till last century by the English, as seditious books compromising +those who possessed them. Often too they fell into hands of ignorant +owners whose caprice or ill-will sufficed to keep them from critical +research. + +The Mabinogion have been preserved for us in two principal +documents--one of the thirteenth century from the library of +Hengurt, belonging to the Vaughan family; the other dating from the +fourteenth century, known under the name of the Red Book of Hergest, +and now in Jesus College, Oxford. No doubt it was some such +collection that charmed the weary hours of the hapless Leolin in the +Tower of London, and was burned after his condemnation, with the +other Welsh books which had been the companions of his captivity. +Lady Charlotte Guest has based her edition on the Oxford manuscript; +it cannot be sufficiently regretted that paltry considerations have +caused her to be refused the use of the earlier manuscript, of which +the later appears to be only a copy. Regrets are redoubled when one +knows that several Welsh texts, which were seen and copied fifty +years ago, have now disappeared. It is in the presence of facts such +as these that one comes to believe that revolutions--in general so +destructive of the works of the past--are favourable to the +preservation of literary monuments, by compelling their +concentration in great centres, where their existence, as well as +their publicity, is assured. + +The general tone of the Mabinogion is rather romantic than epic. +Life is treated naively and not too emphatically. The hero's +individuality is limitless. We have free and noble natures acting in +all their spontaneity. Each man appears as a kind of demi-god +characterised by a supernatural gift. This gift is nearly always +connected with some miraculous object, which in some measure is the +personal seal of him who possesses it. The inferior classes, which +this people of heroes necessarily supposes beneath it, scarcely show +themselves, except in the exercise of some trade, for practising +which they are held in high esteem. The somewhat complicated +products of human industry are regarded as living beings, and in +their manner endowed with magical properties. A multiplicity of +celebrated objects have proper names, such as the drinking-cup, the +lance, the sword, and the shield of Arthur; the chess-board of +Gwendolen, on which the black pieces played of their own accord +against the white; the horn of Bran Galed, where one found whatever +liquor one desired; the chariot of Morgan, which directed itself to +the place to which one wished to go; the pot of Tyrnog, which would +not cook when meat for a coward was put into it; the grindstone of +Tudwal, which would only sharpen brave men's swords; the coat of +Padarn, which none save a noble could don; and the mantle of Tegan, +which no woman could put upon herself were she not above reproach. +[Footnote: Here may be recognised the origin of trial by court +mantle, one of the most interesting episodes in Lancelot of the +Lake.] The animal is conceived in a still more individual way; it +has a proper name, personal qualities, and a role which it develops +at its own will and with full consciousness. The same hero appears +as at once man and animal, without it being possible to trace the +line of demarcation between the two natures. + +The tale of Kilhwch and Olwen, the most extraordinary of the +Mabinogion, deals with Arthur's struggle against the wild-boar king +Twrch Trwyth, who with his seven cubs holds in check all the heroes +of the Round Table. The adventures of the three hundred ravens of +Kerverhenn similarly form the subject of the Dream of Rhonabwy. The +idea of moral merit and demerit is almost wholly absent from all +these compositions. There are wicked beings who insult ladies, who +tyrannise over their neighbours, who only find pleasure in evil +because such is their nature; but it does not appear that they incur +wrath on that account. Arthur's knights pursue them, not as +criminals but as mischievous fellows. All other beings are perfectly +good and just, but more or less richly gifted. This is the dream of +an amiable and gentle race which looks upon evil as being the work +of destiny, and not a product of the human conscience. All nature is +enchanted, and fruitful as imagination itself in indefinitely varied +creations. Christianity rarely discloses itself; although at times +its proximity can be felt, it alters in no respect the purely +natural surroundings in which everything takes place. A bishop +figures at table beside Arthur, but his function is strictly limited +to blessing the dishes. The Irish saints, who at one time present +themselves to give their benediction to Arthur and receive favours +at his hands, are portrayed as a race of men vaguely known and +difficult to understand. No mediaeval literature held itself further +removed from all monastic influence. We evidently must suppose that +the Welsh bards and story-tellers lived in a state of great +isolation from the clergy, and had their culture and traditions +quite apart. + +The charm of the Mabinogion principally resides in the amiable +serenity of the Celtic mind, neither sad nor gay, ever in suspense +between a smile and a tear. We have in them the simple recital of a +child, unwitting of any distinction between the noble and the +common; there is something of that softly animated world, of that +calm and tranquil ideal to which Ariosto's stanzas transport us. The +chatter of the later mediaeval French and German imitators can give +no idea of this charming manner of narration. The skilful Chretien +de Troyes himself remains in this respect far below the Welsh story- +tellers, and as for Wolfram of Eschenbach, it must be avowed that +the joy of the first discovery has carried German critics too far in +the exaggeration of his merits. He loses himself in interminable +descriptions, and almost completely ignores the art of his recital. + +What strikes one at a first glance in the imaginative compositions +of the Celtic races, above all when they are contrasted with those +of the Teutonic races, is the extreme mildness of manners pervading +them. There are none of those frightful vengeances which fill the +Edda and the Niebelungen. Compare the Teutonic with the Gaelic +hero,--Beowulf with Peredur, for example. What a difference there +is! In the one all the horror of disgusting and blood-embrued +barbarism, the drunkenness of carnage, the disinterested taste, if I +may say so, for destruction and death; in the other a profound sense +of justice, a great height of personal pride it is true, but also a +great capacity for devotion, an exquisite loyalty. The tyrannical +man, the monster, the Black Man, find a place here like the +Lestrigons and the Cyclops of Homer only to inspire horror by +contrast with softer manners; they are almost what the wicked man is +in the naive imagination of a child brought up by a mother in the +ideas of a gentle and pious morality. The primitive man of Teutonism +is revolting by his purposeless brutality, by a love of evil that +only gives him skill and strength in the service of hatred and +injury. The Cymric hero on the other hand, even in his wildest +flights, seems possessed by habits of kindness and a warm sympathy +with the weakv. Sympathy indeed is one of the deepest feelings among +the Celtic peoples. Even Judas is not denied a share of their pity. +St. Brandan found him upon a rock in the midst of the Polar seas; +once a week he passes a day there to refresh himself from the fires +of hell. A cloak that he had given to a beggar is hung before him, +and tempers his sufferings. + +If Wales has a right to be proud of her Mabinogion, she has not less +to felicitate herself in having found a translator truly worthy of +interpreting them. For the proper understanding of these original +beauties there was needed a delicate appreciation of Welsh +narration, and an intelligence of the naive order, qualities of +which an erudite translator would with difficulty have been capable. +To render these gracious imaginings of a people so eminently dowered +with feminine tact, the pen of a woman was necessary. Simple, +animated, without effort and without vulgarity, Lady Guest's +translation is a faithful mirror of the original Cymric. Even +supposing that, as regards philology, the labours of this noble +Welsh lady be destined to receive improvement, that does not prevent +her book from for ever remaining a work of erudition and highly +distinguished taste. [Footnote: M. de la Villemarque published in +1843 under the title of Cantes populaires des anciens Bretons, a +French translation of the narratives that Guest had already +presented in English at that time.] + +The Mabinogion, or at least the writings which Lady Guest thought +she ought to include under this common name, divide themselves into +two perfectly distinct classes--some connected exclusively with the +two peninsulas of Wales and Cornwall, and relating to the heroic +personality of Arthur; the others alien to Arthur, having for their +scene not only the parts of England that have remained Cymric, but +the whole of Great Britain, and leading us back by the persons and +traditions mentioned in them to the later years of the Roman +occupation. The second class, of greater antiquity than the first, +at least on the ground of subject, is also distinguished by a much +more mythological character, a bolder use of the miraculous, an +enigmatical form, a style full of alliteration and plays upon words. +Of this number are the tales of Pwyll, of Bramwen, of Manawyddan, of +Math the son of Mathonwy, the Dream of the Emperor Maximus, the +story of Llud and Llewelys, and the legend of Taliessin. To the +Arthurian cycle belong the narratives of Owen, of Geraint, of +Peredur, of Kilhwch and Olwen, and the Dream of Rhonabwy. It is also +to be remarked that the two last-named narratives have a +particularly antique character. In them Arthur dwells in Cornwall, +and not as in the others at Caerleon on the Usk. In them he appears +with an individual character, hunting and taking a personal part in +warfare, while in the more modern tales he is only an emperor all- +powerful and impassive, a truly sluggard hero, around whom a pleiad +of active heroes groups itself. The Mabinogi of Kilhwch and Olwen, +by its entirely primitive aspect, by the part played in it by the +wild-boar in conformity to the spirit of Celtic mythology, by the +wholly supernatural and magical character of the narration, by +innumerable allusions the sense of which escapes us, forms a cycle +by itself. It represents for us the Cymric conception in all its +purity, before it had been modified by the introduction of any +foreign element. Without attempting here to analyse this curious +poem, I should like by some extracts to make its antique aspect and +high originality apparent. + +Kilhwch, the son of Kilydd, prince of Kelyddon, having heard some +one mention the name of Olwen, daughter of Yspaddaden Penkawr, falls +violently in love, without having ever seen her. He goes to find +Arthur, that he may ask for his aid in the difficult undertaking +which he meditates; in point of fact, he does not know in what +country the fair one of his affection dwells. Yspaddaden is besides +a frightful tyrant who suffers no man to go from his castle alive, +and whose death is linked by destiny to the marriage of his +daughter. [Footnote: The idea of making the death of the father the +condition of possession of the daughter is to be found in several +romances of the Breton cycle, in Lancelot for example.] Arthur +grants Kilhwch some of his most valiant comrades in arms to assist +him in this enterprise. After wonderful adventures the knights +arrive at the castle of Yspaddaden, and succeed in seeing the young +maiden of Kilhwch's dream. Only after three days of persistent +struggle do they manage to obtain a response from Olwen's father, +who attaches his daughter's hand to conditions apparently impossible +of realisation. The performance of these trials makes a long chain +of adventures, the framework of a veritable romantic epic which has +come to us in a very fragmentary form. Of the thirty-eight +adventures imposed on Kilhwch the manuscript used by Lady Guest only +relates seven or eight. I choose at random one of these narratives, +which appears to me fitted to give an idea of the whole composition. +It deals with the finding of Mabon the son of Modron, who was +carried away from his mother three days after his birth, and whose +deliverance is one of the labours exacted of Kilhwch. + +"His followers said unto Arthur, 'Lord, go thou home; thou canst not +proceed with thy host in quest of such small adventures as these.' +Then said Arthur, 'It were well for thee, Gwrhyr Gwalstawd +Ieithoedd, to go upon this quest, for thou knowest all languages, +and art familiar with those of the birds and the beasts. Thou, +Eidoel, oughtest likewise to go with my men in search of thy cousin. +And as for you, Kai and Bedwyr, I have hope of whatever adventure ye +are in quest of, that ye will achieve it. Achieve ye this adventure +for me.'" + +They went forward until they came to the Ousel of Cilgwri. And +Gwrhyr adjured her for the sake of Heaven, saying, "Tell me if thou +knowest aught of Mabon the son of Modron, who was taken when three +nights old from between his mother and the wall." And the Ousel +answered, "When I first came here there was a smith's anvil in this +place, and I was then a young bird; and from that time no work has +been done upon it, save the pecking of my beak every evening, and +now there is not so much as the size of a nut remaining thereof; yet +all the vengeance of Heaven be upon me, if during all that time I +have ever heard of the man for whom you enquire. Nevertheless I will +do that which is right, and that which it is fitting I should do for +an embassy from Arthur. There is a race of animals who were formed +before me, and I will be your guide to them." + +So they proceeded to the place where was the Stag of Redynvre. "Stag +of Redynvre, behold we are come to thee, an embassy from Arthur, for +we have not heard of any animal older than thou. Say, knowest thou +aught of Mabon the son of Modron, who was taken from his mother when +three nights old?" The Stag said, "When first I came hither there +was a plain all around me, without any trees save one oak sapling, +which grew up to be an oak with an hundred branches. And that oak +has since perished, so that now nothing remains of it but the +withered stump; and from that day to this I have been here, yet have +I never heard of the man for whom you enquire. Nevertheless, being +an embassy from Arthur, I will be your guide to the place where +there is an animal which was formed before I was." + +So they proceeded to the place where was the Owl of Cwm Cawlwyd. +"Owl of Cwm Cawlwyd, here is an embassy from Arthur; knowest thou +aught of Mabon the son of Modron, who was taken after three nights +from his mother?" "If I knew I would tell you. When first I came +hither, the wide valley you see was a wooded glen. And a race of men +came and rooted it up. And there grew there a second wood; and this +wood is the third. My wings, are they not withered stumps? Yet all +this time, even until to-day, I have never heard of the man for whom +you enquire. Nevertheless I will be the guide of Arthur's embassy +until you come to the place where is the oldest animal in the world, +and the one that has travelled most, the Eagle of Gwern Abwy." + +Gwrhyr said, "Eagle of Gwern Abwy, we have come to thee an embassy +from Arthur, to ask thee if thou knowest aught of Mabon the son of +Modron, who was taken from his mother when he was three nights old." +The Eagle said, "I have been here for a great space of time, and +when I first came hither there was a rock here, from the top of +which I pecked at the stars every evening; and now it is not so much +as a span high. From that day to this I have been here, and I have +never heard of the man for whom you enquire, except once when I went +in search of food as far as Llyn Llyw. And when I came there, I +struck my talons into a salmon, thinking he would serve me as food +for a long time. But he drew me into the deep, and I was scarcely +able to escape from him. After that I went with my whole kindred to +attack him, and to try to destroy him, but he sent messengers, and +made peace with me; and came and besought me to take fifty fish +spears out of his back. Unless he know something of him whom you +seek, I cannot tell who may. However, I will guide you to the place +where he is." + +So they went thither; and the Eagle said, "Salmon of Llyn Llyw, I +have come to thee with an embassy from Arthur, to ask thee if thou +knowest aught concerning Mabon the son of Modron, who was taken away +at three nights old from his mother." "As much as I know I will tell +thee. With every tide I go along the river upwards, until I come +near to the walls of Gloucester, and there have I found such wrong +as I never found elsewhere; and to the end that ye may give credence +thereto, let one of you go thither upon each of my two shoulders." +So Kai and Gwrhyr Gwalstawd Ieithoedd went upon the shoulders of the +salmon, and they proceeded until they came unto the wall of the +prison, and they heard a great wailing and lamenting from the +dungeon. Said Gwrhyr, "Who is it that laments in this house of +stone?" "Alas there is reason enough for whoever is here to lament. +It is Mabon the son of Modron who is here imprisoned; and no +imprisonment was ever so grievous as mine, neither that of Lludd +Llaw Ereint, nor that of Greid the son of Eri." "Hast thou hope of +being released for gold or for silver, or for any gifts of wealth, +or through battle and fighting?" "By fighting will whatever I may +gain be obtained." + +We shall not follow the Cymric hero through trials the result of +which can be foreseen. What, above all else, is striking in these +strange legends is the part played by animals, transformed by the +Welsh imagination into intelligent beings. No race conversed so +intimately as did the Celtic race with the lower creation, and +accorded it so large a share of moral life. [Footnote: See +especially the narratives of Nennius, and of Giraldus Cambrensis. In +them animals have at least as important a part as men.] The close +association of man and animal, the fictions so dear to mediaeval +poetry of the Knight of the Lion, the Knight of the Falcon, the +Knight of the Swan, the vows consecrated by the presence of birds of +noble repute, are equally Breton imaginings. Ecclesiastical +literature itself presents analogous features; gentleness towards +animals informs all the legends of the saints of Brittany and +Ireland. One day St. Kevin fell asleep, while he was praying at his +window with outstretched arms; and a swallow perceiving the open +hand of the venerable monk, considered it an excellent place wherein +to make her nest. The saint on awaking saw the mother sitting upon +her eggs, and, loth to disturb her, waited for the little ones to be +hatched before he arose from his knees. + +This touching sympathy was derived from the singular vivacity with +which the Celtic races have inspired their feeling for nature. Their +mythology is nothing more than a transparent naturalism, not that +anthropomorphic naturalism of Greece and India, in which the forces +of the universe, viewed as living beings and endowed with +consciousness, tend more and more to detach themselves from physical +phenomena, and to become moral beings; but in some measure a +realistic naturalism, the love of nature for herself, the vivid +impression of her magic, accompanied by the sorrowful feeling that +man knows, when, face to face with her, he believes that he hears +her commune with him concerning his origin and his destiny. The +legend of Merlin mirrors this feeling. Seduced by a fairy of the +woods, he flies with her and becomes a savage. Arthur's messengers +come upon him as he is singing by the side of a fountain; he is led +back again to court; but the charm carries him away. He returns to +his forests, and this time for ever. Under a thicket of hawthorn +Vivien has built him a magical prison. There he prophesies the +future of the Celtic races; he speaks of a maiden of the woods, now +visible and now unseen, who holds him captive by her spells. Several +Arthurian legends are impressed with the same character. Arthur +himself in popular belief became, as it were, a woodland spirit. +"The foresters on their nightly round by the light of the moon," +says Gervais of Tilbury, [Footnote: An English chronicler of the +twelfth century.] "often hear a great sound as of horns, and meet +bands of huntsmen; when they are asked whence they come, these +huntsmen make reply that they are of King Arthur's following." +[Footnote: This manner of explaining all the unknown noises of the +wood by Arthur's Hunting is still to be found in several districts. +To understand properly the cult of nature, and, if I may say so, of +landscape among the Celts, see Gildas and Nennius, pp. 131, 136, +137, etc. (Edit. San Marte, Berlin. 1884);] Even the French +imitators of the Breton romances keep an impression--although a +rather insipid one--of the attraction exercised by nature on the +Celtic imagination. Elaine, the heroine of Lancelot, the ideal of +Breton perfection, passes her life with her companions in a garden, +in the midst of flowers which she tends. Every flower culled by her +hands is at the instant restored to life; and the worshippers of her +memory are under an obligation, when they cut a flower, to sow +another in its place. + +The worship of forest, and fountain, and stone is to be explained by +this primitive naturalism, which all the Councils of the Church held +in Brittany united to proscribe. The stone, in truth, seems the +natural symbol of the Celtic races. It is an immutable witness that +has no death. The animal, the plant, above all the human figure, +only express the divine life under a determinate form; the stone on +the contrary, adapted to receive all forms, has been the fetish of +peoples in their childhood. Pausanias saw, still standing erect, the +thirty square stones of Pharse, each bearing the name of a divinity. +The men-hir to be met with over the whole surface of the ancient +world, what is it but the monument of primitive humanity, a living +witness of its faith in Heaven? [Footnote: It is, however, doubtful +whether the monuments known in France at Celtic (men-hir. dot-men, +etc.) are the work of the Celts. With M. Worsaae and the Copenhagen +archaeologists, I am inclined to think that these monuments belong +to a more ancient humanity. Never, in fact, has any branch of the +Indo-European race built in this fashion. (See two articles by M. +Merimee in L'Athenaum franfais, Sept. 11th, 1852, and April 25th, +1853.)] + +It has frequently been observed that the majority of popular beliefs +still extant in our different provinces are of Celtic origin. A not +less remarkable fact is the strong tinge of naturalism dominant in +these beliefs. Nay more, every time that the old Celtic spirit +appears in our history, there is to be seen, re-born with it, faith +in nature and her magic influences. One of the most characteristic +of these manifestations seems to me to be that of Joan of Arc. That +indomitable hope, that tenacity in the affirmation of the future, +that belief that the salvation of the kingdom will come from a +woman,--all those features, far removed as they are from the taste +of antiquity, and from Teutonic taste, are in many respects Celtic. +The memory of the ancient cult perpetuated itself at Domremy, as in +so many other places, under the form of popular superstition. The +cottage of the family of Arc was shaded by a beech tree, famed in +the country and reputed to be the abode of fairies. In her childhood +Joan used to go and hang upon its branches garlands of leaves and +flowers, which, so it was said, disappeared during the night. The +terms of her accusation speak with horror of this innocent custom, +as of a crime against the faith; and indeed they were not altogether +deceived, those unpitying theologians who judged the holy maid. +Although she knew it not, she was more Celtic than Christian. She +has been foretold by Merlin; she knows of neither Pope nor Church,-- +she only believes the voice that speaks in her own heart. This voice +she hears in the fields, in the sough of the wind among the trees, +when measured and distant sounds fair upon her ears. During her +trial, worn out with questions and scholastic subtleties, she is +asked whether she still hears her voices. "Take me to the woods." +she says, "and I shall hear them clearly." Her legend is tinged with +the same colours; nature loved her, the wolves never touched the +sheep of her flock. When she was a little girl, the birds used to +come and eat bread from her lap as though they were tame. [Footnote: +Since the first publication of these views, on which I should not +like more emphasis to be put than what belongs to a passing +impression, similar considerations have been developed, in terms +that appear a little too positive, by M. H. Martin (History of +France, vol. vi., 1856). The objections raised to it are, for the +most part, due to the fact that very few people are capable of +delicately appreciating questions of this kind, relative to the +genius of races. It frequently happens that the resurrection of an +old national genius takes place under a very different form from +that which one would have expected, and by means of individuals who +have no idea of the ethnographical part which they play.] + +III + +The MABINOGION do not recommend themselves to our study, only as a +manifestation of the romantic genius of the Breton races. It was +through them that the Welsh imagination exercised its influence upon +the Continent, that it transformed, in the twelfth century, the +poetic art of Europe, and realised this miracle,--that the creations +of a half-conquered race have become the universal feast of +imagination for mankind. + +Few heroes owe less to reality than Arthur. Neither Gildas nor +Aneurin, his contemporaries, speak of him; Bede did not even know +his name; Taliessin and Liwarc'h Hen gave him only a secondary +place. In Nennius, on the other hand, who lived about 850, the +legend has fully unfolded. Arthur is already the exterminator of the +Saxons; he has never experienced defeat; he is the suzerain of an +army of kings. Finally, in Geoffrey of Monmouth, the epic creation +culminates. Arthur reigns over the whole earth; he conquers Ireland, +Norway, Gascony, and France. At Caerleon he holds a tournament at +which all the monarchs of the world are present; there he puts upon +his head thirty crowns, and exacts recognition as the sovereign lord +of the universe. So incredible is it that a petty king of the sixth +century, scarcely remarked by his contemporaries, should have taken +in posterity such colossal proportions, that several critics have +supposed that the legendary Arthur and the obscure chieftain who +bore that name have nothing in common, the one with the other, and +that the son of Uther Pendragon is a wholly ideal hero, a survivor +of the old Cymric mythology. As a matter of fact, in the symbols of +Neo-Druidism--that is to say, of that secret doctrine, the outcome +of Druidism, which prolonged its existence even to the Middle Ages +under the form of Freemasonry--we again find Arthur transformed into +a divine personage, and playing a purely mythological part. It must +at least be allowed that, if behind the fable some reality lies +hidden, history offers us no means of attaining it. It cannot be +doubted that the discovery of Arthur's tomb in the Isle of Avalon in +1189 was an invention of Norman policy, just as in 1283, the very +year in which Edward I. was engaged in crushing out the last +vestiges of Welsh independence, Arthur's crown was very conveniently +found, and forthwith united to the other crown jewels of England. + +We naturally expect Arthur, now become the representative of Welsh +nationality, to sustain in the Mabinogion a character analogous to +this role, and therein, as in Nennius, to serve the hatred of the +vanquished against the Saxons. But such is not the case. Arthur, in +the Mabinogion, exhibits no characteristics of patriotic resistance; +his part is limited to uniting heroes around him, to maintaining the +retainers of his palace, and to enforcing the laws of his order of +chivalry. He is too strong for any one to dream of attacking him. He +is the Charlemagne of the Carlovingian romances, the Agamemnon of +Homer,--one of those neutral personalities that serve but to give +unity to the poem. The idea of warfare against the alien, hatred +towards the Saxon, does not appear in a single instance. The heroes +of the Mabinogion have no fatherland; each fights to show his +personal excellence, and satisfy his taste for adventure, but not to +defend a national cause. Britain is the universe; no one suspects +that beyond the Cymry there may be other nations and other races. + +It was by this ideal and representative character that the Arthurian +legend had such an astonishing prestige throughout the whole world. +Had Arthur been only a provincial hero, the more or less happy +defender of a little country, all peoples would not have adopted +him, any more than they have adopted the Marco of the Serbs, +[Footnote: A Servian ballad-hero.] or the Robin Hood of the Saxons. +The Arthur who has charmed the world is the head of an order of +equality, in which all sit at the same table, in which a man's worth +depends upon his valour and his natural gifts. What mattered to the +world the fate of an unknown peninsula, and the strife waged on its +behalf? What enchanted it was the ideal court presided over by +Gwenhwyvar (Guinevere), where around the monarchical unity the +flower of heroes was gathered together, where ladies, as chaste as +they were beautiful, loved according to the laws of chivalry, and +where the time was passed in listening to stories, and learning +civility and beautiful manners. + +This is the secret of the magic of that Round Table, about which the +Middle Ages grouped all their ideas of heroism, of beauty, of +modesty, and of love. We need not stop to inquire whether the ideal +of a gentle and polished society in the midst of the barbarian world +is, in all its features, a purely Breton creation, whether the +spirit of the courts of the Continent has not in some measure +furnished the model, and whether the Mabinogion themselves have not +felt the reaction of the French imitations;[Footnote: The surviving +version of the Mdbinogian has a later date than these imitations, +and the Red Book includes several tales borrowed from the French +trouveres. But it is out of the question to maintain that the really +Welsh narratives have been borrowed in a like manner, since among +them are some unknown to the trouveres, which could only possess +interest for Breton countries] it suffices for us that the new order +of sentiments which we have just indicated was, throughout the whole +of the Middle Ages, persistently attached to the groundwork of the +Cymric romances. Such an association could not be fortuitous; if the +imitations are all so glaring in colour, it is evidently because in +the original this same colour is to be found united to particularly +strong character. How otherwise shall we explain why a forgotten +tribe on the very confines of the world should have imposed its +heroes upon Europe, and, in the domain of imagination, accomplished +one of the most singular revolutions known to the historian of +letters? + +If, in fact, one compares European literature before the +introduction of the Cymric romances, with what it became when the +trouveres set themselves to draw from Breton sources, one recognises +readily that with the Breton narratives a new element entered into +the poetic conception of the Christian peoples, and modified it +profoundly. The Carlovingian poem, both by its structure and by the +means which it employs, does not depart from classical ideas. The +motives of man's action are the same as in the Greek epic. The +essentially romantic element, the life of forests and mysterious +adventure, the feeling for nature, and that impulse of imagination +which makes the Breton warrior unceasingly pursue the unknown;-- +nothing of all this is as yet to be observed. Roland differs from +the heroes of Homer only by his armour; in heart he is the brother +of Ajax or Achilles. Perceval, on the contrary, belongs to another +world, separated by a great gulf from that in which the heroes of +antiquity live and act. + +It was above all by the creation of woman's character, by +introducing into mediaeval poetry, hitherto hard and austere, the +nuances of love, that the Breton romances brought about this curious +metamorphosis. It was like an electric spark; in a few years +European taste was changed. Nearly all the types of womankind known +to the Middle Ages, Guinevere, Iseult, Enid, are derived from +Arthur's court. In the Carlovingian poems woman is a nonentity +without character or individuality; in them love is either brutal, +as in the romance of "Ferebras," or scarcely indicated, as in the +"Song of Roland." In the "Mabinogion," on the other hand, the +principal part always belongs to the women. Chivalrous gallantry, +which makes the warrior's happiness to consist in serving a woman +and meriting her esteem, the belief that the noblest use of strength +is to succour and avenge weakness, results, I know, from a turn of +imagination which possessed nearly all European peoples in the +twelfth century; but it cannot be doubted that this turn of +imagination first found literary expression among the Breton +peoples. One of the most surprising features in the Mabinogion is +the delicacy of the feminine feeling breathed in them; an +impropriety or a gross word is never to be met with. It would be +necessary to quote at length the two romances of Peredur and Geraint +to demonstrate an innocence such as this; but the naive simplicity +of these charming compositions forbids us to see in this innocence +any underlying meaning. The zeal of the knight in the defence of +ladies' honour became a satirical euphemism only in the French +imitators, who transformed the virginal modesty of the Breton +romances into a shameless gallantry--so far indeed that these +compositions, chaste as they are in the original, became the scandal +of the Middle Ages, provoked censures, and were the occasion of the +ideas of immorality which, for religious people, still cluster about +the name of romance. + +Certainly chivalry is too complex a fact for us to be permitted to +assign it to any single origin. Let us say however that in the idea +of envisaging the esteem of a woman as the highest object of human +activity, and setting up love as the supreme principle of morality, +there is nothing of the antique spirit, or indeed of the Teutonic. +Is it in the "Edda" or in the "Niebelungen" that we shall find the +germ of this spirit of pure love, of exalted devotion, which forms +the very soul of chivalry? As to following the suggestion of some +critics and seeking among the Arabs for the beginnings of this +institution, surely of all literary paradoxes ever mooted, this is +one of the most singular. The idea of conquering woman in a land +where she is bought and sold, of seeking her esteem in a land where +she is scarcely considered capable of moral merit! I shall oppose +the partizans of this hypothesis with one single fact,--the surprise +experienced by the Arabs of Algeria when, by a somewhat unfortunate +recollection of mediaeval tournaments, the ladies were entrusted +with the presentation of prizes at the Beiram races. What to the +knight appeared an unparalleled honour seemed to the Arabs a +humiliation and almost an insult. + +The introduction of the Breton romances into the current of European +literature worked a not less profound revolution in the manner of +conceiving and employing the marvellous. In the Carlovingian poems +the marvellous is timid, and conforms to the Christian faith; the +supernatural is produced directly by God or his envoys. Among the +Cymry, on the contrary, the principle of the marvel is in nature +herself, in her hidden forces, in her inexhaustible fecundity. There +is a mysterious swan, a prophetic bird, a suddenly appearing hand, a +giant, a black tyrant, a magic mist, a dragon, a cry that causes the +hearer to die of terror, an object with extraordinary properties. +There is no trace of the monotheistic conception, in which the +marvellous is only a miracle, a derogation of eternal laws. Nor are +there any of those personifications of the life of nature which form +the essential part of the Greek and Indian mythologies. Here we have +perfect naturalism, an unlimited faith in the possible, belief in +the existence of independent beings bearing within themselves the +principle of their strength,--an idea quite opposed to Christianity, +which in such beings necessarily sees either angels or fiends. And +besides, these strange beings are always presented as being outside +the pale of the Church; and when the knight of the Round Table has +conquered them, he forces them to go and pay homage to Guinevere, +and have themselves baptised. + +Now, if in poetry there is a marvellous element that we might +accept, surely it is this. Classical mythology, taken in its first +simplicity, is too bold, taken as a mere figure of rhetoric, too +insipid, to give us satisfaction. As to the marvellous element in +Christianity, Boileau is right: no fiction is compatible with such a +dogmatism. There remains then the purely naturalistic marvellous, +nature interesting herself in action and acting herself, the great +mystery of fatality unveiling itself by the secret conspiring of all +beings, as in Shakespeare and Ariosto. It would be curious to +ascertain how much of the Celt there is in the former of these +poets; as for Ariosto he is the Breton poet par excellence. All his +machinery, all his means of interest, all his fine shades of +sentiment, all his types of women, all his adventures, are borrowed +from the Breton romances. + +Do we now understand the intellectual role of that little race which +gave to the world Arthur, Guinevere, Lancelot, Perceval, Merlin, St. +Brandan, St. Patrick, and almost all the poetical cycles of the +Middle Ages? What a striking destiny some nations have, in alone +possessing the right to cause the acceptance of their heroes, as +though for that were necessary a quite peculiar degree of authority, +seriousness, and faith! And it is a strange thing that it is to the +Normans, of all peoples the one least sympathetically inclined +towards the Bretons, that we owe the renown of the Breton fables. +Brilliant and imitative, the Norman everywhere became the pre- +eminent representative of the nation on which he had at first +imposed himself by force. French in France, English in England, +Italian in Italy, Russian at Novgorod, he forgot his own language to +speak that of the race which he had conquered, and to become the +interpreter of its genius. The deeply suggestive character of the +Welsh romances could not fail to impress men so prompt to seize and +assimilate the ideas of the foreigner. The first revelation of the +Breton fables, the Latin Chronicle of Geoffrey of Monmouth, appeared +about the year 1137, under the auspices of Robert of Gloucester, +natural son of Henry I. Henry II. acquired a taste for the same +narratives, and at his request Robert Wace, in 1155, wrote in French +the first history of Arthur, thus opening the path in which walked +after him a host of poets or imitators of all nationalities, French, +Provencal, Italian, Spanish, English, Scandinavian, Greek, and +Georgian. We need not belittle the glory of the first trouveres who +put into a language, then read and understood from one end of Europe +to the other, fictions which, but for them, would have doubtless +remained for ever unknown. It is however difficult to attribute to +them an inventive faculty, such as would permit them to merit the +title of creators. The numerous passages in which one feels that +they do not fully understand the original which they imitate, and in +which they attempt to give a natural significance to circumstances +of which the mythological bearing escaped them, suffice to prove +that, as a rule, they were satisfied to make a fairly faithful copy +of the work before their eyes. + +What part has Armorican Brittany played in the creation or +propagation of the legends of the Round Table? It is impossible to +say with any degree of precision; and in truth such a question +becomes a matter of secondary import once we form a just idea of the +close bonds of fraternity, which did not cease until the twelfth +century to unite the two branches of the Breton peoples. That the +heroic traditions of Wales long continued to live in the branch of +the Cymric family which came and settled in Armorica cannot be +doubted when we find Geraint, Urien, and other heroes become saints +in Lower Brittany; [Footnote: I shall only cite a single proof; it +is a law of Edward the Confessor: "Britones vero Armorici quum +venerint in regno isto, suscipi debent et in regno protegi sicut +probi cives de corpore regni hujus; exierunt quondam de sanguine +Britonum regni hujus."--Wilkins, Leges Anglo-Saxonicae, p. 206.]and +above all when we see one of the most essential episodes of the +Arthurian cycle, that of the Forest of Broceliande, placed in the +same country. A large number of facts collected by M. de la +Villemarrque [Footnote: "Les Romans de la Table-Ronde et les contes +des anciens Bretons" (Paris, 1859), pp. 20 et seq. In the "Contes +populaires des anciens Bretons," of which the above may be +considered as a new edition, the learned author had somewhat +exaggerated the influence of French Brittany. In the present +article, when first published, I had, on the other hand, depreciated +it too much.] prove, on the other hand, that these same traditions +produced a true poetic cycle in Brittany, and even that at certain +epochs they must have recrossed the Channel, as though to give new +life to the mother country's memories. The fact that Gauthier +Calenius, Archdeacon of Oxford, brought back from Brittany to +England (about 1125) the very text of the legends which were +translated into Latin ten years afterwards by Geoffrey of Monmouth +is here decisive. I know that to readers of the Mabinogion such an +opinion will appear surprising at a first glance, All is Welsh in +these fables, the places, the genealogies, the customs; in them +Armorica is only represented by Hoel, an important personage no +doubt, but one who has not achieved the fame of the other heroes of +Arthur's court. Again, if Armorica saw the birth of the Arthurian +cycle, how is it that we fail to find there any traces of that +brilliant nativity? [Footnote: M. de la Villemarque makes appeal to +the popular songs still extant in Brittany, in which Arthur's deeds +are celebrated. In fact, in his Chants populaires de la Bretagne two +poems are to be found in which that hero's name figures.] + +These objections, I avow, long barred my way, but I no longer find +them insoluble. And first of all there is a class of Mabinogion, +including those of Owen, Geraint, and Peredur, stories which possess +no very precise geographical localisation. In the second place, +national written literature being less successfully defended in +Brittany than in Wales against the invasion of foreign culture, it +may be conceived that the memory of the old epics should be there +more obliterated. The literary share of the two countries thus +remains sufficiently distinct. The glory of French Brittany is in +her popular songs; but it is only in Wales that the genius of the +Breton people has succeeded in establishing itself in authentic +books and achieved creations. + +IV. + +In comparing the Breton cycle as the French trouveres knew it, and +the same cycle as it is to be found in the text of the Mabinogion, +one might be tempted to believe that the European imagination, +enthralled by these brilliant fables, added to them some poetical +themes unknown to the Welsh. Two of the most celebrated heroes of +the continental Breton romances, Lancelot and Tristan, do not figure +in the Mabinogion; on the other hand, the characteristics of the +Holy Grail are presented in a totally different way from that which +we find in the French and German poets. A more attentive study shows +that these elements, apparently added by the French poets, are in +reality of Cymric origin. And first of all, M. de la Villemarque has +demonstrated to perfection that the name of Lancelot is only a +translation of that of the Welsh hero Mael, who in point of fact +exhibits the fullest analogy with the Lancelot of the French +romances. [Footnote: Ancelot is the diminutive of Ancel, and means +servant, page, or esquire. To this day in the Cymric dialects Mael +has the same signification. The surname of Poursigant, which we find +borne by some Welshmen in the French service in the early part of +the fourteenth century, is also no doubt a translation of Mael.] The +context, the proper names, all the details of the romance of +Lancelot also present the most pronounced Breton aspect. As much +must be said of the romance of Tristan. It is even to be hoped that +this curious legend will be discovered complete in some Welsh +manuscript. Dr. Owen states that he has seen one of which he was +unable to obtain a copy. As to the Holy Grail, it must be avowed +that the mystic cup, the object after which the French Parceval and +the German Parsifal go in search, has not nearly the same importance +among the Welsh. In the romance of Peredur it only figures in an +episodical fashion, and without a well-defined religious intention. + +"Then Peredur and his uncle discoursed together, and he beheld two +youths enter the hall, and proceed up to the chamber, bearing a +spear of mighty size, with three streams of blood flowing from the +point to the ground. And when all the company saw this, they began +wailing and lamenting. But for all that, the man did not break off +his discourse with Peredur. And as he did not tell Peredur the +meaning of what he saw, he forbore to ask him concerning it. And +when the clamour had a little subsided, behold two maidens entered, +with a large salver between them, in which was a man's head, +surrounded by a profusion of blood. And thereupon the company of the +court made so great an outcry, that it was irksome to be in the same +hall with them. But at length they were silent." This strange and +wondrous circumstance remains an enigma to the end of the narrative. +Then a mysterious young man appears to Peredur, apprises him that +the lance from which the blood was dropping is that with which his +uncle was wounded, that the vessel contains the blood and the head +of one of his cousins, slain by the witches of Kerloiou, and that it +is predestined that he, Peredur, should be their avenger. In point +of fact, Peredur goes and convokes the Round Table; Arthur and his +knights come and put the witches of Kerloiou to death. + +If we now pass to the French romance of Parceval, we find that all +this phantasmagoria clothes a very different significance. The lance +is that with which Longus pierced Christ's side, the Grail or basin +is that in which Joseph of Arimathea caught the divine blood. This +miraculous vase procures all the good things of heaven and earth; it +heals wounds, and is filled at the owner's pleasure with the most +exquisite food. To approach it one must be in a state of grace; only +a priest can tell of its marvels. To find these sacred relics after +the passage of a thousand trials,--such is the object of Peredur's +chivalry, at once worldly and mystical. In the end he becomes a +priest; he takes the Grail and the lance into his hermitage; on the +day of his death an angel bears them up to Heaven. Let us add that +many traits prove that in the mind of the French trouvere the Grail +is confounded with the eucharist. In the miniatures which +occasionally accompany the romance of Parceval, the Grail is in the +form of a pyx, appearing at all the solemn moments of the poem as a +miraculous source of succour. + +Is this strange myth, differing as it does from the simple narrative +presented in the Welsh legend of Peredur, really Cymric, or ought we +rather to see in it an original creation of the trouveres, based +upon a Breton foundation? With M. de la Villemarque we believe that +this curious fable is essentially Cymric. [Footnote: See the +excellent discussion of this interesting problem in the introduction +to "Contes populaires des anciens Bretons" (pp. 181 et seq.).] In +the eighth century a Breton hermit had a vision of Joseph of +Arimathea bearing the chalice of the Last Supper, and wrote the +history called the Gradal. The whole Celtic mythology is full of the +marvels of a magic caldron under which nine fairies blow silently, a +mysterious vase which inspires poetic genius, gives wisdom, reveals +the future, and unveils the secrets of the world. One day as Bran +the Blessed was hunting in Ireland upon the shore of a lake, he saw +come forth from it a black man bearing upon his back an enormous +caldron, followed by a witch and a dwarf. This caldron was the +instrument of the supernatural power of a family of giants. It cured +all ills, and gave back life to the dead, but without restoring to +them the use of speech--an allusion to the secret of the bardic +initiation. In the same way Perceval's wariness forms the whole plot +of the quest of the Holy Grail. The Grail thus appears to us in its +primitive meaning as the pass-word of a kind of free-masonry which +survived in Wales long after the preaching of the Gospel, and of +which we find deep traces in the legend of Taliessin. Christianity +grafted its legend upon the mythological data, and a like +transformation was doubtless made by the Cymric race itself. If the +Welsh narrative of Peredur does not offer the same developments as +the French romance of Parceval, it is because the Red Book of +Hergest gives us an earlier version than that which served as a +model for Chretien de Troyes. It is also to be remarked that, even +in Parceval, the mystical idea is not as yet completely developed, +that the trouvere seems to treat this strange theme as a narrative +which he has found already complete, and the meaning of which he can +scarcely guess. The motive that sets Parceval a-field in the French +romance, as well as in the Welsh version, is a family motive; he +seeks the Holy Grail as a talisman to cure his uncle the Fisherman- +King, in such a way that the religious idea is still subordinated to +the profane intention. In the German version, on the other hand, +full as it is of mysticism and theology, the Grail has a temple and +priests. Parsifal, who has become a purely ecclesiastical hero, +reaches the dignity of King of the Grail by his religious enthusiasm +and his chastity. [Footnote: It is indeed remarkable that all the +Breton heroes in their last transformation are at once gallant and +devout. One of the most celebrated ladies of Arthur's court, Luned, +becomes a saint and a martyr for her chastity, her festival being +celebrated on August 1st. She it is who figures in the French +romances under the name of Lunette. See Lady Guest, vol. i., pp. +113, 114.] Finally, the prose versions, more modern still, sharply +distinguish the two chivalries, the one earthly, the other mystical. +In them Parceval becomes the model of the devout knight. This was +the last of the metamorphoses which that all-powerful enchantress +called the human imagination made him undergo; and it was only right +that, after having gone through so many dangers, he should don a +monkish frock, wherein to take his rest after his life of adventure. + +V. + +When we seek to determine the precise moment in the history of the +Celtic races at which we ought to place ourselves in order to +appreciate their genius in its entirety, we find ourselves led back +to the sixth century of our era. Races have nearly always a +predestined hour at which, passing from simplicity to reflection, +they bring forth to the light of day, for the first time, all the +treasures of their nature. For the Celtic races the poetic moment of +awakening and primal activity was the sixth century. Christianity, +still young amongst them, has not completely stifled the national +cult; the religion of the Druids defends itself in its schools and +holy places; warfare against the foreigner, without which a people +never achieves a full consciousness of itself, attains its highest +degree of spirit. It is the epoch of all the heroes of enduring +fame, of all the characteristic saints of the Breton Church; +finally, it is the great age of bardic literature, illustrious by +the names of Taliessin, of Aneurin, of Liwarc'h Hen. + +To such as would view critically the historical use of these half- +fabulous names and would hesitate to accept as authentic, poems that +have come down to us through so long a series of ages, we reply that +the objections raised to the antiquity of the bardic literature-- +objections of which W. Schlegel made himself the interpreter in +opposition to M. Fauriel--have completely disappeared under the +investigations of an enlightened and impartial criticism. [Footnote: +This evidently does not apply to the language of the poems in +question. It is well known that mediaeval scribes, alien as they +were to all ideas of archaeology, modernised the texts, in measure +as they copied them; and that a manuscript in the vulgar tongue, as +a rule, only attests the language of him who transcribed it.] By a +rare exception sceptical opinion has for once been found in the +wrong. The sixth century is in fact for the Breton peoples a +perfectly historical century. We touch this epoch of their history +as closely and with as much certainty as Greek or Roman antiquity. +It is indeed known that, up to a somewhat late period, the bards +continued to compose pieces under the names--which had become +popular--of Aneurin, Taliessin, and Liwarc'h Hen; but no confusion +can be made between these insipid rhetorical exercises and the +really ancient fragments which bear the names of the poets cited-- +fragments full of personal traits, local circumstances, and +individual passions and feelings. + +Such is the literature of which M. de la Villemarque has attempted +to unite the most ancient and authentic monuments in his "Breton +Bards of the Sixth Century." Wales has recognised the service that +our learned compatriot has thus rendered to Celtic studies. We +confess, however, to much preferring to the "Bards" the "Popular +Songs of Brittany." It is in the latter that M. de la Villemarque +has best served Celtic studies, by revealing to us a delightful +literature, in which, more clearly than anywhere else, are apparent +these features of gentleness, fidelity, resignation, and timid +reserve which form the character of the Breton peoples. [Footnote: +This interesting collection ought not, however, to be accepted +unreservedly; and the absolute confidence with which it has been +quoted is not without its inconveniences. We believe that when M. de +la Villemarque comments on the fragments which, to his eternal +honour, he has been the first to bring to light, his criticism is +far from being proof against all reproach, and that several of the +historical allusions which he considers that he finds in them are +hypotheses more ingenious than solid. The past is too great, and has +come down to us in too fragmentary a manner, for such coincidences +to be probable. Popular celebrities are rarely those of history, and +when the rumours of distant centuries come to us by two channels, +one popular, the other historical, it is a rare thing for these two +forms of tradition to be fully in accord with one another. M. de la +Villemarque is also too ready to suppose that the people repeats for +centuries songs that it only half understands. When a song ceases to +be intelligible, it is nearly always altered by the people, with the +end of approximating it to the sounds farmliar and significant to +their ears. Is it not also to be feared that in this case the +editor, in entire good faith, may lend some slight inflection to the +text, so as to find in it the sense that he desires, or has in his +mind?] + +The theme of the poetry of the bards of the sixth century is simple +and exclusively heroic; it ever deals with the great motives of +patriotism and glory. There is a total absence of all tender +feeling, no trace of love, no well-marked religious idea, but only a +vague and naturalistic mysticism,--a survival of Druidic teaching,-- +and a moral philosophy wholly expressed in Triads, similar to that +taught in the half-bardic, half-Christian schools of St. Cadoc and +St. Iltud. The singularly artificial and highly wrought form of the +style suggests the existence of a system of learned instruction +possessing long traditions. A more pronounced shade, and there would +be a danger of falling into a pedantic and mannered rhetoric. The +bardic literature, by its lengthened existence through the whole of +the Middle Ages, did not escape this danger. It ended by being no +more than a somewhat insipid collection of unoriginalities in style, +and conventional metaphors. [Footnote: A Welsh scholar, Mr. +Stephens, in his History of Cymric Literature (Llandovery, 1849), +has demonstrated these successive transformations very well.] + +The opposition between bardism and Christianity reveals itself in +the pieces translated by M. de la Villemarque by many features of +original and pathetic interest. The strife which rent the soul of +the old poets, their antipathy to the grey men of the monastery, +their sad and painful conversion, are to be found in their songs. +The sweetness and tenacity of the Breton character can alone explain +how a heterodoxy so openly avowed as this maintained its position in +face of the dominant Christianity, and how holy men, Kolumkill for +example, took upon themselves the defence of the bards against the +kings who desired to stamp them out. The strife was the longer in +its duration, in that Christianity among the Celtic peoples never +employed force against rival religions, and, at the worst, left to +the vanquished the liberty of ill humour. Belief in prophets, +indestructible among these peoples, created, in despite of faith the +Anti-Christian type of Merlin, and caused his acceptance by the +whole of Europe. Gildas and the orthodox Bretons were ceaseless in +their thunderings against the prophets, and opposed to them Elias +and Samuel, two bards who only foretold good; even in the twelfth +century Giraldus Cambrensis saw a prophet in the town of Caerleon. + +Thanks to this toleration bardism lasted into the heart of the +Middle Ages, under the form of a secret doctrine, with a +conventional language, and symbols almost wholly borrowed from the +solar divinity of Arthur. This may be termed Neo-Druidism, a kind of +Druidism subtilised and reformed on the model of Christianity, which +may be seen growing more and more obscure and mysterious, until the +moment of its total disappearance. A curious fragment belonging to +this school, the dialogue between Arthur and Eliwlod, has +transmitted to us the latest sighs of this latest protestation of +expiring naturalism. Under the form of an eagle Eliwlod introduces +the divinity to the sentiment of resignation, of subjection, and of +humility, with which Christianity combated pagan pride. Hero-worship +recoils step by step before the great formula, which Christianity +ceases not to repeat to the Celtic races to sever them from their +memories: There is none greater than God. Arthur allows himself to +be persuaded to abdicate from his divinity, and ends by reciting the +Pater. + +I know of no more curious spectacle than this revolt of the manly +sentiments of hero-worship against the feminine feeling which flowed +so largely into the new faith. What, in fact, exasperates the old +representatives of Celtic society are the exclusive triumph of the +pacific spirit and the men, clad in linen and chanting psalms, whose +voice is sad, who preach asceticism, and know the heroes no more. +[Footnote: The antipathy to Christianity attributed by the Armorican +people to the dwarfs and korigans belongs in like measure to +traditions of the opposition encountered by the Gospel in its +beginnings. The korigans in fact are, for the Breton peasant, great +princesses who would not accept Christianity when the apostles came +to Brittany. They hate the clergy and the churches, the bells of +which make them take to flight. The Virgin above all is their great +enemy; she it is who has hounded them forth from their fountains, +and on Saturday, the day consecrated to her, whosoever beholds them +combing their hair or counting their treasures is sure to perish. +(Villemarque, Chants populaires, Introduction.)] We know the use +that Ireland has made of this theme, in the dialogues which she +loves to imagine between the representatives of her profane and +religious life, Ossian and St. Patrick. [Footnote: See Miss Brooke's +Reliques of Irish Poetry, Dublin, 1789, pp. 37 et seq., PP. 75 et +seq.] Ossian regrets the adventures, the chase, the blast of the +horn, and the kings of old time. "If they were here," he says to St. +Patrick, "thou should'st not thus be scouring the country with the +psalm-singing flock." Patrick seeks to calm him by soft words, and +sometimes carries his condescension so far as to listen to his long +histories, which appear to interest the saint but slightly. "Thou +hast heard my story," says the old bard in conclusion; "albeit my +memory groweth weak, and I am devoured with care, yet I desire to +continue still to sing the deeds of yore, and to live upon ancient +glories. Now am I stricken with years, my life is frozen within me, +and all my joys are fleeting away. No more can my hand grasp the +sword, nor mine arm hold the lance in rest. Among priests my last +sad hour lengtheneth out, and psalms take now the place of songs of +victory." "Let thy songs rest," says Patrick, "and dare not to +compare thy Finn to the King of Kings, whose might knoweth no +bounds: bend thy knees before Him, and know Him for thy Lord." It +was indeed necessary to surrender, and the legend relates how the +old bard ended his days in the cloister, among the priests whom he +had so often used rudely, in the midst of these chants that he knew +not. Ossian was too good an Irishman for any one to make up his mind +to damn him utterly. Merlin himself had to cede to the new spell. He +was, it is said, converted by St. Columba; and the popular voice in +the ballads repeats to him unceasingly this sweet and touching +appeal: "Merlin, Merlin, be converted; there is no divinity save +that of God." + +VI. + +We should form an altogether inadequate idea of the physiognomy of +the Celtic races, were we not to study them under what is perhaps +the most singular aspect of their development--that is to say, their +ecclesiastical antiquities and their saints. Leaving on one side the +temporary repulsion which Christian mildness had to conquer in the +classes of society which saw their influence diminished by the new +order of things, it can be truly said, that the gentleness of +manners and the exquisite sensibility of the Celtic races, in +conjunction with the absence of a formerly existing religion of +strong organisation, predestined them to Christianity. Christianity +in fact, addressing itself by preference to the more humble feelings +in human nature, met here with admirably prepared disciples; no race +has so delicately understood the charm of littleness, none has +placed the simple creature, the innocent, nearer God. The ease with +which the new religion took possession of these peoples is also +remarkable. Brittany and Ireland between them scarce count two or +three martyrs; they are reduced to venerating as such those of their +compatriots who were slain in the Anglo-Saxon and Danish invasions. +Here comes to light the profound difference dividing the Celtic from +the Teutonic race. The Teutons only received Christianity tardily +and in spite of themselves, by scheming or by force, after a +sanguinary resistance, and with terrible throes, Christianity was in +fact on several sides repugnant to their nature; and one understands +the regrets of pure Teutonists who, to this day, reproach the new +faith with having corrupted their sturdy ancestors. + +Such was not the case with the Celtic peoples; that gentle little +race was naturally Christian. Far from changing them, and taking +away some of their qualities, Christianity finished and perfected +them. Compare the legends relating to the introduction of +Christianity into the two countries, the Kristni Saga for instance, +and the delightful legends of Lucius and St. Patrick. What a +difference we find! In Iceland the first apostles are pirates, +converted by some chance, now saying mass, now massacring their +enemies, now resuming their former profession of sea-rovers; +everything is done in accord with expediency, and without any +serious faith. + +In Ireland and Brittany grace operates through women, by I know not +what charm of purity and sweetness. The revolt of the Teutons was +never effectually stifled; never did they forget the forced +baptisms, and the sword-supported Carlovingian missionaries, until +the day when Teutonism took its revenge, and Luther through seven +centuries gave answer to Witikind. On the other hand, the Celts +were, even in the third century, perfect Christians. To the Teutons +Christianity was for long nothing but a Roman institution, imposed +from without. They entered the Church only to trouble it; and it was +not without very great difficulty that they succeeded in forming a +national clergy. To the Celts, on the contrary, Christianity did not +come from Rome; they had their native clergy, their own peculiar +usages, their faith at first hand. It cannot, in fact, be doubted +that in apostolic times Christianity was preached in Brittany; and +several historians, not without justification, have considered that +it was borne there by Judaistic Christians, or by disciples of the +school of St. John. Everywhere else Christianity found, as a first +substratum, Greek or Roman civilisation. Here it found a virgin soil +of a nature analogous to its own, and naturally prepared to receive +it. + +Few forms of Christianity have offered an ideal of Christian +perfection so pure as the Celtic Church of the sixth, seventh, and +eighth centuries. Nowhere, perhaps, has God been better worshipped +in spirit than in those great monastic communities of Hy, or of +Iona, of Bangor, of Clonard, or of Lindisfarne. One of the most +distinguished developments of Christianity--doubtless too +distinguished for the popular and practical mission which the Church +had to undertake--Pelagianism, arose from it. The true and refined +morality, the simplicity, and the wealth of invention which give +distinction to the legends of the Breton and Irish saints are indeed +admirable. No race adopted Christianity with so much originality, +or, while subjecting itself to the common faith, kept its national +characteristics more persistently. In religion, as in all else, the +Bretons sought isolation, and did not willingly fraternise with the +rest of the world. Strong in their moral superiority, persuaded that +they possessed the veritable canon of faith and religion, having +received their Christianity from an apostolic and wholly primitive +preaching, they experienced no need of feeling themselves in +communion with Christian societies less noble than their own. Thence +arose that long struggle of the Breton churches against Roman +pretensions, which is so admirably narrated by M. Augustin Thierry, +[Footnote: In his History of the Conquest. The objections raised by +M. Varin and some other scholars to M. Thierry's narrative only +affect some secondary details, which were rectified in the edition +published after the illustrious historian's death.] thence those +inflexible characters of Columba and the monks of Iona, defending +their usages and institutions against the whole Church, thence +finally the false position of the Celtic peoples in Catholicism, +when that mighty force, grown more and more aggressive, had drawn +them together from all quarters, and compelled their absorption in +itself. Having no Catholic past, they found themselves unclassed on +their entrance into the great family, and were never able to succeed +in creating for themselves an Archbishopric. All their efforts and +all their innocent deceits to attribute that title to the Churches +of Dol and St. Davids were wrecked on the overwhelming divergence of +their past; their bishops had to resign themselves to being obscure +suffragans of Tours and Canterbury. + +It remains to be said that, even in our own days, the powerful +originality of Celtic Christianity is far from being effaced. The +Bretons of France, although they have felt the consequences of the +revolutions undergone by Catholicism on the Continent, are, at the +present hour, one of the populations in which religious feeling has +retained most independence. The new devotions find no favour with +it; the people are faithful to the old beliefs and the old saints; +the psalms of religion have for them an ineffable harmony. In the +same way, Ireland keeps, in her more remote districts, quite unique +forms of worship from those of the rest of the world, to which +nothing in other parts of Christendom can be compared. The influence +of modern Catholicism, elsewhere so destructive of national usages, +has had here a wholly contrary effect, the clergy having found it +incumbent on them to seek a vantage ground against Protestantism, in +attachment to local practices and the customs of the past. + +It is the picture of these Christian institutions, quite distinct +from those of the remainder of the West, of this sometimes strange +worship, of these legends of the saints marked with so distinct a +seal of nationality, that lends an interest to the ecclesiastical +antiquities of Ireland, of Wales, and of Armorican Brittany. No +hagiology has remained more exclusively natural than that of the +Celtic peoples; until the twelfth century those peoples admitted +very few alien saints into their martyrology. None, too, includes so +many naturalistic elements. Celtic Paganism offered so little +resistance to the new religion, that the Church did not hold itself +constrained to put in force against it the rigour with which +elsewhere it pursued the slightest traces of mythology. The +conscientious essay by W. Rees on the "Saints of Wales", and that by +the Rev. John Williams, an extremely learned ecclesiastic of the +diocese of St. Asaph, on the "Ecclesiastical Antiquities of the +Cymry", suffice to make one understand the immense value which a +complete and intelligent history of the Celtic Churches, before +their absorption in the Roman Church, would possess. To these might +be added the learned work of Dom Lobineau on the Saints of Brittany, +re-issued in our days by the Abbe Tresvaux, had not the half- +criticism of the Benedictine, much worse than a total