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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/75942-0.txt b/75942-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3e644f8 --- /dev/null +++ b/75942-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9551 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75942 *** + + + + Riverside Edition + + + LECTURES AND BIOGRAPHICAL + SKETCHES + + + BEING VOLUME X. + + OF + + EMERSON’S COMPLETE WORKS + + + + + LECTURES + + AND + + BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES + + + BY + + RALPH WALDO EMERSON + + + + + BOSTON + HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY + NEW YORK: 11 EAST SEVENTEENTH STREET + The Riverside Press, Cambridge + 1884 + + + + + Copyright, 1883, + BY EDWARD W. EMERSON. + + + _All rights reserved._ + + + + + _The Riverside Press, Cambridge_: + Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. + + + + + NOTE. + + +OF the pieces included in this volume the following, namely, those from +the “Dial,” “Character,” “Plutarch,” and the biographical sketches +of Dr. Ripley, of Mr. Hoar, and of Henry Thoreau, were printed by +Mr. Emerson before I took any part in the arrangement of his papers. +The rest, except the sketch of Miss Mary Emerson, I got ready for +his use in readings to his friends or to a limited public. He had +given up the regular practice of lecturing, but would sometimes, upon +special request, read a paper that had been prepared for him from +his manuscripts, in the manner described in the preface to “Letters +and Social Aims,”--some former lecture serving as a nucleus for +the new. Some of these papers he afterwards allowed to be printed; +others, namely, “Aristocracy,” “Education,” “The Man of Letters,” “The +Scholar,” “Historic Notes of Life and Letters in New England,” “Mary +Moody Emerson,” are now published for the first time. + + J. E. CABOT. + + + + + CONTENTS. + + + PAGE + + DEMONOLOGY 7 + + ARISTOCRACY 33 + + PERPETUAL FORCES 69 + + CHARACTER 91 + + EDUCATION 123 + + THE SUPERLATIVE 157 + + THE SOVEREIGNTY OF ETHICS 175 + + THE PREACHER 207 + + THE MAN OF LETTERS 229 + + THE SCHOLAR 247 + + PLUTARCH 275 + + HISTORIC NOTES OF LIFE AND LETTERS IN NEW + ENGLAND 305 + + THE CHARDON STREET CONVENTION 349 + + EZRA RIPLEY, D. D. 355 + + MARY MOODY EMERSON 371 + + SAMUEL HOAR 405 + + THOREAU 419 + + CARLYLE 453 + + + + + DEMONOLOGY. + + + NIGHT-DREAMS trace on Memory’s wall + Shadows of the thoughts of day, + And thy fortunes as they fall + The bias of thy will betray. + + In the chamber, on the stairs, + Lurking dumb, + Go and come + Lemurs and Lars. + + + + + DEMONOLOGY.[1] + + +THE name Demonology covers dreams, omens, coincidences, luck, +sortilege, magic, and other experiences which shun rather than court +inquiry, and deserve notice chiefly because every man has usually in a +lifetime two or three hints in this kind which are specially impressive +to him. They also shed light on our structure. + +The witchcraft of sleep divides with truth the empire of our lives. +This soft enchantress visits two children lying locked in each other’s +arms, and carries them asunder by wide spaces of land and sea, and wide +intervals of time:-- + + “There lies a sleeping city, God of dreams! + What an unreal and fantastic world + Is going on below! + Within the sweep of yon encircling wall + How many a large creation of the night, + Wide wilderness and mountain, rock and sea, + Peopled with busy, transitory groups, + Finds room to rise, and never feels the crowd.” + +’Tis superfluous to think of the dreams of multitudes, the astonishment +remains that one should dream; that we should resign so quietly this +deifying Reason, and become the theatre of delirious shows, wherein +time, space, persons, cities, animals, should dance before us in merry +and mad confusion; a delicate creation outdoing the prime and flower of +actual nature, antic comedy alternating with horrid pictures. Sometimes +the forgotten companions of childhood reappear:-- + + “They come, in dim procession led, + The cold, the faithless, and the dead, + As warm each hand, each brow as gay, + As if they parted yesterday:”-- + +or we seem busied for hours and days in peregrinations over seas +and lands, in earnest dialogues, strenuous actions for nothings and +absurdities, cheated by spectral jokes and waking suddenly with ghastly +laughter, to be rebuked by the cold, lonely, silent midnight, and to +rake with confusion in memory among the gibbering nonsense to find the +motive of this contemptible cachinnation. Dreams are jealous of being +remembered; they dissipate instantly and angrily if you try to hold +them. When newly awaked from lively dreams, we are so near them, still +agitated by them, still in their sphere,--give us one syllable, one +feature, one hint, and we should repossess the whole; hours of this +strange entertainment would come trooping back to us; but we cannot get +our hand on the first link or fibre, and the whole is lost. There is a +strange wilfulness in the speed with which it disperses and baffles our +grasp. + +A dislocation seems to be the foremost trait of dreams. A painful +imperfection almost always attends them. The fairest forms, the most +noble and excellent persons, are deformed by some pitiful and insane +circumstance. The very landscape and scenery in a dream seem not to +fit us, but like a coat or cloak of some other person to overlap and +encumber the wearer; so is the ground, the road, the house, in dreams, +too long or too short, and if it served no other purpose would show us +how accurately nature fits man awake. + +There is one memory of waking and another of sleep. In our dreams +the same scenes and fancies are many times associated, and that too, +it would seem, for years. In sleep one shall travel certain roads in +stage-coaches or gigs, which he recognizes as familiar, and has dreamed +that ride a dozen times; or shall walk alone in familiar fields and +meadows, which road or which meadow in waking hours he never looked +upon. This feature of dreams deserves the more attention from its +singular resemblance to that obscure yet startling experience which +almost every person confesses in daylight, that particular passages of +conversation and action have occurred to him in the same order before, +whether dreaming or waking; a suspicion that they have been with +precisely these persons in precisely this room, and heard precisely +this dialogue, at some former hour, they know not when. + +Animals have been called “the dreams of nature.” Perhaps for a +conception of their consciousness we may go to our own dreams. In a +dream we have the instinctive obedience, the same torpidity of the +highest power, the same unsurprised assent to the monstrous as these +metamorphosed men exhibit. Our thoughts in a stable or in a menagerie, +on the other hand, may well remind us of our dreams. What compassion +do these imprisoning forms awaken! You may catch the glance of a dog +sometimes which lays a kind of claim to sympathy and brotherhood. What! +somewhat of me down there? Does he know it? Can he too, as I, go out +of himself, see himself, perceive relations? We fear lest the poor +brute should gain one dreadful glimpse of his condition, should learn +in some moment the tough limitations of this fettering organization. +It was in this glance that Ovid got the hint of his metamorphoses; +Calidasa of his transmigration of souls. For these fables are our +own thoughts carried out. What keeps those wild tales in circulation +for thousands of years? What but the wild fact to which they suggest +some approximation of theory? Nor is the fact quite solitary, for in +varieties of our own species where organization seems to predominate +over the genius of man, in Kalmuck or Malay or Flathead Indian, we +are sometimes pained by the same feeling; and sometimes too the +sharp-witted prosperous white man awakens it. In a mixed assembly we +have chanced to see not only a glance of Abdiel, so grand and keen, +but also in other faces the features of the mink, of the bull, of the +rat, and the barn-door fowl. You think, could the man overlook his own +condition, he could not be restrained from suicide. + +Dreams have a poetic integrity and truth. This limbo and dust-hole of +thought is presided over by a certain reason, too. Their extravagance +from nature is yet within a higher nature. They seem to us to suggest +an abundance and fluency of thought not familiar to the waking +experience. They pique us by independence of us, yet we know ourselves +in this mad crowd, and owe to dreams a kind of divination and wisdom. +My dreams are not me; they are not Nature, or the Not-me: they are +both. They have a double consciousness, at once sub- and objective. We +call the phantoms that rise, the creation of our fancy, but they act +like mutineers, and fire on their commander; showing that every act, +every thought, every cause, is bipolar, and in the act is contained the +counteraction. If I strike, I am struck; if I chase, I am pursued. + +Wise and sometimes terrible hints shall in them be thrown to the man +out of a quite unknown intelligence. He shall be startled two or three +times in his life by the justice as well as the significance of this +phantasmagoria. Once or twice the conscious fetters shall seem to be +unlocked, and a freer utterance attained. A prophetic character in all +ages has haunted them. They are the maturation often of opinions not +consciously carried out to statements, but whereof we already possessed +the elements. Thus, when awake, I know the character of Rupert, but +do not think what he may do. In dreams I see him engaged in certain +actions which seem preposterous,--out of all fitness. He is hostile, +he is cruel, he is frightful, he is a poltroon. It turns out prophecy +a year later. But it was already in my mind as character, and the +sibyl dreams merely embodied it in fact. Why then should not symptoms, +auguries, forebodings be, and, as one said, the moanings of the spirit? + +We are let by this experience into the high region of Cause, and +acquainted with the identity of very unlike-seeming effects. We learn +that actions whose turpitude is very differently reputed proceed +from one and the same affection. Sleep takes off the costume of +circumstance, arms us with terrible freedom, so that every will rushes +to a deed. A skilful man reads his dreams for his self-knowledge; yet +not the details, but the quality. What part does he play in them,--a +cheerful, manly part, or a poor drivelling part? However monstrous and +grotesque their apparitions, they have a substantial truth. The same +remark may be extended to the omens and coincidences which may have +astonished us. Of all it is true that the reason of them is always +latent in the individual. Goethe said: “These whimsical pictures, +inasmuch as they originate from us, may well have an analogy with our +whole life and fate.” + +The soul contains in itself the event that shall presently befall +it, for the event is only the actualizing of its thoughts. It is no +wonder that particular dreams and presentiments should fall out and be +prophetic. The fallacy consists in selecting a few insignificant hints +when all are inspired with the same sense. As if one should exhaust +his astonishment at the economy of his thumb-nail, and overlook the +central causal miracle of his being a man. Every man goes through the +world attended with innumerable facts prefiguring (yes, distinctly +announcing) his fate, if only eyes of sufficient heed and illumination +were fastened on the sign. The sign is always there, if only the eye +were also; just as under every tree in the speckled sunshine and shade +no man notices that every spot of light is a perfect image of the sun, +until in some hour the moon eclipses the luminary; and then first we +notice that the spots of light have become crescents, or annular, and +correspond to the changed figure of the sun. Things are significant +enough, Heaven knows; but the seer of the sign,--where is he? We doubt +not a man’s fortune may be read in the lines of his hand, by palmistry; +in the lines of his face, by physiognomy; in the outlines of the skull, +by craniology: the lines are all there, but the reader waits. The long +waves indicate to the instructed mariner that there is no near land +in the direction from which they come. Belzoni describes the three +marks which led him to dig for a door to the pyramid of Ghizeh. What +thousands had beheld the same spot for so many ages, and seen no three +marks! + +Secret analogies tie together the remotest parts of nature, as the +atmosphere of a summer morning is filled with innumerable gossamer +threads running in every direction, revealed by the beams of the rising +sun. All life, all creation, is tell-tale and betraying. A man reveals +himself in every glance and step and movement and rest:-- + + “Head with foot hath private amity, + And both with moons and tides.” + +Not a mathematical axiom but is a moral rule. The jest and byword to +an intelligent ear extends its meaning to the soul and to all time. +Indeed, all productions of man are so anthropomorphous that not +possibly can he invent any fable that shall not have a deep moral and +be true in senses and to an extent never intended by the inventor. +Thus all the bravest tales of Homer and the poets, modern philosophers +can explain with profound judgment of law and state and ethics. Lucian +has an idle tale that Pancrates, journeying from Memphis to Coppus, +and wanting a servant, took a door-bar and pronounced over it magical +words, and it stood up and brought him water, and turned a spit, and +carried bundles, doing all the work of a slave. What is this but a +prophecy of the progress of art? For Pancrates write Watt or Fulton, +and for “magical words” write “steam;” and do they not make an iron +bar and half a dozen wheels do the work, not of one, but of a thousand +skilful mechanics? + +“Nature,” said Swedenborg, “makes almost as much demand on our faith +as miracles do.” And I find nothing in fables more astonishing than +my experience in every hour. One moment of a man’s life is a fact +so stupendous as to take the lustre out of all fiction. The lovers +of marvels, of what we call the occult and unproved sciences, of +mesmerism, of astrology, of coincidences, of intercourse, by writing +or by rapping or by painting, with departed spirits, need not reproach +us with incredulity because we are slow to accept their statement. It +is not the incredibility of the fact, but a certain want of harmony +between the action and the agents. We are used to vaster wonders than +these that are alleged. In the hands of poets, of devout and simple +minds, nothing in the line of their character and genius would surprise +us. But we should look for the style of the great artist in it, look +for completeness and harmony. Nature never works like a conjuror, to +surprise, rarely by shocks, but by infinite graduation; so that we live +embosomed in sounds we do not hear, scents we do not smell, spectacles +we see not, and by innumerable impressions so softly laid on that +though important we do not discover them until our attention is called +to them. + +For Spiritism, it shows that no man almost is fit to give evidence. +Then I say to the amiable and sincere among them, these matters are +quite too important than that I can rest them on any legends. If I +have no facts, as you allege, I can very well wait for them. I am +content and occupied with such miracles as I know, such as my eyes and +ears daily show me, such as humanity and astronomy. If any others are +important to me they will certainly be shown to me. + +In times most credulous of these fancies the sense was always met and +the superstition rebuked by the grave spirit of reason and humanity. +When Hector is told that the omens are unpropitious, he replies,-- + + “One omen is the best, to fight for one’s country.” + +Euripides said, “He is not the best prophet who guesses well, and he is +not the wisest man whose guess turns out well in the event, but he who, +whatever the event be, takes reason and probability for his guide.” +“Swans, horses, dogs and dragons,” says Plutarch, “we distinguish as +sacred, and vehicles of the Divine foresight, and yet we cannot believe +that men are sacred and favorites of Heaven.” The poor shipmaster +discovered a sound theology, when in the storm at sea he made his +prayer to Neptune, “O God, thou mayst save me if thou wilt, and if thou +wilt thou mayst destroy me; but, however, I will hold my rudder true.” +Let me add one more example of the same good sense, in a story quoted +out of Hecateus of Abdera:-- + + “As I was once travelling by the Red Sea, there was one among the + horsemen that attended us named Masollam, a brave and strong man, + and according to the testimony of all the Greeks and barbarians, a + very skilful archer. Now while the whole multitude was on the way, an + augur called out to them to stand still, and this man inquired the + reason of their halting. The augur showed him a bird, and told him, + ‘If that bird remained where he was, it would be better for them all + to remain; if he flew on, they might proceed; but if he flew back + they must return.’ The Jew said nothing, but bent his bow and shot + the bird to the ground. This act offended the augur and some others, + and they began to utter imprecations against the Jew. But he replied, + ‘Wherefore? Why are you so foolish as to take care of this unfortunate + bird? How could this fowl give us any wise directions respecting our + journey, when he could not save his own life? Had he known anything + of futurity, he would not have come here to be killed by the arrow of + Masollam the Jew.’” + +It is not the tendency of our times to ascribe importance to whimsical +pictures of sleep, or to omens. But the faith in peculiar and alien +power takes another form in the modern mind, much more resembling the +ancient doctrine of the guardian genius. The belief that particular +individuals are attended by a good fortune which makes them desirable +associates in any enterprise of uncertain success, exists not only +among those who take part in political and military projects, +but influences all joint action of commerce and affairs, and a +corresponding assurance in the individuals so distinguished meets and +justifies the expectation of others by a boundless self-trust. “I have +a lucky hand, sir,” said Napoleon to his hesitating Chancellor; “those +on whom I lay it are fit for anything.” This faith is familiar in one +form,--that often a certain abdication of prudence and foresight is an +element of success; that children and young persons come off safe from +casualties that would have proved dangerous to wiser people. We do not +think the young will be forsaken; but he is fast approaching the age +when the sub-miraculous external protection and leading are withdrawn +and he is committed to his own care. The young man takes a leap in +the dark and alights safe. As he comes into manhood he remembers +passages and persons that seem, as he looks at them now, to have been +supernaturally deprived of injurious influence on him. His eyes were +holden that he could not see. But he learns that such risks he may no +longer run. He observes, with pain, not that he incurs mishaps here and +there, but that his genius, whose invisible benevolence was tower and +shield to him, is no longer present and active. + +In the popular belief, ghosts are a selecting tribe, avoiding millions, +speaking to one. In our traditions, fairies, angels and saints show the +like favoritism; so do the agents and the means of magic, as sorcerers +and amulets. This faith in a doting power, so easily sliding into the +current belief everywhere, and, in the particular of lucky days and +fortunate persons, as frequent in America to-day as the faith in +incantations and philters was in old Rome, or the wholesome potency +of the sign of the cross in modern Rome,--this supposed power runs +athwart the recognized agencies, natural and moral, which science and +religion explore. Heeded though it be in many actions and partnerships, +it is not the power to which we build churches, or make liturgies +and prayers, or which we regard in passing laws, or found college +professorships to expound. Goethe has said in his Autobiography what is +much to the purpose:-- + + “I believed that I discovered in nature, animate and inanimate, + intelligent and brute, somewhat which manifested itself only in + contradiction, and therefore could not be grasped by a conception, + much less by a word. It was not god-like, since it seemed + unreasonable; not human, since it had no understanding; not devilish, + since it was beneficent; not angelic, since it is often a marplot. It + resembled chance, since it showed no sequel. It resembled Providence, + since it pointed at connection. All which limits us seemed permeable + to that. It seemed to deal at pleasure with the necessary elements + of our constitution; it shortened time and extended space. Only in + the impossible it seemed to delight, and the possible to repel with + contempt. This, which seemed to insert itself between all other + things, to sever them, to bind them, I named the Demoniacal, after the + example of the ancients, and of those who had observed the like. + + “Although every demoniacal property can manifest itself in the + corporeal and incorporeal, yes, in beasts too in a remarkable manner, + yet it stands specially in wonderful relations with men, and forms in + the moral world, though not an antagonist, yet a transverse element, + so that the former may be called the warp, the latter the woof. For + the phenomena which hence originate there are countless names, since + all philosophies and religions have attempted in prose or in poetry + to solve this riddle, and to settle the thing once for all, as indeed + they may be allowed to do. + + “But this demonic element appears most fruitful when it shows itself + as the determining characteristic in an individual. In the course of + my life I have been able to observe several such, some near, some + farther off. They are not always superior persons, either in mind or + in talent. They seldom recommend themselves through goodness of heart. + But a monstrous force goes out from them, and they exert an incredible + power over all creatures, and even over the elements; who shall say + how far such an influence may extend? All united moral powers avail + nothing against them. In vain do the clear-headed part of mankind + discredit them as deceivers or deceived,--the mass is attracted. + Seldom or never do they meet their match among their contemporaries; + they are not to be conquered save by the universe itself, against + which they have taken up arms. Out of such experiences doubtless arose + the strange, monstrous proverb, ‘Nobody against God but God.’”[2] + +It would be easy in the political history of every time to furnish +examples of this irregular success, men having a force which without +virtue, without shining talent, yet makes them prevailing. No equal +appears in the field against them. A power goes out from them which +draws all men and events to favor them. The crimes they commit, the +exposures which follow, and which would ruin any other man, are +strangely overlooked, or do more strangely turn to their account. + +I set down these things as I find them, but however poetic these +twilights of thought, I like daylight, and I find somewhat wilful, some +play at blindman’s-buff, when men as wise as Goethe talk mysteriously +of the demonological. The insinuation is that the known eternal laws +of morals and matter are sometimes corrupted or evaded by this gipsy +principle, which chooses favorites and works in the dark for their +behoof; as if the laws of the Father of the universe were sometimes +balked and eluded by a meddlesome Aunt of the universe for her pets. +You will observe that this extends the popular idea of success to the +very gods; that they foster a success to you which is not a success +to all; that fortunate men, fortunate youths exist, whose good is not +virtue or the public good, but a private good, robbed from the rest. +It is a midsummer-madness, corrupting all who hold the tenet. The +demonologic is only a fine name for egotism; an exaggeration namely +of the individual, whom it is Nature’s settled purpose to postpone. +“There is one world common to all who are awake, but each sleeper +betakes himself to one of his own.”[3] Dreams retain the infirmities +of our character. The good genius may be there or not, our evil genius +is sure to stay. The Ego partial makes the dream; the Ego total the +interpretation. Life is also a dream on the same terms. + +The history of man is a series of conspiracies to win from Nature +some advantage without paying for it. It is curious to see what grand +powers we have a hint of and are mad to grasp, yet how slow Heaven +is to trust us with such edge-tools. “All that frees talent without +increasing self-command is noxious.” Thus the fabled ring of Gyges, +making the wearer invisible, which is represented in modern fable by +the telescope as used by Schlemil, is simply mischievous. A new or +private language, used to serve only low or political purposes; the +transfusion of the blood; the steam battery, so fatal as to put an end +to war by the threat of universal murder; the desired discovery of the +guided balloon, are of this kind. Tramps are troublesome enough in +the city and in the highways, but tramps flying through the air and +descending on the lonely traveller or the lonely farmer’s house or the +bank-messenger in the country, can well be spared. Men are not fit to +be trusted with these talismans. + +Before we acquire great power we must acquire wisdom to use it well. +Animal magnetism inspires the prudent and moral with a certain terror; +so the divination of contingent events, and the alleged second-sight +of the pseudo-spiritualists. There are many things of which a wise man +might wish to be ignorant, and these are such. Shun them as you would +the secrets of the undertaker and the butcher. The best are never +demoniacal or magnetic; leave this limbo to the Prince of the power of +the air. The lowest angel is better. It is the height of the animal; +below the region of the divine. Power as such is not known to the +angels. + +Great men feel that they are so by sacrificing their selfishness and +falling back on what is humane; in renouncing family, clan, country, +and each exclusive and local connection, to beat with the pulse and +breathe with the lungs of nations. A Highland chief, an Indian sachem +or a feudal baron may fancy that the mountains and lakes were made +specially for him Donald, or him Tecumseh; that the one question for +history is the pedigree of his house, and future ages will be busy with +his renown; that he has a guardian angel; that he is not in the roll of +common men, but obeys a high family destiny; when he acts, unheard-of +success evinces the presence of rare agents; what is to befall him, +omens and coincidences foreshow; when he dies banshees will announce +his fate to kinsmen in foreign parts. What more facile than to project +this exuberant selfhood into the region where individuality is forever +bounded by generic and cosmical laws? The deepest flattery, and that to +which we can never be insensible, is the flattery of omens. + +We may make great eyes if we like, and say of one on whom the sun +shines, “What luck presides over him!” But we know that the law of +the Universe is one for each and for all. There is as precise and +as describable a reason for every fact occurring to him, as for +any occurring to any man. Every fact in which the moral elements +intermingle is not the less under the dominion of fatal law. Lord Bacon +uncovers the magic when he says, “Manifest virtues procure reputation; +occult ones, fortune.” Thus the so-called fortunate man is one who, +though not gifted to speak when the people listen, or to act with grace +or with understanding to great ends, yet is one who, in actions of a +low or common pitch, relies on his instincts, and simply does not act +where he should not, but waits his time, and without effort acts when +the need is. If to this you add a fitness to the society around him, +you have the elements of fortune; so that in a particular circle and +knot of affairs he is not so much his own man as the hand of nature +and time. Just as his eye and hand work exactly together,--and to hit +the mark with a stone he has only to fasten his eye firmly on the mark +and his arm will swing true,--so the main ambition and genius being +bestowed in one direction, the lesser spirits and involuntary aids +within his sphere will follow. The fault of most men is that they are +busybodies; do not wait the simple movement of the soul, but interfere +and thwart the instructions of their own minds. + +Coincidences, dreams, animal magnetism, omens, sacred lots, have great +interest for some minds. They run into this twilight and say, “There’s +more than is dreamed of in your philosophy.” Certainly these facts are +interesting, and deserve to be considered. But they are entitled only +to a share of attention, and not a large share. _Nil magnificum, +nil generosum sapit._ Let their value as exclusive subjects of +attention be judged of by the infallible test of the state of mind +in which much notice of them leaves us. Read a page of Cudworth or +of Bacon, and we are exhilarated and armed to manly duties. Read +demonology or Colquhoun’s Report, and we are bewildered and perhaps a +little besmirched. We grope. They who love them say they are to reveal +to us a world of unknown, unsuspected truths. But suppose a diligent +collection and study of these occult facts were made, they are merely +physiological, semi-medical, related to the machinery of man, opening +to our curiosity how we live, and no aid on the superior problems why +we live, and what we do. While the dilettanti have been prying into the +humors and muscles of the eye, simple men will have helped themselves +and the world by using their eyes. + +And this is not the least remarkable fact which the adepts have +developed. Men who had never wondered at anything, who had thought it +the most natural thing in the world that they should exist in this +orderly and replenished world, have been unable to suppress their +amazement at the disclosures of the somnambulist. The peculiarity +of the history of Animal Magnetism is that it drew in as inquirers +and students a class of persons never on any other occasion known +as students and inquirers. Of course the inquiry is pursued on low +principles. Animal magnetism peeps. It becomes in such hands a black +art. The uses of the thing, the commodity, the power, at once come to +mind and direct the course of inquiry. It seemed to open again that +door which was open to the imagination of childhood--of magicians and +fairies and lamps of Aladdin, the travelling cloak, the shoes of +swiftness and the sword of sharpness that were to satisfy the uttermost +wish of the senses without danger or a drop of sweat. But as Nature can +never be outwitted, as in the Universe no man was ever known to get a +cent’s worth without paying in some form or other the cent, so this +prodigious promiser ends always and always will, as sorcery and alchemy +have done before, in very small and smoky performance. + +Mesmerism is high life below stairs; Momus playing Jove in the kitchens +of Olympus. ’Tis a low curiosity or lust of structure, and is separated +by celestial diameters from the love of spiritual truths. It is wholly +a false view to couple these things in any manner with the religious +nature and sentiment, and a most dangerous superstition to raise them +to the lofty place of motives and sanctions. This is to prefer halos +and rainbows to the sun and moon. These adepts have mistaken flatulency +for inspiration. Were this drivel which they report as the voice of +spirits really such, we must find out a more decisive suicide. I say to +the table-rappers:-- + + “I well believe + Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know, + And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.” + +They are ignorant of all that is healthy and useful to know, and by +laws of kind,--dunces seeking dunces in the dark of what they call +the spiritual world,--preferring snores and gastric noises to the +voice of any muse. I think the rappings a new test, like blue litmus +or other chemical absorbent, to try catechisms with. It detects +organic skepticism in the very heads of the Church. ’Tis a lawless +world. We have left the geometry, the compensation, and the conscience +of the daily world, and come into the realm or chaos of chance and +pretty or ugly confusion; no guilt and no virtue, but a droll bedlam, +where everybody believes only after his humor, and the actors and +spectators have no conscience or reflection, no police, no foot-rule, +no sanity,--nothing but whim and whim creative. + +Meantime far be from me the impatience which cannot brook the +supernatural, the vast; far be from me the lust of explaining away all +which appeals to the imagination, and the great presentiments which +haunt us. Willingly I too say, Hail! to the unknown awful powers which +transcend the ken of the understanding. And the attraction which this +topic has had for me and which induces me to unfold its parts before +you is precisely because I think the numberless forms in which this +superstition has re-appeared in every time and every people indicates +the inextinguishableness of wonder in man; betrays his conviction that +behind all your explanations is a vast and potent and living Nature, +inexhaustible and sublime, which you cannot explain. He is sure no +book, no man has told him all. He is sure the great Instinct, the +circumambient soul which flows into him as into all, and is his life, +has not been searched. He is sure that intimate relations subsist +between his character and his fortunes, between him and his world; +and until he can adequately tell them he will tell them wildly and +fabulously. Demonology is the shadow of Theology. + +The whole world is an omen and a sign. Why look so wistfully in a +corner? Man is the Image of God. Why run after a ghost or a dream? The +voice of divination resounds everywhere and runs to waste unheard, +unregarded, as the mountains echo with the bleatings of cattle. + + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[Footnote 1: From the course of lectures on “Human Life,” read in +Boston, 1839-40. Published in the _North American Review_, 1877.] + +[Footnote 2: Goethe, _Wahrheit und Dichtung_, Book xx.] + +[Footnote 3: Heraclitus.] + + + + + ARISTOCRACY. + + BUT if thou do thy best, + Without remission, without rest, + And invite the sunbeam, + And abhor to feign or seem + Even to those who thee should love + And thy behavior approve; + If thou go in thine own likeness,-- + Be it health or be it sickness,-- + If thou go as thy father’s son, + If thou wear no mask or lie, + Dealing purely and nakedly,--.... + + + + + ARISTOCRACY.[4] + + +THERE is an attractive topic, which never goes out of vogue and is +impertinent in no community,--the permanent traits of the Aristocracy. +It is an interest of the human race, and, as I look at it, inevitable, +sacred and to be found in every country and in every company of men. +My concern with it is that concern which all well-disposed persons +will feel, that there should be model men,--true instead of spurious +pictures of excellence, and, if possible, living standards. + +I observe that the word _gentleman_ is gladly heard in all +companies; that the cogent motive with the best young men who are +revolving plans and forming resolutions for the future, is the spirit +of honor, the wish to be gentlemen. They do not yet covet political +power, nor any exuberance of wealth, wealth that costs too much; nor do +they wish to be saints; for fear of partialism; but the middle term, +the reconciling element, the success of the manly character, they find +in the idea of gentleman. It is not to be a man of rank, but a man of +honor, accomplished in all arts and generosities, which seems to them +the right mark and the true chief of our modern society. A reference +to society is part of the idea of culture; science of a gentleman; +art of a gentleman; poetry in a gentleman: intellectually held, +that is, for their own sake, for what they are; for their universal +beauty and worth;--not for economy, which degrades them, but not +over-intellectually, that is, not to ecstasy, entrancing the man, but +redounding to his beauty and glory. + +In the sketches which I have to offer I shall not be surprised if my +readers should fancy that I am giving them, under a gayer title, a +chapter on Education. It will not pain me if I am found now and then to +rove from the accepted and historic, to a theoretic peerage: or if it +should turn out, what is true, that I am describing a real aristocracy, +a chapter of Templars who sit indifferently in all climates and under +the shadow of all institutions, but so few, so heedless of badges, so +rarely convened, so little in sympathy with the predominant politics of +nations, that their names and doings are not recorded in any Book of +Peerage, or any Court Journal, or even Daily Newspaper of the world. + +I find the caste in the man. The Golden Book of Venice, the scale +of European chivalry, the Barons of England, the hierarchy of India +with its impassable degrees, is each a transcript of the decigrade or +centigraded Man. A many-chambered Aristocracy lies already organized in +his moods and faculties. Room is found for all the departments of the +State in the moods and faculties of each human spirit, with separate +function and difference of dignity. + +The terrible aristocracy that is in nature. Real people dwelling with +the real, face to face undaunted: then, far down, people of taste, +people dwelling in a relation, or rumor, or influence of good and +fair, entertained by it, superficially touched, yet charmed by these +shadows:--and, far below these, gross and thoughtless, the animal man, +billows of chaos, down to the dancing and menial organizations. + +I observe the inextinguishable prejudice men have in favor of a +hereditary transmission of qualities. It is in vain to remind them +that nature appears capricious. Some qualities she carefully fixes and +transmits, but some, and those the finer, she exhales with the breath +of the individual, as too costly to perpetuate. But I notice also that +they may become fixed and permanent in any stock, by painting and +repainting them on every individual, until at last Nature adopts them +and bakes them into her porcelain. + +At all events I take this inextinguishable persuasion in men’s minds as +a hint from the outward universe to man to inlay as many virtues and +superiorities as he can into this swift fresco of the day, which is +hardening to an immortal picture. + +If one thinks of the interest which all men have in beauty of character +and manners; that it is of the last importance to the imagination +and affection, inspiring as it does that loyalty and worship so +essential to the finish of character--certainly, if culture, if laws, +if primogeniture, if heraldry, if money could secure such a result as +superior and finished men, it would be the interest of all mankind to +see that the steps were taken, the pains incurred. No taxation, no +concession, no conferring of privileges never so exalted would be a +price too large. + +The old French Revolution attracted to its first movement all the +liberality, virtue, hope and poetry in Europe. By the abolition of +kingship and aristocracy, tyranny, inequality and poverty would end. +Alas! no; tyranny, inequality, poverty, stood as last and fierce as +ever. We likewise put faith in Democracy; in the Republican principle +carried out to the extremes of practice in universal suffrage, in the +will of majorities. The young adventurer finds that the relations of +society, the position of classes, irk and sting him, and he lends +himself to each malignant party that assails what is eminent. He +will one day know that this is not removable, but a distinction in +the nature of things; that neither the caucus, nor the newspaper, +nor the Congress, nor the mob, nor the guillotine, nor fire, nor all +together, can avail to outlaw, cut out, burn, or destroy the offense +of superiority in persons. The manners, the pretension, which annoy me +so much, are not superficial, but built on a real distinction in the +nature of my companion. The superiority in him is inferiority in me, +and if this particular companion were wiped by a sponge out of nature, +my inferiority would still be made evident to me by other persons +everywhere and every day. + +No, not the hardest utilitarian will question the value of an +aristocracy if he love himself. For every man confesses that the +highest good which the universe proposes to him is the highest society. +If a few grand natures should come to us and weave duties and offices +between us and them, it would make our bread ambrosial. + +I affirm that inequalities exist, not in costume, but in the powers of +expression and action; a primitive aristocracy; and that we, certainly, +have not come here to describe well-dressed vulgarity. I cannot tell +how English titles are bestowed, whether on pure blood, or on the +largest holder in the three-per-cents. The English government and +people, or the French government, may easily make mistakes; but Nature +makes none. Every mark and scutcheon of hers indicates constitutional +qualities. In science, in trade, in social discourse, as in the state, +it is the same thing. Forever and ever it takes a pound to lift a pound. + +It is plain that all the deference of modern society to this idea of +the Gentleman, and all the whimsical tyranny of Fashion which has +continued to engraft itself on this reverence, is a secret homage to +reality and love which ought to reside in every man. This is the steel +that is hid under gauze and lace, under flowers and spangles. And it is +plain that instead of this idolatry, a worship; instead of this impure, +a pure reverence for character, a new respect for the sacredness of the +individual man, is that antidote which must correct in our country the +disgraceful deference to public opinion, and the insane subordination +of the end to the means. From the folly of too much association we must +come back to the repose of self-reverence and trust. + +The game of the world is a perpetual trial of strength between man +and events. The common man is the victim of events. Whatever happens +is too much for him, he is drawn this way and that way, and his whole +life is a hurry. The superior man is at home in his own mind. We like +cool people, who neither hope nor fear too much, but seem to have many +strings to their bow, and can survive the blow well enough if stock +should rise or fall, if parties should be broken up, if their money or +their family should be dispersed; who can stand a slander very well; +indeed on whom events make little or no impression, and who can face +death with firmness. In short, we dislike every mark of a superficial +life and action, and prize whatever mark of a central life. + +What is the meaning of this invincible respect for war, here in the +triumphs of our commercial civilization, that we can never quite +smother the trumpet and the drum? How is it that the sword runs away +with all the fame from the spade and the wheel? How sturdy seem to +us in the history, those Merovingians, Guelphs, Dorias, Sforzas, +Burgundies and Guesclins of the old warlike ages! We can hardly believe +they were all such speedy shadows as we; that an ague or fever, a drop +of water or a crystal of ice ended them. We give soldiers the same +advantage to-day. From the most accumulated culture we are always +running back to the sound of any drum and fife. And in any trade, or in +law-courts, in orchard and farm, and even in saloons, they only prosper +or they prosper best who have a military mind, who engineer in sword +and cannon style, with energy and sharpness. Why, but because courage +never loses its high price? Why, but because we wish to see those to +whom existence is most adorned and attractive, foremost to peril it +for their object, and ready to answer for their actions with their life. + +The existence of an upper class is not injurious, as long as it is +dependent on merit. For so long it is provocation to the bold and +generous. These distinctions exist, and they are deep, not to be talked +or voted away. If the differences are organic, so are the merits, that +is to say the power and excellence we describe are real. Aristocracy is +the class eminent by personal qualities, and to them belongs without +assertion a proper influence. Men of aim must lead the aimless; men of +invention the uninventive. I wish catholic men, who by their science +and skill are at home in every latitude and longitude, who carry the +world in their thoughts; men of universal politics, who are interested +in things in proportion to their truth and magnitude; who know the +beauty of animals and the laws of their nature, whom the mystery of +botany allures, and the mineral laws; who see general effects and are +not too learned to love the Imagination, the power and the spirits +of Solitude;--men who see the dance in men’s lives as well as in a +ball-room, and can feel and convey the sense which is only collectively +or totally expressed by a population; men who are charmed by the +beautiful Nemesis as well as by the dire Nemesis, and dare trust +their inspiration for their welcome; who would find their fellows in +persons of real elevation of whatever kind of speculative or practical +ability. We are fallen on times so acquiescent and traditionary that we +are in danger of forgetting so simple a fact as that the basis of all +aristocracy must be truth,--the doing what elsewhere is pretended to be +done. One would gladly see all our institutions rightly aristocratic in +this wise. + +I enumerate the claims by which men enter the superior class. + +1. A commanding talent. In every company one finds the best man; and if +there be any question, it is decided the instant they enter into any +practical enterprise. If the finders of glass, gunpowder, printing, +electricity,--if the healer of small-pox, the contriver of the safety +lamp, of the aqueduct, of the bridge, of the tunnel; if the finders of +parallax, of new planets, of steam power for boat and carriage, the +finder of sulphuric ether and the electric telegraph,--if these men +should keep their secrets, or only communicate them to each other, must +not the whole race of mankind serve them as gods? It only needs to look +at the social aspect of England and America and France, to see the rank +which original practical talent commands. + +Every survey of the dignified classes, in ancient or modern history, +imprints universal lessons, and establishes a nobility of a prouder +creation. And the conclusion which Roman Senators, Indian Brahmins, +Persian Magians, European Nobles and great Americans inculcate,--that +which they preach out of their material wealth and glitter, out of +their old war and modern land-owning, even out of sensuality and +sneers, is, that the radical and essential distinctions of every +aristocracy are moral. Do not hearken to the men, but to the Destiny in +the institutions. An aristocracy is composed of simple and sincere men +for whom nature and ethics are strong enough, who say what they mean +and go straight to their objects. It is essentially real. + +The multiplication of monarchs known by telegraph and daily news +from all countries to the daily papers, and the effect of freer +institutions in England and America, has robbed the title of king of +all its romance, as that of our commercial consuls as compared with +the ancient Roman. We shall come to add “Kings” in the “Contents” +of the Directory, as we do “Physicians,” “Brokers,” etc. In simple +communities, in the heroic ages, a man was chosen for his knack; got +his name, rank and living for that; and the best of the best was the +aristocrat or king. In the Norse Edda it appears as the curious but +excellent policy of contending tribes, when tired of war, to exchange +hostages, and in reality each to adopt from the other a first-rate +man, who thus acquired a new country, was at once made a chief. And no +wrong was so keenly resented as any fraud in this transaction. In the +heroic ages, as we call them, the hero uniformly has some real talent. +Ulysses in Homer is represented as a very skilful carpenter. He builds +the boat with which he leaves Calypso’s isle, and in his own palace +carves a bedstead out of the trunk of a tree and inlays it with gold +and ivory. Epeus builds the wooden horse. The English nation down to a +late age inherited the reality of the Northern stock. In 1373, in writs +of summons of members of Parliament, the sheriff of every county is to +cause “two dubbed knights, or the most worthy esquires, the most expert +in feats of arms, and no others; and of every city, two citizens, +and of every borough, two burgesses, such as have greatest skill in +shipping and merchandising, to be returned.” + +The ancients were fond of ascribing to their nobles gigantic +proportions and strength. The hero must have the force of ten men. The +chief is taller by a head than any of his tribe. Douglas can throw the +bar a greater cast. Richard can sever the iron bolt with his sword. +The horn of Roland, in the romance, is heard sixty miles. The Cid has +a prevailing health that will let him nurse the leper, and share his +bed without harm. And since the body is the pipe through which we +tap all the succors and virtues of the material world, it is certain +that a sound body must be at the root of any excellence in manners and +actions; a strong and supple frame which yields a stock of strength +and spirits for all the needs of the day, and generates the habit of +relying on a supply of power for all extraordinary exertions. When +Nature goes to create a national man, she puts a symmetry between the +physical and intellectual powers. She moulds a large brain, and joins +to it a great trunk to supply it; as if a fine alembic were fed with +liquor for its distillations from broad full vats in the vaults of the +laboratory. + +Certainly, the origin of most of the perversities and absurdities that +disgust us is, primarily, the want of health. Genius is health and +Beauty is health and virtue is health. The petty arts which we blame in +the half-great seem as odious to them also;--the resources of weakness +and despair. And the manners betray the like puny constitution. +Temperament is fortune, and we must say it so often. In a thousand +cups of life, only one is the right mixture,--a fine adjustment to the +existing elements. When that befalls, when the well-mixed man is born, +with eyes not too dull nor too good, with fire enough and earth enough, +capable of impressions from all things, and not too susceptible,--then +no gift need be bestowed on him, he brings with him fortune, followers, +love, power. + + “I think he’ll be to Rome + As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it + By sovereignty of nature.” + +Not the phrenologist but the philosopher may well say, Let me see +his brain, and I will tell you if he shall be poet, king, founder of +cities, rich, magnetic, of a secure hand, of a scientific memory, a +right classifier; or whether he shall be a bungler, driveller, unlucky, +heavy, and tedious. + +It were to dispute against the sun, to deny this difference of brain. +I see well enough that when I bring one man into an estate, he sees +vague capabilities, what others might, could, would, or should do with +it. If I bring another man, he sees what _he_ should do with it. +He appreciates the water-privilege, land fit for orchard, tillage, +pasturage, wood-lot, cranberry-meadow; but just as easily he foresees +all the means, all the steps of the process, and could lay his hand +as readily on one as on another point in that series which opens the +capability to the last point. The poet sees wishfully enough the +result; the well-built head supplies all the steps, one as perfect as +the other, in the series. Seeing this working head in him, it becomes +to me as certain that he will have the direction of estates, as that +there are estates. If we see tools in a magazine, as a file, an +anchor, a plough, a pump, a paint-brush, a cider-press, a diving-bell, +we can predict well enough their destination; and the man’s +associations, fortunes, love, hatred, residence, rank, the books he +will buy, the roads he will traverse are predetermined in his organism. +Men will need him, and he is rich and eminent by nature. That man +cannot be too late or too early. Let him not hurry or hesitate. Though +millions are already arrived, his seat is reserved. Though millions +attend, they only multiply his friends and agents. It never troubles +the Senator what multitudes crack the benches and bend the galleries to +hear. He who understands the art of war, reckons the hostile battalions +and cities, opportunities and spoils. + +An aristocracy could not exist unless it were organic. Men are born to +command, and--it is even so--“come into the world booted and spurred to +ride.” The blood royal never pays, we say. It obtains service, gifts, +supplies, furtherance of all kinds from the love and joy of those who +feel themselves honored by the service they render. + +Dull people think it Fortune that makes one rich and another poor. Is +it? Yes, but the fortune was earlier than they think, namely, in the +balance or adjustment between devotion to what is agreeable to-day and +the forecast of what will be valuable to-morrow. + +Certainly I am not going to argue the merits of gradation in the +universe; the existing order of more or less. Neither do I wish to go +into a vindication of the justice that disposes the variety of lot. +I know how steep the contrast of condition looks; such excess here +and such destitution there; like entire chance, like the freaks of +the wind, heaping the snow-drift in gorges, stripping the plain; such +despotism of wealth and comfort in banquet-halls, whilst death is in +the pots of the wretched,--that it behooves a good man to walk with +tenderness and heed amidst so much suffering. I only point in passing +to the order of the universe, which makes a rotation,--not like the +coarse policy of the Greeks, ten generals, each commanding one day and +then giving place to the next, or like our democratic politics, my turn +now, your turn next,--but the constitution of things has distributed +a new quality or talent to each mind, and the revolution of things is +always bringing the need, now of this, now of that, and is sure to +bring home the opportunity to every one. + +The only relief that I know against the invidiousness of superior +position is, that you exert your faculty; for whilst each does that, +he excludes hard thoughts from the spectator. All right activity is +amiable. I never feel that any man occupies my place, but that the +reason why I do not have what I wish, is, that I want the faculty +which entitles. All spiritual or real power makes its own place. + +We pass for what we are, and we prosper or fail by what we are. There +are men who may dare much and will be justified in their daring. But +it is because they know they are in their place. As long as I am in +my place, I am safe. “The best lightning-rod for your protection is +your own spine.” Let a man’s social aims be proportioned to his means +and power. I do not pity the misery of a man underplaced: that will +right itself presently: but I pity the man overplaced. A certain +quantity of power belongs to a certain quantity of faculty. Whoever +wants more power than is the legitimate attraction of his faculty, is +a politician, and must pay for that excess; must truckle for it. This +is the whole game of society and the politics of the world. Being will +always seem well;--but whether possibly I cannot contrive to seem, +without the trouble of being? Every Frenchman would have a career. We +English are not any better with our love of making a figure. “I told +the Duke of Newcastle,” says Bubb Doddington in his Memoirs, “that it +must end one way or another, it must not remain as it was; for I was +determined to make some sort of a figure in life; I earnestly wished +it might be under his protection, but if that could not be, I must +make some figure; what it would be I could not determine yet; I must +look round me a little and consult my friends, but some figure I was +resolved to make.” + +It will be agreed everywhere that society must have the benefit of the +best leaders. How to obtain them? Birth has been tried and failed. +Caste in India has no good result. Ennobling of one family is good +for one generation; not sure beyond. Slavery had mischief enough to +answer for, but it had this good in it,--the pricing of men. In the +South a slave was bluntly but accurately valued at five hundred to a +thousand dollars, if a good field-hand; if a mechanic, as carpenter +or smith, twelve hundred or two thousand. In Rome or Greece what sums +would not be paid for a superior slave, a confidential secretary and +manager, an educated slave; a man of genius, a Moses educated in Egypt? +I don’t know how much Epictetus was sold for, or Æsop, or Toussaint +l’Ouverture, and perhaps it was not a good market-day. Time was, in +England, when the state stipulated beforehand what price should be paid +for each citizen’s life, if he was killed. Now, if it were possible, I +should like to see that appraisal applied to every man, and every man +made acquainted with the true number and weight of every adult citizen, +and that he be placed where he belongs, with so much power confided to +him as he could carry and use. + +In the absence of such anthropometer I have a perfect confidence in +the natural laws. I think that the community,--every community, if +obstructing laws and usages are removed,--will be the best measure and +the justest judge of the citizen, or will in the long run give the +fairest verdict and reward; better than any royal patronage; better +than any premium on race; better than any statute elevating families to +hereditary distinction, or any class to sacerdotal education and power. +The verdict of battles will best prove the general; the town-meeting, +the Congress, will not fail to find out legislative talent. The +prerogatives of a right physician are determined, not by his diplomas, +but by the health he restores to body and mind; the powers of a +geometer by solving his problem; of a priest by the act of inspiring +us with a sentiment which disperses the grief from which we suffered. +When the lawyer tries his case in court he himself is also on trial and +his own merits appear as well as his client’s. When old writers are +consulted by young writers who have written their first book, they say, +Publish it by all means; so only can you certainly know its quality. + +But we venture to put any man in any place. It is curious how negligent +the public is of the essential qualifications of its representatives. +They ask if a man is a republican, a democrat? Yes. Is he a man of +talent? Yes. Is he honest and not looking for an office or any manner +of bribe? He is honest. Well then choose him by acclamation. And they +go home and tell their wives with great satisfaction what a good thing +they have done. But they forgot to ask the fourth question, not less +important than either of the others, and without which the others do +not avail. Has he a will? Can he carry his points against opposition? +Probably not. It is not sufficient that your work follows your genius, +or is organic, to give you the magnetic power over men. More than taste +and talent must go to the Will. That must also be a gift of nature. It +is in some; it is not in others. But I should say, if it is not in you, +you had better not put yourself in places where not to have it is to be +a public enemy. + +The expectation and claims of mankind indicate the duties of this +class. Some service they must pay. We do not expect them to be saints, +and it is very pleasing to see the instinct of mankind on this +matter,--how much they will forgive to such as pay substantial service +and work energetically after their kind; but they do not extend the +same indulgence to those who claim and enjoy the same prerogative but +render no returns. The day is darkened when the golden river runs down +into mud; when genius grows idle and wanton and reckless of its fine +duties of being Saint, Prophet, Inspirer to its humble fellows, baulks +their respect and confounds their understanding by silly extravagances. +To a right aristocracy, to Hercules, to Theseus, Odin, the Cid, +Napoleon; to Sir Robert Walpole, to Fox, Chatham, Mirabeau, Jefferson, +O’Connell;--to the men, that is, who are incomparably superior to the +populace in ways agreeable to the populace, showing them the way they +should go, doing for them what they wish done and cannot do;--of course +everything will be permitted and pardoned,--gaming, drinking, fighting, +luxury. These are the heads of party, who can do no wrong,--everything +short of infamous crime will pass. + +But if those who merely sit in their places and are not, like them, +able; if the dressed and perfumed gentleman, who serves the people in +no wise and adorns them not, is not even _not afraid of them_, if +such an one go about to set ill examples and corrupt them, who shall +blame them if they burn his barns, insult his children, assault his +person, and express their unequivocal indignation and contempt? He +eats their bread, he does not scorn to live by their labor, and after +breakfast he cannot remember that there are human beings. To live +without duties is obscene. + +2. Genius, what is so called in strictness,--the power to affect the +Imagination, as possessed by the orator, the poet, the novelist, or +the artist,--has a royal right in all possessions and privileges, being +itself representative and accepted by all men as their delegate. It +has indeed the best right, because it raises men above themselves, +intoxicates them with beauty. They are honored by rendering it honor, +and the reason of this allowance is that Genius unlocks for all men +the chains of use, temperament and drudgery, and gives them a sense of +delicious liberty and power. + +The first example that occurs is an extraordinary gift of eloquence. +A man who has that possession of his means and that magnetism that he +can at all times carry the convictions of a public assembly, we must +respect, and he is thereby ennobled. He has the freedom of the city. He +is entitled to neglect trifles. Like a great general, or a great poet, +or a millionaire, he may wear his coat out at elbows, and his hat on +his feet, if he will. He has established relation, representativeness. +The best feat of genius is to bring all the varieties of talent and +culture into its audience; the mediocre and the dull are reached +as well as the intelligent. I have seen it conspicuously shown in +a village. Here are classes which day by day have no intercourse, +nothing beyond perhaps a surly nod in passing. But I have seen a +man of teeming brain come among these men, so full of his facts, so +unable to suppress them, that he has poured out a river of knowledge +to all comers, and drawing all these men round him, all sorts of men, +interested the whole village, good and bad, bright and stupid, in his +facts; the iron boundary lines had all faded away; the stupid had +discovered that they were not stupid; the coldest had found themselves +drawn to their neighbors by interest in the same things. This was a +naturalist. + +The more familiar examples of this power certainly are those who +establish a wider dominion over men’s minds than any speech can; who +think, and paint, and laugh, and weep, in their eloquent closets, and +then convert the world into a huge whispering gallery, to report the +tale to all men, and win smiles and tears from many generations. The +eminent examples are Shakspeare, Cervantes, Bunyan, Burns, Scott, and +now we must add Dickens. In the fine arts, I find none in the present +age who have any popular power, who have achieved any nobility by +ennobling the people. + +3. Elevation of sentiment, refining and inspiring the manners, must +really take the place of every distinction whether of material power +or of intellectual gifts. The manners of course must have that depth +and firmness of tone to attest their centrality in the nature of the +man. I mean the things themselves shall be judges, and determine. In +the presence of this nobility even genius must stand aside. For the two +poles of nature are Beauty and Meanness, and noble sentiment is the +highest form of Beauty. He is beautiful in face, in port, in manners, +who is absorbed in objects which he truly believes to be superior to +himself. Is there any parchment or any cosmetic or any blood that can +obtain homage like that security of air presupposing so undoubtingly +the sympathy of men in his designs? What is it that makes the true +knight? Loyalty to his thought. That makes the beautiful scorn, the +elegant simplicity, the directness, the commanding port which all men +admire and which men not noble affect. For the thought has no debts, +no hunger, no lusts, no low obligations or relations, no intrigue or +business, no murder, no envy, no crime, but large leisures and an +inviting future. + +The service we receive from the great is a mutual deference. If +you deal with the vulgar, life is reduced to beggary indeed. The +astronomers are very eager to know whether the moon has an atmosphere; +I am only concerned that every man have one. I observe however that it +takes two to make an atmosphere. I am acquainted with persons who go +attended with this ambient cloud. It is sufficient that they come. It +is not important what they say. The sun and the evening sky are not +calmer. They seem to have arrived at the fact, to have got rid of the +show, and to be serene. Their manners and behavior in the house and in +the field are those of men at rest: what have they to conceal? what +have they to exhibit? Others I meet, who have no deference, and who +denude and strip one of all attributes but material values. As much +health and muscle as you have, as much land, as much house-room and +dinner, avails. Of course a man is a poor bag of bones. There is no +gracious interval, not an inch allowed. Bone rubs against bone. Life is +thus a Beggar’s Bush. I know nothing which induces so base and forlorn +a feeling as when we are treated for our utilities, as economists do, +starving the imagination and the sentiment. In this impoverishing +animation, I seem to meet a Hunger, a wolf. Rather let us be alone +whilst we live, than encounter these lean kine. Man should emancipate +man. He does so, not by jamming him, but by distancing him. The nearer +my friend, the more spacious is our realm, the more diameter our +spheres have. It is a measure of culture, the number of things taken +for granted. When a man begins to speak, the churl will take him up by +disputing his first words, so he cannot come at his scope. The wise +man takes all for granted until he sees the parallelism of that which +puzzled him with his own view. + +I will not protract this discourse by describing the duties of the +brave and generous. And yet I will venture to name one, and the same +is almost the sole condition on which knighthood is to be won; this, +namely, loyalty to your own order. The true aristocrat is he who is +at the head of his own order, and disloyalty is to mistake other +chivalries for his own. Let him not divide his homage, but stand for +that which he was born and set to maintain. It was objected to Gustavus +that he did not better distinguish between the duties of a carabine and +a general, but exposed himself to all dangers and was too prodigal of a +blood so precious. For a soul on which elevated duties are laid will so +realize its special and lofty duties as not to be in danger of assuming +through a low generosity those which do not belong to it. + +There are all degrees of nobility, but amid the levity and giddiness +of people one looks round, as for a tower of strength, on some +self-dependent mind, who does not go abroad for an estimate, and has +long ago made up its conclusion that it is impossible to fail. The +great Indian sages had a lesson for the Brahmin, which every day +returns to mind, “All that depends on another gives pain; all that +depends on himself gives pleasure; in these few words is the definition +of pleasure and pain.” The noble mind is here to teach us that failure +is a part of success. Prosperity and pound-cake are for very young +gentlemen, whom such things content; but a hero’s, a man’s success +is made up of failures, because he experiments and ventures every +day, and “the more falls he gets, moves faster on;” defeated all the +time and yet to victory born. I have heard that in horsemanship he is +not the good rider who never was thrown, but rather that a man never +will be a good rider until he is thrown; then he will not be haunted +any longer by the terror that he shall tumble, and will ride;--that +is his business,--to _ride_, whether with falls or whether with +none, to ride unto the place whither he is bound. And I know no such +unquestionable badge and ensign of a sovereign mind, as that tenacity +of purpose which, through all change of companions, of parties, of +fortunes,--changes never, bates no jot of heart or hope, but wearies +out opposition, and arrives at its port. In his consciousness of +deserving success, the caliph Ali constantly neglected the ordinary +means of attaining it; and to the grand interests, a superficial +success is of no account. It prospers as well in mistake as in luck, +in obstruction and nonsense, as well as among the angels; it reckons +fortunes mere paint; difficulty is its delight: perplexity is its +noonday: minds that make their way without winds and against tides. But +these are rare and difficult examples, we can only indicate them to +show how high is the range of the realm of Honor. + +I know the feeling of the most ingenious and excellent youth in +America; I hear the complaint of the aspirant that we have no prizes +offered to the ambition of virtuous young men; that there is no Theban +Band; no stern exclusive Legion of Honor, to be entered only by long +and real service and patient climbing up all the steps. We have a +rich men’s aristocracy, plenty of bribes for those who like them; but +a grand style of culture, which, without injury, an ardent youth can +propose to himself as a Pharos through long dark years, does not exist, +and there is no substitute. The youth, having got through the first +thickets that oppose his entrance into life, having got into decent +society, is left to himself, and falls abroad with too much freedom. +But in the hours of insight we rally against this skepticism. We then +see that if the ignorant are around us, the great are much more near; +that there is an order of men, never quite absent, who enroll no +names in their archives but of such as are capable of truth. They are +gathered in no one chamber; no chamber would hold them; but, out of the +vast duration of man’s race, they tower like mountains, and are present +to every mind in proportion to its likeness to theirs. The solitariest +man who shares their spirit walks environed by them; they talk to +him, they comfort him, and happy is he who prefers these associates to +profane companions. They also take shape in men, in women. There is no +heroic trait, no sentiment or thought that will not sometime embody +itself in the form of a friend. That highest good of rational existence +is always coming to such as reject mean alliances. + +One trait more we must celebrate, the self-reliance which is the +patent of royal natures. It is so prized a jewel that it is sure to +be tested. The rules and discipline are ordered for that. The Golden +Table never lacks members; all its seats are kept full; but with this +strange provision, that the members are carefully withdrawn into deep +niches, so that no one of them can see any other of them, and each +believes himself alone. In the presence of the Chapter it is easy for +each member to carry himself royally and well; but in the absence of +his colleagues and in the presence of mean people he is tempted to +accept the low customs of towns. The honor of a member consists in +an indifferency to the persons and practices about him, and in the +pursuing undisturbed the career of a Brother, as if always in their +presence, and as if no other existed. Give up, once for all, the hope +of approbation from the people in the street, if you are pursuing great +ends. How can they guess your designs? + +All reference to models, all comparison with neighboring abilities +and reputations, is the road to mediocrity. The generous soul, on +arriving in a new port, makes instant preparation for a new voyage. +By experiment, by original studies, by secret obedience, he has made +a place for himself in the world; stands there a real, substantial, +unprecedented person, and when the great come by, as always there are +angels walking in the earth, they know him at sight. Effectual service +in his own legitimate fashion distinguishes the true man. For he is +to know that the distinction of a royal nature is a great heart; that +not Louis Quatorze, not Chesterfield, nor Byron, nor Bonaparte is the +model of the Century, but, wherever found, the old renown attaches to +the virtues of simple faith and staunch endurance and clear perception +and plain speech, and that there is a master grace and dignity +communicated by exalted sentiments to a human form, to which utility +and even genius must do homage. And it is the sign and badge of this +nobility, the drawing his counsel from his own breast. For to every +gentleman, grave and dangerous duties are proposed. Justice always +wants champions. The world waits for him as its defender, for he will +find in the well-dressed crowd, yes, in the civility of whole nations, +vulgarity of sentiment. In the best parlors of modern society he +will find the laughing devil, the civil sneer; in English palaces the +London twist, derision, coldness, contempt of the masses, contempt of +Ireland, dislike of the Chartist. The English House of Commons is the +proudest assembly of gentlemen in the world, yet the genius of the +House of Commons, its legitimate expression, is a sneer. In America he +shall find deprecation of purism on all questions touching the morals +of trade and of social customs, and the narrowest contraction of ethics +to the one duty of paying money. Pay that, and you may play the tyrant +at discretion and never look back to the fatal question,--where had you +the money that you paid? + +I know the difficulties in the way of the man of honor. The man of +honor is a man of taste and humanity. By tendency, like all magnanimous +men, he is a democrat. But the revolution comes, and does he join +the standard of Chartist and outlaw? No, for these have been dragged +in their ignorance by furious chiefs to the Red Revolution; they +are full of murder, and the student recoils,--and joins the rich. +If he cannot vote with the poor, he should stay by himself. Let him +accept the position of armed neutrality, abhorring the crimes of the +Chartist, abhorring the selfishness of the rich, and say, ‘The time +will come when these poor _enfans perdus_ of revolution will have +instructed their party, if only by their fate, and wiser counsels will +prevail; the music and the dance of liberty will come up to bright and +holy ground and will take me in also. Then I shall not have forfeited +my right to speak and act for mankind.’ Meantime shame to the fop of +learning and philosophy who suffers a vulgarity of speech and habit +to blind him to the grosser vulgarity of pitiless selfishness, and to +hide from him the current of Tendency; who abandons his right position +of being priest and poet of these impious and unpoetic doers of God’s +work. You must, for wisdom, for sanity, have some access to the mind +and heart of the common humanity. The exclusive excludes himself. +No great man has existed who did not rely on the sense and heart of +mankind as represented by the good sense of the people, as correcting +the modes and over-refinements and class-prejudices of the lettered men +of the world. + +There are certain conditions in the highest degree favorable to the +tranquillity of spirit and to that magnanimity we so prize. And mainly +the habit of considering large interests, and things in masses, and +not too much in detail. The habit of directing large affairs generates +a nobility of thought in every mind of average ability. For affairs +themselves show the way in which they should be handled; and a good +head soon grows wise, and does not govern too much. + +Now I believe in the closest affinity between moral and material power. +Virtue and genius are always on the direct way to the control of the +society in which they are found. It is the interest of society that +good men should govern, and there is always a tendency so to place +them. But, for the day that now is, a man of generous spirit will not +need to administer public offices or to direct large interests of +trade, or war, or politics, or manufacture, but he will use a high +prudence in the conduct of life to guard himself from being dissipated +on many things. There is no need that he should count the pounds of +property or the numbers of agents whom his influence touches; it +suffices that his aims are high, that the interest of intellectual and +moral beings is paramount with him, that he comes into what is called +fine society from higher ground, and he has an elevation of habit which +ministers of empires will be forced to see and to remember. + +I do not know whether that word Gentleman, although it signifies +a leading idea in recent civilization, is a sufficiently broad +generalization to convey the deep and grave fact of self-reliance. To +many the word expresses only the outsides of cultivated men,--only +graceful manners, and independence in trifles; but the fountains of +that thought are in the deeps of man, a beauty which reaches through +and through, from the manners to the soul; an honor which is only +a name for sanctity, a self-trust which is a trust in God himself. +Call it man of honor, or call it Man, the American who would serve +his country must learn the beauty and honor of perseverance, he must +reinforce himself by the power of character, and revisit the margin of +that well from which his fathers drew waters of life and enthusiasm, +the fountain I mean of the moral sentiments, the parent fountain from +which this goodly Universe flows as a wave. + + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[Footnote 4: First read as a lecture--in England--in 1848; here printed +with additions from other papers.] + + + + + PERPETUAL FORCES. + + MORE servants wait on man + Than he’ll take notice of. + + + EVER the Rock of Ages melts + Into the mineral air + To be the quarry whence is built + Thought and its mansions fair. + + + + + PERPETUAL FORCES.