absence of +criticism, altered those naive legends and cut away from them, under +the pretext of good sense and religious reverence, that which to us +gives them interest and charm. + +Ireland above all would offer a religious physiognomy quite peculiar +to itself, which would appear singularly original, were history in a +position to reveal it in its entirety. When we consider the legions +of Irish saints who in the sixth, seventh, and eighth centuries +inundated the Continent and arrived from their isle bearing with +them their stubborn spirit, their attachment to their own usages, +their subtle and realistic turn of mind, and see the Scots (such was +the name given to the Irish) doing duty, until the twelfth century, +as instructors in grammar and literature to all the West, we cannot +doubt that Ireland, in the first half of the Middle Ages, was the +scene of a singular religious movement. Studious philologists and +daring philosophers, the Hibernian monks were above all +indefatigable copyists; and it was in part owing to them that the +work of the pen became a holy task. Columba, secretly warned that +his last hour is at hand, finishes the page of the psalter which he +has commenced, writes at the foot that he bequeaths the continuation +to his successor, and then goes into the church to die. Nowhere was +monastic life to find such docile subjects. Credulous as a child, +timid, indolent, inclined to submit and obey, the Irishman alone was +capable of lending himself to that complete self-abdication in the +hands of the abbot, which we find so deeply marked in the historical +and legendary memorials of the Irish Church. One easily recognises +the land where, in our own days, the priest, without provoking the +slightest scandal, can, on a Sunday before quitting the altar, give +the orders for his dinner in a very audible manner, and announce the +farm where he intends to go and dine, and where he will hear his +flock in confession. In the presence of a people which lived by +imagination and the senses alone, the Church did not consider itself +under the necessity of dealing severely with the caprices of +religious fantasy. It permitted the free action of the popular +instinct; and from this freedom emerged what is perhaps of all cults +the most mythological and most analogous to the mysteries of +antiquity, presented in Christian annals, a cult attached to certain +places, and almost exclusively consisting in certain acts held to be +sacramental. + +Without contradiction the legend of St. Brandan is the most singular +product of this combination of Celtic naturalism with Christian +spiritualism. The taste of the Hibernian monks for making maritime +pilgrimages through the archipelago of the Scottish and Irish seas, +everywhere dotted with monasteries, [Footnote: The Irish saints +literally covered the Western seas. A very considerable number of +the saints of Brittany, St. Tenenan, St. Renan, etc., were emigrants +from Ireland. The Breton legends of St. Malo, St. David, and of St. +Pol of Leon are replete with similar stories of voyages to the +distant isles of the West.] and the memory of yet more distant +voyages in Polar seas, furnished the framework of this curious +composition, so rich in local impressions. From Pliny (IV. xxx. 3) +we learn that, even in his time, the Bretons loved to venture their +lives upon the high seas, in search of unknown isles. M. Letronne +has proved that in 795, sixty-five years consequently before the +Danes, Irish monks landed in Iceland and established themselves on +the coast. In this island the Danes found Irish books and bells; and +the names of certain localities still bear witness to the sojourn of +those monks, who were known by the name of Papae (fathers). In the +Faroe Isles, in the Orkneys, and the Shetlands, indeed in all parts +of the Northern seas, the Scandinavians found themselves preceded by +those Papas, whose habits contrasted so strangely with their own. +[Footnote: On this point see the careful researches of Humboldt in +his History of the Geography of the New Continent, vol. ii.] Did +they not have a glimpse too of that great land, the vague memory of +which seems to pursue them, and which Columbus was to discover, +following the traces of their dreams? It is only known that the +existence of an island, traversed by a great river and situated to +the west of Ireland, was, on the faith of the Irish, a dogma for +mediaeval geographers. + +The story went that, towards the middle of the sixth century, a monk +called Barontus, on his return from voyaging upon the sea, came and +craved hospitality at the monastery of Clonfert. Brandan the abbot +besought him to give pleasure to the brothers by narrating the +marvels of God that he had seen on the high seas. Barontus revealed +to them the existence of an island surrounded by fogs, where he had +left his disciple Mernoc; it is the Land of Promise that God keeps +for his saints. Brandan with seventeen of his monks desired to go in +quest of this mysterious land. They set forth in a leather boat, +bearing with them as their sole provision a utensil of butter, +wherewith to grease the hides of their craft. For seven years they +lived thus in their boat, abandoning to God sail and rudder, and +only stopping on their course to celebrate the feasts of Christmas +and Easter on the back of the king of fishes, Jasconius. Every step +of this monastic Odyssey is a miracle, on every isle is a monastery, +where the wonders of a fantastical universe respond to the +extravagances of a wholly ideal life. Here is the Isle of Sheep, +where these animals govern themselves according to their own laws; +elsewhere the Paradise of Birds, where the winged race lives after +the fashion of monks, singing matins and lauds at the canonical +hours. Brandan and his companions celebrate mass here with the +birds, and remain with them for fifty days, nourishing themselves +with nothing but the singing of their hosts. Elsewhere there is the +Isle of Delight, the ideal of monastic life in the midst of the +seas. Here no material necessity makes itself felt; the lamps light +of themselves for the offices of religion, and never burn out, for +they shine with a spiritual light. An absolute stillness reigns in +the island; every one knows precisely the hour of his death; one +feels neither cold, nor heat, nor sadness, nor sickness of body or +soul. All this has endured since the days of St. Patrick, who so +ordained it. The Land of Promise is more marvellous still; there an +eternal day reigns; all the plants have flowers, all the trees bear +fruits. Some privileged men alone have visited it. On their return a +perfume is perceived to come from them, which their garments keep +for forty days. + +In the midst of these dreams there appears with a surprising +fidelity to truth the feeling for the picturesque in Polar voyages,- +-the transparency of the sea, the aspect of bergs and islands of ice +melting in the sun, the volcanic phenomena of Iceland, the sporting +of whales, the characteristic appearance of the Norwegian fiords, +the sudden fogs, the sea calm as milk, the green isles crowned with +grass which grows down to the very verge of the waves. This +fantastical nature created expressly for another humanity, this +strange topography at once glowing with fiction and speaking of +truth, make the poem of St. Brandan one of the most extraordinary +creations of the human mind, and perhaps the completest expression +of the Celtic ideal. All is lovely, pure, and innocent; never has a +gaze so benevolent and so gentle been cast upon the earth; there is +not a single cruel idea, not a trace of frailty or repentance. It is +the world seen through the crystal of a stainless conscience, one +might almost say a human nature, as Pelagius wished it, that has +never sinned. The very animals participate in this universal +mildness. Evil appears under the form of monsters wandering on the +deep, or of Cyclops confined in volcanic islands; but God causes +them to destroy one another, and does not permit them to do hurt to +the good. + +We have just seen how, around the legend of a monk the Irish +imagination grouped a whole cycle of physical and maritime myths. +The Purgatory of St. Patrick became the framework of another series +of fables, embodying the Celtic ideas concerning the other life and +its different conditions. [Footnote: See Thomas Wright's excellent +dissertation, Saint Patrick's Purgatory (London, 1844), and +Calderon's The Well of Saint Patrick.] Perhaps the profoundest +instinct of the Celtic peoples is their desire to penetrate the +unknown. With the sea before them, they wish to know what lies +beyond; they dream of a Promised Land. In the face of the unknown +that lies beyond the tomb, they dream of that great journey which +the pen of Dante has celebrated. The legend tells how, while St. +Patrick was preaching about Paradise and Hell to the Irish, they +confessed that they would feel more assured of the reality of these +places, if he would allow one of them to descend there, and then +come back with information St. Patrick consented. A pit was dug, by +which an Irishman set out upon the subterranean journey. Others +wished to attempt the journey after him. With the consent of the +abbot of the neighbouring monastery, they descended into the shaft, +they passed through the torments of Hell and Purgatory, and then +each told of what he had seen. Some did not emerge again; those who +did laughed no more, and were henceforth unable to join in any +gaiety. Knight Owen made a descent in 1153, and gave a narrative of +his travels which had a prodigious success. + +Other legends related that when St. Patrick drove the goblins out of +Ireland, he was greatly tormented in this place for forty days by +legions of black birds. The Irish betook themselves to the spot, and +experienced the same assaults which gave them an immunity from +Purgatory. According to the narrative of Giraldus Cambrensis, the +isle which served as the theatre of this strange superstition was +divided into two parts. One belonged to the monks, the other was +occupied by evil spirits, who celebrated religious rites in their +own manner, with an infernal uproar. Some people, for the expiation +of their sins, voluntarily exposed themselves to the fury of those +demons. There were nine ditches in which they lay for a night, +tormented in a thousand different ways. To make the descent it was +necessary to obtain the permission of the bishop. His duty it was to +dissuade the penitent from attempting the adventure, and to point +out to him how many people had gone in who had never come out again. +If the devotee persisted, he was ceremoniously conducted to the +shaft. He was lowered down by means of a rope, with a loaf and a +vessel of water to strengthen him in the combat against the fiend +which he proposed to wage. On the following morning the sacristan +offered the rope anew to the sufferer. If he mounted to the surface +again, they brought him back to the church, bearing the cross and +chanting psalms. If he were not to be found, the sacristan closed +the door and departed. In more modern times pilgrims to the sacred +isles spent nine days there. They passed over to them in a boat +hollowed out of the trunk of a tree. Once a day they drank of the +water of the lake; processions and stations were performed in the +beds or cells of the saints. Upon the ninth day the penitents +entered into the shaft. Sermons were preached to them warning them +of the danger they were about to run, and they were told of terrible +examples. They forgave their enemies and took farewell of one +another, as though they were at their last agony. According to +contemporary accounts, the shaft was a low and narrow kiln, into +which nine entered at a time, and in which the penitents passed a +day and a night, huddled and tightly pressed against one another. +Popular belief imagined an abyss underneath, to swallow up the +unworthy and the unbelieving. On emerging from the pit they went and +bathed in the lake, and so their Purgatory was accomplished. It +would appear from the accounts of eye-witnesses that, to this day, +things happen very nearly after the same fashion. + +The immense reputation of the Purgatory of St. Patrick filled the +whole of the Middle Ages. Preachers made appeal to the public +notoriety of this great fact, to controvert those who had their +doubts regarding Purgatory. In the year 1358 Edward III. gave to a +Hungarian of noble birth, who had come from Hungary expressly to +visit the sacred well, letters patent attesting that he had +undergone his Purgatory. Narratives of those travels beyond the tomb +became a very fashionable form of literature; and it is important +for us to remark the wholly mythological, and as wholly Celtic, +characteristics dominant in them. It is in fact evident that we are +dealing with a mystery or local cult, anterior to Christianity, and +probably based upon the physical appearance of the country. The idea +of Purgatory, in its final and concrete form, fared specially well +amongst the Bretons and the Irish. Bede is one of the first to speak +of it in a descriptive manner, and the learned Mr. Wright very +justly observes that nearly all the descriptions of Purgatory come +from Irishmen, or from Anglo-Saxons who have resided in Ireland, +such as St. Fursey, Tundale, the Northumbrian Dryhthelm, and Knight +Owen. It is likewise a remarkable thing that only the Irish were +able to behold the marvels of their Purgatory. A canon from Hemstede +in Holland, who descended in 1494, saw nothing at all. Evidently +this idea of travels in the other world and its infernal categories, +as the Middle Ages accepted it, is Celtic. The belief in the three +circles of existence is again to be found in the Triads, [Footnote: +A series of aphorisms under the form of triplets, which give us, +with numerous interpolations, the ancient teaching of the bards, and +that traditional wisdom which, according to the testimony of the +ancients, was transmitted by means of mnemonic verses in the schools +of the Druids. under an aspect which does not permit one to see any +Christian interpolation.] + +The soul's peregrinations after death are also the favourite theme +of the most ancient Armorican poetry. Among the features by which +the Celtic races most impressed the Romans were the precision of +their ideas upon the future life, their inclination to suicide, and +the loans and contracts which they signed with the other world in +view. The more frivolous peoples of the South saw with awe in this +assurance the fact of a mysterious race, having an understanding of +the future and the secret of death. Through the whole of classical +antiquity runs the tradition of an Isle of Shadows, situated on the +confines of Brittany, and of a folk devoted to the passage of souls, +which lives upon the neighbouring coast. In the night they hear dead +men prowling about their cabin, and knocking at the door. Then they +rise up; their craft is laden with invisible beings; on their return +it is lighter. Several of these features reproduced by Plutarch, +Claudian, Procopius, [Footnote: A Byzantine historian of the fifth +and sixth centuries.] and Tzetzes [Footnote: A Greek poet and +grammarian of the twelfth century.] would incline one to believe +that the renown of the Irish myths made its way into classical +antiquity about the first or second century. Plutarch, for example, +relates, concerning the Cronian Sea, fables identical with those +which fill the legend of St. Malo. Procopius, describing the sacred +Island of Brittia, which consists of two parts separated by the sea, +one delightful, the other given over to evil spirits, seems to have +read in advance the description of the Purgatory of St. Patrick, +which Giraldus Cambrensis was to give seven centuries later. It +cannot be doubted for a moment, after the able researches of Messrs. +Ozanam, Labitte, and Wright, that to the number of poetical themes +which Europe owes to the genius of the Celts, is to be added the +framework of the Divine Comedy. + +One can understand how greatly this invincible attraction to fables +must have discredited the Celtic race in the eyes of nationalities +that believed themselves to be more serious. It is in truth a +strange thing, that the whole of the mediaeval epoch, whilst +submitting to the influence of the Celtic imagination, and borrowing +from Brittany and Ireland at least half of its poetical subjects, +believed itself obliged, for the saving of its own honour, to slight +and satirise the people to which it owed them. Even Chretien de +Troyes, for example, who passed his life in exploiting the Breton +romances for his own purposes, originated the saying-- + + "Les Gallois sont tous par nature + Plus sots que betes de pature." + +Some English chronicler, I know not who, imagined he was making a +charming play upon words when he described those beautiful +creations, the whole world of which deserved to live, as "the +childish nonsense with which those brutes of Bretons amuse +themselves." The Bollandists [Footnote: A group of Jesuits who +issued a collection of "Lives of the Saints". The first five volumes +were edited by John Bolland.] found it incumbent to exclude from +their collection, as apocryphal extravagances, those admirable +religious legends, with which no Church has anything to compare. The +decided leaning of the Celtic race towards the ideal, its sadness, +its fidelity, its good faith, caused it to be regarded by its +neighbours as dull, foolish, and superstitious. They could not +understand its delicacy and refined manner of feeling. They mistook +for awkwardness the embarrassment experienced by sincere and open +natures in the presence of more artificial natures. The contrast +between French frivolity and Breton stubbornness above all led, +after the fourteenth century, to most deplorable conflicts, whence +the Bretons ever emerged with a reputation for wrong-headedness. + +It was still worse, when the nation that most prides itself on its +practical good sense found confronting it the people that, to its +own misfortune, is least provided with that gift. Poor Ireland, with +her ancient mythology, with her Purgatory of St. Patrick, and her +fantastic travels of St. Brandan, was not destined to find grace in +the eyes of English puritanism. One ought to observe the disdain of +English critics for these fables, and their superb pity for the +Church which dallies with Paganism, so far as to keep up usages +which are notoriously derived from it. Assuredly we have here a +praiseworthy zeal, arising from natural goodness; and yet, even if +these flights of imagination did no more than render a little more +supportable many sufferings which are said to have no remedy, that +after all would be something. Who shall dare to say where, here on +earth, is the boundary between reason and dreaming? Which is worth +more, the imaginative instinct of man, or the narrow orthodoxy that +pretends to remain rational, when speaking of things divine? For my +own part, I prefer the frank mythology, with all its vagaries, to a +theology so paltry, so vulgar, and so colourless, that it would be +wronging God to believe that, after having made the visible world so +beautiful he should have made the invisible world so prosaically +reasonable. + +In presence of the ever-encroaching progress of a civilisation which +is of no country, and can receive no name, other than that of modern +or European, it would be puerile to hope that the Celtic race is in +the future to succeed in obtaining isolated expression of its +originality. And yet we are far from believing that this race has +said its last word. After having put in practice all chivalries, +devout and worldly, gone with Peredur in quest of the Holy Grail and +fair ladies, and dreamed with St. Brandan of mystical Atlantides, +who knows what it would produce in the domain of intellect, if it +hardened itself to an entrance into the world, and subjected its +rich and profound nature to the conditions of modern thought? It +appears to me that there would result from this combination, +productions of high originality, a subtle and discreet manner of +taking life, a singular union of strength and weakness, of rude +simplicity and mildness. Few races have had so complete a poetic +childhood as the Celtic; mythology, lyric poetry, epic, romantic +imagination, religious enthusiasm--none of these failed them; why +should reflection fail them? Germany, which commenced with science +and criticism, has come to poetry; why should not the Celtic races, +which began with poetry, finish with criticism? There is not so +great a distance from one to the other as is supposed; the poetical +races are the philosophic races, and at bottom philosophy is only a +manner of poetry. When one considers how Germany, less than a +century ago, had her genius revealed to her, how a multitude of +national individualities, to all appearance effaced, have suddenly +risen again in our own days, more instinct with life than ever, one +feels persuaded that it is a rash thing to lay down any law on the +intermittence and awakening of nations; and that modern +civilisation, which appeared to be made to absorb them, may perhaps +be nothing more than their united fruition. + + + + +THE EDUCATION OF THE HUMAN RACE + +BY + +GOTTHOLD EPHRAIM LESSINO + + +TRANSLATED BY + +F. W. ROBERTSON + + + + +INTRODUCTORY NOTE + +Lessing's life has been sketched in the introduction to his "Minna +von Barnhelm" in the volume of Continental Dramas in The Harvard +Classics. + +"The Education of the Human Race" is the culmination of a bitter +theological controversy which began with the publication by Lessing, +in 1774-1778, of a series of fragments of a work on natural religion +by the German deist, Reimarus. This action brought upon Lessing the +wrath of the orthodox German Protestants, led by J. M. Goeze, and in +the battle that followed Lessing did his great work for the +liberalising of religious thought in Germany. The present treatise +is an extraordinarily condensed statement of the author's attitude +towards the fundamental questions of religion, and gives his view of +the signification of the previous religious history of mankind, +along with his faith And hope for the future. + +As originally issued, the essay purported to be merely edited by +Lessing; but there is no longer any doubt as to his having been its +author. It is an admirable and characteristic expression of the +serious and elevated spirit in which he dealt with matters that had +then, as often, been degraded by the virulence of controversy. + + + + +THE EDUCATION OF THE HUMAN RACE + +1 + +That which Education is to the Individual, Revelation is to the +Race. + +2 + +Education is Revelation coming to the Individual Man; and Revelation +is Education which has come, and is yet coming, to the Human Race. + +3 + +Whether it can be of any advantage to the science of instruction to +contemplate Education in this point of view, I will not here +inquire; but in Theology it may unquestionably be of great +advantage, and may remove many difficulties, if Revelation be +conceived of as the Educator of Humanity. + +4 + +Education gives to Man nothing which he might not educe out of +himself; it gives him that which he might educe out of himself, only +quicker and more easily. In the same way too, Revelation gives +nothing to the human species, which the human reason left to itself +might not attain; only it has given, and still gives to it, the most +important of these things earlier. + +5 + +And just as in Education, it is not a matter of indifference in what +order the powers of a man are developed, as it cannot impart to a +man all at once; so was God also necessitated to maintain a certain +order, and a certain measure in His Revelation. + +6 + +Even if the first man were furnished at once with a conception of +the One God; yet it was not possible that this conception, imparted, +and not gained by thought, should subsist long in its clearness. As +soon as the Human Reason, left to itself, began to elaborate it, it +broke up the one Immeasurable into many Measurables, and gave a note +or sign of mark to every one of these parts. + +7 + +Hence naturally arose polytheism and idolatry. And who can say how +many millions of years human reason would have been bewildered in +these errors, even though in all places and times there were +individual men who recognized them as errors, had it not pleased God +to afford it a better direction by means of a new Impulse? + +8 + +But when He neither could nor would reveal Himself any more to each +individual man, He selected an individual People for His special +education; and that exactly the most rude and the most unruly, in +order to begin with it from the very commencement. + +9 + +This was the Hebrew People, respecting whom we do not in the least +know what kind of Divine Worship they had in Egypt. For so despised +a race of slaves was not permitted to take part in the worship of +the Egyptians; and the God of their fathers was entirely unknown to +them. + +10 + +It is possible that the Egyptians had expressly prohibited the +Hebrews from having a God or Gods, perhaps they had forced upon them +the belief that their despised race had no God, no Gods, that to +have a God or Gods was the prerogative of the superior Egyptians +only, and this may have been so held in order to have the power of +tyrannising over them with a greater show of fairness. Do Christians +even now do much better with their slaves? + +11 + +To this rude people God caused Himself to be announced first, simply +as "the God of their fathers," in order to make them acquainted and +familiar with the idea of a God belonging to them also, and to begin +with confidence in Him. + +12 + +Through the miracles with which He led them out of Egypt, and +planted them in Canaan, He testified of Himself to them as a God +mightier than any other God. + +13 + +And as He proceeded, demonstrating Himself to be the Mightiest of +all, which only One can be, He gradually accustomed them thus to the +idea of THE ONE. + +14 + +But how far was this conception of The One, below the true +transcendental conception of the One which Reason learnt to derive, +so late with certainty, from the conception of the Infinite One? + +15 + +Although the best of the people were already more or less +approaching the true conception of the One only, the people as a +whole could not for a long time elevate themselves to it. And this +was the sole true reason why they so often abandoned their one God, +and expected to find the One, i. e., as they meant, the Mightiest, +in some God or other, belonging to another people. + +16 + +But of what kind of moral education was a people so raw, so +incapable of abstract thoughts, and so entirely in their childhood +capable? Of none other but such as is adapted to the age of +children, an education by rewards and punishments addressed to the +senses. + +17 + +Here too Education and Revelation meet together. As yet God could +give to His people no other religion, no other law than one through +obedience to which they might hope to be happy, or through +disobedience to which they must fear to be unhappy. For as yet their +regards went no further than this earth. They knew of no immortality +of the soul; they yearned after no life to come. But now to reveal +these things to one whose reason had as yet so little growth, what +would it have been but the same fault in the Divine Rule as is +committed by the schoolmaster, who chooses to hurry his pupil too +rapidly, and boast of his progress, rather than thoroughly to ground +him? + +18 + +But, it will be asked, to what purpose was this education of so rude +a people, a people with whom God had to begin so entirely from the +beginning? I reply, in order that in the process of time He might +employ particular members of this nation as the Teachers of other +people. He was bringing up in them the future Teachers of the human +race. It was the Jews who became their teachers, none but Jews; only +men out of a people so brought up, could be their teachers. + +19 + +For to proceed. When the Child by dint of blows and caresses had +grown and was now come to years of understanding, the Father sent it +at once into foreign countries: and here it recognised at once the +Good which in its Father's house it had possessed, and had not been +conscious of. + +20. + +While God guided His chosen people through all the degrees of a +child-like education, the other nations of the earth had gone on by +the light of reason. The most part had remained far behind the +chosen people. Only a few had got before them. And this too, takes +place with children, who are allowed to grow up left to themselves: +many remain quite raw, some educate themselves even to an +astonishing degree. + +21 + +But as these more fortunate few prove nothing against the use and +necessity of Education, so the few heathen nations, who even appear +to have made a start in the knowledge of God before the chosen +people, prove nothing against a Revelation. The Child of Education +begins with slow yet sure footsteps; it is late in overtaking many a +more happily organised child of nature; but it does overtake it; and +thenceforth can never be distanced by it again. + +22 + +Similarly--Putting aside the doctrine of the Unity of God, which in +a way is found, and in a way is not found, in the books of the Old +Testament--that the doctrine of immortality at least is not +discoverable in it, is wholly foreign to it, that all doctrine +connected therewith of reward and punishment in a future life, +proves just as little against the Divine origin of these books. +Notwithstanding the absence of these doctrines, the account of +miracles and prophecies may be perfectly true. For let us suppose +that these doctrines were not only wanting therein, but even that +they were not at all true; let us suppose that for mankind all was +over in this life; would the Being of God be for this reason less +demonstrated? Would God be for this less at liberty, would it less +become Him to take immediate charge of the temporal fortunes of any +people out of this perishable race? The miracles which He performed +for the Jews, the prophecies which He caused to be recorded through +them, were surely not for the few mortal Jews, in whose time they +had happened and been recorded: He had His intentions therein in +reference to the whole Jewish people, to the entire Human Race, +which, perhaps, is destined to remain on earth forever, though every +individual Jew and every individual man die forever. + +23 + +Once more, The absence of those doctrines in the writings of the Old +Testament proves nothing against their Divinity. Moses was sent from +God even though the sanction of his law only extended to this life. +For why should it extend further? He was surely sent only to the +Israelitish people of that time, and his commission was perfectly +adapted to the knowledge, capacities, yearnings of the then existing +Israelitish people, as well as to the destination of that which +belonged to the future. And this is sufficient. + +24 + +So far ought Warburton to have gone, and no further. But that +learned man overdrew his bow. Not content that the absence of these +doctrines was no discredit to the Divine mission of Moses, it must +even be a proof to him of the Divinity of the mission. And if he had +only sought this proof in the adaptation of such a law to such a +people! + +But he betook himself to the hypothesis of a miraculous system +continued in an unbroken line from Moses to Christ, according to +which, God had made every individual Jew exactly happy or unhappy, +in the proportion to his obedience or disobedience to the law +deserved. He would have it that this miraculous system had +compensated for the want of those doctrines (of eternal rewards and +punishments, &c.), without which no state can subsist; and that such +a compensation even proved what that want at first sight appeared to +negative. + +25 + +How well it was that Warburton could by no argument prove or even +make likely this continuous miracle, in which he placed the +existence of Israelitish Theocracy! For could he have done so, in +truth, he could then, and not till then, have made the difficulty +really insuperable, to me at least. For that which was meant to +prove the Divine character of the Mission of Moses, would have +rendered the matter itself doubtful, which God, it is true, did not +intend then to reveal; but which on the other hand, He certainly +would not render unattainable. + +26 + +I explain myself by that which is a picture of Revelation. A Primer +for children may fairly pass over in silence this or that important +piece of knowledge or art which it expounds, respecting which the +Teacher judged, that it is not yet fitted for the capacities of the +children for whom he was writing. But it must contain absolutely +nothing which blocks up the way towards the knowledge which is held +back, or misleads the children from it. Rather far, all the +approaches towards it must be carefully left open; and to lead them +away from even one of these approaches, or to cause them to enter it +later than they need, would alone be enough to change the mere +imperfection of such a Primer into an actual fault. + +27 + +In the same way, in the writings of the Old Testament those primers +for the rude Israelitish people, unpractised in thought, the +doctrines of the immortality of the soul, and future recompenses, +might be fairly left out: but they were bound to contain nothing +which could have even procrastinated the progress of the people, for +whom they were written, in their way to this grand truth. And to say +but a small thing, what could have more procrastinated it than the +promise of such a miraculous recompense in this life? A promise made +by Him who promises nothing that He does not perform. + +28 + +For although unequal distribution of the goods of this life, Virtue +and Vice seem to be taken too little into consideration, although +this unequal distribution docs not exactly afford a strong proof of +the immortality of the soul and of a life to come, in which this +difficulty will be reserved hereafter, it is certain that without +this difficulty the human understanding would not for a long time, +perhaps never, have arrived at better or firmer proofs. For what was +to impel it to seek for these better proofs? Mere curiosity? + +29 + +An Israelite here and there, no doubt, might have extended to every +individual member of the entire commonwealth, those promises and +threatenings which belong to it as a whole, and be firmly persuaded +that whosoever should be pious must also be happy, and that whoever +was unhappy must be bearing the penalty of his wrong-doing, which +penalty would forthwith change itself into blessing, as soon as he +abandoned his sin. Such a one appears to have written Job, for the +plan of it is entirely in this spirit. + +30 + +But daily experience could not possibly be permitted to confirm this +belief, or else it would have been all over, for ever, with people +who had this experience, so far as all recognition and reception was +concerned of the truth as yet unfamiliar to them. For if the pious +were absolutely happy, and it also of course was a necessary part of +his happiness that his satisfaction should be broken by no uneasy +thoughts of death, and that he should die old, and satisfied with +life to the full: how could he yearn after another life? and how +could he reflect upon a thing after which he did not yearn? But if +the pious did not reflect thereupon, who then should reflect? The +transgressor? he who felt the punishments of his misdeeds, and if he +cursed this life, must have so gladly renounced that other +existence? + +31 + +Much less would it signify if an Israelite here and there directly +and expressly denied the immortality of the soul and future +recompense, on account of the law having no reference thereto. The +denial of an individual, had it even been a Solomon, did not arrest +the progress of the general reason, and was even in itself a proof +that the nation had now come a great step nearer the truth For +individuals only deny what the many are bringing into consideration; +and to bring into consideration that, concerning which no one +troubled himself at all before, is half way to knowledge. + +32 + +Let us also acknowledge that it is a heroic obedience to obey the +laws of God simply because they are God's laws, and not because He +has promised to reward the obedience to them here and there; to obey +them even though there be an entire despair of future recompense, +and uncertainty respecting a temporal one. + +33 + +Must not a people educated in this heroic obedience towards God have +been destined, must they not have been capable beyond all others of +executing Divine purpose? of quite a special character? Let the +soldier, who pays blind obedience to his leader, become also +convinced of his leader's wisdom, and then say what that leader may +not undertake to achieve with him. + +34 + +As yet the Jewish people had reverenced in their Jehovah rather the +mightiest than the wisest of all Gods; as yet they had rather feared +Him as a Jealous God than loved Him: a proof this too, that the +conception which they had of their eternal One God was not exactly +the right conception which we should have of God. However, now the +time was come that these conceptions of theirs were to be expanded, +ennobled, rectified, to accomplish which God availed Himself of a +quite natural means, a better and more correct measure, by which it +got the opportunity of appreciating Him. + +35 + +Instead of, as hitherto, appreciating Him in contrast with the +miserable idols of the small neighboring peoples, with whom they +lived in constant rivalry, they began, in captivity under the wise +Persians, to measure Him against the "Being of all Beings" such as a +more disciplined reason recognized and reverenced. + +36 + +Revelation had guided their reason, and now, all at once, reason +gave clearness to their Revelation. + +37 + +This was the first reciprocal influence which these two (Reason and +Revelation) exercised on one another; and so far is the mutual +influence from being unbecoming to the Author of them both, that +without it either of them would have been useless. + +38 + +The child, sent abroad, saw other children who knew more, who lived +more becomingly, and asked itself, in confusion, "Why do I not know +that too? Why do I not live so too? Ought I not to have been taught +and admonished of all this in my father's house?" Thereupon it again +sought out its Primer, which had long been thrown into a corner, in +order to throw off a blame upon the Primer. But behold, it discovers +that the blame does not rest upon the books, that the shame is +solely its own, for not having long ago, known this very thing, and +lived in this very way. + +39 + +Since the Jews, by this time, through the medium of the pure Persian +doctrine, recognized in their Jehovah, not simply the greatest of +all national deities, but GOD; and since they could, the more +readily find Him and indicate Him to others in their sacred +writings, inasmuch as He was really in them; and since they +manifested as great an aversion for sensuous representations, or at +all events, were instructed in these Scriptures, to have an aversion +to them as great as the Persians had always felt; what wonder that +they found favor in the eyes of Cyrus, with a Divine Worship which +he recognized as being, no doubt, far below pure Sabeism, but yet +far above the rude idolatries which in its stead had taken +possession of the forsaken land of the Jews. + +40 + +Thus enlightened respecting the treasures which they had possessed, +without knowing it, they returned, and became quite another people, +whose first care it was to give permanency to this illumination +amongst themselves. Soon an apostacy and idolatry among them was out +of the question. For it is possible to be faithless to a national +deity, but never to God, after He has once been recognised. + +The theologians have tried to explain this complete change in the +Jewish people in a different way; and one, who has well demonstrated +the insufficiency of these explanations, at last was for giving us, +as a true account--"the visible fulfilment of the prophecies which +had been spoken and written respecting the Babylonish captivity and +the restoration from it." But even this reason can be only so far +the true one, as it presupposes the, by this time, exalted ideas of +God. The Jews must by this time have recognised that to do miracles, +and to predict the future, belonged only to God, both of which they +had ascribed formerly to false idols, by which it came to pass that +even miracles and prophecies had hitherto made so weak an impression +upon them. + +42 + +Doubtless, the Jews were made more acquainted with the doctrine of +immortality among the Chaldeans and Persians. They became more +familiar with it too in the schools of the Greek Philosophers in +Egypt. + +43 + +However, as this doctrine was not in the same condition in reference +to their Scriptures that the doctrines of God's Unity and Attributes +were--since the former were entirely overlooked by that sensual +people, while the latter would be sought for:--and since too, for +the former, previous exercising was necessary, and as yet there had +been only hints and allusions, the faith in the immortality of the +soul could naturally never be the faith of the entire people. It was +and continued to be only the creed of a certain section of them. + +44 + +An example of what I mean by "previous exercising" for the doctrine +of immortality, is the Divine threatenings of punishing the misdeeds +of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth +generation. This accustomed the fathers to live in thought with +their remotest posterity, and to feel, as it were, beforehand, the +misfortune which they had brought upon these guiltless ones. + +45 + +By an allusion I mean that which was intended only to excite +curiosity and to occasion questions. As, for instance, the oft- +recurring mode of expression, describing death by "he was gathered +to his fathers." + +By a "hint" I mean that which already contains any germ, out of +which the, as yet, held back truth allows itself to be developed. Of +this character was the inference of Christ from the naming of God +"the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob." This hint appears to me to +be unquestionably capable of being worked out into a strong proof. + +47 + +In such previous exercitations, allusions, hints, consists the +positive perfection of a Primer; just as the above-mentioned +peculiarity of not throwing difficulties or hindrances in the way to +the suppressed truth constitutes the negative perfection of such a +book. + +48 + +Add to all this the clothing and style. + +1. The clothing of abstract truths, which were not entirely to be +passed over, in allegories and instructive single circumstances, +which were narrated as actual occurrences. Of this character are the +Creation under the image of growing Day; the Origin of Evil in the +story of the Forbidden Tree; the source of the variety of languages +in the history of the Tower of Babel, &c. + +49 2. The style--sometimes plain and simple, sometimes poetical, +throughout full of tautologies, but of such a kind as practised +sagacity, since they sometimes appear to be saying something else, +and yet the same thing; sometimes the same thing over again, and yet +to signify or to be capable of signifying at the bottom, something +else:-- + +50 + +And then you have all the properties of excellence which belong to a +Primer for a childlike people, as well as for children. + +51 + +But every Primer is only for a certain age. To delay the child, that +has outgrown it, longer in it than it was intended for, is hurtful. +For to be able to do this is a way in any sort profitable, you must +insert into it more than there is really in it, and extract from it +more than it can contain. You must look for and make too much of +allusions and hints; squeeze allegories too closely; interpret +examples too circumstantially; press too much upon words. This gives +the child a petty, crooked, hair splitting understanding: it makes +him full of mysteries, superstitions; full of contempt for all that +is comprehensible and easy. + +52 + +The very way in which the Rabbins handled their sacred books! The +very character which they thereby imparted to the character of their +people! + +53 + +A Better Instructor must come and tear the exhausted Primer from the +child's hands. CHRIST came! + +54 + +That portion of the human race which God had willed to comprehend in +one Educational plan, was ripe for the Second step of Education. He +had, however, only willed to comprehend on such a plan, one which by +language, mode of action, government, and other natural and +political relationships, was already united in itself. + +55 + +That is, this portion of the human race was come so far in the +exercise of its reason, as to need, and to be able to make use of +nobler and worthier motives of moral action than temporal rewards +and punishments, which had hitherto been its guides. The child had +become a youth. Sweetmeats and toys have given place to the budding +desire to go as free, as honored, and as happy as its elder brother. + +56 + +For a long time, already, the best individuals of that portion of +the human race (called above the elder brother); had been accustomed +to let themselves be ruled by the shadow of such nobler motives. The +Greek and Roman did everything to live on after this life, even if +it were only in the remembrance of their fellow-citizens. + +57 + +It was time that another true life to be expected after this should +gain an influence over the youth's actions. + +58 + +And so Christ was the first certain practical Teacher of the +immortality of the soul. + +59 + +The first certain Teacher. Certain, through the prophecies which +were fulfilled in Him; certain, through the miracles which He +achieved; certain, through His own revival after a death through +which He had sealed His doctrine. Whether we can still prove this +revival, these miracles, I put aside, as I leave on one side who the +Person of Christ was. All that may have been at that time of great +weight for the reception of His doctrine, but it is now no longer of +the same importance for the recognition of the truth of His +doctrine. + +60 + +The first practical Teacher. For it is one thing to conjecture, to +wish, and to believe the immortality of the soul, as a philosophic +speculation: quite another thing to direct the inner and outer acts +by it. + +61 + +And this at least Christ was the first to teach. For although, +already before Him, the belief had been introduced among many +nations, that bad actions have yet to be punished in that life; yet +they were only such actions as were injurious to civil society, and +consequently, too, had already had their punishment in civil +society. To enforce an inward purity of heart in reference to +another life, was reserved for Him alone. + +62 + +His disciples have faithfully propagated these doctrines: and if +they had even had no other merit, than that of having effected a +more general publication, among other nations, of a Truth which +Christ had appeared to have destined only for the Jews, yet would +they have even on that account alone, to be reckoned among the +Benefactors and Fosterers of the Human Race. + +63 + +If, however, they transplanted this one great Truth together with +other doctrines, whose truth was less enlightening, whose usefulness +was of a less exalted character, how could it be otherwise. Let us +not blame them for this, but rather seriously examine whether these +very commingled doctrines have not become a new impulse of +directions for human reason. + +64 + +At least, it is already clear that the New Testament Scriptures, in +which these doctrines after some time were found preserved, have +afforded, and still afford, the second better Primer for the race of +man. + +65 + +For seven hundred years past they have exercised human reason more +than all other books, and enlightened it more, were it even only +through the light which the human reason itself threw into them. + +66 + +It would have been impossible for any other book to become so +generally known among different nations: and indisputably, the fact +that modes of thought so diverse from each other have been occupied +on the same book, has helped on the human reason more than if every +nation had had its own Primer specially for itself. + +67 + +It was also highly necessary that each people for a period should +hold this Book as the ne plus ultra of their knowledge. For the +youth must consider his Primer as the first of all books, that the +impatience to finish this book, may not hurry him on to things for +which he has, as yet, laid no basis. + +68 + +And one thing is also of the greatest importance even now. Thou +abler spirit, who art fretting and restless over the last page of +the Primer, beware! Beware of letting thy weaker fellow scholars +mark what thou perceivest afar, or what thou art beginning to see! + +Until these weaker fellow scholars are up with thee, rather return +once more into this Primer, and examine whether that which thou +takest only for duplicates of the method, for a blunder in the +teaching, is not perhaps something more. + +70 + +Thou hast seen in the childhood of the human race, respecting the +doctrine of God's unity, that God makes immediate revelations of +mere truths of reason, or has permitted and caused pure truths of +reason to be taught, for some time, as truths of immediate +revelation, in order to promulgate them the more rapidly, and ground +them the more firmly. + +71 + +Thou experiencest in the boyhood of the Race the same thing in +reference to the doctrine of the immortality of the soul. It is +preached in the better Primer as a Revelation, instead of taught as +a result of human reason. + +72 + +As we by this time can dispense with the Old Testament, in reference +to the doctrine of the unity of God, and as we are by degrees +beginning also to be less dependent on the New Testament, in +reference to the immortality of the soul: might there not in this +Book also be other truths of the same sort prefigured, mirrored, as +it were, which we are to marvel at, as revelations, exactly so long +as until the time shall come when reason shall have learned to educe +them, out of its other demonstrated truths and bind them up with +them? + +73 + +For instance, the doctrine of the Trinity. How if this doctrine +should at last, after endless errors, right and left, only bring men +on the road to recognise that God cannot possibly be One in the +sense in which finite things are one, that even His unity must be a +transcendental unity, which does not exclude a sort of purality? +Must not God at least have the most perfect conception of Himself, +i. e., a conception in which is found everything which is in Him? +But would everything be found in it which is in Him, if a mere +conception, a mere possibility, were found even of his necessary +Reality as well as of His other qualities? This possibility exhausts +the being of His other qualities. Does it that of His necessary +Reality? I think not. Consequently God can either have no perfect +conception of himself at all, or this perfect conception is just as +necessarily real, i. e., actually existent, as He Himself is. +Certainly the image of myself in the mirror is nothing but an empty +representation of me, because it only has that of me upon the +surface of which beams of light fall. But now if this image had +everything, everything without exception, which I have myself, would +it then still be a mere empty representation, or not rather a true +reduplication of myself? When I believe that I recognise in God a +familiar reduplication, I perhaps do not so much err, as that my +language is insufficient for my ideas: and so much at least for ever +incontrovertible, that they who wish to make the idea thereof +popular for comprehension, could scarcely have expressed themselves +more intelligibly and suitably than by giving the name of a Son +begotten from Eternity. + +74 + +And the doctrine of Original Sin. How, if at last everything were to +convince us that man standing on the first and lowest step of his +humanity, is not so entirely master of his actions as to be able to +obey moral laws? + +75 + +And the doctrine of the Son's satisfaction. How, if at last, all +compelled us to assume that God, in spite of that original +incapacity of man, chose rather to give him moral laws, and forgive +him all transgressions in consideration of His Son, i. e., in +consideration of the self-existent total of all His own perfections, +compared with which, and in which, all imperfections of the +individual disappear, than not to give him those laws, and then to +exclude him from all moral blessedness, which cannot be conceived of +without moral laws. + +Let it not be objected that speculations of this description upon +the mysteries of religion are forbidden. The word mystery signified, +in the first ages of Christianity, something quite different from +what it means now: and the cultivation of revealed truths into +truths of reason, is absolutely necessary, if the human race is to +be assisted by them. When they were revealed they were certainly no +truths of reason, but they were revealed in order to become such. +They were like the "that makes"--of the ciphering master, which he +says to the boys, beforehand, in order to direct them thereby in +their reckoning. If the scholars were to be satisfied with the "that +makes," they would never learn to calculate, and would frustrate the +intention with which their good master gave them a guiding clue in +their work. + +77 + +And why should not we too, by the means of a religion whose +historical truth, if you will, looks dubious, be conducted in a +familiar way to closer and better conceptions of the Divine Being, +our own nature, our relation to God, truths at which the human +reason would never have arrived of itself? + +78 + +It is not true that speculations upon these things have ever done +harm or become injurious to the body politic. You must reproach, not +the speculations, but the folly and the tyranny of checking them. +You must lay the blame on those who would not permit men having +their own speculations to exercise them. + +79 + +On the contrary, speculations of this sort, whatever the result, are +unquestionably the most fitting exercises of the human heart, +generally, so long as the human heart, generally, is at best only +capable of loving virtue for the sake of its eternal blessed +consequences. + +80 + +For in this selfishness of the human heart, to will to practice the +understanding too, only on that which concerns our corporal needs, +would be to blunt rather than to sharpen it. It absolutely will be +exercised on spiritual objects, if it is to attain its perfect +illumination, and bring out that purity of heart which makes us +capable of loving virtue for its own sake alone. + +81 + +Or, is the human species never to arrive at this highest step of +illumination and purity?--Never? + +82 + +Never?--Let me not think this blasphemy, All Merciful! Education has +its goal, in the Race, no less than in the Individual. That which is +educated is educated for something. + +83 + +The flattering prospects which are open to the people, the Honor and +Well-being which are painted to him, what are they more than the +means of educating him to become a man, who, when these prospects of +Honor and Well-being have vanished, shall be able to do his Duty? + +84 + +This is the aim of human education, and should not the Divine +education extend as far? Is that which is successful in the way of +Art with the individual, not to be successful in the way of Nature +with the whole? Blasphemy! Blasphemy!! + +85 + +No! It will come! it will assuredly come! the time of the +perfecting, when man, the more convinced his understanding feels +itself of an ever better Future, will nevertheless not be +necessitated to borrow motives of action from this Future; for he +will do the Right because it is right, not because arbitrary rewards +are annexed thereto, which formerly were intended simply to fix and +strengthen his unsteady gaze in recognising the inner, better, +rewards of well-doing. + +86 + +It will assuredly come! the time of a new eternal Gospel, which is +promised us in the Primer of the New Testament itself! + +87 + +Perhaps even some enthusiasts of the thirteenth and fourteenth +centuries had caught a glimpse of a beam of this new eternal Gospel, +and only erred in that they predicted its outburst at so near to +their own time. + +88 + +Perhaps their "Three Ages of the World" were not so empty a +speculation after all, and assuredly they had no contemptible views +when they taught that the New Covenant must become as much +antiquated as the old has been. There remained by them the +similarity of the economy of the same God. Ever, to let them speak +my words, ever the self-same plan of the Education of the Race. + +89 + +Only they were premature. Only they believed that they could make +their contemporaries, who had scarcely outgrown their childhood, +without enlightenment, without preparation, men worthy of their +Third Age. + +90 + +And it was just this which made them enthusiasts. The enthusiast +often casts true glances into the future, but for this future he +cannot wait. He wishes this future accelerated, and accelerated +through him. That for which nature takes thousands of years is to +mature itself in the moment of his existence. For what possession +has he in it if that which he recognises as the Best does not become +the best in his lifetime? Does he come back? Does he expect to come +back? Marvellous only that this enthusiastic expectation does not +become more the fashion among enthusiasts. 91 + +Go thine inscrutable way, Eternal Providence! Only let me not +despair in Thee, because of this inscrutableness. Let me not despair +in Thee, even if Thy steps appear to me to be going back. It is not +true that the shortest line is always straight. + +92 + +Thou hast on Thine Eternal Way so much to carry on together, so much +to do! So many aside steps to take! And what if it were as good as +proved that the vast flow wheel which brings mankind nearer to this +perfection is only put in motion by smaller, swifter wheels, each of +which contributes its own individual unit thereto? + +93 + +It is so! The very same Way by which the Race reaches its +perfection, must every individual man--one sooner--another later-- +have travelled over. Have travelled over in one and the same life? +Can he have been, in one and the self-same life, a sensual Jew and a +spiritual Christian? Can he in the self-same life have overtaken +both? + +94 + +Surely not that! But why should not every individual man have +existed more than once upon this World? + +95 + +Is this hypothesis so laughable merely because it is the oldest? +Because the human understanding, before the sophistries of the +Schools had dissipated and debilitated it, lighted upon it at once? + +Why may not even I have already performed those steps of my +perfecting which bring to man only temporal punishments and rewards? + +97 + +And once more, why not another time all those steps, to perform +which the views of Eternal Rewards so powerfully assist us? + +Why should I not come back as often as I am capable of acquiring +fresh knowledge, fresh expertness? Do I bring away so much from +once, that there is nothing to repay the trouble of coming back? + +99 + +Is this a reason against it? Or, because I forget that I have been +here already? Happy is it for me that I do forget. The recollection +of my former condition would permit me to make only a bad use of the +present. And that which even I must forget now, is that necessarily +forgotten for ever? + +100 + +Or is it a reason against the hypothesis that so much time would +have been lost to me? Lost?--And how much then should I miss?--Is +not a whole Eternity mine? + + + + +LETTERS UPON THE AESTHETIC EDUCATION OF MAN + +BY + +J. C. FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER + + + + +INTRODUCTORY NOTE + +An outline of the life of Schiller will be found prefixed to the +translation of "Wilhelm Tell" in the volume of Continental Dramas in +The Harvard Classics. + +Schiller's importance in the intellectual history of Germany is by +no means confined to his poetry and dramas. He did notable work in +history and philosophy, and in the department of esthetics +especially, he made significant contributions, modifying and +developing in important respects the doctrines of Kant. In the +letters on "Esthetic Education" which are here printed, he gives the +philosophic basis for his doctrine of art, and indicates clearly and +persuasively his view of the place of beauty in human life. + + +LETTERS UPON THE AESTHETIC EDUCATION OF MAN + + +LETTER I. + +By your permission I lay before you, in a series of letters, the +results of my researches upon beauty and art. I am keenly sensible +of the importance as well as of the charm and dignity of this +undertaking. I shall treat a subject which is closely connected with +the better portion of our happiness and not far removed from the +moral nobility of human nature. I shall plead this cause of the +Beautiful before a heart by which her whole power is felt and +exercised, and which will take upon itself the most difficult part +of my task in an investigation where one is compelled to appeal as +frequently to feelings as to principles. + +That which I would beg of you as a favour, you generously impose +upon me as a duty; and, when I solely consult my inclination, you +impute to me a service. The liberty of action you prescribe is +rather a necessity for me than a constraint little exercised in +formal rules, I shall scarcely incur the risk of sinning against +good taste by any undue use of them; my ideas, drawn rather from +within than from reading or from an intimate experience with the +world, will not disown their origin; they would rather incur any +reproach than that of a sectarian bias, and would prefer to succumb +by their innate feebleness than sustain themselves by borrowed +authority and foreign support. + +In truth, I will not keep back from you that the assertions which +follow rest chiefly upon Kantian principles; but if in the course of +these researches you should be reminded of any special school of +philosophy, ascribe it to my incapacity, not to those principles. +No; your liberty of mind shall be sacred to me; and the facts upon +which I build will be furnished by your own sentiments; your own +unfettered thought will dictate the laws according to which we to +proceed. + +With regard to the ideas which predominate in the practical part of +Kant's system, philosophers only disagree, whilst mankind, I am +confident of proving, have never done so. If stripped of their +technical shape, they will appear as the verdict of reason +pronounced from time immemorial by common consent, and as facts of +the moral instinct which nature, in her wisdom, has given to man in +order to serve as guide and teacher until his enlightened +intelligence gives him maturity. But this very technical shape which +renders truth visible to the understanding conceals it from the +feelings; for, unhappily, understanding begins by destroying the +object of the inner sense before it can appropriate the object. Like +the chemist, the philosopher finds synthesis only by analysis, or +the spontaneous work of nature only through the torture of art. +Thus, in order to detain the fleeting apparition, he must enchain it +in the fetters of rule, dissect its fair proportions into abstract +notions, and preserve its living spirit in a fleshless skeleton of +words. Is it surprising that natural feeling should not recognise +itself in such a copy, and if in the report of the analyst the truth +appears as paradox? + +Permit me therefore to crave your indulgence if the following +researches should remove their object from the sphere of sense while +endeavouring to draw it towards the understanding. That which I +before said of moral experience can be applied with greater truth to +the manifestation of "the beautiful." It is the mystery which +enchants, and its being is extinguished with the extinction of the +necessary combination of its elements. + +LETTER II. + +But I might perhaps make a better use of the opening you afford me +if I were to direct your mind to a loftier theme than that of art. +It would appear to be unseasonable to go in search of a code for the +aesthetic world, when the moral world offers matter of so much +higher interest, and when the spirit of philosophical inquiry is so +stringently challenged by the circumstances of our times to occupy +itself with the most perfect of all works of art--the establishment +and structure of a true political freedom. + +It is unsatisfactory to live out of your own age and to work for +other times. It is equally incumbent on us to be good members of our +own age as of our own state or country. If it is conceived to be +unseemly and even unlawful for a man to segregate himself from the +customs and manners of the circle in which he lives, it would be +inconsistent not to see that it is equally his duty to grant a +proper share of influence to the voice of his own epoch, to its +taste and its requirements, in the operations in which he engages. + +But the voice of our age seems by no means favorable to art, at all +events to that kind of art to which my inquiry is directed. The +course of events has given a direction to the genius of the time +that threatens to remove it continually further from the ideal of +art. For art has to leave reality, it has to raise itself bodily +above necessity and neediness for art is the daughter of freedom, +and it requires its prescriptions and rules to be furnished by the +necessity of spirits and not by that of matter. But in our day it is +necessity, neediness, that prevails, and bends a degraded humanity +under its iron yoke. Utility is the great idol of the time, to which +all powers do homage and all subjects are subservient. In this great +balance of utility, the spiritual service of art has no weight, and, +deprived of all encouragement, it vanishes from the noisy Vanity +Fair of our time. The very spirit of philosophical inquiry itself +robs the imagination of one promise after another, and the frontiers +of art are narrowed, in proportion as the limits of science are +enlarged. + +The eyes of the philosopher as well as of the man of the world are +anxiously turned to the theatre of political events, where it is +presumed the great destiny of man is to be played out. It would +almost seem to betray e culpable indifference to the welfare of +society if we did not share this general interest. For this great +commerce in social and moral principles is of necessity a matter of +the greatest concern to every human being, on the ground both of its +subject and of its results. It must accordingly be of deepest moment +to every man to think for himself. It would seem that now at length +a question that formerly was only settled by the law of the stronger +is to be determined by the calm judgment of the reason, and every +man who is capable of placing himself in a central position, and +raising his individuality into that of his species, can look upon +himself as in possession of this judicial faculty of reason; being +moreover, as man and member of the human family, a party in the case +under trial and involved more or less in its decisions. It would +thus appear that this great political process is not only engaged +with his individual case, it has also to pronounce enactments, which +he as a rational spirit is capable of enunciating and entitled to +pronounce. + +It is evident that it would have been most attractive to me to +inquire into an object such as this, to decide such a question in +conjunction with a thinker of powerful mind, a man of liberal +sympathies, and a heart imbued with a noble enthusiasm for the weal +of humanity. Though so widely separated by worldly position, it +would have been a delightful surprise to have found your +unprejudiced mind arriving at the same result as my own in the field +of ideas, Nevertheless, I think I can not only excuse, but even +justify by solid grounds, my step in resisting this attractive +purpose and in preferring beauty to freedom. I hope that I shall +succeed in convincing you that this matter of art is less foreign to +the needs than to the tastes of our age; nay, that, to arrive at a +solution even in the political problem, the road of aesthetics must +be pursued, because it is through beauty that we arrive at freedom. +But I cannot carry out this proof without my bringing to your +remembrance the principles by which the reason is guided in +political legislation. + +LETTER III. + +Man is not better treated by nature in his first start than her +other works are; so long as he is unable to act for himself as an +independent intelligence, she acts for him. But the very fact that +constitutes him a man is, that he does not remain stationary, where +nature has placed him, that he can pass with his reason, retracing +the steps nature had made him anticipate, that he can convert the +work of necessity into one of free solution, and elevate physical +necessity into a moral law. + +When man is raised from his slumber in the senses, he feels that he +is a man, he surveys his surroundings, and finds that he is in a +state. He was introduced into this state, by the power of +circumstances, before he could freely select his own position. But +as a moral being he cannot possibly rest satisfied with a political +condition forced upon him by necessity, and only calculated for +that condition; and it would be unfortunate if this did satisfy him. +In many cases man shakes off this blind law of necessity, by his +free spontaneous action, of which among many others we have an +instance, in his ennobling by beauty and suppressing by moral +influence the powerful impulse implanted in him by nature in the +passion of love. Thus, when arrived at maturity, he recovers his +childhood by an artificial process, he founds a state of nature in +his ideas, not given him by any experience, but established by the +necessary laws and conditions of his reason, and he attributes to +this ideal condition an object, an aim, of which he was not +cognisant in the actual reality of nature. He gives himself a choice +of which he was not capable before, and sets to work just as if he +were beginning anew, and were exchanging his original state of +bondage for one of complete independence, doing this with complete +insight and of his free decision. He is justified in regarding this +work of political thraldom as non-existing, though a wild and +arbitrary caprice may have founded its work very artfully; though it +may strive to maintain it with great arrogance and encompass it with +a halo of veneration. For the work of blind powers possesses no +authority, before which freedom need bow, and all must be made to +adapt itself to the highest end which reason has set up in his +personality. It is in this wise that a people in a