[5] + + +THE hero in the fairy tales has a servant who can eat granite rocks, +another who can hear the grass grow, and a third who can run a hundred +leagues in half an hour; so man in nature is surrounded by a gang of +friendly giants who can accept harder stints than these, and help him +in every kind. Each by itself has a certain omnipotence, but all, like +contending kings and emperors, in the presence of each other, are +antagonized and kept polite and own the balance of power. + +We cannot afford to miss any advantage. Never was any man too strong +for his proper work. Art is long, and life short, and he must supply +this disproportion by borrowing and applying to his task the energies +of Nature. Reinforce his self-respect, show him his means, his arsenal +of forces, physical, metaphysical, immortal. Show him the riches of +the poor, show him what mighty allies and helpers he has. And though +King David had no good from making his census out of vain-glory, yet I +find it wholesome and invigorating to enumerate the resources we can +command, to look a little into this arsenal, and see how many rounds +of ammunition, what muskets and how many arms better than Springfield +muskets we can bring to bear. + +Go out of doors and get the air. Ah, if you knew what was in the air. +See what your robust neighbor, who never feared to live in it, has got +from it; strength, cheerfulness, power to convince, heartiness and +equality to each event. + +All the earths are burnt metals. One half the avoirdupois of the +rocks which compose the solid crust of the globe consists of oxygen. +The adamant is always passing into smoke; the marble column, the +brazen statue burn under the daylight, and would soon decompose if +their molecular structure, disturbed by the raging sunlight, were not +restored by the darkness of the night. What agencies of electricity, +gravity, light, affinity combine to make every plant what it is, and in +a manner so quiet that the presence of these tremendous powers is not +ordinarily suspected. Faraday said, “A grain of water is known to have +electric relations equivalent to a very powerful flash of lightning.” +The ripe fruit is dropped at last without violence, but the lightning +fell and the storm raged and strata were deposited and uptorn and bent +back, and Chaos moved from beneath, to create and flavor the fruit on +your table to-day. The winds and the rains come back a thousand and a +thousand times. The coal on your grate gives out in decomposing to-day +exactly the same amount of light and heat which was taken from the +sunshine in its formation in the leaves and boughs of the antediluvian +tree. + +Take up a spadeful or a buck-load of loam; who can guess what it holds? +But a gardener knows that it is full of peaches, full of oranges, +and he drops in a few seeds by way of keys to unlock and combine its +virtues; lets it lie in sun and rain, and by and by it has lifted into +the air its full weight in golden fruit. + +The earliest hymns of the world were hymns to these natural forces. +The Vedas of India, which have a date older than Homer, are hymns +to the winds, to the clouds, and to fire. They all have certain +properties which adhere to them, such as conservation, persisting to be +themselves, impossibility of being warped. The sun has lost no beams, +the earth no elements; gravity is as adhesive, heat as expansive, light +as joyful, air as virtuous, water as medicinal as on the first day. +There is no loss, only transference. When the heat is less here it is +not lost, but more heat is there. When the rain exceeds on the coast, +there is drought on the prairie. When the continent sinks, the opposite +continent, that is to say, the opposite shore of the ocean, rises. +When life is less here, it spawns there. + +These forces are in an ascending series, but seem to leave no room for +the individual; man or atom, he only shares them; he sails the way +these irresistible winds blow. But behind all these are finer elements, +the sources of them, and much more rapid and strong; a new style and +series, the spiritual. Intellect and morals appear only the material +forces on a higher plane. The laws of material nature run up into the +invisible world of the mind, and hereby we acquire a key to those +sublimities which skulk and hide in the caverns of human consciousness. +And in the impenetrable mystery which hides--and hides through absolute +transparency--the mental nature, I await the insight which our +advancing knowledge of material laws shall furnish. + +But the laws of force apply to every form of it. The husbandry +learned in the economy of heat or light or steam or muscular fibre +applies precisely to the use of wit. What I have said of the +inexorable persistence of every elemental force to remain itself, +the impossibility of tampering with it or warping it,--the same +rule applies again strictly to this force of intellect; that it is +perception, a seeing, not making, thoughts. The man must bend to the +law, never the law to him. + +The brain of man has methods and arrangements corresponding to these +material powers, by which he can use them. See how trivial is the use +of the world by any other of its creatures. Whilst these forces act on +us from the outside and we are not in their counsel, we call them Fate. +The animal instincts guide the animal as gravity governs the stone, +and in man that bias or direction of his constitution is often as +tyrannical as gravity. We call it temperament, and it seems to be the +remains of wolf, ape, and rattlesnake in him. While the reason is yet +dormant, this rules; as the reflective faculties open, this subsides. +We come to reason and knowledge; we see the causes of evils and learn +to parry them and use them as instruments, by knowledge, being inside +of them and dealing with them as the Creator does. It is curious to +see how a creature so feeble and vulnerable as a man, who, unarmed, is +no match for the wild beasts, tiger, or crocodile, none for the frost, +none for the sea, none for a fog, or a damp air, or the feeble fork +of a poor worm,--each of a thousand petty accidents puts him to death +every day,--is yet able to subdue to his will these terrific forces, +and more than these. His whole frame is responsive to the world, part +for part, every sense, every pore to a new element, so that he seems +to have as many talents as there are qualities in nature. No force but +is his force. He does not possess them, he is a pipe through which +their currents flow. If a straw be held still in the direction of the +ocean-current, the sea will pour through it as through Gibraltar. If +he should measure strength with them, if he should fight the sea and +the whirlwind with his ship, he would snap his spars, tear his sails, +and swamp his bark; but by cunningly dividing the force, tapping the +tempest for a little side-wind, he uses the monsters, and they carry +him where he would go. Look at him; you can give no guess at what +power is in him. It never appears directly, but follow him and see his +effects, see his productions. He is a planter, a miner, a shipbuilder, +a machinist, a musician, a steam-engine, a geometer, an astronomer, a +persuader of men, a lawgiver, a builder of towns;--and each of these by +dint of a wonderful method or series that resides in him and enables +him to work on the material elements. + +We are surrounded by human thought and labor. Where are the farmer’s +days gone? See, they are hid in that stone-wall, in that excavated +trench, in the harvest grown on what was shingle and pine-barren. +He put his days into carting from the distant swamp the mountain +of muck which has been trundled about until it now makes the cover +of fruitful soil. Labor hides itself in every mode and form. It is +massed and blocked away in that stone house, for five hundred years. +It is twisted and screwed into fragrant hay which fills the barn. +It surprises in the perfect form and condition of trees clean of +caterpillars and borers, rightly pruned, and loaded with grafted fruit. +It is under the house in the well; it is over the house in slates and +copper and water-spout; it grows in the corn; it delights us in the +flower-bed; it keeps the cow out of the garden, the rain out of the +library, the miasma out of the town. It is in dress, in pictures, in +ships, in cannon; in every spectacle, in odors, in flavors, in sweet +sounds, in works of safety, of delight, of wrath, of science. + +The thoughts, no man ever saw, but disorder becomes order where he +goes; weakness becomes power; surprising and admirable effects follow +him like a creator. All forces are his; as the wise merchant by truth +in his dealings finds his credit unlimited,--he can use in turn, as he +wants it, all the property in the world,--so a man draws on all the +air for his occasions, as if there were no other breather; on all the +water as if there were no other sailor; he is warmed by the sun, and +so of every element; he walks and works by the aid of gravitation; he +draws on all knowledge as his province, on all beauty for his innocent +delight, and first or last he exhausts by his use all the harvests, all +the powers of the world. For man, the receiver of all, and depositary +of these volumes of power, I am to say that his ability and performance +are according to his reception of these various streams of force. +We define Genius to be a sensibility to all the impressions of the +outer world, a sensibility so equal that it receives accurately all +impressions, and can truly report them without excess or loss as it +received. It must not only receive all, but it must render all. And the +health of man is an equality of inlet and outlet, gathering and giving. +Any hoarding is tumor and disease. + +If we were truly to take account of stock before the last Court of +Appeals,--that were an inventory! What are my resources? “Our stock +in life, our real estate, is that amount of thought which we have +had,”--and which we have applied, and so domesticated. The ground we +have thus created is forever a fund for new thoughts. A few moral +maxims confirmed by much experience would stand high on the list, +constituting a supreme prudence. Then the knowledge unutterable of our +private strength, of where it lies, of its accesses and facilitations, +and of its obstructions. My conviction of principles, that is great +part of my possessions. Certain thoughts, certain observations, long +familiar to me in night-watches and daylights, would be my capital +if I removed to Spain or China, or, by stranger translation, to the +planet Jupiter or Mars, or to new spiritual societies. Every valuable +person who joins in an enterprise,--is it a piece of industry, or the +founding of a colony or a college, the reform of some public abuse, or +some effort of patriotism,--what he chiefly brings, all he brings, is +not his land or his money or body’s strength, but his thoughts, his way +of classifying and seeing things, his method. And thus with every one a +new power. In proportion to the depth of the insight is the power and +reach of the kingdom he controls. + +It would be easy to awake wonder by sketching the performance of each +of these mental forces; as of the diving-bell of the Memory, which +descends into the deeps of our past and oldest experience and brings +up every lost jewel; or of the Fancy, which sends its gay balloon +aloft into the sky to catch every tint and gleam of romance; of the +Imagination, which turns every dull fact into pictures and poetry, by +making it an emblem of thought. What a power, when, combined with the +analyzing understanding, it makes Eloquence; the art of compelling +belief, the art of making peoples’ hearts dance to his pipe! And not +less, method, patience, self-trust, perseverance, love, desire of +knowledge, the passion for truth. These are the angels that take us +by the hand, these our immortal, invulnerable guardians. By their +strength we are strong, and on the signal occasions in our career +their inspirations flow to us and make the selfish and protected and +tenderly-bred person strong for his duty, wise in counsel, skilful in +action, competent to rule, willing to obey. + +I delight in tracing these wonderful powers, the electricity and +gravity of the human world. The power of persistence, of enduring +defeat and of gaining victory by defeats, is one of these forces +which never loses its charm. The power of a man increases steadily +by continuance in one direction. He becomes acquainted with the +resistances, and with his own tools; increases his skill and strength +and learns the favorable moments and favorable accidents. He is his +own apprentice, and more time gives a great addition of power, just +as a falling body acquires momentum with every foot of the fall. +How we prize a good continuer! I knew a manufacturer who found his +property invested in chemical works which were depreciating in value. +He undertook the charge of them himself, began at the beginning, +learned chemistry and acquainted himself with all the conditions of +the manufacture. His friends dissuaded him, advised him to give up the +work, which was not suited to the country. Why throw good money after +bad? But he persisted, and after many years succeeded in his production +of the right article for commerce, brought up the stock of his mills +to par, and then sold out his interest, having accomplished the reform +that was required. + +In each the talent is the perception of an order and series in the +department he deals with,--of an order and series which pre-existed in +nature, and which this mind sees and conforms to. The geometer shows us +the true order in figures; the painter in laws of color; the dancer in +grace. Bonaparte, with his celerity of combination, mute, unfathomable, +reads the geography of Europe as if his eyes were telescopes; his will +is an immense battery discharging irresistible volleys of power always +at the right point in the right time. + +There was a story in the journals of a poor prisoner in a Western +police-court who was told he might be released if he would pay his +fine. He had no money, he had no friends, but he took his flute out of +his pocket and began to play, to the surprise, and, as it proved, to +the delight of all the company; the jurors waked up, the sheriff forgot +his duty, the judge himself beat time, and the prisoner was by general +consent of court and officers allowed to go his way without any money. +And I suppose, if he could have played loud enough, we here should have +beat time, and the whole population of the globe would beat time, and +consent that he should go without his fine. + +I knew a stupid young farmer, churlish, living only for his gains, and +with whom the only intercourse you could have was to buy what he had +to sell. One day I found his little boy of four years dragging about +after him the prettiest little wooden cart, so neatly built, and with +decorations too, and learned that Papa had made it; that hidden deep +in that thick skull was this gentle art and taste which the little +fingers and caresses of his son had the power to draw out into day; +he was no peasant after all. So near to us is the flowering of Fine +Art in the rudest population. See in a circle of school-girls one with +no beauty, no special vivacity,--but she can so recite her adventures +that she is never alone, but at night or at morning wherever she sits +the inevitable circle gathers around her, willing prisoners of that +wonderful memory and fancy and spirit of life. Would you know where +to find her? Listen for the laughter, follow the cheerful hum, see +where is the rapt attention, and a pretty crowd all bright with one +electricity; there in the centre of fellowship and joy is Scheherazade +again. + +See how rich life is; rich in private talents, each of which charms us +in turn and seems the best. If we hear music we give up all to that; if +we fall in with a cricket-club and see the game masterly played, the +best player is the first of men; if we go to the regatta, we forget +the bowler for the stroke oar; and when the soldier comes home from +the fight, he fills all eyes. But the soldier has the same admiration +of the great parliamentary debater. And poetry and literature are +disdainful of all these claims beside their own. Like the boy who +thought in turn each one of the four seasons the best, and each of +the three hundred and sixty-five days in the year the crowner. The +sensibility is all. + +Every one knows what are the effects of music to put people in gay or +mournful or martial mood. But these are the effects on dull subjects, +and only the hint of its power on a keener sense. It is a stroke on a +loose or tense cord. The story of Orpheus, of Arion, of the Arabian +minstrel, are not fables, but experiments on the same iron at white +heat. + +By this wondrous susceptibility to all the impressions of Nature the +man finds himself the receptacle of celestial thoughts, of happy +relations to all men. The imagination enriches him, as if there were +no other; the memory opens all her cabinets and archives; Science +her length and breadth, Poetry her splendor and joy and the august +circles of eternal law. These are means and stairs for new ascensions +of the mind. But they are nowise impoverished for any other mind, +not tarnished, not breathed upon; for the mighty Intellect did not +stoop to him and become property, but he rose to it and followed its +circuits. “It is ours while we use it, it is not ours when we do not +use it.” + +And so, one step higher, when he comes into the realm of sentiment +and will. He sees the grandeur of justice, the victory of love, the +eternity that belongs to all moral nature. He does not then invent his +sentiment or his act, but obeys a pre-existing right which he sees. We +arrive at virtue by taking its direction instead of imposing ours. + +The last revelation of intellect and of sentiment is that in a manner +it severs the man from all other men; makes known to him that the +spiritual powers are sufficient to him if no other being existed; that +he is to deal absolutely in the world, as if he alone were a system and +a state, and though all should perish could make all anew. + +The forces are infinite. Every one has the might of all, for the secret +of the world is that its energies are _solidaires_; that they work +together on a system of mutual aid, all for each and each for all; that +the strain made on one point bears on every arch and foundation of the +structure. But if you wish to avail yourself of their might, and in +like manner if you wish the force of the intellect, the force of the +will, you must take their divine direction, not they yours. Obedience +alone gives the right to command. It is like the village operator +who taps the telegraph-wire and surprises the secrets of empires as +they pass to the capital. So this child of the dust throws himself +by obedience into the circuit of the heavenly wisdom, and shares the +secret of God. + +Thus is the world delivered into your hand, but on two conditions,--not +for property, but for use, use according to the noble nature of the +gifts; and not for toys, not for self-indulgence. Things work to their +ends, not to yours, and will certainly defeat any adventurer who fights +against this ordination. + +The effort of men is to use them for private ends. They wish to +pocket land and water and fire and air and all fruits of these, for +property, and would like to have Aladdin’s lamp to compel darkness, +and iron-bound doors, and hostile armies, and lions and serpents to +serve them like footmen. And they wish the same service from the +spiritual faculties. A man has a rare mathematical talent, inviting +him to the beautiful secrets of geometry, and wishes to clap a patent +on it; or has the fancy and invention of a poet, and says, ‘I will +write a play that shall be repeated in London a hundred nights;’ or a +military genius, and instead of using that to defend his country, he +says, ‘I will fight the battle so as to give me place and political +consideration;’ or Canning or Thurlow has a genius of debate, and +says, ‘I will know how with this weapon to defend the cause that +will pay best and make me Chancellor or Foreign Secretary.’ But this +perversion is punished with instant loss of true wisdom and real power. + +I find the survey of these cosmical powers a doctrine of consolation +in the dark hours of private or public fortune. It shows us the world +alive, guided, incorruptible; that its cannon cannot be stolen nor its +virtues misapplied. It shows us the long Providence, the safeguards +of rectitude. It animates exertion; it warns us out of that despair +into which Saxon men are prone to fall,--out of an idolatry of forms, +instead of working to simple ends, in the belief that Heaven always +succors us in working for these. This world belongs to the energetical. +It is a fagot of laws, and a true analysis of these laws, showing how +immortal and how self-protecting they are, would be a wholesome lesson +for every time and for this time. That band which ties them together +is unity, is universal good, saturating all with one being and aim, +so that each translates the other, is only the same spirit applied to +new departments. Things are saturated with the moral law. There is no +escape from it. Violets and grass preach it; rain and snow, wind and +tides, every change, every cause in Nature is nothing but a disguised +missionary. + +All our political disasters grow as logically out of our attempts in +the past to do without justice, as the sinking of some part of your +house comes of defect in the foundation. One thing is plain; a certain +personal virtue is essential to freedom; and it begins to be doubtful +whether our corruption in this country has not gone a little over the +mark of safety, so that when canvassed we shall be found to be made up +of a majority of reckless self-seekers. The divine knowledge has ebbed +out of us and we do not know enough to be free. + +I hope better of the state. Half a man’s wisdom goes with his courage. +A boy who knows that a bully lives round the corner which he must +pass on his daily way to school, is apt to take sinister views of +streets and of school-education. And a sensitive politician suffers +his ideas of the part New York or Pennsylvania or Ohio are to play in +the future of the Union, to be fashioned by the election of rogues in +some counties. But we must not gratify the rogues so deeply. There is a +speedy limit to profligate politics. + +Fear disenchants life and the world. If I have not my own respect I am +an impostor, not entitled to other men’s, and had better creep into +my grave. I admire the sentiment of Thoreau, who said, “Nothing is so +much to be feared as fear; God himself likes atheism better.” For the +world is a battle-ground; every principle is a war-note, and the most +quiet and protected life is at any moment exposed to incidents which +test your firmness. The illusion that strikes me as the masterpiece in +that ring of illusions which our life is, is the timidity with which +we assert our moral sentiment. We are made of it, the world is built +by it, things endure as they share it; all beauty, all health, all +intelligence exist by it; yet we shrink to speak of it or to range +ourselves by its side. Nay, we presume strength of him or them who +deny it. Cities go against it; the college goes against it, the courts +snatch at any precedent, at any vicious form of law to rule it out; +legislatures listen with appetite to declamations against it, and vote +it down. Every new asserter of the right surprises us, like a man +joining the church, and we hardly dare believe he is in earnest. + +What we do and suffer is in moments, but the cause of right for which +we labor never dies, works in long periods, can afford many checks, +gains by our defeats, and will know how to compensate our extremest +sacrifice. Wrath and petulance may have their short success, but they +quickly reach their brief date and decompose, whilst the massive might +of ideas is irresistible at last. Whence does the knowledge come? +Where is the source of power? The soul of God is poured into the world +through the thoughts of men. The world stands on ideas, and not on +iron or cotton; and the iron of iron, the fire of fire, the ether and +source of all the elements is moral force. As cloud on cloud, as snow +on snow, as the bird on the air, and the planet on space in its flight, +so do nations of men and their institutions rest on thoughts. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 5: Reprinted from the _North American Review_, No. 125, +1877.] + + + + + CHARACTER. + + SHUN passion, fold the hands of thrift, + Sit still, and Truth is near; + Suddenly it will uplift + Your eyelids to the sphere: + Wait a little, you shall see + The portraiture of things to be. + + + FOR what need I of book or priest + Or Sibyl from the mummied East + When every star is Bethlehem Star,-- + I count as many as there are + Cinquefoils or violets in the grass, + So many saints and saviours, + So many high behaviours. + + + + + CHARACTER.[6] + + +MORALS respects what men call goodness, that which all men agree to +honor as justice, truth-speaking, good-will and good works. Morals +respects the source or motive of this action. It is the science +of substances, not of shows. It is the _what_, and not the +_how_. It is that which all men profess to regard, and by their +real respect for which recommend themselves to each other. + +There is this eternal advantage to morals, that, in the question +between truth and goodness, the moral cause of the world lies behind +all else in the mind. It was for good, it is to good, that all works. +Surely it is not to prove or show the truth of things,--that sounds a +little cold and scholastic,--no, it is for benefit, that all subsists. +As we say in our modern politics, catching at last the language of +morals, that the object of the State is the greatest good of the +greatest number,--so, the reason we must give for the existence of the +world is, that it is for the benefit of all being. + +Morals implies freedom and will. The will constitutes the man. He has +his life in Nature, like a beast: but choice is born in him; here is he +that chooses; here is the Declaration of Independence, the July Fourth +of zoölogy and astronomy. He chooses,--as the rest of the creation does +not. But will, pure and perceiving, is not wilfulness. When a man, +through stubbornness, insists to do this or that, something absurd or +whimsical, only because he will, he is weak; he blows with his lips +against the tempest, he dams the incoming ocean with his cane. It were +an unspeakable calamity if any one should think he had the right to +impose a private will on others. That is the part of a striker, an +assassin. All violence, all that is dreary and repels, is not power but +the absence of power. + +Morals is the direction of the will on universal ends. He is immoral +who is acting to any private end. He is moral,--we say it with Marcus +Aurelius and with Kant,--whose aim or motive may become a universal +rule, binding on all intelligent beings; and with Vauvenargues, “the +mercenary sacrifice of the public good to a private interest is the +eternal stamp of vice.” + +All the virtues are special directions of this motive; justice is the +application of this good of the whole to the affairs of each one; +courage is contempt of danger in the determination to see this good of +the whole enacted; love is delight in the preference of that benefit +redounding to another over the securing of our own share; humility is +a sentiment of our insignificance when the benefit of the universe is +considered. + +If from these external statements we seek to come a little nearer +to the fact, our first experiences in moral as in intellectual +nature force us to discriminate a universal mind, identical in all +men. Certain biases, talents, executive skills, are special to each +individual; but the high, contemplative, all-commanding vision, +the sense of Right and Wrong, is alike in all. Its attributes are +self-existence, eternity, intuition and command. It is the mind of the +mind. We belong to it, not it to us. It is in all men, and constitutes +them men. In bad men it is dormant, as health is in men entranced or +drunken; but, however inoperative, it exists underneath whatever vices +and errors. The extreme simplicity of this intuition embarrasses every +attempt at analysis. We can only mark, one by one, the perfections +which it combines in every act. It admits of no appeal, looks to no +superior essence. It is the reason of things. + +The antagonist nature is the individual, formed into a finite body of +exact dimensions, with appetites which take from everybody else what +they appropriate to themselves, and would enlist the entire spiritual +faculty of the individual, if it were possible, in catering for them. +On the perpetual conflict between the dictate of this universal mind +and the wishes and interests of the individual, the moral discipline +of life is built. The one craves a private benefit, which the other +requires him to renounce out of respect to the absolute good. Every +hour puts the individual in a position where his wishes aim at +something which the sentiment of duty forbids him to seek. He that +speaks the truth executes no private function of an individual will, +but the world utters a sound by his lips. He who doth a just action +seeth therein nothing of his own, but an inconceivable nobleness +attaches to it, because it is a dictate of the general mind. We have +no idea of power so simple and so entire as this. It is the basis of +thought, it is the basis of being. Compare all that we call ourselves, +all our private and personal venture in the world, with this deep +of moral nature in which we lie, and our private good becomes an +impertinence, and we take part with hasty shame against ourselves:-- + + “High instincts, before which our mortal nature + Doth tremble like a guilty thing surprised,-- + Which, be they what they may, + Are yet the fountain-light of all our day, + Are yet the master-light of all our seeing,-- + Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make + Our noisy years seem moments in the being + Of the eternal silence,--truths that wake + To perish never.” + +The moral element invites man to great enlargements, to find his +satisfaction, not in particulars or events, but in the purpose and +tendency; not in bread, but in his right to his bread; not in much corn +or wool, but in its communication. + +Not by adding, then, does the moral sentiment help us; no, but in quite +another manner. It puts us in place. It centres, it concentrates us. +It puts us at the heart of Nature, where we belong, in the cabinet of +science and of causes, there where all the wires terminate which hold +the world in magnetic unity, and so converts us into universal beings. + +This wonderful sentiment, which endears itself as it is obeyed, seems +to be the fountain of intellect; for no talent gives the impression of +sanity, if wanting this; nay, it absorbs everything into itself. Truth, +Power, Goodness, Beauty, are its varied names,--faces of one substance, +the heart of all. Before it, what are persons, prophets, or seraphim +but its passing agents, momentary rays of its light? + +The moral sentiment is alone omnipotent. There is no labor or sacrifice +to which it will not bring a man, and which it will not make easy. Thus +there is no man who will bargain to sell his life, say at the end of a +year, for a million or ten millions of gold dollars in hand, or for any +temporary pleasures, or for any rank, as of peer or prince; but many a +man who does not hesitate to lay down his life for the sake of a truth, +or in the cause of his country, or to save his son or his friend. And +under the action of this sentiment of the Right, his heart and mind +expand above himself, and above Nature. + + Though Love repine, and Reason chafe, + There came a voice without reply,-- + “’Tis man’s perdition to be safe, + When for the truth he ought to die.” + +Such is the difference of the action of the heart within and of the +senses without. One is enthusiasm, and the other more or less amounts +of horsepower. + +Devout men, in the endeavor to express their convictions, have used +different images to suggest this latent force; as, the light, the seed, +the Spirit, the Holy Ghost, the Comforter, the Dæmon, the still, small +voice, etc.,--all indicating its power and its latency. It is serenely +above all mediation. In all ages, to all men, it saith, _I am_; +and he who hears it feels the impiety of wandering from this revelation +to any record or to any rival. The poor Jews of the wilderness cried: +“Let not the Lord speak to us; let Moses speak to us.” But the simple +and sincere soul makes the contrary prayer: ‘Let no intruder come +between thee and me; deal THOU with me; let me know it is +thy will, and I ask no more.’ The excellence of Jesus, and of every +true teacher, is, that he affirms the Divinity in him and in us,--not +thrusts himself between it and us. It would instantly indispose us to +any person claiming to speak for the Author of Nature, the setting +forth any fact or law which we did not find in our consciousness. We +should say with Heraclitus: “Come into this smoky cabin; God is here +also: approve yourself to him.” + +We affirm that in all men is this majestic perception and command; +that it is the presence of the Eternal in each perishing man; +that it distances and degrades all statements of whatever saints, +heroes, poets, as obscure and confused stammerings before its silent +revelation. _They_ report the truth. _It_ is the truth. +When I think of Reason, of Truth, of Virtue, I cannot conceive them +as lodged in your soul and lodged in my soul, but that you and I +and all souls are lodged in that; and I may easily speak of that +adorable nature, there where only I behold it in my dim experiences, +in such terms as shall seem to the frivolous, who dare not fathom +their consciousness, as profane. How is a man a man? How can he exist +to weave relations of joy and virtue with other souls, but because +he is inviolable, anchored at the centre of Truth and Being? In the +ever-returning hour of reflection, he says: ‘I stand here glad at heart +of all the sympathies I can awaken and share, clothing myself with them +as with a garment of shelter and beauty, and yet knowing that it is not +in the power of all who surround me to take from me the smallest thread +I call mine. If all things are taken away, I have still all things in +my relation to the Eternal.’ + +We pretend not to define the way of its access to the private heart. +It passes understanding. There was a time when Christianity existed in +one child. But if the child had been killed by Herod, would the element +have been lost? God sends his message, if not by one, then quite as +well by another. When the Master of the Universe has ends to fulfill, +he impresses his will on the structure of minds. + +The Divine Mind imparts itself to the single person: his whole duty is +to this rule and teaching. The aid which others give us is like that +of the mother to the child,--temporary, gestative, a short period of +lactation, a nurse’s or a governess’s care; but on his arrival at a +certain maturity, it ceases, and would be hurtful and ridiculous if +prolonged. Slowly the body comes to the use of its organs; slowly the +soul unfolds itself in the new man. It is partial at first, and honors +only some one or some few truths. In its companions it sees other +truths honored, and successively finds their foundation also in itself. +Then it cuts the cord, and no longer believes “because of thy saying,” +but because it has recognized them in itself. + +The Divine Mind imparts itself to the single person: but it is also +true that men act powerfully on us. There are men who astonish and +delight, men who instruct and guide. Some men’s words I remember so +well that I must often use them to express my thought. Yes, because +I perceive that we have heard the same truth, but they have heard it +better. That is only to say, there is degree and gradation throughout +Nature; and the Deity does not break his firm laws in respect to +imparting truth, more than in imparting material heat and light. Men +appear from time to time who receive with more purity and fulness +these high communications. But it is only as fast as this hearing from +another is authorized by its consent with his own, that it is pure and +safe to each; and all receiving from abroad must be controlled by this +immense reservation. + +It happens now and then, in the ages, that a soul is born which has +no weakness of self, which offers no impediment to the Divine Spirit, +which comes down into Nature as if only for the benefit of souls, and +all its thoughts are perceptions of things as they are, without any +infirmity of earth. Such souls are as the apparition of gods among men, +and simply by their presence pass judgment on them. Men are forced +by their own self-respect to give them a certain attention. Evil men +shrink and pay involuntary homage by hiding or apologizing for their +action. + +When a man is born with a profound moral sentiment, preferring truth, +justice and the serving of all men to any honors or any gain, men +readily feel the superiority. They who deal with him are elevated +with joy and hope; he lights up the house or the landscape in which +he stands. His actions are poetic and miraculous in their eyes. In +his presence, or within his influence, every one believes in the +immortality of the soul. They feel that the invisible world sympathizes +with him. The Arabians delight in expressing the sympathy of the unseen +world with holy men. + + When Omar prayed and loved, + Where Syrian waters roll, + Aloft the ninth heaven glowed and moved + To the tread of the jubilant soul. + +A chief event of life is the day in which we have encountered a +mind that startled us by its large scope. I am in the habit of +thinking,--not, I hope, out of a partial experience, but confirmed by +what I notice in many lives,--that to every serious mind Providence +sends from time to time five or six or seven teachers who are of the +first importance to him in the lessons they have to impart. The highest +of these not so much give particular knowledge, as they elevate by +sentiment and by their habitual grandeur of view. + +Great men serve us as insurrections do in bad governments. The world +would run into endless routine, and forms incrust forms, till the life +was gone. But the perpetual supply of new genius shocks us with thrills +of life, and recalls us to principles. Lucifer’s wager in the old drama +was, “There is no steadfast man on earth.” He is very rare. “A man +is already of consequence in the world when it is known that we can +implicitly rely on him.” See how one noble person dwarfs a whole nation +of underlings. This steadfastness we indicate when we praise character. + +Character denotes habitual self-possession, habitual regard to interior +and constitutional motives, a balance not to be overset or easily +disturbed by outward events and opinion, and by implication points to +the source of right motive. We sometimes employ the word to express the +strong and consistent will of men of mixed motive, but, when used with +emphasis, it points to what no events can change, that is, a will built +on the reason of things. Such souls do not come in troops: oftenest +appear solitary, like a general without his command, because those who +can understand and uphold such appear rarely, not many, perhaps not +one, in a generation. And the memory and tradition of such a leader is +preserved in some strange way by those who only half understand him, +until a true disciple comes, who apprehends and interprets every word. + +The sentiment never stops in pure vision, but will be enacted. It +affirms not only its truth, but its supremacy. It is not only insight, +as science, as fancy, as imagination is; or an entertainment, as +friendship and poetry are; but it is a sovereign rule: and the acts +which it suggests--as when it impels a man to go forth and impart +it to other men, or sets him on some asceticism or some practice of +self-examination to hold him to obedience, or some zeal to unite men +to abate some nuisance, or establish some reform or charity which it +commands--are the homage we render to this sentiment, as compared with +the lower regard we pay to other thoughts: and the private or social +practices we establish in its honor we call religion. + +The sentiment, of course, is the judge and measure of every expression +of it,--measures Judaism, Stoicism, Christianity, Buddhism, or whatever +philanthropy, or politics, or saint, or seer pretends to speak in its +name. The religions we call false were once true. They also were +affirmations of the conscience correcting the evil customs of their +times. The populace drag down the gods to their own level, and give +them their egotism; whilst in Nature is none at all, God keeping out +of sight, and known only as pure law, though resistless. Châteaubriand +said, with some irreverence of phrase, If God made man in his image, +man has paid him well back. “_Si Dieu a fait l’homme à son image, +l’homme l’a bien rendu._” Every nation is degraded by the goblins it +worships instead of this Deity. The Dionysia and Saturnalia of Greece +and Rome, the human sacrifice of the Druids, the Sradda of Hindoos, +the Purgatory, the Indulgences, and the Inquisition of Popery, the +vindictive mythology of Calvinism, are examples of this perversion. + +Every particular instruction is speedily embodied in a ritual, is +accommodated to humble and gross minds, and corrupted. The moral +sentiment is the perpetual critic on these forms, thundering its +protest, sometimes in earnest and lofty rebuke; but sometimes also it +is the source, in natures less pure, of sneers and flippant jokes of +common people, who feel that the forms and dogmas are not true for +them, though they do not see where the error lies. + +The religion of one age is the literary entertainment of the next. +We use in our idlest poetry and discourse the words Jove, Neptune, +Mercury, as mere colors, and can hardly believe that they had to the +lively Greek the anxious meaning which, in our towns, is given and +received in churches when our religious names are used: and we read +with surprise the horror of Athens when, one morning, the statues of +Mercury in the temples were found broken, and the like consternation +was in the city as if, in Boston, all the Orthodox churches should be +burned in one night. + +The greatest dominion will be to the deepest thought. The establishment +of Christianity in the world does not rest on any miracle but the +miracle of being the broadest and most humane doctrine. Christianity +was once a schism and protest against the impieties of the time, which +had originally been protests against earlier impieties, but had lost +their truth. Varnhagen von Ense, writing in Prussia in 1848, says: “The +Gospels belong to the most aggressive writings. No leaf thereof could +attain the liberty of being printed (in Berlin) to-day. What Mirabeaus, +Rousseaus, Diderots, Fichtes, Heines, and many another heretic, one can +detect therein!” + +But before it was yet a national religion it was alloyed, and, in the +hands of hot Africans, of luxurious Byzantines, of fierce Gauls, its +creeds were tainted with their barbarism. In Holland, in England, in +Scotland, it felt the national narrowness. How unlike our habitual +turn of thought was that of the last century in this country! Our +ancestors spoke continually of angels and archangels with the same good +faith as they would have spoken of their own parents or their late +minister. Now the words pale, are rhetoric, and all credence is gone. +Our horizon is not far, say one generation, or thirty years: we all +see so much. The older see two generations, or sixty years. But what +has been running on through three horizons, or ninety years, looks +to all the world like a law of Nature, and ’tis an impiety to doubt. +Thus, ’tis incredible to us, if we look into the religious books of +our grandfathers, how they held themselves in such a pinfold. But why +not? As far as they could see, through two or three horizons, nothing +but ministers and ministers. Calvinism was one and the same thing in +Geneva, in Scotland, in Old and New England. If there was a wedding, +they had a sermon; if a funeral, then a sermon; if a war, or small-pox, +or a comet, or canker-worms, or a deacon died,--still a sermon: Nature +was a pulpit; the churchwarden or tithing-man was a petty persecutor; +the presbytery, a tyrant; and in many a house in country places the +poor children found seven sabbaths in a week. Fifty or a hundred years +ago, prayers were said, morning and evening, in all families; grace +was said at table; an exact observance of the Sunday was kept in the +houses of laymen as of clergymen. And one sees with some pain the +disuse of rites so charged with humanity and aspiration. But it by no +means follows, because those offices are much disused, that the men and +women are irreligious; certainly not that they have less integrity or +sentiment, but only, let us hope, that they see that they can omit the +form without loss of real ground; perhaps that they find some violence, +some cramping of their freedom of thought, in the constant recurrence +of the form. + +So of the changed position and manners of the clergy. They have +dropped, with the sacerdotal garb and manners of the last century, many +doctrines and practices once esteemed indispensable to their order. +But the distinctions of the true clergyman are not less decisive. Men +ask now, “Is he serious? Is he a sincere man, who lives as he teaches? +Is he a benefactor?” So far the religion is now where it should be. +Persons are discriminated as honest, as veracious, as illuminated, as +helpful, as having public and universal regards, or otherwise;--are +discriminated according to their aims, and not by these ritualities. + +The changes are inevitable; the new age cannot see with the eyes of +the last. But the change is in what is superficial; the principles are +immortal, and the rally on the principle must arrive as people become +intellectual. I consider theology to be the rhetoric of morals. The +mind of this age has fallen away from theology to morals. I conceive +it an advance. I suspect, that, when the theology was most florid and +dogmatic, it was the barbarism of the people, and that, in that very +time, the best men also fell away from theology, and rested in morals. +I think that all the dogmas rest on morals, and that it is only a +question of youth or maturity, of more or less fancy in the recipient; +that the stern determination to do justly, to speak the truth, to +be chaste and humble, was substantially the same, whether under a +self-respect, or under a vow made on the knees at the shrine of Madonna. + +When once Selden had said that the priests seemed to him to be +baptizing their own fingers, the rite of baptism was getting late in +the world. Or when once it is perceived that the English missionaries +in India put obstacles in the way of schools, (as is alleged,)--do not +wish to enlighten but to Christianize the Hindoos,--it is seen at once +how wide of Christ is English Christianity. + +Mankind at large always resemble frivolous children: they are impatient +of thought, and wish to be amused. Truth is too simple for us; we do +not like those who unmask our illusions. Fontenelle said: “If the +Deity should lay bare to the eyes of men the secret system of Nature, +the causes by which all the astronomic results are effected, and they +finding no magic, no mystic numbers, no fatalities, but the greatest +simplicity, I am persuaded they would not be able to suppress a feeling +of mortification, and would exclaim, with disappointment, ‘Is that +all?’” And so we paint over the bareness of ethics with the quaint +grotesques of theology. + +We boast the triumph of Christianity over Paganism, meaning the victory +of the spirit over the senses; but Paganism hides itself in the uniform +of the Church. Paganism has only taken the oath of allegiance, taken +the cross, but is Paganism still, outvotes the true men by millions +of majority, carries the bag, spends the treasure, writes the tracts, +elects the minister, and persecutes the true believer. + +There is a certain secular progress of opinion, which, in civil +countries, reaches everybody. One service which this age has rendered +is, to make the life and wisdom of every past man accessible and +available to all. Socrates and Marcus Aurelius are allowed to be +saints; Mahomet is no longer accursed; Voltaire is no longer a +scarecrow; Spinoza has come to be revered. “The time will come,” +says Varnhagen von Ense, “when we shall treat the jokes and sallies +against the myths and church-rituals of Christianity--say the sarcasms +of Voltaire, Frederic the Great, and D’Alembert--good-naturedly and +without offence: since, at bottom, those men mean honestly, their +polemics proceed out of a religious striving, and what Christ meant +and willed is in essence more with them than with their opponents, who +only wear and misrepresent the _name_ of Christ.... Voltaire was +an apostle of Christian ideas; only the names were hostile to him, and +he never knew it otherwise. He was like the son of the vine-dresser in +the Gospel, who said No, and went; the other said Yea, and went not. +These men preached the true God,--Him whom men serve by justice and +uprightness; but they called themselves atheists.” + +When the highest conceptions, the lessons of religion, are imported, +the nation is not culminating, has not genius, but is servile. A true +nation loves its vernacular tongue. A completed nation will not import +its religion. Duty grows everywhere, like children, like grass; and we +need not go to Europe or to Asia to learn it. I am not sure that the +English religion is not all quoted. Even the Jeremy Taylors, Fullers, +George Herberts, steeped, all of them, in Church traditions, are only +using their fine fancy to emblazon their memory. ’Tis Judæa, not +England, which is the ground. So with the mordant Calvinism of Scotland +and America. But this quoting distances and disables them: since with +every repeater something of creative force is lost, as we feel when we +go back to each original moralist. Pythagoras, Socrates, the Stoics, +the Hindoo, Behmen, George Fox,--these speak originally; and how many +sentences and books we owe to unknown authors,--to writers who were not +careful to set down name or date or titles or cities or postmarks in +these illuminations! + +We, in our turn, want power to drive the ponderous State. The +constitution and law in America must be written on ethical principles, +so that the entire power of the spiritual world can be enlisted to +hold the loyalty of the citizen, and to repel every enemy as by force +of Nature. The laws of old empires stood on the religious convictions. +Now that their religions are outgrown, the empires lack strength. +Romanism in Europe does not represent the real opinion of enlightened +men. The Lutheran Church does not represent in Germany the opinions of +the universities. In England, the gentlemen, the journals, and now, at +last, churchmen and bishops, have fallen away from the Anglican Church. +And in America, where are no legal ties to churches, the looseness +appears dangerous. + +Our religion has got on as far as Unitarianism. But all the forms grow +pale. The walls of the temple are wasted and thin, and, at last, only +a film of whitewash, because the mind of our culture has already left +our liturgies behind. “Every age,” says Varnhagen, “has another sieve +for the religious tradition, and will sift it out again. Something is +continually lost by this treatment, which posterity cannot recover.” + +But it is a capital truth that Nature, moral as well as material, +is always equal to herself. Ideas always generate enthusiasm. The +creed, the legend, forms of worship, swiftly decay. Morals is the +incorruptible essence, very heedless in its richness of any past +teacher or witness, heedless of their lives and fortunes. It does not +ask whether you are wrong or right in your anecdotes of them; but it is +all in all how you stand to your own tribunal. + +The lines of the religious sects are very shifting; their platforms +unstable; the whole science of theology of great uncertainty, and +resting very much on the opinions of who may chance to be the leading +doctors of Oxford or Edinburgh, of Princeton or Cambridge, to-day. No +man can tell what religious revolutions await us in the next years; +and the education in the divinity colleges may well hesitate and vary. +But the science of ethics has no mutation; and whoever feels any love +or skill for ethical studies may safely lay out all his strength and +genius in working in that mine. The pulpit may shake, but this platform +will not. All the victories of religion belong to the moral sentiment. +Some poor soul beheld the Law blazing through such impediments as he +had, and yielded himself to humility and joy. What was gained by being +told that it was justification by faith? + +The Church, in its ardor for beloved persons, clings to the miraculous, +in the vulgar sense, which has even an immoral tendency, as one sees +in Greek, Indian and Catholic legends, which are used to gloze every +crime. The soul, penetrated with the beatitude which pours into it +on all sides, asks no interpositions, no new laws,--the old are good +enough for it,--finds in every cart-path of labor ways to heaven, and +the humblest lot exalted. Men will learn to put back the emphasis +peremptorily on pure morals, always the same, not subject to doubtful +interpretation, with no sale of indulgences no massacre of heretics, +no female slaves, no disfranchisement of woman, no stigma on race; to +make morals the absolute test, and so uncover and drive out the false +religions. There is no vice that has not skulked behind them. It is +only yesterday that our American churches, so long silent on Slavery, +and notoriously hostile to the Abolitionist, wheeled into line for +Emancipation. + +I am far from accepting the opinion that the revelations of the moral +sentiment are insufficient, as if it furnished a rule only, and not +the spirit by which the rule is animated. For I include in these, of +course, the history of Jesus, as well as those of every divine soul +which in any place or time delivered any grand lesson to humanity; +and I find in the eminent experiences in all times a substantial +agreement. The sentiment itself teaches unity of source, and disowns +every superiority other than of deeper truth. Jesus has immense claims +on the gratitude of mankind, and knew how to guard the integrity of his +brother’s soul from himself also; but, in his disciples, admiration of +him runs away with their reverence for the human soul, and they hamper +us with limitations of person and text. Every exaggeration of these is +a violation of the soul’s right, and inclines the manly reader to lay +down the New Testament, to take up the Pagan philosophers. It is not +that the Upanishads or the Maxims of Antoninus are better, but that +they do not invade his freedom; because they are only suggestions, +whilst the other adds the inadmissible claim of positive authority,--of +an external command, where command cannot be. This is the secret of the +mischievous result that, in every period of intellectual expansion, +the Church ceases to draw into its clergy those who best belong there, +the largest and freest minds, and that in its most liberal forms, when +such minds enter it, they are coldly received, and find themselves out +of place. This charm in the Pagan moralists, of suggestion, the charm +of poetry, of mere truth, (easily disengaged from their historical +accidents which nobody wishes to force on us,) the New Testament loses +by its connection with a church. Mankind cannot long suffer this loss, +and the office of this age is to put all these writings on the eternal +footing of equality of origin in the instincts of the human mind. It is +certain that each inspired master will gain instantly by the separation +from the idolatry of ages. + +To their great honor, the simple and free minds among our clergy +have not resisted the voice of Nature and the advanced perceptions +of the mind; and every church divides itself into a liberal and +expectant class, on one side, and an unwilling and conservative class +on the other. As it stands with us now, a few clergymen, with a more +theological cast of mind, retain the traditions, but they carry +them quietly. In general discourse, they are never obtruded. If the +clergyman should travel in France, in England, in Italy, he might leave +them locked up in the same closet with his “occasional sermons” at +home, and, if he did not return, would never think to send for them. +The orthodox clergymen hold a little firmer to theirs, as Calvinism has +a more tenacious vitality; but that is doomed also, and will only die +last; for Calvinism rushes to be Unitarianism, as Unitarianism rushes +to be pure Theism. + +But the inspirations are never withdrawn. In the worst times, men +of organic virtue are born,--men and women of native integrity, and +indifferently in high and low conditions. There will always be a class +of imaginative youths, whom poetry, whom the love of beauty, lead to +the adoration of the moral sentiment, and these will provide it with +new historic forms and songs. Religion is as inexpugnable as the use +of lamps, or of wells, or of chimneys. We must have days and temples +and teachers. The Sunday is the core of our civilization, dedicated +to thought and reverence. It invites to the noblest solitude and the +noblest society, to whatever means and aids of spiritual refreshment. +Men may well come together to kindle each other to virtuous living. +Confucius said, “If in the morning I hear of the right way, and in the +evening die, I can be happy.” + +The churches already indicate the new spirit in adding to the perennial +office of teaching, beneficent activities,--as in creating hospitals, +ragged schools, offices of employment for the poor, appointing almoners +to the helpless, guardians of foundlings and orphans. The power that in +other times inspired crusades, or the colonization of New England, or +the modern revivals, flies to the help of the deaf-mute and the blind, +to the education of the sailor and the vagabond boy, to the reform +of convicts and harlots,--as the war created the Hilton Head and +Charleston missions, the Sanitary Commission, the nurses and teachers +at Washington. + + +In the present tendency of our society, in the new importance of the +individual, when thrones are crumbling and presidents and governors are +forced every moment to remember their constituencies; when counties +and towns are resisting centralization, and the individual voter his +party,--society is threatened with actual granulation, religious as +well as political. How many people are there in Boston? Some two +hundred thousand. Well, then so many sects. Of course each poor soul +loses all his old stays; no bishop watches him, no confessor reports +that he has neglected the confessional, no class-leader admonishes him +of absences, no fagot, no penance, no fine, no rebuke. Is not this +wrong? is not this dangerous? ’Tis not wrong, but the law of growth. +It is not dangerous, any more than the mother’s withdrawing her hands +from the tottering babe, at his first walk across the nursery-floor: +the child fears and cries, but achieves the feat, instantly tries it +again, and never wishes to be assisted more. And this infant soul must +learn to walk alone. At first he is forlorn, homeless; but this rude +stripping him of all support drives him inward, and he finds himself +unhurt; he finds himself face to face with the majestic Presence, +reads the original of the Ten Commandments, the original of Gospels and +Epistles; nay, his narrow chapel expands to the blue cathedral of the +sky, where he + + “Looks in and sees each blissful deity, + Where he before the thunderous throne doth lie.” + +To nations or to individuals the progress of opinion is not a loss of +moral restraint, but simply a change from coarser to finer checks. No +evil can come from reform which a deeper thought will not correct. If +there is any tendency in national expansion to form character, religion +will not be a loser. There is a fear that pure truth, pure morals, will +not make a religion for the affections. Whenever the sublimities of +character shall be incarnated in a man, we may rely that awe and love +and insatiable curiosity will follow his steps. Character is the habit +of action from the permanent vision of truth. It carries a superiority +to all the accidents of life. It compels right relation to every other +man,--domesticates itself with strangers and enemies. “But I, father,” +says the wise Prahlada, in the Vishnu Purana, “know neither friends nor +foes, for I behold Kesava in all beings as in my own soul.” It confers +perpetual insight. It sees that a man’s friends and his foes are of his +own household, of his own person. What would it avail me, if I could +destroy my enemies? There would be as many to-morrow. That which I hate +and fear is really in myself, and no knife is long enough to reach to +its heart. Confucius said one day to Ke Kang: “Sir, in carrying on your +government, why should you use killing at all? Let your evinced desires +be for what is good, and the people will be good. The grass must bend, +when the wind blows across it.” Ke Kang, distressed about the number of +thieves in the state, inquired of Confucius how to do away with them. +Confucius said, “If you, sir, were not covetous, although you should +reward them to do it, they would not steal.” + +Its methods are subtle, it works without means. It indulges no enmity +against any, knowing, with Prahlada that “the suppression of malignant +feeling is itself a reward.” The more reason, the less government. In +a sensible family, nobody ever hears the words “shall” and “sha’n’t;” +nobody commands, and nobody obeys, but all conspire and joyfully +co-operate. Take off the roofs of hundreds of happy houses, and you +shall see this order without ruler, and the like in every intelligent +and moral society. Command is exceptional, and marks some break in +the link of reason; as the electricity goes round the world without +a spark or a sound, until there is a break in the wire or the water +chain. Swedenborg said, that, “in the spiritual world, when one wishes +to rule, or despises others, he is thrust out of doors.” Goethe, in +discussing the characters in “Wilhelm Meister,” maintained his belief +that “pure loveliness and right good-will are the highest manly +prerogatives, before which all energetic heroism, with its lustre and +renown, must recede.” In perfect accord with this, Henry James affirms, +that “to give the feminine element in life its hard-earned but eternal +supremacy over the masculine has been the secret inspiration of all +past history.” + +There is no end to the sufficiency of character. It can afford to +wait; it can do without what is called success; it cannot but succeed. +To a well-principled man existence is victory. He defends himself +against failure in his main design by making every inch of the road +to it pleasant. There is no trifle, and no obscurity to him: he feels +the immensity of the chain whose last link he holds in his hand, and +is led by it. Having nothing, this spirit hath all. It asks, with +Marcus Aurelius, “What matter by whom the good is done?” It extols +humility,--by every self-abasement lifted higher in the scale of being. +It makes no stipulations for earthly felicity,--does not ask, in the +absoluteness of its trust, even for the assurance of continued life. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 6: Reprinted from the _North American Review_ of April, +1866.] + + + + + EDUCATION. + + WITH the key of the secret he marches faster + From strength to strength, and for night brings day, + While classes or tribes too weak to master + The flowing conditions of life, give way. + + + + + EDUCATION. + + +A NEW degree of intellectual power seems cheap at any price. The use +of the world is that man may learn its laws. And the human race have +wisely signified their sense of this, by calling wealth, means,--Man +being the end. Language is always wise. + +Therefore I praise New England because it is the country in the world +where is the freest expenditure for education. We have already taken, +at the planting of the Colonies, (for aught I know for the first time +in the world,) the initial step, which for its importance might have +been resisted as the most radical of revolutions, thus deciding at the +start the destiny of this country,--this, namely, that the poor man, +whom the law does not allow to take an ear of corn when starving, nor +a pair of shoes for his freezing feet, is allowed to put his hand into +the pocket of the rich, and say, You shall educate me, not as you will, +but as I will: not alone in the elements, but, by further provision, +in the languages, in sciences, in the useful and in elegant arts. The +child shall be taken up by the State, and taught, at the public cost, +the rudiments of knowledge, and, at last, the ripest results of art and +science. + +Humanly speaking, the school, the college, society, make the difference +between men. All the fairy tales of Aladdin or the invisible Gyges +or the talisman that opens kings’ palaces or the enchanted halls +underground or in the sea, are only fictions to indicate the one +miracle of intellectual enlargement. When a man stupid becomes a man +inspired, when one and the same man passes out of the torpid into the +perceiving state, leaves the din of trifles, the stupor of the senses, +to enter into the quasi-omniscience of high thought,--up and down, +around, all limits disappear. No horizon shuts down. He sees things in +their causes, all facts in their connection. + +One of the problems of history is the beginning of civilization. The +animals that accompany and serve man make no progress as races. Those +called domestic are capable of learning of man a few tricks of utility +or amusement, but they cannot communicate the skill to their race. Each +individual must be taught anew. The trained dog cannot train another +dog. And Man himself in many races retains almost the unteachableness +of the beast. For a thousand years the islands and forests of a great +part of the world have been filled with savages who made no steps of +advance in art or skill beyond the necessity of being fed and warmed. +Certain nations with a better brain and usually in more temperate +climates, have made such progress as to compare with these as these +compare with the bear and the wolf. + +Victory over things is the office of man. Of course, until it is +accomplished, it is the war and insult of things over him. His +continual tendency, his great danger, is to overlook the fact that the +world is only his teacher, and the nature of sun and moon, plant and +animal only means of arousing his interior activity. Enamored of their +beauty, comforted by their convenience, he seeks them as ends, and fast +loses sight of the fact that they have worse than no values, that they +become noxious, when he becomes their slave. + +This apparatus of wants and faculties, this craving body, whose +organs ask all the elements and all the functions of Nature for their +satisfaction, educate the wondrous creature which they satisfy with +light, with heat, with water, with wood, with bread, with wool. The +necessities imposed by this most irritable and all-related texture have +taught Man hunting, pasturage, agriculture, commerce, weaving, joining, +masonry, geometry, astronomy. Here is a world pierced and belted +with natural laws, and fenced and planted with civil partitions and +properties, which all put new restraints on the young inhabitant. He +too must come into this magic circle of relations, and know health and +sickness, the fear of injury, the desire of external good, the charm +of riches, the charm of power. The household is a school of power. +There, within the door, learn the tragi-comedy of human life. Here is +the sincere thing, the wondrous composition for which day and night go +round. In that routine are the sacred relations, the passions that bind +and sever. Here is poverty and all the wisdom its hated necessities +can teach, here labor drudges, here affections glow, here the secrets +of character are told, the guards of man, the guards of woman, the +compensations which, like angels of justice, pay every debt: the opium +of custom, whereof all drink and many go mad. Here is Economy, and +Glee, and Hospitality, and Ceremony, and Frankness, and Calamity, and +Death and Hope. + +Every one has a trust of power,--every man, every boy a jurisdiction, +whether it be over a cow or a rood of a potato-field, or a fleet of +ships, or the laws of a state. And what activity the desire of power +inspires! What toils it sustains! How it sharpens the perceptions and +stores the memory with facts. Thus a man may well spend many years of +life in trade. It is a constant teaching of the laws of matter and +of mind. No dollar of property can be created without some direct +communication with nature, and of course some acquisition of knowledge +and practical force. It is a constant contest with the active faculties +of men, a study of the issues of one and another course of action, an +accumulation of power, and, if the higher faculties of the individual +be from time to time quickened, he will gain wisdom and virtue from his +business. + +As every wind draws music out of the Æolian harp, so doth every object +in Nature draw music out of his mind. Is it not true that every +landscape I behold, every friend I meet, every act I perform, every +pain I suffer, leaves me a different being from that they found me? +That poverty, love, authority, anger, sickness, sorrow, success, all +work actively upon our being and unlock for us the concealed faculties +of the mind? Whatever private or petty ends are frustrated, this end is +always answered. Whatever the man does, or whatever befalls him, opens +another chamber in his soul,--that is, he has got a new feeling, a new +thought, a new organ. Do we not see how amazingly for this end man is +fitted to the world? + +What leads him to science? Why does he track in the midnight heaven a +pure spark, a luminous patch wandering from age to age, but because +he acquires thereby a majestic sense of power; learning that in his +own constitution he can set the shining maze in order, and finding +and carrying their law in his mind, can, as it were, see his simple +idea realized up yonder in giddy distances and frightful periods of +duration. If Newton come and first of men perceive that not alone +certain bodies fall to the ground at a certain rate, but that all +bodies in the Universe, the universe of bodies, fall always, and at one +rate; that every atom in nature draws to every other atom,--he extends +the power of his mind not only over every cubic atom of his native +planet, but he reports the condition of millions of worlds which his +eye never saw. And what is the charm which every ore, every new plant, +every new fact touching winds, clouds, ocean currents, the secrets of +chemical composition and decomposition possess for Humboldt? What but +that much revolving of similar facts in his mind has shown him that +always the mind contains in its transparent chambers the means of +classifying the most refractory phenomena, of depriving them of all +casual and chaotic aspect, and subordinating them to a bright reason +of its own, and so giving to man a sort of property,--yea, the very +highest property in every district and particle of the globe. + +By the permanence of Nature, minds are trained alike, and made +intelligible to each other. In our condition are the roots of language +and communication, and these instructions we never exhaust. + +In some sort the end of life is that the man should take up +the universe into himself, or out of that quarry leave nothing +unrepresented. Yonder mountain must migrate into his mind. Yonder +magnificent astronomy he is at last to import, fetching away moon, and +planet, solstice, period, comet and binal star, by comprehending their +relation and law. Instead of the timid stripling he was, he is to be +the stalwart Archimedes, Pythagoras, Columbus, Newton, of the physic, +metaphysic and ethics of the design of the world. + +For truly the population of the globe has its origin in the aims which +their existence is to serve; and so with every portion of them. The +truth takes flesh in forms that can express it; and thus in history an +idea always overhangs, like the moon, and rules the tide which rises +simultaneously in all the souls of a generation. + +Whilst thus the world exists for the mind; whilst thus the man is +ever invited inward into shining realms of knowledge and power by the +shows of the world, which interpret to him the infinitude of his own +consciousness,--it becomes the office of a just education to awaken him +to the knowledge of this fact. + +We learn nothing rightly until we learn the symbolical character of +life. Day creeps after day, each full of facts, dull, strange, despised +things, that we cannot enough despise,--call heavy, prosaic, and +desert. The time we seek to kill: the attention it is elegant to divert +from things around us. And presently the aroused intellect finds gold +and gems in one of these scorned facts,--then finds that the day of +facts is a rock of diamonds; that a fact is an Epiphany of God. + +We have our theory of life, our religion, our philosophy; and the +event of each moment, the shower, the steamboat disaster, the passing +of a beautiful face, the apoplexy of our neighbor, are all tests to +try our theory, the approximate result we call truth, and reveal its +defects. If I have renounced the search of truth, if I have come into +the port of some pretending dogmatism, some new church or old church, +some Schelling or Cousin, I have died to all use of these new events +that are born out of prolific time into multitude of life every hour. +I am as a bankrupt to whom brilliant opportunities offer in vain. He +has just foreclosed his freedom, tied his hands, locked himself up and +given the key to another to keep. + +When I see the doors by which God enters into the mind; that there +is no sot or fop, ruffian or pedant into whom thoughts do not enter +by passages which the individual never left open, I can expect any +revolution in character. “I have hope,” said the great Leibnitz, +“that society may be reformed, when I see how much education may be +reformed.” + +It is ominous, a presumption of crime, that this word Education has +so cold, so hopeless a sound. A treatise on education, a convention +for education, a lecture, a system, affects us with slight paralysis +and a certain yawning of the jaws. We are not encouraged when the law +touches it with its fingers. Education should be as broad as man. +Whatever elements are in him that should foster and demonstrate. If +he be dexterous, his tuition should make it appear; if he be capable +of dividing men by the trenchant sword of his thought, education +should unsheathe and sharpen it; if he is one to cement society by his +all-reconciling affinities, oh! hasten their action! If he is jovial, +if he is mercurial, if he is great-hearted, a cunning artificer, a +strong commander, a potent ally, ingenious, useful, elegant, witty, +prophet, diviner,--society has need of all these. The imagination +must be addressed. Why always coast on the surface and never open the +interior of nature, not by science, which is surface still, but by +poetry? Is not the Vast an element of the mind? Yet what teaching, what +book of this day appeals to the Vast? + +Our culture has truckled to the times,--to the senses. It is not +manworthy. If the vast and the spiritual are omitted, so are the +practical and the moral. It does not make us brave or free. We teach +boys to be such men as we are. We do not teach them to aspire to be all +they can. We do not give them a training as if we believed in their +noble nature. We scarce educate their bodies. We do not train the eye +and the hand. We exercise their understandings to the apprehension and +comparison of some facts, to a skill in numbers, in words; we aim to +make accountants, attorneys, engineers; but not to make able, earnest, +great-hearted men. The great object of Education should be commensurate +with the object of life. It should be a moral one; to teach self-trust: +to inspire the youthful man with an interest in himself; with a +curiosity touching his own nature; to acquaint him with the resources +of his mind, and to teach him that there is all his strength, and to +inflame him with a piety towards the Grand Mind in which he lives. Thus +would education conspire with the Divine Providence. A man is a little +thing whilst he works by and for himself, but, when he gives voice to +the rules of love and justice, is god-like, his word is current in all +countries; and all men, though his enemies, are made his friends and +obey it as their own. + +In affirming that the moral nature of man is the predominant element +and should therefore be mainly consulted in the arrangements of a +school, I am very far from wishing that it should swallow up all the +other instincts and faculties of man. It should be enthroned in his +mind, but if it monopolize the man he is not yet sound, he does not +yet know his wealth. He is in danger of becoming merely devout, and +wearisome through the monotony of his thought. It is not less necessary +that the intellectual and the active faculties should be nourished and +matured. Let us apply to this subject the light of the same torch by +which we have looked at all the phenomena of the time; the infinitude, +namely, of every man. Everything teaches that. + +One fact constitutes all my satisfaction, inspires all my trust, +viz., this perpetual youth, which, as long as there is any good in +us, we cannot get rid of. It is very certain that the coming age +and the departing age seldom understand each other. The old man +thinks the young man has no distinct purpose, for he could never get +anything intelligible and earnest out of him. Perhaps the young man +does not think it worth his while to explain himself to so hard and +inapprehensive a confessor. Let him be led up with a long-sighted +forbearance, and let not the sallies of his petulance or folly be +checked with disgust or indignation or despair. + +I call our system a system of despair, and I find all the correction, +all the revolution that is needed and that the best spirits of this age +promise, in one word, in Hope. Nature, when she sends a new mind into +the world, fills it beforehand with a desire for that which she wishes +it to know and do. Let us wait and see what is this new creation, of +what new organ the great Spirit had need when it incarnated this new +Will. A new Adam in the garden, he is to name all the beasts in the +field, all the gods in the sky. And jealous provision seems to have +been made in his constitution that you shall not invade and contaminate +him with the worn weeds of your language and opinions. The charm of +life is this variety of genius, these contrasts and flavors by which +Heaven has modulated the identity of truth, and there is a perpetual +hankering to violate this individuality, to warp his ways of thinking +and behavior to resemble or reflect their thinking and behavior. A +low self-love in the parent desires that his child should repeat his +character and fortune; an expectation which the child, if justice is +done him, will nobly disappoint. By working on the theory that this +resemblance exists, we shall do what in us lies to defeat his proper +promise and produce the ordinary and mediocre. I suffer whenever I see +that common sight of a parent or senior imposing his opinion and way +of thinking and being on a young soul to which they are totally unfit. +Cannot we let people be themselves, and enjoy life in their own way? +You are trying to make that man another _you_. One’s enough. + +Or we sacrifice the genius of the pupil, the unknown possibilities of +his nature, to a neat and safe uniformity, as the Turks whitewash the +costly mosaics of ancient art which the Greeks left on their temple +walls. Rather let us have men whose manhood is only the continuation +of their boyhood, natural characters still; such are able and fertile +for heroic action; and not that sad spectacle with which we are too +familiar, educated eyes in uneducated bodies. + +I like boys, the masters of the playground and of the street,--boys, +who have the same liberal ticket of admission to all shops, factories, +armories, town-meetings, caucuses, mobs, target-shootings, as flies +have; quite unsuspected, coming in as naturally as the janitor,--known +to have no money in their pockets, and themselves not suspecting the +value of this poverty; putting nobody on his guard, but seeing the +inside of the show,--hearing all the asides. There are no secrets from +them, they know everything that befalls in the fire-company, the merits +of every engine and of every man at the brakes, how to work it, and +are swift to try their hand at every part; so too the merits of every +locomotive on the rails, and will coax the engineer to let them ride +with him and pull the handles when it goes to the engine-house. They +are there only for fun, and not knowing that they are at school, in +the court-house, or the cattle-show, quite as much and more than they +were, an hour ago, in the arithmetic class. + +They know truth from counterfeit as quick as the chemist does. They +detect weakness in your eye and behavior a week before you open your +mouth, and have given you the benefit of their opinion quick as a +wink. They make no mistakes, have no pedantry, but entire belief on +experience. Their elections at base-ball or cricket are founded on +merit, and are right. They don’t pass for swimmers until they can swim, +nor for stroke-oar until they can row: and I desire to be saved from +their contempt. If I can pass with them, I can manage well enough with +their fathers. + +Everybody delights in the energy with which boys deal and talk with +each other; the mixture of fun and earnest, reproach and coaxing, love +and wrath, with which the game is played;--the good-natured yet defiant +independence of a leading boy’s behavior in the school-yard. How we +envy in later life the happy youths to whom their boisterous games and +rough exercise furnish the precise element which frames and sets off +their school and college tasks, and teaches them, when least they think +it, the use and meaning of these. In their fun and extreme freak they +hit on the topmost sense of Horace. The young giant, brown from his +hunting-tramp, tells his story well, interlarded