state of manhood +is justified in exchanging a condition of thraldom for one of moral +freedom. + +Now the term natural condition can be applied to every political +body which owes its establishment originally to forces and not to +laws, and such a state contradicts the moral nature of man, because +lawfulness can alone have authority over this. At the same time this +natural condition is quite sufficient for the physical man, who only +gives himself laws in order to get rid of brute force. Moreover, the +physical man is a reality, and the moral man problematical. +Therefore when the reason suppresses the natural condition, as she +must if she wishes to substitute her own, she weighs the real +physical man against the problematical moral man, she weighs the +existence of society against a possible, though morally necessary, +ideal of society. She takes from man something which he really +possesses, and without which he possesses nothing, and refers him as +a substitute to something that he ought to possess and might +possess; and if reason had relied too exclusively on him, she might, +in order to secure him a state of humanity in which he is wanting +and can want without injury to his life, have robbed him even of the +means of animal existence which is the first necessary condition of +his being a man. Before he had opportunity to hold firm to the law +with his will, reason would have withdrawn from his feet the ladder +of nature. + +The great point is therefore to reconcile these two considerations: +to prevent physical society from ceasing for a moment in time, while +the moral society is being formed in the idea; in other words, to +prevent its existence from being placed in jeopardy, for the sake of +the moral dignity of man. When the mechanic has to mend a watch, he +lets the wheels run out, but the living watchworks of the state have +to be repaired while they act, and a wheel has to be exchanged for +another during its revolutions. Accordingly props must be sought for +to support society and keep it going while it is made independent of +the natural condition from which it is sought to emancipate it. + +This prop is not found in the natural character of man, who, being +selfish and violent, directs his energies rather to the destruction +than to the preservation of society. Nor is it found in his moral +character, which has to be formed, which can never be worked upon or +calculated on by the lawgiver, because it is free and never appears. +It would seem therefore that another measure must be adopted. It +would seem that the physical character of the arbitrary must be +separated from moral freedom; that it is incumbent to make the +former harmonise with the laws and the latter dependent on +impressions; it would be expedient to remove the former still +farther from matter and to bring the latter somewhat more near to +it; in short to produce a third character related to both the +others--the physical and the moral--paving the way to a transition +from the sway of mere force to that of law, without preventing the +proper development of the moral character, but serving rather as a +pledge in the sensuous sphere of a morality in the unseen. + +LETTER IV. + +Thus much is certain. It is only when a third character, as +previously suggested, has preponderance that a revolution in a state +according to moral principles can be free from injurious +consequences; nor can anything else secure its endurance. In +proposing or setting up a moral state, the moral law is relied upon +as a real power, and free will is drawn into the realm of causes, +where all hangs together, mutually with stringent necessity and +rigidity. But we know that the condition of the human will always +remains contingent, and that only in the Absolute Being physical +coexists with moral necessity. Accordingly if it is wished to depend +on the moral conduct of man as on natural results, this conduct must +become nature, and he must be led by natural impulse to such a +course of action as can only and invariably have moral results. But +the will of man is perfectly free between inclination and duty, and +no physical necessity ought to enter as a sharer in this magisterial +personality. If therefore he is to retain this power of solution, +and yet become a reliable link in the causal concatenation of +forces, this can only be effected when the operations of both these +impulses are presented quite equally in the world of appearances. It +is only possible when, with every difference of form, the matter of +man's volition remains the same, when all his impulses agreeing with +his reason are sufficient to have the value of a universal +legislation. + +It may be urged that every individual man carries, within himself, +at least in his adaptation and destination, a purely ideal man. The +great problem of his existence is to bring all the incessant changes +of his outer life into conformity with the unchanging unity of this +ideal. This pure ideal man, which makes itself known more or less +clearly in every subject, is represented by the state, which is the +objective and, so to speak, canonical form in which the manifold +differences of the subjects strive to unite. Now two ways present +themselves to the thought, in which the man of time can agree with +the man of idea, and there are also two ways in which the state can +maintain itself in individuals. One of these ways is when the pure +ideal man subdues the empirical man, and the state suppresses the +individual, or again when the individual BECOMES the state, and the +man of time is ENNOBLED to the man of idea. + +I admit that in a one-sided estimate from the point of view of +morality this difference vanishes, for the reason is satisfied if +her law prevails unconditionally. But when the survey taken is +complete and embraces the whole man (anthropology), where the form +is considered together with the substance, and a living feeling has +a voice, the difference will become far more evident. No doubt the +reason demands unity, and nature variety, and both legislations take +man in hand. The law of the former is stamped upon him by an +incorruptible consciousness, that of the latter by an ineradicable +feeling. Consequently education will always appear deficient when +the moral feeling can only be maintained with the sacrifice of what +is natural; and a political administration will always be very +imperfect when it is only able to bring about unity by suppressing +variety. The state ought not only to respect the objective and +generic but also the subjective and specific in individuals; and +while diffusing the unseen world of morals, it must not depopulate +the kingdom of appearance, the external world of matter. + +When the mechanical artist places his hand on the formless block, to +give it a form according to his intention, he has not any scruples +in doing violence to it. For the nature on which he works does not +deserve any respect in itself, and he does not value the whole for +its parts, but the parts on account of the whole. When the child of +the fine arts sets his hand to the same block, he has no scruples +either in doing violence to it, he only avoids showing this +violence. He does not respect the matter in which he works, any more +than the mechanical artist; but he seeks by an apparent +consideration for it to deceive the eye which takes this matter +under its protection. The political and educating artist follows a +very different course, while making man at once his material and his +end. In this case the aim or end meets in the material, and it is +only because the whole serves the parts that the parts adapt +themselves to the end. The political artist has to treat his +material--man--with a very different kind of respect from that shown +by the artist of fine art to his work. He must spare man's +peculiarity and personality, not to produce a deceptive effect on +the senses, but objectively and out of consideration for his inner +being. + +But the state is an organisation which fashions itself through +itself and for itself, and for this reason it can only be realised +when the parts have been accorded to the idea of the whole. The +state serves the purpose of a representative, both to pure ideal and +to objective humanity, in the breast of its citizens, accordingly it +will have to observe the same relation to its citizens in which they +are placed to it, and it will only respect their subjective humanity +in the same degree that it is ennobled to an objective existence. If +the internal man is one with himself, he will be able to rescue his +peculiarity, even in the greatest generalisation of his conduct, and +the state will only become the exponent of his fine instinct, the +clearer formula of his internal legislation. But if the subjective +man is in conflict with the objective and contradicts him in the +character of the people, so that only the oppression of the former +can give the victory to the latter, then the state will take up the +severe aspect of the law against the citizen, and in order not to +fall a sacrifice, it will have to crush under foot such a hostile +individuality, without any compromise. + +Now man can be opposed to himself in a twofold manner: either as a +savage, when his feelings rule over his principles; or as a +barbarian, when his principles destroy his feelings. The savage +despises art, and acknowledges nature as his despotic ruler; the +barbarian laughs at nature, and dishonours it, but he often proceeds +in a more contemptible way than the savage, to be the slave of his +senses. The cultivated man makes of nature his friend, and honours +its friendship, while only bridling its caprice. + +Consequently, when reason brings her moral unity into physical +society, she must not injure the manifold in nature. When nature +strives to maintain her manifold character in the moral structure of +society, this must not create any breach in moral unity; the +victorious form is equally remote from uniformity and confusion. +Therefore, TOTALITY of character must be found in the people which +is capable and worthy to exchange the state of necessity for that of +freedom. + +LETTER V. + +Does the present age, do passing events, present this character? I +direct my attention at once to the most prominent object in this +vast structure. + +It is true that the consideration of opinion is fallen, caprice is +unnerved, and, although still armed with power, receives no longer +any respect. Man has awaked from his long lethargy and self- +deception, and he demands with impressive unanimity to be restored +to his imperishable rights. But he does not only demand them; he +rises on all sides to seize by force what, in his opinion, has been +unjustly wrested from him. The edifice of the natural state is +tottering, its foundations shake, and a physical possibility seems +at length granted to place law on the throne, to honour man at +length as an end, and to make true freedom the basis of political +union. Vain hope! The moral possibility is wanting, and the generous +occasion finds an unsusceptible rule. + +Man paints himself in his actions, and what is the form depicted in +the drama of the present time? On the one hand, he is seen running +wild, on the other in a state of lethargy; the two extremest stages +of human degeneracy, and both seen in one and the same period. + +In the lower larger masses, coarse, lawless impulses come to view, +breaking loose when the bonds of civil order are burst asunder, and +hastening with unbridled fury to satisfy their savage instinct. +Objective humanity may have had cause to complain of the state; yet +subjective man must honour its institutions. Ought he to be blamed +because he lost sight of the dignity of human nature, so long as he +was concerned in preserving his existence? Can we blame him that he +proceeded to separate by the force of gravity, to fasten by the +force of cohesion, at a time when there could be no thought of +building or raising up? The extinction of the state contains its +justification. Society set free, instead of hastening upward into +organic life, collapses into its elements. + +On the other hand, the civilized classes give us the still more +repulsive sight of lethargy, and of a depravity of character which +is the more revolting because it roots in culture. I forget who of +the older or more recent philosophers makes the remark, that what is +more noble is the more revolting in its destruction. The remark +applies with truth to the world of morals. The child of nature, when +he breaks loose, becomes a madman; but the art scholar, when he +breaks loose, becomes a debased character. The enlightenment of the +understanding, on which the more refined classes pride themselves +with some ground, shows on the whole so little of an ennobling +influence on the mind that it seems rather to confirm corruption by +its maxims. We deny nature in her legitimate field and feel her +tyranny in the moral sphere, and while resisting her impressions, we +receive our principles from her. While the affected decency of our +manners does not even grant to nature a pardonable influence in the +initial stage, our materialistic system of morals allows her the +casting vote in the last and essential stage. Egotism has founded +its system in the very bosom of a refined society, and without +developing even a sociable character, we feel all the contagions and +miseries of society. We subject our free judgment to its despotic +opinions, our feelings to its bizarre customs, and our will to its +seductions. We only maintain our caprice against her holy rights. +The man of the world has his heart contracted by a proud self- +complacency, while that of the man of nature often beats in +sympathy; and every man seeks for nothing more than to save his +wretched property from the general destruction, as it were from some +great conflagration. It is conceived that the only way to find a +shelter against the aberrations of sentiment is by completely +foregoing its indulgence, and mockery, which is often a useful +chastener of mysticism, slanders in the same breath the noblest +aspirations. Culture, far from giving us freedom, only develops, as +it advances, new necessities; the fetters of the physical close more +tightly around us, so that the fear of loss quenches even the ardent +impulse toward improvement, and the maxims of passive obedience are +held to be the highest wisdom of life. Thus the spirit of the time +is seen to waver between perversions and savagism, between what is +unnatural and mere nature, between superstition and moral unbelief, +and it is often nothing but the equilibrium of evils that sets +bounds to it. + +LETTER VI. + +Have I gone too far in this portraiture of our times? I do not +anticipate this stricture, but rather another--that I have proved +too much by it. You will tell me that the picture I have presented +resembles the humanity of our day, but it also bodies forth all +nations engaged in the same degree of culture, because all, without +exception, have fallen off from nature by the abuse of reason, +before they can return to it through reason. + +But if we bestow some serious attention to the character of our +times, we shall be astonished at the contrast between the present +and the previous form of humanity, especially that of Greece. We are +justified in claiming the reputation of culture and refinement, when +contrasted with a purely natural state of society, but not so +comparing ourselves with the Grecian nature. For the latter was +combined with all the charms of art and with all the dignity of +wisdom, without, however, as with us, becoming a victim to these +influences. The Greeks put us to shame not only by their simplicity, +which is foreign to our age; they are at the same time our rivals, +nay, frequently our models, in those very points of superiority from +which we seek comfort when regretting the unnatural character of our +manners. We see that remarkable people uniting at once fulness of +form and fulness of substance, both philosophising and creating, +both tender and energetic, uniting a youthful fancy; to the virility +of reason in a glorious humanity. + +At the period of Greek culture, which was an awakening of the powers +of the mind, the senses and the spirit had no distinctly separated +property; no division had yet torn them asunder, leading them to +partition in a hostile attitude, and to mark off their limits with +precision. Poetry had not yet become the adversary of wit, nor had +speculation abused itself by passing into quibbling. In cases of +necessity both poetry and wit could exchange parts, because they +both honoured truth only in their special way. However high might be +the flight of reason, it drew matter in a loving spirit after it, +and, while sharply and stiffly defining it, never mutilated what it +touched. It is true the Greek mind displaced humanity, and recast it +on a magnified scale in the glorious circle of its gods; but it did +this not by dissecting human nature, but by giving it fresh +combinations, for the whole of human nature was represented in each +of the gods. How different is the course followed by us moderns! We +also displace and magnify individuals to form the image of the +specks, but we do this in a fragmentary way, not by altered +combinations, so that it is necessary to gather up from different +individuals the elements that form the species in its totality. It +would almost appear is if the powers of mind express themselves with +us in real life or empirically as separately as the psychologist +distinguishes them in the representation. For we see not only +individual subjects, but whole classes of men, uphold their +capacities only in part, while the rest of their faculties scarcely +show a germ of activity, as in the case of the stunted growth of +plants. + +I do not overlook the advantages to which the present race, regarded +as a unity and in the balance of the understanding, may lay claim +over what is best in the ancient world; but it is obliged to engage +in the contest as a compact mass, and measure itself as a whole +against a whole. Who among the moderns could step forth, man against +man, and strive with an Athenian for the prize of higher humanity? + +Whence comes this disadvantageous relation of individuals coupled +with great advantages of the race? Why could the individual Greek be +qualified as the type of his time? and why can no modern dare to +offer himself as such? Because all-uniting nature imparted its forms +to the Greek, and an all-dividing understanding gives our forms to +us. + +It was culture itself that gave these wounds to modern humanity. The +inner union of human nature was broken, and a destructive contest +divided its harmonious forces directly; on the one hand, an enlarged +experience and a more distinct thinking necessitated a sharper +separation of the sciences, while on the other hand, the more +complicated machinery of states necessitated a stricter sundering of +ranks and occupations. Intuitive and speculative understanding took +up a hostile attitude in opposite fields, whose borders were guarded +with jealousy and distrust; and by limiting its operation to a +narrow sphere, men have made unto themselves a master who is wont +not unfrequently to end by subduing and oppressing all the other +faculties. Whilst on the one hand a luxuriant imagination creates +ravages in the plantations that have cost the intelligence so much +labour, on the other hand a spirit of abstraction suffocates the +fire that might have warmed the heart and inflamed the imagination. + +This subversion, commenced by art and learning in the inner man, was +carried out to fulness and finished by the spirit of innovation in +government. It was, no doubt, reasonable to expect that the simple +organisation of the primitive republics should survive the +quaintness of primitive manners and of the relations of antiquity. +But, instead of rising to a higher and nobler degree of animal life, +this organisation degenerated into a common and coarse mechanism. +The zoophyte condition of the Grecian states, where each individual +enjoyed an independent life, and could, in cases of necessity, +become a separate whole and unit in himself, gave way to an +ingenious mechanism, when, from the splitting up into numberless +parts, there results a mechanical life in the combination. Then +there was a rupture between the state and the church, between laws +and customs; enjoyment was separated from labour, the means from the +end, the effort from the reward. Man himself eternally chained down +to a little fragment of the whole, only forms a kind of fragment; +having nothing in his ears but the monotonous sound of the +perpetually revolving wheel, he never develops the harmony of his +being; and instead of imprinting the seal of humanity on his being, +he ends by being nothing more than the living impress of the craft +to which he devotes himself, of the science that he cultivates. This +very partial and paltry relation, linking the isolated members to +the whole, does not depend on forms that are given spontaneously; +for how could a complicated machine, which shuns the light, confide +itself to the free will of man? This relation is rather dictated, +with a rigorous strictness, by a formulary in which the free +intelligence of man is chained down. The dead letter takes the place +of a living meaning, and a practised memory becomes a safer guide +than genius and feeling. + +If the community or state measures man by his function, only asking +of its citizens memory, or the intelligence of a craftsman, or +mechanical skill, we cannot be surprised that the other faculties of +the mind are neglected, for the exclusive culture of the one that +brings in honour and profit. Such is the necessary result of an +organisation that is indifferent about character, only looking to +acquirements, whilst in other cases it tolerates the thickest +darkness, to favour a spirit of law and order; it must result if it +wishes that individuals in the exercise of special aptitudes 'should +gain in depth what they are permitted to lose in extension. We are +aware, no doubt, that a powerful genius does not shut up its +activity within the limits of its functions; but mediocre talents +consume in the craft fallen to their lot the whole of their feeble +energy; and if some of their energy is reserved for matters of +preference, without prejudice to its functions, such a state of +things at once bespeaks a spirit soaring above the vulgar. Moreover, +it is rarely a recommendation in the eye of a state to have a +capacity superior to your employment, or one of those noble +intellectual cravings of a man of talent which contend in rivalry +with the duties of office. The state is so jealous of the exclusive +possession of its servants that it would prefer--nor can it be +blamed in this--for functionaries to show their powers with the +Venus of Cytherea rather than the Uranian Venus. + +It is thus that concrete individual life is extinguished, in order +that the abstract whole may continue its miserable life, and the +state remains for ever a stranger to its citizens, because feeling +does not discover it anywhere. The governing authorities find +themselves compelled to classify, and thereby simplify, the +multiplicity of citizens, and only to know humanity in a +representative form and at second hand. Accordingly they end by +entirely losing sight of humanity, and by confounding it with a +simple artificial creation of the understanding, whilst on their +part the subject classes cannot help receiving coldly laws that +address themselves so little to their personality. At length +society, weary of having a burden that the state takes so little +trouble to lighten, falls to pieces and is broken up--a destiny that +has long since attended most European states. They are dissolved in +what may be called a state of moral nature, in which public +authority is only one function more, hated and deceived by those who +think it necessary, respected only by those who can do without it. + +Thus compressed between two forces, within and without, could +humanity follow any other course than that which it has taken? The +speculative mind, pursuing imprescriptible goods and rights in the +sphere of ideas, must needs have become a stranger to the world of +sense, and lose sight of matter for the sake of form. On its part, +the world of public affairs, shut up in a monotonous circle of +objects, and even there restricted by formulas, was led to lose +sight of the life and liberty of the whole, while becoming +impoverished at the same time in its own sphere. Just as the +speculative mind was tempted to model the real after the +intelligible, and to raise the subjective of its imagination into +laws constituting the existence of things, so the state spirit +rushed into the opposite extreme, wished to make a particular and +fragmentary experience the measure of all observation, and to apply +without exception to all affairs the rules of its own particular +craft. The speculative mind had necessarily to become the prey of a +vain subtlety, the state spirit of a narrow pedantry; for the former +was placed too high to see the individual, and the latter too low to +survey the whole. But the disadvantage of this direction of mind was +not confined to knowledge and mental production; it extended to +action and feeling. We know that the sensibility of the mind +depends, as to degree, on the liveliness, and for extent on the +richness of the imagination. Now the predominance of the faculty of +analysis must necessarily deprive the imagination of its warmth and +energy, and a restricted sphere of objects must diminish its wealth. +It is for this reason that the abstract thinker has very often a +cold heart, because he analyses impressions, which only move the +mind by their combination or totality; on the other hand, the man of +business, the statesman, has very often a narrow heart, because shut +up in the narrow circle of his employment his imagination can +neither expand nor adapt itself to another manner of viewing things. + +My subject has led me naturally to place in relief the distressing +tendency of the character of our own times to show the sources of +the evil, without its being my province to point out the +compensations offered by nature. I will readily admit to you that, +although this splitting up of their being was unfavourable for +individuals, it was the only road open for the progress of the race. +The point at which we see humanity arrived among the Greeks was +undoubtedly a maximum; it could neither stop there nor rise higher. +It could not stop there, for the sum of notions acquired forced +infallibly the intelligence to break with feeling and intuition, and +to lead to clearness of knowledge. Nor could it rise any higher; for +it is only in a determinate measure that clearness can be reconciled +with a certain degree of abundance and of warmth. The Greeks had +attained this measure, and to continue their progress in culture, +they, as we, were obliged to renounce the totality of their being, +and to follow different and separate roads in order to seek after +truth. + +There was no other way to develop the manifold aptitudes of man than +to bring them in opposition with one another. This antagonism of +forces is the great instrument of culture, but it is only an +instrument; for as long as this antagonism lasts, man is only on the +road to culture. It is only because these special forces are +isolated in man, and because they take on themselves to impose an +exclusive legislation, that they enter into strife with the truth of +things, and oblige common sense, which generally adheres +imperturbably to external phaenomena, to dive into the essence of +things. While pure understanding usurps authority in the world of +sense, and empiricism attempts to subject this intellect to the +conditions of experience, these two rival directions arrive at the +highest possible development, and exhaust the whole extent of their +sphere. While on the one hand imagination, by its tyranny, ventures +to destroy the order of the world, it forces reason, on the other +side, to rise up to the supreme sources of knowledge, and to invoke +against this predominance of fancy the help of the law of necessity. + +By an exclusive spirit in the case of his faculties, the individual +is fatally led to error; but the species is led to truth. It is only +by gathering up all the energy of our mind in a single focus, and +concentrating a single force in our being, that we give in some sort +wings to this isolated force, and that we draw it on artificially +far beyond the limits that nature seems to have imposed upon it. If +it be certain that all human individuals taken together would never +have arrived, with the visual power given them by nature, to see a +satellite of Jupiter, discovered by the telescope of the astronomer, +it is just as well established that never would the human +understanding have produced the analysis of the infinite, or the +critique of pure reason, if in particular branches, destined for +this mission, reason had not applied itself to special researches, +and if, after having, as it were, freed itself from all matter, it +had not by the most powerful abstraction given to the spiritual eye +of man the force necessary, in order to look into the absolute. But +the question is, if a spirit thus absorbed in pure reason and +intuition will be able to emancipate itself from the rigorous +fetters of logic, to take the free action of poetry, and seize the +individuality of things with a faithful and chaste sense? Here +nature imposes even on the most universal genius a limit it cannot +pass, and truth will make martyrs as long as philosophy will be +reduced to make its principal occupation the search for arms against +errors. + +But whatever may be the final profit for the totality of the world, +of this distinct and special perfecting of the human faculties, it +cannot be denied that this final aim of the universe, which devotes +them to this kind of culture, is a cause of suffering, and a kind of +malediction for individuals. I admit that the exercises of the +gymnasium form athletic bodies; but beauty is only developed by the +free and equal play of the limbs. In the same way the tension of the +isolated spiritual forces may make extraordinary men; but it is only +the well-tempered equilibrium of these forces that can produce happy +and accomplished men. And in what relation should we be placed with +past and future ages if the perfecting of human nature made sach a +sacrifice indispensable? In that case we should have been the slaves +of humanity, we should have consumed our forces in servile work for +it during some thousands of years, and we should have stamped on our +humiliated, mutilated nature the shameful brand of this slavery--all +this in order that future generations, in a happy leisure, might +consecrate themselves to the cure of their moral health, and develop +the whole of human nature by their free culture. + +But can it be true that man has to neglect himself for any end +whatever? Can nature snatch from us; for any end whatever, the +perfection which is prescribed to us by the aim of reason? It must +be false that the perfecting of particular faculties renders the +sacrifice of their totality necessary; and even if the law of nature +had imperiously this tendency, we must have the power to reform by a +superior art this totality of our being, which art has destroyed. + +LETTER VII. + +Can this effect of harmony be attained by the state? That is not +possible, for the state, as at present constituted, has given +occasion to evil, and the state as conceived in the idea, instead of +being able to establish this more perfect humanity, ought to be +based upon it. Thus the researches in which I have indulged would +have brought me back to the same point from which they had called me +off for a time. The present age, far from offering us this form of +humanity, which we have acknowledged as a necessary condition of an +improvement of the state, shows us rather the diametrically opposite +form. If therefore the principles I have laid down are correct, and +if experience confirms the picture I have traced of the present +time, it would be necessary to qualify as unseasonable every attempt +to effect a similar change in the state, and all hope as chimerical +that would be based on such an attempt, until the division of the +inner man ceases, and nature has been sufficiently developed to +become herself the instrument of this great change and secure the +reality of the political creation of reason. + +In the physical creation, nature shows us the road that we have to +follow in the moral creation. Only when the Struggle of elementary +forces has ceased in inferior organisations, nature rises to the +noble form of the physical man. In like manner, the conflict of the +elements of the moral man and that of blind instincts must have +ceased, and a coarse antagonism in himself, beiore the attempt can +be hazarded. On the other hand, the independence of man's character +must be secured, and his submission to despotic forms must have +given place to a suitable liberty, before the variety in his +constitution can be made subordinate to the unity of the ideal. When +the man of nature still makes such an anarchical abuse of his will, +his liberty ought hardly to be disclosed to him. And when the man +fashioned by culture makes so little use of his freedom, his free +will ought not to be taken from him. The concession of liberal +principles becomes a treason to social order when it is associated +with a force still in fermentation, and increases the already +exuberant energy of its nature. Again, the law of conformity under +one level becomes tyranny to the individual when it is allied to a +weakness already holding sway and to natural obstacles, and when it +comes to extinguish the last spark of spontaneity and of +originality. + +The tone of the age must therefore rise from its profound moral +degradation; on the one hand it must emancipate itself from the +blind service of nature, and on the other it must revert to its +simplicity, its truth, and its fruitful sap; a sufficient task for +more than a century. However, I admit readily, more than one special +effort may meet with success, but no improvement of the whole will +result from it, and contradictions in action will be a continual +protest against the unity of maxims. It will be quite possible, +then, that in remote corners of the world humanity may be honoured +in the person of the negro, while in Europe it may be degraded in +the person of the thinker. The old principles will remain, but they +will adopt the dress of the age, and philosophy will lend its name +to an oppression that was formerly authorised by the Church. In one +place, alarmed at the liberty which in its opening efforts always +shows itself an enemy, it will cast itself into the arms of a +convenient servitude. In another place, reduced to despair by a +pedantic tutelage, it will be driven into the savage license of the +state of nature. Usurpation will invoke the weakness of human +nature, and insurrection will invoke its dignity, till at length the +great sovereign of all human things, blind force, shall come in and +decide, like a vulgar pugilist, this pretended contest of +principles. + +LETTER VIII. + +Must philosophy therefore retire from this field, disappointed in +its hopes? Whilst in all other directions the dominion of forms is +extended, must this the most precious of all gifts be abandoned to a +formless chance? Must the contest of blind forces last eternally in +the political world, and is social law never to triumph over a +hating egotism? + +Not in the least. It is true that reason herself will never attempt +directly a struggle with this brutal force which resists her arms, +and she will be as far as the son of Saturn in the 'Iliad' from +descending into the dismal field of battle, to fight them in person. +But she chooses the most deserving among the combatants, clothes him +with divine arms as Jupiter gave them to his son-in-law, and by her +triumphing force she finally decides the victory. + +Reason has done all that she could in finding the law and +promulgating it; it is for the energy of the will and the ardour of +feeling to carry it out. To issue victoriously from her contest with +force, truth herself must first become a force, and turn one of the +instincts of man into her champion in the empire of phenomena. For +instincts are the only motive forces in the material world. If +hitherto truth has so little manifested her victorious power, this +has not depended on the understanding, which could not have unveiled +it, but on the heart which remained closed to it, and on instinct +which did not act with it. + +Whence, in fact, proceeds this general sway of prejudices, this +might of the understanding in the midst of the light disseminated by +philosophy and experience? The age is enlightened, that is to say, +that knowledge, obtained and vulgarised, suffices to set right at +least our practical principles. The spirit of free inquiry has +dissipated the erroneous opinions which long barred the access to +truth, and has undermined the ground on which fanaticism and +deception had erected their throne. Reason has purified itself from +the il lusions of the senses and from a mendacious sophistry, and +philosophy herself raises her voice and exhorts us to return to the +bosom of nature, to which she had first made us unfaithful. Whence +then is it that we remain still barbarians? + +There must be something in the spirit of man--as it is not in the +objects themselves--which prevents us from receiving the truth, +notwithstanding the brilliant light she diffuses, and from accepting +her, whatever may be her strength for producing conviction. This +something was perceived and expressed by an ancient sage in this +very significant maxim: sapere aude [Footnote: Dare to be wise]. + +Dare to be wise! A spirited courage is required to triumph over the +impediments that the indolence of nature as well as the cowardice of +the heart oppose to our in struction. It was not without reason that +the ancient Mythos made Minerva issue fully armed from the head of +Jupiter, for it is with warfare that this instruction com mences. +From its very outset it has to sustain a hard fight against the +senses, which do not like to be roused from their easy slumber. The +greater part of men are much too exhausted and enervated by their +struggle with want to be able to engage in a new and severe contest +with error. Satisfied if they themselves can escape from the hard +labour of thought, they willingly abandon to others the guardianship +of their thoughts. And if it happens that nobler necessities agitate +their soul, they cling with a greedy faith to the formulas that the +state and the church hold in reserve for such cases. If these +unhappy men deserve our compassion, those others deserve our just +contempt, who, though set free from those necessities by more +fortunate circumstances, yet willingly bend to their yoke. These +latter persons prefer this twilight of obscure ideas; where the +feelings have more intensity, and the imagination can at will create +convenient chimeras, to the rays of truth which put to flight the +pleasant illusions of their dreams. They have founded the whole +structure of their happiness on these very illusions, which ought to +be combated and dissipated by the light of knowledge, and they would +think they were paying too dearly for a truth which begins by +robbing them of all that has value in their sight. It would be +necessary that they should be already sages to love wisdom: a truth +that was felt at once by him to whom philosophy owes its name. +[Footnote: The Greek word means, as is known, love of wisdom.] + +It is therefore not going far enough to say that the light of the +understanding only deserves respect when it reacts on the character; +to a certain extent it is from the character that this light +proceeds; for the road that terminates in the head must pass through +the heart. Accordingly, the most pressing need of the present time +is to educate the sensibility, because it is the means, not only to +render efficacious in practice the improvement of ideas, but to call +this improvement into existence. + +LETTER IX. + +But perhaps there is a vicious circle in our previous reasoning? +Theoretical culture must it seems bring along with it practical +culture, and yet the latter must be the condition of the former. All +improvement in the political sphere must proceed from the ennobling +of the character. But, subject to the influence of a social +constitution still barbarous, how can character become ennobled? It +would then be necessary to seek for this end an instrument that the +state does not furnish, and to open sources that would have +preserved themselves pure in the midst of political corruption. + +I have now reached the point to which all the considerations tended +that have engaged me up to the present time. This instrument is the +art of the beautiful; these sources are open to us in its immortal +models. + +Art, like science, is emancipated from all that is positive, and all +that is humanly conventional; both are completely independent of the +arbitrary will of men. The political legislator may place their +empire under an interdict, but he cannot reign there. He can +proscribe the friend of truth, but truth subsists; he can degrade +the artist, but he cannot change art. No doubt, nothing is more +common than to see science and art bend before the spirit of the +age, and creative taste receive its law from critical taste. When +the character becomes stiff and hardens itself, we see science +severely keeping her limits, and art subject to the harsh restraint +of rules; when the character is relaxed and softened, science +endeavours to please and art to rejoice. For whole ages philosophers +as well as artists show themselves occupied in letting down truth +and beauty to the depths of vulgar humanity. They themselves are +swallowed up in it; but, thanks to their essential vigour and +indestructible life, the true and the beautiful make a victorious +fight, and issue triumphant from the abyss. + +No doubt the artist is the child of his time, but unhappy for him if +he is its disciple or even its favourite. Let a beneficent deity +carry off in good time the suckling from the breast of its mother, +let it nourish him on the milk of a better age, and suffer him to +grow up and arrive at virility under the distant sky of Greece. When +he has attained manhood, let him come back, presenting a face +strange to his own age; let him come, not to delight it with his +apparition, but rather to purify it, terrible as the son of +Agamemnon. He will, indeed, receive his matter from the present +time, but he will borrow the form from a nobler time and even beyond +all time, from the essential, absolute, immutable unity. There, +issuing from the pure ether of its heavenly nature, flows the source +of all beauty, which was never tainted by the corruption of +generations or of ages, which roll along far beneath it in dark +eddies. Its matter may be dishonoured as well as ennobled by fancy, +but the ever chaste form escapes from the caprices of imagination. +The Roman had already bent his knee for long years to the divinity +of the emperors, and yet the statues of the gods stood erect; the +temples retained their sanctity for the eye long after the gods had +become a theme for mockery, and the noble architecture of the +palaces that shielded the infamies of Nero and of Commodus were a +protest against them. Humanity has lost its dignity, but art has +saved it, and preserves it in marbles full of meaning; truth +continues to live in illusion, and the copy will serve to re- +establish the model. If the nobility of art has survived the +nobility of nature, it also goes before it like an inspiring genius, +forming and awakening minds. Before truth causes her triumphant +light to penetrate into the depth of the heart, poetry intercepts +her rays, and the summits of humanity shine in a bright light, while +a dark and humid night still hangs over the valleys. + +But how will the artist avoid the corruption of his time which +encloses him on all hands? Let him raise his eyes to his own +dignity, and to law; let him not lower them to necessity and +fortune. Equally exempt from a vain activity which would imprint its +trace on the fugitive moment, and from the dreams of an impatient +enthusiasm which applies the measure of the absolute to the paltry +productions of time, let the artist abandon the real to the +understanding, for that is its proper field. But let the artist +endeavour to give birth to the ideal by the union of the possible +and of the necessary. Let him stamp illusion and truth with the +effigy of this ideal; let him apply it to the play of his +imagination and his most serious actions, in short, to all sensuous +and spiritual forms; then let him quietly launch his work into +infinite time. + +But the minds set on fire by this ideal have not all received an +equal share of calm from the creative genius--that great and patient +temper which is required to impress the ideal on the dumb marble, or +to spread it over a page of cold, sober letters, and then entrust it +to the faithful hands of time. This divine instinct, and creative +force, much too ardent to follow this peaceful walk, often throws +itself immediately on the present, on active life, and strives to +transform the shapeless matter of the moral world. The misfortune of +his brothers, of the whole species, appeals loudly to the heart of +the man of feeling; their abasement appeals still louder; enthusiasm +is inflamed, and in souls endowed with energy the burning desire +aspires impatiently to action and facts. But has this innovator +examined himself to see if these disorders of the moral world wound +his reason, or if they do not rather wound his self-love? If he does +not determine this point at once, he will find it from the +impulsiveness with which he pursues a prompt and definite end. A +pure, moral motive has for its end the absolute; time does not exist +for it, and the future becomes the present to it directly, by a +necessary development, it has to issue from the present. To a reason +having no limits the direction towards an end becomes confounded +with the accomplishment of this end, and to enter on a course is to +have finished it. + +If, then, a young friend of the true and of the beautiful were to +ask me how, notwithstanding the resistance of the times, he can +satisfy the noble longing of his heart, I should reply: Direct the +world on which you act towards that which is good, and the measured +and peaceful course of time will bring about the results. You have +given it this direction if by your teaching you raise its thoughts +towards the necessary and the eternal; if, by your acts or your +creations, you make the necessary and the eternal the object of your +leanings. The structure of error and of all that is arbitrary, must +fall, and it has already fallen, as soon as you are sure that it is +tottering. But it is important that it should not only totter in the +external but also in the internal man. Cherish triumphant truth in +the modest sanctuary of your heart; give it an incarnate form +through beauty, that it may not only be the understanding that does +homage to it, but that feeling may lovingly grasp its appearance. +And that you may not by any chance take from external reality the +model which you yourself ought to furnish, do not venture into its +dangerous society before you are assured in your own heart that you +have a good escort furnished by ideal nature. Live with your age, +but be not its creation; labour for your contemporaries, but do for +them what they need, and not what they praise. Without having shared +their faults, share their punishment with a noble resignation, and +bend under the yoke which they find is as painful to dispense with +as to bear. By the constancy with which you will despise their good +fortune, you will prove to them that it is not through cowardice +that you submit to their sufferings. See them in thought such as +they ought to be when you must act upon them; but see them as they +are when you are tempted to act for them. Seek to owe their suffrage +to their dignity; but to make them happy keep an account of their +unworthiness; thus, on the one hand, the nobleness of your heart +will kindle theirs, and, on the other, your end will not be reduced +to nothingness by their unworthiness. The gravity of your principles +will keep them off from you, but in play they will still endure +them. Their taste is purer than their heart, and it is by their +taste you must lay hold of this suspicious fugitive. In vain will +you combat their maxims, in vain will you condemn their actions; but +you can try your moulding hand on their leisure. Drive away caprice, +frivolity, and coarseness, from their pleasures, and you will banish +them imperceptibly from their acts, and at length from their +feelings. Everywhere that you meet them, surround them with great, +noble, and ingenious forms; multiply around them the symbols of +perfection, till appearance triumphs over reality, and art over +nature. + +LETTER X. + +Convinced by my preceding letters, you agree with me on this point, +that man can depart from his destination by two opposite roads, that +our epoch is actually moving on these two false roads, and that it +has become the prey, in one case, of coarseness, and elsewhere of +exhaustion and de pravity. It is the beautiful that must bring it +back from this twofold departure. But how can the cultivation of the +fine arts remedy, at the same time, these opposite defects, and +unite in itself two contradictory qualities? Can it bind nature in +the savage, and set it free in the barbarian? Can it at once tighten +a spring and loose it, and if it cannot produce this double effect, +how will it be reasonable to expect from it so important a result as +the education of man? + +It may be urged that it is almost a proverbial adage that the +feeling developed by the beautiful refines manners, and any new +proof offered on the subject would appear superfluous. Men base this +maxim on daily experience, which shows us almost always clearness of +intellect, deli cacy of feeling, liberality and even dignity of +conduct, associated with a cultivated taste, while an uncultivated +taste is almost always accompanied by the opposite qualities. With +considerable assurance, the most civilised nation of antiquity is +cited as an evidence of this, the Greeks, among whom the perception +of the beautiful attained its highest development, and, as a +contrast, it is usual to point to nations in a partial savage state, +and partly barbarous, who expiate their insensibility to the +beautiful by a coarse or, at all events, a hard austere character. +Nevertheless, some thinkers are tempted occasionally to deny either +the fact itself or to dispute the legitimacy of the consequences +that are derived from it. They do not entertain so unfavourable an +opinion of that savage coarseness which is made a reproach in the +case of certain nations; nor do they form so advantageous an opinion +of the refinement so highly lauded in the case of cultivated +nations. Even as far back as in antiquity there were men who by no +means regarded the culture of the liberal arts as a benefit, and who +were consequently led to forbid the entrance of their republic to +imagination. + +I do not speak of those who calumniate art, because they have never +been favoured by it. These persons only appreciate a possession by +the trouble it takes to acquire it, and by the profit it brings; and +how could they properly appreciate the silent labour of taste in the +exterior and in terior man? How evident it is that the accidental +disadvantages attending liberal culture would make them lose sight +of its essential advantages! The man deficient in form despises the +grace of diction as a means of corruption, courtesy in the social +relations as dissimulation, delicacy and generosity in conduct as an +affected exaggeration. He cannot forgive the favourite of the Graces +for having enlivened all assemblies as a man of the world, of having +directed all men to his views like a statesman, and of giving his +impress to the whole century as a writer; while he, the victim of +labour, can only obtain, with all his learning, the least attention +or overcome the least difficulty. As he cannot learn from his +fortunate rival the secret of pleasing, the only course open to him +is to deplore the corruption of human nature, which adores rather +the appearance than the reality. + +But there are also opinions deserving respect, that pronounce +themselves adverse to the effects of the beautiful, and find +formidable arms in experience, with which to wage war against it. +"We are free to admit"--such is their language--"that the charms of +the beautiful can further honourable ends in pure hands; but it is +not repugnant to its nature to produce, in impure hands, a directly +contrary effect, and to employ in the service of injustice and error +the power that throws the soul of man into chains. It is exactly +because taste only attends to the form and never to the substance; +it ends by placing the soul on the dangerous incline, leading it to +neglect all reality and to sacrifice truth and morality to an +attractive envelope. All the real difference of things vanishes, and +it is only the appearance that determines their value! How many men +of talent"--thus these arguers proceed--"have been turned aside from +all effort by the seductive power of the beautiful, or have been led +away from all serious exercise of their activity, or have been +induced to use it very feebly? How many weak minds have been +impelled to quarrel with the organisation of society, simply because +it has pleased the imagination of poets to present the image of a +world constituted differently, where no propriety chains down +opinion and no artifice helds nature in thraldom? What a dangerous +logic of the passions they have learned since the poets have painted +them in their pictures in the most brilliant colours and since, in +the contest with law and duty, they have commonly re mained masters +of the battlefield. What has society gained by the relations of +society, formerly under the sway of truth, being now subject to the +laws of the beautiful, or by the external impression deciding the +estimation in which merit is to be held? We admit that all virtues +whose appearance produces an agreeable effect are now seen to +flourish, and those which, in society, give a value to the man who +possesses them. But, as a compensation, all kinds of excesses are +seen to prevail, and all vices are in vogue that can be reconciled +with a graceful exterior." It is certainly a matter entitled to +reflection that, at almost all the periods of history when art +flourished and taste held sway, humanity is found in a state of +decline; nor can a single instance be cited of the union of a large +diffusion of aesthetic culture with political liberty and social +virtue, of fine manners associated with good morals, and of +politeness fraternising with truth and loyalty of character and +life. + +As long as Athens and Sparta preserved their independence, and as +long as their institutions were based on respect for the laws, taste +did not reach its maturity, art remained in its infancy, and beauty +was far from exer cising her empire over minds. No doubt, poetry had +already taken a sublime flight, but it was on the wings of genius, +and we know that genius borders very closely on savage coarseness, +that it is a light which shines readily in the midst of darkness, +and which therefore often argues against rather than in favour of +the taste of the time. When the golden age of art appears under +Pericles and Alexander, and the sway of taste becomes more general, +strength and liberty have abandoned Greece; eloquence corrupts the +truth, wisdom offends it on the lips of Socrates, and virtue in the +life of Phocion. It is well known that the Romans had to exhaust +their energies in civil wars, and, corrupted by Oriental luxury, to +bow their heads under the yoke of a fortunate despot, before Grecian +art triumphed over the stiffness of their character. The same was +the case with the Arabs: civilisation only dawned upon them when the +vigour of their military spirit became softened under the sceptre of +the Abbassides. Art did not appear in modern Italy till the glorious +Lombard League was dissolved, Florence submitting to the Medici, and +all those brave cities gave up the spirit of independ ence for an +inglorious resignation. It is almost super fluous to call to mind +the example of modern nations, with whom refinement has increased in +direct proportion to the decline of their liberties. Wherever we +direct our eyes in past times, we see taste and freedom mutually +avoiding each other. Everywhere we see that the beautiful only +founds its sway on the ruins of heroic virtues. + +And yet this strength of character, which is commonly sacrificed to +establish aesthetic culture, is the most power ful spring of all +that is great and excellent in man, and no other advantage, however +great, can make up for it. Accordingly, if we only keep to the +experiments hitherto made, as to the influence of the beautiful, we +cannot certainly be much encouraged in developing feelings so +dangerous to the real culture of man. At the risk of being hard and +coarse, it will seem preferable to dispense with this dissolving +force of the beautiful, rather than see human nature a prey to its +enervating influence, notwithstanding all its refining advantages. +However, experience is perhaps not the proper tribunal at which to +decide such a question; before giving so much weight to its +testimony, it would be well to inquire if the beauty we have been +discussing is the power that is condemned by the previous examples. +And the beauty we are discussing seems to assume an idea of the +beautiful derived from a source different from experience, for it is +this higher notion of the beautiful which has to decide if what is +called beauty by experience is entitled to the name. + +This pure and rational idea of the beautiful--supposing it can be +placed in evidence--cannot be taken from any real and special case, +and must, on the contrary, direct and give sanction to our judgment +in each special case. It must therefore be sought for by a process +of abstraction, and it ought to be deduced from the simple +possibility of a nature both sensuous and rational; in short, beauty +ought to present itself as a necessary condition of humanity. It is +therefore essential that we should rise to the pure idea of +humanity, and as experience shows us nothing but individuals, in +particular cases, and never humanity at large, we must endeavour to +find in their individual and variable mode of being the absolute and +the permanent, and to grasp the necessary conditions of their +existence, suppressing all accidental limits. No doubt this +transcendental procedure will remove us for some time from the +familiar circle of phaenomena and the living presence of objects, to +keep us on the unproductive ground of abstract ideas; but we are +engaged in the search after a principle of knowledge solid enough +not to be shaken by anything, and the man who does not dare to rise +above reality will never conquer this truth. + +LETTER XI. + +If abstraction rises to as great an eievation as possible, it +arrives at two primary ideas, before which it is obliged to stop and +to recognise its limits. It distinguishes in man something that +continues, and something that changes in cessantly. That which +continues it names his person; that which changes his position, his +condition. + +The person and the condition, I and my determinations, which +we represent as one and the same thing in the neces sary being, +are eternally distinct in the finite being. Not withstanding +all continuance in the person, the condition changes; in spite of +all change of condition, the person remains. We pass from rest to +activity, from emotion to indifference, from assent to contradiction, +but we are always we ourselves, and what immediately springs from +ourselves remains. It is only in the absolute subject that all his +determinations continue with his personality. All that Divinity is, +it is because it is so; consequently it is eternally what +it is, because it is eternal. + +As the person and the condition are distinct in man, be cause he is +a finite being, the condition cannot be founded on the person, nor +the person on the condition. Admitting the second case, the person +would have to change; and in the former case, the condition would +have to continue. Thus in either supposition either the personality +or the quality of a finite being would necessarily cease. It is not +because we think, feel, and will, that we are; it is not because we +are that we think, feel, and will. We are because we are. We feel, +think, and will, because there is out of us something that is not +ourselves. + +Consequently the person must have its principle of exist ence in +itself because the permanent cannot be derived from the changeable, +and thus we should be at once in possession of the idea of the +absolute being, founded on itself; that is to say, of the idea of +freedom. The condition must have a foundation, and as it is not +through the person, and is not therefore absolute, it must be a +sequence and a result; and thus, in the second place, we should have +arrived at the condition of every dependent being, of everything in +the process of becoming something else: that is, of the idea of +time. "Time is the necessary condition of all processes, of becoming +(werden);" this is an indentical proposition, for it says nothing +but this: "That something may follow, there must be a succession." + +The person which manifests itself in the eternally continuing Ego, +or I myself, and only in him, cannot become something or begin in +time, because it is much rather time that must begin with him, +because the permanent must serve as basis to the changeable. That +change may take place, something must change; this something cannot +therefore be the change itself. When we say the flower opens and +fades, we make of this flower a permanent being in the midst of this +transformation; we lend it, in some sort, a personality, in which +these two conditions are manifested. It cannot be objected that man +is born, and becomes something; for man is not only a person simply, +but he is a person finding himself in a determinate condition. Now +our determinate state of condition springs up in time, and it is +thus that man, as a phenomenon or appearance, must have a beginning, +though in him pure intelligence is eternal. Without time, that is, +without a becoming, he would not be a determinate being; his +personality would exist virtually, no doubt, but not in action. It +is not by the succession of its perceptions that the immutable Ego +or person manifests himself to himself. + +Thus, therefore, the matter of activity, or reality, that the +supreme intelligence draws from its own being, must be received by +man; and he does, in fact, receive it, through the medium of +perception, as something which is outside him in space, and which +changes in him in time. This matter which changes in him is always +accompanied by the Ego, the personality, that never changes; and the +rule prescribed for man by his rational nature is to remain +immutably himself in the midst of change, to refer all perceptions +to experience, that is, to the unity of knowledge, and to make of +each of its manifestations of its modes in time the law of all time. +The matter only exists in as far as it changes; he, his personality, +only exists in as far as he does not change. Consequently, +represented in his perfection, man would be the permanent unity, +which remains always the same, among the waves of change. + +Now, although an infinite being, a divinity could not become (or be +subject to time), still a tendency ought to be named divine which +has for its infinite end the most characteristic attribute of the +divinity; the absolute manifestation of power--the reality of all +the possible--and the absolute unity of the manifestation (the +necessity of all reality). It cannot be disputed that man bears +within himself, in his personality, a predisposition for divinity. +The way to divinity--if the word "way" can be applied to what never +leads to its end-is open to him in every direction. + +Considered in itself and independently of all sensuous matter, his +personality is nothing but the pure virtuality of a possible +infinite manifestation, and so long as there is neither intuition +nor feeling, it is nothing more than a form, an empty power. +Considered in itself, and independently of all spontaneous activity +of the mind, sensuousness can only make a material man; without it, +it is a pure form; but it cannot in any way establish a union +between matter and it. So long as he only feels, wishes, and acts +under the influence of desire, he is nothing more than the world, if +by this word we point out only the formless contents of time. +Without doubt, it is only his sensuousness that makes his strength +pass into efficacious acts, but it is his personality alone that +makes this activity his own. Thus, that he may not only be a world, +he must give form to matter, and in order not to be a mere form, he +must give reality to the virtuality that he bears in him. He gives +matter to form by creating time, and by opposing the immutable to +change, the diversity of the world to the eternal unity of the Ego. +He gives a form to matter by again suppressing time, by maintaining +permanence in change, and by placing the diversity of the world +under the unity of the Ego. + +Now from this source issue for man two opposite exigencies, the two +fundamental laws of sensuous-rational nature. The first has for its +object absolute reality; it must make a world of what is only form, +manifest all that in it is only a force. The second law has for its +object absolute formality; it must destroy in him all that is only +world, and carry out harmony in all changes. In other terms, he must +manifest all that is internal, and give form to all that is +external. Considered in its most lofty accomplishment, this twofold +labour brings us back to the idea of humanity which was my starting- +point. + +LETTER XII. + +This twofold labour or task, which consists in making the necessary +pass into reality in us and in making out of us reality subject to +the law of necessity, is urged upon us as a duty by two opposing +forces, which are justly styled impulsions or instincts, because +they impel us to realise their object. The first of these +impulsions, which I shall call the sensuous instinct, issues from +the physical existence of roan, or from sensuous nature; and it is +this instinct which tends to enclose him in the limits of time and +to make of him a material being; I do not say to give him matter, +for to do that a certain free activity of the personality would be +necessary, which, receiving matter, distinguishes it from the Ego, +or what is permanent. By matter I only understand in this place the +change or reality that fills time. Consequently the instinct +requires that there should be change, and that time should contain +something. This simply filled state of time is named sensation, and +it is only in this state that physical existence manifests itself. + +As all that is in time is successive, it follows by that fact alone +that something is: all the remainder is excluded. When one note on +an instrument is touched, among all those that it virtually offers, +this note alone is real. When man is actually modified, the infinite +possibility of all his modifications is limited to this single mode +of existence. Thus, then, the exclusive action of sensuous impulsion +has for its necessary consequence the narrowest limitation. In this +state man is only a unity of magnitude, a complete moment in time; +or, to speak more correctly, he is not, for his personality is +suppressed as long as sensation holds sway over him and carries time +along with it. + +This instinct extends its domains over the entire sphere of the +finite in man, and as form is only revealed in matter, and the +absolute by means of its limits, the total manifestation of human +nature is connected on a close analysis with the sensuous instinct. +But though it is only this instinct that awakens and develops what +exists virtually in man, it is nevertheless this very instinct which +renders his perfection impossible. It binds down to the world of +sense by indestructible ties the spirit that tends higher and it +calls back to the limits of the present, abstraction Which had its +free development in the sphere of the infinite. No doubt, thought +can escape it for a moment, and a firm will victoriously resists its +exigencies; but soon compressed nature resumes her rights to give an +imperious reality to our existence, to give it contents, substance, +knowledge, and an aim for our activity. + +The second impulsion, which may be named the formal instinct, issues +from the absolute existence of man, or from his rational nature, and +tends to set free, and bring harmony into the diversity of its +manifestations, and to maintain personality notwithstanding all the +changes of state. As this personality, being an absolute and +indivisible unity, can never be in contradiction with itself, as we +are ourselves for ever, this impulsion, which tends to maintain +personality, can never exact in one time anything but what it exacts +and requires for ever. It therefore decides for always what it +decides now, and orders now what it orders for ever. Hence it +embraces the whole series of times, or what comes to the same thing, +it suppresses time and change. It wishes the real to be necessary +and eternal, and it wishes the eternal and the necessary to be real; +in other terms, it tends to truth and justice. + +If the sensuous instinct only produces ACCIDENTS, the formal +instinct gives laws, laws for every judgment when it is a question +of knowledge, laws for every will when it is a question of action. +Whether, therefore, we recognise an object or conceive an objective +value to a state of the subject, whether we act in virtue of +knowledge or make of the objective the determining principle of our +state; in both cases we withdraw this state from the jurisdiction of +time, and we attribute to it reality for all men and for all time, +that is, universality and necessity. Feeling can only say: "That is +true FOR THIS SUBJECT AND AT THIS MOMENT," and there may come +another moment, another subject, which withdraws the affirmation +from the actual feeling. But when once thought pronounces and says: +"THAT IS" it decides for ever and ever, and the validity of its +decision is guaranteed by the personality itself, which defies all +change. Inclination can only say: "That is good FOR YOUR +INDIVIDUALITY and PRESENT NECESSITY?" but the changing current of +affairs will sweep them away, and what you ardently desire to-day +will form the object of your aversion to-morrow. But when the