with lucky allusions +to Homer, to Virgil, to college-songs, to Walter Scott; and Jove and +Achilles, partridge and trout, opera and binomial theorem, Cæsar in +Gaul, Sherman in Savannah, and hazing in Holworthy, dance through the +narrative in merry confusion, yet the logic is good. If he can turn +his books to such picturesque account in his fishing and hunting, it +is easy to see how his reading and experience, as he has more of both, +will interpenetrate each other. And every one desires that this pure +vigor of action and wealth of narrative, cheered with so much humor and +street rhetoric, should be carried into the habit of the young man, +purged of its uproar and rudeness, but with all its vivacity entire. +His hunting and campings-out have given him an indispensable base: I +wish to add a taste for good company through his impatience of bad. +That stormy genius of his needs a little direction to games, charades, +verses of society, song, and a correspondence year by year with his +wisest and best friends. Friendship is an order of nobility; from its +revelations we come more worthily into nature. Society he must have or +he is poor indeed; he gladly enters a school which forbids conceit, +affectation, emphasis and dulness, and requires of each only the +flower of his nature and experience; requires good-will, beauty, wit, +and select information; teaches by practice the law of conversation, +namely, to hear as well as to speak. + +Meantime, if circumstances do not permit the high social advantages, +solitude has also its lessons. The obscure youth learns there the +practice instead of the literature of his virtues; and, because of the +disturbing effect of passion and sense, which by a multitude of trifles +impede the mind’s eye from the quiet search of that fine horizon-line +which truth keeps,--the way to knowledge and power has ever been an +escape from too much engagement with affairs and possessions; a way, +not through plenty and superfluity, but by denial and renunciation, +into solitude and privation; and, the more is taken away, the more +real and inevitable wealth of being is made known to us. The solitary +knows the essence of the thought, the scholar in society only its fair +face. There is no want of example of great men, great benefactors, who +have been monks and hermits in habit. The bias of mind is sometimes +irresistible in that direction. The man is as it were born deaf and +dumb, and dedicated to a narrow and lonely life. Let him study the art +of solitude, yield as gracefully as he can to his destiny. Why cannot +he get the good of his doom, and if it is from eternity a settled fact +that he and society shall be nothing to each other, why need he blush +so, and make wry faces to keep up a freshman’s seat in the fine world? +Heaven often protects valuable souls charged with great secrets, great +ideas, by long shutting them up with their own thoughts. And the most +genial and amiable of men must alternate society with solitude, and +learn its severe lessons. + + +There comes the period of the imagination to each, a later youth; the +power of beauty, the power of books, of poetry. Culture makes his books +realities to him, their characters more brilliant, more effective on +his mind, than his actual mates. Do not spare to put novels into the +hands of young people as an occasional holiday and experiment; but, +above all, good poetry in all kinds, epic, tragedy, lyric. If we can +touch the imagination, we serve them, they will never forget it. Let +him read “Tom Brown at Rugby,” read “Tom Brown at Oxford,”--better +yet, read “Hodson’s Life”--Hodson who took prisoner the king of Delhi. +They teach the same truth,--a trust, against all appearances, against +all privations, in your own worth, and not in tricks, plotting, or +patronage. + +I believe that our own experience instructs us that the secret of +Education lies in respecting the pupil. It is not for you to choose +what he shall know, what he shall do. It is chosen and foreordained, +and he only holds the key to his own secret. By your tampering and +thwarting and too much governing he may be hindered from his end and +kept out of his own. Respect the child. Wait and see the new product of +Nature. Nature loves analogies, but not repetitions. Respect the child. +Be not too much his parent. Trespass not on his solitude. + +But I hear the outcry which replies to this suggestion:--Would you +verily throw up the reins of public and private discipline; would +you leave the young child to the mad career of his own passions and +whimsies, and call this anarchy a respect for the child’s nature? +I answer,--Respect the child, respect him to the end, but also +respect yourself. Be the companion of his thought, the friend of his +friendship, the lover of his virtue,--but no kinsman of his sin. Let +him find you so true to yourself that you are the irreconcilable hater +of his vice and the imperturbable slighter of his trifling. + +The two points in a boy’s training are, to keep his _naturel_ +and train off all but that:--to keep his _naturel_, but stop off +his uproar, fooling and horse-play;--keep his nature and arm it with +knowledge in the very direction in which it points. Here are the two +capital facts, genius and drill. The first is the inspiration in the +well-born healthy child, the new perception he has of nature. Somewhat +he sees in forms or hears in music or apprehends in mathematics, or +believes practicable in mechanics or possible in political society, +which no one else sees or hears or believes. This is the perpetual +romance of new life, the invasion of God into the old dead world, when +he sends into quiet houses a young soul with a thought which is not +met, looking for something which is not there, but which ought to be +there: the thought is dim but it is sure, and he casts about restless +for means and masters to verify it; he makes wild attempts to explain +himself and invoke the aid and consent of the bystanders. Baffled for +want of language and methods to convey his meaning, not yet clear +to himself, he conceives that though not in this house or town, yet +in some other house or town is the wise master who can put him in +possession of the rules and instruments to execute his will. Happy this +child with a bias, with a thought which entrances him, leads him, now +into deserts now into cities, the fool of an idea. Let him follow it +in good and in evil report, in good or bad company; it will justify +itself; it will lead him at last into the illustrious society of the +lovers of truth. + +In London, in a private company, I became acquainted with a gentleman, +Sir Charles Fellowes, who, being at Xanthus, in the Ægean Sea, had +seen a Turk point with his staff to some carved work on the corner of +a stone almost buried in the soil. Fellowes scraped away the dirt, +was struck with the beauty of the sculptured ornaments, and, looking +about him, observed more blocks and fragments like this. He returned +to the spot, procured laborers and uncovered many blocks. He went back +to England, bought a Greek grammar and learned the language; he read +history and studied ancient art to explain his stones; he interested +Gibson the sculptor; he invoked the assistance of the English +Government; he called in the succor of Sir Humphry Davy to analyze the +pigments; of experts in coins, of scholars and connoisseurs; and at +last in his third visit brought home to England such statues and marble +reliefs and such careful plans that he was able to reconstruct, in the +British Museum where it now stands, the perfect model of the Ionic +trophy-monument, fifty years older than the Parthenon of Athens, and +which had been destroyed by earthquakes, then by iconoclast Christians, +then by savage Turks. But mark that in the task he had achieved an +excellent education, and become associated with distinguished scholars +whom he had interested in his pursuit; in short, had formed a college +for himself; the enthusiast had found the master, the masters, whom he +sought. Always genius seeks genius, desires nothing so much as to be a +pupil and to find those who can lend it aid to perfect itself. + +Nor are the two elements, enthusiasm and drill, incompatible. Accuracy +is essential to beauty. The very definition of the intellect is +Aristotle’s: “that by which we know terms or boundaries.” Give a boy +accurate perceptions. Teach him the difference between the similar and +the same. Make him call things by their right names. Pardon in him +no blunder. Then he will give you solid satisfaction as long as he +lives. It is better to teach the child arithmetic and Latin grammar +than rhetoric or moral philosophy, because they require exactitude of +performance; it is made certain that the lesson is mastered, and that +power of performance is worth more than the knowledge. He can learn +anything which is important to him now that the power to learn is +secured: as mechanics say, when one has learned the use of tools, it is +easy to work at a new craft. + +Letter by letter, syllable by syllable, the child learns to read, +and in good time can convey to all the domestic circle the sense of +Shakspeare. By many steps each just as short, the stammering boy and +the hesitating collegian, in the school debate, in college clubs, in +mock court, comes at last to full, secure, triumphant unfolding of his +thought in the popular assembly, with a fullness of power that makes +all the steps forgotten. + +But this function of opening and feeding the human mind is not to be +fulfilled by any mechanical or military method; is not to be trusted +to any skill less large than Nature itself. You must not neglect the +form, but you must secure the essentials. It is curious how perverse +and intermeddling we are, and what vast pains and cost we incur to +do wrong. Whilst we all know in our own experience and apply natural +methods in our own business,--in education our common sense fails us, +and we are continually trying costly machinery against nature, in +patent schools and academies and in great colleges and universities. + +The natural method forever confutes our experiments, and we must still +come back to it. The whole theory of the school is on the nurse’s or +mother’s knee. The child is as hot to learn as the mother is to impart. +There is mutual delight. The joy of our childhood in hearing beautiful +stories from some skilful aunt who loves to tell them, must be repeated +in youth. The boy wishes to learn to skate, to coast, to catch a fish +in the brook, to hit a mark with a snowball or a stone; and a boy a +little older is just as well pleased to teach him these sciences. +Not less delightful is the mutual pleasure of teaching and learning +the secret of algebra, or of chemistry, or of good reading and good +recitation of poetry or of prose, or of chosen facts in history or in +biography. + +Nature provided for the communication of thought, by planting with +it in the receiving mind a fury to impart it. ’Tis so in every art, +in every science. One burns to tell the new fact, the other burns to +hear it. See how far a young doctor will ride or walk to witness a new +surgical operation. I have seen a carriage-maker’s shop emptied of all +its workmen into the street, to scrutinize a new pattern from New York. +So in literature, the young man who has taste for poetry, for fine +images, for noble thoughts, is insatiable for this nourishment, and +forgets all the world for the more learned friend,--who finds equal joy +in dealing out his treasures. + +Happy the natural college thus self-instituted around every natural +teacher; the young men of Athens around Socrates; of Alexandria around +Plotinus; of Paris around Abelard; of Germany around Fichte, or +Niebuhr, or Goethe: in short the natural sphere of every leading mind. +But the moment this is organized, difficulties begin. The college was +to be the nurse and home of genius; but, though every young man is born +with some determination in his nature, and is a potential genius; is +at last to be one; it is, in the most, obstructed and delayed, and, +whatever they may hereafter be, their senses are now opened in advance +of their minds. They are more sensual than intellectual. Appetite and +indolence they have, but no enthusiasm. These come in numbers to the +college: few geniuses: and the teaching comes to be arranged for these +many, and not for those few. Hence the instruction seems to require +skilful tutors, of accurate and systematic mind, rather than ardent and +inventive masters. Besides, the youth of genius are eccentric, won’t +drill, are irritable, uncertain, explosive, solitary, not men of the +world, not good for every-day association. You have to work for large +classes instead of individuals; you must lower your flag and reef your +sails to wait for the dull sailors; you grow departmental, routinary, +military almost with your discipline and college police. But what doth +such a school to form a great and heroic character? What abiding Hope +can it inspire? What Reformer will it nurse? What poet will it breed to +sing to the human race? What discoverer of Nature’s laws will it prompt +to enrich us by disclosing in the mind the statute which all matter +must obey? What fiery soul will it send out to warm a nation with +his charity? What tranquil mind will it have fortified to walk with +meekness in private and obscure duties, to wait and to suffer? Is it +not manifest that our academic institutions should have a wider scope; +that they should not be timid and keep the ruts of the last generation, +but that wise men thinking for themselves and heartily seeking the good +of mankind, and counting the cost of innovation, should dare to arouse +the young to a just and heroic life; that the moral nature should be +addressed in the school-room, and children should be treated as the +high-born candidates of truth and virtue? + +So to regard the young child, the young man, requires, no doubt, rare +patience: a patience that nothing but faith in the remedial forces +of the soul can give. You see his sensualism; you see his want of +those tastes and perceptions which make the power and safety of your +character. Very likely. But he has something else. If he has his own +vice, he has its correlative virtue. Every mind should be allowed to +make its own statement in action, and its balance will appear. In these +judgments one needs that foresight which was attributed to an eminent +reformer, of whom it was said “his patience could see in the bud of the +aloe the blossom at the end of a hundred years.” Alas for the cripple +Practice when it seeks to come up with the bird Theory, which flies +before it. Try your design on the best school. The scholars are of all +ages and temperaments and capacities. It is difficult to class them, +some are too young, some are slow, some perverse. Each requires so +much consideration, that the morning hope of the teacher, of a day of +love and progress, is often closed at evening by despair. Each single +case, the more it is considered, shows more to be done; and the strict +conditions of the hours, on one side, and the number of tasks, on the +other. Whatever becomes of our method, the conditions stand fast,--six +hours, and thirty, fifty, or a hundred and fifty pupils. Something must +be done, and done speedily, and in this distress the wisest are tempted +to adopt violent means, to proclaim martial law, corporal punishment, +mechanical arrangement, bribes, spies, wrath, main strength and +ignorance, in lieu of that wise genial providential influence they had +hoped, and yet hope at some future day to adopt. Of course the devotion +to details reacts injuriously on the teacher. He cannot indulge his +genius, he cannot delight in personal relations with young friends, +when his eye is always on the clock, and twenty classes are to be dealt +with before the day is done. Besides, how can he please himself with +genius, and foster modest virtue? A sure proportion of rogue and dunce +finds its way into every school and requires a cruel share of time, and +the gentle teacher, who wished to be a Providence to youth, is grown +a martinet, sore with suspicions; knows as much vice as the judge of +a police court, and his love of learning is lost in the routine of +grammars and books of elements. + +A rule is so easy that it does not need a man to apply it; an +automaton, a machine, can be made to keep a school so. It facilitates +labor and thought so much that there is always the temptation in large +schools to omit the endless task of meeting the wants of each single +mind, and to govern by steam. But it is at frightful cost. Our modes of +Education aim to expedite, to save labor; to do for masses what cannot +be done for masses, what must be done reverently, one by one: say +rather, the whole world is needed for the tuition of each pupil. The +advantages of this system of emulation and display are so prompt and +obvious, it is such a time-saver, it is so energetic on slow and on bad +natures, and is of so easy application, needing no sage or poet, but +any tutor or schoolmaster in his first term can apply it,--that it is +not strange that this calomel of culture should be a popular medicine. +On the other hand, total abstinence from this drug, and the adoption +of simple discipline and the following of nature, involves at once +immense claims on the time, the thoughts, on the life of the teacher. +It requires time, use, insight, event, all the great lessons and +assistances of God; and only to think of using it implies character and +profoundness; to enter on this course of discipline is to be good and +great. It is precisely analogous to the difference between the use of +corporal punishment and the methods of love. It is so easy to bestow on +a bad boy a blow, overpower him, and get obedience without words, that +in this world of hurry and distraction, who can wait for the returns +of reason and the conquest of self; in the uncertainty too whether +that will ever come? And yet the familiar observation of the universal +compensations might suggest the fear that so summary a stop of a bad +humor was more jeopardous than its continuance. + +Now the correction of this quack practice is to import into Education +the wisdom of life. Leave this military hurry and adopt the pace of +Nature. Her secret is patience. Do you know how the naturalist learns +all the secrets of the forest, of plants, of birds, of beasts, of +reptiles, of fishes, of the rivers and the sea? When he goes into the +woods the birds fly before him and he finds none; when he goes to the +river bank, the fish and the reptile swim away and leave him alone. +His secret is patience; he sits down, and sits still; he is a statue; +he is a log. These creatures have no value for their time, and he must +put as low a rate on his. By dint of obstinate sitting still, reptile, +fish, bird and beast, which all wish to return to their haunts, begin +to return. He sits still; if they approach, he remains passive as the +stone he sits upon. They lose their fear. They have curiosity too about +him. By and by the curiosity masters the fear, and they come swimming, +creeping and flying towards him; and as he is still immovable, they +not only resume their haunts and their ordinary labors and manners, +show themselves to him in their work-day trim, but also volunteer +some degree of advances towards fellowship and good understanding +with a biped who behaves so civilly and well. Can you not baffle the +impatience and passion of the child by your tranquillity? Can you not +wait for him, as Nature and Providence do? Can you not keep for his +mind and ways, for his secret, the same curiosity you give to the +squirrel, snake, rabbit, and the sheldrake and the deer? He has a +secret; wonderful methods in him; he is,--every child,--a new style +of man; give him time and opportunity. Talk of Columbus and Newton! +I tell you the child just born in yonder hovel is the beginning of a +revolution as great as theirs. But you must have the believing and +prophetic eye. Have the self-command you wish to inspire. Your teaching +and discipline must have the reserve and taciturnity of Nature. Teach +them to hold their tongues by holding your own. Say little; do not +snarl; do not chide; but govern by the eye. See what they need, and +that the right thing is done. + +I confess myself utterly at a loss in suggesting particular reforms +in our ways of teaching. No discretion that can be lodged with a +school-committee, with the overseers or visitors of an academy, +of a college, can at all avail to reach these difficulties and +perplexities, but they solve themselves when we leave institutions +and address individuals. The will, the male power, organizes, imposes +its own thought and wish on others, and makes that military eye +which controls boys as it controls men; admirable in its results, +a fortune to him who has it, and only dangerous when it leads the +workman to overvalue and overuse it and precludes him from finer +means. Sympathy, the female force,--which they must use who have not +the first,--deficient in instant control and the breaking down of +resistance, is more subtle and lasting and creative. I advise teachers +to cherish mother-wit. I assume that you will keep the grammar, +reading, writing and arithmetic in order; ’tis easy and of course you +will. But smuggle in a little contraband wit, fancy, imagination, +thought. If you have a taste which you have suppressed because it +is not shared by those about you, tell them that. Set this law up, +whatever becomes of the rules of the school: they must not whisper, +much less talk; but if one of the young people says a wise thing, greet +it, and let all the children clap their hands. They shall have no book +but school-books in the room; but if one has brought in a Plutarch or +Shakspeare or Don Quixote or Goldsmith or any other good book, and +understands what he reads, put him at once at the head of the class. +Nobody shall be disorderly, or leave his desk without permission, but +if a boy runs from his bench, or a girl, because the fire falls, or +to check some injury that a little dastard is inflicting behind his +desk on some helpless sufferer, take away the medal from the head of +the class and give it on the instant to the brave rescuer. If a child +happens to show that he knows any fact about astronomy, or plants, or +birds, or rocks, or history, that interests him and you, hush all the +classes and encourage him to tell it so that all may hear. Then you +have made your school-room like the world. Of course you will insist +on modesty in the children, and respect to their teachers, but if the +boy stops you in your speech, cries out that you are wrong and sets you +right, hug him! + +To whatsoever upright mind, to whatsoever beating heart I speak, to you +it is committed to educate men. By simple living, by an illimitable +soul, you inspire, you correct, you instruct, you raise, you embellish +all. By your own act you teach the beholder how to do the practicable. +According to the depth from which you draw your life, such is the depth +not only of your strenuous effort, but of your manners and presence. + +The beautiful nature of the world has here blended your happiness with +your power. Work straight on in absolute duty, and you lend an arm and +an encouragement to all the youth of the universe. Consent yourself to +be an organ of your highest thought, and lo! suddenly you put all men +in your debt, and are the fountain of an energy that goes pulsing on +with waves of benefit to the borders of society, to the circumference +of things. + + + + + THE SUPERLATIVE. + + WHEN wrath and terror changed Jove’s regal port + And the rash-leaping thunderbolt fell short. + + + For Art, for Music overthrilled, + The wine-cup shakes, the wine is spilled. + + + + + THE SUPERLATIVE.[7] + + +THE doctrine of temperance is one of many degrees. It is usually taught +on a low platform, but one of great necessity,--that of meats and +drinks, and its importance cannot be denied and hardly exaggerated. +But it is a long way from the Maine Law to the heights of absolute +self-command which respect the conservatism of the entire energies of +the body, the mind, and the soul. I wish to point at some of its higher +functions as it enters into mind and character. + +There is a superlative temperament which has no medium range, but +swiftly oscillates from the freezing to the boiling point, and which +affects the manners of those who share it with a certain desperation. +Their aspect is grimace. They go tearing, convulsed through +life,--wailing, praying, exclaiming, swearing. We talk, sometimes, with +people whose conversation would lead you to suppose that they had lived +in a museum, where all the objects were monsters and extremes. Their +good people are phœnixes; their naughty are like the prophet’s figs. +They use the superlative of grammar: “most perfect,” “most exquisite,” +“most horrible.” Like the French, they are enchanted, they are +desolate, because you have got or have not got a shoe-string or a wafer +you happen to want,--not perceiving that superlatives are diminutives, +and weaken; that the positive is the sinew of speech, the superlative +the fat. If the talker lose a tooth, he thinks the universal thaw and +dissolution of things has come. Controvert his opinion and he cries +“Persecution!” and reckons himself with Saint Barnabas, who was sawn in +two. + +Especially we note this tendency to extremes in the pleasant excitement +of horror-mongers. Is there something so delicious in disasters and +pain? Bad news is always exaggerated, and we may challenge Providence +to send a fact so tragical that we cannot contrive to make it a little +worse in our gossip. + +All this comes of poverty. We are unskilful definers. From want of +skill to convey quality, we hope to move admiration by quantity. +Language should aim to describe the fact. It is not enough to suggest +it and magnify it. Sharper sight would indicate the true line. ’Tis +very wearisome, this straining talk, these experiences all exquisite, +intense and tremendous,--“The best I ever saw;” “I never in my life!” +One wishes these terms gazetted and forbidden. Every favorite is not +a cherub, nor every cat a griffin, nor each unpleasing person a dark, +diabolical intriguer; nor agonies, excruciations nor ecstasies our +daily bread. + +Horace Walpole relates that in the expectation, current in London a +century ago, of a great earthquake, some people provided themselves +with dresses for the occasion. But one would not wear earthquake +dresses or resurrection robes for a working jacket, nor make a codicil +to his will whenever he goes out to ride; and the secrets of death, +judgment and eternity are tedious when recurring as minute-guns. +Thousands of people live and die who were never, on a single occasion, +hungry or thirsty, or furious or terrified. The books say, “It made +my hair stand on end!” Who, in our municipal life, ever had such an +experience? Indeed, I believe that much of the rhetoric of terror,--“It +froze my blood,” “It made my knees knock,” etc.--most men have realized +only in dreams and nightmares. + +Then there is an inverted superlative, or superlative contrary, which +shivers, like Demophoön, in the sun: wants fan and parasol on the +cold Friday; is tired by sleep; feeds on drugs and poisons; finds the +rainbow a discoloration; hates birds and flowers. + +The exaggeration of which I complain makes plain fact the more welcome +and refreshing. It is curious that a face magnified in a concave +mirror loses its expression. All this overstatement is needless. A +little fact is worth a whole limbo of dreams, and I can well spare the +exaggerations which appear to me screens to conceal ignorance. Among +these glorifiers, the coldest stickler for names and dates and measures +cannot lament his criticism and coldness of fancy. Think how much +pains astronomers and opticians have taken to procure an achromatic +lens. Discovery in the heavens has waited for it; discovery on the +face of the earth not less. I hear without sympathy the complaint of +young and ardent persons that they find life no region of romance, +with no enchanter, no giant, no fairies, nor even muses. I am very +much indebted to my eyes, and am content that they should see the real +world, always geometrically finished without blur or halo. The more I +am engaged with it the more it suffices. + +How impatient we are, in these northern latitudes, of looseness and +intemperance in speech! Our measure of success is the moderation and +low level of an individual’s judgment. Doctor Channing’s piety and +wisdom had such weight that, in Boston, the popular idea of religion +was whatever this eminent divine held. But I remember that his best +friend, a man of guarded lips, speaking of him in a circle of his +admirers, said: “I have known him long, I have studied his character, +and I believe him capable of virtue.” An eminent French journalist paid +a high compliment to the Duke of Wellington, when his documents were +published: “Here are twelve volumes of military dispatches, and the +word _glory_ is not found in them.” + +The English mind is arithmetical, values exactness, likes literal +statement; stigmatizes any heat or hyperbole as Irish, French, Italian, +and infers weakness and inconsequence of character in speakers who +use it. It does not love the superlative but the positive degree. +Our customary and mechanical existence is not favorable to flights; +long nights and frost hold us pretty fast to realities. The people of +English stock, in all countries, are a solid people, wearing good hats +and shoes, and owners of land whose title-deeds are properly recorded. +Their houses are of wood, and brick, and stone, not designed to reel +in earthquakes, nor blow about through the air much in hurricanes, nor +to be lost under sand-drifts, nor to be made bonfires of by whimsical +viziers; but to stand as commodious, rentable tenements for a century +or two. All our manner of life is on a secure and moderate pattern, +such as can last. Violence and extravagance are, once for all, +distasteful; competence, quiet, comfort, are the agreed welfare. + +Ever a low style is best. “I judge by every man’s truth of his degree +of understanding,” said Chesterfield. And I do not know any advantage +more conspicuous which a man owes to his experience in markets and +the Exchange, or politics, than the caution and accuracy he acquires +in his report of facts. “Uncle Joel’s news is always true,” said a +person to me with obvious satisfaction, and said it justly; for the old +head, after deceiving and being deceived many times, thinks, “What’s +the use of having to unsay to-day what I said yesterday? I will not +be responsible; I will not add an epithet. I will be as moderate as +the fact, and will use the same expression, without color, which I +received; and rather repeat it several times, word for word, than vary +it ever so little.” + +The first valuable power in a reasonable mind, one would say, was +the power of plain statement, or the power to receive things as they +befall, and to transfer the picture of them to another mind unaltered. +’Tis a good rule of rhetoric which Schlegel gives,--“In good prose, +every word is underscored;” which, I suppose, means, Never italicize. + +Spartans, stoics, heroes, saints and gods use a short and positive +speech. They are never off their centres. As soon as they swell and +paint and find truth not enough for them, softening of the brain has +already begun. It seems as if inflation were a disease incident to +too much use of words, and the remedy lay in recourse to things. I am +daily struck with the forcible understatement of people who have no +literary habit. The low expression is strong and agreeable. The citizen +dwells in delusions. His dress and draperies, house and stables, occupy +him. The poor countryman, having no circumstance of carpets, coaches, +dinners, wine and dancing in his head to confuse him, is able to look +straight at you, without refraction or prismatic glories, and he sees +whether you see straight also, or whether your head is addled by this +mixture of wines. + +The common people diminish: “a cold snap;” “it rains easy;” “good +haying weather.” When a farmer means to tell you that he is doing +well with his farm, he says, “I don’t work as hard as I did, and I +don’t mean to.” When he wishes to condemn any treatment of soils or of +stock, he says, “It won’t do any good.” Under the Catskill Mountains +the boy in the steamboat said, “Come up here, Tony; it looks pretty +out-of-doors.” The farmers in the region do not call particular +summits, as Killington, Camel’s Hump, Saddle-back, etc., mountains, but +only “them ’ere rises,” and reserve the word mountains for the range. + +I once attended a dinner given to a great state functionary by +functionaries,--men of law, state, and trade. The guest was a great man +in his own country and an honored diplomatist in this. His health was +drunk with some acknowledgment of his distinguished services to both +countries, and followed by nine cold hurrahs. There was the vicious +superlative. Then the great official spoke and beat his breast, and +declared that he should remember this honor to the latest moment of his +existence. He was answered again by officials. Pity, thought I, they +should lie so about their keen sensibility to the nine cold hurrahs +and to the commonplace compliment of a dinner. Men of the world value +truth, in proportion to their ability; not by its sacredness, but for +its convenience. Of such, especially of diplomatists, one has a right +to expect wit and ingenuity to avoid the lie if they must comply with +the form. Now, I had been present, a little before, in the country at a +cattle-show dinner, which followed an agricultural discourse delivered +by a farmer: the discourse, to say the truth, was bad; and one of our +village fathers gave at the dinner this toast: “The orator of the +day: his subject deserves the attention of every farmer.” The caution +of the toast did honor to our village father. I wish great lords and +diplomatists had as much respect for truth. + +But whilst thus everything recommends simplicity and temperance of +action; the utmost directness, the positive degree, we mean thereby +that “rightly to be great is not to stir without great argument.” +Whenever the true objects of action appear, they are to be heartily +sought. Enthusiasm is the height of man; it is the passing from the +human to the divine. + +The superlative is as good as the positive, if it be alive. If man +loves the conditioned, he also loves the unconditioned. We don’t +wish to sin on the other side, and to be purists, nor to check the +invention of wit or the sally of humor. ’Tis very different, this weak +and wearisome lie, from the stimulus to the fancy which is given by +a romancing talker who does not mean to be exactly taken,--like the +gallant skipper who complained to his owners that he had pumped the +Atlantic Ocean three times through his ship on the passage, and ’twas +common to strike seals and porpoises in the hold. Or what was similarly +asserted of the late Lord Jeffrey, at the Scottish bar,--an attentive +auditor declaring on one occasion after an argument of three hours, +that he had spoken the whole English language three times over in his +speech. + +The objection to unmeasured speech is its lie. All men like an +impressive fact. The astronomer shows you in his telescope the +nebula of Orion, that you may look on that which is esteemed the +farthest-off land in visible nature. At the Bank of England they put a +scrap of paper that is worth a million pounds sterling into the hands +of the visitor to touch. Our travelling is a sort of search for the +superlatives or summits of art,--much more the real wonders of power in +the human form. The arithmetic of Newton, the memory of Magliabecchi +or Mirandola, the versatility of Julius Cæsar, the concentration of +Bonaparte, the inspiration of Shakspeare, are sure of commanding +interest and awe in every company of men. + +The superlative is the excess of expression. We are a garrulous, +demonstrative kind of creatures, and cannot live without much outlet +for all our sense and nonsense. And fit expression is so rare that +mankind have a superstitious value for it, and it would seem the whole +human race agree to value a man precisely in proportion to his power of +expression; and to the most expressive man that has existed, namely, +Shakspeare, they have awarded the highest place. + +The expressors are the gods of the world, but the men whom these +expressors revere are the solid, balanced, undemonstrative citizens +who make the reserved guard, the central sense, of the world. For the +luminous object wastes itself by its shining,--is luminous because it +is burning up; and if the powers are disposed for display, there is +all the less left for use and creation. The talent sucks the substance +of the man. Superlatives must be bought by too many positives. Gardens +of roses must be stripped to make a few drops of otto. And these +raptures of fire and frost, which indeed cleanse pedantry out of +conversation and make the speech salt and biting, would cost me the +days of well-being which are now so cheap to me, yet so valued. I like +no deep stakes. I am a coward at gambling. I will bask in the common +sun a while longer. + +Children and thoughtless people like exaggerated event and activity; +like to run to a house on fire, to a fight, to an execution; like to +talk of a marriage, of a bankruptcy, of a debt, of a crime. The wise +man shuns all this. I knew a grave man who, being urged to go to a +church where a clergyman was newly ordained, said “he liked him very +well, but he would go when the interesting Sundays were over.” + +All rests at last on the simplicity of nature, or real being. Nothing +is for the most part less esteemed. We are fond of dress, of ornament, +of accomplishments, of talents, but distrustful of health, of +soundness, of pure innocence. Yet nature measures her greatness by what +she can spare, by what remains when all superfluity and accessories are +shorn off. + +Nor is there in nature itself any swell, any brag, any strain or shock, +but a firm common sense through all her elephants and lions, through +all her ducks and geese; a true proportion between her means and her +performance. _Semper sibi similis._ You shall not catch her in +any anomalies, nor swaggering into any monsters. In all the years +that I have sat in town and forest, I never saw a winged dragon, a +flying man, or a talking fish, but ever the strictest regard to rule, +and an absence of all surprises. No; nature encourages no looseness, +pardons no errors; freezes punctually at 32°, boils punctually at 212°; +crystallizes in water at one invariable angle, in diamond at one, in +granite at one; and if you omit the smallest condition the experiment +will not succeed. Her communication obeys the gospel rule, yea or nay. +She never expatiates, never goes into the reasons. Plant beechmast +and it comes up, or it does not come up. Sow grain, and it does not +come up: put lime into the soil and try again, and this time she says +yea. To every question an abstemious but absolute reply. The like +staidness is in her dealings with us. Nature is always serious,--does +not jest with us. Where we have begun in folly, we are brought quickly +to plain dealing. Life could not be carried on except by fidelity and +good earnest; and she brings the most heartless trifler to determined +purpose presently. The men whom she admits to her confidence, the +simple and great characters, are uniformly marked by absence of +pretension and by understatement. The old and the modern sages of +clearest insight are plain men, who have held themselves hard to the +poverty of nature. + +The firmest and noblest ground on which people can live is truth; the +real with the real; a ground on which nothing is assumed, but where +they speak and think and do what they must, because they are so and not +otherwise. + +But whilst the basis of character must be simplicity, the expression +of character, it must be remembered, is, in great degree, a matter +of climate. In the temperate climates there is a temperate speech, +in torrid climates an ardent one. Whilst in Western nations the +superlative in conversation is tedious and weak, and in character is a +capital defect, nature delights in showing us that in the East it is +animated, it is pertinent, pleasing, poetic. Whilst she appoints us +to keep within the sharp boundaries of form as the condition of our +strength, she creates in the East the uncontrollable yearning to escape +from limitation into the vast and boundless; to use a freedom of fancy +which plays with all the works of nature, great or minute, galaxy or +grain of dust, as toys and words of the mind; inculcates the tenet +of a beatitude to be found in escape from all organization and all +personality, and makes ecstasy an institution. + +Religion and poetry are all the civilization of the Arab. “The ground +of Paradise,” said Mohammed, “is extensive, and the plants of it are +hallelujahs.” Religion and poetry: the religion teaches an inexorable +destiny; it distinguishes only two days in each man’s history, the day +of his lot, and the day of judgment. The religion runs into asceticism +and fate. The costume, the articles in which wealth is displayed, are +in the same extremes. Thus the diamond and the pearl, which are only +accidental and secondary in their use and value to us, are proper to +the oriental world. The diver dives a beggar and rises with the price +of a kingdom in his hand. A bag of sequins, a jewel, a balsam, a single +horse, constitute an estate in countries where insecure institutions +make every one desirous of concealable and convertible property. Shall +I say, further, that the orientals excel in costly arts, in the cutting +of precious stones, in working in gold, in weaving on hand-looms +costly stuffs from silk and wool, in spices, in dyes and drugs, +henna, otto and camphor, and in the training of slaves, elephants and +camels,--things which are the poetry and superlative of commerce. + +On the other hand,--and it is a good illustration of the difference +of genius,--the European nations, and, in general, all nations in +proportion to their civilization, understand the manufacture of iron. +One of the meters of the height to which any civility rose is the +skill in the fabric of iron. Universally, the better gold, the worse +man. The political economist defies us to show any gold-mine country +that is traversed by good roads: or a shore where pearls are found +on which good schools are erected. The European civility, or that of +the positive degree, is established by coal-mines, by ventilation, by +irrigation and every skill--in having water cheap and pure, by iron, +by agriculture for bread-stuffs, and manufacture of coarse and family +cloths. Our modern improvements have been in the invention of friction +matches; of India-rubber shoes; of the famous two parallel bars of +iron; then of the air-chamber of Watt, and of the judicious tubing of +the engine, by Stephenson, in order to the construction of locomotives. + +Meantime, Nature, who loves crosses and mixtures, makes these two +tendencies necessary each to the other, and delights to re-enforce each +peculiarity by imparting the other. The Northern genius finds itself +singularly refreshed and stimulated by the breadth and luxuriance of +Eastern imagery and modes of thinking, which go to check the pedantry +of our inventions and the excess of our detail. There is no writing +which has more electric power to unbind and animate the torpid +intellect than the bold Eastern muse. + +If it come back however to the question of final superiority, it is too +plain that there is no question that the star of empire rolls West: +that the warm sons of the Southeast have bent the neck under the yoke +of the cold temperament and the exact understanding of the Northwestern +races. + + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[Footnote 7: Reprinted from the _Century_ of February, 1882.] + + + + + THE SOVEREIGNTY OF ETHICS. + + THESE rules were writ in human heart + By Him who built the day; + The columns of the universe + Not firmer based than they. + + + THOU shalt not try + To plant thy shrivelled pedantry + On the shoulders of the sky. + + + + + THE SOVEREIGNTY OF ETHICS.[8] + + +SINCE the discovery of Oersted that galvanism and electricity +and magnetism are only forms of one and the same force, and +convertible each into the other, we have continually suggested to +us a larger generalization: that each of the great departments of +Nature--chemistry, vegetation, the animal life--exhibits the same +laws on a different plane; that the intellectual and moral worlds are +analogous to the material. There is a kind of latent omniscience not +only in every man but in every particle. That convertibility we so +admire in plants and animal structures, whereby the repairs and the +ulterior uses are subserved, when one part is wounded or deficient, +by another; this self-help and self-creation proceed from the same +original power which works remotely in grandest and meanest structures +by the same design,--works in a lobster or a mite-worm as a wise man +would if imprisoned in that poor form. ’Tis the effort of God, of the +Supreme Intellect, in the extremest frontier of his universe. + +As this unity exists in the organization of insect, beast and bird, +still ascending to man, and from lower type of man to the highest +yet attained, so it does not less declare itself in the spirit or +intelligence of the brute. In ignorant ages it was common to vaunt the +human superiority by underrating the instinct of other animals; but a +better discernment finds that the difference is only of less and more. +Experiment shows that the bird and the dog reason as the hunter does, +that all the animals show the same good sense in their humble walk that +the man who is their enemy or friend does; and, if it be in smaller +measure, yet it is not diminished, as his often is, by freak and folly. +St. Pierre says of the animals that a moral sentiment seems to have +determined their physical organization. + +I see the unity of thought and of morals running through all animated +Nature; there is no difference of quality, but only of more and less. +The animal who is wholly kept down in Nature has no anxieties. By +yielding, as he must do, to it, he is enlarged and reaches his highest +point. The poor grub, in the hole of a tree, by yielding itself to +Nature, goes blameless through its low part and is rewarded at last, +casts its filthy hull, expands into a beautiful form with rainbow +wings, and makes a part of the summer day. The Greeks called it Psyche, +a manifest emblem of the soul. The man down in Nature occupies himself +in guarding, in feeding, in warming and multiplying his body, and, +as long as he knows no more, we justify him; but presently a mystic +change is wrought, a new perception opens, and he is made a citizen +of the world of souls: he feels what is called duty; he is aware that +he owes a higher allegiance to do and live as a good member of this +universe. In the measure in which he has this sense he is a man, rises +to the universal life. The high intellect is absolutely at one with +moral nature. A thought is imbosomed in a sentiment, and the attempt to +detach and blazon the thought is like a show of cut flowers. The moral +is the measure of health, and in the voice of Genius I hear invariably +the moral tone, even when it is disowned in words;--health, melody and +a wider horizon belong to moral sensibility. The finer the sense of +justice, the better poet. The believer says to the skeptic:-- + + “One avenue was shaded from thine eyes + Through which I wandered to eternal truth.” + +Humility is the avenue. To be sure, we exaggerate when we represent +these two elements as disunited; every man shares them both; but it is +true that men generally are marked by a decided predominance of one or +of the other element. + +In youth and in age we are moralists, and in mature life the moral +element steadily rises in the regard of all reasonable men. + +’Tis a sort of proverbial dying speech of scholars (at least it is +attributed to many) that which Anthony Wood reports of Nathaniel +Carpenter, an Oxford Fellow. “It did repent him,” he said, “that he had +formerly so much courted the maid instead of the mistress” (meaning +philosophy and mathematics to the neglect of divinity). This, in the +language of our time, would be ethics. + +And when I say that the world is made up of moral forces, these are not +separate. All forces are found in Nature united with that which they +move: heat is not separate, light is not massed aloof, nor electricity, +nor gravity, but they are always in combination. And so moral powers; +they are thirsts for action, and the more you accumulate the more they +mould and form. + +It is in the stomach of plants that development begins, and ends in +the circles of the universe. ’Tis a long scale from the gorilla to +the gentleman--from the gorilla to Plato, Newton, Shakspeare--to the +sanctities of religion, the refinements of legislation, the summits of +science, art and poetry. The beginnings are slow and infirm, but it is +an always-accelerated march. The geologic world is chronicled by the +growing ripeness of the strata from lower to higher, as it becomes the +abode of more highly-organized plants and animals. The civil history +of men might be traced by the successive meliorations as marked in +higher moral generalizations;--virtue meaning physical courage, then +chastity and temperance, then justice and love;--bargains of kings +with peoples of certain rights to certain classes, then of rights to +masses,--then at last came the day when, as the historians rightly +tell, the nerves of the world were electrified by the proclamation that +all men are born free and equal. + +Every truth leads in another. The bud extrudes the old leaf, and every +truth brings that which will supplant it. In the court of law the judge +sits over the culprit, but in the court of life in the same hour the +judge also stands as culprit before a true tribunal. Every judge is +a culprit, every law an abuse. Montaigne kills off bigots as cowhage +kills worms; but there is a higher muse there sitting where he durst +not soar, of eye so keen that it can report of a realm in which all the +wit and learning of the Frenchman is no more than the cunning of a fox. + +It is the same fact existing as sentiment and as will in the mind, +which works in Nature as irresistible law, exerting influence over +nations, intelligent beings, or down in the kingdoms of brute or +of chemical atoms. Nature is a tropical swamp in sunshine, on +whose purlieus we hear the song of summer birds, and see prismatic +dew-drops--but her interiors are terrific, full of hydras and +crocodiles. In the pre-adamite she bred valor only; by-and-by she gets +on to man, and adds tenderness, and thus raises virtue piecemeal. + +When we trace from the beginning, that ferocity has uses; only so +are the conditions of the then world met, and these monsters are the +scavengers, executioners, diggers, pioneers and fertilizers, destroying +what is more destructive than they, and making better life possible. We +see the steady aim of Benefit in view from the first. Melioration is +the law. The cruelest foe is a masked benefactor. The wars which make +history so dreary, have served the cause of truth and virtue. There is +always an instinctive sense of right, an obscure idea which animates +either party and which in long periods vindicates itself at last. Thus +a sublime confidence is fed at the bottom of the heart that, in spite +of appearances, in spite of malignity and blind self-interest living +for the moment, an eternal, beneficent necessity is always bringing +things right; and, though we should fold our arms,--which we cannot +do, for our duty requires us to be the very hands of this guiding +sentiment, and work in the present moment,--the evils we suffer will +at last end themselves through the incessant opposition of Nature to +everything hurtful. + +The excellence of men consists in the completeness with which the +lower system is taken up into the higher--a process of much time +and delicacy, but in which no point of the lower should be left +untranslated; so that the warfare of beasts should be renewed in a +finer field, for more excellent victories. Savage war gives place to +that of Turenne and Wellington, which has limitations and a code. This +war again gives place to the finer quarrel of property, where the +victory is wealth and the defeat poverty. + +The inevitabilities are always sapping every seeming prosperity built +on a wrong. No matter how you seem to fatten on a crime, that can +never be good for the bee which is bad for the hive. See how these +things look in the page of history. Nations come and go, cities rise +and fall, all the instincts of man, good and bad, work,--and every +wish, appetite, and passion, rushes into act and embodies itself +in usages, protects itself with laws. Some of them are useful and +universally acceptable, hinder none, help all, and these are honored +and perpetuated. Others are noxious. Community of property is tried, +as when a Tartar horde or an Indian tribe roam over a vast tract for +pasturage or hunting; but it is found at last that some establishment +of property, allowing each on some distinct terms to fence and +cultivate a piece of land, is best for all. + +“For my part,” said Napoleon, “it is not the mystery of the incarnation +which I discover in religion, but the mystery of social order, which +associates with heaven that idea of equality which prevents the rich +from destroying the poor.” + +Shall I say then it were truer to see Necessity calm, beautiful, +passionless, without a smile, covered with ensigns of woe, stretching +her dark warp across the universe? These threads are Nature’s +pernicious elements, her deluges, miasma, disease, poison; her +curdling cold, her hideous reptiles and worse men, cannibals, and the +depravities of civilization; the secrets of the prisons of tyranny, the +slave and his master, the proud man’s scorn, the orphan’s tears, the +vices of men, lust, cruelty and pitiless avarice. These make the gloomy +warp of ages. Humanity sits at the dread loom and throws the shuttle +and fills it with joyful rainbows, until the sable ground is flowered +all over with a woof of human industry and wisdom, virtuous examples, +symbols of useful and generous arts, with beauty and pure love, courage +and the victories of the just and wise over malice and wrong. + +Nature is not so helpless but it can rid itself at last of every crime. +An Eastern poet, in describing the golden age, said that God had made +justice so dear to the heart of Nature that, if any injustice lurked +anywhere under the sky, the blue vault would shrivel to a snake-skin +and cast it out by spasms. But the spasms of Nature are years and +centuries, and it will tax the faith of man to wait so long. + +Man is always throwing his praise or blame on events, and does not see +that he only is real, and the world his mirror and echo. He imputes +the stroke to fortune, which in reality himself strikes. The student +discovers one day that he lives in enchantment: the house, the works, +the persons, the days, the weathers--all that he calls Nature, all that +he calls institutions, when once his mind is active are visions merely, +wonderful allegories, significant pictures of the laws of the mind; and +through this enchanted gallery he is led by unseen guides to read and +learn the laws of Heaven. This discovery may come early,--sometimes in +the nursery, to a rare child; later in the school, but oftener when +the mind is more mature; and to multitudes of men wanting in mental +activity it never comes--any more than poetry or art. But it ought to +come; it belongs to the human intellect, and is an insight which we +cannot spare. + +The idea of right exists in the human mind, and lays itself out in the +equilibrium of Nature, in the equalities and periods of our system, in +the level of seas, in the action and reaction of forces. Nothing is +allowed to exceed or absorb the rest; if it do, it is disease, and +is quickly destroyed. It was an early discovery of the mind,--this +beneficent rule. Strength enters just as much as the moral element +prevails. The strength of the animal to eat and to be luxurious and to +usurp is rudeness and imbecility. The law is: To each shall be rendered +his own. As thou sowest, thou shalt reap. Smite, and thou shalt smart. +Serve, and thou shalt be served. If you love and serve men, you +cannot, by any hiding or stratagem, escape the remuneration. Secret +retributions are always restoring the level, when disturbed, of the +Divine justice. It is impossible to tilt the beam. All the tyrants and +proprietors and monopolists of the world in vain set their shoulders to +heave the bar. Settles for evermore the ponderous equator to its line, +and man and mote and star and sun must range with it, or be pulverized +by the recoil. + +It is a doctrine of unspeakable comfort. He that plants his foot here, +passes at once out of the kingdom of illusions. Others may well suffer +in the hideous picture of crime with which earth is filled and the life +of society threatened, but the habit of respecting that great order +which certainly contains and will dispose of our little system, will +take all fear from the heart. It did itself create and distribute all +that is created and distributed, and, trusting to its power, we cease +to care for what it will certainly order well. To good men, as we +call good men, this doctrine of Trust is an unsounded secret. They use +the word, they have accepted the notion of a mechanical supervision +of human life, by which that certain wonderful being whom they call +God does take up their affairs where their intelligence leaves them, +and somehow knits and co-ordinates the issues of them in all that is +beyond the reach of private faculty. They do not see that _He_, +that _It_, is there, next and within; the thought of the thought; +the affair of affairs; that he is existence, and take him from them and +they would not be. They do not see that particulars are sacred to him, +as well as the scope and outline; that these passages of daily life are +his work; that in the moment when they desist from interference, these +particulars take sweetness and grandeur, and become the language of +mighty principles. + +A man should be a guest in his own house, and a guest in his own +thought. He is there to speak for truth; but who is he? Some clod the +truth has snatched from the ground, and with fire has fashioned to a +momentary man. Without the truth, he is a clod again. Let him find his +superiority in not wishing superiority; find the riches of love which +possesses that which it adores; the riches of poverty; the height of +lowliness, the immensity of to-day; and, in the passing hour, the age +of ages. Wondrous state of man! never so happy as when he has lost all +private interests and regards, and exists only in obedience and love of +the Author. + +The fiery soul said: “Let me be a blot on this fair world, the +obscurest, the loneliest sufferer, with one proviso,--that I know it is +His agency. I will love him, though he shed frost and darkness on every +way of mine.” The emphasis of that blessed doctrine lay in lowliness. +The new saint gloried in infirmities. Who or what was he? His rise and +his recovery were vicarious. He has fallen in another; he rises in +another. + +We perish, and perish gladly, if the law remains. I hope it is +conceivable that a man may go to ruin gladly, if he see that thereby +no shade falls on that he loves and adores. We need not always be +stipulating for our clean shirt and roast joint _per diem_. +We do not believe the less in astronomy and vegetation, because we +are writhing and roaring in our beds with rheumatism. Cripples and +invalids, we doubt not there are bounding fawns in the forest, and +lilies with graceful, springing stem; so neither do we doubt or fail +to love the eternal law, of which we are such shabby practisers. +Truth gathers itself spotless and unhurt after all our surrenders and +concealments and partisanship--never hurt by the treachery or ruin +of its best defenders, whether Luther, or William Penn, or St. Paul. +We answer, when they tell us of the bad behavior of Luther or Paul: +“Well, what if he did? Who was more pained than Luther or Paul?” +Shall we attach ourselves violently to our teachers and historical +personalities, and think the foundation shaken if any fault is shown in +their record? But how is the truth hurt by their falling from it? The +law of gravity is not hurt by every accident, though our leg be broken. +No more is the law of justice by our departure from it. + +We are to know that we are never without a pilot. When we know not how +to steer, and dare not hoist a sail, we can drift. The current knows +the way, though we do not. When the stars and sun appear, when we have +conversed with navigators who know the coast, we may begin to put out +an oar and trim a sail. The ship of heaven guides itself, and will not +accept a wooden rudder. + +Have you said to yourself ever: ‘I abdicate all choice, I see it is not +for me to interfere. I see that I have been one of the crowd; that I +have been a pitiful person, because I have wished to be my own master, +and to dress and order my whole way and system of living. I thought I +managed it very well. I see that my neighbors think so. I have heard +prayers, I have prayed even, but I have never until now dreamed that +this undertaking the entire management of my own affairs was not +commendable. I have never seen, until now, that it dwarfed me. I have +not discovered, until this blessed ray flashed just now through my +soul, that there dwelt any power in Nature that would relieve me of my +load. But now I see.’ + +What is this intoxicating sentiment that allies this scrap of dust to +the whole of Nature and the whole of Fate,--that makes this doll a +dweller in ages, mocker at time, able to spurn all outward advantages, +peer and master of the elements? I am taught by it that what touches +any thread in the vast web of being touches me. I am representative of +the whole; and the good of the whole, or what I call the right, makes +me invulnerable. + +How came this creation so magically woven that nothing can do me +mischief but myself,--that an invisible fence surrounds my being +which screens me from all harm that I will to resist? If I will stand +upright, the creation cannot bend me. But if I violate myself, if I +commit a crime, the lightning loiters by the speed of retribution, +and every act is not hereafter but instantaneously rewarded according +to its quality. Virtue is the adopting of this dictate of the +universal mind by the individual will. Character is the habit of this +obedience, and Religion is the accompanying emotion, the emotion of +reverence which the presence of the universal mind ever excites in the +individual. + +We go to famous books for our examples of character, just as we send +to England for shrubs which grow as well in our own door-yards and +cow-pastures. Life is always rich, and spontaneous graces and forces +elevate it in every domestic circle, which are overlooked while we are +reading something less excellent in old authors. From the obscurity and +casualty of those which I know, I infer the obscurity and casualty of +the like balm and consolation and immortality in a thousand homes which +I do not know, all round the world. And I see not why to these simple +instincts, simple yet grand, all the heights and transcendencies of +virtue and of enthusiasm are not open. There is power enough in them +to move the world; and it is not any sterility or defect in ethics, +but our negligence of these fine monitors, of these world-embracing +sentiments, that makes religion cold and life low. + +While the immense energy of the sentiment of duty and the awe of the +supernatural exert incomparable influence on the mind,--yet it is +often perverted, and the tradition received with awe, but without +correspondent action of the receiver. Then you find so many men +infatuated on that topic! Wise on all other, they lose their head the +moment they talk of religion. It is the sturdiest prejudice in the +public mind that religion is something by itself; a department distinct +from all other experiences, and to which the tests and judgment +men are ready enough to show on other things, do not apply. You may +sometimes talk with the gravest and best citizen, and the moment the +topic of religion is broached, he runs into a childish superstition. +His face looks infatuated, and his conversation is. When I talked with +an ardent missionary, and pointed out to him that his creed found no +support in my experience, he replied, “It is not so in your experience, +but is so in the other world.” I answer: Other world! there is no other +world. God is one and omnipresent; here or nowhere is the whole fact. +The one miracle which God works evermore is in Nature, and imparting +himself to the mind. When we ask simply, “What is true in thought? +what is just in action?” it is the yielding of the private heart to +the Divine mind, and all personal preferences, and all requiring of +wonders, are profane. + +The word miracle, as it is used, only indicates the ignorance of +the devotee, staring with wonder to see water turned into wine, and +heedless of the stupendous fact of his own personality. Here he stands, +a lonely thought harmoniously organized into correspondence with the +universe of mind and matter. What narrative of wonders coming down from +a thousand years ought to charm his attention like this? Certainly +it is human to value a general consent, a fraternity of believers, +a crowded church; but as the sentiment purifies and rises, it leaves +crowds. It makes churches of two, churches of one. A fatal disservice +does this Swedenborg or other who offers to do my thinking for me. It +seems as if, when the Spirit of God speaks so plainly to each soul, +it were an impiety to be listening to one or another saint. Jesus was +better than others, because he refused to listen to others and listened +at home. + +You are really interested in your thought. You have meditated in silent +wonder on your existence in this world. You have perceived in the first +fact of your conscious life here a miracle so astounding,--a miracle +comprehending all the universe of miracles to which your intelligent +life gives you access,--as to exhaust wonder, and leave you no need of +hunting here or there for any particular exhibitions of power. Then +up comes a man with a text of 1 John v. 7, or a knotty sentence from +St. Paul, which he considers as the axe at the root of your tree. You +cannot bring yourself to care for it. You say: “Cut away; my tree is +Ygdrasil--the tree of life.” He interrupts for the moment your peaceful +trust in the Divine Providence. Let him know by your security that your +conviction is clear and sufficient, and if he were Paul himself, you +also are here, and with your Creator. + +We all give way to superstitions. The house in which we were born +is not quite mere timber and stone; is still haunted by parents and +progenitors. The creeds into which we were initiated in childhood and +youth no longer hold their old place in the minds of thoughtful men, +but they are not nothing to us, and we hate to have them treated with +contempt. There is so much that we do not know, that we give to these +suggestions the benefit of the doubt. + +It is a necessity of the human mind that he who looks at one object +should look away from all other objects. He may throw himself upon some +sharp statement of one fact, some verbal creed, with such concentration +as to hide the universe from him: but the stars roll above; the sun +warms him. With patience and fidelity to truth he may work his way +through, if only by coming against somebody who believes more fables +than he does; and, in trying to dispel the illusions of his neighbor, +he opens his own eyes. + +In the Christianity of this country there is wide difference of opinion +in regard to inspiration, prophecy, miracles, the future state of the +soul; every variety of opinion, and rapid revolution in opinions, in +the last half-century. It is simply impossible to read the old history +of the first century as it was read in the ninth; to do so you must +abolish in your mind the lessons of all the centuries from the ninth +to the nineteenth. + +Shall I make the mistake of baptizing the daylight, and time, and +space, by the name of John or Joshua, in whose tent I chance to behold +daylight, and space, and time? What anthropomorphists we are in this, +that we cannot let moral distinctions be, but must mould them into +human shape! “Mere morality” means,--not put into a personal master of +morals. Our religion is geographical, belongs to our time and place; +respects and mythologizes some one time and place and person and +people. So it is occasional. It visits us only on some exceptional and +ceremonial occasion, on a wedding or a baptism, on a sick-bed, or at a +funeral, or perhaps on a sublime national victory or a peace. But that +be sure is not the religion of the universal unsleeping providence, +which lurks in trifles, in still, small voices, in the secrets of the +heart and our closest thoughts, as efficiently as in our proclamations +and successes. + +Far be it from me to underrate the men or the churches that have fixed +the hearts of men and organized their devout impulses or oracles into +good institutions. The Church of Rome had its saints, and inspired the +conscience of Europe--St. Augustine, and Thomas à Kempis, and Fénelon; +the piety of the English Church in Cranmer, and Herbert, and Taylor; +the Reformed Church, Scougal; the mystics, Behmen and Swedenborg; +the Quakers, Fox and James Naylor. I confess our later generation +appears ungirt, frivolous, compared with the religions of the last +or Calvinistic age. There was in the last century a serious habitual +reference to the spiritual world, running through diaries, letters and +conversation--yes, and into wills and legal instruments also, compared +with which our liberation looks a little foppish and dapper. + +The religion of seventy years ago was an iron belt to the mind, giving +it concentration and force. A rude people were kept respectable by +the determination of thought on the eternal world. Now men fall +abroad,--want polarity,--suffer in character and intellect. A sleep +creeps over the great functions of man. Enthusiasm goes out. In its +stead a low prudence seeks to hold society staunch, but its arms are +too short, cordage and machinery never supply the place of life. + +Luther would cut his hand off sooner than write theses against the +pope if he suspected that he was bringing on with all his might the +pale negations of Boston Unitarianism. I will not now go into the +metaphysics of that reaction by which in history a period of belief +is followed by an age of criticism, in which wit takes the place of +faith in the leading spirits, and an excessive respect for forms out +of which the heart has departed becomes most obvious in the least +religious minds. I will not now explore the causes of the result, but +the fact must be conceded as of frequent recurrence, and never more +evident than in our American church. To a self-denying, ardent church, +delighting in rites and ordinances, has succeeded a cold, intellectual +race, who analyze the prayer and psalm of their forefathers, and the +more intellectual reject every yoke of authority and custom with a +petulance unprecedented. It is a sort of mark of probity and sincerity +to declare how little you believe, while the mass of the community +indolently follow the old forms with childish scrupulosity, and we have +punctuality for faith, and good taste for character. + +But I hope the defect of faith with us is only apparent. We shall find +that freedom has its own guards, and, as soon as in the vulgar it runs +to license, sets all reasonable men on exploring those guards. I do +not think the summit of this age truly reached or expressed unless it +attain the height which religion and philosophy reached in any former +age. If I miss the inspiration of the saints of Calvinism, or of +Platonism, or Buddhism, our times are not up to theirs, or, more truly, +have not yet their own legitimate force. + +Worship is the regard for what is above us. Men are respectable only +as they respect. We delight in children because of that religious eye +which belongs to them; because of their reverence for their seniors, +and for their objects of belief. The poor Irish laborer one sees with +respect, because he believes in something, in his church, and in his +employers. Superstitious persons we see with respect, because their +whole existence is not bounded by their hats and their shoes, but they +walk attended by pictures of the imagination, to which they pay homage. +You cannot impoverish man by taking away these objects above him +without ruin. It is very sad to see men who think their goodness made +of themselves; it is very grateful to see those who hold an opinion the +reverse of this. + +All ages of belief have been great; all of unbelief have been mean. +The Orientals believe in Fate. That which shall befall them is written +on the iron leaf; they will not turn on their heel to avoid famine, +plague, or the sword of the enemy. That is great, and gives a great +air to the people. We in America are charged with a great deficiency +in worship; that reverence does not belong to our character; that +our institutions, our politics, and our trade, have fostered a +self-reliance which is small, liliputian, full of fuss and bustle; +we look at and will bear nothing above us in the state, and do +exceedingly applaud and admire ourselves, and believe in our senses +and understandings, while our imagination and our moral sentiment are +desolated. In religion too we want objects above; we are fast losing +or have already lost our old reverence; new views of inspiration, of +miracles, of the saints, have supplanted the old opinions, and it +is vain to bring them again. Revolutions never go backward, and in +all churches a certain decay of ancient piety is lamented, and all +threatens to lapse into apathy and indifferentism. It becomes us to +consider whether we cannot have a real faith and real objects in lieu +of these false ones. The human mind, when it is trusted, is never false +to itself. If there be sincerity and good meaning--if there be really +in us the wish to seek for our superiors, for that which is lawfully +above us, we shall not long look in vain. + +Meantime there is great centrality, a centripetence equal to the +centrifugence. The mystic or theist is never scared by any startling +materialism. He knows the laws of gravitation and of repulsion are +deaf to French talkers, be they never so witty. If theology shows that +opinions are fast changing, it is not so with the convictions of men +with regard to conduct. These remain. The most daring heroism, the most +accomplished culture, or rapt holiness, never exhausted the claim of +these lowly duties,--never penetrated to their origin, or was able to +look behind their source. We cannot disenchant, we cannot impoverish +ourselves, by obedience; but by humility we rise, by obedience we +command, by poverty we are rich, by dying we live. + +We are thrown back on rectitude forever and ever, only rectitude,--to +mend one; that is all we can do. But _that_ the zealot stigmatizes +as a sterile chimney-corner philosophy. Now the first position I +make is that natural religion supplies still all the facts which are +disguised under the dogma of popular creeds. The progress of religion +is steadily to its identity with morals. + +How is the new generation to be edified? How should it not? The life +of those once omnipotent traditions was really not in the legend, but +in the moral sentiment and the metaphysical fact which the legends +enclosed--and these survive. A new Socrates, or Zeno, or Swedenborg, or +Pascal, or a new crop of geniuses like those of the Elizabethan age, +may be born in this age, and, with happy heart and a bias for theism, +bring asceticism, duty, and magnanimity into vogue again. + +It is true that Stoicism, always attractive to the intellectual and +cultivated, has now no temples, no academy, no commanding Zeno or +Antoninus. It accuses us that it has none: that pure ethics is not +now formulated and concreted into a _cultus_, a fraternity with +assemblings and holy-days, with song and book, with brick and stone. +Why have not those who believe in it and love it left all for this, +and dedicated themselves to write out its scientific scriptures to +become its Vulgate for millions? I answer for one that the inspirations +we catch of this law are not continuous and technical, but joyful +sparkles, and are recorded for their beauty, for the delight they give, +not for their obligation; and that is their priceless good to men, that +they charm and uplift, not that they are imposed. It has not yet its +first hymn. But, that every line and word may be coals of true fire, +ages must roll, ere these casual wide-falling cinders can be gathered +into broad and steady altar-flame. + +It does not yet appear what forms the religious feeling will take. It +prepares to rise out of all forms to an absolute justice and healthy +perception. Here is now a new feeling of humanity infused into public +action. Here is contribution of money on a more extended and systematic +scale than ever before to repair public disasters at a distance, and +of political support to oppressed parties. Then there are the new +conventions of social science, before which the questions of the rights +of women, the laws of trade, the treatment of crime, regulation of +labor, come for a hearing. If these are tokens of the steady currents +of thought and will in these directions, one might well anticipate a +new nation. + +I know how delicate this principle is,--how difficult of adaptation +to practical and social arrangements. It cannot be profaned; it cannot +be forced; to draw it out of its natural current is to lose at once +all its power. Such experiments as we recall are those in which some +sect or dogma made the tie, and that was an artificial element, which +chilled and checked the union. But is it quite impossible to believe +that men should be drawn to each other by the simple respect which +each man feels for another in whom he discovers absolute honesty; +the respect he feels for one who thinks life is quite too coarse and +frivolous, and that he should like to lift it a little, should like +to be the friend of some man’s virtue? for another who, underneath +his compliances with artificial society, would dearly like to serve +somebody,--to test his own reality by making himself useful and +indispensable? + +Man does not live by bread alone, but by faith, by admiration, by +sympathy. ’Tis very shallow to say that cotton, or iron, or silver and +gold are kings of the world; there are rulers that will at any moment +make these forgotten. Fear will. Love will. Character will. Men live by +their credence. Governments stand by it,--by the faith that the people +share,--whether it comes from the religion in which they were bred, or +from an original conscience in themselves, which the popular religion +echoes. If government could only stand by force, if the instinct of +the people was to resist the government, it is plain the government +must be two to one in order to be secure, and then it would not be safe +from desperate individuals. But no; the old commandment, “Thou shalt +not kill,” holds down New York, and London, and Paris, and not a police +or horse-guards. + +The credence of men it is that moulds them, and creates at will one +or another surface. The mind as it opens transfers very fast its +choice from the circumstance to the cause; from courtesy to love, +from inventions to science, from London or Washington law, or public +opinion, to the self-revealing idea; from all that talent executes to +the sentiment that fills the heart and dictates the future of nations. +The commanding fact which I never do not see, is the sufficiency of +the moral sentiment. We buttress it up, in shallow hours or ages, with +legends, traditions and forms, each good for the one moment in which +it was a happy type or symbol of the Power, but the Power sends in the +next moment a new lesson, which we lose while our eyes are reverted and +striving to perpetuate the old. + +America shall introduce a pure religion. Ethics are thought not to +satisfy affection. But all the religion we have is the ethics of one +or another holy person; as soon as character appears, be sure love +will, and veneration, and anecdotes, and fables about him, and delight +of good men and women in him. And what deeps of grandeur and beauty +are known to us in ethical truth, what divination or insight belongs +to it! For innocence is a wonderful electuary for purging the eyes to +search the nature of those souls that pass before it. What armor it is +to protect the good from outward or inward harm, and with what power it +converts evil accidents into benefits; the power of its countenance; +the power of its presence! To it alone comes true friendship; to it +come grandeur of situation and poetic perception, enriching all it +deals with. + +Once men thought Spirit divine, and Matter diabolic; one Ormuzd, the +other Ahriman. Now science and philosophy recognize the parallelism, +the approximation, the unity of the two: how each reflects the other as +face answers to face in a glass: nay, how the laws of both are one, or +how one is the realization. We are learning not to fear truth. + +The man of this age must be matriculated in the university of sciences +and tendencies flowing from all past periods. He must not be one +who can be surprised and shipwrecked by every bold or subtile word +which malignant and acute men may utter in his hearing, but should be +taught all skepticisms and unbeliefs, and made the destroyer of all +card-houses and paper walls, and the sifter of all opinions, by being +put face to face from his infancy with Reality. + +A man who has accustomed himself to look at all his circumstances +as very mutable, to carry his possessions, his relations to persons, +and even his opinions, in his hand, and in all these to pierce to the +principle and moral law, and everywhere to find that,--has put himself +out of the reach of all skepticism; and it seems as if whatever is most +affecting and sublime in our intercourse, in our happiness, and in our +losses, tended steadily to uplift us to a life so extraordinary, and, +one might say, superhuman. + + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[Footnote 8: Reprinted from the _North American Review_, of May, +1878.] + + + + + THE PREACHER. + + ASCENDING thorough just degrees + To a consummate holiness, + As angel blind to trespass done, + And bleaching all souls like the sun. + + + + + THE PREACHER.[9] + + +IN the history of opinion, the pinch of falsehood shows itself first, +not in argument and formal protest, but in insincerity, indifference +and abandonment of the Church or the scientific or political or +economic institution for other better or worse forms. + +The venerable and beautiful traditions in which we were educated are +losing their hold on human belief, day by day; a restlessness and +dissatisfaction in the religious world marks that we are in a moment +of transition; as when the Roman Church broke into Protestant and +Catholic, or, earlier, when Paganism broke into Christians and Pagans. +The old forms rattle, and the new delay to appear; material and +industrial activity have materialized the age, and the mind, haughty +with its sciences, disdains the religious forms as childish. + +In consequence of this revolution in opinion, it appears, for the +time, as the misfortune of this period that the cultivated mind has +not the happiness and dignity of the religious sentiment. We are +born too late for the old and too early for the new faith. I see in +those classes and those persons in whom I am accustomed to look for +tendency and progress, for what is most positive and most rich in human +nature, and who contain the activity of to-day and the assurance of +to-morrow,--I see in them character, but skepticism; a clear enough +perception of the inadequacy of the popular religious statement to the +wants of their heart and intellect, and explicit declarations of this +fact. They have insight and truthfulness; they will not mask their +convictions; they hate cant; but more than this I do not readily find. +The gracious motions of the soul,--piety, adoration,--I do not find. +Scorn of hypocrisy, pride of personal character, elegance of taste +and of manners and pursuit, a boundless ambition of the intellect, +willingness to sacrifice personal interests for the integrity of the +character,--all these they have; but that religious submission and +abandonment which give man a new element and being, and make him +sublime,--it is not in churches, it is not in houses. I see movement, I +hear aspirations, but I see not how the great God prepares to satisfy +the heart in the new order of things. No Church, no State emerges; and +when we have extricated ourselves from all the embarrassments of the +social problem, the oracle does not yet emit any light on the mode of +individual life. A thousand negatives it utters, clear and strong, on +all sides; but the sacred affirmative it hides in the deepest abyss. + +We do not see that heroic resolutions will save men from those tides +which a most fatal moon heaps and levels in the moral, emotive +and intellectual nature. It is certain that many dark hours, many +imbecilities, periods of inactivity,--solstices when we make no +progress, but stand still,--will occur. In those hours, we can find +comfort in reverence of the highest power, and only in that. We never +do quite nothing, or never need. It looks as if there were much doubt, +much waiting, to be endured by the best. Perhaps there must be austere +elections and determinations before any clear vision. + +No age and no person is destitute of the sentiment, but in +actual history its illustrious exhibitions are interrupted and +periodical,--the ages of belief, of heroic action, of intellectual +activity, of men cast in a higher mould. + +But the sentiment that pervades a nation, the nation must react upon. +It is resisted and corrupted by that obstinate tendency to personify +and bring under the eyesight what should be the contemplation of +Reason alone. The Understanding will write out the vision in a +Confession of Faith. Art will embody this vanishing Spirit in temples, +pictures, sculptures and hymns. The senses instantly transfer the +reverence from the vanishing Spirit to this steadfast form. Ignorance +and passion alloy and degrade. In proportion to a man’s want of +goodness, it seems to him another and not himself; that is to say, the +Deity becomes more objective, until finally flat idolatry prevails. + +Of course the virtuous sentiment appears arrayed against the nominal +religion, and the true men are hunted as unbelievers, and burned. Then +the good sense of the people wakes up so far as to take tacit part with +them, to cast off reverence for the Church; and there follows an age of +unbelief. + +This analysis was inevitable and useful. But the sober eye finds +something ghastly in this empiricism. At first, delighted with the +triumph of the intellect, the surprise of the results and the sense +of power, we are like hunters on the scent and soldiers who rush to +battle: but when the game is run down, when the enemy lies cold in his +blood at our feet, we are alarmed at our solitude; we would gladly +recall the life that so offended us; the face seems no longer that of +an enemy. + +I say the effect is withering; for, this examination resulting in the +constant detection of errors, the flattered understanding assumes to +judge all things, and to anticipate the same victories. In the activity +of the understanding, the sentiments sleep. The understanding presumes +in things above its sphere, and, because it has exposed errors in a +church, concludes that a church is an error; because it has found +absurdities to which the sentiment of veneration is attached, sneers at +veneration; so that analysis has run to seed in unbelief. There is no +faith left. We laugh and hiss, pleased with our power in making heaven +and earth a howling wilderness. + +Unlovely, nay, frightful, is the solitude of the soul which is without +God in the world. To wander all day in the sunlight among the tribes +of animals, unrelated to anything better; to behold the horse, cow and +bird, and to foresee an equal and speedy end to him and them;--no, the +bird, as it hurried by with its bold and perfect flight, would disclaim +his sympathy and declare him an outcast. To see men pursuing in faith +their varied action, warm-hearted, providing for their children, loving +their friends, performing their promises,--what are they to this +chill, houseless, fatherless, aimless Cain, the man who hears only the +sound of his own footsteps in God’s resplendent creation? To him, it +is no creation; to him, these fair creatures are hapless spectres: +he knows not what to make of it. To him, heaven and earth have lost +their beauty. How gloomy is the day, and upon yonder shining pond what +melancholy light! I cannot keep the sun in heaven, if you take away the +purpose that animates him. The ball, indeed, is there, but his power +to cheer, to illuminate the heart as well as the atmosphere, is gone +forever. It is a lamp-wick for meanest uses. The words, _great_, +_venerable_, have lost their meaning; every thought loses all its +depth and has become mere surface. + +But religion has an object. It does not grow thin or robust with the +health of the votary. The object of adoration remains forever unhurt +and identical. We are in transition, from the worship of the fathers +which enshrined the law in a private and personal history, to a worship +which recognizes the true eternity of the law, its presence to you +and me, its equal energy in what is called brute nature as in what is +called sacred. The next age will behold God in the ethical laws--as +mankind begins to see them in this age, self-equal, self-executing, +instantaneous and self-affirmed; needing no voucher, no prophet and no +miracle besides their own irresistibility,--and will regard natural +history, private fortunes and politics, not for themselves, as we have +done, but as illustrations of those laws, of that beatitude and love. +Nature is too thin a screen; the glory of the One breaks in everywhere. + +Every movement of religious opinion is of profound importance to +politics and social life; and this of to-day has the best omens as +being of the most expansive humanity, since it seeks to find in every +nation and creed the imperishable doctrines. I find myself always +struck and stimulated by a good anecdote, any trait of heroism, of +faithful service. I do not find that the age or country makes the least +difference; no, nor the language the actors spoke, nor the religion +which they professed, whether Arab in the desert, or Frenchman in the +Academy. I see that sensible men and conscientious men all over the +world were of one religion,--the religion of well-doing and daring, men +of sturdy truth, men of integrity and feeling for others. My inference +is that there is a statement of religion possible which makes all +skepticism absurd. + +The health and welfare of man consist in ascent from surfaces to +solids; from occupation with details to knowledge of the design; from +self-activity of talents, which lose their way by the lust of display, +to the controlling and reinforcing of talents by the emanation of +character. All that we call religion, all that saints and churches and +Bibles from the beginning of the world have aimed at, is to suppress +this impertinent surface-action, and animate man to central and entire +action. The human race are afflicted with a St. Vitus’ dance; their +fingers and toes, their members, their senses, their talents, are +superfluously active, while the torpid heart gives no oracle. When +that wakes, it will revolutionize the world. Let that speak, and all +these rebels will fly to their loyalty. Now every man defeats his own +action,--professes this but practises the reverse; with one hand rows, +and with the other backs water. A man acts not from one motive, but +from many shifting fears and short motives; it is as if he were ten or +twenty less men than himself, acting at discord with one another, so +that the result of most lives is zero. But when he shall act from one +motive, and all his faculties play true, it is clear mathematically, +is it not, that this will tell in the result as if twenty men had +co-operated,--will give new senses, new wisdom of its own kind; that +is, not more facts, nor new combinations, but divination, or direct +intuition of the state of men and things? + +The lessons of the moral sentiment are, once for all, an emancipation +from that anxiety which takes the joy out of all life. It teaches +a great peace. It comes itself from the highest place. It is that, +which being in all sound natures, and strongest in the best and most +gifted men, we know to be implanted by the Creator of Men. It is a +commandment at every moment and in every condition of life to do the +duty of that moment and to abstain from doing the wrong. And it is so +near and inward and constitutional to each, that no commandment can +compare with it in authority. All wise men regard it as the voice of +the Creator himself. + +I know there are those to whom the question of what shall be believed +is the more interesting because they are to proclaim and teach what +they believe. + +All positive rules, ceremonial, ecclesiastical, distinctions of race or +of person, are perishable; only those distinctions hold which are in +the nature of things, not matters of positive ordinance. As the earth +we stand upon is not imperishable, but is chemically resolvable into +gases and nebulæ, so is the universe an infinite series of planes, each +of which is a false bottom; and, when we think our feet are planted now +at last on adamant, the slide is drawn out from under us. + +We must reconcile ourselves to the new order of things. But is it +a calamity? The poet Wordsworth greeted even the steam-engine and +railroads; and when they came into his poetic Westmoreland, bisecting +every delightful valley, deforming every consecrated grove, yet manned +himself to say:-- + + “In spite of all that Beauty may disown + In your harsh features, Nature doth embrace + Her lawful offspring in man’s art, and Time, + Pleased with your triumphs o’er his brother Space, + Accepts from your bold hands the proffered crown + Of hope, and smiles on you with cheer sublime.” + +And we can keep our religion, despite of the violent railroads of +generalization, whether French or German, that block and intersect our +old parish highways. + +In matters of religion, men eagerly fasten their eyes on the +differences between their creed and yours, whilst the charm of the +study is in finding the agreements and identities in all the religions +of men. What is essential to the theologian is, that whilst he is +select in his opinions, severe in his search for truth, he shall be +broad in his sympathies,--not to allow himself to be excluded from any +church. He is to claim for his own whatever eloquence of St. Chrysostom +or St. Jerome or St. Bernard he has felt. So not less of Bishop Taylor +or George Herbert or Henry Scougal. He sees that what is most effective +in the writer is what is dear to his, the reader’s, mind. + +Be not betrayed into undervaluing the churches which annoy you by +their bigoted claims. They too were real churches. They answered to +their times the same need as your rejection of them does to ours. +The Catholic Church has been immensely rich in men and influences. +Augustine, à Kempis, Fénelon, breathe the very spirit which now fires +you. So with Cudworth, More, Bunyan. I agree with them more than I +disagree. I agree with their heart and motive; my discontent is with +their limitations and surface and language. Their statement is grown +as fabulous as Dante’s Inferno. Their purpose is as real as Dante’s +sentiment and hatred of vice. Always put the best interpretation on +a tenet. Why not on Christianity, wholesome, sweet and poetic? It is +the record of a pure and holy soul, humble, absolutely disinterested, +a truth-speaker and bent on serving, teaching and uplifting men. +Christianity taught the capacity, the element, to love the All-perfect +without a stingy bargain for personal happiness. It taught that to love +him was happiness,--to love him in other’s virtues. + +An era in human history is the life of Jesus; and the immense influence +for good leaves all the perversion and superstition almost harmless. +Mankind have been subdued to the acceptance of his doctrine, and cannot +spare the benefit of so pure a servant of truth and love. + +Of course a hero so attractive to the hearts of millions drew the +hypocrite and the ambitious into his train, and they used his name to +falsify his history and undo his work. I fear that what is called +religion, but is perhaps pew-holding, not obeys but conceals the moral +sentiment. I put it to this simple test: Is a rich rogue made to +feel his roguery among divines or literary men? No? Then ’tis rogue +again under the cassock. What sort of respect can these preachers or +newspapers inspire by their weekly praises of texts and saints, when we +know that they would say just the same things if Beelzebub had written +the chapter, provided it stood where it does in the public opinion? + +Anything but unbelief, anything but losing hold of the moral +intuitions, as betrayed in the clinging to a form of devotion or a +theological dogma; as if it was the liturgy, or the chapel, that was +sacred, and not justice and humility and the loving heart and serving +hand. + +But besides the passion and interest which pervert, is the shallowness +which impoverishes. The opinions of men lose all worth to him who +perceives that they are accurately predictable from the ground of their +sect. Nothing is more rare, in any man, than an act of his own. The +clergy are as like as peas. I cannot tell them apart. It was said: They +have bronchitis because they read from their papers sermons with a near +voice, and then, looking at the congregation, they try to speak with +their far voice, and the shock is noxious. I think they do this, or +the converse of this, with their thought. They look into Plato, or into +the mind, and then try to make parish mince-meat of the amplitudes and +eternities, and the shock is noxious. It is the old story again: once +we had wooden chalices and golden priests, now we have golden chalices +and wooden priests. + +The clergy are always in danger of becoming wards and pensioners of +the so-called producing classes. Their first duty is self-possession +founded on knowledge. The man of practice or worldly force requires +of the preacher a talent, a force, like his own; the same as his own, +but wholly applied to the priest’s things. He does not forgive an +application in the preacher to the merchant’s things. He wishes him to +be such a one as he himself should have been, had he been priest. He is +sincere and ardent in his vocation, and plunged in it. Let priest or +poet be as good in theirs. + +The simple fact that the pulpit exists, that all over this country the +people are waiting to hear a sermon on Sunday, assures that opportunity +which is inestimable to young men, students of theology, for those +large liberties. The existence of the Sunday, and the pulpit waiting +for a weekly sermon, give him the very conditions, the ποὺ στὼ he +wants. That must be filled, and he is armed to fill it. Let him value +his talent as a door into Nature. Let him see his performances only +as limitations. Then, over all, let him value the sensibility that +receives, that loves, that dares, that affirms. + +There are always plenty of young, ignorant people,--though some of them +are seven, and some of them seventy years old,--wanting peremptorily +instruction; but, in the usual averages of parishes, only one person +that is qualified to give it. It is only that person who concerns +me,--him only that I see. The others are very amiable and promising, +but they are only neuters in the hive,--every one a possible royal bee, +but not now significant. It does not signify what they say or think +to-day; ’tis the cry and the babble of the nursery, and their only +virtue, docility. Buckminster, Channing, Dr. Lowell, Edward Taylor, +Parker, Bushnell, Chapin,--it is they who have been necessary, and the +opinions of the floating crowd of no importance whatever. + +I do not love sensation preaching,--the personalities for spite, the +hurrah for our side, the review of our appearances and what others say +of us! That you may read in the gazette. We come to church properly +for self-examination, for approach to principles to see how it stands +with _us_, with the deep and dear facts of right and love. At the +same time it is impossible to pay no regard to the day’s events, to +the public opinion of the times, to the stirring shouts of parties, +to the calamities and prosperities of our town and country; to war and +peace, new events, great personages, to good harvests, new resources, +to bankruptcies, famines and desolations. We are not stocks or stones, +we are not thinking machines, but allied to men around us, as really +though not quite so visibly as the Siamese brothers. And it were +inhuman to affect ignorance or indifference on Sundays to what makes +our blood beat and our countenance dejected Saturday or Monday. No, +these are fair tests to try our doctrines by, and see if they are worth +anything in life. The value of a principle is the number of things it +will explain; and there is no good theory of disease which does not at +once suggest a cure. + +Man proposes, but God disposes. We shall not very long have any part +or lot in this earth, in whose affairs we so hotly mix, and where +we feel and speak so energetically of our country and our cause. It +is a comfort to reflect that the gigantic evils which seem to us so +mischievous and so incurable will at last end themselves and rid the +world of their presence, as all crime sooner or later must. But be +that event for us soon or late, we are not excused from playing our +short part in the best manner we can, no matter how insignificant +our aid may be. Our children will be here, if we are not; and their +children’s history will be colored by our action. But if we have no +children, or if the events in which we have taken our part shall not +see their solution until a distant future, there is yet a deeper fact; +that as much justice as we can see and practise is useful to men, and +imperative, whether we can see it to be useful or not. + +The essential ground of a new book or a new sermon is a new spirit. +The author has a new thought, sees the sweep of a more comprehensive +tendency than others are aware of; falters never, but takes the +victorious tone. For power is not so much shown in talent as in tone. +And if I had to counsel a young preacher, I should say: When there is +any difference felt between the foot-board of the pulpit and the floor +of the parlor, you have not yet said that which you should say. + +Inspiration will have advance, affirmation, the forward foot, the +ascending state; it will be an opener of doors; it will invent its own +methods: the new wine will make the bottles new. Spirit is motive and +ascending. Only let there be a deep observer, and he will make light +of new shop and new circumstance that afflict you; new shop, or old +cathedral, it is all one to him. He will find the circumstance not +altered, as deep a cloud of mystery on the cause, as dazzling a glory +on the invincible law. Given the insight, and he will find as many +beauties and heroes and strokes of genius close by him as Dante or +Shakspeare beheld. A vivid thought brings the power to paint it; and in +proportion to the depth of its source is the force of its projection. +We are happy and enriched; we go away invigorated, assisted each in our +own work, however different, and shall not forget to come again for new +impulses. + +The supposed embarrassments to young clergymen exist only to feeble +wills. They need not consider them. The differences of opinion, the +strength of old sects or timorous literalists, since it is not armed +with prisons or fagots as in ruder times or countries, is not worth +considering except as furnishing a needed stimulus. That gray deacon +or respectable matron with Calvinistic antecedents, you can readily +see, could not have presented any obstacle to the march of St. Bernard +or of George Fox, of Luther or of Theodore Parker. And though I +observe the deafness to counsel among men, yet the power of sympathy +is always great; and affirmative discourse, presuming assent, will +often obtain it when argument would fail. Such, too, is the active +power of good temperament. Great sweetness of temper neutralizes such +vast amounts of acid! As for position, the position is always the +same,--insulting the timid, and not taken by storm, but flanked, I may +say, by the resolute, simply by minding their own affair. Speak the +affirmative; emphasize your choice by utter ignoring of all that you +reject; seeing that opinions are temporary, but convictions uniform +and eternal,--seeing that a sentiment never loses its pathos or its +persuasion, but is youthful after a thousand years. + +The inevitable course of remark for us, when we meet each other for +meditation on life and duty, is not so much the enjoining of this or +that cure or burning out of our errors of practice, as simply the +celebration of the power and beneficence amid which and by which we +live, not critical, but affirmative. + +All civil mankind have agreed in leaving one day for contemplation +against six for practice. I hope that day will keep its honor and its +use. A wise man advises that we should see to it that we read and speak +two or three reasonable words, every day, amid the crowd of affairs and +the noise of trifles. I should say boldly that we should astonish every +day by a beam out of eternity; retire a moment to the grand secret we +carry in our bosom, of inspiration from heaven. But certainly on this +seventh let us be the children of liberty, of reason, of hope; refresh +the sentiment; think as spirits think, who belong to the universe, +whilst our feet walk in the streets of a little town and our hands work +in a small knot of affairs. We shall find one result, I am sure,--a +certain originality and a certain haughty liberty proceeding out of our +retirement and self-communion, which streets can never give, infinitely +removed from all vaporing and bravado, and which yet is more than a +match for any physical resistance. It is true that which they say of +our New England œstrum, which will never let us stand or sit, but +drives us like mad through the world. The calmest and most protected +life cannot save us. We want some intercalated days, to bethink us and +to derive order to our life from the heart. That should be the use of +the Sabbath,--to check this headlong racing and put us in possession of +ourselves once more, for love or for shame. + +The Sabbath changes its forms from age to age, but the substantial +benefit endures. We no longer recite the old creeds of Athanasius or +Arius, of Calvin or Hopkins. The forms are flexible, but the uses not +less real. The old heart remains as ever with its old human duties. The +old intellect still lives, to pierce the shows to the core. Truth is +simple, and will not be antique; is ever present, and insists on being +of this age and of this moment. Here is thought and love and truth and +duty, new as on the first day of Adam and of angels. + +“There are two pairs of eyes in man; and it is requisite that the pair +which are beneath should be closed when the pair that are above them +perceive; and that when the pair above are closed, those which are +beneath are opened.” The lower eyes see only surfaces and effects, the +upper eyes behold causes and the connection of things. And when we go +alone, or come into the house of thought and worship, we come with +purpose to be disabused of appearances, to see realities, the great +lines of our destiny, to see that life has no caprice or fortune, is +no hopping squib, but a growth after immutable laws under beneficent +influences the most immense. The Church is open to great and small in +all nations; and how rare and lofty, how unattainable, are the aims it +labors to set before men! We come to educate, come to isolate, to be +abstractionists; in fine, to open the upper eyes to the deep mystery of +cause and effect, to know that though ministers of justice and power +fail, Justice and Power fail never. The open secret of the world is the +art of subliming a private soul with inspirations from the great and +public and divine Soul from which we live. + + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[Footnote 9: Originally written as a parlor lecture to some Divinity +students, in 1867; afterwards enlarged from earlier writings, and read +in its present form at the Divinity Chapel, Cambridge, May 5th, 1879. +Reprinted from the _Unitarian Review_ for January, 1880.] + + + + + THE MAN OF LETTERS. + + ON bravely through the sunshine and the showers, + Time hath his work to do, and we have ours. + + + SO nigh is grandeur to our dust, + So near is God to man; + When Duty whispers low ‘Thou must,’ + The youth replies, ‘I can.’ + + + + + THE MAN OF LETTERS. + + AN ADDRESS DELIVERED BEFORE THE LITERARY SOCIETIES OF WATERVILLE + COLLEGE, 1863. + + +GENTLEMEN OF THE LITERARY SOCIETIES:-- + +Some of you are to-day saying your farewells to each other, and +to-morrow will receive the parting honors of the College. You go to +be teachers, to become physicians, lawyers, divines; in due course, +statesmen, naturalists, philanthropists; I hope, some of you, to be the +men of letters, critics, philosophers; perhaps the rare gift of poetry +already sparkles, and may yet burn. At all events, before the shadows +of these times darken over your youthful sensibility and candor, let +me use the occasion which your kind request gives me, to offer you +some counsels which an old scholar may without pretension bring to +youth, in regard to the career of letters,--the power and joy that +belong to it, and its high office in evil times. I offer perpetual +congratulation to the scholar; he has drawn the white lot in life. The +very disadvantages of his condition point at superiorities. He is too +good for the world; he is in advance of his race; his function is +prophetic. He belongs to a superior society, and is born one or two +centuries too early for the rough and sensual population into which he +is thrown. But the Heaven which sent him hither knew that well enough, +and sent him as a leader to lead. Are men perplexed with evil times? +The inviolate soul is in perpetual telegraphic communication with the +source of events. He has earlier information, a private despatch which +relieves him of the terror which presses on the rest of the community. +He is a learner of the laws of nature and the experiences of history; a +prophet surrendered with self-abandoning sincerity to the Heaven which +pours through him its will to mankind. This is the theory, but you know +how far this is from the fact, that nothing has been able to resist the +tide with which the material prosperity of America in years past has +beat down the hope of youth, the piety of learning. The country was +full of activity, with its wheat, coal, iron, cotton; the wealth of the +globe was here, too much work and not men enough to do it. Britain, +France, Germany, Scandinavia sent millions of laborers; still the need +was more. Every kind of skill was in demand, and the bribe came to men +of intellectual culture,--Come, drudge in our mill. America at large +exhibited such a confusion as California showed in 1849, when the cry +of gold was first raised. All the distinctions of profession and habit +ended at the mines. All the world took off their coats and worked in +shirt-sleeves. Lawyers went and came with pick and wheelbarrow; doctors +of medicine turned teamsters; stray clergymen kept the bar in saloons; +professors of colleges sold cigars, mince-pies, matches, and so on. It +is the perpetual tendency of wealth to draw on the spiritual class, not +in this coarse way, but in plausible and covert ways. It is charged +that all vigorous nations, except our own, have balanced their labor by +mental activity, and especially by the imagination,--the cardinal human +power, the angel of earnest and believing ages. The subtle Hindoo, who +carried religion to ecstasy and philosophy to idealism, produced the +wonderful epics of which, in the present century, the translations have +added new regions to thought. The Egyptian built Thebes and Karnak on +a scale which dwarfs our art, and by the paintings on their interior +walls invited us into the secret of the religious belief whence he drew +such power. The Greek was so perfect in action and in imagination, his +poems, from Homer to Euripides, so charming in form and so true to +the human mind, that we cannot forget or outgrow their mythology. The +Hebrew nation compensated for the insignificance of its members and +territory by its religious genius, its tenacious belief; its poems and +histories cling to the soil of this globe like the primitive rocks. +On the south and east shores of the Mediterranean Mahomet impressed +his fierce genius how deeply into the manners, language and poetry of +Arabia and Persia! See the activity of the imagination in the Crusades: +the front of morn was full of fiery shapes; the chasm was bridged over; +heaven walked on earth, and Earth could see with eyes the Paradise +and the Inferno. Dramatic “mysteries” were the entertainment of the +people. Parliaments of Love and Poesy served them, instead of the +House of Commons, Congress and the newspapers. In Puritanism, how the +whole Jewish history became flesh and blood in those men, let Bunyan +show. Now it is agreed that we are utilitarian; that we are skeptical, +frivolous; that with universal cheap education we have stringent +theology, but religion is low. There is much criticism, not on deep +grounds, but an affirmative philosophy is wanting. Our profoundest +philosophy (if it were not contradiction in terms) is skepticism. +The great poem of the age is the disagreeable poem of “Faust,”--of +which the “Festus” of Bailey and the “Paracelsus” of Browning are +English variations. We have superficial sciences, restless, gossiping, +aimless activity. We run to Paris, to London, to Rome, to Mesmerism, +Spiritualism, to Pusey, to the Catholic Church, as if for the want of +thought, and those who would check and guide have a dreary feeling +that in the change and decay of the old creeds and motives there was no +offset to supply their place. Our industrial skill, arts ministering to +convenience and luxury, have made life expensive, and therefore greedy, +careful, anxious; have turned the eyes downward to the earth, not +upward to thought. + +Ernest Renan finds that Europe has thrice assembled for exhibitions of +industry, and not a poem graced the occasion; and nobody remarked the +defect. A French prophet of our age, Fourier, predicted that one day, +instead of by battles and Œcumenical Councils, the rival portions of +humanity would dispute each other’s excellence in the manufacture of +little cakes. + +“In my youth,” said a Scotch mountaineer, “a Highland gentleman +measured his importance by the number of men his domain could support. +After some time the question was, to know how many great cattle it +would feed. To-day we are come to count the number of sheep. I suppose +posterity will ask how many rats and mice it will feed.” + +Dickens complained that in America, as soon as he arrived in any of the +Western towns, a committee waited on him and invited him to deliver a +temperance lecture. Bowditch translated Laplace, and when he removed to +Boston, the Hospital Life Assurance Company insisted that he should +make their tables of annuities. Napoleon knows the art of war, but +should not be put on picket duty. Linnæus or Robert Brown must not +be set to raise gooseberries and cucumbers, though they be excellent +botanists. A shrewd broker out of State Street visited a quiet +countryman possessed of all the virtues, and in his glib talk said, +“With your character now I could raise all this money at once, and make +an excellent thing of it.” + +There is an oracle current in the world, that nations die by suicide. +The sign of it is the decay of thought. Niebuhr has given striking +examples of that fatal portent; as in the loss of power of thought that +followed the disasters of the Athenians in Sicily. + +I cannot forgive a scholar his homeless despondency. He represents +intellectual or spiritual force. I wish him to rely on the spiritual +arm; to live by his strength, not by his weakness. A scholar defending +the cause of slavery, of arbitrary government, of monopoly, of the +oppressor, is a traitor to his profession. He has ceased to be a +scholar. He is not company for clean people. The worst times only show +him how independent he is of times; only relieve and bring out the +splendor of his privilege. Disease alarms the family, but the physician +sees in it a temporary mischief, which he can check and expel. The +fears and agitations of men who watch the markets, the crops, the +plenty or scarcity of money, or other superficial events, are not +for him. He knows that the world is always equal to itself; that the +forces which uphold and pervade it are eternal. Air, water, fire, iron, +gold, wheat, electricity, animal fibre, have not lost a particle of +power, and no decay has crept over the spiritual force which gives +bias and period to boundless nature. Bad times,--what are bad times? +Nature is rich, exuberant, and mocks at the puny forces of destruction. +Man makes no more impression on her wealth than the caterpillar or +the cankerworm whose petty ravage, though noticed in an orchard or a +village, is insignificant in the vast exuberance of the summer. There +is no unemployed force in Nature. All decomposition is recomposition. +War disorganizes, but it is to reorganize. Weeks, months pass--a new +harvest; trade springs up, and there stand new cities, new homes, all +rebuilt and sleepy with permanence. Italy, France--a hundred times +those countries have been trampled with armies and burned over: a few +summers, and they smile with plenty and yield new men and new revenues. + +If churches are effete, it is because the new Heaven forms. You are +here as the carriers of the power of Nature,--as Roger Bacon, with his +secret of gunpowder, with his secret of the balloon and of steam; as +Copernicus, with his secret of the true astronomy; as Columbus, with +America in his log-book; as Newton, with his gravity; Harvey, with his +circulation; Smith, with his law of trade; Franklin, with lightning; +Adams, with Independence; Kant, with pure reason; Swedenborg, with his +spiritual world. You are the carriers of ideas which are to fashion the +mind and so the history of this breathing world, so as they shall be, +and not otherwise. + +Every man is a scholar potentially, and does not need any one good so +much as this of right thought. + + “Calm pleasures here abide, majestic pains.” + +Coleridge traces “three silent revolutions,” of which the first was +“when the clergy fell from the Church.” A scholar was once a priest. +But the Church clung to ritual, and the scholar clung to joy, low +as well as high, and thus the separation was a mutual fault. But I +think it is a schism which must be healed. The true scholar is the +Church. Only the duties of Intellect must be owned. Down with these +dapper trimmers and sycophants! let us have masculine and divine men, +formidable lawgivers, Pythagoras, Plato, Aristotle, who warp the +churches of the world from their traditions, and penetrate them through +and through with original perception. The intellectual man lives in +perpetual victory. As certainly as water falls in rain on the tops of +mountains and runs down into valleys, plains and pits, so does thought +fall first on the best minds, and run down, from class to class, until +it reaches the masses, and works revolutions. + +Nature says to the American: “I understand mensuration and numbers; +I compute the ellipse of the moon, the ebb and flow of waters, the +curve and the errors of planets, the balance of attraction and recoil. +I have measured out to you by weight and tally the powers you need. +I give you the land and sea, the forest and the mine, the elemental +forces, nervous energy. When I add difficulty, I add brain. See to it +that you hold and administer the continent for mankind. One thing you +have rightly done. You have offered a patch of land in the wilderness +to every son of Adam who will till it. Other things you have begun to +do,--to strike off the chains which snuffling hypocrites had bound +on the weaker race.” You are to imperil your lives and fortunes for +a principle. The ambassador is held to maintain the dignity of the +Republic which he represents. But what does the scholar represent? +The organ of ideas, the subtle force which creates Nature and men and +states;--consoler, upholder, imparting pulses of light and shocks of +electricity, guidance and courage. So let his habits be formed, and +all his economies heroic; no spoiled child, no drone, no epicure, but +a stoic, formidable, athletic, knowing how to be poor, loving labor, +and not flogging his youthful wit with tobacco and wine; treasuring his +youth. I wish the youth to be an armed and complete man; no helpless +angel to be slapped in the face, but a man dipped in the Styx of human +experience, and made invulnerable so,--self-helping. A redeeming trait +of the Sophists of Athens, Hippias and Gorgias, is that they made their +own clothes and shoes. Learn to harness a horse, to row a boat, to camp +down in the woods, to cook your supper. I chanced lately to be at West +Point, and, after attending the examination in scientific classes, I +went into the barracks. The chamber was in perfect order; the mattress +on the iron camp-bed rolled up, as if ready for removal. I asked the +first Cadet, “Who makes your bed?” “I do.” “Who fetches your water?” “I +do.” “Who blacks your shoes?” “I do.” It was so in every room. These +are first steps to power. Learn of Samuel Johnson or David Hume, that +it is a primary duty of the man of letters to secure his independence. + +Stand by your order. ’Tis some thirty years since the days of the +Reform Bill in England, when on the walls in London you read everywhere +placards, “Down with the Lords.” At that time, Earl Grey, who was +leader of Reform, was asked, in Parliament, his policy on the measures +of the Radicals. He replied, “I shall stand by my order.” Where there +is no vision, the people perish. The fault lies with the educated +class, the men of study and thought. There is a very low feeling of +duty: the merchant is true to the merchant, the noble in England and +Europe stands by his order, the politician believes in his arts and +combinations; but the scholar does not stand by his order, but defers +to the men of this world. + +Gentlemen, I am here to commend to you your art and profession as +thinkers. It is real. It is the secret of power. It is the art of +command. All superiority is this, or related to this. “All that the +world admires comes from within.” Thought makes us men; ranks us; +distributes society; distributes the work of the world; is the prolific +source of all arts, of all wealth, of all delight, of all grandeur. Men +are as they believe. Men are as they think, and the man who knows any +truth not yet discerned by other men, is master of all other men so far +as that truth and its wide relations are concerned. + +Intellect measures itself by its counteraction to any accumulation of +material force. There is no mass which it cannot surmount and dispose +of. The exertions of this force are the eminent experiences,--out of +a long life all that is worth remembering. These are the moments that +balance years. Does any one doubt between the strength of a thought +and that of an institution? Does any one doubt that a good general is +better than a park of artillery? See a political revolution dogging a +book. See armies, institutions, literatures, appearing in the train of +some wild Arabian’s dream. + +There is a proverb that Napoleon, when the Mameluke cavalry approached +the French lines, ordered the grenadiers to the front, and the asses +and the _savans_ to fall into the hollow square. It made a good +story, and circulated in that day. But how stands it now? The military +expedition was a failure. Bonaparte himself deserted, and the army got +home as it could, all fruitless; not a trace of it remains. All that is +left of it is the researches of those _savans_ on the antiquities +of Egypt, including the great work of Denon, which led the way to all +the subsequent studies of the English and German scholars on that +foundation. Pytheas of Ægina was victor in the Pancratium of the boys, +at the Isthmian games. He came to the poet Pindar and wished him to +write an ode in his praise, and inquired what was the price of a poem. +Pindar replied that he should give him one talent, about a thousand +dollars of our money. “A talent!” cried Pytheas; “why, for so much +money I can erect a statue of bronze in the temple.” “Very likely.” +On second thoughts, he returned and paid for the poem. And now not +only all the statues of bronze in the temples of Ægina are destroyed, +but the temples themselves, and the very walls of the city are utterly +gone, whilst the ode of Pindar, in praise of Pytheas, remains entire. + +The treachery of scholars! They are idealists, and should stand for +freedom, justice, and public good. The scholar is bound to stand for +all the virtues and all the liberties,--liberty of trade, liberty of +the press, liberty of religion,--and he should open all the prizes of +success and all the roads of Nature to free competition. + +The country complains loudly of the inefficiency of the army. It was +badly led. But, before this, it was not the army alone, it was the +population that was badly led. The clerisy, the spiritual guides, the +scholars, the seers have been false to their trust. + +Rely on yourself. There is respect due to your teachers, but every age +is new, and has problems to solve, insoluble by the last age. Men over +forty are no judges of a book written in a new spirit. Neither your +teachers, nor the universal teachers, the laws, the customs or dogmas +of nations, neither saint nor sage, can compare with that counsel which +is open to you. No, it is not nations, no, nor even masters, not at +last a few individuals or any heroes, but himself only, the large +equality to truth of a single mind,--as if, in the narrow walls of a +human heart, the wide realm of truth, the world of morals, the tribunal +by which the universe is judged, found room to exist. + +Our people have this levity and complaisance,--they fear to offend, +do not wish to be misunderstood; do not wish, of all things, to be in +the minority. God and Nature are altogether sincere, and Art should +be as sincere. It is not enough that the work should show a skilful +hand, ingenious contrivance and admirable polish and finish; it should +have a commanding motive in the time and condition in which it was +made. We should see in it the great belief of the artist, which caused +him to make it so as he did, and not otherwise; nothing frivolous, +nothing that he might do or not do, as he chose, but somewhat that +must be done then and there by him; he could not take his neck out +of that yoke, and save his soul. And this design must shine through +the whole performance. Sincerity is, in dangerous times, discovered +to be an immeasurable advantage. I distrust all the legends of great +accomplishments or performance of unprincipled men. Very little +reliance must be put on the common stories that circulate of this +great senator’s or that great barrister’s learning, their Greek, their +varied literature. That ice won’t bear. Reading!--do you mean that +this senator or this lawyer, who stood by and allowed the passage of +infamous laws, was a reader of Greek books? That is not the question; +but to what purpose did they read? I allow them the merit of that +reading which appears in their opinions, tastes, beliefs, and practice. +They read that they might know, did they not? Well, these men did +not know. They blundered; they were utterly ignorant of that which +every boy or girl of fifteen knows perfectly,--the rights of men and +women. And this big-mouthed talker, among his dictionaries and Leipzic +editions of Lysias, had lost his knowledge. But the President of the +Bank nods to the President of the Insurance Office, and relates that +at Virginia Springs this idol of the forum exhausted a trunkful of +classic authors. There is always the previous question, How came you on +that side? You are a very elegant writer, but you can’t write up what +gravitates down. + +It is impossible to extricate oneself from the questions in which our +age is involved. All of us have shared the new enthusiasm of country +and of liberty which swept like a whirlwind through all souls at the +outbreak of war, and brought, by ennobling us, an offset for its +calamity. + +War, seeking for the roots of strength, comes upon the moral aspects at +once. In quiet times, custom stifles this discussion as sentimental, +and brings in the brazen devil, as by immemorial right. The war +uplifted us into generous sentiments. War ennobles the age. We do not +often have a moment of grandeur in these hurried, slipshod lives, but +the behavior of the young men has taught us much. We will not again +disparage America, now that we have seen what men it will bear. Battle, +with the sword, has cut many a Gordian knot in twain which all the wit +of East and West, of Northern and Border statesmen could not untie. + +I learn with joy and with deep respect that this college has sent its +full quota to the field. I learn with grief, but with honoring pain, +that you have had your sufferers in the battle, and that the noble +youth have returned wounded and maimed. The times are dark, but heroic. +The times develop the strength they need. Boys are heroes. Women have +shown a tender patriotism and inexhaustible charity. And on each new +threat of faction, the ballot of the people has been unexpectedly +right. But the issues already appearing overpay the cost. Slavery +is broken, and, if we use our advantage, irretrievably. For such a +gain, to end once for all that pest of all our free institutions, +one generation might well be sacrificed; perhaps it will; that this +continent be purged and a new era of equal rights dawn on the universe. +Who would not, if it could be made certain that the new morning of +universal liberty should rise on our race by the perishing of one +generation,--who would not consent to die? + + + + + THE SCHOLAR. + + FOR thought, and not praise, + Thought is the wages + For which I sell days, + Will gladly sell ages + And willing grow old, + Deaf and dumb, blind and cold, + Melting matter into dreams, + Panoramas which I saw, + And whatever glows or seems + Into substance, into Law. + + + THE sun and moon shall fall amain + Like sowers’ seeds into his brain, + There quickened to be born again. + + + + + THE SCHOLAR. + + AN ORATION DELIVERED BEFORE THE WASHINGTON AND JEFFERSON SOCIETIES AT + THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA, 28TH JUNE, 1876. + + +GENTLEMEN: + +The Athenians took an oath, on a certain crisis in their affairs, +to esteem wheat, the vine and the olive the bounds of Attica. The +territory of scholars is yet larger. A stranger but yesterday to every +person present, I find myself already at home, for the society of +lettered men is a university which does not bound itself with the walls +of one cloister or college, but gathers in the distant and solitary +student into its strictest amity. Literary men gladly acknowledge these +ties which find for the homeless and the stranger a welcome where +least looked for. But in proportion as we are conversant with the +laws of life, we have seen the like. We are used to these surprises. +This is but one operation of a more general law. As in coming among +strange faces we find that the love of letters makes us friends, so in +strange thoughts, in the worldly habits which harden us, we find with +some surprise that learning and truth and beauty have not let us go; +that the spiritual nature is too strong for us; that those excellent +influences which men in all ages have called the _Muse_, or by +some kindred name, come in to keep us warm and true; that the face +of Nature remains irresistibly alluring. We have strayed from the +territorial monuments of Attica, but here still are wheat and olives +and the vine. + +I do not now refer to that intellectual conscience which forms +itself in tender natures, and gives us many twinges for our sloth +and unfaithfulness:--the influence I speak of is of a higher strain. +Stung by this intellectual conscience, we go to measure our tasks +as scholars, and screw ourselves up to energy and fidelity, and our +sadness is suddenly overshone by a sympathy of blessing. Beauty, the +inspirer, the cheerful festal principle, the leader of gods and men, +which draws by being beautiful, and not by considerations of advantage, +comes in and puts a new face on the world. I think the peculiar +office of scholars in a careful and gloomy generation is to be (as +the poets were called in the Middle Ages) Professors of the Joyous +Science, detectors and delineators of occult symmetries and unpublished +beauties; heralds of civility, nobility, learning and wisdom; affirmers +of the one law, yet as those who should affirm it in music and dancing; +expressors themselves of that firm and cheerful temper, infinitely +removed from sadness, which reigns through the kingdoms of chemistry, +vegetation, and animal life. Every natural power exhilarates; a true +talent delights the possessor first. A celebrated musician was wont +to say, that men knew not how much more he delighted himself with +his playing than he did others; for if they knew, his hearers would +rather demand of him than give him a reward. The scholar is here to +fill others with love and courage by confirming their trust in the +love and wisdom which are at the heart of all things; to affirm noble +sentiments; to hear them wherever spoken, out of the deeps of ages, out +of the obscurities of barbarous life, and to republish them:--to untune +nobody, but to draw all men after the truth, and to keep men spiritual +and sweet. + +Language can hardly exaggerate the beatitude of the intellect flowing +into the faculties. This is the power that makes the world incarnated +in man, and laying again the beams of heaven and earth, setting the +north and the south, and the stars in their places. Intellect is the +science of metes and bounds; yet it sees no bound to the eternal +proceeding of law forth into nature. All the sciences are only new +applications, each translatable into the other, of the one law which +his mind is. + +This, gentlemen, is the topic on which I shall speak,--the natural +and permanent function of the Scholar, as he is no permissive or +accidental appearance, but an organic agent in nature. He is here to +be the beholder of the real; self-centred amidst the superficial; here +to revere the dominion of a serene necessity and be its pupil and +apprentice by tracing everything home to a cause; here to be sobered, +not by the cares of life, as men say, no, but by the depth of his +draughts of the cup of immortality. + +One is tempted to affirm the office and attributes of the scholar +a little the more eagerly, because of a frequent perversity of the +class itself. Men are ashamed of their intellect. The men committed by +profession as well as by bias to study, the clergyman, the chemist, the +astronomer, the metaphysician, the poet, talk hard and worldly, and +share the infatuation of cities. The poet and the citizen perfectly +agree in conversation on the wise life. The poet counsels his own +son as if he were a merchant. The poet with poets betrays no amiable +weakness. They all chime in, and are as inexorable as bankers on the +subject of real life. They have no toleration for literature; art is +only a fine word for appearance in default of matter. And they sit +white over their stoves, and talk themselves hoarse over the mischief +of books and the effeminacy of book-makers. But at a single strain of +a bugle out of a grove, or at the dashing among the stones of a brook +from the hills; at the sound of some subtle word that falls from the +lips of an imaginative person, or even at the reading in solitude +of some moving image of a wise poet, this grave conclusion is blown +out of memory; the sun shines, and the worlds roll to music, and the +poet replaces all this cowardly Self-denial and God-denial of the +literary class with the conviction that to one poetic success the world +will surrender on its knees. Instantly he casts in his lot with the +pearl-diver and the diamond-merchant. Like them he will joyfully lose +days and months, and estates and credit, in the profound hope that one +restoring, all-rewarding, immense success will arrive at last, which +will give him at one bound a universal dominion. And rightly; for if +his wild prayers are granted, if he is to succeed, his achievement is +the piercing of the brass heavens of use and limitation, and letting +in a beam of the pure eternity which burns up this limbo of shadows +and chimeras in which we dwell. Yes, Nature is too strong for us; she +will not be denied; she has balsams for our hurts, and hellebores for +our insanities. She does not bandy words with us, but comes in with a +new ravishing experience and makes the old time ridiculous. Every poet +knows the unspeakable hope, and represents its audacity. + +I am not disposed to magnify temporary differences, but for the +moment it appears as if in former times learning and intellectual +accomplishments had secured to the possessor greater rank and +authority. If this were only the reaction from excessive expectations +from literature, now disappointed, it were a just censure. It was +superstitious to exact too much from philosophers and the literary +class. The Sophists, the Alexandrian grammarians, the wits of Queen +Anne’s, the philosophers and diffusion-societies have not much helped +us. Granted, freely granted. Men run out of one superstition into an +opposite superstition, and practical people in America give themselves +wonderful airs. The cant of the time inquires superciliously after the +new ideas; it believes that ideas do not lead to the owning of stocks; +they are perplexing and effeminating. + +Young men, I warn you against the clamors of these self-praising +frivolous activities,--against these busybodies; against irrational +labor; against chattering, meddlesome, rich and official people. If +their doing came to any good end! Action is legitimate and good; +forever be it honored! right, original, private, necessary action, +proceeding new from the heart of man, and going forth to beneficent and +as yet incalculable ends. Yes; but not a petty fingering and running, a +senseless repeating of yesterday’s fingering and running; an acceptance +of the method and frauds of other men; an overdoing and busy-ness +which pretends to the honors of action, but resembles the twitches +of St. Vitus. The action of these men I cannot respect, for they do +not respect it themselves. They were better and more respectable abed +and asleep. All the best of this class, all who have any insight or +generosity of spirit are frequently disgusted, and fain to put it +behind them. + +Gentlemen, I do not wish to check your impulses to action: I would +not hinder you of one swing of your arm. I do not wish to see you +effeminate gownsmen, taking hold of the world with the tips of your +fingers, or that life should be to you as it is to many, optical, not +practical. Far otherwise: I rather wish you to experiment boldly and +give play to your energies, but not, if I could prevail with you, +in conventional ways. I should wish your energy to run in works and +emergencies growing out of your personal character. Nature will fast +enough instruct you in the occasion and the need, and will bring to +each of you the crowded hour, the great opportunity. Love, Rectitude, +everlasting Fame, will come to each of you in loneliest places with +their grand alternatives, and Honor watches to see whether you dare +seize the palms. + +I have no quarrel with action, only I prefer no action to misaction, +and I reject the abusive application of the term _practical_ to +those lower activities. Let us hear no more of the practical men, or I +will tell you something of them,--this, namely, that the scholar finds +in them unlooked-for acceptance of his most paradoxical experience. +There is confession in their eyes, and if they parade their business +and public importance, it is by way of apology and palliation for not +being the students and obeyers of those diviner laws. Talk frankly with +them and you learn that you have little to tell them; that the Spirit +of the Age has been before you with influences impossible to parry +or resist. The dry-goods men, and the brokers, the lawyers and the +manufacturers are idealists, and only differ from the philosopher in +the intensity of the charge. We are all contemporaries and bones of one +body. + +The shallow clamor against theoretic men comes from the weak. Able men +may sometimes affect a contempt for thought, which no able man ever +feels. For what alone in the history of this world interests all men in +proportion as they are men? What but truth, and perpetual advance in +knowledge of it, and brave obedience to it in right action? Every man +or woman who can voluntarily or involuntarily give them any insight or +suggestion on these secrets they will hearken after. The poet writes +his verse on a scrap of paper, and instantly the desire and love of all +mankind take charge of it, as if it were Holy Writ. What need has he +to cross the sill of his door? Why need he meddle with politics? His +idlest thought, his yesternight’s dream is told already in the Senate. +What the Genius whispered him at night he reported to the young men at +dawn. He rides in them, he traverses sea and land. The engineer in the +locomotive is waiting for him; the steamboat is hissing at the wharf, +and the wheels whirling to go. ’Tis wonderful, ’tis almost scandalous, +this extraordinary favoritism shown to poets. I do not mean to excuse +it. I admit the enormous partiality. It only shows that such is the +gulf between our perception and our painting, the eye is so wise, and +the hand so clumsy, that all the human race have agreed to value a man +according to his power of expression. For him arms, art, politics, +trade waited like menials, until the lord of the manor should arrive. +Even the demonstrations of nature for millenniums seem not to have +attained their end, until this interpreter arrives. “I,” said the +great-hearted Kepler, “may well wait a hundred years for a reader, +since God Almighty has waited six thousand years for an observer like +myself.” + +Genius is a poor man and has no house, but see, this proud landlord who +has built the palace and furnished it so delicately, opens it to him +and beseeches him to make it honorable by entering there and eating +bread. Where is the palace in England whose tenants are not too happy +if it can make a home for Pope or Addison or Swift or Burke or Canning +or Tennyson? Or if wealth has humors and wishes to shake off the yoke +and assert itself,--oh, by all means let it try! Will it build its +fences very high, and make its Almacks too narrow for a wise man to +enter? Will it be independent? I incline to concede the isolation which +it asks, that it may learn that it is not independent but parasitical. + +There could always be traced, in the most barbarous tribes, and also in +the most character-destroying civilization, some vestiges of a faith +in genius, as in the exemption of a priesthood or bards or artists +from taxes and tolls levied on other men; or in civic distinction; or +in enthusiastic homage; or in hospitalities; as if men would signify +their sense that genius and virtue should not pay money for house and +land and bread, because they have a royal right in these and in all +things,--a first mortgage that takes effect before the right of the +present proprietor. For they are the First Good, of which Plato affirms +that “all things are for its sake, and it is the cause of everything +beautiful.” + +This reverence is the re-establishment of natural order; for as the +solidest rocks are made up of invisible gases, as the world is made +of thickened light and arrested electricity, so men know that ideas +are the parents of men and things; there was never anything that did +not proceed from a thought. The scholar has a deep ideal interest in +the moving show around him. He knew the motley system in its egg. +We have--have we not?--a real relation to markets and brokers and +currency and coin. “Gold and silver,” says one of the Platonists, “grow +in the earth from the celestial gods,--an effluxion from them.” The +unmentionable dollar itself has at last a high origin in moral and +metaphysical nature. Union Pacific stock is not quite private property, +but the quality and essence of the universe is in that also. Have we +less interest in ships or in shops, in manual work or in household +affairs; in any object of nature, or in any handiwork of man; in any +relation of life or custom of society? The scholar is to show, in each, +identity and connexion; he is to show its origin in the brain of man, +and its secret history and issues. He is the attorney of the world, and +can never be superfluous where so vast a variety of questions are ever +coming up to be solved, and for ages. + +I proceed to say that the allusions just now made to the extent of +his duties, the manner in which every day’s events will find him in +work, may show that his place is no sinecure. The scholar, when he +comes, will be known by an energy that will animate all who see him. +The labor of ambition and avarice will appear fumbling beside his. In +the right hands, literature is not resorted to as a consolation, and +by the broken and decayed, but as a decalogue. In this country we are +fond of results and of short ways to them; and most in this department. +In our experiences, learning is not learned, nor is genius wise. The +name of the Scholar is taken in vain. We who should be the channel of +that unweariable Power which never sleeps, must give our diligence no +holidays. Other men are planting and building, baking and tanning, +running and sailing, heaving and carrying, each that he may peacefully +execute the fine function by which they all are helped. Shall he play, +whilst their eyes follow him from far with reverence, attributing +to him the delving in great fields of thought, and conversing with +supernatural allies? If he is not kindling his torch or collecting oil, +he will fear to go by a workshop; he will not dare to hear the music of +a saw or plane; the steam-engine will reprimand, the steam-pipe will +hiss at him; he cannot look a blacksmith in the eye; in the field he +will be shamed by mowers and reapers. The speculative man, the scholar, +is the right hero. He is brave, because he sees the omnipotence of that +which inspires him. Is there only one courage and one warfare? I cannot +manage sword and rifle; can I not therefore be brave? I thought there +were as many courages as men. Is an armed man the only hero? Is a man +only the breech of a gun or the haft of a bowie-knife? Men of thought +fail in fighting down malignity, because they wear other armor than +their own. Let them decline henceforward foreign methods and foreign +courages. Let them do that which they can do. Let them fight by their +strength, not by their weakness. It seems to me that the thoughtful man +needs no armor but this--concentration. One thing is for him settled, +that he is to come at his ends. He is not there to defend himself, +but to deliver his message; if his voice is clear, then clearly; if +husky, then huskily; if broken, he can at least scream; gag him, he can +still write it; bruise, mutilate him, cut off his hands and feet, he +can still crawl towards his object on his stumps. It is the corruption +of our generation that men value a long life, and do not esteem life +simply as a means of expressing a sentiment. + +The great English patriot Algernon Sidney wrote to his father from his +prison a little before his execution: “I have ever had in my mind that +when God should cast me into such a condition as that I cannot save my +life but by doing an indecent thing he shows me the time has come when +I should resign it.” Beauty belongs to the sentiment, and is always +departing from those who depart out of that. The hero rises out of +all comparison with contemporaries and with ages of men, because he +disesteems old age, and lands, and money, and power, and will oppose +all mankind at the call of that private and perfect Right and Beauty in +which he lives. + +Man is a torch borne in the wind. The ends I have hinted at made the +scholar or spiritual man indispensable to the Republic or Commonwealth +of Man. Nature could not leave herself without a seer and expounder. +But he could not see or teach without organs. The same necessity +then that would create him reappears in his splendid gifts. There is +no power in the mind but in turn becomes an instrument. The descent +of genius into talents is part of the natural order and history of +the world. The incarnation must be. We cannot eat the granite nor +drink hydrogen. They must be decompounded and recompounded into corn +and water before they can enter our flesh. There is a great deal of +spiritual energy in the universe, but it is not palpable to us until +we can make it up into man. There is plenty of air, but it is worth +nothing until by gathering it into sails we can get it into shape and +service to carry us and our cargo across the sea. Then it is paid +for by hundreds of thousands of our money. Plenty of water also, sea +full, sky full; who cares for it? But when we can get it where we want +it, and in measured portions, on a mill-wheel, or boat-paddle, we +will buy it with millions. There is plenty of wild azote and carbon +unappropriated, but it is nought till we have made it up into loaves +and soup. So we find it in higher relations. There is plenty of wild +wrath, but it steads not until we can get it racked off, shall I say? +and bottled into persons; a little pure, and not too much, to every +head. How many young geniuses we have known, and none but ourselves +will ever hear of them for want in them of a little talent! + +Ah, gentlemen, I own I love talents and accomplishments; the feet +and hands of genius. As Burke said, “it is not only our duty to make +the right known, but to make it prevalent.” So I delight to see the +Godhead in distribution; to see men that can come at their ends. These +shrewd faculties belong to man. I love to see them in play, and to see +them trained: this memory carrying in its caves the pictures of all +the past, and rendering them in the instant when they can serve the +possessor;--the craft of mathematical combination, which carries a +working-plan of the heavens and of the earth in a formula. I am apt to +believe, with the Emperor Charles V., that “as many languages as a man +knows, so many times is he a man.” I like to see a man of that virtue +that no obscurity or disguise can conceal, who wins all souls to his +way of thinking. I delight in men adorned and weaponed with manlike +arts, who could alone, or with a few like them, reproduce Europe and +America, the result of our civilization. + +It is excellent when the individual is ripened to that degree that +he touches both the centre and the circumference, so that he is not +only widely intelligent, but carries a council in his breast for the +emergency of to-day; and alternates the contemplation of the fact +in pure intellect, with the total conversion of the intellect into +energy; Jove, and the thunderbolt launched from his hand. Perhaps I +value power of achievement a little more because in America there +seems to be a certain indigence in this respect. I think there is no +more intellectual people than ours. They are very apprehensive and +curious. But there is a sterility of talent. These iron personalities, +such as in Greece and Italy and once in England were formed to strike +fear into kings and draw the eager service of thousands, rarely +appear. We have general intelligence, but no Cyclop arms. A very +little intellectual force makes a disproportionately great impression, +and when one observes how eagerly our people entertain and discuss +a new theory, whether home-born or imported, and how little thought +operates how great an effect, one would draw a favorable inference as +to their intellectual and spiritual tendencies. It seems as if two +or three persons coming who should add to a high spiritual aim great +constructive energy, would carry the country with them. + +In making this claim of costly accomplishments for the scholar, I +chiefly wish to infer the dignity of his work by the lustre of his +appointments. He is not cheaply equipped. The universe was rifled to +furnish him. He is to forge out of coarsest ores the sharpest weapons. +But if the weapons are valued for themselves, if his talents assume +an independence, and come to work for ostentation, they cannot serve +him. It was said of an eminent Frenchman, that “he was drowned in his +talents.” The peril of every fine faculty is the delight of playing +with it for pride. Talent is commonly developed at the expense of +character, and the greater it grows, the more is the mischief and +misleading; so that presently all is wrong, talent is mistaken for +genius, a dogma or system for truth, ambition for greatness, ingenuity +for poetry, sensuality for art; and the young, coming up with innocent +hope, and looking around them at education, at the professions and +employments, at religious and literary teachers and teaching,--finding +that nothing outside corresponds to the noble order in the soul, +are confused, and become skeptical and forlorn. Hope is taken from +youth unless there be, by the grace of God, sufficient vigor in +their instinct to say, “All is wrong and human invention. I declare +anew from Heaven that truth exists new and beautiful and profitable +forevermore.” Order is heaven’s first law. These gifts, these senses, +these facilities are excellent as long as subordinated; all wasted and +mischievous when they assume to lead and not obey. What is the use of +strength or cunning or beauty, or musical voice, or birth, or breeding, +or money, to a maniac? Yet society, in which we live, is subject to +fits of frenzy; sometimes is for an age together a maniac, with birth, +breeding, beauty, cunning, strength and money. And there is but one +defence against this principle of chaos, and that is the principle of +order, or brave return at all hours to an infinite common-sense, to the +mother-wit, to the wise instinct, to the pure intellect. + +When a man begins to dedicate himself to a particular function, as his +logical, or his remembering, or his oratorical, or his arithmetical +skill; the advance of his character and genius pauses; he has run to +the end of his line; seal the book; the development of that mind is +arrested. The scholar is lost in the showman. Society is babyish, and +is dazzled and deceived by the weapon, without inquiring into the cause +for which it is drawn; like boys by the drums and colors of the troops. + +The objection of men of the world to what they call the morbid +intellectual tendency in our young men at present, is not a hostility +to their truth, but to this, its shortcoming, that the idealistic views +unfit their children for business in their sense, and do not qualify +them for any complete life of a better kind. They threaten the validity +of contracts, but do not prevail so far as to establish the new kingdom +which shall supersede contracts, oaths, and property. “We have seen to +weariness what you cannot do; now show us what you can and will do,” +asks the practical man, and with perfect reason. + +We are not afraid of new truth,--of truth never, new, or old,--no, +but of a counterfeit. Everybody hates imbecility and shortcoming, not +new methods. The astronomer is not ridiculous inasmuch as he is an +astronomer, but inasmuch as he is not an astronomer. Be that you are: +be that cheerly and sovereignly. Plotinus makes no apologies, he says +roundly, “the knowledge of the senses is truly ludicrous.” “Body and +its properties belong to the region of nonentity, as if more of body +was necessarily produced where a defect of being happens in a greater +degree.” “Matter,” says Plutarch, “is privation.” Let the man of ideas +at this hour be as direct, and as fully committed. Have you a thought +in your heart? There was never such need of it as now. As we read +the newspapers, as we see the effrontery with which money and power +carry their ends and ride over honesty and good-meaning, patriotism +and religion seem to shriek like ghosts. We will not speak for them, +because to speak for them seems so weak and hopeless. We will hold +fast our opinion and die in silence. But a true orator will make us +feel that the states and kingdoms, the senators, lawyers and rich men +are caterpillars’ webs and caterpillars, when seen in the light of this +despised and imbecile truth. Then we feel what cowards we have been. +Truth alone is great. The orator too becomes a fool and a shadow before +this light which lightens through him. It shines backward and forward, +diminishes and annihilates everybody, and the prophet so gladly feels +his personality lost in this victorious life. The spiritual nature +exhibits itself so in its counteraction to any accumulation of material +force. There is no mass that can be a counterweight for it. This makes +one man good against mankind. This is the secret of eloquence, for +it is the end of eloquence in a half-hour’s discourse,--perhaps by a +few sentences,--to persuade a multitude of persons to renounce their +opinions, and change the course of life. They go forth not the men they +came in, but shriven, convicted, and converted. + +We have many revivals of religion. We have had once what was called +the Revival of Letters. I wish to see a revival of the human mind: +to see men’s sense of duty extend to the cherishing and use of their +intellectual powers: their religion should go with their thought and +hallow it. Whosoever looks with heed into his thoughts will find +that our science of the mind has not got far. He will find there is +somebody within him that knows more than he does, a certain dumb life +in life; a simple wisdom behind all acquired wisdom; somewhat not +educated or educable; not altered or alterable; a mother-wit which does +not learn by experience or by books, but knew it all already; makes +no progress, but was wise in youth as in age. More or less clouded it +yet resides the same in all, saying _Ay, ay_, or _No, no_ +to every proposition. Yet its grand _Ay_ and its grand _No_ +are more musical than all eloquence. Nobody has found the limit of its +knowledge. Whatever object is brought before it is already well known +to it. Its justice is perfect; its look is catholic and universal, its +light ubiquitous like the sun. It does not put forth organs, it rests +in presence: yet trusted and obeyed in happy natures it becomes active +and salient, and makes new means for its great ends. + +The scholar then is unfurnished who has only literary weapons. He +ought to have as many talents as he can; memory, arithmetic, practical +power, manners, temper, lion-heart, are all good things, and if he has +none of them he can still manage, if he have the main-mast,--if he is +anything. But he must have the resource of resources, and be planted on +necessity. For the sure months are bringing him to an examination-day +in which nothing is remitted or excused, and for which no tutor, no +book, no lectures, and almost no preparation can be of the least avail. +He will have to answer certain questions, which, I must plainly tell +you, cannot be staved off. For all men, all women, Time, your country, +your condition, the invisible world, are the interrogators: _Who are +you? What do you? Can you obtain what you wish? Is there method in your +consciousness? Can you see tendency in your life? Can you help any +soul?