moral +feeling says: "That ought to be," it decides for ever. If you +confess the truth because it is the truth, and if you practice +justice because it is justice, you have made of a particular case +the law of all possible cases, and treated one moment of your life +as eternity. + +Accordingly, when the formal impulse holds sway and the pure object +acts in us, the being attains its highest expansion, all barriers +disappear, and from the unity of magnitude in which man was enclosed +by a narrow sensuousness, he rises to the UNITY OF IDEA, which +embraces and keeps subject the entire sphere of phenomena. During +this operation we are no longer in time, but time is in us with its +infinite succession. We are no longer individuals but a species; the +judgment of all spirits is expressed by our own, and the choice of +all hearts is represented by our own act. + +LETTER XIII. + +On a first survey, nothing appears more opposed than these two +impulsions; one having for its object change, the other +immutability, and yet it is these two notions that exhaust the +notion of humanity, and a third FUNDAMENTAL IMPULSION, holding a +medium between them, is quite inconceivable. How then shall we re- +establish the unity of human nature, a unity that appears completely +destroyed by this primitive and radical opposition? + +I admit these two tendencies are contradictory, but it should be +noticed that they are not so in the SAME OBJECTS. But things that do +not meet cannot come into collision. No doubt the sensuous impulsion +desires change; but it does not wish that it should extend to +personality and its field, nor that there should be a change of +principles. The formal impulsion seeks unity and permanence, but it +does not wish the condition to remain fixed with the person, that +there should be identity of feeling. Therefore these two impulsions +are not divided by nature, and if, nevertheless, they appear so, it +is because they have become divided by transgressing nature freely, +by ignoring themselves, and by confounding their spheres. The office +of culture is to watch over them and to secure to each one its +proper LIMITS; therefore culture has to give equal justice to both, +and to defend not only the rational impulsion against the sensuous, +but also the latter against the former. Hence she has to act a +twofold part: first, to protect sense against the attacks of +freedom; secondly, to secure personality against the power of +sensations. One of these ends is attained by the cultivation of the +sensuous, the other by that of the reason. + +Since the world is developed in time, or change, the perfection of +the faculty that places men in relation with the world will +necessarily be the greatest possible mutability and extensiveness. +Since personality is permanence in change, the perfection of this +faculty, which must be opposed to change, will be the greatest +possible freedom of action (autonomy) and intensity. The more the +receptivity is developed under manifold aspects, the more it is +movable and offers surfaces to phaenomena, the larger is the part of +the world seized upon by man, and the more virtualities he develops +in himself. Again, in proportion as man gains strength and depth, +and depth and reason gain in freedom, in that proportion man TAKES +IN a larger share of the world, and throws out forms outside +himself. Therefore his culture will consist, first, in placing his +receptivity on contact with the world in the greatest number of +points possible, and is raising passivity to the highest exponent on +the side of feeling; secondly, in procuring for the determining +faculty the greatest possible amount of independence, in relation to +the receptive power, and in raising activity to the highest degree +on the side of reason. By the union of these two qualities man will +associate the highest degree of self-spontaneity (autonomy) and of +freedom with the fullest plenitude of existence, and instead of +abandoning himself to the world so as to get lost in it, he will +rather absorb it in himself, with all the infinitude of its +phenomena, and subject it to the unity of his reason. + +But man can invert this relation, and thus fail in attaining his +destination in two ways. He can hand over to the passive force the +intensity demanded by the active force; he can encroach by material +impulsion on the formal impulsion, and convert the receptive into +the determining power. He can attribute to the active force the +extensiveness belonging to the passive force, he can encroach by the +formal impulsion on the material impulsion, and substitute the +determining for the receptive power. In the former case, he will +never be an Ego, a personality; in the second case, he will never be +a Non-Ego, and hence in both cases he will be NEITHER ONE NOR THE +OTHER, consequently he will nothing. + +In fact, if the sensuous impulsion becomes determining, if the +senses become law-givers, and if the world stifles personality, he +loses as object what he gains in force. It may be said of man that +when he is only the contents of time, he is not and consequently HE +HAS no other contents. His condition is destroyed at the same time +as his personality, because these are two correlative ideas, because +change presupposes permanence, and a limited reality implies an +infinite reality. If the formal impulsion becomes receptive, that +is, if thought anticipates sensation, and the person substitutes +itself in the place of the world, it loses as a subject and +autonomous force what it gains as object, because immutability +implies change, and that to manifest itself also absolute reality +requires limits. As soon as man is only form, he has no form, and +the personality vanishes with the condition. In a word, it is only +inasmuch as he is spontaneous, autonomous, that there is reality out +of him, that he is also receptive; and it is only inasmuch as he is +receptive that there is reality in him, that he is a thinking force. + +Consequently these two impulsions require limits, and looked upon as +forces, they need tempering; the former that it may not encroach on +the field of legislation, the latter that it may not invade the +ground of feeling. But this tempering and moderating the sensuous +impulsion ought not to be the effect of physical impotence or of a +blunting of sensations, which is always a matter for contempt. It +must be a free act, an activity of the person, which by its moral +intensity moderates the sensuous intensity, and by the sway of +impressions takes from them in depth what it gives them in surface +or breadth. The character must place limits to temperament, for the +senses have only the right to lose elements if it be to the +advantage of the mind. In its turn, the tempering of the formal +impulsion must not result from moral impotence, from a relaxation of +thought and will, which would degrade humanity. It is necessary that +the glorious source of this second tempering should be the fulness +of sensations; it is necessary that sensuousness itself should +defend its field with a victorious arm and resist the violence that +the invading activity of the mind would do to it. In a word, it is +necessary that the material impulsion should be contained in the +limits of propriety by personality, and the formal impulsion by +receptivity or nature. + +LETTER XIV. + +We have been brought to the idea of such a correlation between the +two impulsions that the action of the one establishes and limits at +the same time the action of the other, and that each of them, taken +in isolation, does arrive at its highest manifestation just because +the other is active. + +No doubt this correlation of the two impulsions is simply a problem +advanced by reason, and which man will only be able to solve in the +perfection of his being. It is in the strictest signification of the +term: the idea of his humanity; accordingly, it is an infinite to +which he can approach nearer and nearer in the course of time, but +without ever reaching it. "He ought not to aim at form to the injury +of reality, nor to reality to the detriment of the form. He must +rather seek the absolute being by means of a determinate being, and +the determinate being by means of an infinite being. He must set the +world before him because he is a person, and he must be a person +because he has the world before him. He must feel because he has a +consciousness of himself, and he must have a consciousness of +himself because he feels." It is only in conformity with this idea +that he is a man in the full sense of the word; but he cannot be +convinced of this so long as he gives himself up exclusively to one +of these two impulsions, or only satisfies them one after the other. +For as long as he only feels, his absolute personality and existence +remain a mystery to him, and as long as he only thinks, his +condition or existence in time escapes him. But if there were cases +in which he could have at once this twofold experience in which he +would have the consciousness of his freedom and the feeling of his +existence together, in which he would simultaneously feel as matter +and know himself as spirit, in such cases, and in such only, would +he have a complete intuition of his humanity, and the object that +would procure him this intuition would be a symbol of his +accomplished destiny, and consequently serve to express the infinite +to him--since this destination can only be fulfilled in the fulness +of time. + +Presuming that cases of this kind could present themselves in +experience, they would awake in him a new impulsion, which, +precisely because the two other impulsions would co-operate in it, +would be opposed to each of them taken in isolation, and might, with +good grounds, be taken for a new impulsion. The sensuous impulsion +requires that there should be change, that time should have +contents; the formal impulsion requires that time should be +suppressed, that there should be no change. Consequently, the +impulsion in which both of the others act in concert--allow me to +call it the instinct of play, till I explain the term--the instinct +of play would have as its object to suppress time in time to +conciliate the state of transition or becoming with the absolute +being, change with identity. + +The sensuous instinct wishes to be determined, it wishes to receive +an object; the formal instinct wishes to determine itself, it wishes +to produce an object. Therefore the instinct of play will endeavor +to receive as it would itself have produced, and to produce as it +aspires to receive. + +The sensuous impulsion excludes from its subject all autonomy and +freedom; the formal impulsion excludes all dependence and passivity. +But the exclusion of freedom is physical necessity; the exclusion of +passivity is moral necessity. Thus the two impulsions subdue the +mind: the former to the laws of nature, the latter to the laws of +reason. It results from this that the instinct of play, which unites +the double action of the two other instincts, will content the mind +at once morally and physically. Hence, as it suppresses all that is +contingent, it will also suppress all coercion, and will set man +free physically and morally. When we welcome with effusion some one +who deserves our contempt, we feel painfully that nature is +constrained. When we have a hostile feeling against a person who +commands our esteem, we feel painfully the constraint of reason. But +if this person inspires us with interest, and also wins our esteem, +the constraint of feeling vanishes together with the constraint of +reason, and we begin to love him, that is to say, to play, to take +recreation, at once with our inclination and our esteem. + +Moreover, as the sensuous impulsion controls us physically, and the +formal impulsion morally, the former makes our formal constitution +contingent, and the latter makes our material constitution +contingent, that is to say, there is contingence in the agreement of +our happiness with our perfection, and reciprocally. The instinct of +play, in which both act in concert, will render both our formal and +our material constitution contingent; accordingly, our perfection +and our happiness in like manner. And on the other hand, exactly +because it makes both of them contingent, and because the contingent +disappears with necessity, it will suppress this contingence in +both, and will thus give form to matter and reality to form. In +proportion that it will lessen the dynamic influence of feeling and +passion, it will place them in harmony with rational ideas, and by +taking from the laws of reason their moral constraint, it will +reconcile them with the interest of the senses. + +LETTER XV. + +I approach continually nearer to the end to which I lead you, by a +path offering few attractions. Be pleased to follow me a few steps +further, and a large horizon will open up to you and a delightful +prospect will reward you for the labour of the way. + +The object of the sensuous instinct, expressed in a universal +conception, is named Life in the widest acceptation: a conception +that expresses all material existence and all that is immediately +present in the senses. The object of the formal instinct, expressed +in a universal conception, is called shape or form, as well in an +exact as in an inexact acceptation; a conception that embraces all +formal qualities of things and all relations of the same to the +thinking powers. The object of the play instinct, represented in a +general statement, may therefore bear the name of living form; a +term that serves to describe all aesthetic qualities of phaenomena, +and what people style, in the widest sense, beauty. + +Beauty is neither extended to the whole field of all living things +nor merely enclosed in this field. A marble block, though it is and +remains lifeless, can nevertheless become a living form by the +architect and sculptor; a man, though he lives and has a form, is +far from being a living form on that account. For this to be the +case, it is necessary that his form should be life, and that his +life should be a form. As long as we only think of his form, it is +lifeless, a mere abstraction; as long as we only feel his life, it +is without form, a mere impression. It is only when his form lives +in our feeling, and his life in our understanding, he is the living +form, and this will everywhere be the case where we judge him to be +beautiful. + +But the genesis of beauty is by no means declared because we know +how to point out the component parts, which in their combination +produce beauty. For to this end it would be necessary to comprehend +that combination itself, which continues to defy our exploration, as +well as all mutual operation between the finite and the infinite. +The reason, on transcendental grounds, makes the following demand: +There shall be a communion between the formal impulse and the +material impulse-that is, there shall be a play instinct--because it +is only the unity of reality with the form, of the accidental with +the necessary, of the passive state with freedom, that the +conception of humanity is completed. Reason is obliged to make this +demand, because her nature impels her to completeness and to the +removal of all bounds; while every exclusive activity of one or the +other impulse leaves human nature incomplete and places a limit in +it. Accordingly, as soon as reason issues the mandate, "a humanity +shall exist," it proclaims at the same time the law, "there shall be +a beauty." Experience can answer us if there is a beauty, and we +shall know it as soon as she has taught us if a humanity can exist. +But neither reason nor experience can tell us how beauty can be, and +how a humanity is possible. + +We know that man is neither exclusively matter nor exclusively +spirit. Accordingly, beauty, as the consummation of humanity, can +neither be exclusively mere life, as has been asserted by sharp- +sighted observers, who kept too close to the testimony of +experience, and to which the taste of the time would gladly degrade +it; Nor can beauty be merely form, as has been judged by speculative +sophists, who departed too far from experience, and by philosophic +artists, who were led too much by the necessity of art in explaining +beauty; it is rather the common object of both impulses, that is, of +the play instinct. The use of language completely justifies this +name, as it is wont to qualify with the word play what is neither +subjectively nor objectively accidental, and yet does not impose +necessity either externally or internally. As the mind in the +intuition of the beautiful finds itself in a happy medium between +law and necessity, it is, because it divides itself between both, +emancipated from the pressure of both. The formal impulse and the +material impulse are equally earnest in their demands, because one +relates in its cognition to things in their reality and the other to +their necessity; because in action the first is directed to the +preservation of life, the second to the preservation of dignity, and +therefore both to truth and perfection. But life becomes more +indifferent when dignity is mixed up with it, and duty no longer +coerces when inclination attracts. In like manner the mind takes in +the reality of things, material truth, more freely and tranquilly as +soon as it encounters formal truth, the law of necessity; nor does +the mind find itself strung by abstraction as soon as immediate +intuition can accompany it. In one word, when the mind comes into +communion with ideas, all reality loses its serious value because it +becomes small; and as it comes in contact with feeling, necessity +parts also with its serious value because it is easy. + +But perhaps the objection has for some time occurred to you, Is not +the beautiful degraded by this, that it is made a mere play? and is +it not reduced to the level of frivolous objects which have for ages +passed under that name? Does it not contradict the conception of the +reason and the dignity of beauty, which is nevertheless regarded as +an instrument of culture, to confine it to the work of being a mere +play? and does it not contradict the empirical conception of play, +which can coexist with the exclusion of all taste, to confine it +merely to beauty? + +But what is meant by a MERE PLAY, when we know that in all +conditions of humanity that very thing is play, and only that is +play which makes man complete and develops simultaneously his +twofold nature? What you style LIMITATION, according to your +representation of the matter, according to my views, which I have +justified by proofs, I name ENLARGEMENT. Consequently, I should have +said exactly the reverse: man is serious ONLY with the agreeable, +with the good, and with the perfect, but he PLAYS with beauty. In +saying this we must not indeed think of the plays that are in vogue +in real life, and which commonly refer only to his material state. +But in real life we should also seek in vain for the beauty of which +we are here speaking. The actually present beauty is worthy of the +really, of the actually, present play-impulse; but by the ideal of +beauty, which is set up by the reason, an ideal of the play-instinct +is also presented, which man ought to have before his eyes in all +his plays. + +Therefore, no error will ever be incurred if we seek the ideal of +beauty on the same road on which we satisfy our play-impulse. We can +immediately understand why the ideal form of a Venus, of a Juno, and +of an Apollo, is to be sought not at Rome, but in Greece, if we +contrast the Greek population, delighting in the bloodless athletic +contests of boxing, racing, and intellectual rivalry at Olympia, +with the Roman people gloating over the agony of a gladiator. Now +the reason pronounces that the beautiful must not only be life and +form, but a living form, that is, beauty, inasmuch as it dictates to +man the twofold law of absolute formality and absolute reality. +Reason also utters the decision that man shall only PLAY with +beauty, and he SHALL ONLY PLAY with BEAUTY. + +For, to speak out once for all, man only plays when in the full +meaning of the word he is a man, and HE IS ONLY COMPLETELY A MAN +WHEN HE PLAYS. This proposition, which at this moment perhaps +appears paradoxical, will receive a great and deep meaning if we +have advanced far enough to apply it to the twofold seriousness of +duty and of destiny. I promise you that the whole edifice of +aesthetic art and the still more difficult art of life will be +supported by this principle. But this proposition is only unexpected +in science; long ago it lived and worked in art and in the feeling +of the Greeks, her most accomplished masters; only they removed to +Olympus what ought to have been preserved on earth. Influenced by +the truth of this principle, they effaced from the brow of their +gods the earnestness and labour which furrow the cheeks of mortals, +and also the hollow lust that smoothes the empty face. They set free +the ever serene from the chains of every purpose, of every duty, of +every care, and they made INDOLENCE and INDIFFERENCE the envied +condition of the godlike race; merely human appellations for the +freest and highest mind. As well the material pressure of natural +laws as the spiritual pressure of moral laws lost itself in its +higher idea of necessity, which embraced at the same time both +worlds, and out of the union of these two necessities issued true +freedom. Inspired by this spirit, the Greeks also effaced from the +features of their ideal, together with DESIRE or INCLINATION, all +traces of VOLITION, or, better still, they made both unrecognisable, +because they knew how to wed them both in the closest alliance. It +is neither charm nor is it dignity which speaks from the glorious +face of the Juno Ludovici; it is neither of these, for it is both at +once. While the female god challenges our veneration, the godlike +woman at the same time kindles our love. But while in ecstacy we +give ourselves up to the heavenly beauty, the heavenly self-repose +awes us back. The whole form rests and dwells in itself--a fully +complete creation in itself--and as if she were out of space, +without advance or resistance; it shows no force contending with +force, no opening through which time could break in. Irresistibly +carried away and attracted by her womanly charm, kept off at a +distance by her godly dignity, we also find ourselves at length in +the state of the greatest repose, an4 the result is a wonderful +impression, for which the understanding has no idea and language no +name. + +LETTER XVI. + +From the antagonism of the two impulsions, and from the association +of two opposite principles, we have seen beauty to result, of which +the highest ideal must therefore be sought in the most perfect union +and equilibrium possible of the reality and of the form. But this +equilibrium remains always an idea that reality can never completely +reach. In reality, there will always remain a preponderance of one +of these elements over the other, and the highest point to which +experience can reach will consist in an oscillation between two +principles, when sometimes reality and at others form will have the +advantage. Ideal beauty is therefore eternally one and indivisible, +because there can only be one single equilibrium; on the contrary, +experimental beauty will be eternally double, because in the +oscillation the equilibrium may be destroyed in two ways--this side +and that. + +I have called attention in the foregoing letters to a fact that can +also be rigorously deduced from the considerations that have engaged +our attention to the present point; this fact is that an exciting +and also a moderating action may be expected from the beautiful. The +TEMPERING action is directed to keep within proper limits the +sensuous and the formal impulsions; the EXCITING, to maintain both +of them in their full force. But these two modes of action of beauty +ought to be completely identified in the idea. The beautiful ought +to temper while uniformly exciting the two natures, and it ought +also to excite while uniformly moderating them. This result flows at +once from the idea of a correlation, in virtue of which the two +terms mutually imply each other, and are the reciprocal condition +one of the other, a correlation of which the purest product is +beauty. But experience does not offer an example of so perfect a +correlation. In the field of experience it will always happen more +or less that excess on the one side will give rise to deficiency on +the other, and deficiency will give birth to excess. It results from +this that what in the beau-ideal is only distinct in the idea, is +different in reality in empirical beauty, The beau-ideal, though +simple and indivisible, discloses, when viewed in two different +aspects, on the one hand a property of gentleness and grace, and on +the other an energetic property; in experience there is a gentle and +graceful beauty, and there is an energetic beauty. It is so, and it +will be always so, so long as the absolute is enclosed in the limits +of time, and the ideas of reason have to be realised in humanity. +For example, the intellectual man has the idea of virtue, of truth, +and of happiness; but the active man will only practise VIRTUES, +will only grasp TRUTHS, and enjoy HAPPY DAYS. The business of +physical and moral education is to bring back this multiplicity to +unity, to put morality in the place of manners, science in the place +of knowledge; the business of aesthetic education is to make out of +beauties the beautiful. + +Energetic beauty can no more preserve a man from a certain residue +of savage violence and harshness than graceful beauty can secure him +against a certain degree of effeminacy and weakness. As it is the +effect of the energetic beauty to elevate the mind in a physical and +moral point of view and to augment its momentum, it only too often +happens that the resistance of the temperament and of the character +diminishes the aptitude to receive impressions, that the delicate +part of humanity suffers an oppression which ought only to affect +its grosser part, and that this course nature participates in an +increase of force that ought only to tun? to the account of free +personality. It is for this reason that at the periods when we find +much strength and abundant sap in humanity, true greatness of +thought is seen associated with what is gigantic and extravagant, +and the sublimest feeling is found coupled with the most horrible +excess of passion. It is also the reason why, in the periods +distinguished for regularity and form, nature is as often oppressed +as it is governed, as often outraged as it isi surpassed. And as the +action of gentle and graceful beauty is to relax the mind in the +moral sphere as well as the physical, it happens quite as easily +that the energy of feelings is extinguished with the violence of +desires, and that character shares in the loss of strength which +ought only to affect the passions. This is the reason why, in ages +assumed to be refined, it is not a rare thing to see gentleness +degenerate into effeminacy, politeness into platitude, correctness +into empty sterility, liberal ways into arbitrary caprice, ease into +frivolity, calm into apathy, and, lastly, a most miserable +caricature treads on the heels of the noblest, the most beautiful +type of humanity. Gentle and graceful beauty is therefore a want to +the man who suffers the constraint of matter and of forms, for he is +moved by grandeur and strength long before he becomes sensible to +harmony and grace. Energetic beauty is a necessity to the man who is +under the indulgent sway of taste, for in his state of refinement he +is only too much disposed to make light of the strength that he +retained in his state of rude savagism. + +I think I have now answered and also cleared up the contradiction +commonly met in the judgments of men respecting the influence of the +beautiful, and the appreciation of aesthetic culture. This +contradiction is explained directly we remember that there are two +sorts of experimental beauty, and that on both hands an affirmation +is extended to the entire race, when it can only be proved of one of +the species. This contradiction disappears the moment we distinguish +a twofold want in humanity to which two kinds of beauty correspond. +It is therefore probable that both sides would make good their +claims if they come to an understanding respecting the kind of +beauty and the form of humanity that they have in view. + +Consequently in the sequel of my researches I shall adopt the course +that nature herself follows with man considered from the point of +view of sesthetics, and setting out from the two kinds of beauty, I +shall rise to the idea of the genus. I shall examine the effects +produced on man by the gentle and graceful beauty when its springs +of action are in full play, and also those produced by energetic +beauty when they are relaxed. I shall do this to confound these two +sorts of beauty in the unity of the beau-ideal, in the same way that +the two opposite forms and modes of being of humanity are absorbed +in the unity of the ideal man. + +LETTER XVII. + +While we were only engaged in deducing the universal idea of beauty +from the conception of human nature in general, we had only to +consider in the latter the limits established essentially in itself, +and inseparable from the notion of the finite. Without attending to +the contingent restrictions that human nature may undergo in the +real world of phenomena, we have drawn the conception of this nature +directly from reason, as a source of every necessity, and the ideal +of beauty has been given us at the same time with the ideal of +humanity. + +But now we are coming down from the region of ideas to the scene of +reality, to find man in a DETERMINATE STATE, and consequently in +limits which are not derived from the pure conception of humanity, +but from external circumstances and from an accidental use of his +freedom. But although the limitation of the idea of humanity may be +very manifold in the individual, the contents of this idea suffice +to teach us that we can only depart from it by TWO opposite roads. +For if the perfection of man consist in the harmonious energy of his +sensuous and spiritual forces, he can only lack this perfection +through the want of harmony and the want of energy. Thus then, +before having received on this point the testimony of experience, +reason suffices to assure us that we shall find the real and +consequently limited man in a state of tension or relaxation, +according as the exclusive activity of isolated forces troubles the +harmony of his being, or as the unity of his nature is based on the +uniform relaxation of his physical and spiritual forces. These +opposite limits are, as we have now to prove, suppressed by the +beautiful, which re-establishes harmony in man when excited, and +energy in man when relaxed; and which, in this way, in conformity +with the nature of the beautiful, restores the state of limitation +to an absolute state, and makes of man a whole, complete in himself. + +Thus the beautiful by no means belies in reality the idea which we +have made of it in speculation; only its action is much less free in +it than in the field of theory, where we were able to apply it to +the pure conception of humanity. In man, as experience shows him to +us, the beautiful finds a matter, already damaged and resisting, +which robs him in IDEAL perfection of what it communicates to him of +its individual mode of being. Accordingly in reality the beautiful +will always appear a peculiar and limited species, and not as the +pure genus; in excited minds in the state of tension, it will lose +its freedom and variety; in relaxed minds, it will lose its +vivifying force; but we, who have become familiar with the true +character of this contradictory phenomenon, cannot be led astray by +it. We shall not follow the great crowd of critics, in determining +their conception by separate experiences, and to make them +answerable for the deficiencies which man shows under their +influence. We know rather that it is man who transfers the +imperfections of his individuality over to them, who stands +perpetually in the way of their perfection by his subjective +limitation, and lowers their absolute ideal to two limited forms of +phenomena. + +It was advanced that soft beauty is for an unstrung mind, and the +energetic beauty for the tightly strung mind. But I apply the term +unstrung to a man when he is rather under the pressure of feelings +than under the pressure of conceptions. Every exclusive sway of one +of his two fundamental impulses is for man a state of compulsion and +violence, and freedom only exists in the co-operation of his two +natures. Accordingly, the man governed preponderately by feelings, +or sensuously unstrung, is emancipated and set free by matter. The +soft and graceful beauty, to satisfy this twofold problem, must +therefore show herself under two aspects--in two distinct forms. +First as a form in repose, she will tone down savage life, and pave +the way from feeling to thought. She will, secondly, as a living +image equip the abstract form with sensuous power, and lead back the +conception to intuition and law to feeling. The former service she +does to the man of nature, the second to the man of art. But because +she does not in both cases hold complete sway over her matter, but +depends on that which is furnished either by formless nature or +unnatural art, she will in both cases bear traces of her origin, and +lose herself in one place in material life and in another in mere +abstract form. + +To be able to arrive at a conception how beauty can become a means +to remove this twofold relaxation, we must explore its source in the +human mind. Accordingly, make up your mind to dwell a little longer +in the region of speculation, in order then to leave it for ever, +and to advance with securer footing on the ground of experience. + +LETTER XVIII. + +By beauty the sensuous man is led to form and to thought; by beauty +the spiritual man is brought back to matter and restored to the +world of sense. From this statement it would appear to follow that +between matter and form, between passivity and activity, there must +be a middle state, and that beauty plants us in this state. It +actually happens that the greater part of mankind really form this +conception of beauty as soon as they begin to reflect on its +operations, and all experience I seems to point to this conclusion. +But, on the other hand, nothing is more unwarrantable and +contradictory than such a conception, because the aversion of matter +and form, the passive and the active, feeling and thought, is +eternal and I cannot be mediated in any way. How can we remove this +contradiction? Beauty weds the two opposed conditions of feeling and +thinking, and yet there is absolutely no medium between them. The +former is immediately certain through experience, the other through +the reason. + +This is the point to which the whole question of beauty leads, and +if we succeed in settling this point in a satisfactory way, we have +at length found the clue that will conduct us through the whole +labyrinth of aesthetics. + +But this requires two very different operations, which must +necessarily support each other in this inquiry. Beauty it is said, +weds two conditions with one another which are opposite to each +other, and can never be one. We must start from this opposition; we +must grasp and recognise them in their entire purity and strictness, +so that both conditions are separated in the most definite matter; +otherwise we mix, but we do not unite them. Secondly, it is usual to +say, beauty unites those two opposed conditions, and therefore +removes the opposition. But because both conditions remain eternally +opposed to one another, they cannot be united in any other way than +by being suppressed. Our second business is therefore to make this +connection perfect, to carry them out with such purity and +perfection that both conditions disappear entirely in a third one, +and no trace of separation remains in the whole; otherwise we +segregate, but do not unite. All the disputes that have ever +prevailed and still prevail in the philosophical world respecting +the conception of beauty have no other origin than their commencing +without a sufficiently strict distinction, or that it is not carried +out fully to a pure union. Those philosophers who blindly follow +their feeling in reflecting on this topic can obtain no other +conception of beauty, because they distinguish nothing separate in +the totality of the sensuous impression. Other philosophers, who +take the understanding as their exclusive guide, can never obtain a +conception of beauty, because they never see anything else in the +whole than the parts, and spirit and matter remain eternally +separate, even in their most perfect unity. The first fear to +suppress beauty dynamically, that is, as a working power, if they +must separate what is united in the feeling. The others fear to +suppress beauty logically, that is, as a conception, when they have +to hold together what in the understanding is separate. The former +wish to think of beauty as it works; the latter wish it to work as +it is thought. Both therefore must miss the truth; the former +because they try to follow infinite nature with their limited +thinking power; the others, because they wish to limit unlimited +nature according to their laws of thought The first fear to rob +beauty of its freedom by a too strict dissection, the others fear to +destroy the distinctness of the conception by a too violent union. +But the former do not reflect that the freedom in which they very +properly place the essence of beauty is not lawlessness, but harmony +of laws; not caprice, but the highest internal necessity. The others +do not remember that distinctness, which they with equal right +demand from beauty, does not consist in the exclusion of certain +realities, but the absolute including of all; that is not therefore +limitation, but infinitude. We shall avoid the quicksands on which +both have made shipwreck if we begin from the two elements in which +beauty divides itself before the understanding, but then afterwards +rise to a pure aesthetic unity by which it works on feeling, and in +which both those conditions completely disappear. + +LETTER XIX + +Two principal and different states of passive and active capacity of +being determined [Footnote: Bestimmbarkeit] can be distinguished in +man; in like manner two states of passive and active determination. +[Footnote: Bestimmung.] The explanation of this proposition leads us +most readily to our end. + +The condition of the state of man before destination or direction is +given him by the impressions of the senses is an unlimited capacity +of being determined. The infinite of time and space is given to his +imagination for its free use; and, because nothing is settled in +this kingdom of the possible, and therefore nothing is excluded from +it, this state of absence of determination can be named an empty +infiniteness, which must not by any means be confounded with an +infinite void. + +Now it is necessary that his sensuous nature should be modified, and +that in the indefinite series of possible determinations one alone +should become real. One perception must spring up in it. That which, +in the previous state of determinableness, was only an empty potency +becomes now an active force, and receives contents; but at the same +time, as an active force it receives a limit, after having been, as +a simple power, unlimited. Reality exists now, but the infinite has +disappeared. To describe a figure in space, we are obliged to limit +infinite space; to represent to ourselves a change in time, we are +obliged to divide the totality of time. Thus we only arrive at +reality by limitation, at the positive, at a real position, by +negation or exclusion; to determination, by the suppression of our +free determinableness. + +But mere exclusion would never beget a reality, nor would a mere +sensuous impression ever give birth to a perception, if there were +not something from which it was excluded, if by an absolute act of +the mind the negation were not referred to something positive, and +if opposition did not issue out of non-position. This act of the +mind is styled judging or thinking, and the result is named thought. + +Before we determine a place in space, there is no space for us; but +without absolute space we could never determine a place. The same is +the case with time. Before we have an instant, there is no time to +us; but without infinite time--eternity--we should never have a +representation of the instant. Thus, therefore, we can only arrive +at the whole by the part, to the unlimited through limitation; but +reciprocally we only arrive at the part through the whole, at +limitation through the unlimited. + +It follows from this, that when it is affirmed of beauty that it +mediates for man, the transition from feeling to thought, this must +not be understood to mean that beauty can fill up the gap that +separates feeling from thought, the passive from the active. This +gap is infinite; and, without the interposition of a new and +independent faculty, it is impossible for the general to issue from +the individual, the necessary from the contingent. Thought is the +immediate act of this absolute power, which, I admit, can only be +manifested in connection with sensuous impressions, but which in +this manifestation depends so little on the sensuous that it reveals +itself specially in an opposition to it. The spontaneity or autonomy +with which it acts excludes every foreign influence; and it is not +in as far as it helps thought--which comprehends a manifest +contradiction--but only in as far as it procures for the +intellectual faculties the freedom to manifest themselves in +conformity with their proper laws. It does it only because the +beautiful can become a means of leading man from matter to form, +from feeling to laws, from a limited existence to an absolute +existence. + +But this assumes that the freedom of the intellectual faculties can +be balked, which appears contradictory to the conception of an +autonomous power. For a power which only receives the matter of its +activity from without can only be hindered in its action by the +privation of this matter, and consequently by way of negation; it is +therefore a misconception of the nature of the mind, to attribute to +the sensuous passions the power of oppressing positively the freedom +of the mind. Experience does indeed present numerous examples where +the rational forces appear compressed in proportion to the violence +of the sensuous forces. But instead of deducing this spiritual +weakness from the energy of passion, this passionate energy must +rather be explained by the weakness of the human mind. For the sense +can only have a sway such as this over man when the mind has +spontaneously neglected to assert its power. + +Yet in trying by these explanations to move one objection, I appear +to have exposed myself to another, and I have only saved the +autonomy of the mind at the cost of its unity. For how can the mind +derive at the same time from itself the principles of inactivity and +of activity, if it is not itself divided, and if it is not in +opposition with itself? + +Here we must remember that we have before us, not the infinite mind, +but the finite. The finite mind is that which only becomes active +through the passive, only arrives at the absolute through +limitation, and only acts and fashions in as far as it receives +matter. Accordingly, a mind of this nature must associate with the +impulse towards form or the absolute, an impulse towards matter or +limitation, conditions without which it could not have the former +impulse nor satisfy it. How can two such opposite tendencies exist +together in the same being? This is a problem that can no doubt +embarrass the metaphysician, but not the transcendental philosopher. +The latter does not presume to explain the possibility of things, +but he is satisfied with giving a solid basis to the knowledge that +makes us understand the possibility of experience. And as experience +would be equally impossible without this autonomy in the mind, and +without the absolute unity of the mind, it lays down these two +conceptions as two conditions of experience equally necessary +without troubling itself any more to reconcile them. Moreover, this +immanence of two fundamental impulses does not in any degree +contradict the absolute unity of the mind, as soon as the mind +itself, its selfhood, is distinguished from these two motors. No +doubt, these two impulses exist and act in it, but itself is neither +matter nor form, nor the sensuous nor reason, and this is a point +that does not seem always to have occurred to those who only look +upon the mind as itself acting when its acts are in harmony with +reason, and who declare it passive when its acts contradict reason. + +Arrived at its development, each of these two fundamental impulsions +tends of necessity and by its nature to satisfy itself; but +precisely because each of them has a necessary tendency, and both +nevertheless have an opposite tendency, this twofold constraint +mutually destroys itself, and the will preserves an entire freedom +between them both. It is therefore the will that conducts itself +like a power--as the basis of reality--with respect to both these +impulses; but neither of them can by itself act as a power with +respect to the other. A violent man, by his positive tendency to +justice, which never fails in him, is turned away from injustice; +nor can a temptation of pleasure, however strong, make a strong +character violate its principles. There is in man no other power +than his will; and death alone, which destroys man, or some +privation of self-consciousness, is the only thing that can rob man +of his internal freedom. + +An external necessity determines our condition, our existence in +time, by means of the sensuous. The latter is quite involuntary, +and directly it is produced in us, we are necessarily passive. In +the same manner an internal necessity awakens our personality in +connection with sensations, and by its antagonism with them; for +consciousness cannot depend on the will, which presupposes it. This +primitive manifestation of personality is no more a merit to us +than its privation is a defect in us. Reason can only be required +in a being who is self-conscious, for reason is an absolute +consecutiveness and universality of consciousness; before this is +the case, he is not a man, nor can any act of humanity be expected +from him. The metaphysician can no more explain the limitation +imposed by sensation on a free and autonomous mind than the natural +philosopher can understand the infinite, which is revealed in +consciousness in connection with these limits. Neither abstraction +nor experience can bring us back to the source whence issue our +ideas of necessity and of universality; this source is concealed in +its origin in time from the observer, and its super-sensuous origin +from the researches of the metaphysician. But, to sum up in a few +words, consciousness is there, and, together with its immutable +unity, the law of all that is for man is established, as well as of +all that is to be by man, for his understanding and his activity. +The ideas of truth and of right present themselves inevitable, +incorruptible, immeasurable, even in the age of sensuousness; and +without our being able to say why or how, we see eternity in time, +the necessary following the contingent. It is thus that, without any +share on the part of the subject, the sensation and self-consciousness +arise, and the origin of both is beyond our volition, as it is out +of the sphere of our knowledge. + +But as soon as these two faculties have passed into action, and man +has verified by experience, through the medium of sensation, a +determinate existence, and through the medium of consciousness, its +absolute existence, the two fundamental impulses exert their +influence directly their object is given. The sensuous impulse is +awakened with the experience of life--with the beginning of the +individual; the rational impulsion with the experience of law--with +the beginning of his personality; and it is only when these two +inclinations have come into existence that the human type is +realised. Up to that time, everything takes place in man according +to the law of necessity; but now the hand of nature lets him go, and +it is for him to keep upright humanity which nature places as a germ +in his heart. And thus we see that directly the two opposite and +fundamental impulses exercise their influence in him, both lose +their constraint, and the autonomy of two necessities gives birth to +freedom. LETTER XX. + +That freedom Is an active and not a passive principle results from +its very conception; but that liberty itself should be an effect of +nature (taking this word in its widest sense), and not the work of +man, and therefore that it can be favoured or thwarted by natural +means, is the necessary consequence of that which precedes. It +begins only when man is complete, and when these two fundamental +impulsions have been developed. It will then be wanting whilst he is +incomplete, and while one of these impulsions is excluded, and it +will be re-established by all that gives back to man his integrity. + +Thus it is possible, both with regard to the entire species as to +the individual, to remark the moment when man is yet incomplete, and +when one of the two exclusions acts solely in him. We know that man +commences by life simply, to end by form; that he is more of an +individual than a person, and that he starts from the limited or +finite to approach the infinite. The sensuous impulsion comes into +play therefore before the rational impulsion, because sensation +precedes consciousness; and in this priority of sensuous impulsion +we find the key of the history of the whole of human liberty. + +There is a moment, in fact, when the instinct of life, not yet +opposed to the instinct of form, acts as nature and as necessity; +when the sensuous is a power because man has not begun; for even in +man there can be no other power than his will. But when man shall +have attained to the power of thought, reason, on the contrary, will +be a power, and moral or logical necessity will take the place of +physical necessity. Sensuous power must then be annihilated before +the law which must govern it can be established. It is not enough +that something shall begin which as yet was not; previously +something must end which had begun. Man cannot pass immediately from +sensuousness to thought. He must step backwards, for it is only when +one determination is suppressed that the contrary determination can +take place. Consequently, in order to exchange passive against +active liberty, a passive determination against an active, he must +be momentarily free from all determination, and must traverse a +state of pure determinability. He has then to return in some degree +to that state of pure negative indetermination in which he was +before his senses were affected by anything. But this state was +absolutely empty of all contents, and now the question is to +reconcile an equal determination and a determinability equally +without limit, with the greatest possible fulness, because from this +situation something positive must immediately follow. The +determination which man received by sensation must be preserved, +because he should not lose the reality; but at the same time, in so +far as finite, it should be suppressed, because a determinability +without limit would take place. The problem consists then in +annihilating the determination of the mode of existence, and yet at +the same time in preserving it, which is only possible in one way: +in opposing to it another. The two sides of a balance are in +equilibrium when empty; they are also in equilibrium when their +contents are of equal weight. + +Thus, to pass from sensation to thought, the soul traverses a medium +position, in which sensibility and reason are at the same time +active, and thus they mutually destroy their determinant power, and +by their antagonism produce a negation. This medium situation in +which the soul is neither physically nor morally constrained, and +yet is in both ways active, merits essentially the name of a free +situation; and if we call the state of sensuous determination +physical, and the state of rational determination logical or moral, +that state of real and active determination should be called the +aesthetic. + +LETTER XXI. + +I have remarked in the beginning of the foregoing letter that there +is a twofold condition of determinableness and a twofold condition +of determination. And now I can clear up this proposition. + +The mind can be determined--is determinate--only in as far as it is +not determined; it is, however, determinable also, in as far as it +is not exclusively determined; that is, if it is not confined in its +determination. The former is only a want of determination--it is +without limits, because it is without reality; but the latter, the +aesthetic determinableness, has no limits, because it unites all +reality. + +The mind is determined, inasmuch as it is only limited; but it is +also determined because it limits itself of its own absolute +capacity. It is situated in the former position when it feels, in +the second when it thinks. Accordingly the aesthetic constitution is +in relation to determinableness what thought is in relation to +determination. The latter is a negative from internal and infinite +completeness, the former a limitation from internal infinite power. +Feeling and thought come into contact in one single point, the mind +is determined in both conditions, the man becomes something and +exists--either as individual or person--by exclusion; in other cases +these two faculties stand infinitely apart. Just in the same manner, +the aesthetic determinableness comes in contact with the mere want +of determination in a single point, by both excluding every distinct +determined existence, by thus being in all other points nothing and +all, and hence by being infinitely different. Therefore, if the +latter, in the absence of determination from deficiency, is +represented as an empty infiniteness, the aesthetic freedom of +determination, which forms the proper counterpart to the former, can +be considered, as a completed infiniteness; a representation which +exactly agrees with the teachings of the previous investigations. + +Man is therefore nothing in the aesthetic state, if attention is +given to the single result, and not to the whole faculty, and if we +regard only the absence or want of every special determination. We +must therefore do justice to those who pronounce the beautiful, and +the disposition in which it places the mind, as entirely indifferent +and unprofitable, in relation to knowledge and feeling. They are +perfectly right; for it is certain that beauty gives no separate, +single result, either for the understanding or for the will; it does +not carry out a single intellectual or moral object; it discovers no +truth, does not help us to fulfil a single duty, and, in one word, +is equally unfit to found the character or to clear the head. +Accordingly, the personal worth of a man, or his dignity, as far as +this can only depend on himself, remains entirely undetermined by +aesthetic culture, and nothing further is attained than that, on the +part of nature, it is made profitable for him to make of himself +what he will; that the freedom to be what he ought to be is restored +perfectly to him. + +But by this, something infinite is attained. But as soon as we +remember that freedom is taken from man by the one-sided compulsion +of nature in feeling, and by the exclusive legislation of the reason +in thinking, we must consider the capacity restored to him by the +aesthetical disposition, as the highest of all gifts, as the gift of +humanity. I admit that he possesses this capacity for humanity, +before every definite determination in which he may be placed. But +as a matter of fact, he loses it with every determined condition, +into which he may come, and if he is to pass over to an opposite +condition, humanity must be in every case restored to him by the +aesthetic life. + +It is therefore not only a poetical license, but also +philosophically correct, when beauty is named our second creator. +Nor is this inconsistent with the fact that she only makes it +possible for us to attain and realise humanity, leaving this to our +free will. For in this she acts in common with our original creator, +nature, which has imparted to us nothing further than this capacity +for humanity, but leaves the use of it to our own determination of +will. + +LETTER XXII. + +Accordingly, if the aesthetic disposition of the mind must be looked +upon in one respect as nothing--that is, when we confine our view to +separate and determined operations--it must be looked upon in +another respect as a state of the highest reality, in as far as we +attend to the absence of all limits and the sum of powers which are +commonly active in it. Accordingly we cannot pronounce them, again, +to be wrong who describe the aesthetic state to be the most +productive in relation to knowledge and morality. They are perfectly +right, for a state of mind which comprises the whole of humanity in +itself must of necessity include in itself also--necessarily and +potentially--every separate expression of it. Again, a disposition +of mind that removes all limitation from the totality of human +nature must also remove it from every social expression of the same. +Exactly because its "aesthetic disposition" does not exclusively +shelter any separate function of humanity, it is favourable to all +without distinction, nor does it favour any particular functions, +precisely because it is the foundation of the possibility of all. +All other exercises give to the mind some special aptitude, but for +that very reason give it some definite limits; only the aesthetical +leads him to the unlimited. Every other condition, in which we can +live, refers us to a previous condition, and requires for its +solution a following condition; only the aesthetic is a complete +whole in itself, for it unites in itself all conditions of its +source and of its duration. Here alone we feel ourselves swept out +of time, and our humanity expresses itself with purity and integrity +as if it had not yet received any impression or interruption from +the operation of external powers. + +That which flatters our senses in immediate sensation opens our weak +and volatile spirit to every impression, but makes us in the same +degree less apt for exertion. That which stretches our thinking +power and invites to abstract conceptions strengthens our mind for +every kind of resistance, but hardens it also in the same +proportion, and deprives us of susceptibility in the same ratio that +it helps us to greater mental activity. For this very reason, one as +well as the other brings us at length to exhaustion, because matter +cannot long do without the shaping, constructive force, and the +force cannot do without the constructible material. But on the other +hand, if we have resigned ourselves to the enjoyment of genuine +beauty, we are at such a moment of our passive and active powers in +the same degree master, and we shall turn with ease from grave to +gay, from rest to movement, from submission to resistance, to +abstract thinking and intuition. + +This high indifference and freedom of mind, united with power and +elasticity, is the disposition in which a true work of art ought to +dismiss us, and there is no better test of true aesthetic +excellence. If after an enjoyment of this kind we find ourselves +specially impelled to a particular mode of feeling or action, and +unfit for other modes, this serves as an infallible proof that we +have not experienced any pure aesthetic effect, whether this is +owing to the object, to our own mode of feeling--as generally +happens--or to both together. + +As in reality no purely aesthetical effect can be met with--for man +can never leave his dependence on material forces--the excellence of +a work of art can only consist in its greater approximation to its +ideal of aesthetic purity, and however high we may raise the freedom +of this effect, we shall always leave it with a particular +disposition and a particular bias. Any class of productions or +separate work in the world of art is noble and excellent in +proportion to the universality of the disposition and the unlimited +character of the bias thereby presented to our mind. This truth can +be applied to works in various branches of art, and also to +different works in the same branch. We leave a grand musical +performance with our feelings excited, the reading of a noble poem +with a quickened imagination, a beautiful statue or building with an +awakened understanding; but a man would not choose an opportune +moment who attempted to invite us to abstract thinking after a high +musical enjoyment, or to attend to a prosaic affair of common life +after a high poetical enjoyment, or to kindle our imagination and +astonish our feelings directly after inspecting a fine statue or +edifice. The reason of this is that music, BY ITS MATTER, even when +most spiritual, presents a greater affinity with the senses than is +permitted by aesthetic liberty; it is because even the most happy +poetry, having FOR TIS MEDIUM the arbitrary and contingent play of +the imagination, always shares in it more than the intimate +necessity of the really beautiful allows; it is because the best +sculpture touches on severe science BY WHAT IS DETERMINATE IN ITS +CONCEPTION. However, these particular affinities are lost in +proportion as the works of these three kinds of art rise to a +greater elevation, and it is a natural and necessary consequence of +their perfection, that, without confounding their objective limits, +the different arts come to resemble each other more and more, in the +action WHICH THEY EXERCISE ON THE MIND. At its highest degree of +ennobling, music ought to become a form, and act on us with the calm +power of an antique statue; in its most elevated perfection, the +plastic art ought to become music and move us by the immediate +action exercised on the mind by the senses; in its most complete +developmentment, poetry ought both to stir us powerfully like music +and like plastic art to surround us with a peaceful light. In each +art, the perfect style consists exactly in knowing how to remove +specific limits, while sacrificing at the same time the particular +advantages of the art, and to give it by a wise use of what belongs +to it specially a more general character. + +Nor is it only the limits inherent in the specific character of each +kind of art that the artist ought to overstep in putting his hand to +the work; he must also triumph over those which are inherent in the +particular subject of which he treats. In a really beautiful work of +art, the substance ought to be inoperative, the form should do +everything; for by the form, the whole man is acted on; the +substance acts on nothing but isolated forces. Thus, however vast +and sublime it may be, the substance always exercises a restrictive +action on the mind, and true aesthetic liberty can only be expected +from the form. Consequently the true search of the master consists +in destroying matter by the form; and the triumph of art is great in +proportion as it overcomes matter and maintains its sway over those +who enjoy its work. It is great particularly in destroying matter +when most imposing, ambitious, and attractive, when therefore matter +has most power to produce the effect proper to it, or, again, when +it leads those who consider it more closely to enter directly into +relation with it. The mind of the spectator and of the hearer must +remain perfectly free and intact; it must issue pure and entire from +the magic circle of the artist, as from the hands of the Creator. +The most frivolous subject ought to be treated in such a way that we +preserve the faculty to exchange it immediately for the most serious +work. The arts which have passion for their object, as a tragedy for +example, do not present a difficulty here; for, in the first place +these arts are not entirely free, because they are in the service of +a particular end (the pathetic), and then no connoisseur will deny +that even in this class a work is perfect in proportion as amidst +the most violent storms of passion it respects the liberty of the +soul. There is a fine art of passion, but an impassioned fine art is +a contradiction in terms, for the infallible effect of the beautiful +is emancipation from the passions. The idea of an instructive fine +art (didactic art) or improving (moral) art is no less contradictory, +for nothing agrees less with the idea of the beautiful than to give +a determinate tendency to the mind. + +However, from the fact that a work produces effects only by its +substance, it must not always be inferred that there is a want of +form in this work; this conclusion may quite as well testify to a +want of form in the observer. If his mind is too stretched or too +relaxed, if it is only accustomed to receive things either by the +senses or the intelligence, even in the most perfect combination, it +will only stop to look at the parts, and it will only see matter in +the most beautiful form. Only sensible of the coarse elements, he +must first destroy the aesthetic organisation of a work to find +enjoyment in it, and carefully disinter the details which genius has +caused to vanish, with infinite art, in the harmony of the whole. +The interest he takes in the work is either solely moral or +exclusively physical; the only thing wanting to it is to be exactly +what it ought to be--aesthetical. The readers of this class enjoy a +serious and pathetic poem as they do a sermon; a simple and playful +work, as an inebriating draught; and if on the one hand they have so +little taste as to demand edification from a tragedy or from an +epos, even such as the "Messias," on the other hand they will be +infallibly scandalised by a piece after the fashion of Anacreon and +Catullus. + +LETTER XXIII. + +I take up the thread of my researches, which I broke off only to +apply the principles I laid down to practical art and the +appreciation of its works. + +The transition from the passivity of sensuousness to the activity of +thought and of will can be effected only by the intermediary state +of aesthetic liberty; and though in itself this state decides +nothing respecting our opinions and our sentiments, and therefore +leaves our intellectual and moral value entirely problematical, it +is, however, the necessary condition without which we should never +attain to an opinion or a sentiment. In a word, there is no other +way to make a reasonable being out of a sensuous man than by making +him first aesthetic. + +But, you might object: Is this mediation absolutely indispensable? +Could not truth and duty, one or the other, in themselves and by +themselves, find access to the sensuous man? To this I reply: Not +only is it possible, but it is I absolutely necessary that they owe +solely to themselves their determining force, and nothing would be +more contradictory to our preceding affirmations than to appear to +defend the contrary opinion. It has been expressly proved that the +beautiful furnishes no result, either for the comprehension or for +the will; that it mingles with no operations, either of thought or +of resolution; and that it confers this double power without +determining anything with regard to the real exercise of this power. +Here all foreign help disappears, and the pure logical form, the +idea, would speak immediately to the intelligence, as the pure moral +form, the law, immediately to the will. + +But that the pure form should be capable of it, and that there is in +general a pure form for sensuous man, is that, I maintain, which +should be rendered possible by the aesthetic disposition of the +soul. Truth is not a thing which can be received from without like +reality or the visible existence of objects. It is the thinking +force, in his own liberty and activity, which produces it, and it is +just this liberty proper to it, this liberty which we seek in vain +in sensuous man. The sensuous man is already determined physically, +and thenceforth he has no longer his free determinability; he must +necessarily first enter into possession of this lost determinability +before he can exchange the passive against an active determination. +Therefore, in order to recover it, he must either lose the passive +determination that he had, or he should enclose already in Himself +the active determination to which he should pass. If he confined +himself to lose passive determination, he would at the same time +lose with it the possibility of an active determination, because +thought needs a body, and form can only be realised through matter. +He must therefore contain already in himself the active +determination that he may be at once both actively and passively +determined, that is to say, he becomes necessarily aesthetic. + +Consequently, by the aesthetic disposition of the soul the proper +activity of reason is already revealed in the sphere of +sensuousness, the power of sense is already broken within its own +boundaries, and the ennobling of physical man carried far enough, +for spiritual man has only to develop himself according to the laws +of liberty. The transition from an aesthetic state to a logical and +moral state (from the beautiful to truth and duty) is then +infinitely more easy than the transition from the physical state to +the aesthetic state (from life pure and blind to form). This +transition man can effectuate alone by his liberty, whilst he has +only to enter into possession of himself not to give it himself; but +to separate the elements of his nature, and not to enlarge it. +Having attained to the aesthetic disposition, man will give to his +judgments and to his actions a universal value as soon as he desires +it This passage from brute nature to beauty, in which an entirely +new faculty would awaken in him, nature would render easier, and his +will has no power over a disposition which, we know, itself gives +birth to the will. To bring the aesthetic man to profound views, to +elevated sentiments, he requires nothing more than important +occasions; to obtain the same thing from the sensuous man, his +nature must at first be changed. To make of the former a hero, a +sage, it is often only necessary to meet with a sublime situation, +which exercises upon the faculty of the will the more immediate +action; for the second, it must first be transplanted under another +sky. + +One of the most important tasks of culture, then, is to submit man +to form, even in a purely physical life, and to render it aesthetic +as far as the domain of the beautiful can be extended, for it is +alone in the aesthetic state, and not in the physical state, that +the moral state can be developed. If in each particular case man +ought to possess the power to make his judgment and his will the +judgment of the entire species; if he ought to find in each limited +existence the transition to an infinite existence; if, lastly, he +ought from every dependent situation to take his flight to rise to +autonomy and to liberty, it must be observed that at no moment is he +only individual and solely obeys the law of nature. To be apt and +ready to raise himself from the narrow circle of the ends of nature, +to rational ends, in the sphere of the former he must already have +exercised himself in the second; he must already have realised his +physical destiny with a certain liberty that belongs only to +spiritual nature, that is to say, according to the laws of the +beautiful. + +And that he can effect without thwarting in the least degree his +physical aim. The exigencies of nature with regard to him turn only +upon what he does--upon the substance of his acts; but the ends of +nature in no degree determine the way in which he acts, the form of +his actions. On the contrary, the exigencies of reason have +rigorously the form of his activity for its object. Thus, so much as +it is necessary for the moral destination of man, that he be purely +moral, that he shows an absolute personal activity, so much is he +indifferent that his physical destination be entirely physical, that +he acts in a manner entirely passive. Henceforth with regard to this +last destination, it entirely depends on him to fulfil it solely as +a sensuous being and natural force (as a force which acts only as it +diminishes) or, at the same time, as absolute force, as a rational +being. To which of these does his dignity best respond? Of this, +there can be no question. It is as disgraceful and contemptible for +him to do under sensuous impulsion that which he ought to have +determined merely by the motive of duty, as it is noble and +honourable for him to incline towards conformity with laws, harmony, +independence; there even where the vulgar man only satisfies a +legitimate want. In a word, in the domain of truth and morality, +sensuousness must have nothing to determine; but in the sphere of +happiness, form may find a place, and the instinct of play prevail. + +Thus then, in the indifferent sphere of physical life, man ought to +already commence his moral life; his own proper activity ought +already to make way in passivity, and his rational liberty beyond +the limits of sense; he ought already to impose the law of his will +upon his inclinations; he ought--if you will permit me the +expression--to carry into the domain of matter the war against +matter, in order to be dispensed from combatting this redoubtable +enemy upon the sacred field of liberty; he ought to learn to have +nobler desires, not to be forced to have sublime volitions. This is +the fruit of aesthetic culture, which submits to the laws of the +beautiful, in which neither the laws of nature nor those of reason +suffer, which does not force the will of man, and which by the form +it gives to exterior life already opens internal life. + +LETTER XXIV. + +Accordingly three different moments or stages of development can be +distinguished, which the individual man, as well as the whole race, +must of necessity traverse in a determinate order if they are to +fulfil the circle of their determination. No doubt, the separate +periods can be lengthened or shortened, through accidental causes +which are inherent either in the influence of external things or +under the free caprice of men; but neither of them can be +overstepped, and the order of their sequence cannot be inverted +either by nature or by the will. Man, in his PHYSICAL condition, +suffers only the power of nature; he gets rid of this power in the +aesthetical condition, and he rules them in the moral state. + +What is man before beauty liberates him from free pleasure, and the +serenity of form tames down the savageness of life? Eternally +uniform in his aims, eternally changing in his judgments, self- +seeking without being himself, unfettered without being free, a +slave without serving any rule. At this period, the world is to him +only destiny, not yet an object; all has existence for him only in +as far as it procures existence to him; a thing that neither seeks +from nor gives to him is non-existent. Every phenomenon stands out +before him, separate and cut off, as he finds himself in the series +of beings. All that is, is to him through the bias of the moment; +every change is to him an entirely fresh creation, because with the +necessary IN HIM, the necessary OUT OF HIM is wanting, which binds +together all the changing forms in the universe, and which holds +fast the law on the theatre of his action, while the individual +departs. It is in vain that nature lets the rich variety of her +forms pass before him; he sees in her glorious fulness nothing but +his prey, in her power and greatness nothing but his enemy. Either +he encounters objects, and wishes to draw them to himself in desire, +or the objects press in a destructive manner upon him, and he +thrusts them away in dismay and terror. In both cases his relation +to the world of sense is immediate CONTACT; and perpetually anxious +through its pressure, restless and plagued by imperious wants, he +nowhere finds rest except in enervation, and nowhere limits save in +exhausted desire. + + "True, his is the powerful breast and the mighty hand of the + Titans... + A certain inheritance; yet the god welded + Round his forehead a brazen band; + Advice, moderation, wisdom, and patience,-- + Hid it from his shy, sinister look. + Every desire is with him a rage, + And his rage prowls around limitless."