_ + +Can he answer these questions? can he dispose of them? Happy if you can +answer them mutely in the order and disposition of your life! Happy +for more than yourself, a benefactor of men, if you can answer them in +works of wisdom, art, or poetry; bestowing on the general mind of men +organic creations, to be the guidance and delight of all who know them. +These questions speak to Genius, to that power which is underneath and +greater than all talent, and which proceeds out of the constitution +of every man: to Genius, which is an emanation of that it tells of; +whose private counsels are not tinged with selfishness, but are laws. +Men of talent fill the eye with their pretension. They go out into +some camp of their own, and noisily persuade society that this thing +which they do is the needful cause of all men. They have talents for +contention, and they nourish a small difference into a loud quarrel. +But the world is wide, nobody will go there after to-morrow. The gun +they have pointed can defend nothing but itself, nor itself any longer +than the man is by. What is the use of artificial positions? But Genius +has no taste for weaving sand, or for any trifling, but flings itself +on real elemental things, which are powers, self-defensive; which first +subsist, and then resist unweariably forevermore all that opposes. +Genius has truth and clings to it, so that what it says and does is +not in a by-road, visited only by curiosity, but on the great highways +of nature, which were before the Appian Way, and which all souls must +travel. Genius delights only in statements which are themselves true, +which attack and wound any who opposes them, whether he who brought +them here remains here or not;--which are live men, and do daily +declare fresh war against all falsehood and custom, and will not let an +offender go; which society cannot dispose of or forget, but which abide +there and will not down at anybody’s bidding, but stand frowning and +formidable, and will and must be finally obeyed and done. + +The scholar must be ready for bad weather, poverty, insult, weariness, +repute of failure, and many vexations. He must have a great patience, +and ride at anchor and vanquish every enemy whom his small arms cannot +reach, by the grand resistance of submission, of ceasing to do. He +is to know that in the last resort he is not here to work, but to be +worked upon. He is to eat insult, drink insult, be clothed and shod in +insult until he has learned that this bitter bread and shameful dress +is also wholesome and warm, is in short indifferent; is of the same +chemistry as praise and fat living; that they also are disgrace and +soreness to him who has them. I think much may be said to discourage +and dissuade the young scholar from his career. Freely be that said. +Dissuade all you can from the lists. Sift the wheat, frighten away the +lighter souls. Let us keep only the heavy-armed. Let those come who +cannot but come, and who see that there is no choice here, no advantage +and no disadvantage compared with other careers. For the great +Necessity is our patron, who distributes sun and shade after immutable +laws. + +Yes, he has his dark days, he has weakness, he has waitings, he +has bad company, he is pelted by storms of cares, untuning cares, +untuning company. Well, let him meet them. He has not consented to the +frivolity, nor to the dispersion. The practical aim is forever higher +than the literary aim. He shall not submit to degradation, but shall +bear these crosses with what grace he can. He is still to decline how +many glittering opportunities, and to retreat, and wait. So shall you +find in this penury and absence of thought a purer splendor than ever +clothed the exhibitions of wit. I invite you not to cheap joys, to +the flutter of gratified vanity, to a sleek and rosy comfort; no, but +to bareness, to power, to enthusiasm, to the mountain of vision, to +true and natural supremacy, to the society of the great, and to love. +Give me bareness and poverty so that I know them as the sure heralds +of the Muse. Not in plenty, not in a thriving, well-to-do condition, +she delighteth. He that would sacrifice at her altar must not leave a +few flowers, an apple, or some symbolic gift. No; he must relinquish +orchards and gardens, prosperity and convenience; he may live on a +heath without trees; sometimes hungry, and sometimes rheumatic with +cold. The fire retreats and concentrates within into a pure flame, pure +as the stars to which it mounts. + +But, gentlemen, there is plainly no end to these expansions. I have +exhausted your patience, and I have only begun. I had perhaps wiselier +adhered to my first purpose of confining my illustration to a single +topic, but it is so much easier to say many things than to explain one. +Well, you will see the drift of all my thoughts, this namely--that +the scholar must be much more than a scholar, that his ends give +value to every means, but he is to subdue and keep down his methods; +that his use of books is occasional, and infinitely subordinate; that +he should read a little proudly, as one who knows the original, and +cannot therefore very highly value the copy. In like manner he is +to hold lightly every tradition, every opinion, every person, out +of his piety to that Eternal Spirit which dwells unexpressed with +him. He shall think very highly of his destiny. He is here to know +the secret of Genius; to become, not a reader of poetry, but Homer, +Dante, Milton, Shakspeare, Swedenborg, in the fountain, through that. +If one man could impart his faith to another, if I could prevail to +communicate the incommunicable mysteries, you should see the breadth of +your realm;--that ever as you ascend your proper and native path, you +receive the keys of Nature and history, and rise on the same stairs to +science and to joy. + + + + + PLUTARCH. + + The soul + Shall have society of its own rank: + Be great, be true, and all the Scipios, + The Catos, the wise patriots of Rome, + Shall flock to you and tarry by your side + And comfort you with their high company. + + + + + PLUTARCH.[10] + + +IT is remarkable that of an author so familiar as Plutarch, not only +to scholars, but to all reading men, and whose history is so easily +gathered from his works, no accurate memoir of his life, not even the +dates of his birth and death, should have come down to us. Strange +that the writer of so many illustrious biographies should wait so long +for his own. It is agreed that he was born about the year 50 of the +Christian era. He has been represented as having been the tutor of the +Emperor Trajan, as dedicating one of his books to him, as living long +in Rome in great esteem, as having received from Trajan the consular +dignity, and as having been appointed by him the governor of Greece. +He was a man whose real superiority had no need of these flatteries. +Meantime, the simple truth is, that he was not the tutor of Trajan, +that he dedicated no book to him, was not consul in Rome, nor governor +of Greece; appears never to have been in Rome but on two occasions, +and then on business of the people of his native city, Chæronea; and +though he found or made friends at Rome, and read lectures to some +friends or scholars, he did not know or learn the Latin language there; +with one or two doubtful exceptions, never quotes a Latin book; and +though the contemporary, in his youth or in his old age, of Persius, +Juvenal, Lucan and Seneca, of Quintilian, Martial, Tacitus, Suetonius, +Pliny the Elder and the Younger, he does not cite them, and, in return, +his name is never mentioned by any Roman writer. It would seem that +the community of letters and of personal news was even more rare at +that day than the want of printing, of railroads and telegraphs, would +suggest to us. + +But this neglect by his contemporaries has been compensated by an +immense popularity in modern nations. Whilst his books were never known +to the world in their own Greek tongue, it is curious that the “Lives” +were translated and printed in Latin, thence into Italian, French, +and English, more than a century before the original “Works” were yet +printed. For whilst the “Lives” were translated in Rome in 1470, and +the “Morals,” part by part, soon after, the first printed edition of +the Greek “Works” did not appear until 1572. Hardly current in his own +Greek, these found learned interpreters in the scholars of Germany, +Spain and Italy. In France, in the middle of the most turbulent civil +wars, Amyot’s translation awakened general attention. His genial +version of the “Lives” in 1559, of the “Morals” in 1572, had signal +success. King Henry IV. wrote to his wife, Marie de Medicis: “_Vive +Dieu._ As God liveth, you could not have sent me anything which +could be more agreeable than the news of the pleasure you have taken +in this reading. Plutarch always delights me with a fresh novelty. To +love him is to love me; for he has been long time the instructor of +my youth. My good mother, to whom I owe all, and who would not wish, +she said, to see her son an illustrious dunce, put this book into my +hands almost when I was a child at the breast. It has been like my +conscience, and has whispered in my ear many good suggestions and +maxims for my conduct and the government of my affairs.” Still earlier, +Rabelais cites him with due respect. Montaigne, in 1589, says: “We +dunces had been lost, had not this book raised us out of the dirt. By +this favor of his we dare now speak and write. The ladies are able +to read to schoolmasters. ’Tis our breviary.” Montesquieu drew from +him his definition of law, and, in his _Pensées_, declares, “I +am always charmed with Plutarch; in his writings are circumstances +attached to persons, which give great pleasure;” and adds examples. +Saint Evremond read Plutarch to the great Condé under a tent. Rollin, +so long the historian of antiquity for France, drew unhesitatingly his +history from him. Voltaire honored him, and Rousseau acknowledged him +as his master. In England, Sir Thomas North translated the “Lives” +in 1579, and Holland the “Morals” in 1603, in time to be used by +Shakspeare in his plays, and read by Bacon, Dryden, and Cudworth. + +Then, recently, there has been a remarkable revival, in France, in +the taste for Plutarch and his contemporaries; led, we may say, by +the eminent critic Sainte-Beuve. M. Octave Gréard, in a critical work +on the “Morals,” has carefully corrected the popular legends and +constructed from the works of Plutarch himself his true biography. +M. Levéque has given an exposition of his moral philosophy, under +the title of “A Physician of the Soul,” in the _Revue des Deux +Mondes_; and M. C. Martha, chapters on the genius of Marcus +Aurelius, of Persius, and Lucretius, in the same journal; whilst M. +Fustel de Coulanges has explored from its roots in the Aryan race, then +in their Greek and Roman descendants, the primeval religion of the +household. + +Plutarch occupies a unique place in literature as an encyclopædia of +Greek and Roman antiquity. Whatever is eminent in fact or in fiction, +in opinion, in character, in institutions, in science--natural, moral, +or metaphysical, or in memorable sayings, drew his attention and +came to his pen with more or less fulness of record. He is, among +prose-writers, what Chaucer is among English poets, a repertory for +those who want the story without searching for it at first hand,--a +compend of all accepted traditions. And all this without any supreme +intellectual gifts. He is not a profound mind; not a master in any +science; not a lawgiver, like Lycurgus or Solon; not a metaphysician, +like Parmenides, Plato, or Aristotle; not the founder of any sect +or community, like Pythagoras or Zeno; not a naturalist, like Pliny +or Linnæus; not a leader of the mind of a generation, like Plato or +Goethe. But if he had not the highest powers, he was yet a man of rare +gifts. He had that universal sympathy with genius which makes all its +victories his own; though he never used verse, he had many qualities +of the poet in the power of his imagination, the speed of his mental +associations, and his sharp, objective eyes. But what specially marks +him, he is a chief example of the illumination of the intellect by +the force of morals. Though the most amiable of boon-companions, this +generous religion gives him _aperçus_ like Goethe’s. + +Plutarch was well-born, well-taught, well-conditioned; a +self-respecting, amiable man, who knew how to better a good education +by travels, by devotion to affairs private and public; a master of +ancient culture, he read books with a just criticism; eminently +social, he was a king in his own house, surrounded himself with select +friends, and knew the high value of good conversation; and declares in +a letter written to his wife that “he finds scarcely an erasure, as in +a book well-written, in the happiness of his life.” + +The range of mind makes the glad writer. The reason of Plutarch’s vast +popularity is his humanity. A man of society, of affairs; upright, +practical; a good son, husband, father, and friend,--he has a taste for +common life, and knows the court, the camp and the judgment-hall, but +also the forge, farm, kitchen and cellar, and every utensil and use, +and with a wise man’s or a poet’s eye. Thought defends him from any +degradation. He does not lose his way, for the attractions are from +within, not from without. A poet in verse or prose must have a sensuous +eye, but an intellectual co-perception. Plutarch’s memory is full, and +his horizon wide. Nothing touches man but he feels to be his; he is +tolerant even of vice, if he finds it genial; enough a man of the world +to give even the Devil his due, and would have hugged Robert Burns, +when he cried:-- + + “O wad ye tak’ a thought and mend!” + +He is a philosopher with philosophers, a naturalist with naturalists, +and sufficiently a mathematician to leave some of his readers, now and +then, at a long distance behind him, or respectfully skipping to the +next chapter. But this scholastic omniscience of our author engages a +new respect, since they hope he understands his own diagram. + +He perpetually suggests Montaigne, who was the best reader he has ever +found, though Montaigne excelled his master in the point and surprise +of his sentences. Plutarch had a religion which Montaigne wanted, +and which defends him from wantonness; and though Plutarch is as +plain-spoken, his moral sentiment is always pure. What better praise +has any writer received than he whom Montaigne finds “frank in giving +things, not words,” dryly adding, “it vexes me that he is so exposed +to the spoil of those that are conversant with him.” It is one of the +felicities of literary history, the tie which inseparably couples +these two names across fourteen centuries. Montaigne, whilst he grasps +Étienne de la Boèce with one hand, reaches back the other to Plutarch. +These distant friendships charm us, and honor all the parties, and make +the best example of the universal citizenship and fraternity of the +human mind. + +I do not know where to find a book--to borrow a phrase of Ben +Jonson’s--“so rammed with life,” and this in chapters chiefly ethical, +which are so prone to be heavy and sentimental. No poet could +illustrate his thought with more novel or striking similes or happier +anecdotes. His style is realistic, picturesque and varied; his sharp +objective eyes seeing everything that moves, shines, or threatens in +nature or art, or thought or dreams. Indeed, twilights, shadows, omens +and spectres have a charm for him. He believes in witchcraft and the +evil eye, in demons and ghosts,--but prefers, if you please, to talk +of these in the morning. His vivacity and abundance never leave him to +loiter or pound on an incident. I admire his rapid and crowded style, +as if he had such store of anecdotes of his heroes that he is forced to +suppress more than he recounts, in order to keep up with the hasting +history. + +His surprising merit is the genial facility with which he deals with +his manifold topics. There is no trace of labor or pain. He gossips +of heroes, philosophers and poets; of virtues and genius; of love and +fate and empires. It is for his pleasure that he recites all that is +best in his reading: he prattles history. But he is no courtier, and +no Boswell: he is ever manly, far from fawning, and would be welcome +to the sages and warriors he reports, as one having a native right +to admire and recount these stirring deeds and speeches. I find him +a better teacher of rhetoric than any modern. His superstitions are +poetic, aspiring, affirmative. A poet might rhyme all day with hints +drawn from Plutarch, page on page. No doubt, this superior suggestion +for the modern reader owes much to the foreign air, the Greek wine, +the religion and history of antique heroes. Thebes, Sparta, Athens +and Rome charm us away from the disgust of the passing hour. But his +own cheerfulness and rude health are also magnetic. In his immense +quotation and allusion we quickly cease to discriminate between what +he quotes and what he invents. We sail on his memory into the ports +of every nation, enter into every private property, and do not stop +to discriminate owners, but give him the praise of all. ’Tis all +Plutarch, by right of eminent domain, and all property vests in this +emperor. This facility and abundance make the joy of his narrative, +and he is read to the neglect of more careful historians. Yet he +inspires a curiosity, sometimes makes a necessity, to read them. He +disowns any attempt to rival Thucydides; but I suppose he has a hundred +readers where Thucydides finds one, and Thucydides must often thank +Plutarch for that one. He has preserved for us a multitude of precious +sentences, in prose or verse, of authors whose books are lost; and +these embalmed fragments, through his loving selection alone, have come +to be proverbs of later mankind. I hope it is only my immense ignorance +that makes me believe that they do not survive out of his pages,--not +only Thespis, Polemos, Euphorion, Ariston, Evenus, etc., but fragments +of Menander and Pindar. At all events, it is in reading the fragments +he has saved from lost authors that I have hailed another example of +the sacred care which has unrolled in our times, and still searches +and unrolls _papyri_ from ruined libraries and buried cities, and +has drawn attention to what an ancient might call the politeness of +Fate,--we will say, more advisedly, the benign Providence which uses +the violence of war, of earthquakes and changed water-courses, to save +underground through barbarous ages the relics of ancient art, and thus +allows us to witness the upturning of the alphabets of old races, and +the deciphering of forgotten languages, so to complete the annals of +the forefathers of Asia, Africa and Europe. + +His delight in poetry makes him cite with joy the speech of Gorgias, +“that the tragic poet who deceived was juster than he who deceived not, +and he that was deceived was wiser than he who was not deceived.” + +It is a consequence of this poetic trait in his mind, that I confess +that, in reading him, I embrace the particulars, and carry a faint +memory of the argument or general design of the chapter; but he is not +less welcome, and he leaves the reader with a relish and a necessity +for completing his studies. Many examples might be cited of nervous +expression and happy allusion, that indicate a poet and an orator, +though he is not ambitious of these titles, and cleaves to the security +of prose narrative, and only shows his intellectual sympathy with +these; yet I cannot forbear to cite one or two sentences which none who +reads them will forget. In treating of the style of the Pythian Oracle, +he says:-- + +“Do you not observe, some one will say, what a grace there is in +Sappho’s measures, and how they delight and tickle the ears and fancies +of the hearers? Whereas the Sibyl, with her frantic grimaces, uttering +sentences altogether thoughtful and serious, neither fucused nor +perfumed, continues her voice a thousand years through the favor of the +Divinity that speaks within her.” + +Another gives an insight into his mystic tendencies:-- + +“Early this morning, asking Epaminondas about the manner of Lysis’s +burial, I found that Lysis had taught him as far as the incommunicable +mysteries of our sect, and that the same Dæmon that waited on Lysis, +presided over him, if I can guess at the pilot from the sailing of +the ship. The paths of life are large, but in few are men directed +by the Dæmons. When Theanor had said this, he looked attentively on +Epaminondas, as if he designed a fresh search into his nature and +inclinations.” + +And here is his sentiment on superstition, somewhat condensed in Lord +Bacon’s citation of it: “I had rather a great deal that men should say, +There was no such man at all as Plutarch, than that they should say +that there was one Plutarch that would eat up his children as soon as +they were born, as the poets speak of Saturn.” + +The chapter “On Fortune” should be read by poets, and other wise men; +and the vigor of his pen appears in the chapter “Whether the Athenians +were more Warlike or Learned,” and in his attack upon Usurers. + +There is, of course, a wide difference of time in the writing of these +discourses, and so in their merit. Many of them are mere sketches +or notes for chapters in preparation, which were never digested or +finished. Many are notes for disputations in the lecture-room. His poor +indignation against Herodotus was perhaps a youthful prize essay: it +appeared to me captious and labored; or perhaps, at a rhetorician’s +school, the subject of Herodotus being the lesson of the day, Plutarch +was appointed by lot to take the adverse side. + +The plain-speaking of Plutarch, as of the ancient writers generally, +coming from the habit of writing for one sex only, has a great gain +for brevity, and, in our new tendencies of civilization, may tend to +correct a false delicacy. + +We are always interested in the man who treats the intellect well. +We expect it from the philosopher,--from Plato, Aristotle, Spinoza +and Kant; but we know that metaphysical studies in any but minds of +large horizon and incessant inspiration have their dangers. One asks +sometimes whether a metaphysician can treat the intellect well. The +central fact is the superhuman intelligence, pouring into us from its +unknown fountain, to be received with religious awe, and defended +from any mixture of our will. But this high Muse comes and goes; and +the danger is that, when the Muse is wanting, the student is prone to +supply its place with microscopic subtleties and logomachy. It is fatal +to spiritual health to lose your admiration. “Let others wrangle,” said +St. Augustine; “I will wonder.” Plato and Plotinus are enthusiasts, +who honor the race; but the logic of the sophists and materialists, +whether Greek or French, fills us with disgust. Whilst we expect this +awe and reverence of the spiritual power from the philosopher in his +closet, we praise it in the man of the world;--the man who lives on +quiet terms with existing institutions, yet indicates his perception of +these high oracles; as do Plutarch, Montaigne, Hume and Goethe. These +men lift themselves at once from the vulgar and are not the parasites +of wealth. Perhaps they sometimes compromise, go out to dine, make and +take compliments; but they keep open the source of wisdom and health. +Plutarch is uniformly true to this centre. He had not lost his wonder. +He is a pronounced idealist, who does not hesitate to say, like another +Berkeley, “Matter is itself privation;” and again, “The Sun is the +cause that all men are ignorant of Apollo, by sense withdrawing the +rational intellect from that which is to that which appears.” He thinks +that “souls are naturally endowed with the faculty of prediction;” he +delights in memory, with its miraculous power of resisting time. He +thinks that “Alexander invaded Persia with greater assistance from +Aristotle than from his father Philip.” He thinks that “he who has +ideas of his own is a bad judge of another man’s, it being true that +the Eleans would be the most proper judges of the Olympic games, were +no Eleans gamesters.” He says of Socrates, that he endeavored to bring +reason and things together, and make truth consist with sober sense. He +wonders with Plato at that nail of pain and pleasure which fastens the +body to the mind. The mathematics give him unspeakable pleasure, but he +chiefly liked that proportion which teaches us to account that which is +just, equal; and not that which is equal, just. + +Of philosophy he is more interested in the results than in the method. +He has a just instinct of the presence of a master, and prefers +to sit as a scholar with Plato, than as a disputant; and, true to +his practical character, he wishes the philosopher not to hide in a +corner, but to commend himself to men of public regards and ruling +genius: “for, if he once possess such a man with principles of honor +and religion, he takes a compendious method, by doing good to one, to +oblige a great part of mankind.” ’Tis a temperance, not an eclecticism, +which makes him adverse to the severe Stoic, or the Gymnosophist, or +Diogenes, or any other extremist. That vice of theirs shall not hinder +him from citing any good word they chance to drop. He is an eclectic +in such sense as Montaigne was,--willing to be an expectant, not a +dogmatist. + +In many of these chapters it is easy to infer the relation between the +Greek philosophers and those who came to them for instruction. This +teaching was no play nor routine, but strict, sincere and affectionate. +The part of each of the class is as important as that of the master. +They are like the base-ball players, to whom the pitcher, the bat, the +catcher and the scout are equally important. And Plutarch thought, with +Ariston, “that neither a bath nor a lecture served any purpose, unless +they were purgative.” Plutarch has such a keen pleasure in realities +that he has none in verbal disputes; he is impatient of sophistry, and +despises the Epicharmian disputations: as, that he who ran in debt +yesterday owes nothing to-day, as being another man; so, he that was +yesterday invited to supper, the next night comes an unbidden guest, +for that he is quite another person. + +Except as historical curiosities, little can be said in behalf of +the scientific value of the “Opinions of the Philosophers,” the +“Questions” and the “Symposiacs.” They are, for the most part, very +crude opinions; many of them so puerile that one would believe that +Plutarch in his haste adopted the notes of his younger auditors, some +of them jocosely misreporting the dogma of the professor, who laid them +aside as _memoranda_ for future revision, which he never gave, +and they were posthumously published. Now and then there are hints of +superior science. You may cull from this record of barbarous guesses +of shepherds and travellers, statements that are predictions of facts +established in modern science. Usually, when Thales, Anaximenes or +Anaximander are quoted, it is really a good judgment. The explanation +of the rainbow, of the floods of the Nile, and of the _remora_, +etc., are just; and the bad guesses are not worse than many of Lord +Bacon’s. + +His Natural History is that of a lover and poet, and not of a +physicist. His humanity stooped affectionately to trace the virtues +which he loved in the animals also. “Knowing and not knowing is the +affirmative or negative of the dog; knowing you is to be your friend; +not knowing you, your enemy.” He quotes Thucydides’ saying that “not +the desire of honor only never grows old, but much less also the +inclination to society and affection to the State, which continue even +in ants and bees to the very last.” + +But, though curious in the questions of the schools on the nature and +genesis of things, his extreme interest in every trait of character, +and his broad humanity, lead him constantly to Morals, to the study of +the Beautiful and Good. Hence his love of heroes, his rule of life, +and his clear convictions of the high destiny of the soul. La Harpe +said that “Plutarch is the genius the most naturally moral that ever +existed.” + +’Tis almost inevitable to compare Plutarch with Seneca, who, born fifty +years earlier, was for many years his contemporary, though they never +met, and their writings were perhaps unknown to each other. Plutarch +is genial, with an endless interest in all human and divine things; +Seneca, a professional philosopher, a writer of sentences, and, though +he keep a sublime path, is less interesting, because less humane; and +when we have shut his book, we forget to open it again. There is a +certain violence in his opinions, and want of sweetness. He lacks the +sympathy of Plutarch. He is tiresome through perpetual didactics. +He is not happily living. Cannot the simple lover of truth enjoy the +virtues of those he meets, and the virtues suggested by them, so to +find himself at some time purely contented? Seneca was still more a man +of the world than Plutarch; and, by his conversation with the Court +of Nero, and his own skill, like Voltaire’s, of living with men of +business and emulating their address in affairs by great accumulation +of his own property, learned to temper his philosophy with facts. He +ventured far,--apparently too far,--for so keen a conscience as he +only had. Yet we owe to that wonderful moralist illustrious maxims; as +if the scarlet vices of the times of Nero had the natural effect of +driving virtue to its loftiest antagonisms. “Seneca,” says L’Estrange, +“was a pagan Christian, and is very good reading for our Christian +pagans.” He was Buddhist in his cold abstract virtue, with a certain +impassibility beyond humanity. He called pity, “that fault of narrow +souls.” Yet what noble words we owe to him: “God divided man into men, +that they might help each other;” and again, “The good man differs from +God in nothing but duration.” His thoughts are excellent, if only he +had the right to say them. Plutarch, meantime, with every virtue under +heaven, thought it the top of wisdom to philosophize yet not appear to +do it, and to reach in mirth the same ends which the most serious are +proposing. + +Plutarch thought “truth to be the greatest good that man can receive, +and the goodliest blessing that God can give.” “When you are persuaded +in your mind that you cannot either offer or perform anything more +agreeable to the gods than the entertaining a right notion of them, you +will then avoid superstition as a no less evil than atheism.” He cites +Euripides to affirm, “If gods do aught dishonest, they are no gods,” +and the memorable words of Antigone, in Sophocles, concerning the moral +sentiment:-- + + “For neither now nor yesterday began + These thoughts, which have been ever, nor yet can + A man be found who their first entrance knew.” + +His faith in the immortality of the soul is another measure of his deep +humanity. He reminds his friends that the Delphic oracles have given +several answers the same in substance as that formerly given to Corax +the Naxian:-- + + “It sounds profane impiety + To teach that human souls e’er die.” + +He believes that the doctrine of the Divine Providence, and that of the +immortality of the soul, rest on one and the same basis. He thinks it +impossible either that a man beloved of the gods should not be happy, +or that a wise and just man should not be beloved of the gods. To him +the Epicureans are hateful, who held that the soul perishes when it is +separated from the body. “The soul, incapable of death, suffers in the +same manner in the body, as birds that are kept in a cage.” He believes +“that the souls of infants pass immediately into a better and more +divine state.” + +I can easily believe that an anxious soul may find in Plutarch’s +chapter called “Pleasure not attainable by Epicurus,” and his “Letter +to his Wife Timoxena,” a more sweet and reassuring argument on the +immortality than in the Phædo of Plato; for Plutarch always addresses +the question on the human side, and not on the metaphysical; as Walter +Scott took hold of boys and young men, in England and America, and +through them of their fathers. His grand perceptions of duty lead him +to his stern delight in heroism; a stoic resistance to low indulgence; +to a fight with fortune; a regard for truth; his love of Sparta, +and of heroes like Aristides, Phocion and Cato. He insists that the +highest good is in action. He thinks that the inhabitants of Asia came +to be vassals to one, only for not having been able to pronounce one +syllable; which is, No. So keen is his sense of allegiance to right +reason, that he makes a fight against Fortune whenever she is named. At +Rome he thinks her wings were clipped: she stood no longer on a ball, +but on a cube as large as Italy. He thinks it was by superior virtue +that Alexander won his battles in Asia and Africa, and the Greeks +theirs against Persia. + +But this Stoic in his fight with Fortune, with vices, effeminacy and +indolence, is gentle as a woman when other strings are touched. He is +the most amiable of men. “To erect a trophy in the soul against anger +is that which none but a great and victorious puissance is able to +achieve.”--“Anger turns the mind out of doors, and bolts the door.” +He has a tenderness almost to tears when he writes on “Friendship,” +on the “Training of Children,” and on the “Love of Brothers.” “There +is no treasure,” he says, “parents can give to their children, like +a brother; ’tis a friend given by nature, a gift nothing can supply; +once lost, not to be replaced. The Arcadian prophet, of whom Herodotus +speaks, was obliged to make a wooden foot in place of that which had +been chopped off. A brother, embroiled with his brother, going to seek +in the street a stranger who can take his place, resembles him who will +cut off his foot to give himself one of wood.” + +All his judgments are noble. He thought, with Epicurus, that it is more +delightful to do than to receive a kindness. “This courteous, gentle, +and benign disposition and behavior is not so acceptable, so obliging +or delightful to any of those with whom we converse, as it is to those +who have it.” There is really no limit to his bounty: “It would be +generous to lend our eyes and ears, nay, if possible, our reason and +fortitude to others, whilst we are idle or asleep.” His excessive and +fanciful humanity reminds one of Charles Lamb, whilst it much exceeds +him. When the guests are gone, he “would leave one lamp burning, only +as a sign of the respect he bore to fires, for nothing so resembles +an animal as fire. It is moved and nourished by itself, and by its +brightness, like the soul, discovers and makes everything apparent, and +in its quenching shows some power that seems to proceed from a vital +principle, for it makes a noise and resists, like an animal dying, +or violently slaughtered;” and he praises the Romans, who, when the +feast was over, “dealt well with the lamps, and did not take away the +nourishment they had given, but permitted them to live and shine by it.” + +I can almost regret that the learned editor of the present +republication has not preserved, if only as a piece of history, +the preface of Mr. Morgan, the editor and in part writer of this +Translation of 1718. In his dedication of the work to the Archbishop +of Canterbury, Wm. Wake, he tells the Primate that “Plutarch was the +wisest man of his age, and, if he had been a Christian, one of the +best too; _but it was his severe fate to flourish in those days of +ignorance, which, ’tis a favorable opinion to hope that the Almighty +will sometime wink at; that our souls may be with these philosophers +together in the same state of bliss_.” The puzzle in the worthy +translator’s mind between his theology and his reason well reappears in +the puzzle of his sentence. + +I know that the chapter of “Apothegms of Noble Commanders” is rejected +by some critics as not a genuine work of Plutarch; but the matter is +good, and is so agreeable to his taste and genius, that if he had found +it, he would have adopted it. If he did not compile the piece, many, +perhaps most of the anecdotes were already scattered in his works. +If I do not lament that a work not his should be ascribed to him, I +regret that he should have suffered such destruction of his own. What +a trilogy is lost to mankind in his Lives of Scipio, Epaminondas, and +Pindar! + +His delight in magnanimity and self-sacrifice has made his books, like +Homer’s Iliad, a bible for heroes; and wherever the Cid is relished, +the legends of Arthur, Saxon Alfred and Richard the Lion-hearted, +Robert Bruce, Sydney, Lord Herbert of Cherbury, Cromwell, Nelson, +Bonaparte, and Walter Scott’s Chronicles in prose or verse,--there +will Plutarch, who told the story of Leonidas, of Agesilaus, of +Aristides, Phocion, Themistocles, Demosthenes, Epaminondas, Cæsar, Cato +and the rest, sit as the bestower of the crown of noble knighthood, and +laureate of the ancient world. + +The chapters “On the Fortune of Alexander,” in the “Morals,” are +an important appendix to the portrait in the “Lives.” The union in +Alexander of sublime courage with the refinement of his pure tastes, +making him the carrier of civilization into the East, are in the +spirit of the ideal hero, and endeared him to Plutarch. That prince +kept Homer’s poems not only for himself under his pillow in his tent, +but carried these for the delight of the Persian youth, and made them +acquainted also with the tragedies of Euripides and Sophocles. He +persuaded the Sogdians not to kill, but to cherish their aged parents; +the Persians to reverence, not marry their mothers; the Scythians to +bury and not eat their dead parents. What a fruit and fitting monument +of his best days was his city Alexandria, to be the birthplace or home +of Plotinus, St. Augustine, Synesius, Posidonius, Ammonius, Jamblichus, +Porphyry, Origen, Aratus, Apollonius and Apuleius. + +If Plutarch delighted in heroes, and held the balance between the +severe Stoic and the indulgent Epicurean, his humanity shines not less +in his intercourse with his personal friends. He was a genial host and +guest, and delighted in bringing chosen companions to the supper-table. +He knew the laws of conversation and the laws of good-fellowship quite +as well as Horace, and has set them down with such candor and grace as +to make them good reading to-day. The guests not invited to a private +board by the entertainer, but introduced by a guest as his companions, +the Greek called _shadows_; and the question is debated whether +it was civil to bring them, and he treats it candidly, but concludes: +“Therefore, when I make an invitation, since it is hard to break the +custom of the place, I give my guests leave to bring shadows; but when +I myself am invited as a shadow, I assure you I refuse to go.” He +has an objection to the introduction of music at feasts. He thought +it wonderful that a man having a muse in his own breast, and all the +pleasantness that would fit an entertainment would have pipes and harps +play, and by that external noise destroy all the sweetness that was +proper and his own. + +I cannot close these notes without expressing my sense of the valuable +service which the Editor has rendered to his Author and to his readers. +Professor Goodwin is a silent benefactor to the book, wherever I have +compared the editions. I did not know how careless and vicious in +parts the old book was, until, in recent reading of the old text, on +coming on anything absurd or unintelligible, I referred to the new +text and found a clear and accurate statement in its place. It is the +vindication of Plutarch. The correction is not only of names of authors +and of places grossly altered or misspelled, but of unpardonable +liberties taken by the translators, whether from negligence or freak. + +One proof of Plutarch’s skill as a writer is that he bears translation +so well. In spite of its carelessness and manifold faults, which, I +doubt not, have tried the patience of its present learned editor and +corrector, I yet confess my enjoyment of this old version, for its +vigorous English style. The work of some forty or fifty University men, +some of them imperfect in their Greek, it is a monument of the English +language at a period of singular vigor and freedom of style. I hope the +Commission of the Philological Society in London, charged with the duty +of preparing a Critical Dictionary, will not overlook these volumes, +which show the wealth of their tongue to greater advantage than many +books of more renown as models. It runs through the whole scale of +conversation in the street, the market, the coffee-house, the law +courts, the palace, the college and the church. There are, no doubt, +many vulgar phrases, and many blunders of the printer; but it is the +speech of business and conversation, and in every tone, from lowest to +highest. + +We owe to these translators many sharp perceptions of the wit and humor +of their author, sometimes even to the adding of the point. I notice +one, which, although the translator has justified his rendering in a +note, the severer criticism of the Editor has not retained. “Were there +not a sun, we might, for all the other stars, pass our days in the +Reverend Dark, as Heraclitus calls it.” I find a humor in the phrase +which might well excuse its doubtful accuracy. + + +It is a service to our Republic to publish a book that can force +ambitious young men, before they mount the platform of the county +conventions, to read the “Laconic Apothegms” and the “Apothegms of +Great Commanders.” If we could keep the secret, and communicate it +only to a few chosen aspirants, we might confide that, by this noble +infiltration, they would easily carry the victory over all competitors. +But, as it was the desire of these old patriots to fill with their +majestic spirit all Sparta or Rome, and not a few leaders only, we +hasten to offer them to the American people. + +Plutarch’s popularity will return in rapid cycles. If over-read in +this decade, so that his anecdotes and opinions become commonplace, +and to-day’s novelties are sought for variety, his sterling values +will presently recall the eye and thought of the best minds, and his +books will be reprinted and read anew by coming generations. And thus +Plutarch will be perpetually rediscovered from time to time as long as +books last. + + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[Footnote 10: This paper was printed as an introduction to Plutarch’s +_Morals_, edited by Professor William W. Goodwin, Boston, 1871.] + + + + + HISTORIC NOTES OF LIFE AND LETTERS IN NEW ENGLAND. + + “OF old things all are over old, + Of good things none are good enough;-- + We’ll show that we can help to frame + A world of other stuff.” + + + FOR Joy and Beauty planted it + With faerie gardens cheered, + And boding Fancy haunted it + With men and women weird. + + + + + HISTORIC NOTES OF LIFE AND LETTERS IN NEW ENGLAND. + + +THE ancient manners were giving way. There grew a certain tenderness on +the people, not before remarked. Children had been repressed and kept +in the background; now they were considered, cosseted and pampered. I +recall the remark of a witty physician who remembered the hardships of +his own youth; he said, “It was a misfortune to have been born when +children were nothing, and to live till men were nothing.” + +There are always two parties, the party of the Past and the party +of the Future; the Establishment and the Movement. At times the +resistance is reanimated, the schism runs under the world and appears +in Literature, Philosophy, Church, State, and social customs. It is +not easy to date these eras of activity with any precision, but in +this region one made itself remarked, say in 1820 and the twenty years +following. + +It seemed a war between intellect and affection; a crack in nature, +which split every church in Christendom into Papal and Protestant; +Calvinism into Old and New schools; Quakerism into Old and New; brought +new divisions in politics; as the new conscience touching temperance +and slavery. The key to the period appeared to be that the mind had +become aware of itself. Men grew reflective and intellectual. There was +a new consciousness. The former generations acted under the belief that +a shining social prosperity was the beatitude of man, and sacrificed +uniformly the citizen to the State. The modern mind believed that the +nation existed for the individual, for the guardianship and education +of every man. This idea, roughly written in revolutions and national +movements, in the mind of the philosopher had far more precision; the +individual is the world. + +This perception is a sword such as was never drawn before. It +divides and detaches bone and marrow, soul and body, yea, almost +the man from himself. It is the age of severance, of dissociation, +of freedom, of analysis, of detachment. Every man for himself. The +public speaker disclaims speaking for any other; he answers only for +himself. The social sentiments are weak; the sentiment of patriotism +is weak; veneration is low; the natural affections feebler than they +were. People grow philosophical about native land and parents and +relations. There is an universal resistance to ties and ligaments +once supposed essential to civil society. The new race is stiff, heady +and rebellious; they are fanatics in freedom; they hate tolls, taxes, +turnpikes, banks, hierarchies, governors, yea, almost laws. They have a +neck of unspeakable tenderness; it winces at a hair. They rebel against +theological as against political dogmas; against mediation, or saints, +or any nobility in the unseen. + +The age tends to solitude. The association of the time is accidental +and momentary and hypocritical, the detachment intrinsic and +progressive. The association is for power, merely,--for means; the end +being the enlargement and independency of the individual. Anciently, +society was in the course of things. There was a Sacred Band, a Theban +Phalanx. There can be none now. College classes, military corps, or +trades-unions may fancy themselves indissoluble for a moment, over +their wine; but it is a painted hoop, and has no girth. The age of +arithmetic and of criticism has set in. The structures of old faith in +every department of society a few centuries have sufficed to destroy. +Astrology, magic, palmistry, are long gone. The very last ghost is +laid. Demonology is on its last legs. Prerogative, government, goes to +pieces day by day. Europe is strewn with wrecks; a constitution once a +week. In social manners and morals the revolution is just as evident. +In the law courts, crimes of fraud have taken the place of crimes of +force. The stockholder has stepped into the place of the warlike baron. +The nobles shall not any longer, as feudal lords, have power of life +and death over the churls, but now, in another shape, as capitalists, +shall in all love and peace eat them up as before. Nay, government +itself becomes the resort of those whom government was invented to +restrain. “Are there any brigands on the road?” inquired the traveller +in France. “Oh, no, set your heart at rest on that point,” said the +landlord; “what should these fellows keep the highway for, when they +can rob just as effectually, and much more at their ease, in the +bureaus of office?” + +In literature the effect appeared in the decided tendency of criticism. +The most remarkable literary work of the age has for its hero and +subject precisely this introversion: I mean the poem of Faust. In +philosophy, Immanuel Kant has made the best catalogue of the human +faculties and the best analysis of the mind. Hegel also, especially. +In science the French _savant_, exact, pitiless, with barometer, +crucible, chemic test and calculus in hand, travels into all nooks and +islands, to weigh, to analyze and report. And chemistry, which is the +analysis of matter, has taught us that we eat gas, drink gas, tread on +gas, and are gas. The same decomposition has changed the whole face +of physics; the like in all arts, modes. Authority falls, in Church, +College, Courts of Law, Faculties, Medicine. Experiment is credible; +antiquity is grown ridiculous. + +It marked itself by a certain predominance of the intellect in the +balance of powers. The warm swart Earth-spirit which made the strength +of past ages, mightier than it knew, with instincts instead of science, +like a mother yielding food from her own breast instead of preparing it +through chemic and culinary skill,--warm negro ages of sentiment and +vegetation,--all gone; another hour had struck and other forms arose. +Instead of the social existence which all shared, was now separation. +Every one for himself; driven to find all his resources, hopes, +rewards, society and deity within himself. + +The young men were born with knives in their brain, a tendency to +introversion, self-dissection, anatomizing of motives. The popular +religion of our fathers had received many severe shocks from the +new times; from the Arminians, which was the current name of the +backsliders from Calvinism, sixty years ago; then from the English +philosophic theologians, Hartley and Priestley and Belsham, the +followers of Locke; and then I should say much later from the slow +but extraordinary influence of Swedenborg; a man of prodigious mind, +though as I think tainted with a certain suspicion of insanity, and +therefore generally disowned, but exerting a singular power over an +important intellectual class; then the powerful influence of the genius +and character of Dr. Channing. + +Germany had created criticism in vain for us until 1820, when Edward +Everett returned from his five years in Europe, and brought to +Cambridge his rich results, which no one was so fitted by natural grace +and the splendor of his rhetoric to introduce and recommend. He made +us for the first time acquainted with Wolff’s theory of the Homeric +writings, with the criticism of Heyne. The novelty of the learning +lost nothing in the skill and genius of his relation, and the rudest +undergraduate found a new morning opened to him in the lecture-room of +Harvard Hall. + +There was an influence on the young people from the genius of Everett +which was almost comparable to that of Pericles in Athens. He had +an inspiration which did not go beyond his head, but which made him +the master of elegance. If any of my readers were at that period in +Boston or Cambridge, they will easily remember his radiant beauty of +person, of a classic style, his heavy large eye, marble lids, which +gave the impression of mass which the slightness of his form needed; +sculptured lips; a voice of such rich tones, such precise and perfect +utterance, that, although slightly nasal, it was the most mellow and +beautiful and correct of all the instruments of the time. The word +that he spoke, in the manner in which he spoke it, became current and +classical in New England. He had a great talent for collecting facts, +and for bringing those he had to bear with ingenious felicity on the +topic of the moment. Let him rise to speak on what occasion soever, a +fact had always just transpired which composed, with some other fact +well known to the audience, the most pregnant and happy coincidence. +It was remarked that for a man who threw out so many facts he was +seldom convicted of a blunder. He had a good deal of special learning, +and all his learning was available for purposes of the hour. It was +all new learning, that wonderfully took and stimulated the young men. +It was so coldly and weightily communicated from so commanding a +platform, as if in the consciousness and consideration of all history +and all learning,--adorned with so many simple and austere beauties +of expression, and enriched with so many excellent digressions and +significant quotations, that, though nothing could be conceived +beforehand less attractive or indeed less fit for green boys from +Connecticut, New Hampshire and Massachusetts, with their unripe Latin +and Greek reading, than exegetical discourses in the style of Voss and +Wolff and Ruhnken, on the Orphic and Ante-Homeric remains,--yet this +learning instantly took the highest place to our imagination in our +unoccupied American Parnassus. All his auditors felt the extreme beauty +and dignity of the manner, and even the coarsest were contented to go +punctually to listen, for the manner, when they had found out that the +subject-matter was not for them. In the lecture-room, he abstained +from all ornament, and pleased himself with the play of detailing +erudition in a style of perfect simplicity. In the pulpit (for he was +then a clergyman) he made amends to himself and his auditor for the +self-denial of the professor’s chair, and, with an infantine simplicity +still, of manner, he gave the reins to his florid, quaint and affluent +fancy. + +Then was exhibited all the richness of a rhetoric which we have never +seen rivalled in this country. Wonderful how memorable were words +made which were only pleasing pictures, and covered no new or valid +thoughts. He abounded in sentences, in wit, in satire, in splendid +allusion, in quotation impossible to forget, in daring imagery, in +parable and even in a sort of defying experiment of his own wit +and skill in giving an oracular weight to Hebrew or Rabbinical +words;--feats which no man could better accomplish, such was his +self-command and the security of his manner. All his speech was +music, and with such variety and invention that the ear was never +tired. Especially beautiful were his poetic quotations. He delighted +in quoting Milton, and with such sweet modulation that he seemed to +give as much beauty as he borrowed; and whatever he has quoted will +be remembered by any who heard him, with inseparable association +with his voice and genius. He had nothing in common with vulgarity +and infirmity, but, speaking, walking, sitting, was as much aloof +and uncommon as a star. The smallest anecdote of his behavior or +conversation was eagerly caught and repeated, and every young scholar +could recite brilliant sentences from his sermons, with mimicry, good +or bad, of his voice. This influence went much farther, for he who was +heard with such throbbing hearts and sparkling eyes in the lighted +and crowded churches, did not let go his hearers when the church was +dismissed, but the bright image of that eloquent form followed the boy +home to his bed-chamber; and not a sentence was written in academic +exercises, not a declamation attempted in the college chapel, but +showed the omnipresence of his genius to youthful heads. This made +every youth his defender, and boys filled their mouths with arguments +to prove that the orator had a heart. This was a triumph of Rhetoric. +It was not the intellectual or the moral principles which he had to +teach. It was not thoughts. When Massachusetts was full of his fame it +was not contended that he had thrown any truths into circulation. But +his power lay in the magic of form; it was in the graces of manner; in +a new perception of Grecian beauty, to which he had opened our eyes. +There was that finish about this person which is about women, and which +distinguishes every piece of genius from the works of talent,--that +these last are more or less matured in every degree of completeness +according to the time bestowed on them, but works of genius in their +first and slightest form are still wholes. In every public discourse +there was nothing left for the indulgence of his hearer, no marks of +late hours and anxious, unfinished study, but the goddess of grace had +breathed on the work a last fragrancy and glitter. + +By a series of lectures largely and fashionably attended for two +winters in Boston he made a beginning of popular literary and +miscellaneous lecturing, which in that region at least had important +results. It is acquiring greater importance every day, and becoming +a national institution. I am quite certain that this purely literary +influence was of the first importance to the American mind. + +In the pulpit Dr. Frothingham, an excellent classical and German +scholar, had already made us acquainted, if prudently, with the genius +of Eichhorn’s theologic criticism. And Professor Norton a little later +gave form and method to the like studies in the then infant Divinity +School. But I think the paramount source of the religious revolution +was Modern Science; beginning with Copernicus, who destroyed the pagan +fictions of the Church, by showing mankind that the earth on which we +live was not the centre of the Universe, around which the sun and stars +revolved every day, and thus fitted to be the platform on which the +Drama of the Divine Judgment was played before the assembled Angels of +Heaven,--“the scaffold of the divine vengeance” Saurin called it,--but +a little scrap of a planet, rushing round the sun in our system, +which in turn was too minute to be seen at the distance of many stars +which we behold. Astronomy taught us our insignificance in Nature; +showed that our sacred as our profane history had been written in +gross ignorance of the laws, which were far grander than we knew; and +compelled a certain extension and uplifting of our views of the Deity +and his Providence. This correction of our superstitions was confirmed +by the new science of Geology, and the whole train of discoveries in +every department. But we presently saw also that the religious nature +in man was not affected by these errors in his understanding. The +religious sentiment made nothing of bulk or size, or far or near; +triumphed over time as well as space; and every lesson of humility, or +justice, or charity, which the old ignorant saints had taught him, was +still forever true. + +Whether from these influences, or whether by a reaction of the general +mind against the too formal science, religion and social life of the +earlier period,--there was, in the first quarter of our nineteenth +century, a certain sharpness of criticism, an eagerness for reform, +which showed itself in every quarter. It appeared in the popularity +of Lavater’s Physiognomy, now almost forgotten. Gall and Spurzheim’s +Phrenology laid a rough hand on the mysteries of animal and spiritual +nature, dragging down every sacred secret to a street show. The attempt +was coarse and odious to scientific men, but had a certain truth in it; +it felt connection where the professors denied it, and was a leading +to a truth which had not yet been announced. On the heels of this +intruder came Mesmerism, which broke into the inmost shrines, attempted +the explanation of miracle and prophecy, as well as of creation. What +could be more revolting to the contemplative philosopher! But a certain +success attended it, against all expectation. It was human, it was +genial, it affirmed unity and connection between remote points, and +as such was excellent criticism on the narrow and dead classification +of what passed for science; and the joy with which it was greeted +was an instinct of the people which no true philosopher would fail to +profit by. But while society remained in doubt between the indignation +of the old school and the audacity of the new, a higher note sounded. +Unexpected aid from high quarters came to iconoclasts. The German +poet Goethe revolted against the science of the day, against French +and English science, declared war against the great name of Newton, +proposed his own new and simple optics: in Botany, his simple theory +of metamorphosis;--the eye of a leaf is all; every part of the plant +from root to fruit is only a modified leaf, the branch of a tree is +nothing but a leaf whose serratures have become twigs. He extended this +into anatomy and animal life, and his views were accepted. The revolt +became a revolution. Schelling and Oken introduced their ideal natural +philosophy, Hegel his metaphysics, and extended it to Civil History. + +The result in literature and the general mind was a return to law; +in science, in politics, in social life; as distinguished from the +profligate manners and politics of earlier times. The age was moral. +Every immorality is a departure from nature, and is punished by natural +loss and deformity. The popularity of Combe’s Constitution of Man; +the humanity which was the aim of all the multitudinous works of +Dickens; the tendency even of Punch’s caricature, was all on the side +of the people. There was a breath of new air, much vague expectation, a +consciousness of power not yet finding its determinate aim. + +I attribute much importance to two papers of Dr. Channing, one on +Milton and one on Napoleon, which were the first specimens in this +country of that large criticism which in England had given power and +fame to the Edinburgh Review. They were widely read, and of course +immediately fruitful in provoking emulation which lifted the style of +Journalism. Dr. Channing, whilst he lived, was the star of the American +Church, and we then thought, if we do not still think, that he left +no successor in the pulpit. He could never be reported, for his eye +and voice could not be printed, and his discourses lose their best in +losing them. He was made for the public; his cold temperament made him +the most unprofitable private companion; but all America would have +been impoverished in wanting him. We could not then spare a single word +he uttered in public, not so much as the reading a lesson in Scripture, +or a hymn, and it is curious that his printed writings are almost a +history of the times; as there was no great public interest, political, +literary, or even economical (for he wrote on the Tariff), on which he +did not leave some printed record of his brave and thoughtful opinion. +A poor little invalid all his life, he is yet one of those men who +vindicate the power of the American race to produce greatness. + +Dr. Channing took counsel in 1840 with George Ripley, to the point +whether it were possible to bring cultivated, thoughtful people +together, and make society that deserved the name. He had earlier +talked with Dr. John Collins Warren on the like purpose, who admitted +the wisdom of the design and undertook to aid him in making the +experiment. Dr. Channing repaired to Dr. Warren’s house on the +appointed evening, with large thoughts which he wished to open. He +found a well-chosen assembly of gentlemen variously distinguished; +there was mutual greeting and introduction, and they were chatting +agreeably on indifferent matters and drawing gently towards their great +expectation, when a side-door opened, the whole company streamed in to +an oyster supper, crowned by excellent wines; and so ended the first +attempt to establish æsthetic society in Boston. + +Some time afterwards Dr. Channing opened his mind to Mr. and Mrs. +Ripley, and with some care they invited a limited party of ladies +and gentlemen. I had the honor to be present. Though I recall the +fact, I do not retain any instant consequence of this attempt, or any +connection between it and the new zeal of the friends who at that time +began to be drawn together by sympathy of studies and of aspiration. +Margaret Fuller, George Ripley, Dr. Convers Francis, Theodore Parker, +Dr. Hedge, Mr. Brownson, James Freeman Clarke, William H. Channing, +and many others, gradually drew together and from time to time spent +an afternoon at each other’s houses in a serious conversation. With +them was always one well-known form, a pure idealist, not at all a +man of letters, nor of any practical talent, nor a writer of books; a +man quite too cold and contemplative for the alliances of friendship, +with rare simplicity and grandeur of perception, who read Plato as an +equal, and inspired his companions only in proportion as they were +intellectual,--whilst the men of talent complained of the want of point +and precision in this abstract and religious thinker. + +These fine conversations, of course, were incomprehensible to some +in the company, and they had their revenge in their little joke. +One declared that “It seemed to him like going to heaven in a +swing;” another reported that, at a knotty point in the discourse, +a sympathizing Englishman with a squeaking voice interrupted with +the question, “Mr. Alcott, a lady near me desires to inquire whether +omnipotence abnegates attribute?” + +I think there prevailed at that time a general belief in Boston that +there was some concert of _doctrinaires_ to establish certain +opinions and inaugurate some movement in literature, philosophy, +and religion, of which design the supposed conspirators were quite +innocent; for there was no concert, and only here and there two or +three men or women who read and wrote, each alone, with unusual +vivacity. Perhaps they only agreed in having fallen upon Coleridge and +Wordsworth and Goethe, then on Carlyle, with pleasure and sympathy. +Otherwise, their education and reading were not marked, but had the +American superficialness, and their studies were solitary. I suppose +all of them were surprised at this rumor of a school or sect, and +certainly at the name of Transcendentalism, given nobody knows by whom, +or when it was first applied. As these persons became in the common +chances of society acquainted with each other, there resulted certainly +strong friendships, which of course were exclusive in proportion to +their heat: and perhaps those persons who were mutually the best +friends were the most private and had no ambition of publishing their +letters, diaries, or conversation. + +From that time meetings were held for conversation, with very little +form, from house to house, of people engaged in studies, fond of books, +and watchful of all the intellectual light from whatever quarter +it flowed. Nothing could be less formal, yet the intelligence and +character and varied ability of the company gave it some notoriety and +perhaps waked curiosity as to its aims and results. + +Nothing more serious came of it than the modest quarterly journal +called “The Dial” which, under the editorship of Margaret Fuller, +and later of some other, enjoyed its obscurity for four years. All +its papers were unpaid contributions, and it was rather a work of +friendship among the narrow circle of students than the organ of any +party. Perhaps its writers were its chief readers: yet it contained +some noble papers by Margaret Fuller, and some numbers had an instant +exhausting sale, because of papers by Theodore Parker. + +Theodore Parker was our Savonarola, an excellent scholar, in frank +and affectionate communication with the best minds of his day, yet +the tribune of the people, and the stout Reformer to urge and defend +every cause of humanity with and for the humblest of mankind. He was no +artist. Highly refined persons might easily miss in him the element of +beauty. What he said was mere fact, almost offended you, so bald and +detached; little cared he. He stood altogether for practical truth; and +so to the last. He used every day and hour of his short life, and his +character appeared in the last moments with the same firm control as +in the mid-day of strength. I habitually apply to him the words of a +French philosopher who speaks of “the man of Nature who abominates the +steam-engine and the factory. His vast lungs breathe independence with +the air of the mountains and the woods.” + +The vulgar politician disposed of this circle cheaply as “the +sentimental class.” State Street had an instinct that they invalidated +contracts and threatened the stability of stocks; and it did not +fancy brusque manners. Society always values, even in its teachers, +inoffensive people, susceptible of conventional polish. The clergyman +who would live in the city _may_ have piety, but _must_ +have taste, whilst there was often coming, among these, some John the +Baptist, wild from the woods, rude, hairy, careless of dress and quite +scornful of the etiquette of cities. There was a pilgrim in those days +walking in the country who stopped at every door where he hoped to find +hearing for his doctrine, which was, Never to give or receive money. +He was a poor printer, and explained with simple warmth the belief of +himself and five or six young men with whom he agreed in opinion, of +the vast mischief of our insidious coin. He thought every one should +labor at some necessary product, and as soon as he had made more than +enough for himself, were it corn, or paper, or cloth, or boot-jacks, +he should give of the commodity to any applicant, and in turn go to +his neighbor for any article which he had to spare. Of course we +were curious to know how he sped in his experiments on the neighbor, +and his anecdotes were interesting, and often highly creditable. +But he had the courage which so stern a return to Arcadian manners +required, and had learned to sleep, in cold nights, when the farmer at +whose door he knocked declined to give him a bed, on a wagon covered +with the buffalo-robe under the shed,--or under the stars, when the +farmer denied the shed and the buffalo-robe. I think he persisted for +two years in his brave practice, but did not enlarge his church of +believers. + +These reformers were a new class. Instead of the fiery souls of the +Puritans, bent on hanging the Quaker, burning the witch and banishing +the Romanist, these were gentle souls, with peaceful and even with +genial dispositions, casting sheep’s-eyes even on Fourier and his +houris. It was a time when the air was full of reform. Robert Owen of +Lanark came hither from England in 1845, and read lectures or held +conversations wherever he found listeners; the most amiable, sanguine +and candid of men. He had not the least doubt that he had hit on a +right and perfect socialism, or that all mankind would adopt it. He +was then seventy years old, and being asked, “Well, Mr. Owen, who is +your disciple? How many men are there possessed of your views who +will remain after you are gone, to put them in practice?” “Not one,” +was his reply. Robert Owen knew Fourier in his old age. He said that +Fourier learned of him all the truth he had; the rest of his system +was imagination, and the imagination of a banker. Owen made the best +impression by his rare benevolence. His love of men made us forget his +“Three Errors.” His charitable construction of men and their actions +was invariable. He was the better Christian in his controversy with +Christians, and he interpreted with great generosity the acts of the +“Holy Alliance,” and Prince Metternich, with whom the persevering +_doctrinaire_ had obtained interviews; “Ah,” he said, “you may +depend on it there are as tender hearts and as much good will to serve +men, in palaces, as in colleges.” + +And truly I honor the generous ideas of the Socialists, the +magnificence of their theories, and the enthusiasm with which they +have been urged. They appeared the inspired men of their time. Mr. +Owen preached his doctrine of labor and reward, with the fidelity and +devotion of a saint, to the slow ears of his generation. Fourier, +almost as wonderful an example of the mathematical mind of France as La +Place or Napoleon, turned a truly vast arithmetic to the question of +social misery, and has put men under the obligation which a generous +mind always confers, of conceiving magnificent hopes and making great +demands as the right of man. He took his measure of that which all +should and might enjoy, from no soup-society or charity-concert, but +from the refinements of palaces, the wealth of universities, and the +triumphs of artists. He thought nobly. A man is entitled to pure air, +and to the air of good conversation in his bringing up, and not, as +we or so many of us, to the poor-smell and musty chambers, cats and +fools. Fourier carried a whole French Revolution in his head, and much +more. Here was arithmetic on a huge scale. His ciphering goes where +ciphering never went before, namely, into stars, atmospheres, and +animals, and men and women, and classes of every character. It was the +most entertaining of French romances, and could not but suggest vast +possibilities of reform to the coldest and least sanguine. + +We had an opportunity of learning something of these Socialists and +their theory, from the indefatigable apostle of the sect in New York, +Albert Brisbane. Mr. Brisbane pushed his doctrine with all the force +of memory, talent, honest faith and importunacy. As we listened to his +exposition it appeared to us the sublime of mechanical philosophy; for +the system was the perfection of arrangement and contrivance. The force +of arrangement could no farther go. The merit of the plan was that it +was a system; that it had not the partiality and hint-and-fragment +character of most popular schemes, but was coherent and comprehensive +of facts to a wonderful degree. It was not daunted by distance, or +magnitude, or remoteness of any sort, but strode about nature with +a giant’s step, and skipped no fact, but wove its large Ptolemaic +web of cycle and epicycle, of phalanx and phalanstery, with laudable +assiduity. Mechanics were pushed so far as fairly to meet spiritualism. +One could not but be struck with strange coincidences betwixt Fourier +and Swedenborg. Genius hitherto has been shamefully misapplied, a +mere trifler. It must now set itself to raise the social condition +of man and to redress the disorders of the planet he inhabits. The +Desert of Sahara, the Campagna di Roma, the frozen Polar circles, +which by their pestilential or hot or cold airs poison the temperate +regions, accuse man. Society, concert, co-operation, is the secret of +the coming Paradise. By reason of the isolation of men at the present +day, all work is drudgery. By concert and the allowing each laborer to +choose his own work, it becomes pleasure. “Attractive Industry” would +speedily subdue, by adventurous scientific and persistent tillage, the +pestilential tracts; would equalize temperature, give health to the +globe and cause the earth to yield “healthy imponderable fluids” to the +solar system, as now it yields noxious fluids. The hyæna, the jackal, +the gnat, the bug, the flea, were all beneficent parts of the system; +the good Fourier knew what those creatures should have been, had not +the mould slipped, through the bad state of the atmosphere; caused +no doubt by the same vicious imponderable fluids. All these shall be +redressed by human culture, and the useful goat and dog and innocent +poetical moth, or the wood-tick to consume decomposing wood, shall take +their place. It takes sixteen hundred and eighty men to make one Man, +complete in all the faculties; that is, to be sure that you have got a +good joiner, a good cook, a barber, a poet, a judge, an umbrella-maker, +a mayor and alderman, and so on. Your community should consist of two +thousand persons, to prevent accidents of omission; and each community +should take up six thousand acres of land. Now fancy the earth planted +with fifties and hundreds of these phalanxes side by side,--what +tillage, what architecture, what refectories, what dormitories, what +reading-rooms, what concerts, what lectures, what gardens, what baths! +What is not in one will be in another, and many will be within easy +distance. Then know you one and all, that Constantinople is the natural +capital of the globe. There, in the Golden Horn, will the Arch-Phalanx +be established; there will the Omniarch reside. Aladdin and his +magician, or the beautiful Scheherezade can alone, in these prosaic +times before the sight, describe the material splendors collected +there. Poverty shall be abolished; deformity, stupidity and crime +shall be no more. Genius, grace, art, shall abound, and it is not to +be doubted but that in the reign of “Attractive Industry” all men will +speak in blank verse. + +Certainly we listened with great pleasure to such gay and magnificent +pictures. The ability and earnestness of the advocate and his friends, +the comprehensiveness of their theory, its apparent directness of +proceeding to the end they would secure, the indignation they felt +and uttered in the presence of so much social misery, commanded our +attention and respect. It contained so much truth, and promised in the +attempts that shall be made to realize it so much valuable instruction, +that we are engaged to observe every step of its progress. Yet in +spite of the assurances of its friends that it was new and widely +discriminated from all other plans for the regeneration of society, +we could not exempt it from the criticism which we apply to so many +projects for reform with which the brain of the age teems. Our feeling +was that Fourier had skipped no fact but one, namely Life. He treats +man as a plastic thing, something that may be put up or down, ripened +or retarded, moulded, polished, made into solid or fluid or gas, at +the will of the leader; or perhaps as a vegetable, from which, though +now a poor crab, a very good peach can by manure and exposure be in +time produced,--but skips the faculty of life, which spawns and scorns +system and system-makers; which eludes all conditions; which makes or +supplants a thousand phalanxes and New Harmonies with each pulsation. +There is an order in which in a sound mind the faculties always appear, +and which, according to the strength of the individual, they seek to +realize in the surrounding world. The value of Fourier’s system is +that it is a statement of such an order externized, or carried outward +into its correspondence in facts. The mistake is that this particular +order and series is to be imposed, by force or preaching and votes, on +all men, and carried into rigid execution. But what is true and good +must not only be begun by life, but must be conducted to its issues by +life. Could not the conceiver of this design have also believed that a +similar model lay in every mind, and that the method of each associate +might be trusted, as well as that of his particular Committee and +General Office, No. 200 Broadway? Nay, that it would be better to say, +Let us be lovers and servants of that which is just, and straightway +every man becomes a centre of a holy and beneficent republic, which he +sees to include all men in its law, like that of Plato, and of Christ. +Before such a man the whole world becomes Fourierized or Christized or +humanized, and in obedience to his most private being he finds himself, +according to his presentiment, though against all sensuous probability, +acting in strict concert with all others who followed their private +light. + +Yet, in a day of small, sour and fierce schemes, one is admonished +and cheered by a project of such friendly aims and of such bold and +generous proportion; there is an intellectual courage and strength in +it which is superior and commanding; it certifies the presence of so +much truth in the theory, and in so far is destined to be fact. + +It argued singular courage, the adoption of Fourier’s system, to even a +limited extent, with his books lying before the world only defended by +the thin veil of the French language. The Stoic said, Forbear, Fourier +said, Indulge. Fourier was of the opinion of St. Evremond; abstinence +from pleasure appeared to him a great sin. Fourier was very French +indeed. He labored under a misapprehension of the nature of women. The +Fourier marriage was a calculation how to secure the greatest amount of +kissing that the infirmity of human constitution admitted. It was false +and prurient, full of absurd French superstitions about women; ignorant +how serious and how moral their nature always is; how chaste is their +organization; how lawful a class. + +It is the worst of community that it must inevitably transform into +charlatans the leaders, by the endeavor continually to meet the +expectation and admiration of this eager crowd of men and women seeking +they know not what. Unless he have a Cossack roughness of clearing +himself of what belongs not, charlatan he must be. + +It was easy to see what must be the fate of this fine system in any +serious and comprehensive attempt to set it on foot in this country. As +soon as our people got wind of the doctrine of Marriage held by this +master, it would fall at once into the hands of a lawless crew who +would flock in troops to so fair a game, and, like the dreams of poetic +people on the first outbreak of the old French Revolution, so theirs +would disappear in a slime of mire and blood. + +There is of course to every theory a tendency to run to an extreme, +and to forget the limitations. In our free institutions, where every +man is at liberty to choose his home and his trade, and all possible +modes of working and gaining are open to him, fortunes are easily made +by thousands, as in no other country. Then property proves too much +for the man, and the men of science, art, intellect, are pretty sure +to degenerate into selfish housekeepers, dependent on wine, coffee, +furnace-heat, gas-light and fine furniture. Then instantly things +swing the other way, and we suddenly find that civilization crowed +too soon; that what we bragged as triumphs were treacheries: that we +have opened the wrong door and let the enemy into the castle; that +civilization was a mistake; that nothing is so vulgar as a great +warehouse of rooms full of furniture and trumpery; that, in the +circumstances, the best wisdom were an auction or a fire. Since the +foxes and the birds have the right of it, with a warm hole to keep +out the weather, and no more,--a pent-house to fend the sun and rain +is the house which lays no tax on the owner’s time and thoughts, and +which he can leave, when the sun is warm, and defy the robber. This +was Thoreau’s doctrine, who said that the Fourierists had a sense of +duty which led them to devote themselves to their second-best. And +Thoreau gave in flesh and blood and pertinacious Saxon belief the +purest ethics. He was more real and practically believing in them than +any of his company, and fortified you at all times with an affirmative +experience which refused to be set aside. Thoreau was in his own +person a practical answer, almost a refutation, to the theories of the +socialists. He required no Phalanx, no Government, no society, almost +no memory. He lived extempore from hour to hour, like the birds and +the angels; brought every