--"Iphigenia in Tauris" + +Ignorant of his own human dignity, he is far removed from honouring +it in others, and conscious of his own savage greed, he fears it in +every creature that he sees like himself. He never sees others in +himself, only himself in others, and human society, instead of +enlarging him to the race, only shuts him up continually closer in +his individuality. Thus limited, he wanders through his sunless +life, till favouring nature rolls away the load of matter from his +darkened senses, reflection separates him from things, and objects +show themselves at length in the after-glow of the consciousness. + +It is true we cannot point out this state of rude nature as we have +here portrayed it in any definite people and age. It is only an +idea, but an idea with which experience agrees most closely in +special features. It may be said that man was never in this animal +condition, but he has not, on the other hand, ever entirely escaped +from it. Even in the rudest subjects, unmistakable traces of +rational freedom can be found, and even in the most cultivated, +features are not wanting that remind us of that dismal natural +condition. It is possible for man, at one and the same time, to +unite the highest and the lowest in his nature; and if his DIGNITY +depends on a strict separation of one from the other, his HAPPINESS +depends on a skilful removal of this separation. The culture which +is to bring his dignity into agreement with his happiness will +therefore have to provide for the greatest purity of these two +principles in their most intimate combination. + +Consequently the first appearance of reason in man is not the +beginning of humanity. This is first decided by his freedom, and +reason begins first by making his sensuous dependence boundless; a +phenomenon that does not appear to me to have been sufficiently +elucidated, considering its importance and universality. We know +that the reason makes itself known to man by the demand for the +absolute--the self-dependent and necessary. But as this want of the +reason cannot be satisfied in any separate or single state of his +physical life, he is obliged to leave the physical entirely and to +rise from a limited reality to ideas. But although the true meaning +of that demand of the reason is to withdraw him from the limits of +time and to lead him up from the world of sense to an ideal world, +yet this same demand of reason, by a misapplication--scarcely to be +avoided in this age, prone to sensuousness--can direct him to +physical life, and, instead of making man free, plunge him in the +most terrible slavery. + +Facts verify this supposition. Man raised on the wings of +imagination leaves the narrow limits of the present, in which mere +animality is enclosed, in order to strive on to an unlimited future. +But while the limitless is unfolded to his dazed IMAGINATION, his +heart has not ceased to live in the separate, and to serve the +moment. The impulse towards the absolute seizes him suddenly in the +midst of his animality, and as in this cloddish condition all his +efforts aim only at the material and temporal, and are limited by +his individuality, he is only led by that demand of the reason to +extend his individuality into the infinite, instead of to abstract +from it. He will be led to seek instead of form an inexhaustible +matter, instead of the unchangeable an everlasting change and an +absolute securing of his temporal existence. The same impulse which, +directed to his thought and action, ought to lead to truth and +morality, now directed to his passion and emotional state, produces +nothing but an unlimited desire and an absolute want. The first +fruits, therefore, that he reaps in the world of spirits, are cares +and fear--both operations of the reason; not of sensuousness, but of +a reason that mistakes its object and applies its categorical +imperative to matter. All unconditional systems of happiness are +fruits of this tree, whether they have for their object the present +day or the whole of life, or what does not make them any more +respectable, the whole of eternity, for their object. An unlimited +duration of existence and of well-being is only an ideal of the +desires; hence a demand which can only be put forth by an animality +striving up to the absolute. Man, therefore, without gaining +anything for his humanity by a rational expression of this sort, +loses the happy limitation of the animal over which he now only +possesses the unenviable superiority of losing the present for an +endeavour after what is remote, yet without seeking in the limitless +future anything but the present. + +But even if the reason does not go astray in its object, or err in +the question, sensuousness will continue to falsify the answer for a +long time. As soon as man has begun to use his understanding and to +knit together phenomena in cause and effect, the reason, according +to its conception, presses on to an absolute knitting together and +to an unconditional basis. In order merely to be able to put forward +this demand man must already have stepped beyond the sensuous, but +the sensuous uses this very demand to bring back the fugitive. + +In fact it is now that he ought to abandon entirely the world of +sense in order to take his flight into the realm of ideas; for the +intelligence temains eternally shut up in the finite and in the +contingent, and does not cease putting questions without reaching +the last link of the chain. But as the man with whom we are engaged +is not yet capable of such an abstraction, and does not find it in +the sphere of sensuous knowledge, and because he does not look for +it in pure reason, he will seek for it below in the region of +sentiment, and will appear to find it. No doubt the sensuous shows +him nothing that has its foundation in itself, and that legislates +for itself, but it shows him something that does not care for +foundation or law; therefore thus not being able to quiet the +intelligence by showing it a final cause, he reduces it to silence +by the conception which desires no cause; and being incapable of +understanding the sublime necessity of reason, he keeps to the blind +constraint of matter. As sensuousness knows no other end than its +interest, and is determined by nothing except blind chance, it makes +the former the motive of its actions, and the latter the master of +the world. + +Even the divine part in man, the moral law, in its first +manifestation in the sensuous cannot avoid this perversion, As this +moral law is only prohibited and combats in man the interest of +sensuous egotism, it must appear to him as something strange until +he has come to consider this self-love as the stranger, and the +voice of reason as his true self. Therefore he confines himself to +feeling the fetters which the latter imposes on him, without having +the consciousness of the infinite emancipation which it procures for +him. Without suspecting in himself the dignity of lawgiver, he only +experiences the constraint and the impotent revolt of a subject +fretting under the yoke, because in this experience the sensuous +impulsion precedes the moral impulsion, he gives to the law of +necessity a beginning in him, a positive origin, and by the most +unfortunate of all mistakes he converts the immutable and the +eternal in himself into a transitory accident He makes up his mind +to consider the notions of the just and the unjust as statutes which +have been introduced by a will, and not as having in themselves an +eternal value. Just as in the explanation of certain natural +phenomena he goes beyond nature and seeks out of her what can only +be found in her, in her own laws; so also in the explanation of +moral phenomena he goes beyond reason and makes light of his +humanity, seeking a god in this way. It is not wonderful that a +religion which he has purchased at the cost of his humanity shows +itself worthy of this origin, and that he only considers as absolute +and eternally binding laws that have never been binding from all +eternity. He has placed himself in relation with, not a holy being, +but a powerful. Therefore the spirit of his religion, of the homage +that he gives to God, is a fear that abases him, and not a +veneration that elevates him in his own esteem. + +Though these different aberrations by which man departs from the +ideal of his destination cannot all take place at the same time, +because several degrees have to be passed over in the transition +from the obscure of thought to error, and from the obscure of will +to the corruption of the will; these degrees are all, without +exception, the consequence of his physical state, because in all the +vital impulsion sways the formal impulsion. Now, two cases may +happen: either reason may not yet have spoken in man, and the +physical may reign over him with a blind necessity, or reason may +not be sufficiently purified from sensuous impressions, and the +moral may still be subject to the physical; in both cases the only +principle that has a real power over him is a material principle, +and man, at least as regards his ultimate tendency, is a sensuous +being. The only difference is, that in the former case he is an +animal without reason, and in the second case a rational animal. But +he ought to be neither one nor the other: he ought to be a man. +Nature ought not to rule him exclusively; nor reason conditionally. +The two legislations ought to be completely independent and yet +mutually complementary. + +LETTER XXV. + +Whilst man, in his first physical condition, is only passively +affected by the world of sense, he is still entirely identified with +it; and for this reason the external world, as yet, has no objective +existence for him. When he begins in his aesthetic state of mind to +regard the world objectively, then only is his personality severed +from it, and the world appears to him an objective reality, for the +simple reason that he has ceased to form an identical portion of it. + +That which first connects man with the surrounding universe is the +power of reflective contemplation. Whereas desire seizes at once its +object, reflection removes it to a distance and renders it +inalienably her own by saving it from the greed of passion. The +necessity of sense which he obeyed during the period of mere +sensations, lessens during the period of reflection; the senses are +for the time in abeyance; even ever-fleeting time stands still +whilst the scattered rays of consciousness are gathering and shape +themselves; an image of the infinite is reflected upon the +perishable ground. As soon as light dawns in man, there is no longer +night outside of him; as soon as there is peace within him the storm +lulls throughout the universe, and the contending forces of nature +find rest within prescribed limits. Hence we cannot wonder if +ancient traditions allude to these great changes in the inner man as +to a revolution in surrounding nature, and symbolise thought +triumphing over the laws of time, by the figure of Zeus, which +terminates the reign of Saturn. + +As long as man derives sensations from a contact with nature, he is +her slave; but as soon as he begins to reflect upon her objects and +laws he becomes her lawgiver. Nature, which previously ruled him as +a power, now expands before him as an object. What is objective to +him can have no power over him, for in order to become objective it +has to experience his own power. As far and as long as he impresses +a form upon matter, he cannot be injured by its effect; for a spirit +can only be injured by that which deprives it of its freedom. +Whereas he proves his own freedom by giving a form to the formless; +where the mass rules heavily and without shape, and its undefined +outlines are for ever fluctuating between uncertain boundaries, fear +takes up its abode; but man rises above any natural terror as soon +as he knows how to mould it, and transform it into an object of his +art. As soon as he upholds his independence toward phaenomenal +nature, he maintains his dignity toward her as a thing of power and +with a noble freedom he rises against his gods. They throw aside the +mask with which they had kept him in awe during his infancy, and to +his surprise his mind perceives the reflection of his own image. The +divine monster of the Oriental, which roams about changing the world +with the blind force of a beast of prey, dwindles to the charming +outline of humanity in Greek fable; the empire of the Titans is +crushed, and boundless force is tamed by infinite form. + +But whilst I have been merely searching for an issue from the +material world and a passage into the world of mind, the bold flight +of my imagination has already taken me into the very midst of the +latter world. The beauty of which we are in search we have left +behind by passing from the life of mere sensations to the pure form +and to the pure object. Such a leap exceeds the condition of human +nature; in order to keep pace with the latter we must return to the +world of sense. Beauty is indeed the sphere of unfettered +contemplation and reflection; beauty conducts us into the world of +ideas, without however taking us from the world of sense, as occurs +when a truth is perceived and acknowledged. This is the pure product +of a process of abstraction from everything material and accidental, +a pure object free from every subjective barrier, a pure state of +self-activity without any admixture of passive sensations. There is +indeed a way back to sensation from the highest abstraction; for +thought teaches the inner sensation, and the idea of logical and +moral unity passes into a sensation of sensual accord. But if we +delight in knowledge we separate very accurately our own conceptions +from our sensations; we look upon the latter as something +accidental, which might have been omitted without the knowledge +being impaired thereby, without truth being less true. It would, +however, be a vain attempt to suppress this connection of the +faculty of feeling with the idea of beauty, consequently, we shall +not succeed in representing to ourselves one as the effect of the +other, but we must look upon them both together and reciprocally as +cause and effect. In the pleasure which we derive from knowledge we +readily distinguish the passage from the active to the passive +state, and we clearly perceive that the first ends when the second +begins. On the contrary, from the pleasure which we take in beauty, +this transition from the active to the passive is not perceivable, +and reflection is so intimately blended with feeling that we believe +we feel the form immediately. Beauty is then an object to us, it is +true, because reflection is the condition of the feeling which we +have of it; but it is also a state of our personality (our Ego), +because the feeling is the condition of the idea we conceive of it: +beauty is therefore doubtless form, because we contemplate it, but +it is equally life because we feel it. In a word, it is at once our +state and our act. And precisely because it is at the same time both +a state and an act, it triumphantly proves to us that the passive +does not exclude the active, neither matter nor form, neither the +finite nor the infinite; and that consequently the physical +dependence to which man is necessarily devoted does not in any way +destroy his moral liberty. This is the proof of beauty, and I ought +to add that this ALONE can prove it. In fact, as in the possession +of truth or of logical unity, feeling is not necessarily one with +the thought, but follows it accidentally; it is a fact which only +proves that a sensitive nature can succeed a rational nature, and +vice versa; not that they co-exist, that they exercise a reciprocal +action one over the other, and lastly that they ought to be united +in an absolute and necessary manner. From this exclusion of feeling +as long as there is thought, and of thought so long as there is +feeling, we should on the contrary conclude that the two natures are +incompatible, so that in order to demonstrate that pure reason is to +be realised in humanity, the best proof given by the analysis is +that this realisation is demanded. But, as in the realisation of +beauty or of aesthetic unity, there is a real union, mutual +substitution of matter and of form, of passive and of active, by +this alone is proved the compatibility of the two natures, the +possible realisation of the infinite in the finite, and consequently +also the possibility of the most sublime humanity. + +Henceforth we need no longer be embarrassed to find a transition +from dependent feeling to moral liberty, because beauty reveals to +us the fact that they can perfectly co-exist, and that to show +himself a spirit, man need not escape from matter. But if on one +side he is free, even in his relation with a visible world, as the +fact of beauty teaches, and if on the other side freedom is +something absolute and super-sensuous, as its idea necessarily +implies, the question is no longer how man succeeds in raising +himself from the finite to the absolute, and opposing himself in his +thought and will to sensuality, as this has already been produced in +the fact of beauty. In a word, we have no longer to ask how he +passes from virtue to truth, which is already included in the +former, but how he opens a way for himself from vulgar reality to +aesthetic reality, and from the ordinary feelings of life to the +perception of the beautiful. + +LETTER XXVI. + +I have shown in the previous letters that it is only the aesthetic +disposition of the soul that gives birth to liberty, it cannot +therefore be derived from liberty nor have a moral origin. It must +be a gift of nature; the favour of chance alone can break the bonds +of the physical state and bring the savage to duty. The germ of the +beautiful will find an equal difficulty in developing itself in +countries where a severe nature forbids man to enjoy himself, and in +those where a prodigal nature dispenses him from all effort; where +the blunted senses experience no want, and where violent desire can +never be satisfied. The delightful flower of the beautiful will +never unfold itself in the case of the Troglodyte hid in his cavern +always alone, and never finding humanity outside himself; nor among +nomads, who, travelling in great troops, only consist of a +multitude, and have no individual humanity. It will only flourish in +places where man converses peacefully with himself in his cottage, +and with the whole race when he issues from it. In those climates +where a limpid ether opens the senses to the lightest impression, +whilst a life-giving warmth developes a luxuriant nature, where even +in the inanimate creation the sway of inert matter is overthrown, +and the victorious form ennobles even the most abject natures; in +this joyful state and fortunate zone, where activity alone leads to +enjoyment, and enjoyment to activity, from life itself issues a holy +harmony, and the laws of order develope life, a different result +takes place. When imagination incessantly escapes from reality, and +does not abandon the simplicity of nature in its wanderings: then +and there only the mind and the senses, the receptive force and the +plastic force, are developed in that happy equilibrium which is the +soul of the beautiful and the condition of humanity. + +What phaenomenon accompanies the initiation of the savage into +humanity? However far we look back into history the phaenomenon is +identical among all people who have shaken off the slavery of the +animal state, the love of appearance, the inclination for dress and +for games. + +Extreme stupidity and extreme intelligence have a certain affinity +in only seeking the real and being completely insensible to mere +appearance. The former is only drawn forth by the immediate presence +of an object in the senses, and the second is reduced to a quiescent +state only by referring conceptions to the facts of experience. In +short, stupidity cannot rise above reality, nor the intelligence +descend below truth. Thus, in as far as the want of reality and +attachment to the real are only the consequence of a want and a +defect, indifference to the real and an interest taken in +appearances are a real enlargement of humanity and a decisive step +towards culture. In the first place it is the proof of an exterior +liberty, for as long as necessity commands and want solicits, the +fancy is strictly chained down to the real; it is only when want is +satisfied that it developes without hindrance. But it is also the +proof of an internal liberty, because it reveals to us a force +which, independent of an external substratum, sets itself in motion, +and has sufficient energy to remove from itself the solicitations of +nature. The reality of things is effected by things, the appearance +of things is the work of man, and a soul that takes pleasure in +appearance does not take pleasure in what it receives but in what it +makes. + +It is self-evident that I am speaking of aesthetical evidence +different from reality and truth, and not of logical appearance +identical with them. Therefore if it is liked it is because it is an +appearance, and not because it is held to be something better than +it is: the first principle alone is a play whilst the second is a +deception. To give a value to the appearance of the first kind can +never injure truth, because it is never to be feared that it will +supplant it--the only way in which truth can be injured. To despise +this appearance is to despise in general all the fine arts of which +it is the essence. Nevertheless, it happens sometimes that the +understanding carries its zeal for reality as far as this +intolerance, and strikes with a sentence of ostracism all the arts +relating to beauty in appearance, because it is only an appearance. +However, the intelligence only shows this vigorous spirit when it +calls to mind the affinity pointed out further back. I shall find +some day the occasion to treat specially of the limits of beauty in +its appearance. + +It is nature herself which raises man from reality to appearance by +endowing him with two senses which only lead him to the knowledge of +the real through appearance. In the eye and the ear the organs of +the senses are already freed from the persecutions of nature, and +the object with which we are immediately in contact through the +animal senses is remoter from us. What we see by the eye differs +from what we feel; for the understanding to reach objects overleaps +the light which separates us from them. In truth, we are passive to +an object; in sight and hearing the object is a form we create. +While still a savage, man only enjoys through touch merely aided by +sight and sound. He either does not rise to perception through +sight, or does not rest there. As soon as he begins to enjoy through +sight, vision has an independent value, he is aesthetically free, +and the instinct of play is developed. + +The instinct of play likes appearance, and directly it is awakened +it is followed by the formal imitative instinct which treats +appearance as an independent thing. Directly man has come to +distinguish the appearance from the reality, the form from the body, +he can separate, in fact he has already done so. Thus the faculty of +the art of imitation is given with the faculty of form in general. +The inclination that draws us to it reposes on another tendency I +have not to notice here. The exact period when the aesthetic +instinct, or that of art, developes, depends entirely on the +attraction that mere appearance has for men. + +As every real existence proceeds from nature as a foreign power, +whilst every appearance comes in the first place from man as a +percipient subject, he only uses his absolute sight in separating +semblance from essence, and arranging according to subjective law. +With an unbridled liberty he can unite what nature has severed, +provided he can imagine his union, and he can separate what nature +has united, provided this separation can take place in his +intelligence. Here nothing can be sacred to him but his own law: the +only condition imposed upon him is to respect the border which +separates his own sphere from the existence of things or from the +realm of nature. + +This human right of ruling is exercised by man in the art of +appearance; and his success in extending the empire of the +beautiful, and guarding the frontiers of truth, will be in +proportion with the strictness with which he separates form from +substance: for if he frees appearance from reality he must also do +the converse. + +But man possesses sovereign power only in the world of appearance, +in the unstibstantial realm of imagination, only by abstaining from +giving being to appearance in theory, and by giving it being in +practice. It follows that the poet transgresses his proper limits +when he attributes being to his ideal, and when he gives this ideal +aim as a determined existence. For he can only reach this result by +exceeding his right as a poet, that of encroaching by the ideal on +the field of experience, and by pretending to determine real +existence in virtue of a simple possibility, or else he renounces +his right as poet by letting experience encroach on the sphere of +the ideal, and by restricting possibility to the conditions of +reality. + +It is only by being frank or disclaiming all reality, and by being +independent or doing without reality, that the appearance is +aesthetical. Directly it apes reality or needs reality for effect it +is nothing more than a vile instrument for material ends, and can +prove nothing for the freedom of the mind. Moreover, the object in +which we find beauty need not be unreal if pur judgment disregards +this reality; nor if it regards this the judgment is no longer +aesthetical. A beautiful woman if living would no doubt please us as +much and rather more than an equally beautiful woman seen in +painting; but what makes the former please men is not her being an +independent appearance; she no longer pleases the pure aesthetic +feeling. In the painting, life must only attract as an appearance, +and reality as an idea. But it is certain that to feel in a living +object only the pure appearance, requires a greatly higher aesthetic +culture than to do without life in the appearance. + +When the frank and independent appearance is found in man +separately, or in a whole people, it may be inferred they have mind, +taste, and all prerogatives connected with them. In this case, the +ideal will be seen to govern real life, honour triumphing over +fortune, thought over enjoyment, the dream of immortality over a +transitory existence. + +In this case public opinion will no longer be feared and an olive +crown will be more valued than a purple mantle. Impotence and +perversity alone have recourse to false and paltry semblance, and +individuals as well as nations who lend to reality the support of +appearance, or to the aesthetical appearance the support of reality, +show their moral unworthiness and their aesthetical impotence. +Therefore, a short and conclusive answer can be given to this +question--How far will appearance be permitted in the moral world? +It will run thus in proportion as this appearance will be +sesthetical, that is, an appearance that does not try to make up for +reality, nor requires to be made up for by it. The aesthetical +appearance can never endanger the truth of morals: wherever it seems +to do so the appearance is not aesthetical. Only a stranger to the +fashionable world can take the polite assurances, which are only a +form, for proofs of affection, and say he has been deceived; but +only a clumsy fellow in good society calls in the aid of duplicity +and flatters to become amiable. The former lacks the pure sense for +independent appearance; therefore he can only give a value to +appearance by truth. The second lacks reality, and wishes to replace +it by appearance. Nothing is more common than to hear depreciators +of the times utter these paltry complaints--that all solidity has +disappeared from the world, and that essence is neglected for +semblance. Though I feel by no means called upon to defend this age +against these reproaches, I must say that the wide application of +these criticisms shows that they attach blame to the age, not only +on the score of the falsez but also of the frank appearance. And +even the exceptions they admit in favour of the beautiful have for +their object less the independent appearance than the needy +appearance. Not only do they attack the artificial colouring that +hides truth and replaces reality, but also the beneficent appearance +that fills a vacuum and clothes poverty; and they even attack the +ideal appearance that ennobles a vulgar reality. Their strict sense +of truth is rightlyl offended by the falsity of manners; +unfortunately, they class politeness in this category. It displeases +them that the noisy and showy so often eclipse true merit, but they +are no less shocked that appearance is also demanded from merit, and +that a real substance does not dispense with an agreeable form. They +regret the cordiality, the energy, and solidity of ancient times; +they would restore with them ancient coarseness, heaviness, and the +old Gothic profusion. By judgments of this kind they show an esteem +for the matter itself unworthy of humanity, which ought only to +value tne matter inasmuch as it can receive a form and enlarge the +empire of ideas. Accordingly, the taste of the age need not much +fear these criticisms, if it can clear itself before better judges. +Our defect is not to grant a value to aesthetic appearance (we do +not do this enough): a severe judge of the beautiful might rather +reproach us with not having arrived at pure appearance, with not +having separated clearly enough existence from the phaenomenon, and +thus established their limits. We shall deserve this reproach so +long as we cannot enjoy the beautiful in living nature without +desiring it; as long as we cannot admire the beautiful in the +imitative arts without having an end in view; as long as we do not +grant to imagination an absolute legislation of its own; and as long +as we do not inspire it with care for its dignity by the esteem we +testify for its works. + +LETTER XXVII. + +Do not fear for reality and truth. Even if the elevated idea of +aesthetic appearance became general, it would not become so, as long +as man remains so little cultivated as to abuse it; and if it became +general, this would result from a culture that would prevent all +abuse of it. The pursuit of independent appearance requires more +power of abstraction, freedom of heart, and energy of will than man +requires to shut himself up in reality; and he must have left the +latter behind him if he wishes to attain to aesthetic appearance. +Therefore a man would calculate very badly who took the road of the +ideal to save himself that of reality. Thus reality would not have +much to fear from appearance, as we understand it; but, on the other +hand, appearance would have more to fear from reality. Chained to +matter, man uses appearance for his purposes before he allows it a +proper personality in the art of the ideal: to come to that point a +complete revolution must take place in his mode of feeling, +otherwise he would not be even on the way to the ideal. +Consequently, when we find in man the signs of a pure and +disinterested esteem, we can infer that this revolution has taken +place in his nature, and that humanity has really begun in him. +Signs of this kind are found even in the first and rude attempts +that he makes to embellish his existence, even at the risk of making +it worse in its material conditions. As soon as he begins to prefer +form to substance and to risk reality for appearance (known by him +to be such), the barriers of animal life fall, and he finds himself +on a track that has no end. + +Not satisfied with the needs of nature, he demands the superfluous. +First, only the superfluous of matter, to secure his enjoyment +beyond the present necessity; but afterwards he wishes a +superabundance in matter, an aesthetical supplement to satisfy the +impulse for the formal, to extend enjoyment beyond necessity. By +piling up provisions simply for a future use, and anticipating their +enjoyment in the imagination, he outsteps the limits of the present +moment, but not those of time in general. He enjoys more; he does +not enjoy differently. But as soon as he makes form enter into his +enjoyment, and he keeps in view the forms of the objects which +satisfy his desires, he has not only increased his pleasure in +extent and intensity, but he has also ennobled it in mode and +species. + +No doubt nature has given more than is necessary to unreasoning +beings; she has caused a gleam of freedom to shine even in the +darkness of animal life. When the lion is not tormented by hunger, +and when no wild beast challenges him to fight, his unemployed +energy creates an object for himself; full of ardour, he fills the +re-echoing desert with his terrible roars, and his exuberant force +rejoices in itself, showing itself without an object. The insect +flits about rejoicing in life in the sunlight, and it is certainly +not the cry of want that makes itself heard in the melodious song of +the bird; there is undeniably freedom in these movements, though it +is not emancipation from want in general, but from a determinate +external necessity. + +The animal works, when a privation is the motor of its activity, and +it plays when the plenitude of force is this motor, when an +exuberant life is excited to action. Even in inanimate nature a +luxury of strength and a latitude of determination are shown, which +in this material sense might be styled play. The tree produces +numberless germs that are abortive without developing, and it sends +forth more roots, branches and leaves, organs of nutrition, than are +used for the preservation of the species. Whatever this tree +restores to the elements of its exuberant life, without using it, or +enjoying it, may be expended by life in free and joyful movements. +It is thus that nature offers in her material sphere a sort of +prelude to the limitless, and that even there she suppresses +partially the chains from which she will be completely emancipated +in the realm of form. The constraint of superabundance or physical +play, answers as a transition from the constraint of necessity, or +of physical seriousness, to aesthetical play; and before shaking +off, in the supreme freedom of the beautiful, the yoke of any +special aim, nature already approaches, at least remotely, this +independence, by the free movement which is itself its own end and +means. + +The imagination, like the bodily organs, has in man its free +movement and its material play, a play in which, without any +reference to form, it simply takes pleasure in its arbitrary power +and in the absence of all hindrance. These plays of fancy, inasmuch +as form is not mixed up with them, and because a free succession of +images makes all their charm, though confined to man, belong +exclusively to animal life, and only prove one thing--that he is +delivered from all external sensuous constraint--without our being +entitled to infer that there is in it an independent plastic force. + +From this play of free association of ideas, which is still quite +material in nature and is explained by simple natural laws, the +imagination, by making the attempt of creating a free form, passes +at length at a jump to the aesthetic play: I say at one leap, for +quite a new force enters into action here; for here, for the first +time, the legislative mind is mixed with the acts of a blind +instinct, subjects the arbitrary march of the imagination to its +eternal and immutable unity, causes its independent permanence to +enter in that which is transitory, and its infinity in the sensuous. +Nevertheless, as long as rude nature, which knows of no other law +than running incessantly from change to change, will yet retain too +much strength, it will oppose itself by its different caprices to +this necessity; by its agitation to this permanence; by its manifold +needs to this independence, and by its insatiability to this sublime +simplicity. It will be also troublesome to recognise the instinct of +play in its first trials, seeing that the sensuous impulsion, with +its capricious humour and its violent appetites, constantly crosses. +It is on that account that we see the taste, still coarse, seize +that which is new and startling, the disordered, the adventurous and +the strange, the violent and the savage, and fly from nothing so +much as from calm and simplicity. It invents grotesque figures, it +likes rapid transitions, luxurious forms, sharply marked changes, +acute tones, a pathetic song. That which man calls beautiful at this +time, is that which excites him, that which gives him matter; but +that which excites him to give his personality to the object, that +which gives matter to a possible plastic operation, for otherwise it +would not be the beautiful for him. A remarkable change has +therefore taken place in the form of his judgments; he searches for +these objects, not because they affect him, but because they furnish +him with the occasion of acting; they please him, not because they +answer to a want, but because they satisfy a law, which speaks in +his breast, although quite low as yet. + +Soon it will not be sufficient for things to please him; he will +wish to please: in the first place, it is true, only by that which +belongs to him; afterwards by that which he is. That which he +possesses, that which he produces, ought not merely to bear any more +the traces of servitude, nor to mark out the end, simply and +scrupulously, by the form. Independently of the use to which it is +destined, the object ought also to reflect the enlightened +intelligence which imagines it, the hand which shaped it with +affection, the mind free and serene which chose it and exposed it to +view. Now, the ancient German searches for more magnificent furs, +for more splendid antlers of the stag, for more elegant drinking +horns; and the Caledonian chooses the prettiest shells for his +festivals. The arms themselves ought to be no longer only objects of +terror, but also of pleasure; and the skilfully worked scabbard will +not attract less attention than the homicidal edge of the sword. The +instinct of play, not satisfied with bringing into the sphere of the +necessary an aesthetic superabundance for the future more free, is +at last completely emancipated from the bonds of duty, and the +beautiful becomes of itself an object of man's exertions. He adorns +himself. The free pleasure comes to take a place among his wants, +and the useless soon becomes the best part of his joys. Form, which +from the outside gradually approaches him, in his dwelling, his +furniture, his clothing, begins at last to take possession of the +man himself, to transform him, at first exteriorly, and afterwards +in the interior. The disordered leaps of joy become the dance, the +formless gesture is changed into an amiable and harmonious +pantomime, the confused accents of feeling are developed, and begin +to obey measure and adapt themselves to song. When, like the flight +of cranes, the Trojan army rushes on to the field of battle with +thrilling cries, the Greek army approaches in silence and with a +noble and measured step. On the one side we see but the exuberance +of a blind force, on the other; the triumph of form and the simple +majesty of law. + +Now, a nobler necessity binds the two sexes mutually, and the +interests of the heart contribute in rendering durable an alliance +which was at first capricious and changing like the desire that +knits it. Delivered from the heavy fetters of desire, the eye, now +calmer, attends to the form, the soul contemplates the soul, and the +interested exchange of pleasure becomes a generous exchange of +mutual inclination. Desire enlarges and rises to love, in proportion +as it sees humanity dawn in its object; and, despising the vile +triumphs gained by the senses, man tries to win a nobler victory +over the will. The necessity of pleasing subjects the powerful +nature to the gentle laws of taste; pleasure may be stolen, but love +must be a gift. To obtain this higher recompense, it is only through +the form and not through matter that it can carry on the contest. It +must cease to act on feeling as a force, to appear in the +intelligence as a simple phenomenon; it must respect liberty, as it +is liberty it wishes to please. The beautiful reconciles the +contrast of different natures in its simplest and purest expression. +It also reconciles the eternal contrast of the two sexes, in the +whole complex framework of society, or at all events it seeks to do +so; and, taking as its model the free alliance it has knit between +manly strength and womanly gentleness, it strives to place in +harmony, in the moral world, all the elements of gentleness and of +violence. Now, at length, weakness becomes sacred, and an unbridled +strength disgraces; the injustice of nature is corrected by the +generosity of chivalrous manners. The being whom no power can make +tremble, is disarmed by the amiable blush of modesty, and tears +extinguish a vengeance that blood could not have quenched. Hatred +itself hears the delicate voice of honour, the conqueror's sword +spares the disarmed enemy, and a hospitable hearth smokes for the +stranger on the dreaded hill-side where murder alone awaited him +before. + +In the midst of the formidable realm of forces, and of the sacred +empire of laws, the aesthetic impulse of form creates by degrees a +third and a joyous realm, that of play and of the appearance, where +she emancipates man from fetters, in all his relations, and from all +that is named constraint, whether physical or moral. + +If in the dynamic state of rights men mutually move and come into +collision as forces, in the moral (ethical) state of duties, man +opposes to man the majesty of the laws, and chains down his will. In +this realm of the beautiful or the aesthetic state, man ought to +appear to man only as a form, and an object of free play. To give +freedom through freedom is the fundamental law of this realm. + +The dynamic state can only make society simply possible by subduing +nature through nature; the moral (ethical) state can only make it +morally necessary by submitting the will of the individual to the +general will. The aesthetic state alone can make it real, because it +carries out the will of all through the nature of the individual. If +necessity alone forces man to enter into society, and if his reason +engraves on his soul social principles, it is beauty only that can +give him a social character; taste alone brings harmony into +society, because it creates harmony in the individual. All other +forms of perception divide the man, because they are based +exclusively either in the sensuous or in the spiritual part of his +being. It is only the perception of beauty that makes of him an +entirety, because it demands the co-operation of his two natures. +All other forms of communication divide society, because they apply +exclusively either to the receptivity or to the private activity of +its members, and therefore to what distinguishes men one from the +other. The aesthetic communication alone unites society, because it +applies to what is common to all its members. We only enjoy the +pleasures of sense as individuals, without the nature of the race in +us sharing in it; accordingly, we cannot generalise our individual +pleasures, because we cannot generalise our individuality. We enjoy +the pleasures of knowledge as a race, dropping the Individual in our +judgment; but we cannot generalise the pleasures of the +understanding, because we cannot eliminate individuality from the +judgments of others as we do from our own. Beauty alone can we enjoy +both as individuals and as a race, that is, as representing a race. +Good appertaining to sense can only make one person happy, because +it is founded on inclination, which is always exclusive; and it can +only make a man partially happy, because his real personality does +not share in it. Absolute good can only render a man happy +conditionally, for truth is only the reward of abnegation, and a +pure heart alone has faith in a pure will. Beauty alone confers +happiness on all, and under its influence every being forgets that +he is limited. + +Taste does not suffer any superior or absolute authority, and the +sway of beauty is extended over appearance. It extends up to the +seat of reason's supremacy, suppressing all that is material. It +extends down to where sensuous impulse rules with blind compulsion, +and form is undeveloped. Taste ever maintains its power on these +remote borders, where legislation is taken from it. Particular +desires must renounce their egotism, and the agreeable, otherwise +tempting the senses, must in matters of taste adorn the mind with +the attractions of grace. + +Duty and stern necessity must change their forbidding tone, only +excused by resistance, and do homage to nature by a nobler trust in +her. Taste leads our knowledge from the mysteries of science into +the open expanse of common sense, and changes a narrow scholasticism +into the common property of the human race. Here the highest genius +must leave its particular elevation, and make itself familiar to the +comprehension even of a child. Strength must let the Graces bind it, +and the arbitrary lion must yield to the reins of love. For this +purpose taste throws a veil over physical necessity, offending a +free mind by its coarse nudity, and dissimulating our degrading +parentage with matter by a delightful illusion of freedom. Mercenary +art itself rises from the dust; and the bondage of the bodily, at +its magic touch, falls off from the inanimate and animate. In the +aesthetic state the most slavish tool is a free citizen, having the +same rights as the noblest; and the intellect which shapes the mass +to its intent must consult it concerning its destination. +Consequently in the realm of aesthetic appearance, the idea of +equality is realised, which the political zealot would gladly see +carried out socially. It has often been said that perfect politeness +is only found near a throne. If thus restricted in the material, man +has, as elsewhere appears, to find compensation in the ideal world. + +Does such a state of beauty in appearance exist, and where? It must +be in every finely harmonised soul; but as a fact, only in select +circles, like the pure ideal of the church and state--in circles +where manners are not formed by the empty imitations of the foreign, +but by the very beauty of nature; where man passes through all sorts +of complications in all simplicity and innocence, neither forced to +trench on another's freedom to preserve his own, nor to show grace +at the cost of dignity. + + + + +FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES OF THE METAPHYSIC OF MORALS + +BY + +IMMANUEL KANT + + +TRANSLATED BY + +T. K. ABBOTT + + + + +INTRODUCTORY NOTE + +Immanuel Kant was born in Konigsberg, East Prussia, April 22, 1724, +the son of a saddler of Scottish descent. The family was pietist, +and the future philosopher entered the university of his native city +in 1740, with a view to studying theology. He developed, however, a +many-sided interest in learning, and his earlier publications were +in the field of speculative physics. After the close of his period +of study at the university he became a private tutor; then In 1755, +privat-docent; and in 1770, professor. During the first eleven years +of his professorship Kant published little, spending his energies in +the meditation that was to result in the philosophical system of +which the first part was given to the world in his "Critique of Pure +Reason" in 1781. From that time till near the end of the century he +issued volume after volume; yet when he died In 1804 he regarded his +statement of his system as fragmentary. + +Of the enormous importance of Kant in the history of philosophy, no +idea can be given here. The important document which follows was +published in 1785, and forms the basis of the moral system on which +he erected the whole structure of belief in God, Freedom, and +Immortality. Kant is often difficult and obscure, and became more so +as he grew older; but the present treatise can be followed, in its +main lines, by any intelligent person who is interested enough in +the fundamental problems of human life and conduct to give it +serious and concentrated attention. To such a reader the subtle yet +clear distinctions, and the lofty and rigorous principles of action, +which it lays down, will prove an intellectual and moral tonic such +as hardly any other modern writer affords. + + + + +PREFACE + +Ancient Greek philosophy was divided into three sciences: Physics, +Ethics, and Logic. This division is perfectly suitable to the nature +of the thing, and the only improvement that can be made in it is to +add the principle on which it is based, so that we may both satisfy +ourselves of its completeness, and also be able to determine +correctly the necessary subdivisions. + +All rational knowledge is either material or formal: the former +considers some object, the latter is concerned only with the form of +the understanding and of the reason itself, and with the universal +laws of thought in general without distinction of its objects. +Formal philosophy is called Logic. Material philosophy, however, +which has to do with determinate objects and the laws to which they +are subject, is again two-fold; for these laws are either laws of +nature or of freedom. The science of the former is Physics, that of +the latter, Ethics; they are also called natural philosophy and +moral philosophy respectively. + +Logic cannot have any empirical part; that is, a part in which the +universal and necessary laws of thought should rest on grounds taken +from experience; otherwise it would not be logic, i. e. a canon for +the understanding or the reason, valid for all thought, and capable +of demonstration. Natural and moral philosophy, on the contrary, can +each have their empirical part, since the former has to determine +the laws of nature as an object of experience; the latter the laws +of the human will, so far as it is affected by nature: the former, +however, being laws according to which everything does happen; the +latter, laws according to which everything ought to happen. +[Footnote: The word "law" is here used in two different senses, on +which see Whately's Logic, Appendix, Art. "Law."] Ethics, however, +must also consider the conditions under which what ought to happen +frequently does not. + +We may call all philosophy empirical, so far as it is based on +grounds of experience: on the other hand, that which delivers its +doctrines from a priori principles alone we may call pure +philosophy. When the latter is merely formal it is logic; if it is +restricted to definite objects of the understanding it is +metaphysic. + +In this way there arises the idea of a two-fold metaphysic--a +metaphysic of nature and a metaphysic of morals. Physics will thus +have an empirical and also a rational part. It is the same with +Ethics; but here the empirical part might have the special name of +practical anthropology, the name morality being appropriated to the +rational part. + +All trades, arts, and handiworks have gained by division of labour, +namely, when, instead of one man doing everything, each confines +himself to a certain kind of work distinct from others in the +treatment it requires, so as to be able to perform it With greater +facility and. in the greatest perfection. Where the different kinds +of work are not so distinguished and divided, where everyone is a +jack-of-all-trades, there manufactures remain still in the greatest +barbarism. It might deserve to be considered whether pure philosophy +in all its parts does not require a man specially devoted to it, and +whether it would not be better for the whole business of science if +those who, to please the tastes of the public, are wont to blend the +rational and empirical elements together, mixed in all sorts of +proportions unknown to themselves, and who call themselves +independent thinkers, giving the name of minute philosophers to +those who apply themselves to the rational part only--if these, I +say, were warned not to carry on two employments together which +differ widely in the treatment they demand, for each of which +perhaps a special talent is required, and the combination of which +in one person only produces bunglers. But I only ask here whether +the nature of science does not require that we should always +carefully separate the empirical from the rational part, and prefix +to Physics proper (or empirical physics) a metaphysic of nature, and +to practical anthropology a metaphysic of morals, which must be +carefully cleared of everything empirical, so that we may know how +much can be accomplished by pure reason in both cases, and from +whnat sources it draws this its a priori teaching, and that whether +the latter inquiry is conducted by all moralists (whose name is +legion), or only by some who feel a calling thereto. + +As my concern here is with moral philosophy, I limit the question +suggested to this: Whether it is not of the utmost necessity to +construct a pure moral philosophy, perfectly cleared of everything +which is only empirical, and which belongs to anthropology? for that +such a philosophy must be possible is evident from the common idea +of duty and of the moral laws. Every one must admit that if a law is +to have moral force, i. e. to be the basis of an obligation, it must +carry with it absolute necessity; that, for example, the precept, +"Thou shalt not lie," is not valid for men alone, as if other +rational beings had no need to observe it; and so with all the other +moral laws properly so called; that, therefore, the basis of +obligation must not be sought in the nature of man, or in the +circumstanced in the world in which he is placed, but a priori +simply in the conceptions of pure reason; and although any other +precept which is founded on principles of mere experience may be in +certain respects universal, yet in as far as it rests even in the +least degree on an empirical basis, perhaps only as to a motive, +such a precept, while it may be a practical rule, can never be +called a moral law. + +Thus not only are moral laws with their principles essentially +distinguished from every other kind of practical knowledge in which +there is anything empirical, but all moral philosophy rests wholly +on its pure part. When applied to man, it does not borrow the least +thing from the knowledge of man himself (anthropology), but gives +laws a priori to him as a rational being. No doubt these laws +require a judgment sharpened by experience, in order on the one hand +to distinguish in what cases they are applicable, and on the other +to procure for them access to the will of the man, and effectual +influence on conduct; since man is acted on by so many inclinations +that, though capable of the idea of a practical pure reason, he is +not so easily able to make it effective in concrete in his life. + +A metaphysic of morals is therefore indispensably necessary, not +merely for speculative reasons, in order to investigate the sources +of the practical principles which are to be found a priori in our +reason, but also because morals themselves are liable to all sorts +of corruption, as long as we are without that clue and supreme canon +by which to estimate them correctly. For in order that an action +should be morally good, it is not enough that it conform to the +moral law, but it must also be done for the sake of the law, +otherwise that conformity is only very contingent and uncertain; +since a principle which is not moral, although it may now and then +produce actions conformable to the law, will also often produce +actions which contradict it. Now it is only in a pure philosophy +that we can look for the moral law in its purity and genuineness +(and, in a practical matter, this is of the utmost consequence): we +must, therefore, begin with pure philosophy (metaphysic), and +without it there cannot be any moral philosophy at all. That which +mingles these pure principles with the empirical does not deserve +the name of philosophy (for what distinguishes philosophy from +common rational knowledge is, that it treats in separate sciences +what the latter only comprehends confusedly); much less does it +deserve that of moral philosophy, since by this confusion it even +spoils the purity of morals themselves, and counteracts its own end. + +Let it not be thought, however, that what is here demanded is +already extant in the propaedeutic prefixed by the celebrated Wolf +[Footnote: Johann Christian Von Wolf (1679-1728) was the author of +treatises on philosophy, mathematics, &c., which were for a long +time the standard text-books in the German Universities. His +philosophy was founded on that of Leibnitz.] to his moral +philosophy, namely, his so-called general practical philosophy, and +that, therefore, we have not to strike into an entirely new field. +Just because it was to be a general practical philosophy, it has not +taken into consideration a will of any particular kind-say one which +should be determined solely from a priori principles without any +empirical motives, and which we might call a pure will, but volition +in general, with all the actions and conditions which belong to it +in this general signification. By this it is distinguished from a +metaphysic of morals, just as general logic, which treats of the +acts and canons of thought in general, is distinguished from +transcendental philosophy, which treats of the particular acts and +canons of pure thought, i. e. that whose cognitions are altogether a +priori. For the metaphysic of morals has to examine the idea and the +principles of a possible pure will, and not the acts and conditions +of human volition generally, which for the most part are drawn from +psychology. It is true that moral laws and duty are spoken of in the +general practical philosophy (contrary indeed to all fitness). But +this is no objection, for in this respect, also the authors of that +science remain true to their idea of it; they do not distinguish the +motives which are prescribed as such by reason alone altogether a +priori, and which are properly moral, from the empirical motives +which the understanding raises to general conceptions merely by +comparison of experiences; but without noticing the difference of +their sources, and looking on them all as homogeneous, they consider +only their greater or less amount. It is in this way they frame +their notion of obligation, which though anything but moral, is all +that can be asked for in a philosophy which passes no judgment at +all on the origin of all possible practical concepts, whether they +are a priori, or only a posteriori. + +Intending to publish hereafter a metaphysic of morals, I issue in +the first instance these fundamental principles. Indeed there is +properly no other foundation for it than the critical examination of +a pure practical reason; just as that of metaphysics is the critical +examination of the pure speculative reason, already published. But +in the first place the former is not so absolutely necessary as the +latter, because in moral concerns human reason can easily be brought +to a high degree of correctness and completeness, even in the +commonest understanding, while on the contrary in its theoretic but +pure use it is wholly dialectical; and in the second place if the +critique of a pure practical reason is to be complete, it must be +possible at the same time to show its identity with the speculative +reason in a common principle, for it can ultimately be only one and +the same reason which has to be distinguished merely in its +application. I could not, however, bring it to such completeness +here, without introducing considerations of a wholly different kind, +which would be perplexing to the reader. On this account I have +adopted the title of Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysic of +Morals, instead of that of a Critical Examination of the pure +practical Reason. + +But in the third place, since a metaphysic of morals, in spite of +the; discouraging title, is yet capable of being presented in a +popular form, and one adapted to the common understanding, I find it +useful to separate from it this preliminary treatise on its +fundamental principles, in order that I may not hereafter have need +to introduce these necessarily subtle discussions into a book of a +more simple character. + +The present treatise is, however, nothing more than the +investigation and establishment of the supreme principle of +morality, and this alone constitutes a study complete in itself, and +one which ought to be kept apart from every other moral +investigation. No doubt my conclusions on this weighty question, +which has hitherto been very unsatisfactorily examined, would +receive much light from the application of the same principle to the +whole system, and would be greatly confirmed by the adequacy which +it exhibits throughout; but I must forego this advantage, which +indeed would be after all more gratifying than useful, since the +easy applicability of a principle and its apparent adequacy give no +very certain proof of its soundness, but rather inspire a certain +partiality, which prevents us from examining and estimating it +strictly in itself, and without regard to consequences. + +I have adopted in this work the method which I think most suitable, +proceeding analytically from common knowledge to the determination +of its ultimate principle, and again descending synthetically from +the examination of this principle and its sources to the common +knowledge in which we find it employed. The division will, +therefore, be as follows:-- + +1. First section.--Transition from the common rational knowledge of +morality to the philosophical. + +2. Second section.--Transition from popular moral philosophy to the +metaphysic of morals. + +3. Third section.--Final step from the metaphysic of morals to the +critique of the pure practical reason. + + + + +FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES OF THE METAPHYSIC OF MORALS + + +FIRST SECTION + +TRANSITION FROM THE COMMON RATIONAL KNOWLEDGE OF MORALITY TO THE +PHILOSOPHICAL + +Nothing can possibly be conceived in the world, of even out of it, +which can be called good without qualification, except a Good Will +Intelligence, wit, judgment, and the other talents of the mind, +however they may be named, or courage, resolution, perseverance, as +qualities of temperament, are undoubtedly good and desirable in many +respects; but these gifts of nature may also become extremely bad +and mischievous if the will which is to make use of them, and which, +therefore, constitutes what is called character, is not good. It is +the same with the gifts of fortune. Power, riches, honour, even +health, and the general well-being and contentment with one's +condition which is called happiness, inspire pride, and often +presumption, if there is not a good will to correct the influence of +these on the mind, and with this also to rectify the whole principle +of acting, and adapt it to its end. The sight of a Deing who is not +adorned with a single feature of a pure and good will, enjoying +unbroken prosperity, can never give pleasure to an impartial +rational spectator. Thus a good will appears to constitute the +indispensable condition even of being worthy of happiness. + +There are even some qualities which are of service to this good will +itself, and may facilitate its action, yet which have no intrinsic +unconditional value, but always presuppose a good will, and this +qualifies the esteem that we justly have for them, and does not +permit us to regard them as absolutely good. Moderation in the +affections and passions, self-control and calm deliberation are not +only good in many respects, but even seem to constitute part of the +intrinsic worth of the person; but they are far from deserving to be +called good without qualification, although they have been so +unconditionally praised by the ancients. For without the principles +of a good will, they may become extremely bad, and the coolness of a +villain not only makes him far more dangerous, but also directly +makes him more abominable in our eyes than he would have been +without it. + +A good will is good not because of what it performs or effects, not +by its aptness for the attainment of some proposed end, but simply +by virtue of the volition, that is, it is good in itself, and +considered by itself is to be esteemed much higher than all that can +be brought about by it in favour of any inclination, nay, even of +the sum total of all inclinations. Even if it should happen that, +owing to special disfavour of fortune, or the niggardly provision of +a stepmotherly nature, this will should wholly lack power to +accomplish its purpose, if with its greatest efforts it should yet +achieve nothing, and there should remain only the good will (not, to +be sure, a mere wish, but the summoning of all means in our power), +then, like a jewel, it would still shine by its own light, as a +thing which has its whole value in itself. Its usefulness or +fruitfulness can neither add to nor take away anything from this +value. It would be, as it were, only the setting to enable us to +handle it the more conveniently in common commerce, or to attract to +it the attention of those who are not yet connoisseurs, but not to +recommend it to true connoisseurs, or to determine its value. + +There is, however, something so strange in this idea of the absolute +value of the mere will, in which no account is taken of its utility, +that notwithstanding the thorough assent of even common reason to +the idea, yet a suspicion must arise that it may perhaps really be +the product of mere high-flown fancy, and that we may have +misunderstood the purpose of nature in assigning reason as the +governor of our will. Therefore we will examine this idea from this +point of view. + +In the physical constitution of an organized being, that is, a being +adapted suitably to the purposes of life, we assume it as a +fundamental principle that no organ for any purpose will be found +but what is also the fittest and best adapted for that purpose. Now +in a being which has reason and a will, if the proper object of +nature were its conservation, its welfare, in a word, its happiness, +then nature would have hit upon a very bad arrangement in selecting +the reason of the creature to carry out this purpose. For all the +actions which the creature has to perform with a view to this +purpose, and the whole rule of its conduct, would be far more surely +prescribed to it by instinct, and that end would have been attained +thereby much more certainly than it ever can be by reason. Should +reason have been communicated to this favoured creature over and +above, it must only have served it to contemplate the happy +constitution of its nature, to admire it, to congratulate itself +thereon, and to feel thankful for it to the beneficent cause, but +not that it should subject its desires to that weak and delusive +guidance, and meddle bunglingly with the purpose of nature. In a +word, nature would have taken care that reason should not break +forth into practical exercise, nor have the presumption, with its +weak insight, to think out for itself the plan of happiness, and of +the means of attaining it. Nature would not only have taken on +herself the choice of the ends, but also of the means, and with wise +foresight would have entrusted both to instinct. + +And, in fact, we find that the more a cultivated reason applies +itself with deliberate purpose to the enjoyment of life and +happiness, so much the more does the man fail of true satisfaction. +And from this circumstance there arises in many, if they are candid +enough to confess it, a certain degree of misology, that is, hatred +of reason, especially in the case of those who are most experienced +in the use of it, because after calculating all the advantages they +derive, I do not say from the invention of all the arts of common +luxury, but even from the sciences (which seem to them to be after +all only a luxury of the understanding), they find that they have, +in fact, only brought more trouble on their shoulders, rather than +gained in happiness; and they end by envying, rather than despising, +the more common stamp of men who keep closer to the guidance of mere +instinct, and do not allow their reason much influence on their +conduct. And this we must admit, that the judgment of those who +would very much lower the lofty eulogies of the advantages which +reason gives us in regard to the happiness and satisfaction of life, +or who would even reduce them below zero, is by no means morose or +ungrateful to the goodness with which the world is governed, but +that there lies at the root of these judgments the idea that our +existence has a different and far nobler end, for which, and not for +happiness, reason is properly intended, and which must, therefore, +be regarded as the supreme condition to which the private ends of +man must, for the most part, be postponed. For as reason is not +competent to guide the will with certainty in regard to its objects +and the satisfaction of all our wants (which it to some extent even +multiplies), this being an end to which an implanted instinct would +have led with much greater certainty; and since, nevertheless, +reason is imparted to us as a practical faculty, i. e. as one which +is to have influence on the will, therefore, admitting that nature +generally in the distribution of her capacities has adapted the +means to the end, its true destination must be to produce a will, +not merely good as a means to something else, but good in itself, +for which reason was absolutely necessary. This will then, though +not indeed the sole and complete good, must be the supreme good and +the condition of every other, even of the desire of happiness. Under +these circumstances, there is nothing inconsistent with the wisdom +of nature in the fact that the cultivation of the reason, which is +requisite for the first and unconditional purpose, does in many ways +interfere, at least in this life, with the attainment of the second, +which is always conditional, namely, happiness. Nay, it may even +reduce it to nothing, without nature thereby failing of her purpose. +For reason recognises the establishment of a good will as its +highest practical destination, and in attaining this purpose is +capable only of a satisfaction of its own proper kind, namely, that +from the attainment of an end, which end again is determined by +reason only, notwithstanding that this may involve many a +disappointment to the ends of inclination. + +We have then to develop the notion of a will which deserves to be +highly esteemed for itself, and is good without a view to anything +further, a notion which exists already in the sound natural +understanding, requiring rather to be cleared up than to be taught, +and which in estimating the value of our actions always takes the +first place, and constitutes the condition of all the rest. In order +to do this we will take the notion of duty, which includes that of a +good will, although implying certain subjectve restrictions and +hindrances. These, however, far from concealing it, or rendering it +unrecognisable, rather bring it out by contrast, and make it shine +forth so much the brighter. + +I omit here all actions which are already recognised as inconsistent +with duty, although they may be useful for this or that purpose, for +with these the question whether they are done from duty cannot arise +at all, since they even conflict with it. I also set aside those +actions which really conform to duty, but to which men have no +direct inclination, performing them because they are impelled +thereto by some other inclination. For in this case we can readily +distinguish whether the action which agrees with duty is done from +duty, or from a selfish view. It is much harder to make this +distinction when the action accords with duty, and the subject has +besides a direct inclination to it. For example, it is always a +matter of duty that a dealer should not overcharge an inexperienced +purchaser, and wherever there is much commerce the prudent tradesman +does not overcharge, but keeps a fixed price for everyone, so that a +child buys of him as well as any other. Men are thus honestly +served; but this is not enough to make us believe that the tradesman +has so acted from duty and from principles of honesty: his own +advantage required it; it is out of the question in this case to +suppose that he might besides have a direct inclination in favour of +the buyers, so that, as it were, from love he should give no +advantage to one over another. Accordingly the action was done +neither from duty nor from direct inclination, but merely with a +selfish view. + +On the other hand, it is a duty to maintain one's life; and, in +addition, everyone has also a direct inclination to do so. But on +this account the often anxious care which most men take for it has +no intrinsic worth, and their maxim has no moral import. They +preserve their life as duty requires, no doubt, but not because duty +requires. On the other hand, if adversity and hopeless sorrow have +completely taken away the relish for life; if the unfortunate one, +strong in mind, indignant at his fate rather than desponding or +dejected, wishes for death, and yet preserves his life without +loving it--not from inclination or fear, but from duty--then his +maxim has a moral worth. + +To be beneficent when we can is a duty; and besides this, there are +many minds so sympathetically constituted that, without any other +motive of vanity or self-interest, they find a pleasure in spreading +joy around them and can take delight in the satisfaction of others +so far as it is their own work. But I maintain that in such a case +an action of this kind, however proper, however amiable it may be, +has nevertheless no true moral worth, but is on a level with other +inclinations, e. g. the inclination to honour, which, if it is +happily directed to that which is in fact of public utility and +accordant with duty, and consequently honourable, deserves praise +and encouragement, but not esteem. For the maxim lacks the moral +import, namely, that such actions be done from duty, not from +inclination. Put the case that the mind of that philanthropist were +clouded by sorrow of his own, extinguishing all sympathy with the +lot of others, and that while he still has the power to benefit +others in distress, he is not touched oy their trouble because he is +absorbed with his own; and now suppose that he tears himself out of +this dead insensibility, and performs the action without any +inclination to it, but simply from duty, then first has his action +its genuine moral worth. Further still; if nature has put little +sympathy in the heart of this or that man; if he, supposed to be an +upright man, is by temperament cold and indifferent to the +sufferings of others, perhaps because in respect of his own he is +provided with the special gift of patience and fortitude, and +supposes, or even requires, that others should have the same--and +such a man would certainly not be the meanest product of nature--but +if nature had not specially framed him for a philanthropist, would +he not still find in himself a source from whence to give himself a +far higher worth than that of a good-natured temperament could be? +Unquestionably. It is just in this that the moral worth of the +character is brought out which is incomparably the highest of all, +namely, that he is beneficent, not from inclination, but from duty. + +To secure one's own happiness is a duty, at least indirectly; for +discontent with one's condition, under a pressure of many anxieties +and amidst unsatisfied wants, might easily become a great temptation +to transgression of duty. But here again, without looking to duty, +all men have already the strongest and most intimate inclination to +happiness, because it is just in this idea that all inclinations are +combined in one total. But the precept of happiness is often of such +a sort that it greatly interferes with some inclinations, and yet a +man cannot form any definite and certain conception of the sum of +satisfaction of all of them which is called happiness. It is not +then to be wandered at that a single inclination, definite both as +to what it promises and as to the time within which it can be +gratified, is often able to overcome such a fluctuating idea, and +that a gouty patient, for instance, can choose to enjoy what he +likes, and to suffer what he may, since, according to his +calculation, on this occasion at least, he has [only] not sacrificed +the enjoyment of the present moment to a possibly mistaken +expectation of a happiness which is supposed to be found in health. +But even in this case, if the general desire for happiness did not +influence his will, and supposing that in his particular case health +was not a necessary element in this calculation, there yet remains +in this, sas in all other cases, this law, namely, that he should +promote his happiness not from inclination but from duty, land by +this would his conduct first acquire true moral worth. + +It is in this manner, undoubtedly, that we are to understand those +passages of Scripture also in which we are commanded to love our +neighbour, even our enemy. For love, as an affection, cannot be +commanded, but beneficence for duty's sake may; even though we are +not impelled to it by any inclination--nay, are even repelled by a +natural and unconquerable aversion. This is practical love, and not +pathological--a love which is seated in the will, and not in the +propensions of sense--in principles of action and not of tender +sympathy; and it is this love alone which can be commanded. + +The second [Footnote: The first proposition was that to have moral +worth an action must be done from duty.] proposition is: That an +action done from duty derives its moral worth, not from the purpose +which is to be attained by it, but from the maxim by which it is +determined, and therefore does not depend on the realization of the +object of the action, but merely on the principle of volition by +which the action has taken place, without regard to any object of +desire. It is clear from what precedes that the purposes which we +may have in view in our actions, or their effects regarded as ends +and springs of the will, cannot give to actions any unconditional or +moral worth. In what, then, can their worth lie, if it is not to +consist in the will and in reference to its expected effect? It +cannot lie anywhere but in the principle of the will without regard +to the ends which can be attained by the action. For the will stands +between its a priori principle, which is formal, and its a +posteriori spring, which is material, as between two roads, and as +it must be determined by something, it follows that it must be +determined by the formal principle of volition when an action is +done from duty, in which case every material principle has been +withdrawn from it. + +The third proposition, which is a consequence of the two preceding, +I would express thus: Duty is the necessity "of acting from respect +for the law." I may have inclination for an object as the effect of +my proposed action, but I cannot have respect for it, just for this +reason, that it is an effect and not an energy of will. Similarly, I +cannot have respect for inclination, whether my own or another's; I +can at most, if my own, approve it; if another's, sometimes even +love it; i.e. look on it as favourable to my own interest. It is +only what is connected with my will as a principle, by no means as +an effect--what does not subserve my inclination, but overpowers it, +or at least in case of choice excludes it from its calculation--in +other words, simply the law of itself, which can be an object of +respect, and hence a command. Now an action done from duty must +wholly exclude the influence of inclination, and with it every +object of the will, so that nothing remains which can determine the +will except objectively the LAW, and subjectively PURE RESPECT for +this practical law, and consequently the maxim [Footnote: A MAXIM is +the subjective principle of volition. The objective principle (i. e. +that which would also serve subjectively as a practical principle to +all rational beings if reason had full power over the faculty of +desire) is the practical LAW.] that I should follow this law even to +the thwarting of all my inclinations. + +Thus the moral worth of an action does not lie in the effect +expected from it, nor in any principle of action which requires to +borrow its motive from this expected effeet. For all these effects-- +agreeableness of one's condition, and even the promotion of the +happiness of others--could have been also brought about by other +causes, so that for this there would have been no need of the will +of a rational being; whereas it is in this alone that the supreme +and unconditional good can be found. The pre-eminent good which we +call moral can therefore consist in nothing else than THE CONCEPTION +OF LAW in itself, WHICH CERTAINLY IS ONLY POSSIBLE IN A RATIONAL +BEING, in so far as this conception, and not the expected effect, +determines the will. This is a good which is already present in the +person who acts accordingly, and we have not to wait for it to +appear first in the result. [Footnote: It might be here objected to +me that I take refuge behind the word RESPECT in an obscure feeling, +instead of giving a distinct solution of the question by a concept +of the reason. But although respect is a feeling, it is not a +feeling RECEIVED through influence, but is SELF-WROUGHT by a +rational concept, and, therefore, is specifically distinct from all +feelings of the former kind, which may be referred either to +inclination or fear, What I recognise immediately as a law for me, I +recognise with respect. This merely signifies the consciousness that +my will is SUBORDINATE to a law, without the intervention of other +influences on my sense. The immediate determination of the will by +the law, and the consciousness of this is called RESPECT, so that +this is regarded as an EFFECT of the law on the subject, and not as +the CAUSE of it. Respect is properly the conception of a worth which +thwarts my self-love. Accordingly it is something which is +considered neither as am object of inclination nor of fear, although +it has something analogous to both. The OBJECT of respect is the LAW +only, and that, the law which we impose on OURSELVES, and yet +recognise as necessary in itself. As a law, we are subjected to it +without consulting self-love; as imposed by us on ourselves, it is a +result of our will. In the former aspect it has an analogy to fear, +in the latter to inclination. Respect for a person is properly only +respect for the law (of honesty, &c.), of which he gives us an +example. Since we also look on the improvement of our talents as a +duty, we consider that we see in a person of talents, as it were, +the EXAMPLE OF A LAW (viz. to become like him in this by exercise), +and this constitutes our respect. All so-called moral INTEREST +consists simply in RESPECT for the law.] + +But what sort of law can that be, the conception of which must +determine the will, even without paying any regard to the effect +expected from it, in order that this will may be called good +absolutely and without qualification? As I have deprived the will of +every impulse which could arise to it from obedience to any law, +there remains nothing but the universal conformity of its actions to +law in general, which alone is to serve the will as a principle, i. +e. I am never to act otherwise than so THAT _I_ COULD ALSO WILL THAT +MY MAXIM SHOULD BECOME A UNIVERSAL LAW. Here now, it is the simple +conformity to law in general, without assuming any particular law +applicable to certain actions, that serves the will as its +principle, and must so serve it, if duty is not to be a vain +delusion and a chimerical notion. The common reason of men in its +practical judgments perfectly coincides with this, and always has in +view the principle here suggested. Let the question be, for example: +May I when in distress make a promise with the intention not to keep +it? I readily distinguish here between the two significations which +the question may have. Whether it is prudent, or whether it is +right, to make a false promise. The former may undoubtedly often be +the case. I see clearly indeed that it is not enough to extricate +myself from a present difficulty by means of this subterfuge, but it +must be well considered whether there may not hereafter spring from +this lie much greater inconvenience than that from which I now free +myself, and as, with all my supposed CUNNING, the consequences +cannot be so easily foreseen but that credit once lost may be much +more injurious to me than any mischief which I seek to avoid at +present, it should be considered whether it would not be more +prudent to act herein according to a universal maxim, and to make it +a habit to promise nothing except with the intention of keeping it. +But it is soon clear to me that such a maxim will still only be +based on the fear of consequences. Now it is a wholly different +thing to be truthful from duty, and to be so from apprehension of +injurious consequences. In the first case, the very notion of the +action already implies a law for me; in the second case, I must +first look about elsewhere to see what results may be combined with +it which would affect myself. For to deviate from the principle of +duty is beyond all doubt wicked; but to be unfaithful to my maxim of +prudence may often be very advantageous to me, although to abide by +it is certainly safer. The shortest way, however, and an unerring +one, to discover the answer to this question whether a lying promise +is consistent with duty, is to ask myself, Should I be content that +my maxim (to extricate myself from difficulty by a false promise) +should hold good as a universal law, for myself as well as for +others? and should I be able to say to myself, "Every one may make a +deceitful promise when he finds himself in a difficulty from which +he cannot otherwise extricate himself"? Then I presently become +aware that while I can will the lie, I can by no means will that +lying should be a universal law. For with such a law there would be +no promises at all, since it would be in vain to allege my intention +in regard to my future actions to those who would not believe this +allegation, or if they overhastily did so, would pay me back in my +own coin. Hence my maxim, as soon as it should be made a universal +law, would necessarily destroy itself. + +I do not, therefore, need any far-reaching penetration to discern +what I have to do in order that my will may be morally good. +Inexperienced in the course of the world, incapable of being +prepared for all its contingencies, I only ask myself: Canst thou +also will that thy maxim should be a universal law? If not, then it +must be rejected, and that not because of a disadvantage accruing +from it to myself or even to others, but because it cannot enter as +a principle into a possible universal legislation, and reason +extorts from me immediate respect for such legislation. I do not +indeed as yet discern on what this respect is based (this the +philosopher may inquire), but at least I understand this, that it is +an estimation of the worth which far outweighs all worth of what is +recommended by inclination, and that the necessity of acting from +pure respect for the practical law is what constitutes duty, to +which every other motive must give place, because it is the +condition of a will being good in itself, and the worth of such a +will is above everything. + +Thus, then, without quitting the moral knowledge of common human +reason, we have arrived at its principle. And although, no doubt, +common men do not conceive it in such an abstract and universal +form, yet they always have it really before their eyes, and use it +as the standard of their decision. Here it would be easy to show +how, with this compass in hand, men are well able to distinguish, +in every case that occurs, what is good, what bad, conformably to +duty or inconsistent with it, if, without in the least teaching +them anything new, we only, like Socrates, direct their attention +to the principle they themselves employ; and that therefore we do +not need science and philosophy to know what we should do to be +honest and good, yea, even wise and virtuous. Indeed we might well +have conjectured beforehand that the knowledge of what every man +is bound to do, and therefore also to know, would be within the +reach of every man, even the commonest. [Footnote: Compare the note +to the Preface to the Critique of the Practical Reason, p. 111. A +specimen of Kant's proposed application of the Socratic method may +be found in Mr. Semple'a translation of the Metaphysic of Ethics, +p. 290.] Here we cannot forbear admiration when we see how great +an advantage the practical judgment has over the theoretical in +the common understanding of men. In the latter, if common reason +ventures to depart from the laws of experience and from the +perceptions of the senses it falls into mere inconceivabilities and +self-contradictions, at least into chaos of uncertainty, obscurity, +and instability. But in the practical sphere it is just when the +common understanding excludes all sensible springs from practical +laws that its power of judgment begins to show itself to advantage. +It then becomes even subtle, whether it be that it chicanes with +its own conscience or with other claims respecting what is to +be called right, or whether it desires for its own instruction to +determine honestly the worth of actions; and, in the latter case, +it may even have as good a hope of hitting the mark as any philosopher +whatever can promise himself. Nay, it is almost more sure of doing +so, because the philosopher cannot have any other principle, while +he may easily perplex his judgment by a multitude of considerations +foreign to the matter, and so turn aside from the right way. Would +it not therefore be wiser in moral concerns to acquiesce in the +judgment of common reason or at most only to call in philosophy +for the purpose of rendering the system of morals more complete +and intelligible, and its rules more convenient for use (especially +for disputation), but not so as to draw off the common understanding +from its happy simplicity, or to bring it by means of philosophy +into a new path of inquiry and instruction? + +Innocence is indeed a glorious thing, only, on the other hand, it is +very sad that it cannot well maintain itself, and is easily seduced. +On this account even wisdom--which otherwise consists more in +conduct than in knowledge--yet has need of science, not in order to +learn from it, but to secure for its precepts admission and +permanence. Against all the commands of duty which reason represents +to man as so deserving of respect, he feels in himself a powerful +counterpoise in his wants and inclinations, the entire satisfaction +of which he sums up under the name of happiness. Now reason issues +its commands unyieldingly, without promising anything to the +inclinations, and, as it were, with disregard and contempt for these +claims, which are so impetuous, and at the same time so plausible, +and which will not allow themselves to be suppressed by any command. +Hence there arises a natural dialectic, i. e. a disposition, to +argue against these strict laws of duty and to question their +validity, or at least their purity and strictness; and, if possible, +to make them more accordant with our wishes and inclinations, that +is to say, to corrupt them at their very source, and entirely to +destroy their worth--a thing which even common practical reason +cannot ultimately call good. + +Thus is the common reason of man compelled to go out of its sphere, +and to take a step into the field of a practical philosophy, not to +satisfy any speculative want (which never occurs to it as long as it +is content to be mere sound reason), but even on practical grounds, +in order to attain in it information and clear instruction +respecting the source of its principle, and the correct +determination of it in opposition to the maxims which are based on +wants and inclinations, so that it may escape from the perplexity of +opposite claims, and not run the risk of losing all genuine moral +principles through the equivocation into which it easily falls. +Thus, when practical reason cultivates itself, there insensibly +arises in it a dialectic which forces it to seek aid in philosophy, +just as happens to it in its theoretic use; and in this case, +therefore, as well as in the other, it will find rest nowhere but in +a thorough critical examination of our reason. + + + + +SECOND SECTION + +TRANSITION FROM POPULAR MORAL PHILOSOPHY TO THE METAPHYSIC OF MORALS + + +If we have hitherto drawn our notion of duty from the common use of +our practical reason, it is by no means to be inferred that we have +treated it as an empirical notion. On the contrary, if we attend to +the experience of men's conduct, we meet frequent and, as we +ourselves allow, just complaints that one cannot find a single +certain example of the disposition to act from pure duty. Although +many things are done in conformity with what duty prescribes, it is +nevertheless always doubtful whether they are done strictly from +duty, so as to have a moral worth. Hence there have, at all times, +been philosophers who have altogether denied that this disposition +actually exists at all in human actions, and have ascribed +everything to a more or less refined self-love. Not that they have +on that account questioned the soundness of the conception of +morality; on the contrary, they spoke with sincere regret of the +frailty and corruption of human nature, which thought noble enough +to take as its rule an idea so worthy of respect, is yet too weak to +follow it, and employs reason, which ought to give it the law only +for the purpose of providing for the interest of the inclinations, +whether singly or at the best in the greatest possible harmony with +one another. + +In fact, it is absolutely impossible to make out by experience with +complete certainty a single case in which the maxim of an action, +however right in itself, rested simply on moral grounds and on the +conception of duty. Sometimes it happens that with the sharpest +self-examination we can find nothing beside the moral principle of +duty which could have been powerful enough to move us to this or +that action and to so great a sacrifice; yet we cannot from this +infer with certainty that it was not really some secret impulse of +self-love, under the false appearance of duty, that was the actual +determining cause of the will. We like then to flatter ourselves by +falsely taking credit for a more noble motive; whereas in fact we +can never, even by the strictest examination, get completely behind +the secret springs of action; since, when the question is of moral +worth, it is not with the actions which we see that we are +concerned, but with those inward principles of them which we do not +see. + +Moreover, we cannot better serve the wishes of those who ridicule +all morality as a mere chimera of human imagination overstepping +itself from vanity, than by conceding to them that notions of duty +must be drawn only from experience (as from indolence, people are +ready to think is also the case with all other notions); for this is +to prepare for them a certain triumph. I am willing to admit out of +love of humanity that even most of our actions are correct, but if +we look closer at them we everywhere come upon the dear self which +is always prominent, and it is this they have in view, and not the +strict command of duty which would often require self-denial. +Without being an enemy of virtue, a cool observer, one that does not +mistake the wish for good, however lively, for its reality, may +sometimes doubt whether true virtue is actually found anywhere in +the world, and this especially as years increase and the judgment is +partly made wiser by experience, and partly also more acute in +observation. This being so, nothing can secure us from falling away +altogether from our ideas of duty, or maintain in the soul a well- +grounded respect for its law, but the clear conviction that although +there should never have been actions which really sprang from such +pure sources, yet whether this or that takes place is not at all the +question; but that reason of itself, independent on all experience, +ordains what ought to take place, that accordingly actions of which +perhaps the world has hitherto never given an example, the +feasibility even of which might be very much doubted by one who +founds everything on experience, are nevertheless inflexibly +commanded by reason; that, ex. gr. even though there might never yet +have been a sincere friend, yet not a whit the less is pure +sincerity in friendship required of every man, because, prior to all +experience, this duty is involved as duty in the idea of a reason +determining the will by a priori principles. + +When we add further that, unless we deny that the notion of morality +has any truth or reference to any possible object, we must admit +that its law must be valid, not merely for men, but for all rational +creatures generally, not merely under certain contingent conditions +or with exceptions, but with absolute necessity, then it is clear +that no experience could enable us to infer even the possibility of +such apodictic laws. For with what right could we bring into +unbounded respect as a universal precept for every rational nature +that which perhaps holds only under the contingent conditions of +humanity? Or how could laws of the determination of OUR will be +regarded as laws of the determination of the will of rational beings +generally, and for us only as such, if they were merely empirical, +and did not take their origin wholly a priori from pure but +practical reason? + +Nor could anything be more fatal to morality than that we should +wish to derive it from examples. For every example of it that is set +before me must be first itself tested by principles of morality, +whether it is worthy to serve as an original example, i. e., as a +pattern, but by no means can it authoritatively furnish the +conception of morality. Even the Holy One of the Gospels must first +be compared with our ideal of moral perfection before we can +recognise Him as such; and so He says of Himself, "Why call ye Me +(whom you see) good; none is good (the model of good) but God only +(whom ye do not see)?" But whence have we the conception of God as +the supreme good? Simply from the IDEA of moral perfection, which +reason frames a priori, and connects inseparably with the notion of +a free-will. Imitation finds no place at all in morality, and +examples serve only for encouragement, i. e. they put beyond doubt +the feasibility of what the law commands, they make visible that +which the practical rule expresses more generally, but they can +never authorise us to set aside the true original which lies in +reason, and to guide ourselves by examples. + +If then there is no genuine supreme principle of morality but what +must rest simply on pure reason, independent on all experience, I +think it is not necessary even to put the question, whether it is +good to exhibit these concepts in their generality (in abstracto) as +they are established a priori along with the principles belonging to +them, if our knowledge is to be distinguished from the vulgar, and +to be called philosophical. In our times indeed this might perhaps +be necessary; for if we collected votes, whether pure rational +knowledge separated from everything empirical, that is to say, +metaphysic of morals, or whether popular practical philosophy is to +be preferred, it is easy to guess which side would preponderate. + +This descending to popular notions is certainly very commendable, if +the ascent to the principles of pure reason has first taken place +and been satisfactorily accomplished. This implies that we first +found Ethics on Metaphysics, and then, when it is firmly +established, procure a hearing for it by giving it a popular +character. But it is quite absurd to try to be popular in the first +inquiry, on which the soundness of the principles depends. It is not +only that this proceeding can never lay claim to the very rare merit +of a true philosophical popularity, since there is no art in being +intelligible if one renounces all thoroughness of insight; but also +it produces a disgusting medley of compiled observations and half- +reasoned principles. Shallow pates enjoy this because it can be used +for every-day chat, but the sagacious find in it only confusion, and +being unsatisfied and unable to help themselves, they turn away +their eyes, while philosophers, who see quite well through this +delusion, are little listened to when they call men off for a time +from this pretended popularity, in order that they might be +rightfully popular after they have attained a definite insight. + +We need only look at the attempts of moralists in that favourite +fashion, and we shall find at one time the Special constitution of +human nature (including, however, the idea of a rational nature +generally), at one time perfection, at another happiness, here moral +sense, there fear of God, a little of this, and a little of that, in +marvellous mixture, without its occurring to them to ask whether the +principles of morality are to be sought in the knowledge of human +nature at all (which we can have only from experience); and, if this +is not so, if these principles are to be found altogether a priori +free from everything empirical, in pure rational concepts only, and +nowhere else, not even in the smallest degree; then rather to adopt +the method of making this a separate inquiry, as pure practical +philosophy, or (if one may use a name so decried) as metaphysic of +morals, [Footnote: Just as pure mathematics are distinguished from +applied, pure logic from applied, so if we choose we may alse +distinguish pure philosophy of morals (metaphysic) from applied +(viz. applied to human nature). By this designation we are also at +once reminded that moral principles are not based on properties of +human nature, but must subsist a priori of themselves while from +such principles practical rules must be capable of being deduced for +every rational nature, and accordingly for that of man.] to bring it +by itself to completeness, and to require the public, which wishes +for popular treatment, to await the issue of this undertaking. + +Such a metaphysic of morals, completely isolated, not mixed with any +anthropology, theology, physics, or hyperphysics, and still less +with occult qualities (which we might call hypophysical), is not +only an indispensable substratum of all sound theoretical knowledge +of duties, but is at the same time a desideratum of the highest +importance to the actual fulfilment of their precepts. For the pure +conception of duty, unmixed with any foreign addition of empirical +attractions, and, in a word, the conception of the moral law, +exercises on the human heart, by way of reason alone (which first +becomes aware with this that it can of itself be practical), an +influence so much more powerful than all other springs [Footnote: I +have a letter from the late excellent Sulzer, in which he asks me +what can be the reason that moral instruction, although containing +much that is convincing for the reason, yet accomplishes so little? +My answer was postponed in order that I might make it complete. But +it is simply this, that the teachers themselves have not got their +own notions clear, and when they endeavour to make up for this by +raking up motives of moral goodness from every quarter, trying to +make their physic right strong, they spoil it. For the commonest +understanding shows that if we imagine, on the one hand, an act of +honesty done with steadfast mind, apart from every view to advantage +of any kind in this world or another, and even under the greatest +temptations of necessity or allurement, and, on the other hand, a +similar act which was affected, in however low a degree, by a +foreign motive, the former leaves far behind and eclipses the +second; it elevates the soul, and inspires the wish to be able to +act in like manner oneself. Even moderately young children feel this +impression, and one should never represent duties to them in any +other light.] which may be derived from the field of experience, +that in the consciousness of its worth, despises the latter, and can by +degrees become their master; whereas a mixed ethics, compounded +partly of motives drawn from feelings and inclinations, and partly also of +conceptions of reason, must make the mind waver between motives +which cannot be brought under any principle, which lead to good only +by mere accident, and very often also to evil. + +From what has been said, it is clear that all moral conceptions have +their seat and origin completely a priori in the reason, and that, +moreover, in the commonest reason just as truly as in that which is +in the highest degree speculative; that they cannot be obtained by +abstraction from any empirical, and therefore merely contingent +knowledge; that it is just this purity of their origin that makes +them worthy to serve as our supreme practical principle, and that +just in proportion as we add anything empirical, we detract from +their genuine influence, and from the absolute value of actions; +that it is not only of the greatest necessity, in a purely +speculative point of view, but is also of the greatest practical +importance to derive these notions and laws from pure reason, to +present them pure and unmixed, and even to determine the compass of +this practical or pure rational knowledge, i. e. to determine the +whole faculty of pure practical reason; and, in doing so, we must +not make its principles dependent on the particular nature of human +reason, though in speculative philosophy this may be permitted, or +may even at times be necessary; but since moral laws ought to hold +good for every rational creature, we must derive them from the +general concept of a rational being. In this way, although for its +application to man morality has need of anthropology, yet, in the +first instance, we must treat it independently as pure philosophy, +i. e. as metaphysic, complete in itself (a thing which in such +distinct branches of science is easily done); knowing well that +unless we are in possession of this, it would not only be vain to +determine the moral element of duty in right actions for purposes of +speculative criticism, but it would be impossible to base morals on +their genuine principles, even for common practical purposes, +especially of moral instruction, so as to produce pure moral dispositions, +and to engraft them on men's minds to the promotion of the greatest +possible good in the world. + +But in order that in this study we may not merely advance by the +natural steps from the common moral judgment (in this case very +worthy of respect) to the philosophical, as has been already done, +but also from a popular philosophy, which goes no further than it +can reach by groping with the help of examples, to metaphysic (which +does not allow itself to be checked by anything empirical, and as it +must measure the whole extent of this kind of rational knowledge, +goes as far as ideal conceptions, where even examples fail us), we +must follow and clearly describe the practical faculty of reason, +from the general rules of its determination to the point where the +notion of duty springs from it. + +Everything in nature works according to laws. Rational beings alone +have the faculty of acting according to the conception of laws, that +is according to principles, i. e., have a will. Since the deduction +of actions from principles requires reason, the will is nothing but +practical reason. If reason infallibly determines the will, then the +actions of such a being which are recognised as objectively +necessary are subjectively necessary also, i. e., the will is a +faculty to choose that only which reason independent on inclination +recognises as practically necessary, i. e., as good. But if reason +of itself does not sufficiently determine the will, if the latter is +subject also to subjective conditions (particular impulses) which do +not always coincide with the objective conditions; in a word, if the +will does not in itself completely accord with reason (which is +actually the case with men), then the actions which objectively are +recognised as necessary are subjectively contingent, and the +determination of such a will according to objective laws is +obligation, that is to say, the relation of the objective laws to a +will that is not thoroughly good is conceived as the determination +of the will of a rational being by principles of reason, but which +the will from its nature does not of necessity follow. + +The conception of an objective principle, in so far as it is +obligatory for a will, is called a command (of reason); and the +formula of the command is called an Imperative. + +All imperatives are expressed by the word OUGHT [or SHALL], and +thereby indicate the relation of an objective law of reason to a +will, which from its subjective constitution is not necessarily +determined by it (an obligation). They say that something would be +good to do or to forbear, but they say it to a will which does not +always do a thing because it is conceived to be good to do it. That +is practically GOOD, however, which determines the will by means of +the conceptions of reason, and consequently not from subjective +causes, but objectively, that is on principles which are valid for +every rational being as such. It is distinguished from the PLEASANT, +as that which influences the will only by means of sensation from +merely subjective causes, valid only for the sense of this or that +one, and not as a principle of reason, which holds for every one. +[Footnote 3: The dependence of the desires on sensations is called +inclination, and this accordingly always indicates a WANT. The +dependence of a contingently determinable will on principles of +reason is called an INTEREST. This therefore is found only in the +case of a dependent will, which does not always of itself conform to +reason; in the Divine will we cannot conceive any interest. But the +human will can also TAKE AN INTEREST in a thing without therefore +acting FROM INTEREST. The former signifies the PRACTICAL interest in +the action, the latter the PATHOLOGICAL in the object of the action. +The former indicates only dependence of the will or principles of +reason in themselves; the second, dependence on principles of reason +for the sake of inclination, reason supplying only the practical +rules how the requirement of the inclination may he satisfied. In +the first case the action interests me; in the second the object of +the action (because it is pleasant to me), We have seen in the first +section that in an action done from duty we must look not to the +interest in the object, but only to that in the action itself, and +in its rational principle (viz. the law).] + +A perfectly good will would therefore be equally subject to +objective laws (viz. laws of good), but could not be conceived as +OBLIGED thereby to act lawfully, because of itself from its +subjective constitution it can only be determined by the conception +of good. Therefore no imperatives hold for the Divine will, or in +general for a HOLY will; OUGHT is here out of place, because the +volition is already of itself necessarily in unison with the law. +Therefore imperatives are only formulae to express the relation of +objective laws of all volition to the subjective imperfection of the +will of this or that rational being, e. g. the human will. + +Now all IMPERATIVES command either HYPOTHETICALLY or CATEGORICALLY. +The former represent the practical necessity of a possible action as +means to something else that is willed (or at least which one might +possibly will). The categorical imperative would be that which +represented an action as necessary of itself without reference to +another end, i. e., as objectively necessary. + +Since every practical law represents a possible action as good, and +on this account, for a subject who is practically determinable by +reason, necessary, all imperatives are formulae determining an +action which is necessary according to the principle of a will good +in some respects. If now the action is good only as a means TO +SOMETHING ELSE, then the imperative is HYPOTHETICAL; if it is +conceived as good IN ITSELF and consequently as being necessarily +the principle of a will which of itself conforms to reason, then it +is CATEGORICAL. + +Thus the imperative declares what action possible by me would be +good, and presents the practical rule in relation to a will which +does not forthwith perform an action simply because it is good, +whether because the subject does not always know that it is good, or +because, even if it know this, yet its maxims might be opposed to +the objective principles of practical reason. + +Accordingly the hypothetical imperative only says that the action is +good for some purpose, POSSIBLE or ACTUAL. In the first case it is a +Problematical, in the second an Assertorial practical principle. The +categorical imperative which declares an action to be objectively +necessary in itself without reference to any purpose, i. e., without +any other end, is valid as an Apodictic (practical) principle. + +Whatever is possible only by the power of some rational being may +also be conceived as a possible purpose of some will; and therefore +the principles of action as regards the means necessary to attain +some possible purpose are in fact infinitely numerous. All sciences +have a practical part, consisting of problems expressing that some +end is possible for us, and of imperatives directing how it may be +attained. These may, therefore, be called in general imperatives of +Skill. Here there is no question whether the end is rational and +good, but only what one must do in order to attain it. The precepts +for the physician to make his patient thoroughly healthy, and for a +poisoner to ensure certain death, are of equal value in this +respect, that each serves to effect its purpose perfectly. Since in +early youth it cannot be known what ends are likely to occur to us +in the course of life, parents seek to have their children taught a +great many things, and provide for their skill in the use of means +for all sorts of arbitrary ends, of none of which can they determine +whether it may not perhaps hereafter be an object to their pupil, +but which it is at all events possible that he might aim at; and +this anxiety is so great that they commonly neglect to form and +correct their judgment on the value of the things which may be +chosen as ends. + +There is one end, however, which may be assumed to be actually such +to all rational beings (so far as imperatives apply to them, viz. as +dependent beings), and therefore, one purpose which they not merely +MAY have, but which we may with certainty assume that they all +actually HAVE by a natural necessity, and this is HAPPINESS. The +hypothetical imperative which expresses the practical necessity of +an action as means to the advancement of happiness is Assertorial. +We are not to present it as necessary for an uncertain and merely +possible purpose, but for a purpose which we may presuppose with +certainty and a priori in every man, because it belongs to his +being. Now skill in the choice of means to his own greatest well- +being may be called prudence [The word prudence is taken in two +senses; in the one it may bear the name of knowledge of the world, +in the other that of private prudence. The former is a man's ability +to influence others so as to use them for his own purposes. The +latter is the sagacity to combine all these purposes for his own +lasting benefit. This latter is properly that to which the value +even of the former is reduced, and when a man is prudent in the +former sense, but not in the latter, we might better say of him that +he is clever and cunning, but, on the whole, imprudent. Compare on +the difference between klug and gescheu here alluded to, +Anthropologie, 45, ed. Schubert, p. no.] in the narrowest sense. And +thus the imperative which refers to the choice of means to one's own +happiness, i. e., the precept of prudence, is still always +hypothetical; the action is not commanded absolutely, but only as +means to another purpose. + +Finally, there is an imperative which commands a certain conduct +immediately, without having as its condition any other purpose to be +attained by it. This imperative is Categorical. It concerns not the +matter of the action, or its intended result, but its form and the +principle of which it is itself a result, and what is essentially +good in it consists in the mental disposition, let the consequence +be what it may. This imperative may be called that of Morality. + +There is a marked distinction also between the volitions on these +three sorts of principles in the DISSIMILARITY of the obligation of +the will. In order to mark this difference more clearly, I think +they would be most suitably named in their order if we said they are +either RULES of skill, or COUNSELS of prudence, or COMMANDS (LAWS) +of morality. For it is LAW only that involves the conception of an +UNCONDITIONAL and objective necessity, which is consequently +universally valid; and commands are laws which must be obeyed, that +is, must be followed, even in opposition to inclination. COUNSELS, +indeed, involve necessity, but one which can only hold under a +contingent subjective condition, viz. they depend on whether this or +that man reckons this or that as part of his happiness; the +categorical imperative, on the contrary, is not limited by any +condition, and as being absolutely, although practically, necessary, +may be quite properly called a command. We might also call the first +kind of imperatives TECHNICAL (belonging to art), the second +PRAGMATIC (to welfare), [It seems to me that the proper +signification of the word pragmatic may be most accurately defined +in this way. For sanctions [see Cr. of Pract. Reas., p. 271] are +called pragmatic which flow properly, not from the law of the states +as necessary enactments, but from precaution for the general +welfare. A history is composed pragmatically when it teaches +prudence, i. e. instructs the world how it can provide for its +interests better, or at least as well as the men of former time.]; +the third MORAL (belonging to free conduct generally, that is, to +morals). + +Now arises the question, how are all these imperatives possible? +This question does not seek to know how we can conceive the +accomplishment of the action which the imperative ordains, but +merely how we can conceive the obligation of the will which the +imperative expresses. No special explanation is needed to show how +an imperative of skill is possible. Whoever wills the end, wills +also (so far as reason decides his conduct) the means in his power +which are indispensably necessary thereto. This proposition is, as +regards the volition, analytical; for, in willing an object as my +effect, there is already thought the causality of myself as an +acting cause, that is to say, the use of the means; and the +imperative educes from the conception of volition of an end the +conception of actions necessary to this end. Synthetical +propositions must no doubt be employed in denning the means to a +proposed end; but they do not concern the principle, the act of the +will, but the object and its realization. Ex. gr., that in order to +bisect a line on an unerring principle I must draw from its +extremities two intersecting arcs; this no doubt is taught by +mathematics only in synthetical propositions; but if I know that it +is only by this process that the intended operation can be +performed, then to say that if I fully will the operation, I also +will the action required for it, is an analytical proposition; for +it is one and the same thing to conceive something as an effect +which I can produce in a certain way, and to conceive myself as +acting in this way. + +If it were only equally easy to give a definite conception of +happiness, the imperatives of prudence would correspond exactly with +those of skill, and would likewise be analytical. For in this case +as in that, it could be said, whoever wills the end, wills also +(according to the dictate of reason necessarily) the indispensable +means thereto which are in his power. But, unfortunately, the notion +of happiness is so indefinite that although every man wishes to +attain it, yet he never can say definitely and consistently what it +is that he really wishes and wills. The reason of this is that all +the elements which belong to the notion of happiness are altogether +empirical, i. e. they must be borrowed from experience, and +nevertheless the idea of happiness requires an absolute whole, a +maximum of welfare in my present and all future circumstances. Now +it is impossible that the most clear-sighted, and at the same time +most powerful being (supposed finite), should frame to himself a +definite conception of what he really wills in this. Does he will +riches, how much anxiety, envy, and snares might he not thereby draw +upon his shoulders? Does he will knowledge and discernment, perhaps +it might prove to be only an eye so much the sharper to show him so +much the more fearfully the evils that are now concealed from him, +and that cannot be avoided, or to impose more wants on his desires, +which already give him concern enough. Would he have long life, who +guarantees to him that it would not be a long misery? would he at +least have health? how often has uneasiness of the body restrained +from excesses into which perfect health would have allowed one to +fall? and so on. In short he is unable, on any principle, to +determine with certainty what would make him truly happy; because to +do so he would need to be omniscient. We cannot therefore act on any +definite principles to secure happiness, but only on empirical +counsels, ex. gr. of regimen, frugality, courtesy, reserve, &c., +which experience teaches do, on the average, most promote well- +being. Hence it follows that the imperatives of prudence do not, +strictly speaking, command at all, that is, they cannot present +actions objectively as practically necessary; that they are rather +to be regarded as counsels (consilia) than precepts (praecepta) of +reason, that the problem to determine certainly and universally what +action would promote the happiness of a rational being is completely +insoluble, and consequently no imperative respecting it is possible +which should, in the strict sense, command to do what makes happy; +because happiness is not an ideal of reason but of imagination, +resting solely on empirical grounds, and it is vain to expect that +these should define an action by which one could attain the totality +of a series of consequences which is really endless. This imperative +of prudence would however be an analytical proposition if we assume +that the means to happiness could be certainly assigned; for it is +distinguished from the imperative of skill only by this, that in the +latter the end is merely possible, in the former it is given; as +however both only ordain the means to that which we suppose to be +willed as an end, it follows that the imperative which ordains the +willing of the means to him who wills the end is in both cases +analytical. Thus there is no difficulty in regard to the possibility +of an imperative of this kind either. + +On the other hand the question, how the imperative of morality is +possible, is undoubtedly one, the only one? demanding a solution, as +this is not at all hypothetical, and the objective necessity which +it presents cannot rest on any hypothesis, as is the case with the +hypothetical imperatives. Only here we must never leave out of +consideration that we cannot make out by any example, in other words +empirically, whether there is such an imperative at all; but it is +rather to be feared that all those which seem to be categorical may +yet be at bottom hypothetical. For instance, when the precept is: +Thou shalt not promise deceitfully; and it is assumed that the +necessity of this is not a mere counsel to avoid some other evil, so +that it should mean: thou shalt not make a lying promise, lest if it +become known thou shouldst destroy thy credit, but that an action of +this kind must be regarded as evil in itself, so that the imperative +of the prohibition is categorical; then we cannot show with +certainty in any example that the will was determined merely by the +law, without any other spring of action, although it may appear to +be so. For it is always possible that fear of disgrace, perhaps also +obscure dread of other dangers, may have a secret influence on the +will. Who can prove by experience the non-existence of a cause when +all that experience tells us is that we do not perceive it? But in +such a case the so-called moral imperative, which as such appears to +be categorical and unconditional, would in reality be only a +pragmatic precept, drawing our attention to our own interests, and +merely teaching us to take these into consideration. + +We shall therefore have to investigate a priori the possibility of a +categorical imperative, as we have not in this case the advantage of +its reality being given in experience, so that [the elucidation of] +its possibility should be requisite only for its explanation, not +for its establishment. In the mean-time it may be discerned +beforehand that the categorical imperative alone has the purport of +a practical law: all the rest may indeed be called principles of the +will but not laws, since whatever is only necessary for the +attainment of some arbitrary purpose may be considered as in itself +contingent, and we can at any time be free from the precept if we +give up the purpose: on the contrary, the unconditional command +leaves the will no liberty to choose the opposite; consequently it +alone carries with it that necessity which we require in a law. + +Secondly, in the case of this categorical imperative or law of +morality, the difficulty (of discerning its possibility) is a very +profound one. It is an a priori synthetical practical proposition; +[Footnote: I connect the act with the will without presupposing any +condition resulting from any inclination, but d priori, and +therefore necessarily (though only objectively, i. e. assuming the +idea of a reason possessing full power over all subjective motives). +This is accordingly a practical proposition which does not deduce +the willing of an action by mere analysis from another already +presupposed (for we have not such a perfect will), but connects it +immediately with the conception of the will of a rational being, as +something not contained in it.] and as there is so much difficulty +in discerning the possibility of speculative propositions of this +kind, it may readily be supposed that the difficulty will be no less +with the practical. + +In this problem we will first inquire whether the mere conception of +a categorical imperative may not perhaps supply us also with the +formula of it, containing the proposition which alone can be a +categorical imperative; for even if we know the tenor of such +absolute command, yet how it is possible will require further +special and laborious study, which we postpone to the last section. + +When I conceive a hypothetical imperative in general I do not know +beforehand what it will contain until I am given the condition. But +when I conceive a categorical imperative I know at once what it +contains. For as the imperative contains besides the law only the +necessity that the maxims [Footnote: A MAXIM is a subjective +principle of action, and must be distinguished from the objective +principle, namely, practical law. The former contains the practical +rule set by reason according to the conditions of the subject (often +its ignorance or its inclinations), so that it is the principle on +which the subject acts; but the law is the objective principle valid +for every rational being, and is the principle on which it ought to +act that is an imperative.] shall conform to this law, while the law +contains no conditions restricting it, there remains nothing but the +general statement that the maxim of the action should conform to a +universal law, and it is this conformity alone that the imperative +properly represents as necessary. [Footnote: I have no doubt that +"den" in the original before "Imperativ" is a misprint for "der," +and have translated accordingly. Mr. Semple has done the same. The +editions that I have seen agree in reading "den," and M. Barni so +translates. With this reading, it is the conformity that presents +the imperative as necessary.] + +There is therefore but one categorical imperative, namely this: Act +only on that maxim whereby thou canst at the same time will that it +should become a universal law. + +Now if all imperatives of duty can be deduced from this one +imperative as from their principle, then, although it should remain +undecided whether what is called duty is not merely a vain notion, +yet at least we shall be able to show what we understand by it and +what this notion means. + +Since the universality of the law according to which effects are +produced constiutes what is properly called nature in the most +general sense (as to form), that is the existence of things so far +as it is determined by general laws, the imperative of duty may be +expressed thus: Act as if the maxim of thy action were to become by +thy will a Universal Law of Nature. + +We will now enumerate a few duties, adopting the usual division of +them into duties to ourselves and to others, and into perfect and +imperfect duties. [Footnote: It must be noted here that I reserve +the division of duties for a future metaphysic of morals; so that I +give it here only as an arbitrary one (in order to arrange my +examples). For the rest, I understand by a perfect duty one that +admits no exception in favour of inclination, and then I have not +merely external, but also internal perfect duties. This is contrary +to the use of the word adopted in the schools; but I do not intend +to justify it here, as it is all one for my purpose whether it is +admitted or not. [Perfect duties are usually understood to be those +which can be enforced by external law; imperfect, those which cannot +be enforced. They are also called respectively determinate and +indeterminate, officia juris and officia virtutis.]] + +I. A man reduced to despair by a series of misfortunes feels wearied +of life, but is still so far in possession of his reason that he can +ask himself whether it would not be contrary to his duty to himself +to take his own life. Now he inquires whether the maxim of his +action could become a universal law of nature. His maxim is: From +self-love I adopt it as a principle to shorten my life when its +longer duration is likely to bring more evil than satisfaction. It +is asked then simply whether this principle founded on self-love can +become a universal law of nature. Now we see at once that a system +of nature of which it should be a law to destroy life by means of +the very feeling whose special nature it is to impel to the +improvement of life would contradict itself, and therefore could not +exist as a system of nature; hence that maxim cannot possibly exist +as a universal law of nature, and consequently would be wholly +inconsistent with the supreme principle of all duty. [Footnote: On +suicide cf. further Metaphysik der Sitten, p. 274.] + +2. Another finds himself forced by necessity to borrow money. He +knows that he will not be able to repay it, but sees also that +nothing will be lent to him, unless he promises stoutly to repay it +in a definite time. He desires to make this promise, but he has +still so much conscience as to ask himself: Is it not unlawful and +inconsistent with duty to get out of a difficulty in this way? +Suppose, however, that he resolves to do so, then the maxim of his +action would be expressed thus: When I think myself in want of +money, I will borrow money and promise to repay it, although I know +that I never can do so. Now this principle of self-love or of one's +own advantage may perhaps be consistent with my whole future +welfare; but the question now is, Is it right? I change then the +suggestion of self-love into a universal law, and state the question +thus: How would it be if my maxim were a universal law? Then I see +at once that it could never hold as a universal law of nature, but +would necessarily contradict itself. For supposing it to be a +universal law that everyone when he thinks himself in a difficulty +should be able to promise whatever he pleases, with the purpose of +not keeping his promise, the promise itself would become impossible, +as well as the end that one might have in view in it, since no one +would consider that anything was promised to him, but would ridicule +all such statements as vain pretences. + +3. A third finds in himself a talent which with the help of some +culture might make him a useful man in many respects. But he finds +himself in comfortable circumstances, and prefers to indulge in +pleasure rather than to take pains in enlarging and improving his +happy natural capacities. He asks, however, whether his maxim of +neglect of his natural gifts, besides agreeing with his inclination +to indulgence, agrees also with what is called duty. He sees then +that a system of nature could indeed subsist with such a universal +law although men (like the South Sea islanders) should let their +talents rust, and resolve to devote their lives merely to idleness, +amusement, and propagation of their species--in a word, to +enjoyment; but he cannot possibly WILL that this should be a +universal law of nature, or be implanted in us as such by a natural +instinct. For, as a rational being, he necessarily wills that his +faculties be developed, since they serve him, and have been given +him, for all sorts of possible purposes. + +4. A fourth, who is in prosperity, while he sees that others have to +contend with great wretchedness and that he could help them, thinks: +What concern is it of mine? Let everyone be as happy as heaven +pleases, or as he can make himself; I will take nothing from him nor +even envy him, only I do not wish to contribute anything to his +welfare or to his assistance in distress! Now no doubt if such a +mode of thinking were a universal law, the human race might very +well subsist, and doubtless even better than in a state in which +everyone talks of sympathy and good-will, or even takes care +occasionally to put it into practice, but on the other side, also +cheats when he can, betrays the rights of men, or otherwise violates +them. But although it is possible that a universal law of nature +might exist in accordance with that maxim, it is impossible to WILL +that such a principle should have the universal validity of a law of +nature. For a will which resolved this would contradict itself, +inasmuch as many cases might occur in which one would have need of +the love and sympathy of others, and in which, by such a law of +nature, sprung from his own will, he would deprive himself of all +hope of the aid he desires. + +These are a few of the many actual duties, or at least what we +regard as such, which obviously fall into two classes on the one +principle that we have laid down. We must be ABLE TO WILL that a +maxim of our action should be a universal law. This is the canon of +the moral appreciation of the action generally. Some actions are of +such a character that their maxim cannot without contradiction be +even CONCEIVED as a universal law of nature, far from it being +possible that we should WILL that it SHOULD be so. In others this +intrinsic impossibility is not found, but still it is impossible to +WILL THAT their maxim should be raised to the universality of a law +of nature, since such a will would contradict itself. It is easily +seen that the former violate strict or rigorous (inflexible) duty; +the latter only laxer (meritorious) duty. Thus it has been +completely shown by these examples how all duties depend as regards +the nature of the obligation (not the object of the action) on the +same principle. + +If now we attend to ourselves on occasion of any transgression of +duty, we shall find that we in fact do not will that our maxim +should be a universal law, for that is impossible for us; on the +contrary we will that the opposite should remain a universal law, +only we assume the liberty of making an EXCEPTION in our own favour +or (just for this time only) in favour of our inclination. +Consequently if we considered all cases from one and the same point +of view, namely, that of reason, we should find a contradiction in +our own will, namely, that a certain principle should be objectively +necessary as a universal law, and yet subjectively should not be +universal, but admit of exceptions. As however we at one moment +regard our action from the point of view of a will wholly conformed +to reason, and then again look at the same action from the point of +view of a will affected by inclination, there is not really any +contradiction, but an antagonism of inclination to the precept of +reason, whereby the universality of the principle is changed into a +mere generality, so that the practical principle of reason shall +meet the maxim half way. Now, although this cannot be justified in +our own impartial judgment, yet it proves that we do really +recognise the validity of the categorical imperative and (with all +respect for it) only allow ourselves a few exceptions, which we +think unimportant and forced from us. + +We have thus established at least this much, that if duty is a +conception which is to have any import and real legislative +authority for our actions, it can only be expressed in categorical, +and not at all in hypothetical imperatives. We have also, which is +of great importance, exhibited clearly and definitely for every +practical application the content of the categorical imperative, +which must contain the principle of all duty if there is such a +thing at all. We have not yet, however, advanced so far as to prove +a priori that there actually is such an imperative, that there is a +practical law which commands absolutely of itself, and without any +other impulse, and that the following of this law is duty. + +With the view of attaining to this it is of extreme importance to +remember that we must not allow ourselves to think of deducing the +reality of this principle from the particular attributes of human +nature. For duty is to be a practical, unconditional necessity of +action; it must therefore hold for all rational beings (to whom an +imperative can apply at all) and for this reason only be also a law +for all human wills. On the contrary, whatever is deduced from the +particular natural characteristics of humanity, from certain +feelings and propensions, [Footnote: Kant distinguishes "Hang +(propensio)" from "Neigung (inclinatio)" as follows:--"Hang" is a +predisposition to the desire of some enjoyment; in other words, it +is the subjective possibility of excitement of a certain desire, +which precedes the conception of its object. When the enjoyment has +been experienced, it produces a "Neigung" (inclination) to it, which +accordingly is defined "habitual sensible desire."