day a new proposition, as revolutionary as +that of yesterday, but different: the only man of leisure in his town; +and his independence made all others look like slaves. He was a good +Abbot Sampson, and carried a counsel in his breast. “Again and again I +congratulate myself on my so-called poverty, I could not overstate this +advantage.” “What you call bareness and poverty, is to me simplicity. +God could not be unkind to me if he should try. I love best to have +each thing in its season only, and enjoy doing without it at all other +times. It is the greatest of all advantages to enjoy no advantage at +all. I have never got over my surprise that I should have been born +into the most estimable place in all the world, and in the very nick of +time too.” There’s an optimist for you. + +I regard these philanthropists as themselves the effects of the age +in which we live, and, in common with so many other good facts, +the efflorescence of the period, and predicting a good fruit that +ripens. They were not the creators they believed themselves, but they +were unconscious prophets of a true state of society; one which the +tendencies of nature lead unto, one which always establishes itself +for the sane soul, though not in that manner in which they paint it; +but they were describers of that which is really being done. The large +cities are phalansteries; and the theorists drew all their argument +from facts already taking place in our experience. The cheap way is +to make every man do what he was born for. One merchant to whom I +described the Fourier project, thought it must not only succeed, but +that agricultural association must presently fix the price of bread, +and drive single farmers into association in self-defence, as the great +commercial and manufacturing companion had done. Society in England +and in America is trying the experiment again in small pieces, in +co-operative associations, in cheap eating-houses, as well as in the +economies of club-houses and in cheap reading-rooms. + +It chanced that here in one family were two brothers, one a brilliant +and fertile inventor, and close by him his own brother, a man of +business, who knew how to direct his faculty and make it instantly and +permanently lucrative. Why could not the like partnership be formed +between the inventor and the man of executive talent everywhere? Each +man of thought is surrounded by wiser men than he, if they cannot +write as well. Cannot he and they combine? Talents supplement each +other. Beaumont and Fletcher and many French novelists have known how +to utilize such partnerships. Why not have a larger one, and with more +various members? + +Housekeepers say, “There are a thousand things to everything,” and +if one must study all the strokes to be laid, all the faults to be +shunned in a building or work of art, of its keeping, its composition, +its site, its color, there would be no end. But the architect, acting +under a necessity to build the house for its purpose, finds himself +helped, he knows not how, into all these merits of detail, and +steering clear, though in the dark, of those dangers which might have +shipwrecked him. + + + BROOK FARM. + + +The West Roxbury association was formed in 1841, by a society of +members, men and women, who bought a farm in West Roxbury, of about two +hundred acres, and took possession of the place in April. Mr. George +Ripley was the President, and I think Mr. Charles Dana (afterwards +well known as one of the editors of the New York Tribune), was the +secretary. Many members took shares by paying money, others held +shares by their labor. An old house on the place was enlarged, and +three new houses built. William Allen was at first and for some time +the head farmer, and the work was distributed in orderly committees to +the men and women. There were many employments more or less lucrative +found for, or brought hither by these members,--shoemakers, joiners, +sempstresses. They had good scholars among them, and so received pupils +for their education. The parents of the children in some instances +wished to live there, and were received as boarders. Many persons +attracted by the beauty of the place and the culture and ambition of +the community, joined them as boarders, and lived there for years. I +think the numbers of this mixed community soon reached eighty or ninety +souls. + +It was a noble and generous movement in the projectors, to try an +experiment of better living. They had the feeling that our ways of +living were too conventional and expensive, not allowing each to do +what he had a talent for, and not permitting men to combine cultivation +of mind and heart with a reasonable amount of daily labor. At the same +time, it was an attempt to lift others with themselves, and to share +the advantages they should attain, with others now deprived of them. + +There was no doubt great variety of character and purpose in +the members of the community. It consisted in the main of young +people,--few of middle age, and none old. Those who inspired and +organized it were of course persons impatient of the routine, +the uniformity, perhaps they would say, the squalid contentment +of society around them; which was so timid and skeptical of any +progress. One would say then that impulse was the rule in the society, +without centripetal balance; perhaps it would not be severe to say, +intellectual sans-culottism, an impatience of the formal, routinary +character of our educational, religious, social and economical life in +Massachusetts. Yet there was immense hope in these young people. There +was nobleness; there were self-sacrificing victims who compensated for +the levity and rashness of their companions. The young people lived +a great deal in a short time, and came forth some of them perhaps +with shattered constitutions. And a few grave sanitary influences of +character were happily there, which, I was assured, were always felt. + +George W. Curtis of New York, and his brother, of English Oxford, +were members of the family from the first. Theodore Parker, the near +neighbor of the farm and the most intimate friend of Mr. Ripley, was a +frequent visitor. Mr. Ichabod Morton of Plymouth, a plain man formerly +engaged through many years in the fisheries with success,--eccentric, +with a persevering interest in Education, and of a very democratic +religion, came and built a house on the farm, and he, or members of +his family, continued there to the end. Margaret Fuller, with her +joyful conversation and large sympathy, was often a guest, and always +in correspondence with her friends! Many ladies, whom to name were to +praise, gave character and varied attraction to the place. + +In and around Brook Farm, whether as members, boarders, or +visitors, were many remarkable persons, for character, intellect, or +accomplishments. I recall one youth of the subtlest mind, I believe +I must say the subtlest observer and diviner of character I ever +met, living, reading, writing, talking there, perhaps as long as the +colony held together; his mind fed and overfed by whatever is exalted +in genius, whether in Poetry or Art, in Drama or Music, or in social +accomplishment and elegancy; a man of no employment or practical aims, +a student and philosopher, who found his daily enjoyment not with the +elders or his exact contemporaries so much as with the fine boys who +were skating and playing ball or bird-hunting; forming the closest +friendships with such, and finding his delight in the petulant heroisms +of boys; yet was he the chosen counsellor to whom the guardians would +repair on any hitch or difficulty that occurred, and draw from him a +wise counsel. A fine, subtle, inward genius, puny in body and habit as +a girl, yet with an _aplomb_ like a general, never disconcerted. +He lived and thought, in 1842, such worlds of life; all hinging on +the thought of Being or Reality as opposed to consciousness; hating +intellect with the ferocity of a Swedenborg. He was the Abbé or +spiritual father, from his religious bias. His reading lay in Æschylus, +Plato, Dante, Calderon, Shakspeare, and in modern novels and romances +of merit. There too was Hawthorne, with his cold yet gentle genius, +if he failed to do justice to this temporary home. There was the +accomplished Doctor of Music, who has presided over its literature ever +since in our metropolis. Rev. William Henry Channing, now of London, +was from the first a student of Socialism in France and England, and +in perfect sympathy with this experiment. An English baronet, Sir John +Caldwell, was a frequent visitor, and more or less directly interested +in the leaders and the success. + +Hawthorne drew some sketches, not happily, as I think; I should rather +say, quite unworthy of his genius. No friend who knew Margaret Fuller +could recognize her rich and brilliant genius under the dismal mask +which the public fancied was meant for her in that disagreeable story. + +The Founders of Brook Farm should have this praise, that they made what +all people try to make, an agreeable place to live in. All comers, even +the most fastidious, found it the pleasantest of residences. It is +certain that freedom from household routine, variety of character and +talent, variety of work, variety of means of thought and instruction, +art, music, poetry, reading, masquerade, did not permit sluggishness +or despondency; broke up routine. There is agreement in the testimony +that it was, to most of the associates, education; to many, the most +important period of their life, the birth of valued friendships, their +first acquaintance with the riches of conversation, their training +in behavior. The art of letter-writing, it is said, was immensely +cultivated. Letters were always flying not only from house to house, +but from room to room. It was a perpetual picnic, a French Revolution +in small, an Age of Reason in a patty-pan. + +In the American social communities, the gossip found such vent and sway +as to become despotic. The institutions were whispering-galleries, +in which the adored Saxon privacy was lost. Married women I believe +uniformly decided against the community. It was to them like the brassy +and lacquered life in hotels. The common school was well enough, but to +the common nursery they had grave objections. Eggs might be hatched in +ovens, but the hen on her own account much preferred the old way. A hen +without her chickens was but half a hen. + +It was a curious experience of the patrons and leaders of this +noted community, in which the agreement with many parties was that +they should give so many hours of instruction in mathematics, in +music, in moral and intellectual philosophy, and so forth,--that in +every instance the new comers showed themselves keenly alive to the +advantages of the society, and were sure to avail themselves of every +means of instruction; their knowledge was increased, their manners +refined,--but they became in that proportion averse to labor, and were +charged by the heads of the departments with a certain indolence and +selfishness. + +In practice it is always found that virtue is occasional, spotty, +and not linear or cubic. Good people are as bad as rogues if steady +performance is claimed; the conscience of the conscientious runs in +veins, and the most punctilious in some particulars are latitudinarian +in others. It was very gently said that people on whom beforehand all +persons would put the utmost reliance were not responsible. They saw +the necessity that the work must be done, and did it not, and it of +course fell to be done by the few religious workers. No doubt there was +in many a certain strength drawn from the fury of dissent. Thus Mr. +Ripley told Theodore Parker, “There is your accomplished friend ----, +he would hoe corn all Sunday if I would let him, but all Massachusetts +could not make him do it on Monday.” + +Of course every visitor found that there was a comic side to this +Paradise of shepherds and shepherdesses. There was a stove in every +chamber, and every one might burn as much wood as he or she would +saw. The ladies took cold on washing-day; so it was ordained that the +gentlemen-shepherds should wring and hang out clothes; which they +punctually did. And it would sometimes occur that when they danced +in the evening, clothes-pins dropped plentifully from their pockets. +The country members naturally were surprised to observe that one man +ploughed all day and one looked out of the window all day, and perhaps +drew his picture, and both received at night the same wages. One would +meet also some modest pride in their advanced condition, signified by a +frequent phrase, “Before we came out of civilization.” + +The question which occurs to you had occurred much earlier to Fourier: +“How in this charming Elysium is the dirty work to be done?” And long +ago Fourier had exclaimed, “Ah! I have it,” and jumped with joy. “Don’t +you see,” he cried, “that nothing so delights the young Caucasian child +as dirt? See the mud-pies that all children will make if you will let +them. See how much more joy they find in pouring their pudding on the +table-cloth than into their beautiful mouths. The children from six to +eight, organized into companies with flags and uniforms, shall do this +last function of civilization.” + +In Brook Farm was this peculiarity, that there was no head. In every +family is the father; in every factory, a foreman; in a shop, a master; +in a boat, the skipper; but in this Farm, no authority; each was +master or mistress of his or her actions; happy, hapless anarchists. +They expressed, after much perilous experience, the conviction that +plain dealing was the best defence of manners and moral between the +sexes. People cannot live together in any but necessary ways. The only +candidates who will present themselves will be those who have tried +the experiment of independence and ambition, and have failed; and none +others will barter for the most comfortable equality the chance of +superiority. Then all communities have quarrelled. Few people can live +together on their merits. There must be kindred, or mutual economy, or +a common interest in their business, or other external tie. + +The society at Brook Farm existed, I think, about six or seven years, +and then broke up, the Farm was sold, and I believe all the partners +came out with pecuniary loss. Some of them had spent on it the +accumulations of years. I suppose they all, at the moment, regarded it +as a failure. I do not think they can so regard it now, but probably +as an important chapter in their experience which has been of lifelong +value. What knowledge of themselves and of each other, what various +practical wisdom, what personal power, what studies of character, what +accumulated culture many of the members owed to it! What mutual measure +they took of each other! It was a close union, like that in a ship’s +cabin, of clergymen, young collegians, merchants, mechanics, farmers’ +sons and daughters, with men and women of rare opportunities and +delicate culture, yet assembled there by a sentiment which all shared, +some of them hotly shared, of the honesty of a life of labor and of +the beauty of a life of humanity. The yeoman saw refined manners in +persons who were his friends; and the lady or the romantic scholar saw +the continuous strength and faculty in people who would have disgusted +them but that these powers were now spent in the direction of their own +theory of life. + +I recall these few selected facts, none of them of much independent +interest, but symptomatic of the times and country. I please myself +with the thought that our American mind is not now eccentric or rude +in its strength, but is beginning to show a quiet power, drawn from +wide and abundant sources, proper to a Continent and to an educated +people. If I have owed much to the special influences I have indicated, +I am not less aware of that excellent and increasing circle of masters +in arts and in song and in science, who cheer the intellect of our +cities and this country to-day,--whose genius is not a lucky accident, +but normal, and with broad foundation of culture, and so inspires the +hope of steady strength advancing on itself, and a day without night. + + + + + THE CHARDON STREET CONVENTION. + + + + + THE CHARDON STREET CONVENTION.[11] + + +IN the month of November, 1840, a Convention of Friends of Universal +Reform assembled in the Chardon Street Chapel in Boston, in obedience +to a call in the newspapers, signed by a few individuals, inviting all +persons to a public discussion of the institutions of the Sabbath, +the Church and the Ministry. The Convention organized itself by +the choice of Edmund Quincy as Moderator, spent three days in the +consideration of the Sabbath, and adjourned to a day in March of the +following year, for the discussion of the second topic. In March, +accordingly, a three-days’ sessions was holden in the same place, on +the subject of the Church, and a third meeting fixed for the following +November, which was accordingly holden; and the Convention debated, +for three days again, the remaining subject of the Priesthood. This +Convention never printed any report of its deliberations, nor pretended +to arrive at any result by the expression of its sense in formal +resolutions;--the professed objects of those persons who felt the +greatest interest in its meetings being simply the elucidation of +truth through free discussion. The daily newspapers reported, at the +time, brief sketches of the course of proceedings, and the remarks +of the principal speakers. These meetings attracted a great deal of +public attention, and were spoken of in different circles in every +note of hope, of sympathy, of joy, of alarm, of abhorrence and of +merriment. The composition of the assembly was rich and various. The +singularity and latitude of the summons drew together, from all parts +of New England and also from the Middle States, men of every shade of +opinion from the straitest orthodoxy to the wildest heresy, and many +persons whose church was a church of one member only. A great variety +of dialect and of costume was noticed; a great deal of confusion, +eccentricity, and freak appeared, as well as of zeal and enthusiasm. +If the assembly was disorderly, it was picturesque. Madmen, madwomen, +men with beards, Dunkers, Muggletonians, Come-outers, Groaners, +Agrarians, Seventh-day-Baptists, Quakers, Abolitionists, Calvinists, +Unitarians and Philosophers,--all came successively to the top, and +seized their moment, if not their hour, wherein to chide, or pray, or +preach, or protest. The faces were a study. The most daring innovators +and the champions-until-death of the old cause sat side by side. The +still-living merit of the oldest New England families, glowing yet +after several generations, encountered the founders of families, +fresh merit, emerging, and expanding the brows to a new breadth, +and lighting a clownish face with sacred fire. The assembly was +characterized by the predominance of a certain plain, sylvan strength +and earnestness, whilst many of the most intellectual and cultivated +persons attended its councils. Dr. Channing, Edward Taylor, Bronson +Alcott, Mr. Garrison, Mr. May, Theodore Parker, H. C. Wright, Dr. +Osgood, William Adams, Edward Palmer, Jones Very, Maria W. Chapman, and +many other persons of a mystical or sectarian or philanthropic renown, +were present, and some of them participant. And there was no want of +female speakers; Mrs. Little and Mrs. Lucy Sessions took a pleasing +and memorable part in the debate, and that flea of Conventions, Mrs. +Abigail Folsom, was but too ready with her interminable scroll. If +there was not parliamentary order, there was life, and the assurance of +that constitutional love for religion and religious liberty which, in +all periods, characterizes the inhabitants of this part of America. + +There was a great deal of wearisome speaking in each of those +three-days’ sessions, but relieved by signal passages of pure +eloquence, by much vigor of thought, and especially by the exhibition +of character, and by the victories of character. These men and women +were in search of something better and more satisfying than a vote or +a definition, and they found what they sought, or the pledge of it, +in the attitude taken by individuals of their number of resistance +to the insane routine of parliamentary usage; in the lofty reliance +on principles, and the prophetic dignity and transfiguration which +accompanies, even amidst opposition and ridicule, a man whose mind is +made up to obey the great inward Commander, and who does not anticipate +his own action, but awaits confidently the new emergency for the new +counsel. By no means the least value of this Convention, in our eye, +was the scope it gave to the genius of Mr. Alcott, and not its least +instructive lesson was the gradual but sure ascendency of his spirit, +in spite of the incredulity and derision with which he is at first +received, and in spite, we might add, of his own failures. Moreover, +although no decision was had, and no action taken on all the great +points mooted in the discussion, yet the Convention brought together +many remarkable persons, face to face, and gave occasion to memorable +interviews and conversations, in the hall, in the lobbies, or around +the doors. + + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[Footnote 11: _The Dial_, vol. iii., p. 100.] + + + + + EZRA RIPLEY, D. D. + + WE love the venerable house + Our fathers built to God: + In Heaven are kept their grateful vows, + Their dust endears the sod. + + From humble tenements around + Came up the pensive train + And in the church a blessing found + That filled their homes again. + + + + + EZRA RIPLEY, D. D.[12] + + +EZRA RIPLEY was born May 1, 1751 (O. S.), at Woodstock, Connecticut. +He was the fifth of the nineteen children of Noah and Lydia (Kent) +Ripley. Seventeen of these nineteen children married, and it is stated +that the mother died leaving nineteen children, one hundred and two +grandchildren and ninety-six great-grandchildren. The father was born +at Hingham, on the farm purchased by his ancestor, William Ripley, +of England, at the first settlement of the town; which farm has been +occupied by seven or eight generations. Ezra Ripley followed the +business of farming till sixteen years of age, when his father wished +him to be qualified to teach a grammar school, not thinking himself +able to send one son to college without injury to his other children. +With this view, the father agreed with the late Rev. Dr. Forbes of +Gloucester, then minister of North Brookfield, to fit Ezra for college +by the time he should be twenty-one years of age, and to have him labor +during the time sufficiently to pay for his instruction, clothing and +books. + +But, when fitted for college, the son could not be contented with +teaching, which he had tried the preceding winter. He had early +manifested a desire for learning, and could not be satisfied without a +public education. Always inclined to notice ministers, and frequently +attempting, when only five or six years old, to imitate them by +preaching, now that he had become a professor of religion he had an +ardent desire to be a preacher of the gospel. He had to encounter great +difficulties, but, through a kind providence and the patronage of Dr. +Forbes, he entered Harvard University, July, 1772. The commencement of +the Revolutionary War greatly interrupted his education at college. +In 1775, in his senior year, the college was removed from Cambridge +to this town. The studies were much broken up. Many of the students +entered the army, and the class never returned to Cambridge. There were +an unusually large number of distinguished men in this class of 1776: +Christopher Gore, Governor of Massachusetts and Senator in Congress; +Samuel Sewall, Chief Justice of Massachusetts; George Thacher, Judge of +the Supreme Court; Royall Tyler, Chief Justice of Vermont; and the late +learned Dr. Prince, of Salem. + +Mr. Ripley was ordained minister of Concord November 7, 1778. He +married, November 16, 1780, Mrs. Phebe (Bliss) Emerson, then a widow of +thirty-nine, with five children. They had three children: Samuel, born +May 11, 1783; Daniel Bliss, born August 1, 1784; Sarah, born April 8, +1789. He died September 21, 1841. + +To these facts, gathered chiefly from his own diary, and stated nearly +in his own words, I can only add a few traits from memory. + +He was identified with the ideas and forms of the New England Church, +which expired about the same time with him, so that he and his coevals +seemed the rear guard of the great camp and army of the Puritans, +which, however in its last days declining into formalism, in the heyday +of its strength had planted and liberated America. It was a pity that +his old meeting-house should have been modernized in his time. I am +sure all who remember both will associate his form with whatever was +grave and droll in the old, cold, unpainted, uncarpeted square-pewed +meeting-house, with its four iron-gray deacons in their little box +under the pulpit,--with Watts’s hymns, with long prayers, rich with the +diction of ages; and not less with the report like musketry from the +movable seats. He and his contemporaries, the old New England clergy, +were believers in what is called a particular providence,--certainly, +as they held it, a very particular providence,--following the +narrowness of King David and the Jews, who thought the universe existed +only or mainly for their church and congregation. Perhaps I cannot +better illustrate this tendency than by citing a record from the +diary of the father of his predecessor,[13] the minister of Malden, +written in the blank leaves of the almanac for the year 1735. The +minister writes against January 31st: “Bought a shay for 27 pounds, +10 shillings. The Lord grant it may be a comfort and blessing to my +family.” In March following he notes: “Had a safe and comfortable +journey to York.” But April 24th, we find: “Shay overturned, with +my wife and I in it, yet neither of us much hurt. Blessed be our +gracious Preserver. Part of the shay, as it lay upon one side, went +over my wife, and yet she was scarcely anything hurt. How wonderful +the preservation.” Then again, May 5th: “Went to the beach with three +of the children. The beast, being frightened when we were all out +of the shay, overturned and broke it. I desire (I hope I desire it) +that the Lord would teach me suitably to repent this Providence, to +make suitable remarks on it, and to be suitably affected with it. +Have I done well to get me a shay? Have I not been proud or too fond +of this convenience? Do I exercise the faith in the Divine care and +protection which I ought to do? Should I not be more in my study and +less fond of diversion? Do I not withhold more than is meet from pious +and charitable uses?” Well, on 15th May we have this: “Shay brought +home; mending cost thirty shillings. Favored in this respect beyond +expectation.” 16th May: “My wife and I rode together to Rumney Marsh. +The beast frighted several times.” And at last we have this record, +June 4th: “Disposed of my shay to Rev. Mr. White.” + +The same faith made what was strong and what was weak in Dr. Ripley +and his associates. He was a perfectly sincere man, punctual, severe, +but just and charitable, and if he made his forms a strait-jacket +to others, he wore the same himself all his years. Trained in this +church, and very well qualified by his natural talent to work in it, +it was never out of his mind. He looked at every person and thing from +the parochial point of view. I remember, when a boy, driving about +Concord with him, and in passing each house he told the story of the +family that lived in it, and especially he gave me anecdotes of the +nine church members who had made a division in the church in the time +of his predecessor, and showed me how every one of the nine had come +to bad fortune or to a bad end. His prayers for rain and against the +lightning, “that it may not lick up our spirits;” and for good weather; +and against sickness and insanity; “that we have not been tossed to and +fro until the dawning of the day, that we have not been a terror to +ourselves and others;” are well remembered, and his own entire faith +that these petitions were not to be overlooked, and were entitled to a +favorable answer. Some of those around me will remember one occasion of +severe drought in this vicinity, when the late Rev. Mr. Goodwin offered +to relieve the Doctor of the duty of leading in prayer; but the Doctor +suddenly remembering the season, rejected his offer with some humor, +as with an air that said to all the congregation, “This is no time for +you young Cambridge men; the affair, sir, is getting serious. I will +pray myself.” One August afternoon, when I was in his hayfield helping +him with his man to rake up his hay, I well remember his pleading, +almost reproachful looks at the sky, when the thunder gust was coming +up to spoil his hay. He raked very fast, then looked at the cloud, and +said, “We are in the Lord’s hand; mind your rake, George! We are in the +Lord’s hand;” and seemed to say, “You know me; this field is mine,--Dr. +Ripley’s,--thine own servant!” + +He used to tell the story of one of his old friends, the minister +of Sudbury, who, being at the Thursday lecture in Boston, heard the +officiating clergyman praying for rain. As soon as the service was +over, he went to the petitioner, and said, “You Boston ministers, as +soon as a tulip wilts under your windows, go to church and pray for +rain, until all Concord and Sudbury are under water.” I once rode with +him to a house at Nine Acre Corner to attend the funeral of the father +of a family. He mentioned to me on the way his fears that the oldest +son, who was now to succeed to the farm, was becoming intemperate. +We presently arrived, and the Doctor addressed each of the mourners +separately: “Sir, I condole with you.” “Madam, I condole with you.” +“Sir, I knew your great-grandfather. When I came to this town, your +great-grandfather was a substantial farmer in this very place, a member +of the church, and an excellent citizen. Your grandfather followed him, +and was a virtuous man. Now your father is to be carried to his grave, +full of labors and virtues. There is none of that large family left but +you, and it rests with you to bear up the good name and usefulness of +your ancestors. If you fail, Ichabod, the glory is departed. Let us +pray.” Right manly he was, and the manly thing he could always say. I +can remember a little speech he made to me, when the last tie of blood +which held me and my brothers to his house was broken by the death of +his daughter. He said, on parting, “I wish you and your brothers to +come to this house as you have always done. You will not like to be +excluded; I shall not like to be neglected.” + +When “Put” Merriam, after his release from the state prison, had the +effrontery to call on the doctor as an old acquaintance, in the midst +of general conversation Mr. Frost came in, and the doctor presently +said, “Mr. Merriam, my brother and colleague, Mr. Frost, has come to +take tea with me. I regret very much the causes (which you know very +well) which make it impossible for me to ask you to stay and break +bread with us.” With the Doctor’s views it was a matter of religion to +say thus much. He had a reverence and love of society, and the patient, +continuing courtesy, carrying out every respectful attention to the +end, which marks what is called the manners of the old school. His +hospitality obeyed Charles Lamb’s rule, and “ran fine to the last.” His +partiality for ladies was always strong, and was by no means abated by +time. He claimed privilege of years, was much addicted to kissing; +spared neither maid, wife, nor widow, and, as a lady thus favored +remarked to me, “seemed as if he was going to make a meal of you.” + +He was very credulous, and as he was no reader of books or journals, he +knew nothing beyond the columns of his weekly religious newspaper, the +tracts of his sect, and perhaps the Middlesex Yeoman. He was the easy +dupe of any tonguey agent, whether colonizationist or anti-papist, or +charlatan of iron combs, or tractors, or phrenology, or magnetism, who +went by. At the time when Jack Downing’s letters were in every paper, +he repeated to me at table some of the particulars of that gentleman’s +intimacy with General Jackson, in a manner that betrayed to me at once +that he took the whole for fact. To undeceive him, I hastened to recall +some particulars to show the absurdity of the thing, as the Major and +the President going out skating on the Potomac, etc. “Why,” said the +Doctor with perfect faith, “it was a bright moonlight night;” and I +am not sure that he did not die in the belief in the reality of Major +Downing. Like other credulous men, he was opinionative, and, as I well +remember, a great browbeater of the poor old fathers who still survived +from the 19th of April, to the end that they should testify to his +history as he had written it. + +He was a man so kind and sympathetic, his character was so transparent, +and his merits so intelligible to all observers, that he was very +justly appreciated in this community. He was a natural gentleman, no +dandy, but courtly, hospitable, manly and public-spirited; his nature +social, his house open to all men. We remember the remark made by the +old farmer who used to travel hither from Maine, that no horse from +the Eastern country would go by the doctor’s gate. Travellers from the +West and North and South bear the like testimony. His brow was serene +and open to his visitor, for he loved men, and he had no studies, no +occupations, which company could interrupt. His friends were his study, +and to see them loosened his talents and his tongue. In his house +dwelt order and prudence and plenty. There was no waste and no stint. +He was open-handed and just and generous. Ingratitude and meanness in +his beneficiaries did not wear out his compassion; he bore the insult, +and the next day his basket for the beggar, his horse and chaise for +the cripple, were at their door. Though he knew the value of a dollar +as well as another man, yet he loved to buy dearer and sell cheaper +than others. He subscribed to all charities, and it is no reflection +on others to say that he was the most public-spirited man in the town. +The late Dr. Gardiner, in a funeral sermon on some parishioner whose +virtues did not readily come to mind, honestly said, “He was good at +fires.” Dr. Ripley had many virtues, and yet all will remember that +even in his old age, if the fire-bell was rung, he was instantly on +horseback with his buckets and bag. + +He showed even in his fireside discourse traits of that pertinency +and judgment, softening ever and anon into elegancy, which make the +distinction of the scholar, and which, under better discipline, might +have ripened into a Bentley or a Porson. He had a foresight, when he +opened his mouth, of all that he would say, and he marched straight to +the conclusion. In debate in the vestry of the Lyceum, the structure of +his sentences was admirable; so neat, so natural, so terse, his words +fell like stones; and often, though quite unconscious of it, his speech +was a satire on the loose, voluminous, draggle-tail periods of other +speakers. He sat down when he had done. A man of anecdote, his talk in +the parlor was chiefly narrative. We remember the remark of a gentleman +who listened with much delight to his conversation at the time when the +Doctor was preparing to go to Baltimore and Washington, that “a man who +could tell a story so well was company for kings and John Quincy Adams.” + +Sage and savage strove harder in him than in any of my acquaintances, +each getting the mastery by turns, and pretty sudden turns: “Save +us from the extremity of cold and these violent sudden changes.” +“The society will meet after the Lyceum, as it is difficult to bring +people together in the evening,--and no moon.” “Mr. N. F. is dead, and +I expect to hear of the death of Mr. B. It is cruel to separate old +people from their wives in this cold weather.” + +With a very limited acquaintance with books, his knowledge was an +external experience, an Indian wisdom, the observation of such facts +as country life for nearly a century could supply. He watched with +interest the garden, the field, the orchard, the house and the barn, +horse, cow, sheep and dog, and all the common objects that engage +the thought of the farmer. He kept his eye on the horizon, and knew +the weather like a sea-captain. The usual experiences of men, birth, +marriage, sickness, death, burial; the common temptations; the common +ambitions;--he studied them all, and sympathized so well in these that +he was excellent company and counsel to all, even the most humble and +ignorant. With extraordinary states of mind, with states of enthusiasm +or enlarged speculation, he had no sympathy, and pretended to none. +He was sincere, and kept to his point, and his mark was never remote. +His conversation was strictly personal and apt to the party and the +occasion. An eminent skill he had in saying difficult and unspeakable +things; in delivering to a man or a woman that which all their other +friends had abstained from saying, in uncovering the bandage from a +sore place, and applying the surgeon’s knife with a truly surgical +spirit. Was a man a sot, or a spendthrift, or too long time a bachelor, +or suspected of some hidden crime, or had he quarrelled with his +wife, or collared his father, or was there any cloud or suspicious +circumstances in his behavior, the good pastor knew his way straight +to that point, believing himself entitled to a full explanation, and +whatever relief to the conscience of both parties plain speech could +effect was sure to be procured. In all such passages he justified +himself to the conscience, and commonly to the love, of the persons +concerned. He was the more competent to these searching discourses +from his knowledge of family history. He knew everybody’s grandfather, +and seemed to address each person rather as the representative of his +house and name, than as an individual. In him have perished more local +and personal anecdotes of this village and vicinity than are possessed +by any survivor. This intimate knowledge of families, and this skill +of speech, and still more, his sympathy, made him incomparable in his +parochial visits, and in his exhortations and prayers. He gave himself +up to his feelings, and said on the instant the best things in the +world. Many and many a felicity he had in his prayer, now forever lost, +which defied all the rules of all the rhetoricians. He did not know +when he was good in prayer or sermon, for he had no literature and no +art; but he believed, and therefore spoke. He was eminently loyal in +his nature, and not fond of adventure or innovation. By education, and +still more by temperament, he was engaged to the old forms of the New +England Church. Not speculative, but affectionate; devout, but with an +extreme love of order, he adopted heartily, though in its mildest form, +the creed and catechism of the fathers, and appeared a modern Israelite +in his attachment to the Hebrew history and faith. He was a man very +easy to read, for his whole life and conversation were consistent. All +his opinions and actions might be securely predicted by a good observer +on short acquaintance. My classmate at Cambridge, Frederick King, told +me from Governor Gore, who was the Doctor’s classmate, that in college +he was called Holy Ripley. + +And now, in his old age, when all the antique Hebraism and its customs +are passing away, it is fit that he too should depart,--most fit that +in the fall of laws a loyal man should die. + + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[Footnote 12: This sketch was written for the Social Circle, a club +in Concord, now more than a century old, and said to be the lineal +descendant of the Committee of Safety in the Revolution. Mr. Emerson +was a member for many years and greatly valued its weekly evening +meetings, held, during the winter, at the houses of the members. After +the death of Dr. Ripley, an early member and connected with him by +marriage, Mr. Emerson was asked to prepare the customary Memoir for the +Club Book.] + +[Footnote 13: Rev. Joseph Emerson.] + + + + + MARY MOODY EMERSON. + + THE yesterday doth never smile, + To-day goes drudging through the while, + Yet in the name of Godhead, I + The morrow front and can defy; + Though I am weak, yet God, when prayed, + Cannot withhold his conquering aid. + Ah me! it was my childhood’s thought, + If He should make my web a blot + On life’s fair picture of delight, + My heart’s content would find it right. + But O, these waves and leaves,-- + When happy, stoic Nature grieves,-- + No human speech so beautiful + As their murmurs mine to lull. + On this altar God hath built + I lay my vanity and guilt; + Nor me can Hope or Passion urge, + Hearing as now the lofty dirge + Which blasts of Northern mountains hymn, + Nature’s funeral high and dim,-- + Sable pageantry of clouds, + Mourning summer laid in shrouds. + Many a day shall dawn and die, + Many an angel wander by, + And passing, light my sunken turf, + Moist perhaps by ocean surf, + Forgotten amid splendid tombs, + Yet wreathed and hid by summer blooms. + On earth I dream;--I die to be: + Time! shake not thy bald head at me. + I challenge thee to hurry past, + Or for my turn to fly too fast. + +[LUCY PERCY, Countess of Carlisle, the friend of Strafford and +of Pym, is thus described by Sir Toby Matthews:] + +“She is of too high a mind and dignity not only to seek, but almost +to wish, the friendship of any creature. They whom she is pleased to +choose are such as are of the most eminent condition both for power and +employment,--not with any design towards her own particular, either of +advantage or curiosity, but her nature values fortunate persons. She +prefers the conversation of men to that of women; not but she can talk +on the fashions with her female friends, but she is too soon sensible +that she can set them as she wills; that pre-eminence shortens all +equality. She converses with those who are most distinguished for their +conversational powers. Of Love freely will she discourse, listen to +all its faults and mark its power: and will take a deep interest for +persons of celebrity.” + + + + + MARY MOODY EMERSON.[14] + + +I WISH to meet the invitation with which the ladies have honored me by +offering them a portrait of real life. It is a representative life, +such as could hardly have appeared out of New England; of an age now +past, and of which I think no types survive. Perhaps I deceive myself +and overestimate its interest. It has to me a value like that which +many readers find in Madame Guyon, in Rahel, in Eugénie de Guérin, but +it is purely original and hardly admits of a duplicate. Then it is a +fruit of Calvinism and New England, and marks the precise time when the +power of the old creed yielded to the influence of modern science and +humanity. + +I have found that I could only bring you this portrait by selections +from the diary of my heroine, premising a sketch of her time and +place. I report some of the thoughts and soliloquies of a country girl, +poor, solitary,--‘a goody’ as she called herself,--growing from youth +to age amid slender opportunities and usually very humble company. + +Mary Moody Emerson was born just before the outbreak of the Revolution. +When introduced to Lafayette at Portland, she told him that she was +“in arms” at the Concord Fight. Her father, the minister of Concord, +a warm patriot in 1775, went as a chaplain to the American army at +Ticonderoga: he carried his infant daughter, before he went, to his +mother in Malden and told her to keep the child until he returned. +He died at Rutland, Vermont, of army-fever, the next year, and Mary +remained at Malden with her grandmother, and, after her death, with her +father’s sister, in whose house she grew up, rarely seeing her brothers +and sisters in Concord. This aunt and her husband lived on a farm, were +getting old, and the husband a shiftless, easy man. There was plenty of +work for the little niece to do day by day, and not always bread enough +in the house. + +One of her tasks, it appears, was to watch for the approach of the +deputy-sheriff, who might come to confiscate the spoons or arrest the +uncle for debt. Later, another aunt, who had become insane, was brought +hither to end her days. More and sadder work for this young girl. She +had no companions, lived in entire solitude with these old people, +very rarely cheered by short visits from her brothers and sisters. +Her mother had married again,--married the minister who succeeded her +husband in the parish at Concord, [Dr. Ezra Ripley,] and had now a +young family growing up around her. + +Her aunt became strongly attached to Mary, and persuaded the family to +give the child up to her as a daughter, on some terms embracing a care +of her future interests. She would leave the farm to her by will. This +promise was kept; she came into possession of the property many years +after, and her dealings with it gave her no small trouble, though they +give much piquancy to her letters in after years. Finally it was sold, +and its price invested in a share of a farm in Maine, where she lived +as a boarder with her sister, for many years. It was in a picturesque +country, within sight of the White Mountains, with a little lake in +front at the foot of a high hill called Bear Mountain. Not far from +the house was a brook running over a granite floor like the Franconia +Flume, and noble forests around. Every word she writes about this farm +(“Elm Vale,” Waterford,) her dealings and vexations about it, her joys +and raptures of religion and Nature, interest like a romance, and to +those who may hereafter read her letters, will make its obscure acres +amiable. + +In Malden she lived through all her youth and early womanhood, with +the habit of visiting the families of her brothers and sisters on any +necessity of theirs. Her good will to serve in time of sickness or of +pressure was known to them, and promptly claimed, and her attachment +to the youths and maidens growing up in those families was secure for +any trait of talent or of character. Her sympathy for young people who +pleased her was almost passionate, and was sure to make her arrival in +each house a holiday. + +Her early reading was Milton, Young, Akenside, Samuel Clarke, Jonathan +Edwards, and always the Bible. Later, Plato, Plotinus, Marcus +Antoninus, Stewart, Coleridge, Cousin, Herder, Locke, Madame De Staël, +Channing, Mackintosh, Byron. Nobody can read in her manuscript, or +recall the conversation of old-school people, without seeing that +Milton and Young had a religious authority in their mind, and nowise +the slight, merely entertaining quality of modern bards. And Plato, +Aristotle, Plotinus, how venerable and organic as Nature they are in +her mind! What a subject is her mind and life for the finest novel! +When I read Dante, the other day, and his paraphrases to signify +with more adequateness Christ or Jehovah, whom do you think I was +reminded of? Whom but Mary Emerson and her eloquent theology? She +had a deep sympathy with genius. When it was unhallowed, as in Byron, +she had none the less, whilst she deplored and affected to denounce +him. But she adored it when ennobled by character. She liked to +notice that the greatest geniuses have died ignorant of their power +and influence. She wished you to scorn to shine. “My opinion,” she +writes, (is) “that a mind like Byron’s would never be satisfied with +modern Unitarianism,--that the fiery depths of Calvinism, its high +and mysterious elections to eternal bliss, beyond angels, and all its +attendant wonders would have alone been fitted to fix his imagination.” + +Her wit was so fertile, and only used to strike, that she never used +it for display, any more than a wasp would parade his sting. It was +ever the will and not the phrase that concerned her. Yet certain +expressions, when they marked a memorable state of mind in her +experience, recurred to her afterwards, and she would vindicate herself +as having said to Dr. R---- or Uncle L---- so and so, at such a period +of her life. But they were intensely true when first spoken. All her +language was happy, but inimitable, unattainable by talent, as if +caught from some dream. She calls herself “the puny pilgrim, whose sole +talent is sympathy.” “I like that kind of apathy that is a triumph to +overset.” + +She writes to her nephew Charles Emerson, in 1833:--“I could never have +adorned the garden. If I had been in aught but dreary deserts, I should +have idolized my friends, despised the world and been haughty. I never +expected connections and matrimony. My taste was formed in romance, and +I knew I was not destined to please. I love God and his creation as I +never else could. I scarcely feel the sympathies of this life enough to +agitate the pool. This in general, one case or so excepted, and even +this is a relation to God through you. ’Twas so in my happiest early +days, when you were at my side.” + +Destitution is the Muse of her genius,--Destitution and Death. I used +to propose that her epitaph should be: “Here lies the angel of Death.” +And wonderfully as she varies and poetically repeats that image in +every page and day, yet not less fondly and sublimely she returns to +the other,--the grandeur of humility and privation, as thus; “The chief +witness which I have had of a God-like principle of action and feeling +is in the disinterested joy felt in others’ superiority. For the love +of superior virtue is mine own gift from God.” “Where were thine own +intellect if others had not lived?” + +She had many acquaintances among the notables of the time; and now and +then in her migrations from town to town in Maine and Massachusetts, +in search of a new boarding-place, discovered some preacher with +sense or piety, or both. For on her arrival at any new home she was +likely to steer first to the minister’s house and pray his wife to +take a boarder; and as the minister found quickly that she knew all +his books and many more, and made shrewd guesses at his character and +possibilities, she would easily rouse his curiosity, as a person who +could read his secret and tell him his fortune. + +She delighted in success, in youth, in beauty, in genius, in manners. +When she met a young person who interested her, she made herself +acquainted and intimate with him or her at once, by sympathy, by +flattery, by raillery, by anecdotes, by wit, by rebuke, and stormed the +castle. None but was attracted or piqued by her interest and wit and +wide acquaintance with books and with eminent names. She said she gave +herself full swing in these sudden intimacies, for she knew she should +disgust them soon, and resolved to have their best hours. “Society +is shrewd to detect those who do not belong to her train, and seldom +wastes her attentions.” She surprised, attracted, chided and denounced +her companion by turns, and pretty rapid turns. But no intelligent +youth or maiden could have once met her without remembering her with +interest, and learning something of value. Scorn trifles, lift your +aims: do what you are afraid to do: sublimity of character must come +from sublimity of motive: these were the lessons which were urged with +vivacity, in ever new language. But if her companion was dull, her +impatience knew no bounds. She tired presently of dull conversations, +and asked to be read to, and so disposed of the visitor. If the voice +or the reading tired her, she would ask the friend if he or she would +do an errand for her, and so dismiss them. If her companion were a +little ambitious, and asked her opinions on books or matters on which +she did not wish rude hands laid, she did not hesitate to stop the +intruder with “How’s your cat, Mrs. Tenner?” + +“I was disappointed,” she writes, “in finding my little Calvinist +no companion, a cold little thing who lives in society alone, and +is looked up to as a specimen of genius. I performed a mission in +secretly undermining his vanity, or trying to. Alas! never done but by +mortifying affliction.” From the country she writes to her sister in +town, “You cannot help saying that my epistle is a striking specimen of +egotism. To which I can only answer that, in the country, we converse +so much more with ourselves, that we are almost led to forget everybody +else. The very sound of your bells and the rattling of the carriages +have a tendency to divert selfishness.” “This seems a world rather of +trying each others’ dispositions than of enjoying each others’ virtues.” + +She had the misfortune of spinning with a greater velocity than any +of the other tops. She would tear into the chaise or out of it, into +the house or out of it, into the conversation, into the thought, into +the character of the stranger,--disdaining all the graduation by which +her fellows time their steps: and though she might do very happily in +a planet where others moved with the like velocity, she was offended +here by the phlegm of all her fellow-creatures, and disgusted them by +her impatience. She could keep step with no human being. Her nephew +[R. W. E.] wrote of her: “I am glad the friendship with Aunt Mary is +ripening. As by seeing a high tragedy, reading a true poem, or a novel +like ‘Corinne,’ so, by society with her, one’s mind is electrified +and purged. She is no statute-book of practical commandments, nor +orderly digest of any system of philosophy, divine or human, but a +Bible, miscellaneous in its parts, but one in its spirit, wherein are +sentences of condemnation, promises and covenants of love that make +foolish the wisdom of the world with the power of God.” + +Our Delphian was fantastic enough, Heaven knows, yet could always +be tamed by large and sincere conversation. Was there thought and +eloquence, she would listen like a child. Her aspiration and prayer +would begin, and the whim and petulance in which by diseased habit she +had grown to indulge without suspecting it, was burned up in the glow +of her pure and poetic spirit, which dearly loved the Infinite. + +She writes: “August, 1847: Vale.--My oddities were never +designed--effect of an uncalculating constitution, at first, then +through isolation; and as to dress, from duty. To be singular of +choice, without singular talents and virtues, is as ridiculous as +ungrateful.” “It is so universal with all classes to avoid contact +with me that I blame none. The fact has generally increased piety and +self-love.” “As a traveller enters some fine palace and finds all +the doors closed, and he only allowed the use of some avenues and +passages, so have I wandered from the cradle over the apartments of +social affections, or the cabinets of natural or moral philosophy, +the recesses of ancient and modern love. All say--Forbear to enter +the pales of the initiated by birth, wealth, talents and patronage. I +submit with delight, for it is the echo of a decree from above; and +from the highway hedges where I get lodging, and from the rays which +burst forth when the crowd are entering these noble saloons, whilst I +stand in the doors, I get a pleasing vision which is an earnest of the +interminable skies where the mansions are prepared for the poor.” + +“To live to give pain rather than pleasure (the latter so delicious) +seems the spider-like necessity of my being on earth, and I have +gone on my queer way with joy, saying, “Shall the clay interrogate?” +But in every actual case, ’tis hard, and we lose sight of the first +necessity,--here too amid works red with default in all great and +grand and infinite aims. Yet with intentions disinterested, though +uncontrolled by proper reverence for others.” + +When Mrs. Thoreau called on her one day, wearing pink ribbons, she shut +her eyes, and so conversed with her for a time. By and by she said, +“Mrs. Thoreau, I don’t know whether you have observed that my eyes are +shut.” “Yes, Madam, I have observed it.” “Perhaps you would like to +know the reasons?” “Yes, I should.” “I don’t like to see a person of +your age guilty of such levity in her dress.” + +When her cherished favorite, E. H., was at the Vale, and had gone out +to walk in the forest with Hannah, her niece, Aunt Mary feared they +were lost, and found a man in the next house and begged him to go and +look for them. The man went and returned saying that he could not find +them. “Go and cry, ‘Elizabeth!’” The man rather declined this service, +as he did not know Miss H. She was highly offended, and exclaimed, +“God has given you a voice that you might use it in the service of +your fellow-creatures. Go instantly and call ‘Elizabeth’ till you find +them.” The man went immediately, and did as he was bid, and having +found them apologized for calling thus, by telling what Miss Emerson +had said to him. + +When some ladies of my acquaintance by an unusual chance found +themselves in her neighborhood and visited her, I told them that she +was no whistle that every mouth could play on, but a quite clannish +instrument, a pibroch, for example, from which none but a native +Highlander could draw music. + +In her solitude of twenty years, with fewest books and those only +sermons, and a copy of “Paradise Lost,” without covers or title-page, +so that later, when she heard much of Milton and sought his work, she +found it was her very book which she knew so well,--she was driven +to find Nature her companion and solace. She speaks of “her attempts +in Malden, to wake up the soul amid the dreary scenes of monotonous +Sabbaths, when Nature looked like a pulpit.” + +“Malden, November 15th, 1805.--What a rich day, so fully occupied in +pursuing truth that I scorned to touch a novel which for so many years +I have wanted. How insipid is fiction to a mind touched with immortal +views! November 16th.--I am so small in my expectations, that a week +of industry delights. Rose before light every morn; visited from +necessity once, and again for books; read Butler’s Analogy; commented +on the Scriptures; read in a little book,--Cicero’s Letters,--a few: +touched Shakspeare,--washed, carded, cleaned house, and baked. To-day +cannot recall an error, nor scarcely a sacrifice, but more fulness +of content in the labors of a day never was felt. There is a sweet +pleasure in bending to circumstances while superior to them. + +“Malden, September, 1807.--The rapture of feeling I would part from, +for days more devoted to higher discipline. But when Nature beams +with such excess of beauty, when the heart thrills with hope in its +Author,--feels that it is related to him more than by any ties of +Creation,--it exults, too fondly perhaps for a state of trial. But in +dead of night, nearer morning, when the eastern stars glow or appear +to glow with more indescribable lustre, a lustre which penetrates the +spirit with wonder and curiosity,--then, however awed, who can fear? +Since Sabbath, Aunt B---- [the insane aunt] was brought here. Ah! +mortifying sight! instinct perhaps triumphs over reason, and every +dignified respect to herself, in her anxiety about recovery, and the +smallest means connected. Not one wish of others detains her, not one +care. But it alarms me not, I shall delight to return to God. His name +my fullest confidence. His sole presence ineffable pleasure. + +“I walked yesterday five or more miles, lost to mental or heart +existence, through fatigue,--just fit for the society I went into, +all mildness and the most commonplace virtue. The lady is celebrated +for her cleverness, and she was never so good to me. Met a lady in +the morning walk, a foreigner,--conversed on the accomplishments of +Miss T. My mind expanded with novel and innocent pleasure. Ah! were +virtue, and that of dear heavenly meekness attached by any necessity to +a lower rank of genteel people, who would sympathize with the exalted +with satisfaction? But that is not the case, I believe. A mediocrity +does seem to me more distant from eminent virtue than the extremes of +station; though after all it must depend on the nature of the heart. A +mediocre mind will be deranged in either extreme of wealth or poverty, +praise or censure, society or solitude. The feverish lust of notice +perhaps in all these cases would injure the heart of common refinement +and virtue.” + +Later she writes of her early days in Malden: “When I get a glimpse of +the revolutions of nations--that retribution which seems forever going +on in this part of creation,--I remember with great satisfaction that +from all the ills suffered, in childhood and since, from others, I felt +that it was rather the order of things than their individual fault. +It was from being early impressed by my poor unpractical aunt, that +Providence and Prayer were all in all. Poor woman! Could her own temper +in childhood or age have been subdued, how happy for herself, who had +a warm heart; but for me would have prevented those early lessons of +fortitude, which her caprices taught me to practise. Had I prospered in +life, what a proud, excited being, even to feverishness, I might have +been. Loving to shine, flattered and flattering, anxious, and wrapped +in others, frail and feverish as myself.” + +She alludes to the early days of her solitude, sixty years afterward, +on her own farm in Maine, speaking sadly the thoughts suggested by the +rich autumn landscape around her: “Ah! as I walked out this afternoon, +so sad was wearied Nature that I felt her whisper to me, ‘Even these +leaves you use to think my better emblems have lost their charm on +me too, and I weary of my pilgrimage,--tired that I must again be +clothed in the grandeurs of winter, and anon be bedizened in flowers +and cascades. Oh, if there be a power superior to me,--and that there +is, my own dread fetters proclaim,--when will He let my lights go +out, my tides cease to an eternal ebb? Oh for transformation! I am +not infinite, nor have I power or will, but bound and imprisoned, the +tool of mind, even of the beings I feed and adorn. Vital, I feel not: +not active, but passive, and cannot aid the creatures which seem my +progeny,--myself. But you are ingrate to tire of me, now you want to +look beyond. ’Twas I who soothed your thorny childhood, though you knew +me not, and you were placed in my most leafless waste. Yet I comforted +thee when going on the daily errand, fed thee with my mallows, on the +first young day of bread failing. More, I led thee when thou knewest +not a syllable of my active Cause, (any more than if it had been dead +eternal matter,) to that Cause; and from the solitary heart taught thee +to say, at first womanhood, Alive with God is enough,--’tis rapture.’” + +“This morning rich in existence; the remembrance of past destitution in +the deep poverty of my aunt, and her most unhappy temper; of bitterer +days of youth and age, when my senses and understanding seemed but +means of labor, or to learn my own unpopular destiny, and that--but no +more;--joy, hope and resignation unite me to Him whose mysterious Will +adjusts everything, and the darkest and lightest are alike welcome. +Oh! could this state of mind continue, death would not be longed for.” +“I felt, till above twenty years old, as though Christianity were as +necessary to the world as existence;--was ignorant that it was lately +promulged, or partially received.” Later: “Could I have those hours in +which in fresh youth I said, To obey God is joy, though there were no +hereafter, I should rejoice, though returning to dust.” + +“Folly follows me as the shadow does the form. Yet my whole life +devoted to find some new truth which will link me closer to God. And +the simple principle which made me say, in youth and laborious poverty, +that, should He make me a blot on the fair face of his Creation, I +should rejoice in His will, has never been equalled, though it returns +in the long life of destitution like an Angel. I end days of fine +health and cheerfulness without getting upward now. How did I use to +think them lost! If more liberal views of the divine government make me +think nothing lost which carries me to His now hidden presence, there +may be danger of losing and causing others the loss of that awe and +sobriety so indispensable.” + +She was addressed and offered marriage by a man of talents, education, +and good social position, whom she respected. The proposal gave her +pause and much to think, but, after consideration she refused it, +I know not on what grounds: but a few allusions to it in her diary +suggest that it was a religious act, and it is easy to see that she +could hardly promise herself sympathy in her religious abandonment with +any but a rarely-found partner. + +“1807. Jan. 19, Malden [alluding to the sale of her farm]. Last night +I spoke two sentences about that foolish place, which I most bitterly +lament,--not because they were improper, but they arose from anger. It +is difficult, when we have no kind of barrier, to command our feelings. +But this shall teach me. It humbles me beyond anything I have met, to +find myself for a moment affected with hope, fear, or especially anger, +about interest. But I did overcome and return kindness for the repeated +provocations. What is it? My uncle has been the means of lessening my +property. Ridiculous to wound him for that. He was honestly seeking +his own. But at last, this very night, the bargain is closed, and I +am delighted with myself:--my dear self has done well. Never did I so +exult in a trifle. Happy beginning of my bargain, though the sale of +the place appears to me one of the worst things for me at this time.” + +“Jan. 21. Weary at times of objects so tedious to hear and see. O the +power of vision, then the delicate power of the nerve which receives +impressions from sounds! If ever I am blest with a social life, let the +accent be grateful. Could I at times be regaled with music, it would +remind me that there are _sounds_. Shut up in this severe weather +with careful, infirm, afflicted age, it is wonderful, my spirits: hopes +I can have none. Not a prospect but is dark on earth, as to knowledge +and joy from externals: but the prospect of a dying bed reflects lustre +on all the rest. + +“The evening is fine, but I dare not enjoy it. The moon and stars +reproach me, because I had to do with mean fools. Should I take so +much care to save a few dollars? Never was I so much ashamed. Did +I say with what rapture I might dispose of them to the poor? Pho! +self-preservation, dignity, confidence in the future, contempt of +trifles! Alas, I am disgraced. Took a momentary revenge on ---- for +worrying me.” + +“Jan. 30. I walked to Captain Dexter’s. Sick. Promised never to put +that ring on. Ended miserably the month which began so worldly. + +“It was the choice of the Eternal that gave the glowing seraph his +joys, and to me my vile imprisonment. I adore Him. It was His will +that gives my superiors to shine in wisdom, friendship, and ardent +pursuits, while I pass my youth, its last traces, in the veriest shades +of ignorance and complete destitution of society. I praise Him, though +when my strength of body falters, it is a trial not easily described.” + +“True, I must finger the very farthing candle-ends,--the duty assigned +to my pride; and indeed so poor are some of those allotted to join me +on the weary needy path, that ’tis benevolence enjoins self-denial. +Could I but dare it in the bread-and-water diet! Could I but live free +from calculation, as in the first half of life, when my poor aunt +lived. I had ten dollars a year for clothes and charity, and I never +remember to have been needy, though I never had but two or three aids +in those six years of earning my home. That ten dollars my dear father +earned, and one hundred dollars remain, and I can’t bear to take it, +and don’t know what to do. Yet I would not breathe to ---- or ---- my +want. ’Tis only now that I would not let ---- pay my hotel-bill. They +have enough to do. Besides, it would send me packing to depend for +anything. Better anything than dishonest dependence, which robs the +poorer, and despoils friendship of equal connection.” + +In 1830, in one of her distant homes, she reproaches herself with some +sudden passion she has for visiting her old home and friends in the +city, where she had lived for a while with her brother [Mr. Emerson’s +father] and afterwards with his widow. “Do I yearn to be in Boston? +’Twould fatigue, disappoint; I, who have so long despised means, who +have always found it a sort of rebellion to seek them? Yet the old +desire for the worm is not so greedy as [mine] to find myself in my old +haunts.” + +1833. “The difficulty of getting places of low board for a lady, is +obvious. And, at moments, I am tired out. Yet how independent, how +better than to hang on friends! And sometimes I fancy that I am emptied +and peeled to carry some seed to the ignorant, which no idler wind can +so well dispense.” “Hard to contend for a health which is daily used +in petition for a final close.” “Am I, poor victim, swept on through +the sternest ordinations of nature’s laws which slay? yet I’ll trust.” +“There was great truth in what a pious enthusiast said, that, if God +should cast him into hell, he would yet clasp his hands around Him.” + +“Newburyport, Sept. 1822. High, solemn, entrancing noon, prophetic of +the approach of the Presiding Spirit of Autumn. God preserve my reason! +Alone, feeling strongly, fully, that I have deserved nothing; according +to Adam Smith’s idea of society, ‘done nothing;’ doing nothing, never +expect to; yet joying in existence, perhaps striving to beautify one +individual of God’s creation. + +“Our civilization is not always mending our poetry. It is sauced and +spiced with our complexity of arts and inventions, but lacks somewhat +of the grandeur that belongs to a Doric and unphilosophical age. In a +religious contemplative public it would have less outward variety, but +simpler and grander means; a few pulsations of created beings, a few +successions of acts, a few lamps held out in the firmament enable us to +talk of Time, make epochs, write histories,--to do more,--to date the +revelations of God to man. But these lamps are held to measure out some +of the moments of eternity, to divide the history of God’s operations +in the birth and death of nations, of worlds. It is a goodly name for +our notions of breathing, suffering, enjoying, acting. We personify it. +We call it by every name of fleeting, dreaming, vaporing imagery. Yet +it is nothing. We exist in eternity. Dissolve the body and the night is +gone, the stars are extinguished, and we measure duration by the number +of our thoughts, by the activity of reason, the discovery of truths, +the acquirement of virtue, the approach to God. And the gray-headed god +throws his shadows all around, and his slaves catch, now at this, now +at that, one at the halo he throws around poetry, or pebbles, bugs, +or bubbles. Sometimes they climb, sometimes creep into the meanest +holes--but they are all alike in vanishing, like the shadow of a cloud.” + +To her nephew Charles: “War; what do I think of it? Why in your ear I +think it so much better than oppression that if it were ravaging the +whole geography of despotism it would be an omen of high and glorious +import. Channing paints its miseries, but does he know those of a +worse war,--private animosities, pinching, bitter warfare of the human +heart, the cruel oppression of the poor by the rich, which corrupts old +worlds? How much better, more honest, are storming and conflagration +of towns! They are but letting blood which corrupts into worms and +dragons. A war-trump would be harmony to the jars of theologians and +statesmen such as the papers bring. It was the glory of the Chosen +People, nay, it is said there was war in Heaven. War is among the means +of discipline, the rough meliorators, and no worse than the strife with +poverty, malice and ignorance. War devastates the conscience of men, +yet corrupt peace does not less. And if you tell me of the miseries +of the battle-field, with the sensitive Channing, (of whose love of +life I am ashamed), what of a few days of agony, what of a vulture +being the bier, tomb, and parson of a hero, compared to the long years +of sticking on a bed and wished away? For the widows and orphans--O, +I could give facts of the long-drawn years of imprisoned minds and +hearts, which uneducated orphans endure! + +“O Time! Thou loiterer. Thou, whose might has laid low the vastest +and crushed the worm, restest on thy hoary throne, with like potency +over thy agitations and thy graves. When will thy routines give way to +higher and lasting institutions? When thy trophies and thy name and +all its wizard forms be lost in the Genius of Eternity? In Eternity, no +deceitful promises, no fantastic illusions, no riddles concealed by thy +shrouds, none of thy Arachnean webs, which decoy and destroy. Hasten to +finish thy motley work, on which frightful Gorgons are at play, spite +of holy ghosts. ’Tis already moth-eaten and its shuttles quaver, as the +beams of the loom are shaken. + +“Sat. 25. Hail requiem of departed Time! Never was incumbent’s funeral +followed by expectant heir with more satisfaction. Yet not his hope +is mine. For in the weary womb are prolific numbers of the same sad +hour, colored by the memory of defeats in virtue, by the prophecy of +others, more dreary, blind and sickly. Yet He who formed thy web, who +stretched thy warp from long ages, has graciously given man to throw +his shuttle, or feel he does, and irradiate the filling woof with many +a flowery rainbow,--labors, rather--evanescent efforts, which will wear +like flowerets in brighter soils;--has attuned his mind in such unison +with the harp of the universe, that he is never without some chord of +hope’s music. ’Tis not in the nature of existence, while there is a +God, to be without the pale of excitement. When the dreamy pages of +life seem all turned and folded down to very weariness, even this idea +of those who fill the hour with crowded virtues, lifts the spectator +to other worlds, and he adores the eternal purposes of Him who lifteth +up and casteth down, bringeth to dust, and raiseth to the skies. ’Tis a +strange deficiency in Brougham’s title of a System of Natural Theology, +when the moral constitution of the being for whom these contrivances +were made is not recognized. The wonderful inhabitant of the building +to which unknown ages were the mechanics, is left out as to that part +where the Creator had put his own lighted candle, placed a vice-gerent. +Not to complain of the poor old earth’s chaotic state, brought so near +in its long and gloomy transmutings by the geologist. Yet its youthful +charms as decked by the hand of Moses’ Cosmogony, will linger about +the heart, while Poetry succumbs to Science. Yet there is a sombre +music in the whirl of times so long gone by. And the bare bones of this +poor embryo earth may give the idea of the Infinite far, far better +than when dignified with arts and industry:--its oceans, when beating +the symbols of ceaseless ages, than when covered with cargoes of war +and oppression. How grand its preparation for souls,--souls who were +to feel the Divinity, before Science had dissected the emotions, and +applied its steely analysis to that state of being which recognizes +neither psychology nor element. + +“September, 1836. Vale. The mystic dream which is shed over the season. +O, to dream more deeply; to lose external objects a little more! Yet +the hold on them is so slight, that duty is lost sight of perhaps, at +times. Sadness is better than walking talking acting somnambulism. Yes, +this entire solitude with the Being who makes the powers of life! Even +Fame, which lives in other states of Virtue, palls. Usefulness, if it +requires action, seems less like existence than the desire of being +absorbed in God, retaining consciousness. Number the waste-places of +the journey,--the secret martyrdom of youth, heavier than the stake, I +thought, the narrow limits which know no outlet, the bitter dregs of +the cup,--and all are sweetened by the purpose of Him I love. The idea +of being no mate for those intellectualists I’ve loved to admire, is no +pain. Hereafter the same solitary joy will go with me, were I not to +live, as I expect, in the vision of the Infinite. Never do the feelings +of the Infinite, and the consciousness of finite frailty and ignorance, +harmonize so well as at this mystic season in the deserts of life. +Contradictions, the modern German says, of the Infinite and finite.” + +I sometimes fancy I detect in her writings, a certain--shall I +say--polite and courtly homage to the name and dignity of Jesus, not at +all spontaneous, but growing out of her respect to the Revelation, and +really veiling and betraying her organic dislike to any interference, +any mediation between her and the Author of her being, assurance of +whose direct dealing with her she incessantly invokes: for example, +the parenthesis “Saving thy presence, Priest and Medium of all this +approach for a sinful creature!” “Were it possible that the Creator +was not virtually present with the spirits and bodies which He has +made:--if it were in the nature of things possible He could withdraw +himself,--I would hold on to the faith, that, at some moment of His +existence, I was present: that, though cast from Him, my sorrows, my +ignorance and meanness were a part of His plan; my death, too, however +long and tediously delayed to prayer,--was decreed, was fixed. Oh how +weary in youth--more so scarcely now, not whenever I can breathe, as +it seems, the atmosphere of the Omnipresence: then I ask not faith nor +knowledge; honors, pleasures, labors, I always refuse, compared to this +divine partaking of existence;--but how rare, how dependent on the +organs through which the soul operates! + +“The sickness of the last week was fine medicine; pain disintegrated +the spirit, or became spiritual. I rose,--I felt that I had given to +God more perhaps than an angel could,--had promised Him in youth that +to be a blot on this fair world, at His command, would be acceptable. +Constantly offer myself to continue the obscurest and loneliest thing +ever heard of, with one proviso,--His agency. Yes, love Thee, and all +Thou dost, while Thou sheddest frost and darkness on every path of +mine.” + +For years she had her bed made in the form of a coffin; and delighted +herself with the discovery of the figure of a coffin made every evening +on their sidewalk, by the shadow of a church tower which adjoined the +house. + +Saladin caused his shroud to be made, and carried it to battle as his +standard. She made up her shroud, and death still refusing to come, and +she thinking it a pity to let it lie idle, wore it as a night-gown, or +a day-gown, nay, went out to ride in it, on horseback, in her mountain +roads, until it was worn out. Then she had another made up, and as she +never travelled without being provided for this dear and indispensable +contingency, I believe she wore out a great many. + +“1833. I have given up, the last year or two, the hope of dying. In the +lowest ebb of health nothing is ominous; diet and exercise restore. +So it seems best to get that very humbling business of insurance. I +enter my dear sixty the last of this month.” “1835, June 16. Tedious +indisposition:--hoped, as it took a new form, it would open the cool, +sweet grave. Now existence itself in any form is sweet. Away with +knowledge;--God alone. He communicates this our condition and humble +waiting, or I should never perceive Him. Science, Nature,--O, I’ve +yearned to open some page;--not now, too late. Ill health and nerves. +O dear worms,--how they will at some sure time take down this tedious +tabernacle, most valuable companions, instructors in the science of +mind, by gnawing away the meshes which have chained it. A very Beatrice +in showing the Paradise. Yes, I irk under contact with forms of +depravity, while I am resigned to being nothing, never expect a palm, a +laurel, hereafter.” + +“1826, July. If one could choose, and without crime be gibbeted,--were +it not altogether better than the long drooping away by age without +mentality or devotion? The vulture and crow would _caw caw_, +and, unconscious of any deformity in the mutilated body, would relish +their meal, make no grimace of affected sympathy, nor suffer any +real compassion. I pray to die, though happier myriads and mine own +companions press nearer to the throne. His coldest beam will purify +and render me forever holy. Had I the highest place of acquisition +and diffusing virtue here, the principle of human sympathy would be +too strong for that rapt emotion, that severe delight which I crave; +nay for that kind of obscure virtue which is so rich to lay at the +feet of the Author of morality. Those economists (Adam Smith) who say +nothing is added to the wealth of a nation but what is dug out of the +earth, and that, whatever disposition of virtue may exist, unless +something is done for society, deserves no fame,--why I am content with +such paradoxical kind of facts; but one secret sentiment of virtue, +disinterested (or perhaps not), is worthy, and will tell, in the world +of spirits, of God’s immediate presence, more than the blood of many a +martyr who has it not.” “I have heard that the greatest geniuses have +died ignorant of their power and influence on the arts and sciences. I +believe thus much, that their large perception consumed their egotism, +or made it impossible for them to make small calculations.” + +“That greatest of all gifts, however small my power of receiving,--the +capacity, the element to love the All-perfect, without regard to +personal happiness:--happiness?--’tis itself.” She checks herself +amid her passionate prayers for immediate communion with God;--“I who +never made a sacrifice to record,--I cowering in the nest of quiet +for so many years;--I indulge the delight of sympathizing with great +virtues,--blessing their Original: Have I this right?” “While I am +sympathizing in the government of God over the world, perhaps I lose +nearer views. Well, I learned his existence _a priori_. No object +of science or observation ever was pointed out to me by my poor aunt, +but His Being and commands; and oh how much I trusted Him with every +event till I learned the order of human events from the pressure of +wants.” + +“What a timid, ungrateful creature! Fear the deepest pit-falls of +age, when pressing on, in imagination at least, to Him with whom a +day is a thousand years,--with whom all miseries and irregularities +are conforming to universal good! Shame on me who have learned within +three years to sit whole days in peace and enjoyment without the least +apparent benefit to any, or knowledge to myself;--resigned, too, to +the memory of long years of slavery passed in labor and ignorance, to +the loss of that character which I once thought and felt so sure of, +without ever being conscious of acting from calculation.” + +Her friends used to say to her, “I wish you joy of the worm.” And when +at last her release arrived, the event of her death had really such a +comic tinge in the eyes of every one who knew her, that her friends +feared they might, at her funeral, not dare to look at each other, lest +they should forget the serious proprieties of the hour. + +She gave high counsels. It was the privilege of certain boys to have +this immeasurably high standard indicated to their childhood; a +blessing which nothing else in education could supply. It is frivolous +to ask,--“And was she ever a Christian in practice?” Cassandra uttered, +to a frivolous, skeptical time, the arcana of the Gods: but it is easy +to believe that Cassandra domesticated in a lady’s house would have +proved a troublesome boarder. Is it the less desirable to have the +lofty abstractions because the abstractionist is nervous and irritable? +Shall we not keep Flamsteed and Herschel in the observatory, though it +should even be proved that they neglected to rectify their own kitchen +clock? It is essential to the safety of every mackerel fisher that +latitudes and longitudes should be astronomically ascertained; and so +every banker, shopkeeper and wood-sawyer has a stake in the elevation +of the moral code by saint and prophet. Very rightly, then, the +Christian ages, proceeding on a grand instinct, have said: Faith alone, +Faith alone. + + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[Footnote 14: Aunt of Mr. Emerson, and a potent influence on the lives +of him and his brothers. This paper was read before the “Woman’s +Club,” in Boston, in 1869, under the title “Amita,” which was also the +original superscription of the “Nun’s Aspiration,” in his Poems; a +rendering into verse of a passage in Miss Emerson’s diary. Part of this +poem forms the motto of this chapter.] + + + + + SAMUEL HOAR. + + Magno se judice quisque tuetur; + Victrix causa deis placuit sed victa Catoni. + + + A YEAR ago, how often did we meet + Beneath these elms, once more in sober bloom, + Thy tall, sad figure pacing down the street, + And now the robin sings above thy tomb! + Thy name on other shores may ne’er be known, + Though Rome austere no graver consul knew, + But Massachusetts her true son shall own; + Out of her soil thy hardy virtues grew. + + She loves the man that chose the conquered cause, + With upright soul that bowed to God alone; + The clean hands that upheld her equal laws, + The old religion ne’er to be outgrown; + The cold demeanor, the warm heart beneath, + The simple grandeur of thy life and death. + + F. B. SANBORN. + +April, 1857. + + + + + SAMUEL HOAR. + + SPEECH AT CONCORD, MASS., 4TH NOV. [ELECTION DAY], 1856. + + +HERE is a day on which more public good or evil is to be done than +was ever done on any day. And this is the pregnant season, when our +old Roman, Samuel Hoar, has chosen to quit this world. _Ab iniquo +certamine indignabundus recessit._ + +He was born under a Christian and humane star, full of mansuetude and +nobleness, honor and charity; and, whilst he was willing to face every +disagreeable duty, whilst he dared to do all that might beseem a man, +his self-respect restrained him from any foolhardiness. The Homeric +heroes, when they saw the gods mingling in the fray, sheathed their +swords. So did not he feel any call to make it a contest of personal +strength with mobs or nations; but when he saw the day and the gods +went against him, he withdrew, but with an unaltered belief. All was +conquered _præter atrocem animum Catonis_. + +At the time when he went to South Carolina as the Commissioner of +Massachusetts, in 1844, whilst staying in Charleston, pending his +correspondence with the governor and the legal officers, he was +repeatedly warned that it was not safe for him to appear in public, +or to take his daily walk, as he had done, unattended by his friends, +in the streets of the city. He was advised to withdraw to private +lodgings, which were eagerly offered him by friends. He rejected the +advice, and refused the offers, saying that he was old, and his life +was not worth much, but he had rather the boys should troll his old +head like a foot-ball in their streets, than that he should hide it. +And he continued the uniform practice of his daily walk into all parts +of the city. But when the mob of Charleston was assembled in the +streets before his hotel, and a deputation of gentlemen waited upon him +in the hall to say they had come with the unanimous voice of the state +to remove him by force, and the carriage was at the door, he considered +his duty discharged to the last point of possibility. The force was +apparent and irresistible; the legal officer’s part was up; it was +now time for the military officer to be sent; and he said, “Well, +gentlemen, since it is your pleasure to use force, I must go.” But his +opinion was unchanged. + +In like manner now, when the votes of the Free States, as shown in the +recent election in the State of Pennsylvania, had disappointed the +hopes of mankind and betrayed the cause of freedom, he considered the +question of justice and liberty, for his age, lost, and had no longer +the will to drag his days through the dishonors of the long defeat, and +promptly withdrew, but with unaltered belief. + +He was a very natural, but a very high character; a man of simple +tastes, plain and true in speech, with a clear perception of +justice, and a perfect obedience thereto in his action; of a strong +understanding, precise and methodical, which gave him great eminence +in the legal profession. It was rather his reputation for severe +method in his intellect than any special direction in his studies +that caused him to be offered the mathematical chair in Harvard +University, when vacant in 1806. The severity of his logic might have +inspired fear, had it not been restrained by his natural reverence, +which made him modest and courteous, though his courtesy had a grave +and almost military air. He combined a uniform self-respect with a +natural reverence for every other man; so that it was perfectly easy +for him to associate with farmers, and with plain, uneducated, poor +men, and he had a strong, unaffected interest in farms, and crops, and +weathers, and the common incidents of rural life. It was just as easy +for him to meet on the same floor, and with the same plain courtesy, +men of distinction and large ability. He was fond of farms and trees, +fond of birds, and attentive to their manners and habits; addicted to +long and retired walks; temperate to asceticism, for no lesson of his +experience was lost on him, and his self-command was perfect. Though +rich, of a plainness and almost poverty of personal expenditure, yet +liberal of his money to any worthy use, readily lending it to young +men, and industrious men, and by no means eager to reclaim of them +either the interest or the principal. He was open-handed to every +charity, and every public claim that had any show of reason in it. When +I talked with him one day of some inequality of taxes in the town, he +said it was his practice to pay whatever was demanded; for, though he +might think the taxation large and very unequally proportioned, yet he +thought the money might as well go in this way as in any other. + +The strength and the beauty of the man lay in the natural goodness and +justice of his mind, which, in manhood and in old age, after dealing +all his life with weighty private and public interests, left an +infantile innocence, of which we have no second or third example,--the +strength of a chief united to the modesty of a child. He returned from +courts or congresses to sit down, with unaltered humility, in the +church or in the town-house, on the plain wooden bench where honor came +and sat down beside him. + +He was a man in whom so rare a spirit of justice visibly dwelt, that if +one had met him in a cabin or in a forest he must still seem a public +man, answering as sovereign state to sovereign state; and might easily +suggest Milton’s picture of John Bradshaw, that “he was a consul from +whom the fasces did not depart with the year, but in private seemed +ever sitting in judgment on kings.” Everybody knew where to find him. +What he said, that would he do. But he disdained any arts in his +speech: he was not adorned with any graces of rhetoric, + + “But simple truth his utmost skill.” + +So cautious was he, and tender of the truth, that he sometimes +wearied his audience with the pains he took to qualify and verify +his statements, adding clause on clause to do justice to all his +conviction. He had little or no power of generalization. But a plain +way he had of putting his statement with all his might, and now and +then borrowing the aid of a good story, or a farmer’s phrase, whose +force had imprinted it on his memory, and, by the same token, his +hearers were bound to remember his point. + +The impression he made on juries was honorable to him and them. For +a long term of years, he was at the head of the bar in Middlesex, +practising, also, in the adjoining counties. He had one side or the +other of every important case, and his influence was reckoned despotic, +and sometimes complained of as a bar to public justice. Many good +stories are still told of the perplexity of jurors who found the law +and the evidence on one side, and yet Squire Hoar had said that he +believed, on his conscience, his client entitled to a verdict. And what +Middlesex jury, containing any God-fearing men in it, would hazard +an opinion in flat contradiction to what Squire Hoar believed to be +just? He was entitled to this respect; for he discriminated in the +business that was brought to him, and would not argue a rotten cause; +and he refused very large sums offered him to undertake the defense of +criminal persons. + +His character made him the conscience of the community in which he +lived. And in many a town it was asked, “What does Squire Hoar think of +this?” and in political crises, he was entreated to write a few lines +to make known to good men in Chelmsford, or Marlborough, or Shirley, +what that opinion was. I used to feel that his conscience was a kind +of meter of the degree of honesty in the country, by which on each +occasion it was tried, and sometimes found wanting. I am sorry to say +he could not be elected to Congress a second time from Middlesex. + +And in his own town, if some important end was to be gained,--as, +for instance, when the county commissioners refused to rebuild the +burned court-house, on the belief that the courts would be transferred +from Concord to Lowell,--all parties combined to send Mr. Hoar to the +Legislature, where his presence and speech, of course, secured the +rebuilding; and, of course also, having answered our end, we passed him +by and elected somebody else at the next term. + +His head, with singular grace in its lines, had a resemblance to the +bust of Dante. He retained to the last the erectness of his tall but +slender form, and not less the full strength of his mind. Such was, +in old age, the beauty of his person and carriage, as if the mind +radiated, and made the same impression of probity on all beholders. +His beauty was pathetic and touching in these latest days, and, as now +appears, it awakened a certain tender fear in all who saw him, that the +costly ornament of our homes and halls and streets was speedily to be +removed. Yet how solitary he looked, day by day in the world, this man +so revered, this man of public life, of large acquaintance and wide +family connection! Was it some reserve of constitution, or was it only +the lot of excellence, that with aims so pure and single, he seemed to +pass out of life alone, and, as it were, unknown to those who were his +contemporaries and familiars? + +[The following sketch of Mr. Hoar from a slightly different point of +view, was prepared by Mr. Emerson, shortly after the above speech +appeared in “Putnam’s Magazine” (December, 1856), at the request of +the Editor of the “Monthly Religious Magazine,” and was printed there, +January, 1857. It is here appended as giving some additional traits of +a characteristic figure which may serve as a pendant in some respects +to that of Dr. Ripley.] + + Mr. Hoar was distinguished in his profession by the grasp of his + mind, and by the simplicity of his means. His ability lay in the + clear apprehension and the powerful statement of the material points + of his case. He soon possessed it, and he never possessed it better, + and he was equally ready at any moment to state the facts. He saw + what was essential and refuted whatever was not, so that no man + embarrassed himself less with a needless array of books and evidences + of contingent value. + + These tactics of the lawyer were the tactics of his life. He had + uniformly the air of knowing just what he wanted and of going to that + in the shortest way. It is singular that his character should make + so deep an impression, standing and working as he did on so common + a ground. He was neither spiritualist nor man of genius nor of a + literary nor an executive talent. In strictness the vigor of his + understanding was directed on the ordinary domestic and municipal + well-being. Society had reason to cherish him, for he was a main + pillar on which it leaned. The useful and practical super-abounded + in his mind, and to a degree which might be even comic to young and + poetical persons. If he spoke of the engagement of two lovers, he + called it a contract. Nobody cared to speak of thoughts or aspirations + to a black-letter lawyer, who only studied to keep men out of prison, + and their lands out of attachment. Had you read Swedenborg or Plotinus + to him, he would have waited till you had done, and answered you out + of the Revised Statutes. He had an affinity for mathematics, but it + was a taste rather than a pursuit, and of the modern sciences he liked + to read popular books on geology. Yet so entirely was this respect to + the ground plan and substructure of society a natural ability, and + from the order of his mind, and not for “tickling commodity,” that + it was admirable, as every work of nature is, and like one of those + opaque crystals, big beryls weighing tons, which are found in Acworth, + New Hampshire, not less perfect in their angles and structure, and + only less beautiful, than the transparent topazes and diamonds. + Meantime, whilst his talent and his profession led him to guard the + material wealth of society, a more disinterested person did not exist. + And if there were regions of knowledge not open to him, he did not + pretend to them. His modesty was sincere. He had a childlike innocence + and a native temperance, which left him no temptations, and enabled + him to meet every comer with a free and disengaged courtesy that had + no memory in it + + “Of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled.” + + No person was more keenly alive to the stabs which the ambition and + avarice of men inflicted on the commonwealth. Yet when politicians + or speculators approached him, these memories left no scar; his + countenance had an unalterable tranquillity and sweetness; he had + nothing to repent of,--let the cloud rest where it might, he dwelt in + eternal sunshine. + + He had his birth and breeding in a little country town, where the + old religion existed in strictness, and spent all his energy in + creating purity of manners and careful education. No art or practice + of the farm was unknown to him, and the farmers greeted him as one of + themselves, whilst they paid due homage to his powers of mind and to + his virtues. + + He loved the dogmas and the simple usages of his church; was + always an honored and sometimes an active member. He never shrunk + from a disagreeable duty. In the time of the Sunday laws he was a + tithing-man; under the Maine Law he was a prosecutor of the liquor + dealers. It seemed as if the New England church had formed him to be + its friend and defender; the lover and assured friend of its parish + by-laws, of its ministers, its rites, and its social reforms. He was a + model of those formal but reverend manners which make what is called + a gentleman of the old school, so called under an impression that the + style is passing away, but which, I suppose, is an optical illusion, + as there are always a few more of the class remaining, and always a + few young men to whom these manners are native. + + I have spoken of his modesty; he had nothing to say about himself; + and his sincere admiration was commanded by certain heroes of the + profession, like Judge Parsons and Judge Marshall, Mr. Mason and Mr. + Webster. When some one said, in his presence, that Chief Justice + Marshall was failing in his intellect, Mr. Hoar remarked that “Judge + Marshall could afford to lose brains enough to furnish three or four + common men, before common men would find it out.” He had a huge + respect for Mr. Webster’s ability, with whom he had often occasion to + try his strength at the bar, and a proportionately deep regret at Mr. + Webster’s political course in his later years. + + There was no elegance in his reading or tastes beyond the crystal + clearness of his mind. He had no love of poetry; and I have heard that + the only verse that he was ever known to quote was the Indian rule: + + “When the oaks are in the gray, + Then, farmers, plant away.” + + But I find an elegance in his quiet but firm withdrawal from all + business in the courts which he could drop without manifest detriment + to the interests involved (and this when in his best strength), and + his self-dedication thenceforward to unpaid services of the Temperance + and Peace and other philanthropic societies, the Sunday Schools, the + cause of Education, and specially of the University, and to such + political activities as a strong sense of duty and the love of order + and of freedom urged him to forward. + + Perfect in his private life, the husband, father, friend, he was + severe only with himself. He was as if on terms of honor with those + nearest him, nor did he think a lifelong familiarity could excuse any + omission of courtesy from him. He carried ceremony finely to the last. + But his heart was all gentleness, gratitude and bounty. + + With beams December planets dart, + His cold eye truth and conduct scanned; + July was in his sunny heart, + October in his liberal hand. + + + + + THOREAU. + + A QUEEN rejoices in her peers, + And wary Nature knows her own, + By court and city, dale and down, + And like a lover volunteers, + And to her son will treasures more, + And more to purpose, freely pour + In one wood walk, than learned men + Will find with glass in ten times ten. + + + IT seemed as if the breezes brought him, + It seemed as if the sparrows taught him, + As if by secret sign he knew + Where in far fields the orchis grew. + + + + + THOREAU.[15] + + +HENRY DAVID THOREAU was the last male descendant of a French ancestor +who came to this country from the Isle of Guernsey. His character +exhibited occasional traits drawn from this blood, in singular +combination with a very strong Saxon genius. + +He was born in Concord, Massachusetts, on the 12th of July, 1817. He +was graduated at Harvard College in 1837, but without any literary +distinction. An iconoclast in literature, he seldom thanked colleges +for their service to him, holding them in small esteem, whilst yet his +debt to them was important. After leaving the University, he joined +his brother in teaching a private school, which he soon renounced. His +father was a manufacturer of lead-pencils, and Henry applied himself +for a time to this craft, believing he could make a better pencil +than was then in use. After completing his experiments, he exhibited +his work to chemists and artists in Boston, and having obtained their +certificates to its excellence and to its equality with the best London +manufacture, he returned home contented. His friends congratulated him +that he had now opened his way to fortune. But he replied, that he +should never make another pencil. “Why should I? I would not do again +what I have done once.” He resumed his endless walks and miscellaneous +studies, making every day some new acquaintance with Nature, though as +yet never speaking of zoölogy or botany, since, though very studious of +natural facts, he was incurious of technical and textual science. + +At this time, a strong, healthy youth, fresh from college, whilst all +his companions were choosing their profession, or eager to begin some +lucrative employment, it was inevitable that his thoughts should be +exercised on the same question, and it required rare decision to refuse +all the accustomed paths and keep his solitary freedom at the cost of +disappointing the natural expectations of his family and friends: all +the more difficult that he had a perfect probity, was exact in securing +his own independence, and in holding every man to the like duty. But +Thoreau never faltered. He was a born protestant. He declined to give +up his large ambition of knowledge and action for any narrow craft +or profession, aiming at a much more comprehensive calling, the art +of living well. If he slighted and defied the opinions of others, it +was only that he was more intent to reconcile his practice with his +own belief. Never idle or self-indulgent, he preferred, when he wanted +money, earning it by some piece of manual labor agreeable to him, as +building a boat or a fence, planting, grafting, surveying, or other +short work, to any long engagements. With his hardy habits and few +wants, his skill in wood-craft, and his powerful arithmetic, he was +very competent to live in any part of the world. It would cost him less +time to supply his wants than another. He was therefore secure of his +leisure. + +A natural skill for mensuration, growing out of his mathematical +knowledge and his habit of ascertaining the measures and distances +of objects which interested him, the size of trees, the depth and +extent of ponds and rivers, the height of mountains, and the air-line +distance of his favorite summits,--this, and his intimate knowledge +of the territory about Concord, made him drift into the profession of +land-surveyor. It had the advantage for him that it led him continually +into new and secluded grounds, and helped his studies of Nature. His +accuracy and skill in this work were readily appreciated, and he found +all the employment he wanted. + +He could easily solve the problems of the surveyor, but he was +daily beset with graver questions, which he manfully confronted. He +interrogated every custom, and wished to settle all his practice on an +ideal foundation. He was a protestant _à outrance_, and few lives +contain so many renunciations. He was bred to no profession; he never +married; he lived alone; he never went to church; he never voted; he +refused to pay a tax to the State; he ate no flesh, he drank no wine, +he never knew the use of tobacco; and, though a naturalist, he used +neither trap nor gun. He chose, wisely no doubt for himself, to be +the bachelor of thought and Nature. He had no talent for wealth, and +knew how to be poor without the least hint of squalor or inelegance. +Perhaps he fell into his way of living without forecasting it much, +but approved it with later wisdom. “I am often reminded,” he wrote in +his journal, “that if I had bestowed on me the wealth of Crœsus, my +aims must be still the same, and my means essentially the same.” He +had no temptations to fight against,--no appetites, no passions, no +taste for elegant trifles. A fine house, dress, the manners and talk of +highly cultivated people were all thrown away on him. He much preferred +a good Indian, and considered these refinements as impediments to +conversation, wishing to meet his companion on the simplest terms. +He declined invitations to dinner-parties, because there each was in +every one’s way, and he could not meet the individuals to any purpose. +“They make their pride,” he said, “in making their dinner cost much; +I make my pride in making my dinner cost little.” When asked at table +what dish he preferred, he answered, “The nearest.” He did not like the +taste of wine, and never had a vice in his life. He said,--“I have a +faint recollection of pleasure derived from smoking dried lily-stems, +before I was a man. I had commonly a supply of these. I have never +smoked anything more noxious.” + +He chose to be rich by making his wants few, and supplying them +himself. In his travels, he used the railroad only to get over so much +country as was unimportant to the present purpose, walking hundreds of +miles, avoiding taverns, buying a lodging in farmers’ and fishermen’s +houses, as cheaper, and more agreeable to him, and because there he +could better find the men and the information he wanted. + +There was somewhat military in his nature, not to be subdued, always +manly and able, but rarely tender, as if he did not feel himself except +in opposition. He wanted a fallacy to expose, a blunder to pillory, I +may say required a little sense of victory, a roll of the drum, to call +his powers into full exercise. It cost him nothing to say No; indeed +he found it much easier than to say Yes. It seemed as if his first +instinct on hearing a proposition was to controvert it, so impatient +was he of the limitations of our daily thought. This habit, of course, +is a little chilling to the social affections; and though the companion +would in the end acquit him of any malice or untruth, yet it mars +conversation. Hence, no equal companion stood in affectionate relations +with one so pure and guileless. “I love Henry,” said one of his +friends, “but I cannot like him; and as for taking his arm, I should as +soon think of taking the arm of an elm-tree.” + +Yet, hermit and stoic as he was, he was really fond of sympathy, and +threw himself heartily and childlike into the company of young people +whom he loved, and whom he delighted to entertain, as he only could, +with the varied and endless anecdotes of his experiences by field and +river: and he was always ready to lead a huckleberry-party or a search +for chestnuts or grapes. Talking, one day, of a public discourse, +Henry remarked, that whatever succeeded with the audience was bad. I +said, “Who would not like to write something which all can read, like +Robinson Crusoe? and who does not see with regret that his page is not +solid with a right materialistic treatment, which delights everybody?” +Henry objected, of course, and vaunted the better lectures which +reached only a few persons. But, at supper, a young girl, understanding +that he was to lecture at the Lyceum, sharply asked him, “Whether his +lecture would be a nice, interesting story, such as she wished to hear, +or whether it was one of those old philosophical things that she did +not care about.” Henry turned to her, and bethought himself, and, I +saw, was trying to believe that he had matter that might fit her and +her brother, who were to sit up and go to the lecture, if it was a good +one for them. + +He was a speaker and actor of the truth, born such, and was ever +running into dramatic situations from this cause. In any circumstance +it interested all bystanders to know what part Henry would take, and +what he would say; and he did not disappoint expectation, but used +an original judgment on each emergency. In 1845 he built himself a +small framed house on the shores of Walden Pond, and lived there two +years alone, a life of labor and study. This action was quite native +and fit for him. No one who knew him would tax him with affectation. +He was more unlike his neighbors in his thought than in his action. +As soon as he had exhausted the advantages of that solitude, he +abandoned it. In 1847, not approving some uses to which the public +expenditure was applied, he refused to pay his town tax, and was put +in jail. A friend paid the tax for him, and he was released. The like +annoyance was threatened the next year. But, as his friends paid the +tax, notwithstanding his protest, I believe he ceased to resist. No +opposition or ridicule had any weight with him. He coldly and fully +stated his opinion of the company. It was of no consequence if every +one present held the opposite opinion. On one occasion he went to the +University Library to procure some books. The librarian refused to +lend them. Mr. Thoreau repaired to the President, who stated to him +the rules and usages, which permitted the loan of books to resident +graduates, to clergymen who were alumni, and to some others resident +within a circle of ten miles’ radius from the College. Mr. Thoreau +explained to the President that the railroad had destroyed the old +scale of distances,--that the library was useless, yes, and President +and College useless, on the terms of his rules,--that the one benefit +he owed to the College was its library,--that, at this moment, not +only his want of books was imperative but he wanted a large number of +books, and assured him that he, Thoreau, and not the librarian, was the +proper custodian of these. In short, the President found the petitioner +so formidable, and the rules getting to look so ridiculous, that he +ended by giving him a privilege which in his hands proved unlimited +thereafter. + +No truer American existed than Thoreau. His preference of his country +and condition was genuine, and his aversation from English and European +manners and tastes almost reached contempt. He listened impatiently +to news or bonmots gleaned from London circles; and though he tried +to be civil, these anecdotes fatigued him. The men were all imitating +each other, and on a small mould. Why can they not live as far apart +as possible, and each be a man by himself? What he sought was the most +energetic nature; and he wished to go to Oregon, not to London. “In +every part of Great Britain,” he wrote in his diary, “are discovered +traces of the Romans, their funereal urns, their camps, their roads, +their dwellings. But New England, at least, is not based on any Roman +ruins. We have not to lay the foundations of our houses on the ashes of +a former civilization.” + +But, idealist as he was, standing for abolition of slavery, abolition +of tariffs, almost for abolition of government, it is needless to say +he found himself not only unrepresented in actual politics, but almost +equally opposed to every class of reformers. Yet he paid the tribute of +his uniform respect to the Anti-Slavery party. One man, whose personal +acquaintance he had formed, he honored with exceptional regard. Before +the first friendly word had been spoken for Captain John Brown, he +sent notices to most houses in Concord that he would speak in a +public hall on the condition and character of John Brown, on Sunday +evening, and invited all people to come. The Republican Committee, +the Abolitionist Committee, sent him word that it was premature and +not advisable. He replied,--“I did not send to you for advice, but to +announce that I am to speak.” The hall was filled at an early hour by +people of all parties, and his earnest eulogy of the hero was heard by +all respectfully, by many with a sympathy that surprised themselves. + +It was said of Plotinus that he was ashamed of his body, and ’tis very +likely he had good reason for it,--that his body was a bad servant, +and he had not skill in dealing with the material world, as happens +often to men of abstract intellect. But Mr. Thoreau was equipped with +a most adapted and serviceable body. He was of short stature, firmly +built, of light complexion, with strong, serious blue eyes, and a grave +aspect,--his face covered in the late years with a becoming beard. His +senses were acute, his frame well-knit and hardy, his hands strong and +skilful in the use of tools. And there was a wonderful fitness of body +and mind. He could pace sixteen rods more accurately than another man +could measure them with rod and chain. He could find his path in the +woods at night, he said, better by his feet than his eyes. He could +estimate the measure of a tree very well by his eye; he could estimate +the weight of a calf or a pig, like a dealer. From a box containing a +bushel or more of loose pencils, he could take up with his hands fast +enough just a dozen pencils at every grasp. He was a good swimmer, +runner, skater, boatman, and would probably outwalk most countrymen in +a day’s journey. And the relation of body to mind was still finer than +we have indicated. He said he wanted every stride his legs made. The +length of his walk uniformly made the length of his writing. If shut up +in the house he did not write at all. + +He had a strong common-sense, like that which Rose Flammock the +weaver’s daughter in Scott’s romance commends in her father, as +resembling a yardstick, which, whilst it measures dowlas and diaper, +can equally well measure tapestry and cloth of gold. He had always a +new resource. When I was planting forest trees, and had procured half +a peck of acorns, he said that only a small portion of them would be +sound, and proceeded to examine them and select the sound ones. But +finding this took time, he said, “I think if you put them all into +water the good ones will sink;” which experiment we tried with success. +He could plan a garden or a house or a barn; would have been competent +to lead a “Pacific Exploring Expedition;” could give judicious counsel +in the gravest private or public affairs. + +He lived for the day, not cumbered and mortified by his memory. If he +brought you yesterday a new proposition, he would bring you to-day +another not less revolutionary. A very industrious man, and setting, +like all highly organized men, a high value on his time, he seemed +the only man of leisure in town, always ready for any excursion that +promised well, or for conversation prolonged into late hours. His +trenchant sense was never stopped by his rules of daily prudence, but +was always up to the new occasion. He liked and used the simplest food, +yet, when some one urged a vegetable diet, Thoreau thought all diets a +very small matter, saying that “the man who shoots the buffalo lives +better than the man who boards at the Graham House.” He said,--“You +can sleep near the railroad, and never be disturbed: Nature knows very +well what sounds are worth attending to, and has made up her mind not +to hear the railroad-whistle. But things respect the devout mind, and a +mental ecstasy was never interrupted.” He noted what repeatedly befell +him, that, after receiving from a distance a rare plant, he would +presently find the same in his own haunts. And those pieces of luck +which happen only to good players happened to him. One day, walking +with a stranger, who inquired where Indian arrow-heads could be found, +he replied, “Everywhere,” and, stooping forward, picked one on the +instant from the ground. At Mount Washington, in Tuckerman’s Ravine, +Thoreau had a bad fall, and sprained his foot. As he was in the act of +getting up from his fall, he saw for the first time the leaves of the +_Arnica mollis_. + +His robust common sense, armed with stout hands, keen perceptions and +strong will, cannot yet account for the superiority which shone in +his simple and hidden life. I must add the cardinal fact, that there +was an excellent wisdom in him, proper to a rare class of men, which +showed him the material world as a means and symbol. This discovery, +which sometimes yields to poets a certain casual and interrupted light, +serving for the ornament of their writing, was in him an unsleeping +insight; and whatever faults or obstructions of temperament might +cloud it, he was not disobedient to the heavenly vision. In his youth, +he said, one day, “The other world is all my art; my pencils will +draw no other; my jack-knife will cut nothing else; I do not use it +as a means.” This was the muse and genius that ruled his opinions, +conversation, studies, work and course of life. This made him a +searching judge of men. At first glance he measured his companion, +and, though insensible to some fine traits of culture, could very well +report his weight and calibre. And this made the impression of genius +which his conversation sometimes gave. + +He understood the matter in hand at a glance, and saw the limitations +and poverty of those he talked with, so that nothing seemed concealed +from such terrible eyes. I have repeatedly known young men of +sensibility converted in a moment to the belief that this was the +man they were in search of, the man of men, who could tell them all +they should do. His own dealing with them was never affectionate, but +superior, didactic, scorning their petty ways,--very slowly conceding, +or not conceding at all, the promise of his society at their houses, or +even at his own. “Would he not walk with them?” “He did not know. There +was nothing so important to him as his walk; he had no walks to throw +away on company.” Visits were offered him from respectful parties, but +he declined them. Admiring friends offered to carry him at their own +cost to the Yellowstone River,--to the West Indies,--to South America. +But though nothing could be more grave or considered than his refusals, +they remind one, in quite new relations, of that fop Brummel’s reply to +the gentleman who offered him his carriage in a shower, “But where will +_you_ ride, then?”--and what accusing silences, and what searching +and irresistible speeches, battering down all defenses, his companions +can remember! + +Mr. Thoreau dedicated his genius with such entire love to the fields, +hills and waters of his native town, that he made them known and +interesting to all reading Americans, and to people over the sea. The +river on whose banks he was born and died he knew from its springs +to its confluence with the Merrimack. He had made summer and winter +observations on it for many years, and at every hour of the day and +night. The result of the recent survey of the Water Commissioners +appointed by the State of Massachusetts he had reached by his private +experiments, several years earlier. Every fact which occurs in the bed, +on the banks, or in the air over it; the fishes, and their spawning and +nests, their manners, their food; the shad-flies which fill the air on +a certain evening once a year, and which are snapped at by the fishes +so ravenously that many of these die of repletion; the conical heaps +of small stones on the river-shallows, the huge nests of small fishes, +one of which will sometimes overfill a cart; the birds which frequent +the stream, heron, duck, sheldrake, loon, osprey; the snake, muskrat, +otter, woodchuck and fox, on the banks; the turtle, frog, hyla and +cricket, which make the banks vocal,--were all known to him, and, as it +were, townsmen and fellow-creatures; so that he felt an absurdity or +violence in any narrative of one of these by itself apart, and still +more of its dimensions on an inch-rule, or in the exhibition of its +skeleton, or the specimen of a squirrel or a bird in brandy. He liked +to speak of the manners of the river, as itself a lawful creature, yet +with exactness, and always to an observed fact. As he knew the river, +so the ponds in this region. + +One of the weapons he used, more important to him than microscope or +alcohol-receiver to other investigators, was a whim which grew on him +by indulgence, yet appeared in gravest statement, namely, of extolling +his own town and neighborhood as the most favored centre for natural +observation. He remarked that the Flora of Massachusetts embraced +almost all the important plants of America,--most of the oaks, most of +the willows, the best pines, the ash, the maple, the beech, the nuts. +He returned Kane’s “Arctic Voyage” to a friend of whom he had borrowed +it, with the remark, that “Most of the phenomena noted might be +observed in Concord.” He seemed a little envious of the Pole, for the +coincident sunrise and sunset, or five minutes’ day after six months: +a splendid fact, which Annursnuc had never afforded him. He found red +snow in one of his walks, and told me that he expected to find yet the +_Victoria regia_ in Concord. He was the attorney of the indigenous +plants, and owned to a preference of the weeds to the imported plants +as of the Indian to the civilized man, and noticed, with pleasure, that +the willow bean-poles of his neighbor had grown more than his beans. +“See these weeds,” he said, “which have been hoed at by a million +farmers all spring and summer, and yet have prevailed, and just now +come out triumphant over all lanes, pastures, fields and gardens, such +is their vigor. We have insulted them with low names, too,--as Pigweed, +Wormwood, Chickweed, Shad-blossom.” He says, “They have brave names, +too,--Ambrosia, Stellaria, Amelanchier, Amaranth, etc.” + +I think his fancy for referring everything to the meridian of Concord +did not grow out of any ignorance or depreciation of other longitudes +or latitudes, but was rather a playful expression of his conviction of +the indifferency of all places, and that the best place for each is +where he stands. He expressed it once in this wise:--“I think nothing +is to be hoped from you, if this bit of mould under your feet is not +sweeter to you to eat than any other in this world, or in any world.” + +The other weapon with which he conquered all obstacles in science was +patience. He knew how to sit immovable, a part of the rock he rested +on, until the bird, the reptile, the fish, which had retired from him, +should come back and resume its habits, nay, moved by curiosity, should +come to him and watch him. + +It was a pleasure and a privilege to walk with him. He knew the country +like a fox or a bird, and passed through it as freely by paths of +his own. He knew every track in the snow or on the ground, and what +creature had taken this path before him. One must submit abjectly to +such a guide, and the reward was great. Under his arm he carried an +old music-book to press plants; in his pocket, his diary and pencil, +a spy-glass for birds, microscope, jack-knife, and twine. He wore a +straw hat, stout shoes, strong gray trousers, to brave scrub-oaks and +smilax, and to climb a tree for a hawk’s or a squirrel’s nest. He +waded into the pool for the water-plants, and his strong legs were no +insignificant part of his armor. On the day I speak of he looked for +the Menyanthes, detected it across the wide pool, and, on examination +of the florets, decided that it had been in flower five days. He drew +out of his breast-pocket his diary, and read the names of all the +plants that should bloom on this day, whereof he kept account as a +banker when his notes fall due. The Cypripedium not due till to-morrow. +He thought that, if waked up from a trance, in this swamp, he could +tell by the plants what time of the year it was within two days. The +redstart was flying about, and presently the fine grosbeaks, whose +brilliant scarlet “makes the rash gazer wipe his eye,” and whose fine +clear note Thoreau compared to that of a tanager which has got rid of +its hoarseness. Presently he heard a note which he called that of the +night-warbler, a bird he had never identified, had been in search of +twelve years, which always, when he saw it, was in the act of diving +down into a tree or bush, and which it was vain to seek; the only bird +which sings indifferently by night and by day. I told him he must +beware of finding and booking it, lest life should have nothing more to +show him. He said, “What you seek in vain for, half your life, one day +you come full upon, all the family at dinner. You seek it like a dream, +and as soon as you find it you become its prey.” + +His interest in the flower or the bird lay very deep in his mind, +was connected with Nature,--and the meaning of Nature was never +attempted to be defined by him. He would not offer a memoir of his +observations to the Natural History Society. “Why should I? To detach +the description from its connections in my mind would make it no longer +true or valuable to me: and they do not wish what belongs to it.” His +power of observation seemed to indicate additional senses. He saw +as with microscope, heard as with ear-trumpet, and his memory was a +photographic register of all he saw and heard. And yet none knew better +than he that it is not the fact that imports, but the impression or +effect of the fact on your mind. Every fact lay in glory in his mind, a +type of the order and beauty of the whole. + +His determination on Natural History was organic. He confessed that he +sometimes felt like a hound or a panther, and, if born among Indians, +would have been a fell hunter. But, restrained by his Massachusetts +culture, he played out the game in this mild form of botany and +ichthyology. His intimacy with animals suggested what Thomas Fuller +records of Butler the apiologist, that “either he had told the bees +things or the bees had told him.” Snakes coiled round his leg; the +fishes swam into his hand, and he took them out of the water; he pulled +the woodchuck out of its hole by the tail and took the foxes under his +protection from the hunters. Our naturalist had perfect magnanimity; +he had no secrets: he would carry you to the heron’s haunt, or even to +his most prized botanical swamp,--possibly knowing that you could never +find it again, yet willing to take his risks. + +No college ever offered him a diploma, or a professor’s chair; no +academy made him its corresponding secretary, its discoverer, or even +its member. Perhaps these learned bodies feared the satire of his +presence. Yet so much knowledge of Nature’s secret and genius few +others possessed, none in a more large and religious synthesis. For not +a particle of respect had he to the opinions of any man or body of men, +but homage solely to the truth itself; and as he discovered everywhere +among doctors some leaning of courtesy, it discredited them. He grew +to be revered and admired by his townsmen, who had at first known him +only as an oddity. The farmers who employed him as a surveyor soon +discovered his rare accuracy and skill, his knowledge of their lands, +of trees, of birds, of Indian remains and the like, which enabled him +to tell every farmer more than he knew before of his own farm; so +that he began to feel a little as if Mr. Thoreau had better rights in +his land than he. They felt, too, the superiority of character which +addressed all men with a native authority. + +Indian relics abound in Concord,--arrow-heads, stone chisels, pestles, +and fragments of pottery; and on the river-bank, large heaps of +clam-shells and ashes mark spots which the savages frequented. These, +and every circumstance touching the Indian, were important in his eyes. +His visits to Maine were chiefly for love of the Indian. He had the +satisfaction of seeing the manufacture of the bark-canoe, as well as +of trying his hand in its management on the rapids. He was inquisitive +about the making of the stone arrow-head, and in his last days charged +a youth setting out for the Rocky Mountains to find an Indian who could +tell him that: “It was well worth a visit to California to learn it.” +Occasionally, a small party of Penobscot Indians would visit Concord, +and pitch their tents for a few weeks in summer on the river-bank. He +failed not to make acquaintance with the best of them; though he well +knew that asking questions of Indians is like catechizing beavers and +rabbits. In his last visit to Maine he had great satisfaction from +Joseph Polis, an intelligent Indian of Oldtown, who was his guide for +some weeks. + +He was equally interested in every natural fact. The depth of his +perception found likeness of law throughout Nature, and I know not any +genius who so swiftly inferred universal law from the single fact. He +was no pedant of a department. His eye was open to beauty, and his ear +to music. He found these, not in rare conditions, but wheresoever he +went. He thought the best of music was in single strains; and he found +poetic suggestion in the humming of the telegraph-wire. + +His poetry might be bad or good; he no doubt wanted a lyric facility +and technical skill, but he had the source of poetry in his spiritual +perception. He was a good reader and critic, and his judgment on poetry +was to the ground of it. He could not be deceived as to the presence or +absence of the poetic element in any composition, and his thirst for +this made him negligent and perhaps scornful of superficial graces. He +would pass by many delicate rhythms, but he would have detected every +live stanza or line in a volume, and knew very well where to find +an equal poetic charm in prose. He was so enamored of the spiritual +beauty that he held all actual written poems in very light esteem in +the comparison. He admired Æschylus and Pindar; but, when someone was +commending them, he said that Æschylus and the Greeks, in describing +Apollo and Orpheus, had given no song, or no good one. “They ought not +to have moved trees, but to have chanted to the gods such a hymn as +would have sung all their old ideas out of their heads, and new ones +in.” His own verses are often rude and defective. The gold does not +yet run pure, is drossy and crude. The thyme and marjoram are not yet +honey. But if he want lyric fineness and technical merits, if he have +not the poetic temperament, he never lacks the causal thought, showing +that his genius was better than his talent. He knew the worth of the +Imagination for the uplifting and consolation of human life, and liked +to throw every thought into a symbol. The fact you tell is of no value, +but only the impression. For this reason his presence was poetic, +always piqued the curiosity to know more deeply the secrets of his +mind. He had many reserves, an unwillingness to exhibit to profane eyes +what was still sacred in his own, and knew well how to throw a poetic +veil over his experience. All readers of “Walden” will remember his +mythical record of his disappointments:-- + +“I long ago lost a hound, a bay horse and a turtle-dove, and am still +on their trail. Many are the travellers I have spoken concerning them, +describing their tracks, and what calls they answered to. I have met +one or two who have heard the hound, and the tramp of the horse, and +even seen the dove disappear behind a cloud; and they seemed as anxious +to recover them as if they had lost them themselves.”[16] + +His riddles were worth the reading, and I confide that if at any time I +do not understand the expression, it is yet just. Such was the wealth +of his truth that it was not worth his while to use words in vain. +His poem entitled “Sympathy” reveals the tenderness under that triple +steel of stoicism, and the intellectual subtility it could animate. +His classic poem on “Smoke” suggests Simonides, but is better than any +poem of Simonides. His biography is in his verses. His habitual thought +makes all his poetry a hymn to the Cause of causes, the Spirit which +vivifies and controls his own:-- + + “I hearing get, who had but ears, + And sight, who had but eyes before; + I moments live, who lived but years, + And truth discern, who knew but learning’s lore.” + +And still more in these religious lines:-- + + “Now chiefly is my natal hour, + And only now my prime of life; + I will not doubt the love untold, + Which not my worth nor want have bought, + Which wooed me young, and wooes me old, + And to this evening hath me brought.” + +Whilst he used in his writings a certain petulance of remark in +reference to churches or churchmen, he was a person of a rare, tender +and absolute religion, a person incapable of any profanation, by act +or by thought. Of course, the same isolation which belonged to his +original thinking and living detached him from the social religious +forms. This is neither to be censured nor regretted. Aristotle long ago +explained it when he said, “One who surpasses his fellow-citizens in +virtue is no longer a part of the city. Their law is not for him, since +he is a law to himself.” + +Thoreau was sincerity itself, and might fortify the convictions of +prophets in the ethical laws by his holy living. It was an affirmative +experience which refused to be set aside. A truth-speaker he, capable +of the most deep and strict conversation; a physician to the wounds +of any soul; a friend, knowing not only the secret of friendship, but +almost worshipped by those few persons who resorted to him as their +confessor and prophet, and knew the deep value of his mind and great +heart. He thought that without religion or devotion of some kind +nothing great was ever accomplished: and he thought that the bigoted +sectarian had better bear this in mind. + +His virtues, of course, sometimes ran into extremes. It was easy to +trace to the inexorable demand on all for exact truth that austerity +which made this willing hermit more solitary even than he wished. +Himself of a perfect probity, he required not less of others. He +had a disgust at crime, and no worldly success would cover it. He +detected paltering as readily in dignified and prosperous persons as +in beggars, and with equal scorn. Such dangerous frankness was in his +dealing that his admirers called him “that terrible Thoreau,” as if +he spoke when silent, and was still present when he had departed. I +think the severity of his ideal interfered to deprive him of a healthy +sufficiency of human society. + +The habit of a realist to find things the reverse of their appearance +inclined him to put every statement in a paradox. A certain habit of +antagonism defaced his earlier writings,--a trick of rhetoric not quite +outgrown in his later, of substituting for the obvious word and thought +its diametrical opposite. He praised wild mountains and winter forests +for their domestic air, in snow and ice he would find sultriness, and +commended the wilderness for resembling Rome and Paris. “It was so dry, +that you might call it wet.” + +The tendency to magnify the moment, to read all the laws of Nature in +the one object or one combination under your eye, is of course comic +to those who do not share the philosopher’s perception of identity. +To him there was no such thing as size. The pond was a small ocean; +the Atlantic, a large Walden Pond. He referred every minute fact +to cosmical laws. Though he meant to be just, he seemed haunted by +a certain chronic assumption that the science of the day pretended +completeness, and he had just found out that the _savans_ had +neglected to discriminate a particular botanical variety, had failed to +describe the seeds or count the sepals. “That is to say,” we replied, +“the blockheads were not born in Concord; but who said they were? It +was their unspeakable misfortune to be born in London, or Paris, or +Rome; but, poor fellows, they did what they could, considering that +they never saw Bateman’s Pond, or Nine-Acre Corner, or Becky Stow’s +Swamp; besides, what were you sent into the world for, but to add this +observation?” + +Had his genius been only contemplative, he had been fitted to his life, +but with his energy and practical ability he seemed born for great +enterprise and for command; and I so much regret the loss of his rare +powers of action, that I cannot help counting it a fault in him that he +had no ambition. Wanting this, instead of engineering for all America, +he was the captain of a huckleberry-party. Pounding beans is good to +the end of pounding empires one of these days; but if, at the end of +years, it is still only beans! + +But these foibles, real or apparent, were fast vanishing in the +incessant growth of a spirit so robust and wise, and which effaced its +defeats with new triumphs. His study of Nature was a perpetual ornament +to him, and inspired his friends with curiosity to see the world +through his eyes, and to hear his adventures. They possessed every kind +of interest. + +He had many elegancies of his own, whilst he scoffed at conventional +elegance. Thus, he could not bear to hear the sound of his own steps, +the grit of gravel; and therefore never willingly walked in the road, +but in the grass, on mountains and in woods. His senses were acute, +and he remarked that by night every dwelling-house gives out bad +air, like a slaughter-house. He liked the pure fragrance of melilot. +He honored certain plants with special regard, and, over all, the +pond-lily,--then, the gentian, and the _Mikania scandens_, and +“life-everlasting,” and a bass-tree which he visited every year when it +bloomed, in the middle of July. He thought the scent a more oracular +inquisition than the sight,--more oracular and trustworthy. The scent, +of course, reveals what is concealed from the other senses. By it he +detected earthiness. He delighted in echoes, and said they were almost +the only kind of kindred voices that he heard. He loved Nature so well, +was so happy in her solitude, that he became very jealous of cities and +the sad work which their refinements and artifices made with man and +his dwelling. The axe was always destroying his forest. “Thank God,” +he said, “they cannot cut down the clouds!” “All kinds of figures are +drawn on the blue ground with this fibrous white paint.” + +I subjoin a few sentences taken from his unpublished manuscripts, not +only as records of his thought and feeling, but for their power of +description and literary excellence:-- + +“Some circumstantial evidence is very strong, as when you find a trout +in the milk.” + +“The chub is a soft fish, and tastes like boiled brown paper salted.” + +“The youth gets together his materials to build a bridge to the moon, +or, perchance, a palace or temple on the earth, and, at length the +middle-aged man concludes to build a wood-shed with them.” + +“The locust z-ing.” + +“Devil’s-needles zigzagging along the Nut-Meadow brook.” + +“Sugar is not so sweet to the palate as sound to the healthy ear.” + +“I put on some hemlock-boughs, and the rich salt crackling of their +leaves was like mustard to the ear, the crackling of uncountable +regiments. Dead trees love the fire.” + +“The bluebird carries the sky on his back.” + +“The tanager flies through the green foliage as if it would ignite the +leaves.” + +“If I wish for a horse-hair for my compass-sight I must go to the +stable; but the hair-bird, with her sharp eyes, goes to the road.” + +“Immortal water, alive even to the superficies.” + +“Fire is the most tolerable third party.” + +“Nature made ferns for pure leaves, to show what she could do in that +line.” + +“No tree has so fair a bole and so handsome an instep as the beech.” + +“How did these beautiful rainbow-tints get into the shell of the +fresh-water clam, buried in the mud at the bottom of our dark river?” + +“Hard are the times when the infant’s shoes are second-foot.” + +“We are strictly confined to our men to whom we give liberty.” + +“Nothing is so much to be feared as fear. Atheism may comparatively be +popular with God himself.” + +“Of what significance the things you can forget? A little thought is +sexton to all the world.” + +“How can we expect a harvest of thought who have not had a seed-time of +character?” + +“Only he can be trusted with gifts who can present a face of bronze to +expectations.” + +“I ask to be melted. You can only ask of the metals that they be tender +to the fire that melts them. To nought else can they be tender.” + +There is a flower known to botanists, one of the same genus with our +summer plant called “Life-Everlasting,” a _Gnaphalium_ like that, +which grows on the most inaccessible cliffs of the Tyrolese mountains, +where the chamois dare hardly venture, and which the hunter, tempted by +its beauty, and by his love (for it is immensely valued by the Swiss +maidens), climbs the cliffs to gather, and is sometimes found dead at +the foot, with the flower in his hand. It is called by botanists the +_Gnaphalium leontopodium_, but by the Swiss _Edelweisse_, +which signifies _Noble Purity_. Thoreau seemed to me living in the +hope to gather this plant, which belonged to him of right. The scale +on which his studies proceeded was so large as to require longevity, +and we were the less prepared for his sudden disappearance. The country +knows not yet, or in the least part, how great a son it has lost. It +seems an injury that he should leave in the midst his broken task which +none else can finish, a kind of indignity to so noble a soul that he +should depart out of Nature before yet he has been really shown to +his peers for what he is. But he, at least, is content. His soul was +made for the noblest society; he had in a short life exhausted the +capabilities of this world; wherever there is knowledge, wherever there +is virtue, wherever there is beauty, he will find a home. + + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[Footnote 15: Part of this paper was the Address delivered by Mr. +Emerson at the funeral of Mr. Thoreau, in May, 1862. In the following +summer it was enlarged and printed in the “Atlantic Monthly” in its +present form.] + +[Footnote 16: _Walden_: p. 20.] + + + + + CARLYLE. + + HOLD with the Maker, not the Made, + Sit with the Cause, or grim or glad. + + + + + CARLYLE.[17] + + +THOMAS CARLYLE is an immense talker, as extraordinary in his +conversation as in his writing,--I think even more so. + +He is not mainly a scholar, like the most of my acquaintances, but +a practical Scotchman, such as you would find in any saddler’s or +iron-dealer’s shop, and then only accidentally and by a surprising +addition, the admirable scholar and writer he is. If you would know +precisely how he talks, just suppose Hugh Whelan (the gardener) had +found leisure enough in addition to all his daily work to read Plato +and Shakspeare, Augustine and Calvin, and, remaining Hugh Whelan all +the time, should talk scornfully of all this nonsense of books that +he had been bothered with, and you shall have just the tone and talk +and laughter of Carlyle. I called him a trip-hammer with “an Æolian +attachment.” He has, too, the strong religious tinge you sometimes +find in burly people. That, and all his qualities, have a certain +virulence, coupled though it be in his case with the utmost impatience +of Christendom and Jewdom and all existing presentments of the good +old story. He talks like a very unhappy man,--profoundly solitary, +displeased and hindered by all men and things about him, and, biding +his time, meditating how to undermine and explode the whole world of +nonsense which torments him. He is obviously greatly respected by all +sorts of people, understands his own value quite as well as Webster, of +whom his behavior sometimes reminds me, and can see society on his own +terms. + +And, though no mortal in America could pretend to talk with Carlyle, +who is also as remarkable in England as the Tower of London, yet +neither would he in any manner satisfy us (Americans), or begin to +answer the questions which we ask. He is a very national figure, and +would by no means bear transplantation. They keep Carlyle as a sort of +portable cathedral-bell, which they like to produce in companies where +he is unknown, and set a-swinging, to the surprise and consternation +of all persons,--bishops, courtiers, scholars, writers,--and, as in +companies here (in England) no man is named or introduced, great is +the effect and great the inquiry. Forster of Rawdon described to me +a dinner at the _table d’hôte_ of some provincial hotel where +he carried Carlyle, and where an Irish canon had uttered something. +Carlyle began to talk, first to the waiters, and then to the walls, and +then, lastly, unmistakably to the priest, in a manner that frightened +the whole company. + +Young men, especially those holding liberal opinions, press to see +him, but it strikes me like being hot to see the mathematical or +Greek professor before they have got their lesson. It needs something +more than a clean shirt and reading German to visit him. He treats +them with contempt; they profess freedom and he stands for slavery; +they praise republics and he likes the Russian Czar; they admire +Cobden and free trade and he is a protectionist in political economy; +they will eat vegetables and drink water, and he is a Scotchman who +thinks English national character has a pure enthusiasm for beef +and mutton,--describes with gusto the crowds of people who gaze at +the sirloins in the dealer’s shop-window, and even likes the Scotch +night-cap; they praise moral suasion, he goes for murder, money, +capital punishment, and other pretty abominations of English law. They +wish freedom of the press, and he thinks the first thing he would do, +if he got into Parliament, would be to turn out the reporters, and stop +all manner of mischievous speaking to Buncombe, and wind-bags. “In the +Long Parliament,” he says, “the only great Parliament, they sat secret +and silent, grave as an ecumenical council, and I know not what they +would have done to anybody that had got in there and attempted to tell +out of doors what they did.” They go for free institutions, for letting +things alone, and only giving opportunity and motive to every man; +he for a stringent government, that shows people what they must do, +and makes them do it. “Here,” he says, “the Parliament gathers up six +millions of pounds every year to give to the poor, and yet the people +starve. I think if they would give it to me, to provide the poor with +labor, and with authority to make them work or shoot them,--and I to be +hanged if I did not do it,--I could find them in plenty of Indian meal.” + +He throws himself readily on the other side. If you urge free trade, he +remembers that every laborer is a monopolist. The navigation laws of +England made its commerce. “St. John was insulted by the Dutch; he came +home, got the law passed that foreign vessels should pay high fees, and +it cut the throat of the Dutch, and made the English trade.” If you +boast of the growth of the country, and show him the wonderful results +of the census, he finds nothing so depressing as the sight of a great +mob. He saw once, as he told me, three or four miles of human beings, +and fancied that “the airth was some great cheese, and these were +mites.” If a tory takes heart at his hatred of stump-oratory and model +republics, he replies, “Yes, the idea of a pig-headed soldier who will +obey orders, and fire on his own father at the command of his officer, +is a great comfort to the aristocratic mind.” It is not so much that +Carlyle cares for this or that dogma, as that he likes genuineness (the +source of all strength) in his companions. + +If a scholar goes into a camp of lumbermen or a gang of riggers, +those men will quickly detect any fault of character. Nothing will +pass with them but what is real and sound. So this man is a hammer +that crushes mediocrity and retention. He detects weakness on the +instant, and touches it. He has a vivacious, aggressive temperament, +and unimpressionable. The literary, the fashionable, the political man, +each fresh from triumphs in his own sphere, comes eagerly to see this +man, whose fun they have heartily enjoyed, sure of a welcome, and are +struck with despair at the first onset. His firm, victorious, scoffing +vituperation strikes them with chill and hesitation. His talk often +reminds you of what was said of Johnson: “If his pistol missed fire he +would knock you down with the butt-end.” + +Mere intellectual partisanship wearies him; he detects in an instant +if a man stands for any cause to which he is not born and organically +committed. A natural defender of anything, a lover who will live and +die for that which he speaks for, and who does not care for him or for +anything but his own business, he respects; and the nobler this object, +of course, the better. He hates a literary trifler, and if, after +Guizot had been a tool of Louis Philippe for years, he is now to come +and write essays on the character of Washington, on “The Beautiful,” +and on “Philosophy of History,” he thinks that nothing. + +Great is his reverence for realities,--for all such traits as spring +from the intrinsic nature of the actor. He humors this into the +idolatry of strength. A strong nature has a charm for him, previous, +it would seem, to all inquiry whether the force be divine or diabolic. +He preaches, as by cannonade, the doctrine that every noble nature +was made by God, and contains, if savage passions, also fit checks +and grand impulses, and, however extravagant, will keep its orbit and +return from far. + +Nor can that decorum which is the idol of the Englishman, and in +attaining which the Englishman exceeds all nations, win from him any +obeisance. He is eaten up with indignation against such as desire to +make a fair show in the flesh. + +Combined with this warfare on respectabilities, and, indeed, pointing +all his satire, is the severity of his moral sentiment. In proportion +to the peals of laughter amid which he strips the plumes of a pretender +and shows the lean hypocrisy to every vantage of ridicule, does he +worship whatever enthusiasm, fortitude, love, or other sign of a good +nature is in a man. + +There is nothing deeper in his constitution than his humor, than the +considerate, condescending good-nature with which he looks at every +object in existence, as a man might look at a mouse. He feels that the +perfection of health is sportiveness, and will not look grave even at +dullness or tragedy. + +His guiding genius is his moral sense, his perception of the sole +importance of truth and justice; but that is a truth of character, not +of catechisms. He says, “There is properly no religion in England. +These idle nobles at Tattersall’s--there is no work or word of serious +purpose in them; they have this great lying Church; and life is a +humbug.” He prefers Cambridge to Oxford, but he thinks Oxford and +Cambridge education indurates the young men, as the Styx hardened +Achilles, so that when they come forth of them, they say, “Now we are +proof; we have gone through all the degrees, and are case-hardened +against the veracities of the Universe; nor man nor God can penetrate +us.” + +Wellington he respects as real and honest, and as having made up his +mind, once for all, that he will not have to do with any kind of a lie. +Edwin Chadwick is one of his heroes,--who proposes to provide every +house in London with pure water, sixty gallons to every head, at a +penny a week; and in the decay and downfall of all religions, Carlyle +thinks that the only religious act which a man nowadays can securely +perform is to wash himself well. + +Of course the new French revolution of 1848 was the best thing he +had seen, and the teaching this great swindler, Louis Philippe, that +there is a God’s justice in the Universe, after all, was a great +satisfaction. Czar Nicholas was his hero; for in the ignominy of +Europe, when all thrones fell like card-houses, and no man was found +with conscience enough to fire a gun for his crown, but every one ran +away in a _coucou_, with his head shaved, through the Barrière de +Passy, one man remained who believed he was put there by God Almighty +to govern his empire, and, by the help of God, had resolved to stand +there. + +He was very serious about the bad times; he had seen this evil coming, +but thought it would not come in his time. But now ’tis coming, and +the only good he sees in it is the visible appearance of the gods. +He thinks it the only question for wise men, instead of art and fine +fancies and poetry and such things, to address themselves to the +problem of society. This confusion is the inevitable end of such +falsehoods and nonsense as they have been embroiled with. + +Carlyle has, best of all men in England, kept the manly attitude in +his time. He has stood for scholars, asking no scholar what he should +say. Holding an honored place in the best society, he has stood for the +people, for the Chartist, for the pauper, intrepidly and scornfully +teaching the nobles their peremptory duties. + +His errors of opinion are as nothing in comparison with this merit, in +my judgment. This _aplomb_ cannot be mimicked; it is the speaking +to the heart of the thing. And in England, where the _morgue_ of +aristocracy has very slowly admitted scholars into society,--a very +few houses only in the high circles being ever opened to them,--he has +carried himself erect, made himself a power confessed by all men, and +taught scholars their lofty duty. He never feared the face of man. + + + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[Footnote 17: From a letter written soon after Mr. Emerson’s visit to +Carlyle in 1848. Read before the Massachusetts Historical Society at +their meeting after the death of Carlyle, February, 1881. Published in +their Proceedings, and also in “Scribner’s Magazine,” May, 1881.] + + + + + =TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES= + +Simple typographical errors have been silently corrected; unbalanced +quotation marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and +otherwise left unbalanced. + +Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant +preference was found in the original book; otherwise they were not +changed. + +Inconsistent hyphens left as printed. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75942 *** diff --git a/75942-h/75942-h.htm b/75942-h/75942-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bf00837 --- /dev/null +++ b/75942-h/75942-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10945 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Lectures and Biographical Sketches | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +/* General headers */ + +h1 { + text-align: center; 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right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +/* uncomment the next line for centered poetry */ +.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + +/* Poetry indents */ +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} +.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: -2em;} +.poetry .indent24 {text-indent: 9em;} +.poetry .indent28 {text-indent: 11em;} +.poetry .indent4 {text-indent: -1em;} +.poetry .indent8 {text-indent: 1em;} + + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75942 ***</div> + + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="titlepage" style="width: 1200px;"> +<img src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="1200" height="1374" alt="Title page of the book entitled Lectures and Biographicas Sketches."> +</figure> + + +<p class="nindc">Riverside Edition</p> + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_1" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + +<h1>LECTURES AND BIOGRAPHICAL<br> +SKETCHES</h1> + +<p class="nindc"><span class="allsmcap">BEING VOLUME X.</span><br> +<br> +OF<br> +<br> +EMERSON’S COMPLETE WORKS</p> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_1" style="width: 119px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_1.jpg" width="119" height="111" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="cover" style="width: 1600px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="1600" height="2731" alt="This collection features a series of enlightening lectures +revealing Emerson's profound insights and his enduring influence on American thought."> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="nindc space-below2"><span class="large">LECTURES</span><br> +<br> +<span class="allsmcap">AND</span><br> +<br> +BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES</p> + + +<p class="nindc"><span class="allsmcap">BY</span></p> + +<p class="nindc space-below2">RALPH WALDO EMERSON</p> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_2" style="width: 200px;"> + <img src="images/decorate_2.jpg" width="200" height="175" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<p class="nindc space-above2">BOSTON<br> +HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY<br> +<span class="allsmcap">NEW YORK: 11 EAST SEVENTEENTH STREET</span><br> +The Riverside Press, Cambridge<br> +1884</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="nindc space-below2">Copyright, 1883,<br> +<span class="allsmcap">BY</span> EDWARD W. EMERSON.</p> + +<p class="nindc space-above2 space-below2"><i>All rights reserved.</i></p> + +<p class="nindc"> +<i>The Riverside Press, Cambridge</i>:<br> +Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="NOTE">NOTE.</h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_2" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<p>OF the pieces included in this volume the following, namely, those from +the “Dial,” “Character,” “Plutarch,” and the biographical sketches +of Dr. Ripley, of Mr. Hoar, and of Henry Thoreau, were printed by +Mr. Emerson before I took any part in the arrangement of his papers. +The rest, except the sketch of Miss Mary Emerson, I got ready for +his use in readings to his friends or to a limited public. He had +given up the regular practice of lecturing, but would sometimes, upon +special request, read a paper that had been prepared for him from +his manuscripts, in the manner described in the preface to “Letters +and Social Aims,”—some former lecture serving as a nucleus for +the new. Some of these papers he afterwards allowed to be printed; +others, namely, “Aristocracy,” “Education,” “The Man of Letters,” “The +Scholar,” “Historic Notes of Life and Letters in New England,” “Mary +Moody Emerson,” are now published for the first time.</p> + +<p class="right">J. E. CABOT.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS.</h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_3" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<table class="autotable"> +<tbody><tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdr"> <span class="allsmcap">PAGE</span></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">DEMONOLOGY</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">ARISTOCRACY</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">PERPETUAL FORCES</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">CHARACTER</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">EDUCATION</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">THE SUPERLATIVE</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">THE SOVEREIGNTY OF ETHICS</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_175">175</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">THE PREACHER</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">THE MAN OF LETTERS</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_229">229</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">THE SCHOLAR</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">PLUTARCH</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_275">275</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">HISTORIC NOTES OF LIFE AND LETTERS IN NEW </span><br> +<span class="tdlh"><span class="allsmcap">ENGLAND</span></span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_305">305</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">THE CHARDON STREET CONVENTION</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_349">349</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">EZRA RIPLEY, D. D.</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_355">355</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">MARY MOODY EMERSON</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_371">371</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">SAMUEL HOAR</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_405">405</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">THOREAU</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_419">419</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">CARLYLE</span></td> +<td class="tdr_top"><a href="#Page_453">453</a></td> +</tr> +</tbody> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="DEMONOLOGY_1">DEMONOLOGY.