--Anthropologie, +72, 79; Religion, p. 31.] nay even, if possible, from any particular +tendency proper to human reason, and which need not necessarily hold +for the will of every rational being; this may indeed supply us with +a maxim, but not with a law; with a subjective principle on which we +may have a propension and inclination to act, but not with an +objective principle on which we should be enjoined to act, even +though all our propensions, inclinations, and natural dispositions +were opposed to it. In fact the sublimity and intrinsic dignity of +the command in duty are so much the more evident, the less the +subjective impulses favour it and the more they oppose it, without +being able in the slightest degree to weaken the obligation of the +law or to distinguish its validity. + +Here then we see philosophy brought to a critical position, since it +has to be firmly fixed, notwithstanding that it has nothing to +support it either in heaven or earth. Here it must show its purity +as absolute dictator of its own laws, not the herald of those which +are whispered to it by an implanted sense or who knows what tutelary +nature. Although these may be better than nothing, yet they can +never afford principles dictated by reason, which must have their +source wholly a priori and thence their commanding authority, +expecting everything from the supremacy of the law and the due +respect for it, nothing from inclination, or else condemning the man +to self-contempt and inward abhorrence. + +Thus every empirical element is not only quite incapable of being an +aid to the principle of morality, but is even highly prejudicial to +the purity of morals, for the proper and inestimable worth of an +absolutely good will consists just in this, that the principle of +action is free, from all influence of contingent grounds, which +alone experience can furnish. We cannot too much or too often repeat +our warning against this lax and even mean habit of thought which +seeks for its principle amongst empirical motives and laws; for +human reason in its weariness is glad to rest on this pillow, and in +a dream of sweet illusions (in which, instead of Juno, it embraces a +cloud) it substitutes for morality a bastard patched up from limbs +of various derivation, which looks like anything one chooses to see +in it; only not like virtue to one who has once beheld her in her +true form. [Footnote: To behold virtue in her proper form is nothing +else but to contemplate morality stripped of all admixture of +sensible things and of every spurious ornament of reward or self- +love. How much she then eclipses everything else that appears +charming to the affections, every one may readily perceive with the +least exertion of his reason, if it be not wholly spoiled for +abstraction.] + +The question then is this: Is it a necessary law for all rational +beings that they should always judge of their actions by maxims of +which they can themselves will that they should serve as universal +laws? If it is so, then it must be connected (altogether a priori) +with the very conception of the will of a rational being generally. +But in order to discover this connexion we must, however +reluctantly, take a step into metaphysic, although into a domain of +it which is distinct from speculative philosophy, namely, the +metaphysic of morals. In a practical philosophy, where it is not the +reasons of what happens that we have to ascertain, but the laws of +what ought to happen, even although it never does, i. e., objective +practical laws, there it is not necessary to inquire into the +reasons why anything pleases or displeases, how the pleasure of mere +sensation differs from taste, and whether the latter is distinct +from a general satisfaction of reason; on what the feeling of +pleasure or pain rests, and how from it desires and inclinations +arise, and from these again maxims by the co-operation of reason: +for all this belongs to an empirical psychology, which would +constitute the second part of physics, if we regard physics as the +philosophy of nature, so far as it is based on empirical laws. But +here we are concerned with objective practical laws, and +consequently with the relation of the will to itself so far as it is +determined by reason alone, in which case whatever has reference to +anything empirical is necessarily excluded; since if reason of +itself alone determines the conduct (and it is the possibility of +this that we are now investigating), it must necessarily do so a +priori. + +The will is conceived as a faculty of determining oneself to action +in accordance with the conception of certain laws. And such a +faculty can be found only in rational beings. Now that which serves +the will as the objective ground of its self-determination is the +end, and if this is assigned by reason alone, it must hold for all +rational beings. On the other hand, that which merely contains the +ground of possibility of the action of which the effect is the end, +this is called the means. The subjective ground of the desire is the +spring, the objective ground of the volition is the motive; hence +the distinction between subjective ends which rest on springs and +objective ends which depend on motives valid for every rational +being. Practical principles are formal when they abstract from all +subjective ends, they are material when they assume these, and +therefore particular springs of action. The ends which a rational +being proposes to himself at pleasure as effects of his actions +(material ends) are all only relative, for it is only their relation +to the particular desires of the subject that gives them their +worth, which therefore cannot furnish principles universal and +necessary for all rational beings and for every volition, that is to +say practical laws. Hence all these relative ends can give rise only +to hypothetical imperatives. + +Supposing, however, that there were something whose existence has in +itself an absolute worth, something which, being an end in itself, +could be a source of definite laws, then in this and this alone +would He the source of a possible categorical imperative, i. e., a +practical law. + +Now I say: man and generally any rational being exists as an end in +himself, not merely as a means to be arbitrarily used by this or +that will, but in all his actions, whether they concern himself or +other rational beings, must be always regarded at the same time as +an end. All objects of the inclinations have only a conditional +worth, for if the inclinations and the wants founded on them did not +exist, then their object would be without value. But the +inclinations themselves being sources of want, are so far from +having an absolute worth for which they should be desired, that on +the contrary it must be the universal wish of every rational being +to be wholly free from them. Thus the worth of any object which is +to be acquired by our action is always conditional. Beings whose +existence depends not on our will but on nature's, have +nevertheless, if they are irrational beings, only a relative value +as means, and are therefore called things; rational beings, on the +contrary, are called persons, because their very nature points them +out as ends in themselves, that is as something which must not be +used merely as means, and so far therefore restricts freedom of +action (and is an object of respect). These, therefore, are not +merely subjective ends whose existence has a worth for us as an +effect of our action but objective ends, that is things whose +existence is an end in itself: an end moreover for which no other +can be substituted, which they should subserve merely as means, for +otherwise nothing whatever would possess absolute worth; but if all +worth were conditioned and therefore contingent, then there would be +no supreme practical principle of reason whatever. + +If then there is a supreme practical principle or, in respect of the +human will, a categorical imperative, it must be one which, being +drawn from the conception of that which is necessarily an end for +every one because it is an end in itself, constitutes an objective +principle of will, and can therefore serve as a universal practical +law. The foundation of this principle is: rational nature exists as +an end in itself. Man necessarily conceives his own existence as +being so; so far then this is a subjective principle of human +actions. But every other rational being regards its existence +similarly, just on the same rational principle that holds for me: +[Footnote: This proposition is here stated as a postulate. The +grounds of it will be found in the concluding section.] so that it +is at the same time an objective principle, from which as a supreme +practical law all laws of the will must be capable of being deduced. +Accordingly the practical imperative will be as follows: So act as +to treat humanity, whether in thine own person or in that of any +other, in every case as an end withal, never as means only. We will +now inquire whether this can be practically carried out. + +To abide by the previous examples: + +Firstly, under the head of necessary duty to oneself: He who +contemplates suicide should ask himself whether his action can be +consistent with the idea of humanity as an end in itself. If he +destroys himself in order to escape from painful circumstances, he +uses a person merely as a mean to maintain a tolerable condition up +to the end of life. But a man is not a thing, that is to say, +something which can be used merely as means, but must in all his +actions be always considered as an end in himself. I cannot, +therefore, dispose in any way of a man in my own person so as to +mutilate him, to damage or kill him. (It belongs to ethics proper to +define this principle more precisely so as to avoid all +misunderstanding, e. g., as to the amputation of the limbs in order +to preserve myself; as to exposing my life to danger with a view to +preserve it, &c. This question is therefore omitted here.) + +Secondly, as regards necessary duties, or those of strict +obligation, towards others; he who is thinking of making a lying +promise to others will see at once that he would be using another +man merely as a mean, without the latter containing at the same time +the end in himself. For he whom I propose by such a promise to use +for my own purposes cannot possibly assent to my mode of acting +towards him, and therefore cannot himself contain the end of this +action. This violation of the principle of humanity in other men is +more obvious if we take in examples of attacks on the freedom and +property of others. For then it is clear that he who transgresses +the rights of men, intends to use the person of others merely as +means, without considering that as rational beings they ought always +to be esteemed also as ends, that is, as beings who must be capable +of containing in themselves the end of the very same action. +[Footnote: Let it not be thought that the common: quod tibi non vis +fieri, &c., could serve here as the rule or principle. For it is +only a deduction from the former, though with several limitations; +it cannot be a universal law, for it does not contain the principle +of duties to oneself, nor of the duties of benevolence to others +(for many a one would gladly consent that others should not benefit +him, provided only that he might be excused from showing benevolence +to them), nor finally that of duties of strict obligation to one +another, for on this principle the criminal might argue against the +judge who punishes him, and so on.] + +Thirdly, as regards contingent (meritorious) duties to oneself; it +is not enough that the action does not violate humanity in our own +person as an end in itself, it must also harmonise with it. Now +there are in humanity capacities of greater perfection which belong +to the end that nature has in view in regard to humanity in +ourselves as the subject: to neglect these might perhaps be +consistent with the maintenance of humanity as an end in itself, but +not with the advancement of this end. + +Fourthly, as regards meritorious duties towards others: the natural +end which all men have in their own happiness. Now humanity might +indeed subsist, although no one should contribute anything to the +happiness of others, provided he did not intentionally withdraw +anything from it; but after all, this would only harmonise +negatively not positively with humanity as an end in itself, if +everyone does not also endeavor, as far as in him lies, to forward +the ends of others. For the ends of any subject which is an end in +himself, ought as far as possible to be my ends also, if that +conception is to have its full effect with me. + +This principle, that humanity and generally every rational nature is +an end in itself (which is the supreme limiting condition of every +man's freedom of action), is not borrowed from experience, firstly, +because it is universal, applying as it does to all rational beings +whatever, and experience is not capable of determining anything +about them; secondly, because it does not present humanity as an end +to men (subjectively), that is as an object which men do of +themselves actually adopt as an end; but as an objective end, which +must as a law constitute the supreme limiting condition of all our +subjective ends, let them be what we will; it must therefore spring +from pure, reason. In fact the objective principle of all practical +legislation lies (according to the first principle) in the rule and +its form of universality which makes it capable of being a law (say, +e. g., a law of nature); but the subjective principle is in the end; +now by the second principle the subject of all ends is each rational +being, inasmuch as it is an end in itself. Hence follows the third +practical principle of the will, which is the ultimate condition of +its harmony with the universal practical reason, viz.: the idea of +the will of every rational being as a universally legislative will. + +On this principle all maxims are rejected which are inconsistent +with the will being itself universal legislator. Thus the will is +not subject simply to the law, but so subject that it must be +regarded as itself giving the law, and on this ground only, subject +to the law (of which it can regard itself as the author). + +In the previous imperatives, namely, that based on the conception of +the conformity of actions to general laws, as in a physical system +of nature, and that based on the universal prerogative of rational +beings as ends in themselves--these imperatives just because they +were conceived as categorical, excluded from any share in their +authority all admixture of any interest as a spring of action; they +were however only assumed to be categorical, because such an +assumption was necessary to explain the conception of duty. But we +could not prove independently that there are practical propositions +which command categorically, nor can it be proved in this section; +one thing however could be done, namely, to indicate in the +imperative itself by some determinate expression, that in the case +of volition from duty all interest is renounced, which is the +specific criterion of categorical as distinguished from hypothetical +imperatives. This is done in the present (third) formula of the +principle, namely, in the idea of the will of every rational being +as a universally legislating will. + +For although a will which is subject to laws may be attached to this +law by means of an interest, yet a will which is itself a supreme +lawgiver so far as it is such cannot possibly depend on any +interest, since a will so dependent would itself still need another +law restricting the interest of its self-love by the condition that +it should be valid as universal law. + +Thus the principle that every human will is a will which in all its +maxims gives universal laws [Footnote: I may be excused from +adducing examples to elucidate this principle, as those which have +already been used to elucidate the categorical imperative and its +formula would all serve for the like purpose here.] provided it be +otherwise justified, would be very well adapted to be the +categorical imperative, in this respect, namely, that just because +of the idea of universal legislation it is not based on any +interest, and therefore it alone among all possible imperatives can +be unconditional. Or still better, converting the proposition, if +there is a categorical imperative (i.e. a law for the will of every +rational being), it can only command that everything be done from +maxims of one's will regarded as a will which could at the same time +will that it should itself give universal laws, for in that case +only the practical principle and the imperative which it obeys are +unconditional, since they cannot be based on any interest. + +Looking back now on all previous attempts to discover the principle +of morality, we need not wonder why they all fail. It was seen that +man was bound to laws by duty, but it was not observed that the laws +to which he is subject are only those of his own giving, though at +the same time they are universal, and that he is only bound to act +in conformity with his own will; a will, however, which is designed +by nature to give universal laws. For when one has conceived man +only as subject to a law (no matter what), then this law required +some interest, either by way of attraction or constraint, since it +did not originate as a law from his own will, but this will was +according to a law obliged by something else to act in a certain +manner. Now by this necessary consequence all the labour spent in +finding a supreme principle of duty was irrevocably lost. For men +never elicited duty, but only a necessity of acting from a certain +interest. Whether this interest was private or otherwise, in any +case the imperative must be conditional, and could not by any means +be capable of being a moral command. I will therefore call this the +principle of Autonomy of the will, in contrast with every other +which I accordingly reckon as Heteronomy? [Footnote: Cp. "Critical +Examination of Practical Reason," p. 184.] + +The conception of every rational being as one which must consider +itself as giving in all the maxims of its will universal laws, so as +to judge itself and its actions from this point of view--this +conception leads to another which depends on it and is very +fruitful, namely, that of a kingdom of ends. + +By a kingdom I understand the union of different rational beings in +a system by common laws. Now since it is by laws that ends are +determined as regards their universal validity, hence, if we +abstract from the personal differences of rational beings, and +likewise from all the content of their private ends, we shall be +able to conceive all ends combined in a systematic whole (including +both rational beings as ends in themselves, and also the special +ends which each may propose to himself), that is to say, we can +conceive a kingdom of ends, which on the preceding principles is +possible. + +For all rational beings come under the law that each of them must +treat itself and all others never merely as means, but in every case +at the same time as ends in themselves. Hence results a systematic +union of rational beings by common objective laws, i.e. a kingdom +which may be called a kingdom of ends, since what these laws have in +view is just the relation of these beings to one another as ends and +means. It is certainly only an ideal. + +A rational being belongs as a member to the kingdom of ends when, +although giving universal laws in it, he is also himself subject to +these laws. He belongs to it as sovereign when, while giving laws, +he is not subject to the will of any other. + +A rational being must always regard himself as giving laws either as +member or as sovereign in a kingdom of ends which is rendered +possible by the freedom of will. He cannot, however, maintain the +latter position merely by the maxims of his will, but only in case +he is a completely independent being without wants and with +unrestricted power adequate to his will. + +Morality consists then in the reference of all action to the +legislation which alone can render a kingdom of ends possible. This +legislation must be capable of existing in every rational being, and +of emanating from his will, so that the principle of this will is, +never to act on any maxim which could not without contradiction be +also a universal law, and accordingly always so to act that the will +could at the same time regard itself as giving in its maxims +universal laws. If now the maxims of rational beings are not by +their own nature coincident with this objective principle, then the +necessity of acting on it is called practical necessitation, i. e., +duty. Duty does not apply to the sovereign in the kingdom of ends, +but it does to every member of it and to all in the same degree. + +The practical necessity of acting on this principle, i. e., duty, +does not rest at all on feelings, impulses, or inclinations, but +solely on the relation of rational beings to one another, a relation +in which the will of a rational being must always be regarded as +legislative, since otherwise it could not be conceived as an end in +itself. Reason then refers every maxim of the will, regarding it as +legislating universally, to every other will and also to every +action towards oneself; and this not on account of any other +practical motive or any future advantage, but from the idea of the +dignity of a rational being, obeying no law but that which he +himself also gives. + +In the kingdom of ends everything has either Value or Dignity. +Whatever has a value can be replaced by something else which is +equivalent; whatever, on the other hand, is above all value, and +therefore admits of no equivalent, has a dignity. + +Whatever has reference to the general inclinations and wants of +mankind has a market value; whatever, without presupposing a want, +corresponds to a certain taste, that is to a satisfaction in the +mere purposeless play of our faculties, has a fancy value; but that +which constitutes the condition under which alone anything can be an +end in itself, this has not merely a relative worth, i. e., value, +but an intrinsic worth, that is dignity. + +Now morality is the condition under which alone a rational being can +be an end in himself, since by this alone it is possible that he +should be a legislating member in the kingdom of ends. Thus +morality, and humanity as capable of it, is that which alone has +dignity. Skill and diligence in labour have a market value; wit, +lively imagination, and humour, have fancy value; on the other hand, +fidelity to promises, benevolence from principle (not from +instinct), have an intrinsic worth. Neither nature nor art contains +anything which in default of these it could put in their place, for +their worth consists not in the effects which spring from them, not +in the use and advantage which they secure, but in the disposition +of mind, that is, the maxims of the will which are ready to manifest +themselves in such actions, even though they should not have the +desired effect. These actions also need no recommendation from any +subjective taste or sentiment, that they may be looked on with +immediate favour and satisfaction: they need no immediate propension +or feeling for them; they exhibit the will that performs them as an +object of an immediate respect, and nothing but reason is required +to IMPOSE them on the will; not to FLATTER it into them, which, in +the case of duties, would be a contradiction. This estimation +therefore shows that the worth of such a disposition is dignity, and +places it infinitely above all value, with which it cannot for a +moment be brought into comparison or competition without as it were +violating its sanctity. + +What then is it which justifies virtue or the morally good +disposition, in making such lofty claims? It is nothing less than +the privilege it secures to the rational being of participating in +the giving of universal laws, by which it qualifies him to be a +member of a possible kingdom of ends, a privilege to which he was +already destined by his own nature as being an end in himself, and +on that account legislating in the kingdom of ends; free as regards +all laws of physical nature, and obeying those only which he himself +gives, and by which his maxims can belong to a system of universal +law, to which at the same time he submits himself. For nothing has +any worth except what the law assigns it. Now the legislation itself +which assigns the worth of everything, must for that very reason +possess dignity, that is an unconditional incomparable worth, and +the word RESPECT alone supplies a becoming expression for the esteem +which a rational being must have for it. AUTONOMY then is the basis +of the dignity of human and of every rational nature. + +The three modes of presenting the principle of morality that have +been adduced are at bottom only so many formulae of the very same +law, and each of itself involves the other two. There is, however, a +difference in them, but it is rather subjectively than objectively +practical, intended namely to bring an idea of the reason nearer to +intuition (by means of a certain analogy), and thereby nearer to +feeling. All maxims, in fact, have-- + +1. A FORM, consisting in universality; and in this view the formula +of the moral imperative is expressed thus, that the maxims must be +so chosen as if they were to serve as universal laws of nature. + +2. A MATTER [Footnote: The reading "Maxima," which is that both of +Rosenkranz and Hartenstein, is obviously an error for "Materie."] +namely, an end, and here the formula says that the rational being, +as it is an end by its own nature and therefore an end in itself, +must in every maxim serve as the condition limiting all merely +relative and arbitrary ends. + +3. A COMPLETE CHARACTERISATION of all maxims by means of that +formula, namely, that all maxims ought by their own legislation to +harmonise with a possible kingdom of ends as with a kingdom of +nature. [Footnote: Teleology considers nature as a kingdom of ends; +Ethics regards a possible kingdom of ends as a kingdom of nature. In +the first case, the kingdom of ends is a theoretical idea, adopted +to explain what actually is. In the latter it is a practical idea, +adopted to bring about that which is not yet, but which can be +realised by our conduct, namely, if it conforms to this idea.] There +is a progress here in the order of the categories of UNITY of the +form of the will (its universality), PLURALITY of the matter (the +objects, i. e. the ends), and TOTALITY of the system of these. In +forming our moral JUDGMENT of actions it is better to proceed always +on the strict method, and start from the general formula of the +categorical imperative: ACT ACCORDING TO A MAXIM WHICH CAN AT THE +SAME TIME MAKE ITSELF A UNIVERSAL LAW. If, however, we wish to gain +an ENTRANCE for the moral law, it is very useful to bring one and +the same action under the three specified conceptions, and thereby +as far as possible to bring it nearer to intuition. + +We can now end where we started at the beginning, namely, with the +conception of a will unconditionally good. THAT WILL is ABSOLUTELY +GOOD which cannot be evil, in other words, whose maxim, if made a +universal law, could never contradict itself. This principle then is +its supreme law: Act always on such a maxim as thou canst at the +same time will to be a universal law; this is the sole condition +under which a will can never contradict itself; and such an +imperative is categorical. Since the validity of the will as a +universal law for possible actions is analogous to the universal +connexion of the existence of things by general laws, which is the +formal notion of nature in general, the categorical imperative can +also be expressed thus: ACT ON MAXIMS WHICH CAN AT THE SAME TIME +HAVE FOR THEIR OBJECT THEMSELVES AS UNIVERSAL LAWS OF NATURE. Such +then is the formula of an absolutely good will. + +Rational nature is distinguished from the rest of nature by this, +that it sets before itself an end. This end would be the matter of +every good will. But since in the idea of a will that is absolutely +good without being limited by any condition (of attaining this or +that end) we must abstract wholly from every end TO BE EFFECTED +(since this would make every will only relatively good), it follows +that in this case the end must be conceived, not as an end to be +effected, but as an INDEPENDENTLY existing end. Consequently it is +conceived only negatively, i.e., as that which we must never act +against, and which, therefore, must never be regarded merely as +means, but must in every volition be esteemed as an end likewise. +Now this end can be nothing but the subject of all possible ends, +since this is also the subject of a possible absolutely good will; +for such a will cannot without contradiction be postponed to any +other object. The principle: So act in regard to every rational +being (thyself and others), that he may always have place in thy +maxim as an end in himself, is accordingly essentially identical +with this other: Act upon a maxim which, at the same time, involves +its own universal validity for every rational being. For that in +using means for every end I should limit my maxim by the condition +of its holding good as a law for every subject, this comes to the +same thing as that the fundamental principle of all maxims of action +must be that the subject of all ends, i. e., the rational being +himself, be never employed merely as means, but as the supreme +condition restricting the use of all means, that is in every case as +an end likewise. + +It follows incontestably that, to whatever laws any rational being +may be subject, he being an end in himself must be able to regard +himself as also legislating universally in respect of these same +laws, since it is just this fitness of his maxims for universal +legislation that distinguishes him as an end in himself; also it +follows that this implies his dignity (prerogative) above all mere +physical beings, that he must always take his maxims from the point +of view which regards himself, and likewise every other rational +being, as lawgiving beings (on which account they are called +persons). In this way a world of rational beings (mundus +intelligibilis) is possible as a kingdom of ends, and this by virtue +of the legislation proper to all persons as members. Therefore every +rational being must so act as if he were by his maxims in every case +a legislating member in the universal kingdom of ends. The formal +principle of these maxims is: So act as if thy maxim were to serve +likewise as the universal law (of all rational beings). A kingdom of +ends is thus only possible on the analogy of a kingdom of nature, +the former however only by maxims, that is self-imposed rules, the +latter only by the laws of efficient causes acting under +necessitation from without. Nevertheless, although the system of +nature is looked upon as a machine, yet so far as it has reference +to rational beings as its ends, it is given on this account the name +of a kingdom of nature. Now such a kingdom of ends would be actually +realised by means of maxims conforming to the canon which the +categorical imperative prescribes to all rational beings, IF THEY +WERE UNIVERSALLY FOLLOWED. But although a rational being, even if he +punctually follows this maxim himself, cannot reckon upon all others +being therefore true to the same, nor expect that the kingdom of +nature and its orderly arrangements shall be in harmony with him as +a fitting member, so as to form a kingdom of ends to which he +himself contributes, that is to say, that it shall favour his +expectation of happiness, still that law: Act according to the +maxims of a member of a merely possible kingdom of ends legislating +in it universally, remains in its full force, inasmuch as it +commands categorically. And it is just in this that the paradox +lies; that the mere dignity of a man as a rational creature, without +any other end or advantage to be attained thereby, in other words, +respect for a mere idea, should yet serve as an inflexible precept +of the will, and that it is precisely in this independence of the +maxim on all such springs of action that its sublimity consists; and +it is this that makes every rational subject worthy to be a +legislative member in the kingdom of ends: for otherwise he would +have to be conceived only as subject to the physical law of his +wants. And although we should suppose the kingdom of nature and the +kingdom of ends to be united under one sovereign, so that the latter +kingdom thereby ceased to be a mere idea and acquired true reality, +then it would no doubt gain the accession of a strong spring, but by +no means any increase of its intrinsic worth. For this sole absolute +lawgiver must, notwithstanding this, be always conceived as +estimating the worth of rational beings only by their disinterested +behaviour, as prescribed to themselves from that idea [the dignity +of man] alone. The essence of things is not altered by their +external relations, and that which abstracting from these, alone +constitutes the absolute worth of man, is also that by which he must +be judged, whoever the judge may be, and even by the Supreme Being. +MORALITY then is the relation of actions to the autonomy of the +will, that is, to the potential universal legislation by its maxims. +An action that is consistent with the autonomy of the will is +PERMITTED; one that does not agree therewith is FORBIDDEN. A will +whose maxims necessarily coincide with the laws of autonomy is a +HOLY will, good absolutely. The dependence of a will not absolutely +good on the principle of autonomy (moral necessitation) is +obligation. This then cannot be applied to a holy being. The +objective necessity of actions from obligation is called DUTY. + +From what has just been said, it is easy to see how it happens that +although the conception of duty implies subjection to the law, we +yet ascribe a certain DIGNITY and sublimity to the person who +fulfills all his duties. There is not, indeed, any sublimity in him, +so far as he is subject to the moral law; but inasmuch as in regard +to that very law he is like-wise a legislator, and on that account +alone subject to it, he has sublimity. We have also shown above that +neither fear nor inclination, but simply respect for the law, is the +spring which can give actions a moral worth. Our own will, so far as +we suppose it to act only under the condition that its maxims are +potentially universal laws, this ideal will which is possible to us +is the proper object of respect, and the dignity of humanity +consists just in this capacity of being universally legislative, +though with the condition that it is itself subject to this same +legislation. + +The Autonomy of the Will as the Supreme Principle of Morality + +Autonomy of the will is that property of it by which it is a law to +itself (independently on any property of the objects of volition). +The principle of autonomy then is: Always so to choose that the same +volition shall comprehend the maxims of our choice as a universal +law. We cannot prove that this practical rule is an imperative, +i.e., that the will of every rational being is necessarily bound to +it as a condition, by a mere analysis of the conceptions which occur +in it, since it is a synthetical proposition; we must advance beyond +the cognition of the objects to a critical examination of the +subject, that is of the pure practical reason, for this synthetic +proposition which commands apodictically must be capable of being +cognised wholly a priori. This matter, however, does not belong to +the present section. But that the principle of autonomy in question +is the sole principle of morals can be readily shown by mere +analysis of the conceptions of morality. For by this analysis we +find that its principle must be a categorical imperative, and that +what this commands is neither more nor less than this very autonomy. + +Heteronomy of the Will as the Source of all spurious Principles of +Morality + +If the will seeks the law which is to determine it anywhere else +than in the fitness of its maxims to be universal laws of its own +dictation, consequently if it goes out of itself and seeks this law +in the character of any of its objects, there always results +HETERONOMY. The will in that case does not give itself the law, but +it is given by the object through its relation to the will. This +relation whether it rests on inclination or on conceptions of reason +only admits of hypothetical imperatives: I ought to do something +BECAUSE _I_ WISH FOR SOMETHING ELSE. On the contrary, the moral, and +therefore categorical, imperative says: I ought to do so and so, +even though I should not wish for anything else. Ex. gr., the former +says: I ought not to lie if I would retain my reputation; the latter +says: I ought not to lie although it should not bring me the least +discredit. The latter therefore must so far abstract from all +objects that they shall have no INFLUENCE on the will, in order that +practical reason (will) may not be restricted to administering an +interest not belonging to it, but may simply show its own commanding +authority as the supreme legislation. Thus, ex. gr., I ought to +endeavour to promote the happiness of others, not as if its +realization involved any concern of mine (whether by immediate +inclination or by any satisfaction indirectly gained through +reason), but simply because a maxim which excludes it cannot be +comprehended as a universal law [Footnote: I read allgemeines +instead of allgemeinem.] in one and the same volition. + +Classification of all Principles of Morality which can be founded on +the Conception of Heteronomy. + +Here as elsewhere human reason in its pure use, so long as it was +not critically examined, has first tried all possible wrong ways +before it succeeded in finding the one true way. + +All principles which can be taken from this point of view are either +EMPIRICAL or RATIONAL. The FORMER, drawn from the principle of +HAPPINESS, are built on physical or moral feelings; the LATTER, +drawn from the principle of PERFECTION, are built either on the +rational conception of perfection as a possible effect, or on that +of an independent perfection (the will of God) as the determining +cause of our will. + +EMPIRICAL PRINCIPLES are wholly incapable of serving as a foundation +for moral laws. For the universality with which these should hold +for all rational beings without distinction, the unconditional +practical necessity which is thereby imposed on them, is lost when +their foundation is taken from the PARTICULAR CONSTITUTION OF HUMAN +NATURE, or the accidental circumstances in which it is placed. The +principle of PRIVATE HAPPINESS, however, is the most objectionable, +not merely because it is false, and experience contradicts the +supposition that prosperity is always proportioned to good conduct, +nor yet merely because it contributes nothing to the establishment +of morality--since it is quite a different thing to make a +prosperous man and a good man, or to make one prudent and sharp- +sighted for his own interests, and to make him virtuous--but because +the springs it provides for morality are such as rather undermine it +and destroy its sublimity, since they put the motives to virtue and +to vice in the same class, and only teach us to make a better +calculation, the specific difference between virtue and vice being +entirely extinguished. On the other hand, as to moral feeling, this +supposed special sense [Footnote: I class the principle of moral +feeling under that of happiness, because every empirical interest +promises to contribute to our well-being by the agreeableness that a +thing affords, whether it be immediately and without a view to +profit, or whether profit be regarded. We must likewise, with +Hutcheson, class the principle of sympathy with the happiness of +others under his assumed moral sense.] the appeal to it is indeed +superficial when those who cannot THINK believe that FEELING will +help them out, even in what concerns general laws: and besides, +feelings which naturally differ infinitely in degree cannot furnish +a uniform standard of good and evil, nor has anyone a right to form +judgments for others by his own feelings: nevertheless this moral +feeling is nearer to morality and its dignity in this respect, that +it pays virtue the honour of ascribing to her IMMEDIATELY the +satisfaction and esteem we have for her, and does not, as it were, +tell her to her face that we are not attached to her by her beauty +but by profit. + +Amongst the RATIONAL principles of morality, the ontological +conception of PERFECTION, notwithstanding its defects, is better +than the theological conception which derives morality from a Divine +absolutely perfect will. The former is, no doubt, empty and +indefinite, and consequently useless for finding in the boundless +field of possible reality the greatest amount suitable for us; +moreover, in attempting to distinguish specifically the reality of +which we are now speaking from every other, it inevitably tends to +turn in a circle, and cannot avoid tacitly presupposing the morality +which it is to explain; it is nevertheless preferable to the +theological view, first, because we have no intuition of the Divine +perfection, and can only deduce it from our own conceptions, the +most important of which is that of morality, and our explanation +would thus be involved in a gross circle; and, in the next place, if +we avoid this, the only notion of the Divine will remaining to us is +a conception made up of the attributes of desire of glory and +dominion, combined with the awful conceptions of might and +vengeance, and any system of morals erected on this foundation would +be directly opposed to morality. + +However, if I had to choose between the notion of the moral sense +and that of perfection in general (two systems which at least do not +weaken morality, although they are totally incapable of serving as +its foundation), then I should decide for the latter, because it at +least withdraws the decision of the question from the sensibility +and brings it to the court of pure reason; and although even here it +decides nothing, it at all events preserves the indefinite idea (of +a will good in itself) free from corruption, until it shall be more +precisely defined. + +For the rest I think I may be excused here from a detailed +refutation of all these doctrines; that would only be superfluous +labour, since it is so easy, and is probably so well seen even by +those whose office requires them to decide for one of these theories +(because their hearers would not tolerate suspension of judgment). +But what interests us more here is to know that the prime foundation +of morality laid down by all these principles is nothing but +heteronomy of the will, and for this reason they must necessarily +miss their aim. + +In every case where an object of the will has to be supposed in +order that the rule may be prescribed which is to determine the +will, there the rule is simply heteronomy; the imperative is +conditional, namely, IF or BECAUSE one wishes for this object, one +should act so and so: hence it can never command morally, that is +categorically. Whether the object determines the will by means of +inclination, as in the principle of private happiness, or by means +of reason directed to objects of our possible volition generally, as +in the principle of perfection, in either case the will never +determines itself IMMEDIATELY by the conception of the action, but +only by the influence which the foreseen effect of the action has on +the will; _I_ OUGHT TO DO SOMETHING, ON THIS ACCOUNT, BECAUSE _I_ +WISH FOR SOMETHING ELSE; and here there must be yet another law +assumed in me as its subject, by which I necessarily will this other +thing, and this law again requires an imperative to restrict this +maxim. For the influence which the conception of an object within +the reach of our faculties can exercise on the will of the subject +in consequence of its natural properties, depends on the nature of +the subject, either the sensibility (inclination and taste), or the +understanding and reason, the employment of which is by the peculiar +constitution of their nature attended with satisfaction. It follows +that the law would be, properly speaking, given by nature, and as +such, it must be known and proved by experience, and would +consequently be contingent, and therefore incapable of being an +apodictic practical rule, such as the moral rule must be. Not only +so, but it is INEVITABLY ONLY HETERONOMY; the will does not give +itself the law, but it is given by a foreign impulse by means of a +particular natural constitution of the subject adapted to receive +it. An absolutely good will, then, the principle of which must be a +categorical imperative, will be indeterminate as regards all +objects, and will contain merely the FORM OF VOLITION generally, and +that as autonomy, that is to say, the capability of the maxims of +every good will to make themselves a universal law, is itself the +only law which the will of every rational being imposes on itself, +without needing to assume any spring or interest as a foundation. + +HOW SUCH A SYNTHETICAL PRACTICAL a priori PROPOSITION IS POSSIBLE +and why it is necessary, is a problem whose solution does not lie +within the bounds of the metaphysic of morals; and we have not here +affirmed its truth, much less professed to have a proof of it in our +power. We simply showed by the development of the universally +received notion of morality that an autonomy of the will is +inevitably connected with it, or rather is its foundation. Whoever +then holds morality to be anything real, and not a chimerical idea +without any truth, must likewise admit the principle of it that is +here assigned. This section then, like the first, was merely +analytical. Now to prove that morality is no creation of the brain, +which it cannot be if the categorical imperative and with it the +autonomy of the will is true, and as an a priori principle +absolutely necessary, this supposes the POSSIBILITY OF A SYNTHETIC +USE OF PURE PRACTICAL REASON, which however we cannot venture on +without first giving a critical examination of this faculty of +reason. In the concluding section we shall give the principle +outlines of this critical examination as far as is sufficient for +our purpose. + + + + +THIRD SECTION + +TRANSITION FROM THE METAPHYSIC OF MORALS TO THE CRITIQUE OF PURE +PRACTICAL REASOH + + +The Concept of Freedom is the Key that explains the Autonomy of the +Will + +The WILL is a kind of causality belonging to living beings in so far +as they are rational, and FREEDOM would be this property of such +causality that it can be efficient, independently on foreign causes +DETERMINING it; just as PHYSICAL NECESSITY is the property that the +causality of all irrational beings has of being determined to +activity by the influence of foreign causes. + +The preceding definition of freedom is NEGATIVE, and therefore +unfruitful for the discovery of its essence; but it leads to a +POSITIVE conception which is so much the more full and fruitful +Since the conception of causality involves that of laws, according +to which, by something that we call cause, something else, namely, +the effect, must be produced [laid down]; [Footnote: (Gesetzt.-There +is in the original a play on the etymology of Gesetz, which does not +admit of reproduction in English. It must be confessed that without +it the statement is not self-evident.)] hence, although freedom is +not a property of the will depending on physical laws, yet it is not +for that reason lawless; on the contrary it must be a causality +acting according to immutable laws, but of a peculiar kind; +otherwise a free will would be an absurdity. Physical necessity is a +heteronomy of the efficient causes, for every effect is possible +only according to this law, that something else determines the +efficient cause to exert its causality. What else then can freedom +of the will be but autonomy, that is the property of the will to be +a law to itself? But the proposition: The will is in every action a +law to itself, only expresses the principle, to act on no other +maxim than that which can also have as an object itself as a +universal law. Now this is precisely the formula of the categorical +imperative and is the principle of morality, so that a free will and +a will subject to moral laws are one and the same. + +On the hypothesis then of freedom of the will, morality together +with its principle follows from it by mere analysis of the +conception. However the latter is still a synthetic proposition; +viz., an absolutely good will is that whose maxim can always include +itself regarded as a universal law; for this property of its maxim +can never be discovered by analysing the conception of an absolutely +good will. Now such synthetic propositions are only possible in this +way: that the two cognitions are connected together by their union +with a third in which they are both to be found. The POSITIVE +concept of freedom furnishes this third cognition, which cannot, as +with physical causes, be the nature of the sensible world (in the +concept of which we find conjoined the concept of something in +relation as cause to SOMETHING ELSE as effect). We cannot now at +once show what this third is to which freedom points us, and of +which we have an idea a priori, nor can we make intelligible how the +concept of freedom is shown to be legitimate from principles of pure +practical reason, and with it the possibility of a categorical +imperative; but some further preparation is required. + +Freedom must be presupposed as a Property of the Will of all +Rational Beings + +It is not enough to predicate freedom of our own will, from whatever +reason, if we have not sufficient grounds for predicating the same +of all rational beings. For as morality serves as a law for us only +because we are RATIONAL BEINGS, it must also hold for all rational +beings; and as it must be deduced simply from the property of +freedom, it must be shown that freedom also is a property of all +rational beings. It is not enough then to prove it from certain +supposed experiences of human nature (which indeed is quite +impossible, and it can only be shown a priori), but we must show +that it belongs to the activity of all rational beings endowed with +a will. Now I say every being that cannot act except UNDER THE IDEA +OF FREEDOM is just for that reason in a practical point of view +really free, that is to say, all laws which are inseparably +connected with freedom have the same force for him as if his will +had been shown to be free in itself by a proof theoretically +conclusive. [Footnote: I adopt this method of assuming freedom +merely AS AN IDEA which rational beings suppose in their actions, in +order to avoid the necessity of proving it in its theoretical aspect +also. The former is sufficient for my purpose; for even though the +speculative proof should not be made out, yet a being that cannot +act except with the idea of freedom is bound by the same laws that +would oblige a being who was actually free. Thus we can escape here +from the onus which presses on the theory. (Compare Butler's +treatment of the question of liberty in his "Analogy," part I., ch. +vi.)] Now I affirm that we must attribute to every rational being +which has a will that it has also the idea of freedom and acts +entirely under this idea. For in such a being we conceive a reason +that is practical, that is, has causality in reference to its +objects. Now we cannot possibly conceive a reason consciously +receiving a bias from any other quarter with respect to its +judgments, for then the subject would ascribe the determination of +its judgment not to its own reason, but to an impulse. It must +regard itself as the author of its principles independent on foreign +influences. Consequently as practical reason or as the will of a +rational being it must regard itself as free, that is to say, the +will of such a being cannot be a will of its own except under the +idea of freedom. This idea must therefore in a practical point of +view be ascribed to every rational being. + +Of the Interest attaching to the Ideas of Morality + +We have finally reduced the definite conception of morality to the +idea of freedom. This latter, however, we could not prove to be +actually a property of ourselves or of human nature; only we saw +that it must be presupposed if we would conceive a being as rational +and conscious of its causality in respect of its actions, i. e., as +endowed with a will; and so we find that on just the same grounds we +must ascribe to every being endowed with reason and will this +attribute of determining itself to action under the idea of its +freedom. + +Now it resulted also from the presupposition of this idea that we +became aware of a law that the subjective principles of action, +i.e., maxims, must always be so assumed that they can also hold as +objective, that is, universal principles, and so serve as universal +laws of our own dictation. But why then should I subject myself to +this principle and that simply as a rational being, thus also +subjecting to it all other beings endowed with reason? I will allow +that no interest urges me to this, for that would not give a +categorical imperative, but I must take an interest in it and +discern how this comes to pass; for this "I ought" is properly an "I +would," valid for every rational being, provided only that reason +determined his actions without any hindrance. But for beings that +are in addition affected as we are by springs of a different kind, +namely, sensibility, and in whose case that is not always done which +reason alone would do, for these that necessity is expressed only as +an "ought," and the subjective necessity is different from the +objective. + +It seems then as if the moral law, that is, the principle of +autonomy of the will, were properly speaking only presupposed in the +idea of freedom, and as if we could not prove its reality and +objective necessity independently. In that case we should still have +gained something considerable by at least determining the true +principle more exactly than had previously been done; but as regards +its validity and the practical necessity of subjecting oneself to +it, we should not have advanced a step. For if we were asked why the +universal validity of our maxim as a law must be the condition +restricting our actions, and on what we ground the worth which we +assign to this manner of acting--a worth so great that there cannot +be any higher interest; and if we were asked further how it happens +that it is by this alone a man believes he feels his own personal +worth, in comparison with which that of an agreeable or disagreeable +condition is to be regarded as nothing, to these questions we could +give no satisfactory answer. + +We find indeed sometimes that we can take an interest [Footnote: +"Interest" means a spring of the will, in so far as this spring is +presented by Reason. See note, p. 391.] in a personal quality which +does not involve any interest of external condition, provided this +quality makes us capable of participating in the condition in case +reason were to effect the allotment; that is to say, the mere being +worthy of happiness can interest of itself even without the motive +of participating in this happiness. This judgment, however, is in +fact only the effect of the importance of the moral law which we +before presupposed (when by the idea of freedom we detach ourselves +from every empirical interest); but that we ought to detach +ourselves from these interests, i. e., to consider ourselves as free +in action and yet as subject to certain laws, so as to find a worth +simply in our own person whiph can compensate us for the loss of +everything that give worth to our condition; this we are not yet +able to discern in this way, nor do we see how it is possible so to +act--in other words, whence the moral law derives its obligation. + +It must be freely admitted that there is a sort of circle here from +which it seems impossible to escape. In the order of efficient +causes we assume ourselves free, in order that in the order of ends +we may conceive ourselves as subject to moral laws: and we +afterwards conceive ourselves as subject to these laws, bjecause we +have attributed to ourselves freedom of will: for freedom and self- +legislation of will are both autonomy, and therefore are reciprocal +conceptions, and for this very reason one must not be used to +explain the other or give the reason of it, but at most only for +logical purposes to reduce apparently different notions of the same +object to one single concept (as we reduce different fractions of +the same value to the lowest terms). + +One resource retrains to us, namely, to inquire whether we do not +occupy different points of view when by means of freedom we think +ourselves as causes efficient a priori, and when we form our +conception of ourselves from our actions as effects which we see +before our eyes. + +It is a remark which needs no subtle reflection to make, but which +we may assume that even the commonest understanding can make, +although it be after its fashion by an obscure discernment of +judgment which it calls feeling, that all the "ideas" [Footnote: The +common understanding being here spoken of, I use the word "idea" in +its popular sense.] that comes to us involuntarily (as those of the +senses) do not enable us to know objects otherwise than as they +affect us; so that what they may be in themselves remains unknown to +us, and consequently that as regards "ideas" of this kind even with +the closest attention and clearness that the understanding can apply +to them, we can by them only attain to the knowledge of appearances, +never to that of things in themselves. As soon as this distinction +has once been made (perhaps merely in consequence of the difference +observed between the ideas given us from without, and in which we +are passive, and those that we produce simply from ourselves, and in +which we show our own activity), then it follows of itself that we +must admit and assume behind the appearance something else that is +not an appearance, namely, the things in themselves; although we +must admit that as they can never be known to us except as they +affect us, we can come no nearer to them, nor can we ever know what +they are in themselves. This must furnish a distinction, however +crude, between a world of sense and the world of understanding, of +which the former may be different according to the difference of the +sensuous impressions in--various observers, while the second which +is its basis always remains the same. Even as to himself, a man +cannot pretend to know what he is in himself from the knowledge he +has by internal sensation. For as he does not as it were create +himself, and does not come by the conception of himself a priori but +empirically, it naturally follows that he can obtain his knowledge +even of himself only by the inner sense, and consequently only +through the appearances of his nature and the way in which his +consciousness is affected. At the same time beyond these +characteristics of his own subject, made up of mere appearances, he +must necessarily suppose something else as their basis, namely, his +ego, whatever its characteristics in itself may be. Thus in respect +to mere perception and receptivity of sensations he must reckon +himself as belonging to the world of sense, but in respect of +whatever there may be of pure activity in him (that which reaches +consciousness immediately and not through affecting the senses) he +must reckon himself as belonging to the intellectual world, of +which, however, he has no further knowledge. To such a conclusion +the reflecting man must come with respect ito all the things which +can be presented to him: it is probably to be met with even in +persons of the commonest understanding, who, as is well known, are +very much inclined to suppose behind the objects of the senses +something else invisible and acting of itself. They spoil it, +however, by presently sensualizing this invisible again; that is to +say, wanting to make it an object of intuition, so that they do not +become a whit the wiser. + +Now man really finds in himself a faculty by which he distinguishes +himself from everything else, even from himself as affected by +objects, and that is Reason. This being pure spontaneity is even +elevated above the understanding. For although the latter is a +spontaneity and does not, like sense, merely contain intuitions that +arise when we are affected by things (and are therefore passive), +yet it cannot produce from its activity any other conceptions than +those which merely serve to bring the intuitions of sense under +rulesf and thereby to unite them in one consciousness, and without +this use of the sensibility it could not think at all; whereas, on +the contrary, Reason shows so pure a spontaneity in the case of what +I call Ideas [Ideal Conceptions] that it thereby far transcends +everything that the sensibility can give it, and exhibits its most +important function in distinguishing the world of sense from that of +understanding, and thereby prescribing the limits of the +understanding itself. + +For this reason a rational being must regard himself qua +intelligence (not from the side of his lower faculties) as belonging +not to the world of sense, but to that of understanding; hence he +has two points of view from which he can regard himself, and +recognise laws of the exercise of his faculties, and consequently of +all his actions: first, so far as he belongs to the world of sense, +he finds himself subject to laws of nature (heteronomy); secondly, +as belonging to the intelligible world, under laws which being +independent on nature have their foundation not in experience but in +reason alone. + +As a rational being, and consequently belonging to the intelligible +world, man can never conceive the causality of his own will +otherwise than on condition of the idea of freedom. for independence +on the determining causes of the sensible world (an independence +which Reason must always ascribe to itself) is freedom. Now the idea +of freedom is inseparably connected with the conception of autonomy, +and this again with the universal principle of morality which is +ideally the foundation of all actions of rational beings, just as +the law of nature is of all phenomena. + +Now the suspicion is removed which we raised above, that there was a +latent circle involved in our reasoning from freedom to autonomy, +and from this to the moral law, viz.: that we laid down the idea of +freedom because of the moral law only that we might afterwards in +turn infer the latter from freedom and that consequently we could +assign no reason at all for this law, but could only [present] +[Footnote: The verb is wanting in the original.] it as a petitio +principii which well disposed minds would gladly concede to us, but +which we could never put forward as a provable proposition. For now +we see that when we conceive ourselves as free we transfer ourselves +into the--world of understanding as members of it, and recognise the +autonomy of the will with its consequence, morality; whereas, if we +conceive ourselves as under obligation we consider ourselves as +belonging to the world of sense, and at the same time to the world +of understanding. + +How is a Categorical Imperative Possible? + +Every rational being reckons himself qua intelligence as belonging +to the world of understanding, and it is simply as an efficient +cause belonging to that world that he calls his causality a will. On +the other side he is also conscious of himself as a part of the +world of sense in which his actions which are mere appearances +[phenomena] of that causality are displayed; we cannot, however, +discern how they are possible from this causality which we do not +know; but instead of that, these actions as belonging to the +sensible world must be viewed as determined by other phenomena, +namely,--desires and inclinations. If therefore I were only a member +of the world of understanding, then all my actions would perfectly +conform to the principle of autonomy of the pure will; if I were +only a part of the world of sense they would necessarily be assumed +to conform wholly to the natural law of desires and inclinations, in +other words, to the heteronomy of nature. (The former would rest on +morality as the supreme principle, the latter on happiness.), Since, +however, the world of understanding contains the foundation of the +world of sense, and consequently of its laws alsof and accordingly +gives the law to my will (which belongs wholly to the world of +understanding) directly, and must be conceived as doing so, it +follows that, although on the one side I must regard myself as a +being belonging to the world of sense, yet on the other side I must +recognise myself as subject as an intelligence to the law of the +world of understanding, i. e., to reason, which contains this law in +the idea of freedom, and therefore as subject to the autonomy of the +will: consequently I must regard the laws of the world of +understanding as imperatives for me, and the actions which conform +to them as duties. + +And thus what makes categorical imperatives possible is this, that +the idea of freedom makes me a member of an intelligible world, in +consequence of which if I were nothing else all my actions would +always conform to the autonomy of the will; but as I at the same +time intuite myself as a member of the world of sense, they ought so +to conform, and this categorical "ought" implies a synthetic a +priori proposition, inasmuch as besides my will as affected by +sensible desires there is added further the idea of the same will +but as belonging to the world of the understanding, pure and +practical of itself, which contains the supreme condition according +to Reason of the former will; precisely as to the intuitions of +sense there are added concepts of the understanding which of +themselves signify nothing but regular form in general, and in this +way synthetic a priori propositions become possible, on which all +knowledge of physical nature rests. + +The practical use of common human reason confirms this reasoning. +There is no one, not even the most consummate villain, provided only +that he is otherwise accustomed to the use of reason, who, when we +set before him examples of tionesty of purposea of steadfastness in +following good maxims, of sympathy and general benevolence (even +combined with great sacrifices of advantages and comfort), does not +wish that he might also possess these qualities. Only on account of +his inclinations and impulses he cannot attain this in himself, but +at the same time he wishes to be free from such inclinations which +are burdensome to himself. He proves by this that he transfers +himself in thought with a will free from the impulses of--the +sensibility into an order of things wholly different from that of +his desires in the field of the sensibility; since he cannot expect +to obtain by that wish any gratification of his desires, nor any +position which would satisfy any of his actual or supposable +inclinations (for this would destroy the pre-eminence of the very +idea which wrests that wish from him): he can only expect a greater +intrinsic worth of his own person. This better person, however, he +imagines himself to be when he transfers himself to the point of +view of a member of the world of the understanding, to which he is +involuntarily forced by the idea of freedom, i. e., of independence +on determining causes of the world of sense; and from this point of +view he is conscious of a good will, which by his own confession +constitutes the law for the bad will that he possesses as a member +of the world of sense-a law whose authority he recognises while +transgressing it. What he morally "ought" is then what he +necessarily "would" as a member of the world of the understanding, +and is conceived by him as an "ought" only inasmuch as he likewise +considers himself as a member of the world of sense. + +On the Extreme Limits of all Practical Philosophy + +All men attribute to themselves freedom of will. Hence come all +judgments upon actions as being such as ought to have been done, +although they have not been done. However, this freedom is not a +conception of experience, nor can it be so, since it still remains, +even though experience shows the contrary of what on supposition of +freedom are conceived as its necessary consequences. On the other +side it is equally necessary that everything that takes place should +be fixedly determined according to laws of nature. This necessity of +nature is likewise tot an empirical conception, just for this +reason, that it involves the motion of necessity and consequently of +a priori cognition. But this conception of a system of nature is +confirmed by experience, and it must even be inevitably presupposed +if experience itself is to be possible, that is, a connected +knowledge of the objects of sense resting on general laws. Therefore +freedom is only an Idea [Ideal Conception] of Reason, and its +objective reality in itself is doubtful, while nature is a concept +of the understanding which proves, and must necessarily prove, its +reality in examples of experience. + +There arises from this a dialectic of Reason, since the freedom +attributed to the will appears to contradict the necessity of +nature, and placed between these two ways Reason for speculative +purposes finds the road of physical necessity much more beaten and +more appropriate than that of freedom; yet for practical purposes +the narrow footpath of freedom is the only one on which it is +possible to make use of reason in our conduct; hence it is just as +impossible for the subtlest philosophy as for the commonest reason +of men to argue away freedom. Philosophy must then assume that no +real contradiction will be found between freedom and physical +necessity of the same human actions, for it cannot give up the +conception of nature any more than that of freedom. + +Nevertheless, even though we should never be able to comprehend how +freedom is possible, we must at least remove this apparent +contradiction in a convincing manner. For if the thought of freedom +contradicts either itself or nature, which is equally necessary, it +must in competition with physical necessity be entirely given up. + +It would, however, be impossible to escape this contradiction if the +thinking subject, which seems to itself free, conceived itself in +the same sense or in the very same relation when it calls itself +free as when in respect of the same action it assumes itself to be +subject to the law of nature. Hence it is an indispensable problem +of speculative philosophy to show that its illusion respecting the +contradiction rests on this, that we think of man in a different +sense and relation when we call him free, and when we regard him as +subject to the laws of nature as being part and parcel of nature. It +must, therefore, show that not only can both these very well co- +exist, but that both must be thought as necessarily united in the +same subject, since otherwise no reason could be given why we should +burden reason with an idea which, though it may possibly without +contradiction be reconciled with another that is sufficiently +established, yet entangles us in a perplexity which sorely +embarrasses Reason in its theoretic employment. This duty, however, +belongs only to speculative philosophy, in order that it may clear +the way for practical philosophy. The philosopher then has no option +whether he will remove the apparent contradiction or leave it +untouched; for in fhe latter case the theory respecting this would +be bonum vacans into the possession of which the fatalist would have +a right to enter, and chase all morality out of its supposed domain +as occupying it without title. + +We cannot, however, as yet say that we are touching the bounds of +practical philosophy. For the settlement of that controversy does +not belong to it; it only demands from speculative reason $hat it +should put an end to the discord in which it entangles itself in +theoretical questions, so that practical reason may have rest and +security from external attacks which might make the ground debatable +on which it desires to build. + +The claims to freedom of will made even by common reason are founded +on the consciousness and the admitted supposition that reason is +independent on merely subjectively determined causes which together +Constitute what belongs to sensation only, and which consequently +come under the general designation of sensibility. Man considering +himself in this way as an intelligence, places himself thereby in a +different order of things and in a relation to determining grounds +of a wholly different kind when on the one hand he thinks of himself +as an intelligence endowed with a will, and consequently with +causality, and when on the other he perceives himself as a +phenomenon in the world of sense (as he really is also), and affirms +that his causality is subject to external determination according to +laws of nature. [Footnote: The punctuation of the original gives the +following sense: "Submits his causality, as regards its external +determination, to laws of nature." have ventured to make what +appears to be a necessary correction, by simply removing a comma.] +Now he soon becomes aware that both can hold good, nay, must hold +good at the same time. For there is not the smallest contradiction +in saying that a thing in appearance (belonging to the world of +sense) is subject to certain laws, on which the very same as a thing +or being in itself is independent; and that he must conceive and +think of himself in this twofold way, rests as to the first on the +consciousness of himself as an object affected through the senses, +and as to the second on the consciousness of himself as an +intelligence, i. e., as independent on sensible impressions in the +employment of his reason (in other words as belonging to the world +of understanding). + +Hence it comes to pass that man claims the possession of a will +which takes no account of anything that comes under the head of +desires and inclinations, and on the contrary conceives actions as +possible to him, nay, even as necessary, which can only be done by +disregarding all desires and sensible inclinations. The causality of +such actions [Footnote: M. Barni translates as if he read desselben +instead of derselben, "the causality of this will." So also Mr. +Semple.] lies in him as an intelligence and in the laws of effects +and actions [which depend] on the principles of an intelligible +world, of which indeed he knows nothing more than that in it pure +reason alone independent on sensibility gives the law; moreover +since it is only in that world, as an intelligence, that he is his +proper self (being as man only the appearance of himself) those laws +apply to him directly and categorically, so that the incitements of +inclinations and appetites (in other words the whole nature of the +world of sense) cannot impair the laws of his volition as an +intelligence. Nay, he does not even hold himself responsible for the +former or ascribe them to his proper self, i. e., his will: he only +ascribes to his will any indulgence which he might yield them if he +allowed them to influence his maxims to the prejudice of the +rational laws of the will. + +When practical Reason thinks itself into a world of understanding it +does not thereby transcend its own limits, as it would if it tried +to enter it by intuition or sensation. The former is only a negative +thought in respect of the world of sense, which does not give any +laws to reason in determining the will, and is positive only in this +single point that this freedom as a negative characteristic is at +the same time conjoined with a (positive) faculty and even with a +causality of reason, which we designate a will, namely, a faculty of +so acting that the principle of the actions shall conform to the +essential character of a rational motive, i. e., the condition that +the maxim have universal validity as a law. But were it to borrow an +object of will, that is, a motive, from the world of understanding, +then it would overstep its bounds and pretend to be acquainted with +something of which it knows nothing. The conception of a world of +the understanding is then only a point of view which Reason finds +itself compelled to take outside the appearances in order to +conceive itself as practical, which would not be possible if the +influences of the sensibility had a determining power on man, but +which is necessary unless he is to be denied the consciousness of +himself as an intelligence, and consequently as a rational cause, +energizing by reason, that is, operating freely. This thought +certainly involves the idea of an order and a system of laws +different from that of the mechanism of nature which belongs to the +sensible world, and it makes the conception of an intelligible world +necessary (that is to say, the whole system of rational beings as +things in themselves). But it does not in the least authorize us to +think of it further than as to its formal condition only, that is, +the universality of the maxims of the will as laws, and consequently +the autonomy of the latter, which alone is consistent with its +freedom; whereas, on the contrary, all laws that refer to a definite +object give heteronomy, which only belongs to laws of nature, and +can only apply to the sensible world. + +But Reason would overstep all its bounds if it undertook to explain +how pure reason can be practical, which would be exactly the same +problem as to explain how freedom is possible. + +For we can explain nothing but that which we can reduce to laws, the +object of which can be given in some possible experience. But +freedom is a mere Idea [Ideal Conception], the objective reality of +which can in no wise be shown according to laws of nature, and +consequently not in any possible experience; and for this reason it +can never be comprehended or understood, because we cannot support +it by any sort of example or analogy. It holds good only as a +necessary hypothesis of reason in a being that believes itself +conscious of a will, that is, of a faculty distinct from mere desire +(namely, a faculty of determining itself to action as an +intelligence), in other words, by laws of reason independently on +natural instincts. Now where determination according to laws of +nature ceases, there all explanation ceases also, and nothing +remains but defence, i. e. the removal of the objections of those +who pretend to have seen deeper into the nature of things, and +thereupon boldly declare freedom impossible. We can only point out +to them that the supposed contradiction that they have discovered in +it arises only from this, that in order to be able to apply the law +of nature to human actions, they must necessarily consider man as an +appearance: then when we demand of them that they should also think +of him qua intelligence as a thing in itself, they still persist in +considering him in this respect also as an appearance. In this view +it would no doubt be a contradiction to suppose the causality of the +same subject (that is, his will) to be withdrawn from all the +natural laws of the sensible world. But this contradiction +disappears, if they would only bethink themselves and admit, as is +reasonable, that behind the appearances there must also lie at their +root (although hidden) the things in themselves, and that we cannot +expect the laws of these to be the same as those that govern their +appearances. + +The subjective impossibility of explaining the freedom of the will +is identical with the impossibility of discovering and explaining an +interest [Footnote: Interest is that by which reason becomes +practical, i. e., a cause determining the will. Hence we say of +rational beings only that they take an interest in a thing; +irrational beings only feel sensual appetites. Reason takes a direct +interest in action then only when the universal validity of its +maxims is alone sufficient to determine the will. Such an interest +alone is pure. But if it can determine the will only by means of +another object of desire or on the suggestion of a particular +feeling of the subject, then Reason takes only an indirect interest +in the action, and as Reason by itself without experience cannot +discover either objects of the will or a Special feeling actuating +it, this latter interest would only be empirical, and not a pure +rational interest. The logical interest of Reason (namely, to extend +its insight) is never direct, but presupposes purposes for which +reason is employed.] which man can take in the moral law. +Nevertheless he does actually take an interest in it, the basis of +which in us we call the moral feeling, which some have falsely +assigned as the standard of our moral judgment, whereas it must +rather be viewed as the subjective effect that the law exercises on +the will, the objective principle of which is furnished by Reason +alone. + +In order indeed that a rational being who is also affected through +the senses should will what Reason alone directs such beings that +they ought to will, it is no doubt requisite that reason should have +a power to infuse a feeling of pleasure or satisfaction in the +fulfilment of duty, that is to say, that it should have a causality +by which it determines the sensibility according to its own +principles. But it is quite impossible to discern, i. e., to make it +intelligible a priori, how a mere thought, which itself contains +nothing sensible, can itself produce a sensation of pleasure or +pain; for this is a particular kind of causality of which as of +every other causality we can determine nothing whatever a priori, we +must only consult experience about it. But as this cannot supply us +with any relation of cause and effect except between two objects of +experience, whereas in this case, although indeed the effect +produced lies within experience, yet the cause is supposed to be +pure reason acting through mere ideas which offer no object to +experience, it follows that for us men it is quite impossible to +explain how and why the universality of the maxim as a law, that is, +morality, interests. This only is certain, that it is not because it +interests us that it has validity for us (for that would be +heteronomy and dependence of practical reason on sensibility, +namely, on a feeling as its principle, in which case it could never +give moral laws), but that it interests us because it is valid for +us as men, inasmuch as it had its source in our will as +intelligences, in other words in our proper self, and what belongs +to mere appearance is necessarily subordinated by reason to the +nature of the thing in itself. + +The question then: How a categorical imperative is possible can be +answered to this extent that we can assign the only hypothesis on +which it is possible, namely, the idea of freedom; and we can also +discern the necessity of this hypothesis, and this is sufficient for +the practical exercise of reason, that is, for the conviction of the +validity of this imperative, and hence of the moral law; but how +this hypothesis itself is possible can never be discerned by any +human reason. On the hypothesis, however, that the will of an +intelligence is free, its autonomy, as the essential formal +condition of its determination, is a necessary consequence. +Moreover, this freedom of will is not merely quite possible as a +hypothesis (not involving any contradiction to the principle of +physical necessity in the connexion of the phenomena of the sensible +world) as speculative philosophy can show: but further, a rational +being who is conscious of a causality [Footnote: Reading "einer" for +"seiner."] through reason, that is to say, of a will (distinct from +desires), must of necessity make it practically, that is, in idea, +the condition of all his voluntary actions. But to explain how pure +reason can be of itself practical without the aid of any spring of +action that could be derived from any other source, i. e. how the +mere principle of the universal validity of all its maxims as laws +(which would certainly be the form of a pure practical reason) can +of itself supply a spring, without any matter (object) of the will +in which one could antecedently take any interest; and how it can +produce an interest which would be called purely moral; or in other +words, how pure reason can be practical--to explain this is beyond +the power of human reason, and all the labour and pains of seeking +an explanation of it are lost. + +It is just the same as if I sought to find out how freedom itself is +possible as the causality of a will. For then I quit the ground of +philosophical explanation, and I have no other to go upon. I might +indeed revel in the world of intelligences which still remains to +me, but although I have an idea of it which is well founded, yet I +have not the least knowledge of it, nor can I ever attain to such +knowledge with all the efforts of my natural faculty of reason. It +signifies only a something that remains over when I have eliminated +everything belonging to the world of sense from the actuating +principles of my will, serving merely to keep in bounds the +principle of motives taken from the field of sensibility; fixing its +limits and showing that it does not contain all in all within +itself, but that there is more beyond it; but this something more I +know no further. Of pure reason which frames this ideal, there +remains after the abstraction of all matter, i. e., knowledge of +objects, nothing but the form, namely, the practical law of the +universality of the maxims, and in conformity with this the +conception of reason in reference to a pure world of understanding +as a possible efficient cause, that is a cause determining the will. +There must here be a total absence of springs; unless this idea of +an intelligible world is itself the spring, or that in which reason +primarily takes an interest; but to make this intelligible is +precisely the problem that we cannot solve. + +Here now is the extreme limit of all moral inquiry, and it is of +great importance to determine it even on this account, in order that +reason may not on the one hand, to the prejudice of morals, seek +about in the world of sense for the supreme motive and an interest +comprehensible but empirical; and on the other hand, that it may not +impotently flap its wings without being able to move in the (for it) +empty space of transcendent concepts which we call the intelligible +world, and so lose itself amidst chimeras. For the rest, the idea of +a pure world of understanding as a system of all intelligences, and +to which we ourselves as tational beings belong (although we are +likewise on the other side members of the sensible world), this +remains always a useful and legitimate idea for the purposes of +rational belief, although all knowledge stops at its threshold, +useful, namely, to produce in us a lively interest in the moral law +by means of the noble ideal of a universal kingdom of ends in +themselves (rational beings), to which we can belong as members then +only when we carefully conduct ourselves according to the maxims of +freedom as if they were laws of nature. + +Concluding Remark + +The speculative employment of reason with respect to nature leads to +the absolute necessity of some supreme cause of the world: the +practical employment of reason with a view to freedom leads also to +absolute necessity, but only of the laws of the actions of a +rational being as such. Now it is an essential principle of reason, +however employed, to push its knowledge to a consciousness of its +necessity (without which it would not be rational knowledge). It is +however an equally essential restriction of the same reason that it +can neither discern the necessity of what is or what happens, nor of +what ought to happen, unless a condition is supposed on which it is +or happens or ought to happen. In this way, however, by the constant +inquiry for the condition, the satisfaction of reason is only +further and further postponed. Hence it unceasingly seeks the +unconditionally necessary, and finds itself forced to assume it, +although without any means of making it comprehensible to itself, +happy enough if only it can discover a conception which agrees with +this assumption. It is therefore no fault in our deduction of the +supreme principle of morality, but an objection that should be made +to human reason in general, that it cannot enable us to conceive the +absolute necessity of an unconditional practical law (such as the +categorical imperative must be). It cannot be blamed for refusing to +explain this necessity by a condition, that is to say, by means of +some interest assumed as a basis, since the law would then cease to +be a moral law, i. e. a supreme law of freedom. And thus while we do +not comprehend the practical unconditional necessity of the moral +imperative, we yet comprehend its incomprehensibility, and this is +all that can be fairly demanded of a philosophy which strives to +carry its principles up to the very limit of human reason. + + + + +BYRON AND GOETHE + +BY GIUSEPPE MAZZINI + + +INTRODUCTORY NOTE + +Giuseppe Mazzini, the great political idealist of the Italian +struggle for independence, was born at Genoa, June 22, 1805. His +faith in democracy and his enthusiasm for a free Italy he inherited +from his parents; and while still a student in the University of +Genoa he gathered round him a circle of youths who shared his +dreams. At the age of twenty-two he joined the secret society of the +Carbonari, and was sent on a mission to Tuscany, where he was +entrapped and arrested. On his release, he set about the formation, +among the Italian exiles in Marseilles, of the Society of Young +Italy, which had for its aim the establishment of a free and united +Italian republic. His activities led to a decree for his banishment +from France, but he succeeded in outwitting the spies of the +Government and going on with his work. The conspiracy for a national +rising planned by Young Italy was discovered, many of the leaders +were executed, and Mazsini himself condemned to death. + +Almost at once, however, he resumed operations, working this time +from Geneva; but another abortive expedition led to his expulsion +from Switzerland. He found refuge, but at first hardly a livelihood, +in London, where he continued his propaganda by means of his pen. He +went back to Italy when the revolution of 1848 broke out, and fought +fiercely but in vain against the French, when they besieged Rome and +ended the Roman Republic in 1849. + +Defeated and broken, he returned to England, where he remained till +called to Italy by the insurrection of 1857. He worked with +Garibaldi for some time; but the kingdom established under Victor +Emmanuel by Cavour and Garibaldi was far from the ideal Italy for +which Mazsini had striven. The last years of his life were spent +mainly in London, but at the end he returned to Italy, where he died +on March 10,1872. Hardly has any age seen a political martyr of a +purer or nobler type. + +Massini's essay on Byron and Goethe is more than literary criticism, +for it exhibits that philosophical quality which gives so remarkable +a unity to the writings of Massini, whether literary, social, or +political. + + + + +BYRON AND GOETHE + +I stood one day in a Swiss village at the foot of the Jura, and +watched the coming of the storm. Heavy black clouds, their edges +purpled by the setting sun, were rapidly covering the loveliest sky +in Europe, save that of Italy. Thunder growled in the distance, and +gusts of biting wind were driving huge drops of rain over the +thirsty plain. Looking upwards, I beheld a large Alpine falcon, now +rising, now sinking, as he floated bravely in the very midst of the +storm and I could almost fancy that he strove to battle with it. At +every fresh peal of thunder, the noble bird bounded higher aloft, as +if in answering defiance. I followed him with my eyes for a long +time, until he disappeared in the east. On the ground, about fifty +paces beneath me, stood a stork; perfectly tranquil and impassive in +the midst of the warring elements. Twice or thrice she turned her +head towards the quarter from whence the wind came, with an +indescribable air of half indifferent curiosity; but at length she +drew up one of her long sinewy legs, hid her head beneath her wing, +and calmly composed herself to sleep. + +I thought of Byron and Goethe; of the stormy sky that overhung both; +of the tempest-tossed existence, the lifelong struggle, of the one, +and the calm of the other; and of the two mighty sources of poetry +exhausted and closed by them. + +Byron and Goethe--the two names that predominate, and, come what +may, ever will predominate, over our every recollection of the fifty +years that have passed away. They rule; the master-minds, I might +almost say the tyrants, of a whole period of poetry; brilliant, yet +sad; glorious in youth and daring, yet cankered by the worm in the +bud, despair. They are the two representative poets of two great +schools; and around them we are compelled to group all the lesser +minds which contributed to render the era illustrious. The qualities +which adorn and distinguish their works are to be found, although +more thinly scattered, in other poets their contemporaries; still +theirs are the names that involuntarily rise to our lips whenever we +seek to characterize the tendencies of the age in which they lived. +Their genius pursued different, even opposite routes; and yet very +rarely do our thoughts turn to either without evoking the image of +the other, as a sort of necessary complement to the first. The eyes +of Europe were fixed upon the pair, as the spectators gaze on two +mighty wrestlers in the same arena; and they, like noble and +generous adversaries, admired, praised, and held out the hand to +each other. Many poets have followed in their footsteps; none have +been so popular. Others have found judges and critics who have +appreciated them calmly and impartially; not so they: for them there +have been only enthusiasts or enemies, wreaths or stones; and when +they vanished into the vast night that envelops and transforms alike +men and things--silence reigned around their tombs. Little by +little, poetry had passed away from our world, and it seemed as if +their last sigh had extinguished the sacred flame. + +A reaction has now commenced; good, in so far as it reveals a desire +for and promise of new life; evil, in so far as it betrays narrow +views, a tendency to injustice towards departed genius, and the +absence of any fixed rule or principle to guide our appreciation of +the past. Human judgment, like Luther's drunken peasant, when saved +from falling on one side, too often topples over on the other. The +reaction against Goethe, in his own country especially, which was +courageously and justly begun by Menzel during his lifetime, has +been carried to exaggeration since his death. Certain social +opinions, to which I myself belong, but which, although founded on a +sacred principle, should not be allowed to interfere with the +impartiality of our judgment, have weighed heavily in the balance; +and many young, ardent, and enthusiastic minds of our day have +reiterated with Bonne that Goethe is the worst of despots; the +cancer of the German body. + +The English reaction against Byron--I do not speak of that mixture +of cant and stupidity which denies the poet his place in Westminster +Abbey, but of literary reaction--has shown itself still more +unreasoning. I have met with adorers of Shelley who denied the +poetic genius of Byron; others who seriously compared his poems with +those of Sir Walter Scott. One very much overrated critic writes +that "Byron makes man after his own image, and woman after his own +heart; the one is a capricious tyrant, the other a yielding slave." +The first forgot the verses in which their favorite hailed + + "The pilgrim of eternity, whose fame + Over his living head like Heaven is bent;" + [Footnote: Adonais.] + +the second, that after the appearance of "The Giaour" and "Childe +Harold," Sir Walter Scott renounced writing poetry. [Footnote: +Lockhart.] The last forgot that while he was quietly writing +criticisms, Byron was dying for new-born liberty in Greece. All +judged, too many in each country still judge, the two poets, Byron +and Goethe, after an absolute type of the beautiful, the true, or +the false, which they had formed in their own minds; without regard +to the state of social relations as they were or are; without any +true conception of the destiny or mission of poetry, or of the law +by which it, and every other artistic manifestation of human life, +is governed. + +There is no absolute type on earth: the absolute exists in the +Divine Idea alone; the gradual comprehension of which man is +destined to attain; although its complete realization is impossible +on earth; earthly life being but one stage of the eternal evolution +of life, manifested in thought and action; strengthened by all the +achievements of the past, and advancing from age to age towards a +less imperfect expression of that idea. Our earthly life is one +phase of the eternal aspiration of the soul towards progress, which +is our law ascending in increasing power and purity from the finite +towards the infinite; from the real towards the Ideal; from that +which is, towards that which is to come. In the immense storehouse +of the past evolutions of life constituted by universal tradition, +and in the prophetic instinct brooding in the depths of the human +soul, does poetry seek inspiration. It changes with the times, for +it is their expression; it is transformed with society, for-- +consciously or unconsciously--it sings the lay of Humanity; +although, according to the individual bias or circumstances of the +singer, it assumes the hues of the present, or of the future in +course of elaboration, and foreseen by the inspiration of genius. It +sings now a dirge and now a cradle song; it initiates or sums up. + +Byron and Goethe summed up. Was it a defect in them? No; it was the +law of the times, and yet society at the present day, twenty years +after they have ceased to sing, assumes to condemn them for having +been born too soon. Happy indeed are the poets whom God raises up at +the commencement of an era, under the rays of the rising sun. A +series of generations will lovingly repeat their verses, and +attribute to them the new life which they did but foresee in the +germ. + +Byron and Goethe summed up. This is at once the philosophical +explanation of their works, and the secret of their popularity. The +spirit of an entire epoch of the European world became incarnate in +them ere its decease, even as--in the political sphere--the spirit +of Greece and Rome became incarnate before death in Caesar and +Alexander. They were the poetic expression of that principle, of +which England was the economic, France the political, and Germany +the philosophic expression: the last formula, effort, and result of +a society founded on the principle of individuality. That epoch, the +mission of which had been, first through the labors of Greek +philosophy, and afterwards through Christianity, to rehabilitate, +emancipate, and develop individual man--appears to have concentrated +in them, in Fichte, in Adam Smith, and in the French school des +drolls de l'homme, its whole energy and power, in order fully to +represent and express all that it had achieved for mankind. It was +much; but it was not the whole; and therefore it was doomed to pass +away. The epoch of individuality was deemed near the goal; when low +immense horizons were revealed; vast unknown lands in whose +untrodden forests the principle of individuality was an insufficient +guide. By the long and painful labors of that epoch the human +unknown quantity had been disengaged from the various quantities of +different nature by which it had been surrounded; but only to be +left weak, isolated, and recoiling in terror from the solitude in +which it stood. The political schools of the epoch had proclaimed +the sole basis of civil organization to be the right to liberty and +equality (liberty for all), but they had encountered social anarchy +by the way. The philosophy of the epoch had asserted the sovereignty +of the human Ego, and had ended in the mere adoration of fact, in +Hegelian immobility. The Economy of the epoch imagined it had +organized free competition, while it had but organized the +oppression of the weak by the strong; of labor by capital; of +poverty by wealth. The Poetry of the epoch had represented +individuality in its every phase; had translated in sentiment what +science had theoretically demonstrated; and it had encountered the +void. But as society at last discovered that the destinies of the +race were not contained in a mere problem of liberty, but rather in +the harmonization of liberty with association--so did poetry +discover that the life it had hitherto drawn from individuality +alone was doomed to perish for want of aliment; and that its future +existence depended on enlarging and transforming its sphere. Both +society and poetry uttered a cry of despair: the death-agony of a +form of society produced the agitation we have seen constantly +increasing in Europe since 1815: the death-agony of a form of poetry +evoked Byron and Goethe. I believe this point of view to be the only +one that can lead us to a useful and impartial appreciation of these +two great spirits. + +There are two forms of individuality; the expressions of its +internal and external, or--as the Germans would say--of its +subjective and objective life. Byron was the poet of the first, +Goethe of the last. In Byron the Ego is revealed in all its pride of +power, freedom, and desire, in the uncontrolled plenitude of all its +faculties; inhaling existence at every pore, eager to seize "the +life of life." The world around him neither rules nor tempers him. +The Byronian Ego aspires to rule it; but solely for dominion's sake, +to exercise upon it the Titanic force of his will. Accurately +speaking, he cannot be said to derive from it either color, tone, or +image; for it is he who colors; he who sings; he whose image is +everywhere reflected and reproduced. His poetry emanates from his +own soul; to be thence diffused upon things external; he holds his +state in the centre of the universe, and from thence projects the +light radiating from the depths of his own mind; as scorching and +intense as the concentrated solar ray. Hence that terrible unity +which only the superficial reader could mistake for monotony. + +Byron appears at the close of one epoch, and before the dawn of the +other; in the midst of a community based upon an aristocracy which +has outlived the vigor of its prime; surrounded by a Europe +containing nothing grand, unless it be Napoleon on one side and Pitt +on the other, genius degraded to minister to egotism; intellect +bound to the service of the past. No seer exists to foretell the +future: belief is extinct; there is only its pretence: prayer is no +more; there is only a movement of the lips at a fixed day or hour, +for the sake of the family, or what is called the people; love is no +more; desire has taken its place; the holy warfare of ideas is +abandoned; the conflict is that of interests. The worship of great +thoughts has passed away. That which is, raises the tattered banner +of some corpse-like traditions; that which would be, hoists only the +standard of physical wants, of material appetites: around him are +ruins, beyond him the desert; the horizon is a blank. A long cry of +suffering and indignation bursts from the heart of Byron: he is +answered by anathemas. He departs; he hurries through Europe in +search of an ideal to adore; he traverses it distracted, +palpitating, like Mazeppa on the wild horse; borne onwards by a +fierce desire; the wolves of envy and calumny follow in pursuit. He +visits Greece; he visits Italy; if anywhere a lingering spark of the +sacred fire, a ray of divine poetry, is preserved, it must be there. +Nothing. A glorious past, a degraded present; none of life's poetry; +no movement, save that of the sufferer turning on his couch to +relieve his pain. Byron, from the solitude of his exile, turns his +eyes again towards England; he sings. What does he sing? What +springs from the mysterious and unique conception which rules, one +would say in spite of himself, over all that escapes him in his +sleepless vigil? The funeral hymn, the death-song, the epitaph of +the aristocratic idea; we discovered it, we Continentalists; not his +own countrymen. He takes his types from amongst those privileged by +strength, beauty, and individual power. They are grand, poetical, +heroic, but solitary; they hold no communion with the world around +them, unless it be to rule, over it; they defy alike the good and +evil principle; they "will bend to neither." In life and in death +"they stand upon their strength;" they resist every power, for their +own is all their, own; it was purchased by + + "Superior science--penance--daring- + And length of watching-strength of mind--and skill + In knowledge of our fathers." + +Each of them is the personification, slightly modified, of a single +type, a single idea--the individual; free, but nothing more than +free; such as the epoch now closing has made him; Faust, but without +the compact which submits him to the enemy; for the heroes of Byron +make no such compact. Cain kneels not to Arimanes; and Manfred, +about to die, exclaims: + + "The mind, which is immortal, makes itself + Requital for its good and evil thoughts- + Is its own origin of ill, and end- + And its own place and time, its innate sense, + When stripped of this mortality, derives + No color from the fleeting things without, + But is absorbed in sufferance or in joy; + Born from the knowledge of its own desert." + +They have no kindred: they live from their own life only they +repulse humanity, and regard the crowd with disdain. Each of them +says: "I have faith in myself"; never, "I have faith in ourselves." +They all aspire to power or to happiness. The one and the other +alike escape them; for they bear within them, untold, unacknowledged +even to themselves, the presentiment of a life that mere liberty can +never give them. Free they are; iron souls in iron frames, they +climb the Alps of the physical world as well as the Alps of thought; +still is their visage stamped with a gloomy and ineffaceable +sadness; still is their soul-whether, as in Cain and Manfred, it +plunge into the abyss of the infinite, "intoxicated with eternity," +or scour the vast plain and boundless ocean with the Corsair and +Giaour--haunted by a secret and sleepless dread. It seems as if they +were doomed to drag the broken links of the chain they have burst +asunder, riveted to their feet. Not only in the petty society +against which they rebel does their soul feel fettered and +restrained; but even in the world of the spirit. Neither is it to +the enmity of society that they succumb; but under the assaults of +this nameless anguish; under the corroding action of potent +faculties "inferior still to their desires and their conceptions"; +under the deception that comes from within. What can they do with +the liberty so painfully won? On whom, on what, expend the exuberant +vitality within them? They are alone; this is the secret of their +wretchedness and impotence. They "thirst for good"--Cain has said it +for them all--but cannot achieve it; for they have no mission, no +belief, no comprehension even of the world around them. They have +never realized the conception of Humanity in the multitudes that +have preceded, surround, and will follow after them; never thought +on their own place between the past and future; on the continuity of +labor that unites all the generations into one whole; on the common +end and aim, only to be realized by the common effort; on the +spiritual post-sepulchral life even on earth of the individual, +through the thoughts he transmits to his fellows; and, it may be-- +when he lives devoted and dies. in faith--through the guardian +agency he is allowed to exercise over the loved ones left on earth. + +Gifted with a liberty they know not how to use; with a power and +energy they know not how to apply; with a life whose purpose and aim +they comprehend not; they drag through their useless and convulsed +existence. Byron destroys them one after the other, as if he were +the executioner of a sentence decreed in heaven. They fall unwept, +like a withered leaf into the stream of time. + + "Nor earth nor sky shall yield a single tear, + Nor cloud shall gather more, nor leaf shall fall, + Nor gale breathe forth one sigh for thee, for all." + +They die, as they have lived, alone; and a popular malediction +hovers round their solitary tombs. + +This, for those who can read with the soul's eyes, is what Byron +sings; or rather what humanity sings through him. The emptiness of +the life and death of solitary individuality has never been so +powerfully and efficaciously summed up as in the pages of Byron. The +crowd do not comprehend him: they listen; fascinated for an instant; +then repent, and avenge their momentary transport by calumniating +and insulting the poet. His intuition of the death of a form of +society they call wounded self-love; his sorrow for all is +misinterpreted as cowardly egotism. They credit not the traces of +profound suffering revealed by his lineaments; they credit not the +presentiment of a new life which from time to time escapes his +trembling lips; they believe not in the despairing embrace in which +he grasps the material universe--stars, lakes, alps, and sea--and +identifies himself with it, and through it with God, of whom--to him +at least--it is a symbol. They do, however, take careful count of +some unhappy moments, in which, wearied out by the emptiness of +life, he has raised--with remorse I am sure--the cup of ignoble +pleasures to his lips, believing he might find forgetfulness there. +How many times have not his accusers drained this cup, without +redeeming the sin by a single virtue; without--I will not say +bearing--but without having even the capacity of appreciating the +burden which weighed on Byron! And did he not himself dash into +fragments the ignoble cup, so soon as he beheld something worthy the +devotion of his life? + +Goethe--individuality in its objective life--having, like Byron, a +sense of the falsehood and evil of the world round him-followed +exactly the opposite path. After having--he, too, in his youth-- +uttered a cry of anguish in his Werther; after having laid bare the +problem of the epoch in all its terrific nudity, in Faust; he +thought he had done enough, and refused to occupy himself with its +solution. It is possible that the impulse of rebellion against +social wrong and evil which burst forth for an instant in Werther +may long have held his soul in secret travail; but that he despaired +of the task of reforming it as beyond his powers. He himself +remarked in his later years, when commenting on the exclamation made +by a Frenchman on first seeing him: "That is the face of a man who +has suffered much": that he should rather have said: "That is the +face of a man who has struggled energetically;" but of this there +remains no trace in his works. Whilst Byron writhed and suffered +under the sense of the wrong and evil around him, he attained the +calm--I cannot say of victory--but of indifference. In Byron the man +always ruled, and even at times, overcame the artist: the man was +completely lost in the artist in Goethe. In him there was no +subjective life; no unity springing either from heart or head. +Goethe is an intelligence that receives, elaborates, and reproduces +the poetry affluent to him from all external objects: from all +points of the circumference; to him as centre. He dwells aloft +alone; a mighty watcher in the midst of creation. His curious +scrutiny investigates, with equal penetration and equal interest, +the depths of the ocean and the calyx of the floweret. Whether he +studies the rose exhaling its Eastern perfume to the sky, or the +ocean casting its countless wrecks upon the shore, the brow of the +poet remains equally calm: to him they are but two forms of the +beautiful; two subjects for art. + +Goethe has been called a pantheist. I know not in what sense critics +apply this vague and often ill-understood word to him. There is a +materialistic pantheism and a spiritual pantheism; the pantheism of +Spinoza and that of Giordano Bruno; of St. Paul; and of many others- +-all different. But there is no poetic pantheism possible, save on +the condition of embracing the whole world of phenomena in one +unique conception: of feeling and comprehending the life of the +universe in its divine unity. There is nothing of this in Goethe. +There is pantheism in some parts of Wordsworth; in the third canto +of "Childe Harold," and in much of Shelley; but there is none in the +most admirable compositions of Goethe; wherein life, though +admirably comprehended and reproduced in each of its successive +manifestations, is never understood as a whole. Goethe is the poet +of details, not of unity; of analysis, not of synthesis. None so +able to investigate details; to set off and embellish minute and +apparently trifling points; none throw so beautiful a light on +separate parts; but the connecting link escapes him. His works +resemble a magnificent encyclopaedia, unclassified. He has felt +everything but he has never felt the whole. Happy in detecting a ray +of the beautiful upon the humblest blade of grass gemmed with dew; +happy in seizing the poetic elements of an incident the most prosaic +in appearance--he was incapable of tracing all to a common source, +and recomposing the grand ascending scale in which, to quote a +beautiful expression of Herder's "every creature is a numerator of +the grand denominator, Nature." How, indeed, should he comprehend +these things, he who had no place in his works or in his poet's +heart for humanity, by the light of which conception only can the +true worth of sublunary things be determined? "Religion and +politics," [Footnote: Goethe and his Contemporaries.] said he, "are +a troubled element for art. I have always kept myself aloof from +them as much as possible." Questions of life and death for the +millions were agitated around him; Germany re-echoed to the war +songs of Korner; Fichte, at the close of one of his lectures, seized +his musket, and joined the volunteers who were hastening (alas! what +have not the Kings made of that magnificent outburst of +nationality!) to fight the battles of their fatherland. The ancient +soil of Germany thrilled beneath their tread; he, an artist, looked +on unmoved; his heart knew no responsive throb to the emotion that +shook his country; his genius, utterly passive, drew apart from the +current that swept away entire races. He witnessed the French +Revolution in all its terrible grandeur, and saw the old world +crumble beneath its strokes; and while all the best and purest +spirits of Germany, who had mistaken the death-agony of the old +world for the birth-throes of a new, were wringing their hands at +the spectacle of dissolution, he saw in it only the subject of a +farce. He beheld the glory and the fall of Napoleon; he witnessed +the reaction of down-trodden nationalities--sublime prologue of the +grand epopee of the peoples destined sooner or later to be unfolded- +-and remained a cold spectator. He had neither learned to esteem +men, to better them, nor even to suffer with them. If we except the +beautiful type of Berlichingen, a poetic inspiration of his youth, +man, as the creature of thought and action; the artificer of the +future, so nobly sketched by Schiller in his dramas, has no +representative in his works. He has carried something--of this +nonchalance even into the manner in which his heroes conceive love. +Goethe's altar is spread with the choicest flowers, the most +exquisite perfumes, the first-fruits of nature; but the Priest is +wanting. In his work of second creation--for it cannot be denied +that such it was--he has gone through the vast circle of living and +visible things; but stopped short before the seventh day. God +withdrew from him before that time; and the creatures the poet has +evoked wander within the circle, dumb and prayerless; awaiting until +the man shall come to give them a name, and appoint them to a +destination. + +No, Goethe is not the poet of Pantheism; he is a polytheist in his +method as an artist; the pagan poet of modern times. His world is, +above all things, the world of forms: a multiplied Olympus. The +Mosaic heaven and the Christian are veiled to him. Like the pagans, +he parcels out Nature into fragments, and makes of each a divinity; +like them, he worships the sensuous rather than the ideal; he looks, +touches, and listens far more than he feels. And what care and labor +are bestowed upon the plastic portion of his art! what importance is +given--I will not say to the objects themselves--but to the external +representation of objects! Has he not somewhere said that "the +beautiful is the result of happy position?"[Footnote: In the Kunst +und Alterthum, I think.] + +Under this definition is concealed an entire system of poetic +materialism, substituted for the worship of the ideal; involving a +whole series of consequences, the logical result of which was to +lead Goethe to indifference, that moral suicide of some of the +noblest energies of genius. The absolute concentration of every +faculty of observation on each of the objects to be represented, +without relation to the ensemble; the entire avoidance of every +influence likely to modify the view taken of that object, became in +his hands one of the most effective means of art. The poet, in his +eyes, was neither the rushing stream a hundred times broken on its +course, that it may carry fertility to the surrounding country; nor +the brilliant flame, consuming itself in the light it sheds around +while ascending to heaven; but rather the placid lake, reflecting +alike the tranquil landscape and the thunder-cloud; its own surface +the while unruffled even by the lightest breeze. A serene and +passive calm with the absolute clearness and distinctness of +successive impressions, in each of which he was for the time wholly +absorbed, are the peculiar characteristics of Goethe. "I allow the +objects I desire to comprehend, to act tranquilly upon me," said he; +"I then observe the impression I have received from them, and I +endeavor to render it faithfully." Goethe has here portrayed his +every feature to perfection. He was in life such as Madame Von Arnim +proposed to represent him after death; a venerable old man, with a +serene, almost radiant countenance; clothed in an antique robe, +holding a lyre resting on his knees, and listening to the harmonies +drawn from it either by the hand of a genius, or the breath of the +winds. The last chords wafted his soul to the East; to the land of +inactive contemplation. It was time: Europe had become too agitated +for him. + +Such were Byron and Goethe in their general characteristics; both +great poets; very different, and yet, complete as is the contrast +between them, and widely apart as are the paths they pursue, +arriving at the same point. Life and death, character and poetry, +everything is unlike in the two, and yet the one is the complement +of the other. Both are the children of fatality--for it is +especially at the close of epochs that the providential law which +directs the generations assumes towards individuals the semblance of +fatality--and compelled by it unconsciously to work out a great +mission. Goethe contemplates the world in parts, and delivers the +impressions they make upon him, one by one, as occasion presents +them. Byron looks upon the world from a single comprehensive point +of view; from the height of which he modifies in his own soul the +impressions produced by external objects, as they pass before him. +Goethe successively absorbs his own individuality in each of the +objects he reproduces. Byron stamps every object he portrays with +his own individuality. To Goethe, nature is the symphony; to Byron +it is the prelude. She furnishes to the one the entire subject; to +the other the occasion only of his verse. The one executes her +harmonies; the other composes on the theme she has suggested. Goethe +better exgresses lives; Byron life. The one is most vast; the other +more deep. The first searches everywhere for the beautiful, and +loves, above all things, harmony and repose; the other seeks the +sublime, and adores action and force. Characters, such as Coriolanus +or Luther, disturbed Goethe. I know not if, in his numerous pieces +of criticism, he has ever spoken of Dante; but assuredly he must +have shared the antipathy felt for him by Sir Walter Scott; and +although he would undoubtedly have sufficiently respected his genius +to admit him into his Pantheon, yet he would certainly have drawn a +veil between his mental eye and the grand but sombre figure of the +exiled seer, who dreamed of the future empire of the world for his +country, and of the world's harmonious development under her +guidance. Byron loved and drew inspiration from Dante. He also loved +Washington and Franklin, and followed, with all the sympathies of a +soul athirst for action, the meteor-like career of the greatest +genius of action our age has produced, Napoleon; feeling indignant-- +perhaps mistakenly--that he did not die in the struggle. + +When travelling in that second fatherland of all poetic souls-- +Italy--the poets still pursued divergent routes; the one experienced +sensations; the other emotions; the one occupied himself especially +with nature; the other with the greatness dead, the living wrongs, +the human memories. [Footnote: The contrast between the two poets is +nowhere more strikingly displayed than by the manner in which they +were affected by the sight of Rome. In Goethe's Elegies and in his +Travels in Italy we find the impressions of the artist only. He did +not understand Rome. The eternal synthesis that, from the heights of +the Capitol and St. Peter, is gradually unfolded in ever-widening +circles, embracing first a nation and then Europe, as it will +ultimately embrace humanity, remained unrevealed to him; he saw only +the inner circle of paganism; the least prolific, as well as least +indigenous. One might fancy that he caught a glimpse of it for an +instant, when he wrote: "History is read here far otherwise than in +any other spot in the universe; elsewhere we read it from without to +within; here one seems to read it from within to without; "but if +so, he soon lost sight of it again, and became absorbed in external +nature." Whether we halt or advance, we discover a landscape ever +renewing itself in a thousand fashions. We have palaces and ruins; +gardens and solitudes: the horizon lengthens in the distance, or +suddenly contracts; huts and stables, columns and triumphal arches, +all lie pell-mell, and often so close that we might find room for +all on the same sheet of paper." + +At Rome Byron forgot passions, sorrows, his own individuality, all, +in the presence of a great idea; witness this utterance of a soul +born for devotedhess:-- + + "O Rome! my country! city of the soul! + The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, + Lone mother of dead empires! and control + In their shut breasts their petty misery." + +When at last he came to a recollection of himself and his position, +it was with a hope for the world (stanza 98) and a pardon for his +enemies. From the fourth canto of Childe Harold, the daughter of +Byron might learn more of the true spirit of her father than from +all the reports she may have heard, and all the many volumes that +have been written upon him.] + +And yet, notwithstanding all the contrasts, which I have only hinted +at, but which might be far more elaborately displayed by extracts +from their works; they arrived--Goethe, the poet of individuality in +its objective life--at the egotism of indifference; Byron--the poet +of individuality an its subjective life--at the egotism (I say it +with regret, but it, too, is egotism) of despair: a double sentence +upon the epoch which it was their mission to represent and to close! + +Both of them--I am not speaking of their purely literary merits, +incontestable and universally acknowledged--the one by the spirit of +resistance that breathes through all his creations; the other by the +spirit of sceptical irony that pervades his works, and by the +independent sovereignty attributed to art over all social relations- +-greatly aided the cause of intellectual emancipation, and awakened +in men's minds the sentiment of liberty. Both of them--the one, +directly, by the implacable war he waged against the vices and +absurdities of the privileged classes, and indirectly, by investing +his heroes with all the most brilliant qualities of the despot, and +then dashing them to pieces as if in anger;--the other, by the +poetic rehabilitation of forms the most modest, and objects the most +insignificant, as well as by the importance attributed to details-- +combated aristocratic prejudices, and developed in men's minds the +sentiment of equality. And having by their artistic excellence +exhausted both forms of the poetry of individuality, they have +completed the cycle cf its poets; thereby reducing all followers in +the same sphere to the subaltern position of imitators, and creating +the necessity of a new order of poetry; teaching us to recognize a +want where before we felt only a desire. Together they have laid an +era in the tomb; covering it with a pall that none may lift; and, as +if to proclaim its death to the young generation, the poetry of +Goethe has written its history, while that of Byron has graven its +epitaph. + +And now farewell to Goethe; farewell to Byron! farewell to the +sorrows that crush but sanctify not--to the poetic flame that +illumines but warms not--to the ironical philosophy that dissects +without reconstructing--to all poetry which, in an age where there +is so much to do, teaches us inactive contemplation; or which, in a +world where there is so much need of devotedness, would instil +despair. Farewell to all types of power without an aim; to all +personifications of the solitary individuality which seeks an aim to +find it not, and knows not how to apply the life stirring within it; +to all egotistic joys and griefs: + + "Bastards of the soul; + O'erweening slips of idleness: weeds--no more- + Self-springing here and there from the rank soil; + O'erflowings of the lust of that same mind + Whose proper issue and determinate end, + When wedded to the love of things divine, + Is peace, complacency, and happiness." + +Farewell, a long farewell to the past! The dawn of the future is +announced to such as can read its signs, and we owe ourselves wholly +to it. + +The duality of the Middle Ages, after having struggled for centuries +under the banners of emperor and pope; after having left its trace +and borne its fruit in every branch of intellectual development; has +reascended to heaven--its mission accomplished--in the twin flames +of poesy called Goethe and Byron. Two hitherto distinct formulae of +life became incarnate in these two men. Byron is isolated man, +representing only the internal aspect of life; Goethe isolated man, +representing only the external. + +Higher than these two incomplete existences; at the point of +intersection between the two aspirations towards a heaven they were +unable to reach, will be revealed the poetry of the future; of +humanity; potent in new harmony, unity, and life. + +But because, in our own day, we are beginning, though vaguely, to +foresee this new social poetry, which will soothe the suffering soul +by teaching it to rise towards God through humanity; because we now +stand on the threshold of a new epoch, which, but for them, we +should not have reached; shall we decry those who were unable to do +more for us than cast their giant forms into the gulf that held us +all doubting and dismayed on the other side? From the earliest times +has genius been made the scapegoat of the generations. Society has +never lacked men who have contented themselves with reproaching the +Chattertons of their day with not being patterns of self-devotion, +instead of physical or moral suicides; without ever asking +themselves whether they had, during their lifetime, endeavored to +place aught within the reach of such but doubt and destitution. I +feel the necessity of protesting earnestly against the reaction set +on foot by certain thinkers against the mighty-souled, which serves +as a cloak for the cavilling spirit of mediocrity. There is +something hard, repulsive, and ungrateful in the destructive +instinct which so often forgets what has been done by the great men +who preceded us, to demand of them merely an account of what more +might have been done. Is the pillow of scepticism so soft to genius +as to justify the conclusion that it is from egotism only that at +times it rests its fevered brow thereon? Are we so free from the +evil reflected in their verse as to have a right to condemn their +memory? That evil was not introduced into the world by them. They +saw it, felt it, respired it; it was around, about, on every side of +them, and they were its greatest victims. How could they avoid +reproducing it in their works? It is not by deposing Goethe or Byron +that we shall destroy either sceptical or anarchical indifference +amongst us. It is by becoming believers and organizers ourselves. If +we are such, we need fear nothing. As is the public, so will be the +poet. If we revere enthusiasm, the fatherland, and humanity; if our +hearts are pure, and our souls steadfast and patient, the genius +inspired to interpret our aspirations, and bear to heaven our ideas +and our sufferings, will not be wanting. Let these statues stand. +The noble monuments of feudal times create no desire to return to +the days of selfdom. + +But I shall be told, there are imitators. I know it too well; but +what lasting influence can be exerted on social life by those who +have no real life of their own? They will but flutter in the void, +so long as void there be. On the day when the living shall arise to +take the place of the dead, they will vanish like ghosts at cock- +crow. Shall we never be sufficiently firm in our own faith to dare +to show fitting reverence for the grand typical figures of an +anterior age? It would be idle to speak of social art at all, or of +the comprehension of humanity, if we could not raise altars to the +new gods, without overthrowing the old. Those only should dare to +utter the sacred name of progress, whose souls possess intelligence +enough to comprehend the past, and whose hearts possess sufficient +poetic religion to reverence its greatness. The temple of the true +believer is not the chapel of a sect; it is a vast Pantheon, in +which the glorious images of Goethe and Byron will hold their +honored place, long after Goetheism and Byronism shall have ceased +to be. + +When, purified alike from imitation and distrust, men learn to pay +righteous reverence to the mighty fallen, I know not whether Goethe +will obtain more of their admiration as an artist, but I am certain +that Byron will inspire them with more love, both as man and poet--a +love increased even by the fact of the great injustice hitherto +shown to him. While Goethe held himself aloof from us, and from the +height of his Olympian calm seemed to smile with disdain at our +desires, our struggles, and our sufferings--Byron wandered through +the world, sad, gloomy, and unquiet; wounded, and bearing the arrow +in the wound. Solitary and unfortunate in his infancy; unfortunate +in his first love, and still more terribly so in his ill-advised +marriage; attacked and calumniated both in his acts and intentions +without inquiry or defence; harassed by pecuniary difficulties; +forced to quit his country, home, and child; friendless--we have +seen it too clearly since his death--pursued even on the Continent +by a thousand absurd and infamous falsehoods, and by the cold +malignity of a world that twisted even his sorrows into a crime; he +yet, in the midst of inevitable reaction, preserved his love for his +sister and his Ada; his compassion for misfortune; his fidelity to +the affections of his childhood and youth, from Lord Clare to his +old servant Murray, and his nurse Mary Gray. He was generous with +his money to all whom he could help or serve, from his literary +friends down to the wretched libeller Ashe. Though impelled by the +temper of his genius, by the period in which he lived, and by that +fatality of his mission to which I have alluded, towards a poetic +individualism, the inevitable incompleteness of which I have +endeavored to explain, he by no means set it up as a standard. That +he presaged the future with the prevision of genius is proved by his +definition of poetry in his journal--a definition hitherto +misunderstood, but yet the best I know: "Poetry is the feeling of a +former world and of a future." Poet as he was, he preferred activity +for good, to all that his art could do. Surrounded by slaves and +their oppressors; a traveller in countries where even remembrance +seemed extinct; never did he desert the cause of the peoples; never +was he false to human sympathies. A witness of the progress of the +Restoration, and the triumph of the principles of the Holy Alliance, +he never swerved from his courageous opposition; he preserved and +publicly proclaimed his faith in the rights of the peoples and in +the final + + [Footnote: + Yet, Freedom! yet, thy banner torn, but flying, + Streams, like the thunder-storm, against the wind: + Thy trumpet voice, though broken now and dying, + The loudest still the tempest leaves behind. + The tree hath lost its blossomes, and the rind, + Chopped by the axe, looks rough and little worth, + But the sap lasts--and still the seed we find + Sown deep, even in the bosom of the North, + So shall a better spring less bitter fruit bring forth."] + +triumph of liberty. The following passage from his journal is the +very abstract of the law governing the efforts of the true party of +progress at the present day: "Onwards! it is now the time to act; +and what signifies self, if a single spark of that which would be +worthy of the past [Footnote: Written in Italy.] can be bequeathed +unquenchably to the future? It is not one man, nor a million, but +the SPIRIT of liberty which must be spread. The waves which dash on +the shore are, one by one, broken; but yet the OCEAN conquers +nevertheless. It overwhelms the armada; it wears the rock; and if +the Neptunians are to be believed, it has not only destroyed but +made a world." At Naples, in the Romagna, wherever he saw a spark of +noble life stirring, he was ready for any exertion; or danger, to +blow it into a flame. He stigmatized baseness, hypocrisy, and +injustice, whencesoever they sprang. + +Thus lived Byron, ceaselessly tempest-tossed between the ills of the +present and his yearnings after the future; often unequal; sometimes +sceptical; but always suffering--often most so when he seemed to +laugh; + + [Footnote: + "And if I laugh at any mortal thing, + 'Tis that I may not weep."] + and always loving, even + when he seemed to curse. + +Never did "the eternal spirit of the chainless mind" make a brighter +apparition amongst us. He seems at times a transformation of that +immortal Prometheus, of whom he has written so nobly; whose cry of +agony, yet of futurity, sounded above the cradle of the European +world; and whose grand and mysterious form, transfigured by time, +reappears from age to age, between the entombment of one epoch and +the accession of another; to wail forth the lament of genius, +tortured by the presentment of things it will not see realized in +its time. Byron, too, had the "firm will" and the "deep sense;" he, +too, made of his "death a victory." When he heard the cry of +nationality and liberty burst forth in the land he had loved and +sung in early youth, he broke his harp and set forth. While the +CHRISTIAN Powers were protocolizing or worse--while the CHRISTIAN +nations were doling forth the alms of a few piles of ball in aid of +the CROSS struggling with the Crescent; he, the poet, and pretended +sceptic, hastened to throw his fortune, his genius, and his life at +the feet of the first people that had arisen in the name of the +nationality and liberty he loved. + +I know no more beautiful symbol of the future destiny and mission of +art than the death of Byron in Greece. The holy alliance of poetry +with the cause of the peoples; the union--still so rare--of thought +and action--which alone completes the human Word, and is destined to +emancipate the world; the grand solidarity of all nations in the +conquest of the rights ordained by God for all his children, and in +the accomplishment of that mission for which alone such rights +exist--all that is now the religion and the hope of the party of +progress throughout Europe, is gloriously typified in this image, +which we, barbarians that we are, have already forgotten. + +The day will come when democracy will remember all that it owes to +Byron. England, too, will, I hope, one day remember the mission--so +entirely English, yet hitherto overlooked by her--which Byron +fulfilled on the Continent; the European role given by him to +English literature, and the appreciation and sympathy for England +which he awakened amongst us. + +Before he came, all that was known of English literature was the +French translation of Shakespeare, and the anathema hurled by +Voltaire against the "intoxicated barbarian." It is since Byron that +we Continentalists have learned to study Shakespeare and other +English writers. From him dates the sympathy of all the true-hearted +amongst us for this land of liberty, whose true vocation he so +worthily represented among the oppressed. He led the genius of +Britain on a pilgrimage throughout all Europe. + +England will one day feel how ill it is--not for Byron but for +herself--that the foreigner who lands upon her shores should search +in vain in that temple which should be her national Pantheon, for +the poet beloved and admired by all the nations of Europe, and for +whose death Greece and Italy wept as it had been that of the noblest +of their own sons. + +In these few pages--unfortunately very hasty--my aim has been, not +so much to criticise either Goethe or Byron, for which both time and +space are wanting, as to suggest, and if possible lead, English +criticism upon a broader, more impartial, and more useful path than +the one generally followed. Certain travellers of the eleventh +century relate that they saw at Teneriffe a prodigiously lofty tree, +which, from its immense extent of foliage, collected all the vapors +of the atmosphere; to discharge them, when its branches were shaken, +in a shower of pure and refreshing water. Genius is like this tree, +and the mission of criticism should be to shake the branches. At the +present day it more resembles a savage striving to hew down the +noble tree to the roots. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, LITERARY AND PHILOSOPHICAL ESSAYS *** + +This file should be named 5637.txt or 5637.zip + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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