</h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_4" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="allsmcap">NIGHT-DREAMS</span> trace on Memory’s wall</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Shadows of the thoughts of day,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And thy fortunes as they fall</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The bias of thy will betray.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span></p> +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">In the chamber, on the stairs,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Lurking dumb,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Go and come</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lemurs and Lars.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="DEMONOLOGY_2">DEMONOLOGY.<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_5" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<p>THE name Demonology covers dreams, omens, coincidences, luck, +sortilege, magic, and other experiences which shun rather than court +inquiry, and deserve notice chiefly because every man has usually in a +lifetime two or three hints in this kind which are specially impressive +to him. They also shed light on our structure.</p> + +<p>The witchcraft of sleep divides with truth the empire of our lives. +This soft enchantress visits two children lying locked in each other’s +arms, and carries them asunder by wide spaces of land and sea, and wide +intervals of time:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“There lies a sleeping city, God of dreams!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What an unreal and fantastic world</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is going on below!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Within the sweep of yon encircling wall</div> + <div class="verse indent0">How many a large creation of the night,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wide wilderness and mountain, rock and sea,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Peopled with busy, transitory groups,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Finds room to rise, and never feels the crowd.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span></p> + +<p>’Tis superfluous to think of the dreams of multitudes, the astonishment +remains that one should dream; that we should resign so quietly this +deifying Reason, and become the theatre of delirious shows, wherein +time, space, persons, cities, animals, should dance before us in merry +and mad confusion; a delicate creation outdoing the prime and flower of +actual nature, antic comedy alternating with horrid pictures. Sometimes +the forgotten companions of childhood reappear:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“They come, in dim procession led,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The cold, the faithless, and the dead,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As warm each hand, each brow as gay,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As if they parted yesterday:”—</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="nind"> +or we seem busied for hours and days in peregrinations over seas +and lands, in earnest dialogues, strenuous actions for nothings and +absurdities, cheated by spectral jokes and waking suddenly with ghastly +laughter, to be rebuked by the cold, lonely, silent midnight, and to +rake with confusion in memory among the gibbering nonsense to find the +motive of this contemptible cachinnation. Dreams are jealous of being +remembered; they dissipate instantly and angrily if you try to hold +them. When newly awaked from lively dreams, we are so near them, still +agitated by them, still in their sphere,—give us one syllable, one +feature, one hint, and we should repossess the whole; hours of this +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span> +strange entertainment would come trooping back to us; but we cannot get +our hand on the first link or fibre, and the whole is lost. There is a +strange wilfulness in the speed with which it disperses and baffles our +grasp.</p> + +<p>A dislocation seems to be the foremost trait of dreams. A painful +imperfection almost always attends them. The fairest forms, the most +noble and excellent persons, are deformed by some pitiful and insane +circumstance. The very landscape and scenery in a dream seem not to +fit us, but like a coat or cloak of some other person to overlap and +encumber the wearer; so is the ground, the road, the house, in dreams, +too long or too short, and if it served no other purpose would show us +how accurately nature fits man awake.</p> + +<p>There is one memory of waking and another of sleep. In our dreams +the same scenes and fancies are many times associated, and that too, +it would seem, for years. In sleep one shall travel certain roads in +stage-coaches or gigs, which he recognizes as familiar, and has dreamed +that ride a dozen times; or shall walk alone in familiar fields and +meadows, which road or which meadow in waking hours he never looked +upon. This feature of dreams deserves the more attention from its +singular resemblance to that obscure yet startling experience which +almost every person confesses in daylight, that particular passages of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span> +conversation and action have occurred to him in the same order before, +whether dreaming or waking; a suspicion that they have been with +precisely these persons in precisely this room, and heard precisely +this dialogue, at some former hour, they know not when.</p> + +<p>Animals have been called “the dreams of nature.” Perhaps for a +conception of their consciousness we may go to our own dreams. In a +dream we have the instinctive obedience, the same torpidity of the +highest power, the same unsurprised assent to the monstrous as these +metamorphosed men exhibit. Our thoughts in a stable or in a menagerie, +on the other hand, may well remind us of our dreams. What compassion +do these imprisoning forms awaken! You may catch the glance of a dog +sometimes which lays a kind of claim to sympathy and brotherhood. What! +somewhat of me down there? Does he know it? Can he too, as I, go out +of himself, see himself, perceive relations? We fear lest the poor +brute should gain one dreadful glimpse of his condition, should learn +in some moment the tough limitations of this fettering organization. +It was in this glance that Ovid got the hint of his metamorphoses; +Calidasa of his transmigration of souls. For these fables are our +own thoughts carried out. What keeps those wild tales in circulation +for thousands of years? What but the wild fact to which they suggest +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span> +some approximation of theory? Nor is the fact quite solitary, for in +varieties of our own species where organization seems to predominate +over the genius of man, in Kalmuck or Malay or Flathead Indian, we +are sometimes pained by the same feeling; and sometimes too the +sharp-witted prosperous white man awakens it. In a mixed assembly we +have chanced to see not only a glance of Abdiel, so grand and keen, +but also in other faces the features of the mink, of the bull, of the +rat, and the barn-door fowl. You think, could the man overlook his own +condition, he could not be restrained from suicide.</p> + +<p>Dreams have a poetic integrity and truth. This limbo and dust-hole of +thought is presided over by a certain reason, too. Their extravagance +from nature is yet within a higher nature. They seem to us to suggest +an abundance and fluency of thought not familiar to the waking +experience. They pique us by independence of us, yet we know ourselves +in this mad crowd, and owe to dreams a kind of divination and wisdom. +My dreams are not me; they are not Nature, or the Not-me: they are +both. They have a double consciousness, at once sub- and objective. We +call the phantoms that rise, the creation of our fancy, but they act +like mutineers, and fire on their commander; showing that every act, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span> +every thought, every cause, is bipolar, and in the act is contained the +counteraction. If I strike, I am struck; if I chase, I am pursued.</p> + +<p>Wise and sometimes terrible hints shall in them be thrown to the man +out of a quite unknown intelligence. He shall be startled two or three +times in his life by the justice as well as the significance of this +phantasmagoria. Once or twice the conscious fetters shall seem to be +unlocked, and a freer utterance attained. A prophetic character in all +ages has haunted them. They are the maturation often of opinions not +consciously carried out to statements, but whereof we already possessed +the elements. Thus, when awake, I know the character of Rupert, but +do not think what he may do. In dreams I see him engaged in certain +actions which seem preposterous,—out of all fitness. He is hostile, +he is cruel, he is frightful, he is a poltroon. It turns out prophecy +a year later. But it was already in my mind as character, and the +sibyl dreams merely embodied it in fact. Why then should not symptoms, +auguries, forebodings be, and, as one said, the moanings of the spirit?</p> + +<p>We are let by this experience into the high region of Cause, and +acquainted with the identity of very unlike-seeming effects. We learn +that actions whose turpitude is very differently reputed proceed +from one and the same affection. Sleep takes off the costume of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span> +circumstance, arms us with terrible freedom, so that every will rushes +to a deed. A skilful man reads his dreams for his self-knowledge; yet +not the details, but the quality. What part does he play in them,—a +cheerful, manly part, or a poor drivelling part? However monstrous and +grotesque their apparitions, they have a substantial truth. The same +remark may be extended to the omens and coincidences which may have +astonished us. Of all it is true that the reason of them is always +latent in the individual. Goethe said: “These whimsical pictures, +inasmuch as they originate from us, may well have an analogy with our +whole life and fate.”</p> + +<p>The soul contains in itself the event that shall presently befall +it, for the event is only the actualizing of its thoughts. It is no +wonder that particular dreams and presentiments should fall out and be +prophetic. The fallacy consists in selecting a few insignificant hints +when all are inspired with the same sense. As if one should exhaust +his astonishment at the economy of his thumb-nail, and overlook the +central causal miracle of his being a man. Every man goes through the +world attended with innumerable facts prefiguring (yes, distinctly +announcing) his fate, if only eyes of sufficient heed and illumination +were fastened on the sign. The sign is always there, if only the eye +were also; just as under every tree in the speckled sunshine and shade +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span> +no man notices that every spot of light is a perfect image of the sun, +until in some hour the moon eclipses the luminary; and then first we +notice that the spots of light have become crescents, or annular, and +correspond to the changed figure of the sun. Things are significant +enough, Heaven knows; but the seer of the sign,—where is he? We doubt +not a man’s fortune may be read in the lines of his hand, by palmistry; +in the lines of his face, by physiognomy; in the outlines of the skull, +by craniology: the lines are all there, but the reader waits. The long +waves indicate to the instructed mariner that there is no near land +in the direction from which they come. Belzoni describes the three +marks which led him to dig for a door to the pyramid of Ghizeh. What +thousands had beheld the same spot for so many ages, and seen no three +marks!</p> + +<p>Secret analogies tie together the remotest parts of nature, as the +atmosphere of a summer morning is filled with innumerable gossamer +threads running in every direction, revealed by the beams of the rising +sun. All life, all creation, is tell-tale and betraying. A man reveals +himself in every glance and step and movement and rest:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Head with foot hath private amity,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And both with moons and tides.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span></p> + +<p>Not a mathematical axiom but is a moral rule. The jest and byword to +an intelligent ear extends its meaning to the soul and to all time. +Indeed, all productions of man are so anthropomorphous that not +possibly can he invent any fable that shall not have a deep moral and +be true in senses and to an extent never intended by the inventor. +Thus all the bravest tales of Homer and the poets, modern philosophers +can explain with profound judgment of law and state and ethics. Lucian +has an idle tale that Pancrates, journeying from Memphis to Coppus, +and wanting a servant, took a door-bar and pronounced over it magical +words, and it stood up and brought him water, and turned a spit, and +carried bundles, doing all the work of a slave. What is this but a +prophecy of the progress of art? For Pancrates write Watt or Fulton, +and for “magical words” write “steam;” and do they not make an iron +bar and half a dozen wheels do the work, not of one, but of a thousand +skilful mechanics?</p> + +<p>“Nature,” said Swedenborg, “makes almost as much demand on our faith +as miracles do.” And I find nothing in fables more astonishing than +my experience in every hour. One moment of a man’s life is a fact +so stupendous as to take the lustre out of all fiction. The lovers +of marvels, of what we call the occult and unproved sciences, of +mesmerism, of astrology, of coincidences, of intercourse, by writing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span> +or by rapping or by painting, with departed spirits, need not reproach +us with incredulity because we are slow to accept their statement. It +is not the incredibility of the fact, but a certain want of harmony +between the action and the agents. We are used to vaster wonders than +these that are alleged. In the hands of poets, of devout and simple +minds, nothing in the line of their character and genius would surprise +us. But we should look for the style of the great artist in it, look +for completeness and harmony. Nature never works like a conjuror, to +surprise, rarely by shocks, but by infinite graduation; so that we live +embosomed in sounds we do not hear, scents we do not smell, spectacles +we see not, and by innumerable impressions so softly laid on that +though important we do not discover them until our attention is called +to them.</p> + +<p>For Spiritism, it shows that no man almost is fit to give evidence. +Then I say to the amiable and sincere among them, these matters are +quite too important than that I can rest them on any legends. If I +have no facts, as you allege, I can very well wait for them. I am +content and occupied with such miracles as I know, such as my eyes and +ears daily show me, such as humanity and astronomy. If any others are +important to me they will certainly be shown to me.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span></p> + +<p>In times most credulous of these fancies the sense was always met and +the superstition rebuked by the grave spirit of reason and humanity. +When Hector is told that the omens are unpropitious, he replies,—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“One omen is the best, to fight for one’s country.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="nind"> +Euripides said, “He is not the best prophet who guesses well, and he is +not the wisest man whose guess turns out well in the event, but he who, +whatever the event be, takes reason and probability for his guide.” +“Swans, horses, dogs and dragons,” says Plutarch, “we distinguish as +sacred, and vehicles of the Divine foresight, and yet we cannot believe +that men are sacred and favorites of Heaven.” The poor shipmaster +discovered a sound theology, when in the storm at sea he made his +prayer to Neptune, “O God, thou mayst save me if thou wilt, and if thou +wilt thou mayst destroy me; but, however, I will hold my rudder true.” +Let me add one more example of the same good sense, in a story quoted +out of Hecateus of Abdera:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“As I was once travelling by the Red Sea, there was one among the +horsemen that attended us named Masollam, a brave and strong man, +and according to the testimony of all the Greeks and barbarians, a +very skilful archer. Now while the whole multitude was on the way, an +augur called out to them to stand still, and this man inquired the +reason of their halting. The augur showed him a bird, and told him, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span> +‘If that bird remained where he was, it would be better for them all +to remain; if he flew on, they might proceed; but if he flew back +they must return.’ The Jew said nothing, but bent his bow and shot +the bird to the ground. This act offended the augur and some others, +and they began to utter imprecations against the Jew. But he replied, +‘Wherefore? Why are you so foolish as to take care of this unfortunate +bird? How could this fowl give us any wise directions respecting our +journey, when he could not save his own life? Had he known anything +of futurity, he would not have come here to be killed by the arrow of +Masollam the Jew.’”</p> +</div> + +<p>It is not the tendency of our times to ascribe importance to whimsical +pictures of sleep, or to omens. But the faith in peculiar and alien +power takes another form in the modern mind, much more resembling the +ancient doctrine of the guardian genius. The belief that particular +individuals are attended by a good fortune which makes them desirable +associates in any enterprise of uncertain success, exists not only +among those who take part in political and military projects, +but influences all joint action of commerce and affairs, and a +corresponding assurance in the individuals so distinguished meets and +justifies the expectation of others by a boundless self-trust. “I have +a lucky hand, sir,” said Napoleon to his hesitating Chancellor; “those +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span> +on whom I lay it are fit for anything.” This faith is familiar in one +form,—that often a certain abdication of prudence and foresight is an +element of success; that children and young persons come off safe from +casualties that would have proved dangerous to wiser people. We do not +think the young will be forsaken; but he is fast approaching the age +when the sub-miraculous external protection and leading are withdrawn +and he is committed to his own care. The young man takes a leap in +the dark and alights safe. As he comes into manhood he remembers +passages and persons that seem, as he looks at them now, to have been +supernaturally deprived of injurious influence on him. His eyes were +holden that he could not see. But he learns that such risks he may no +longer run. He observes, with pain, not that he incurs mishaps here and +there, but that his genius, whose invisible benevolence was tower and +shield to him, is no longer present and active.</p> + +<p>In the popular belief, ghosts are a selecting tribe, avoiding millions, +speaking to one. In our traditions, fairies, angels and saints show the +like favoritism; so do the agents and the means of magic, as sorcerers +and amulets. This faith in a doting power, so easily sliding into the +current belief everywhere, and, in the particular of lucky days and +fortunate persons, as frequent in America to-day as the faith in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span> +incantations and philters was in old Rome, or the wholesome potency +of the sign of the cross in modern Rome,—this supposed power runs +athwart the recognized agencies, natural and moral, which science and +religion explore. Heeded though it be in many actions and partnerships, +it is not the power to which we build churches, or make liturgies +and prayers, or which we regard in passing laws, or found college +professorships to expound. Goethe has said in his Autobiography what is +much to the purpose:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“I believed that I discovered in nature, animate and inanimate, +intelligent and brute, somewhat which manifested itself only in +contradiction, and therefore could not be grasped by a conception, +much less by a word. It was not god-like, since it seemed +unreasonable; not human, since it had no understanding; not devilish, +since it was beneficent; not angelic, since it is often a marplot. It +resembled chance, since it showed no sequel. It resembled Providence, +since it pointed at connection. All which limits us seemed permeable +to that. It seemed to deal at pleasure with the necessary elements +of our constitution; it shortened time and extended space. Only in +the impossible it seemed to delight, and the possible to repel with +contempt. This, which seemed to insert itself between all other +things, to sever them, to bind them, I named the Demoniacal, after the +example of the ancients, and of those who had observed the like.</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Although every demoniacal property can manifest itself in the +corporeal and incorporeal, yes, in beasts too in a remarkable manner, +yet it stands specially in wonderful relations with men, and forms in +the moral world, though not an antagonist, yet a transverse element, +so that the former may be called the warp, the latter the woof. For +the phenomena which hence originate there are countless names, since +all philosophies and religions have attempted in prose or in poetry +to solve this riddle, and to settle the thing once for all, as indeed +they may be allowed to do.</p> + +<p>“But this demonic element appears most fruitful when it shows itself +as the determining characteristic in an individual. In the course of +my life I have been able to observe several such, some near, some +farther off. They are not always superior persons, either in mind or +in talent. They seldom recommend themselves through goodness of heart. +But a monstrous force goes out from them, and they exert an incredible +power over all creatures, and even over the elements; who shall say +how far such an influence may extend? All united moral powers avail +nothing against them. In vain do the clear-headed part of mankind +discredit them as deceivers or deceived,—the mass is attracted. +Seldom or never do they meet their match among their contemporaries; +they are not to be conquered save by the universe itself, against +which they have taken up arms. Out of such experiences doubtless arose +the strange, monstrous proverb, ‘Nobody against God but God.’”<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span></p> + +<p>It would be easy in the political history of every time to furnish +examples of this irregular success, men having a force which without +virtue, without shining talent, yet makes them prevailing. No equal +appears in the field against them. A power goes out from them which +draws all men and events to favor them. The crimes they commit, the +exposures which follow, and which would ruin any other man, are +strangely overlooked, or do more strangely turn to their account.</p> + +<p>I set down these things as I find them, but however poetic these +twilights of thought, I like daylight, and I find somewhat wilful, some +play at blindman’s-buff, when men as wise as Goethe talk mysteriously +of the demonological. The insinuation is that the known eternal laws +of morals and matter are sometimes corrupted or evaded by this gipsy +principle, which chooses favorites and works in the dark for their +behoof; as if the laws of the Father of the universe were sometimes +balked and eluded by a meddlesome Aunt of the universe for her pets. +You will observe that this extends the popular idea of success to the +very gods; that they foster a success to you which is not a success +to all; that fortunate men, fortunate youths exist, whose good is not +virtue or the public good, but a private good, robbed from the rest. +It is a midsummer-madness, corrupting all who hold the tenet. The +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span> +demonologic is only a fine name for egotism; an exaggeration namely +of the individual, whom it is Nature’s settled purpose to postpone. +“There is one world common to all who are awake, but each sleeper +betakes himself to one of his own.”<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> Dreams retain the infirmities +of our character. The good genius may be there or not, our evil genius +is sure to stay. The Ego partial makes the dream; the Ego total the +interpretation. Life is also a dream on the same terms.</p> + +<p>The history of man is a series of conspiracies to win from Nature +some advantage without paying for it. It is curious to see what grand +powers we have a hint of and are mad to grasp, yet how slow Heaven +is to trust us with such edge-tools. “All that frees talent without +increasing self-command is noxious.” Thus the fabled ring of Gyges, +making the wearer invisible, which is represented in modern fable by +the telescope as used by Schlemil, is simply mischievous. A new or +private language, used to serve only low or political purposes; the +transfusion of the blood; the steam battery, so fatal as to put an end +to war by the threat of universal murder; the desired discovery of the +guided balloon, are of this kind. Tramps are troublesome enough in +the city and in the highways, but tramps flying through the air and +descending on the lonely traveller or the lonely farmer’s house or the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span> +bank-messenger in the country, can well be spared. Men are not fit to +be trusted with these talismans.</p> + +<p>Before we acquire great power we must acquire wisdom to use it well. +Animal magnetism inspires the prudent and moral with a certain terror; +so the divination of contingent events, and the alleged second-sight +of the pseudo-spiritualists. There are many things of which a wise man +might wish to be ignorant, and these are such. Shun them as you would +the secrets of the undertaker and the butcher. The best are never +demoniacal or magnetic; leave this limbo to the Prince of the power of +the air. The lowest angel is better. It is the height of the animal; +below the region of the divine. Power as such is not known to the +angels.</p> + +<p>Great men feel that they are so by sacrificing their selfishness and +falling back on what is humane; in renouncing family, clan, country, +and each exclusive and local connection, to beat with the pulse and +breathe with the lungs of nations. A Highland chief, an Indian sachem +or a feudal baron may fancy that the mountains and lakes were made +specially for him Donald, or him Tecumseh; that the one question for +history is the pedigree of his house, and future ages will be busy with +his renown; that he has a guardian angel; that he is not in the roll of +common men, but obeys a high family destiny; when he acts, unheard-of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span> +success evinces the presence of rare agents; what is to befall him, +omens and coincidences foreshow; when he dies banshees will announce +his fate to kinsmen in foreign parts. What more facile than to project +this exuberant selfhood into the region where individuality is forever +bounded by generic and cosmical laws? The deepest flattery, and that to +which we can never be insensible, is the flattery of omens.</p> + +<p>We may make great eyes if we like, and say of one on whom the sun +shines, “What luck presides over him!” But we know that the law of +the Universe is one for each and for all. There is as precise and +as describable a reason for every fact occurring to him, as for +any occurring to any man. Every fact in which the moral elements +intermingle is not the less under the dominion of fatal law. Lord Bacon +uncovers the magic when he says, “Manifest virtues procure reputation; +occult ones, fortune.” Thus the so-called fortunate man is one who, +though not gifted to speak when the people listen, or to act with grace +or with understanding to great ends, yet is one who, in actions of a +low or common pitch, relies on his instincts, and simply does not act +where he should not, but waits his time, and without effort acts when +the need is. If to this you add a fitness to the society around him, +you have the elements of fortune; so that in a particular circle and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span> +knot of affairs he is not so much his own man as the hand of nature +and time. Just as his eye and hand work exactly together,—and to hit +the mark with a stone he has only to fasten his eye firmly on the mark +and his arm will swing true,—so the main ambition and genius being +bestowed in one direction, the lesser spirits and involuntary aids +within his sphere will follow. The fault of most men is that they are +busybodies; do not wait the simple movement of the soul, but interfere +and thwart the instructions of their own minds.</p> + +<p>Coincidences, dreams, animal magnetism, omens, sacred lots, have great +interest for some minds. They run into this twilight and say, “There’s +more than is dreamed of in your philosophy.” Certainly these facts are +interesting, and deserve to be considered. But they are entitled only +to a share of attention, and not a large share. <i>Nil magnificum, +nil generosum sapit.</i> Let their value as exclusive subjects of +attention be judged of by the infallible test of the state of mind +in which much notice of them leaves us. Read a page of Cudworth or +of Bacon, and we are exhilarated and armed to manly duties. Read +demonology or Colquhoun’s Report, and we are bewildered and perhaps a +little besmirched. We grope. They who love them say they are to reveal +to us a world of unknown, unsuspected truths. But suppose a diligent +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span> +collection and study of these occult facts were made, they are merely +physiological, semi-medical, related to the machinery of man, opening +to our curiosity how we live, and no aid on the superior problems why +we live, and what we do. While the dilettanti have been prying into the +humors and muscles of the eye, simple men will have helped themselves +and the world by using their eyes.</p> + +<p>And this is not the least remarkable fact which the adepts have +developed. Men who had never wondered at anything, who had thought it +the most natural thing in the world that they should exist in this +orderly and replenished world, have been unable to suppress their +amazement at the disclosures of the somnambulist. The peculiarity +of the history of Animal Magnetism is that it drew in as inquirers +and students a class of persons never on any other occasion known +as students and inquirers. Of course the inquiry is pursued on low +principles. Animal magnetism peeps. It becomes in such hands a black +art. The uses of the thing, the commodity, the power, at once come to +mind and direct the course of inquiry. It seemed to open again that +door which was open to the imagination of childhood—of magicians and +fairies and lamps of Aladdin, the travelling cloak, the shoes of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span> +swiftness and the sword of sharpness that were to satisfy the uttermost +wish of the senses without danger or a drop of sweat. But as Nature can +never be outwitted, as in the Universe no man was ever known to get a +cent’s worth without paying in some form or other the cent, so this +prodigious promiser ends always and always will, as sorcery and alchemy +have done before, in very small and smoky performance.</p> + +<p>Mesmerism is high life below stairs; Momus playing Jove in the kitchens +of Olympus. ’Tis a low curiosity or lust of structure, and is separated +by celestial diameters from the love of spiritual truths. It is wholly +a false view to couple these things in any manner with the religious +nature and sentiment, and a most dangerous superstition to raise them +to the lofty place of motives and sanctions. This is to prefer halos +and rainbows to the sun and moon. These adepts have mistaken flatulency +for inspiration. Were this drivel which they report as the voice of +spirits really such, we must find out a more decisive suicide. I say to +the table-rappers:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent24">“I well believe</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="nind"> +They are ignorant of all that is healthy and useful to know, and by +laws of kind,—dunces seeking dunces in the dark of what they call +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span> +the spiritual world,—preferring snores and gastric noises to the +voice of any muse. I think the rappings a new test, like blue litmus +or other chemical absorbent, to try catechisms with. It detects +organic skepticism in the very heads of the Church. ’Tis a lawless +world. We have left the geometry, the compensation, and the conscience +of the daily world, and come into the realm or chaos of chance and +pretty or ugly confusion; no guilt and no virtue, but a droll bedlam, +where everybody believes only after his humor, and the actors and +spectators have no conscience or reflection, no police, no foot-rule, +no sanity,—nothing but whim and whim creative.</p> + +<p>Meantime far be from me the impatience which cannot brook the +supernatural, the vast; far be from me the lust of explaining away all +which appeals to the imagination, and the great presentiments which +haunt us. Willingly I too say, Hail! to the unknown awful powers which +transcend the ken of the understanding. And the attraction which this +topic has had for me and which induces me to unfold its parts before +you is precisely because I think the numberless forms in which this +superstition has re-appeared in every time and every people indicates +the inextinguishableness of wonder in man; betrays his conviction that +behind all your explanations is a vast and potent and living Nature, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span> +inexhaustible and sublime, which you cannot explain. He is sure no +book, no man has told him all. He is sure the great Instinct, the +circumambient soul which flows into him as into all, and is his life, +has not been searched. He is sure that intimate relations subsist +between his character and his fortunes, between him and his world; +and until he can adequately tell them he will tell them wildly and +fabulously. Demonology is the shadow of Theology.</p> + +<p>The whole world is an omen and a sign. Why look so wistfully in a +corner? Man is the Image of God. Why run after a ghost or a dream? The +voice of divination resounds everywhere and runs to waste unheard, +unregarded, as the mountains echo with the bleatings of cattle.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p class="nind"><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> +From the course of lectures on “Human Life,” read in +Boston, 1839-40. Published in the <i>North American Review</i>, 1877.</p> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p class="nind"><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> +Goethe, <i>Wahrheit und Dichtung</i>, Book xx.</p> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p class="nind"><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> +Heraclitus.</p> + +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ARISTOCRACY_1">ARISTOCRACY.</h2> +</div> + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_6" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="allsmcap">BUT</span> if thou do thy best,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Without remission, without rest,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And invite the sunbeam,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And abhor to feign or seem</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Even to those who thee should love</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And thy behavior approve;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">If thou go in thine own likeness,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Be it health or be it sickness,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">If thou go as thy father’s son,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">If thou wear no mask or lie,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dealing purely and nakedly,—....</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ARISTOCRACY_2">ARISTOCRACY.<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_7" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<p>THERE is an attractive topic, which never goes out of vogue and is +impertinent in no community,—the permanent traits of the Aristocracy. +It is an interest of the human race, and, as I look at it, inevitable, +sacred and to be found in every country and in every company of men. +My concern with it is that concern which all well-disposed persons +will feel, that there should be model men,—true instead of spurious +pictures of excellence, and, if possible, living standards.</p> + +<p>I observe that the word <i>gentleman</i> is gladly heard in all +companies; that the cogent motive with the best young men who are +revolving plans and forming resolutions for the future, is the spirit +of honor, the wish to be gentlemen. They do not yet covet political +power, nor any exuberance of wealth, wealth that costs too much; nor do +they wish to be saints; for fear of partialism; but the middle term, +the reconciling element, the success of the manly character, they find +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span> +in the idea of gentleman. It is not to be a man of rank, but a man of +honor, accomplished in all arts and generosities, which seems to them +the right mark and the true chief of our modern society. A reference +to society is part of the idea of culture; science of a gentleman; +art of a gentleman; poetry in a gentleman: intellectually held, +that is, for their own sake, for what they are; for their universal +beauty and worth;—not for economy, which degrades them, but not +over-intellectually, that is, not to ecstasy, entrancing the man, but +redounding to his beauty and glory.</p> + +<p>In the sketches which I have to offer I shall not be surprised if my +readers should fancy that I am giving them, under a gayer title, a +chapter on Education. It will not pain me if I am found now and then to +rove from the accepted and historic, to a theoretic peerage: or if it +should turn out, what is true, that I am describing a real aristocracy, +a chapter of Templars who sit indifferently in all climates and under +the shadow of all institutions, but so few, so heedless of badges, so +rarely convened, so little in sympathy with the predominant politics of +nations, that their names and doings are not recorded in any Book of +Peerage, or any Court Journal, or even Daily Newspaper of the world.</p> + +<p>I find the caste in the man. The Golden Book of Venice, the scale +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span> +of European chivalry, the Barons of England, the hierarchy of India +with its impassable degrees, is each a transcript of the decigrade or +centigraded Man. A many-chambered Aristocracy lies already organized in +his moods and faculties. Room is found for all the departments of the +State in the moods and faculties of each human spirit, with separate +function and difference of dignity.</p> + +<p>The terrible aristocracy that is in nature. Real people dwelling with +the real, face to face undaunted: then, far down, people of taste, +people dwelling in a relation, or rumor, or influence of good and +fair, entertained by it, superficially touched, yet charmed by these +shadows:—and, far below these, gross and thoughtless, the animal man, +billows of chaos, down to the dancing and menial organizations.</p> + +<p>I observe the inextinguishable prejudice men have in favor of a +hereditary transmission of qualities. It is in vain to remind them +that nature appears capricious. Some qualities she carefully fixes and +transmits, but some, and those the finer, she exhales with the breath +of the individual, as too costly to perpetuate. But I notice also that +they may become fixed and permanent in any stock, by painting and +repainting them on every individual, until at last Nature adopts them +and bakes them into her porcelain.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span></p> + +<p>At all events I take this inextinguishable persuasion in men’s minds as +a hint from the outward universe to man to inlay as many virtues and +superiorities as he can into this swift fresco of the day, which is +hardening to an immortal picture.</p> + +<p>If one thinks of the interest which all men have in beauty of character +and manners; that it is of the last importance to the imagination +and affection, inspiring as it does that loyalty and worship so +essential to the finish of character—certainly, if culture, if laws, +if primogeniture, if heraldry, if money could secure such a result as +superior and finished men, it would be the interest of all mankind to +see that the steps were taken, the pains incurred. No taxation, no +concession, no conferring of privileges never so exalted would be a +price too large.</p> + +<p>The old French Revolution attracted to its first movement all the +liberality, virtue, hope and poetry in Europe. By the abolition of +kingship and aristocracy, tyranny, inequality and poverty would end. +Alas! no; tyranny, inequality, poverty, stood as last and fierce as +ever. We likewise put faith in Democracy; in the Republican principle +carried out to the extremes of practice in universal suffrage, in the +will of majorities. The young adventurer finds that the relations of +society, the position of classes, irk and sting him, and he lends +himself to each malignant party that assails what is eminent. He +will one day know that this is not removable, but a distinction in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span> +the nature of things; that neither the caucus, nor the newspaper, +nor the Congress, nor the mob, nor the guillotine, nor fire, nor all +together, can avail to outlaw, cut out, burn, or destroy the offense +of superiority in persons. The manners, the pretension, which annoy me +so much, are not superficial, but built on a real distinction in the +nature of my companion. The superiority in him is inferiority in me, +and if this particular companion were wiped by a sponge out of nature, +my inferiority would still be made evident to me by other persons +everywhere and every day.</p> + +<p>No, not the hardest utilitarian will question the value of an +aristocracy if he love himself. For every man confesses that the +highest good which the universe proposes to him is the highest society. +If a few grand natures should come to us and weave duties and offices +between us and them, it would make our bread ambrosial.</p> + +<p>I affirm that inequalities exist, not in costume, but in the powers of +expression and action; a primitive aristocracy; and that we, certainly, +have not come here to describe well-dressed vulgarity. I cannot tell +how English titles are bestowed, whether on pure blood, or on the +largest holder in the three-per-cents. The English government and +people, or the French government, may easily make mistakes; but Nature +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span> +makes none. Every mark and scutcheon of hers indicates constitutional +qualities. In science, in trade, in social discourse, as in the state, +it is the same thing. Forever and ever it takes a pound to lift a pound.</p> + +<p>It is plain that all the deference of modern society to this idea of +the Gentleman, and all the whimsical tyranny of Fashion which has +continued to engraft itself on this reverence, is a secret homage to +reality and love which ought to reside in every man. This is the steel +that is hid under gauze and lace, under flowers and spangles. And it is +plain that instead of this idolatry, a worship; instead of this impure, +a pure reverence for character, a new respect for the sacredness of the +individual man, is that antidote which must correct in our country the +disgraceful deference to public opinion, and the insane subordination +of the end to the means. From the folly of too much association we must +come back to the repose of self-reverence and trust.</p> + +<p>The game of the world is a perpetual trial of strength between man +and events. The common man is the victim of events. Whatever happens +is too much for him, he is drawn this way and that way, and his whole +life is a hurry. The superior man is at home in his own mind. We like +cool people, who neither hope nor fear too much, but seem to have many +strings to their bow, and can survive the blow well enough if stock +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span> +should rise or fall, if parties should be broken up, if their money or +their family should be dispersed; who can stand a slander very well; +indeed on whom events make little or no impression, and who can face +death with firmness. In short, we dislike every mark of a superficial +life and action, and prize whatever mark of a central life.</p> + +<p>What is the meaning of this invincible respect for war, here in the +triumphs of our commercial civilization, that we can never quite +smother the trumpet and the drum? How is it that the sword runs away +with all the fame from the spade and the wheel? How sturdy seem to +us in the history, those Merovingians, Guelphs, Dorias, Sforzas, +Burgundies and Guesclins of the old warlike ages! We can hardly believe +they were all such speedy shadows as we; that an ague or fever, a drop +of water or a crystal of ice ended them. We give soldiers the same +advantage to-day. From the most accumulated culture we are always +running back to the sound of any drum and fife. And in any trade, or in +law-courts, in orchard and farm, and even in saloons, they only prosper +or they prosper best who have a military mind, who engineer in sword +and cannon style, with energy and sharpness. Why, but because courage +never loses its high price? Why, but because we wish to see those to +whom existence is most adorned and attractive, foremost to peril it +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span> +for their object, and ready to answer for their actions with their life.</p> + +<p>The existence of an upper class is not injurious, as long as it is +dependent on merit. For so long it is provocation to the bold and +generous. These distinctions exist, and they are deep, not to be talked +or voted away. If the differences are organic, so are the merits, that +is to say the power and excellence we describe are real. Aristocracy is +the class eminent by personal qualities, and to them belongs without +assertion a proper influence. Men of aim must lead the aimless; men of +invention the uninventive. I wish catholic men, who by their science +and skill are at home in every latitude and longitude, who carry the +world in their thoughts; men of universal politics, who are interested +in things in proportion to their truth and magnitude; who know the +beauty of animals and the laws of their nature, whom the mystery of +botany allures, and the mineral laws; who see general effects and are +not too learned to love the Imagination, the power and the spirits +of Solitude;—men who see the dance in men’s lives as well as in a +ball-room, and can feel and convey the sense which is only collectively +or totally expressed by a population; men who are charmed by the +beautiful Nemesis as well as by the dire Nemesis, and dare trust +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span> +their inspiration for their welcome; who would find their fellows in +persons of real elevation of whatever kind of speculative or practical +ability. We are fallen on times so acquiescent and traditionary that we +are in danger of forgetting so simple a fact as that the basis of all +aristocracy must be truth,—the doing what elsewhere is pretended to be +done. One would gladly see all our institutions rightly aristocratic in +this wise.</p> + +<p>I enumerate the claims by which men enter the superior class.</p> + +<p>1. A commanding talent. In every company one finds the best man; and if +there be any question, it is decided the instant they enter into any +practical enterprise. If the finders of glass, gunpowder, printing, +electricity,—if the healer of small-pox, the contriver of the safety +lamp, of the aqueduct, of the bridge, of the tunnel; if the finders of +parallax, of new planets, of steam power for boat and carriage, the +finder of sulphuric ether and the electric telegraph,—if these men +should keep their secrets, or only communicate them to each other, must +not the whole race of mankind serve them as gods? It only needs to look +at the social aspect of England and America and France, to see the rank +which original practical talent commands.</p> + +<p>Every survey of the dignified classes, in ancient or modern history, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span> +imprints universal lessons, and establishes a nobility of a prouder +creation. And the conclusion which Roman Senators, Indian Brahmins, +Persian Magians, European Nobles and great Americans inculcate,—that +which they preach out of their material wealth and glitter, out of +their old war and modern land-owning, even out of sensuality and +sneers, is, that the radical and essential distinctions of every +aristocracy are moral. Do not hearken to the men, but to the Destiny in +the institutions. An aristocracy is composed of simple and sincere men +for whom nature and ethics are strong enough, who say what they mean +and go straight to their objects. It is essentially real.</p> + +<p>The multiplication of monarchs known by telegraph and daily news +from all countries to the daily papers, and the effect of freer +institutions in England and America, has robbed the title of king of +all its romance, as that of our commercial consuls as compared with +the ancient Roman. We shall come to add “Kings” in the “Contents” +of the Directory, as we do “Physicians,” “Brokers,” etc. In simple +communities, in the heroic ages, a man was chosen for his knack; got +his name, rank and living for that; and the best of the best was the +aristocrat or king. In the Norse Edda it appears as the curious but +excellent policy of contending tribes, when tired of war, to exchange +hostages, and in reality each to adopt from the other a first-rate +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span> +man, who thus acquired a new country, was at once made a chief. And no +wrong was so keenly resented as any fraud in this transaction. In the +heroic ages, as we call them, the hero uniformly has some real talent. +Ulysses in Homer is represented as a very skilful carpenter. He builds +the boat with which he leaves Calypso’s isle, and in his own palace +carves a bedstead out of the trunk of a tree and inlays it with gold +and ivory. Epeus builds the wooden horse. The English nation down to a +late age inherited the reality of the Northern stock. In 1373, in writs +of summons of members of Parliament, the sheriff of every county is to +cause “two dubbed knights, or the most worthy esquires, the most expert +in feats of arms, and no others; and of every city, two citizens, +and of every borough, two burgesses, such as have greatest skill in +shipping and merchandising, to be returned.”</p> + +<p>The ancients were fond of ascribing to their nobles gigantic +proportions and strength. The hero must have the force of ten men. The +chief is taller by a head than any of his tribe. Douglas can throw the +bar a greater cast. Richard can sever the iron bolt with his sword. +The horn of Roland, in the romance, is heard sixty miles. The Cid has +a prevailing health that will let him nurse the leper, and share his +bed without harm. And since the body is the pipe through which we +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span> +tap all the succors and virtues of the material world, it is certain +that a sound body must be at the root of any excellence in manners and +actions; a strong and supple frame which yields a stock of strength +and spirits for all the needs of the day, and generates the habit of +relying on a supply of power for all extraordinary exertions. When +Nature goes to create a national man, she puts a symmetry between the +physical and intellectual powers. She moulds a large brain, and joins +to it a great trunk to supply it; as if a fine alembic were fed with +liquor for its distillations from broad full vats in the vaults of the +laboratory.</p> + +<p>Certainly, the origin of most of the perversities and absurdities that +disgust us is, primarily, the want of health. Genius is health and +Beauty is health and virtue is health. The petty arts which we blame in +the half-great seem as odious to them also;—the resources of weakness +and despair. And the manners betray the like puny constitution. +Temperament is fortune, and we must say it so often. In a thousand +cups of life, only one is the right mixture,—a fine adjustment to the +existing elements. When that befalls, when the well-mixed man is born, +with eyes not too dull nor too good, with fire enough and earth enough, +capable of impressions from all things, and not too susceptible,—then +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span> +no gift need be bestowed on him, he brings with him fortune, followers, +love, power.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“I think he’ll be to Rome</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By sovereignty of nature.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Not the phrenologist but the philosopher may well say, Let me see +his brain, and I will tell you if he shall be poet, king, founder of +cities, rich, magnetic, of a secure hand, of a scientific memory, a +right classifier; or whether he shall be a bungler, driveller, unlucky, +heavy, and tedious.</p> + +<p>It were to dispute against the sun, to deny this difference of brain. +I see well enough that when I bring one man into an estate, he sees +vague capabilities, what others might, could, would, or should do with +it. If I bring another man, he sees what <i>he</i> should do with it. +He appreciates the water-privilege, land fit for orchard, tillage, +pasturage, wood-lot, cranberry-meadow; but just as easily he foresees +all the means, all the steps of the process, and could lay his hand +as readily on one as on another point in that series which opens the +capability to the last point. The poet sees wishfully enough the +result; the well-built head supplies all the steps, one as perfect as +the other, in the series. Seeing this working head in him, it becomes +to me as certain that he will have the direction of estates, as that +there are estates. If we see tools in a magazine, as a file, an +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span> +anchor, a plough, a pump, a paint-brush, a cider-press, a diving-bell, +we can predict well enough their destination; and the man’s +associations, fortunes, love, hatred, residence, rank, the books he +will buy, the roads he will traverse are predetermined in his organism. +Men will need him, and he is rich and eminent by nature. That man +cannot be too late or too early. Let him not hurry or hesitate. Though +millions are already arrived, his seat is reserved. Though millions +attend, they only multiply his friends and agents. It never troubles +the Senator what multitudes crack the benches and bend the galleries to +hear. He who understands the art of war, reckons the hostile battalions +and cities, opportunities and spoils.</p> + +<p>An aristocracy could not exist unless it were organic. Men are born to +command, and—it is even so—“come into the world booted and spurred to +ride.” The blood royal never pays, we say. It obtains service, gifts, +supplies, furtherance of all kinds from the love and joy of those who +feel themselves honored by the service they render.</p> + +<p>Dull people think it Fortune that makes one rich and another poor. Is +it? Yes, but the fortune was earlier than they think, namely, in the +balance or adjustment between devotion to what is agreeable to-day and +the forecast of what will be valuable to-morrow.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span></p> + +<p>Certainly I am not going to argue the merits of gradation in the +universe; the existing order of more or less. Neither do I wish to go +into a vindication of the justice that disposes the variety of lot. +I know how steep the contrast of condition looks; such excess here +and such destitution there; like entire chance, like the freaks of +the wind, heaping the snow-drift in gorges, stripping the plain; such +despotism of wealth and comfort in banquet-halls, whilst death is in +the pots of the wretched,—that it behooves a good man to walk with +tenderness and heed amidst so much suffering. I only point in passing +to the order of the universe, which makes a rotation,—not like the +coarse policy of the Greeks, ten generals, each commanding one day and +then giving place to the next, or like our democratic politics, my turn +now, your turn next,—but the constitution of things has distributed +a new quality or talent to each mind, and the revolution of things is +always bringing the need, now of this, now of that, and is sure to +bring home the opportunity to every one.</p> + +<p>The only relief that I know against the invidiousness of superior +position is, that you exert your faculty; for whilst each does that, +he excludes hard thoughts from the spectator. All right activity is +amiable. I never feel that any man occupies my place, but that the +reason why I do not have what I wish, is, that I want the faculty +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span> +which entitles. All spiritual or real power makes its own place.</p> + +<p>We pass for what we are, and we prosper or fail by what we are. There +are men who may dare much and will be justified in their daring. But +it is because they know they are in their place. As long as I am in +my place, I am safe. “The best lightning-rod for your protection is +your own spine.” Let a man’s social aims be proportioned to his means +and power. I do not pity the misery of a man underplaced: that will +right itself presently: but I pity the man overplaced. A certain +quantity of power belongs to a certain quantity of faculty. Whoever +wants more power than is the legitimate attraction of his faculty, is +a politician, and must pay for that excess; must truckle for it. This +is the whole game of society and the politics of the world. Being will +always seem well;—but whether possibly I cannot contrive to seem, +without the trouble of being? Every Frenchman would have a career. We +English are not any better with our love of making a figure. “I told +the Duke of Newcastle,” says Bubb Doddington in his Memoirs, “that it +must end one way or another, it must not remain as it was; for I was +determined to make some sort of a figure in life; I earnestly wished +it might be under his protection, but if that could not be, I must +make some figure; what it would be I could not determine yet; I must +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span> +look round me a little and consult my friends, but some figure I was +resolved to make.”</p> + +<p>It will be agreed everywhere that society must have the benefit of the +best leaders. How to obtain them? Birth has been tried and failed. +Caste in India has no good result. Ennobling of one family is good +for one generation; not sure beyond. Slavery had mischief enough to +answer for, but it had this good in it,—the pricing of men. In the +South a slave was bluntly but accurately valued at five hundred to a +thousand dollars, if a good field-hand; if a mechanic, as carpenter +or smith, twelve hundred or two thousand. In Rome or Greece what sums +would not be paid for a superior slave, a confidential secretary and +manager, an educated slave; a man of genius, a Moses educated in Egypt? +I don’t know how much Epictetus was sold for, or Æsop, or Toussaint +l’Ouverture, and perhaps it was not a good market-day. Time was, in +England, when the state stipulated beforehand what price should be paid +for each citizen’s life, if he was killed. Now, if it were possible, I +should like to see that appraisal applied to every man, and every man +made acquainted with the true number and weight of every adult citizen, +and that he be placed where he belongs, with so much power confided to +him as he could carry and use.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span></p> + +<p>In the absence of such anthropometer I have a perfect confidence in +the natural laws. I think that the community,—every community, if +obstructing laws and usages are removed,—will be the best measure and +the justest judge of the citizen, or will in the long run give the +fairest verdict and reward; better than any royal patronage; better +than any premium on race; better than any statute elevating families to +hereditary distinction, or any class to sacerdotal education and power. +The verdict of battles will best prove the general; the town-meeting, +the Congress, will not fail to find out legislative talent. The +prerogatives of a right physician are determined, not by his diplomas, +but by the health he restores to body and mind; the powers of a +geometer by solving his problem; of a priest by the act of inspiring +us with a sentiment which disperses the grief from which we suffered. +When the lawyer tries his case in court he himself is also on trial and +his own merits appear as well as his client’s. When old writers are +consulted by young writers who have written their first book, they say, +Publish it by all means; so only can you certainly know its quality.</p> + +<p>But we venture to put any man in any place. It is curious how negligent +the public is of the essential qualifications of its representatives. +They ask if a man is a republican, a democrat? Yes. Is he a man of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span> +talent? Yes. Is he honest and not looking for an office or any manner +of bribe? He is honest. Well then choose him by acclamation. And they +go home and tell their wives with great satisfaction what a good thing +they have done. But they forgot to ask the fourth question, not less +important than either of the others, and without which the others do +not avail. Has he a will? Can he carry his points against opposition? +Probably not. It is not sufficient that your work follows your genius, +or is organic, to give you the magnetic power over men. More than taste +and talent must go to the Will. That must also be a gift of nature. It +is in some; it is not in others. But I should say, if it is not in you, +you had better not put yourself in places where not to have it is to be +a public enemy.</p> + +<p>The expectation and claims of mankind indicate the duties of this +class. Some service they must pay. We do not expect them to be saints, +and it is very pleasing to see the instinct of mankind on this +matter,—how much they will forgive to such as pay substantial service +and work energetically after their kind; but they do not extend the +same indulgence to those who claim and enjoy the same prerogative but +render no returns. The day is darkened when the golden river runs down +into mud; when genius grows idle and wanton and reckless of its fine +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span> +duties of being Saint, Prophet, Inspirer to its humble fellows, baulks +their respect and confounds their understanding by silly extravagances. +To a right aristocracy, to Hercules, to Theseus, Odin, the Cid, +Napoleon; to Sir Robert Walpole, to Fox, Chatham, Mirabeau, Jefferson, +O’Connell;—to the men, that is, who are incomparably superior to the +populace in ways agreeable to the populace, showing them the way they +should go, doing for them what they wish done and cannot do;—of course +everything will be permitted and pardoned,—gaming, drinking, fighting, +luxury. These are the heads of party, who can do no wrong,—everything +short of infamous crime will pass.</p> + +<p>But if those who merely sit in their places and are not, like them, +able; if the dressed and perfumed gentleman, who serves the people in +no wise and adorns them not, is not even <i>not afraid of them</i>, if +such an one go about to set ill examples and corrupt them, who shall +blame them if they burn his barns, insult his children, assault his +person, and express their unequivocal indignation and contempt? He +eats their bread, he does not scorn to live by their labor, and after +breakfast he cannot remember that there are human beings. To live +without duties is obscene.</p> + +<p>2. Genius, what is so called in strictness,—the power to affect the +Imagination, as possessed by the orator, the poet, the novelist, or +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span> +the artist,—has a royal right in all possessions and privileges, being +itself representative and accepted by all men as their delegate. It +has indeed the best right, because it raises men above themselves, +intoxicates them with beauty. They are honored by rendering it honor, +and the reason of this allowance is that Genius unlocks for all men +the chains of use, temperament and drudgery, and gives them a sense of +delicious liberty and power.</p> + +<p>The first example that occurs is an extraordinary gift of eloquence. +A man who has that possession of his means and that magnetism that he +can at all times carry the convictions of a public assembly, we must +respect, and he is thereby ennobled. He has the freedom of the city. He +is entitled to neglect trifles. Like a great general, or a great poet, +or a millionaire, he may wear his coat out at elbows, and his hat on +his feet, if he will. He has established relation, representativeness. +The best feat of genius is to bring all the varieties of talent and +culture into its audience; the mediocre and the dull are reached +as well as the intelligent. I have seen it conspicuously shown in +a village. Here are classes which day by day have no intercourse, +nothing beyond perhaps a surly nod in passing. But I have seen a +man of teeming brain come among these men, so full of his facts, so +unable to suppress them, that he has poured out a river of knowledge +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span> +to all comers, and drawing all these men round him, all sorts of men, +interested the whole village, good and bad, bright and stupid, in his +facts; the iron boundary lines had all faded away; the stupid had +discovered that they were not stupid; the coldest had found themselves +drawn to their neighbors by interest in the same things. This was a +naturalist.</p> + +<p>The more familiar examples of this power certainly are those who +establish a wider dominion over men’s minds than any speech can; who +think, and paint, and laugh, and weep, in their eloquent closets, and +then convert the world into a huge whispering gallery, to report the +tale to all men, and win smiles and tears from many generations. The +eminent examples are Shakspeare, Cervantes, Bunyan, Burns, Scott, and +now we must add Dickens. In the fine arts, I find none in the present +age who have any popular power, who have achieved any nobility by +ennobling the people.</p> + +<p>3. Elevation of sentiment, refining and inspiring the manners, must +really take the place of every distinction whether of material power +or of intellectual gifts. The manners of course must have that depth +and firmness of tone to attest their centrality in the nature of the +man. I mean the things themselves shall be judges, and determine. In +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span> +the presence of this nobility even genius must stand aside. For the two +poles of nature are Beauty and Meanness, and noble sentiment is the +highest form of Beauty. He is beautiful in face, in port, in manners, +who is absorbed in objects which he truly believes to be superior to +himself. Is there any parchment or any cosmetic or any blood that can +obtain homage like that security of air presupposing so undoubtingly +the sympathy of men in his designs? What is it that makes the true +knight? Loyalty to his thought. That makes the beautiful scorn, the +elegant simplicity, the directness, the commanding port which all men +admire and which men not noble affect. For the thought has no debts, +no hunger, no lusts, no low obligations or relations, no intrigue or +business, no murder, no envy, no crime, but large leisures and an +inviting future.</p> + +<p>The service we receive from the great is a mutual deference. If +you deal with the vulgar, life is reduced to beggary indeed. The +astronomers are very eager to know whether the moon has an atmosphere; +I am only concerned that every man have one. I observe however that it +takes two to make an atmosphere. I am acquainted with persons who go +attended with this ambient cloud. It is sufficient that they come. It +is not important what they say. The sun and the evening sky are not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span> +calmer. They seem to have arrived at the fact, to have got rid of the +show, and to be serene. Their manners and behavior in the house and in +the field are those of men at rest: what have they to conceal? what +have they to exhibit? Others I meet, who have no deference, and who +denude and strip one of all attributes but material values. As much +health and muscle as you have, as much land, as much house-room and +dinner, avails. Of course a man is a poor bag of bones. There is no +gracious interval, not an inch allowed. Bone rubs against bone. Life is +thus a Beggar’s Bush. I know nothing which induces so base and forlorn +a feeling as when we are treated for our utilities, as economists do, +starving the imagination and the sentiment. In this impoverishing +animation, I seem to meet a Hunger, a wolf. Rather let us be alone +whilst we live, than encounter these lean kine. Man should emancipate +man. He does so, not by jamming him, but by distancing him. The nearer +my friend, the more spacious is our realm, the more diameter our +spheres have. It is a measure of culture, the number of things taken +for granted. When a man begins to speak, the churl will take him up by +disputing his first words, so he cannot come at his scope. The wise +man takes all for granted until he sees the parallelism of that which +puzzled him with his own view.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span></p> + +<p>I will not protract this discourse by describing the duties of the +brave and generous. And yet I will venture to name one, and the same +is almost the sole condition on which knighthood is to be won; this, +namely, loyalty to your own order. The true aristocrat is he who is +at the head of his own order, and disloyalty is to mistake other +chivalries for his own. Let him not divide his homage, but stand for +that which he was born and set to maintain. It was objected to Gustavus +that he did not better distinguish between the duties of a carabine and +a general, but exposed himself to all dangers and was too prodigal of a +blood so precious. For a soul on which elevated duties are laid will so +realize its special and lofty duties as not to be in danger of assuming +through a low generosity those which do not belong to it.</p> + +<p>There are all degrees of nobility, but amid the levity and giddiness +of people one looks round, as for a tower of strength, on some +self-dependent mind, who does not go abroad for an estimate, and has +long ago made up its conclusion that it is impossible to fail. The +great Indian sages had a lesson for the Brahmin, which every day +returns to mind, “All that depends on another gives pain; all that +depends on himself gives pleasure; in these few words is the definition +of pleasure and pain.” The noble mind is here to teach us that failure +is a part of success. Prosperity and pound-cake are for very young +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span> +gentlemen, whom such things content; but a hero’s, a man’s success +is made up of failures, because he experiments and ventures every +day, and “the more falls he gets, moves faster on;” defeated all the +time and yet to victory born. I have heard that in horsemanship he is +not the good rider who never was thrown, but rather that a man never +will be a good rider until he is thrown; then he will not be haunted +any longer by the terror that he shall tumble, and will ride;—that +is his business,—to <i>ride</i>, whether with falls or whether with +none, to ride unto the place whither he is bound. And I know no such +unquestionable badge and ensign of a sovereign mind, as that tenacity +of purpose which, through all change of companions, of parties, of +fortunes,—changes never, bates no jot of heart or hope, but wearies +out opposition, and arrives at its port. In his consciousness of +deserving success, the caliph Ali constantly neglected the ordinary +means of attaining it; and to the grand interests, a superficial +success is of no account. It prospers as well in mistake as in luck, +in obstruction and nonsense, as well as among the angels; it reckons +fortunes mere paint; difficulty is its delight: perplexity is its +noonday: minds that make their way without winds and against tides. But +these are rare and difficult examples, we can only indicate them to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span> +show how high is the range of the realm of Honor.</p> + +<p>I know the feeling of the most ingenious and excellent youth in +America; I hear the complaint of the aspirant that we have no prizes +offered to the ambition of virtuous young men; that there is no Theban +Band; no stern exclusive Legion of Honor, to be entered only by long +and real service and patient climbing up all the steps. We have a +rich men’s aristocracy, plenty of bribes for those who like them; but +a grand style of culture, which, without injury, an ardent youth can +propose to himself as a Pharos through long dark years, does not exist, +and there is no substitute. The youth, having got through the first +thickets that oppose his entrance into life, having got into decent +society, is left to himself, and falls abroad with too much freedom. +But in the hours of insight we rally against this skepticism. We then +see that if the ignorant are around us, the great are much more near; +that there is an order of men, never quite absent, who enroll no +names in their archives but of such as are capable of truth. They are +gathered in no one chamber; no chamber would hold them; but, out of the +vast duration of man’s race, they tower like mountains, and are present +to every mind in proportion to its likeness to theirs. The solitariest +man who shares their spirit walks environed by them; they talk to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span> +him, they comfort him, and happy is he who prefers these associates to +profane companions. They also take shape in men, in women. There is no +heroic trait, no sentiment or thought that will not sometime embody +itself in the form of a friend. That highest good of rational existence +is always coming to such as reject mean alliances.</p> + +<p>One trait more we must celebrate, the self-reliance which is the +patent of royal natures. It is so prized a jewel that it is sure to +be tested. The rules and discipline are ordered for that. The Golden +Table never lacks members; all its seats are kept full; but with this +strange provision, that the members are carefully withdrawn into deep +niches, so that no one of them can see any other of them, and each +believes himself alone. In the presence of the Chapter it is easy for +each member to carry himself royally and well; but in the absence of +his colleagues and in the presence of mean people he is tempted to +accept the low customs of towns. The honor of a member consists in +an indifferency to the persons and practices about him, and in the +pursuing undisturbed the career of a Brother, as if always in their +presence, and as if no other existed. Give up, once for all, the hope +of approbation from the people in the street, if you are pursuing great +ends. How can they guess your designs?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span></p> + +<p>All reference to models, all comparison with neighboring abilities +and reputations, is the road to mediocrity. The generous soul, on +arriving in a new port, makes instant preparation for a new voyage. +By experiment, by original studies, by secret obedience, he has made +a place for himself in the world; stands there a real, substantial, +unprecedented person, and when the great come by, as always there are +angels walking in the earth, they know him at sight. Effectual service +in his own legitimate fashion distinguishes the true man. For he is +to know that the distinction of a royal nature is a great heart; that +not Louis Quatorze, not Chesterfield, nor Byron, nor Bonaparte is the +model of the Century, but, wherever found, the old renown attaches to +the virtues of simple faith and staunch endurance and clear perception +and plain speech, and that there is a master grace and dignity +communicated by exalted sentiments to a human form, to which utility +and even genius must do homage. And it is the sign and badge of this +nobility, the drawing his counsel from his own breast. For to every +gentleman, grave and dangerous duties are proposed. Justice always +wants champions. The world waits for him as its defender, for he will +find in the well-dressed crowd, yes, in the civility of whole nations, +vulgarity of sentiment. In the best parlors of modern society he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span> +will find the laughing devil, the civil sneer; in English palaces the +London twist, derision, coldness, contempt of the masses, contempt of +Ireland, dislike of the Chartist. The English House of Commons is the +proudest assembly of gentlemen in the world, yet the genius of the +House of Commons, its legitimate expression, is a sneer. In America he +shall find deprecation of purism on all questions touching the morals +of trade and of social customs, and the narrowest contraction of ethics +to the one duty of paying money. Pay that, and you may play the tyrant +at discretion and never look back to the fatal question,—where had you +the money that you paid?</p> + +<p>I know the difficulties in the way of the man of honor. The man of +honor is a man of taste and humanity. By tendency, like all magnanimous +men, he is a democrat. But the revolution comes, and does he join +the standard of Chartist and outlaw? No, for these have been dragged +in their ignorance by furious chiefs to the Red Revolution; they +are full of murder, and the student recoils,—and joins the rich. +If he cannot vote with the poor, he should stay by himself. Let him +accept the position of armed neutrality, abhorring the crimes of the +Chartist, abhorring the selfishness of the rich, and say, ‘The time +will come when these poor <i>enfans perdus</i> of revolution will have +instructed their party, if only by their fate, and wiser counsels will +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span> +prevail; the music and the dance of liberty will come up to bright and +holy ground and will take me in also. Then I shall not have forfeited +my right to speak and act for mankind.’ Meantime shame to the fop of +learning and philosophy who suffers a vulgarity of speech and habit +to blind him to the grosser vulgarity of pitiless selfishness, and to +hide from him the current of Tendency; who abandons his right position +of being priest and poet of these impious and unpoetic doers of God’s +work. You must, for wisdom, for sanity, have some access to the mind +and heart of the common humanity. The exclusive excludes himself. +No great man has existed who did not rely on the sense and heart of +mankind as represented by the good sense of the people, as correcting +the modes and over-refinements and class-prejudices of the lettered men +of the world.</p> + +<p>There are certain conditions in the highest degree favorable to the +tranquillity of spirit and to that magnanimity we so prize. And mainly +the habit of considering large interests, and things in masses, and +not too much in detail. The habit of directing large affairs generates +a nobility of thought in every mind of average ability. For affairs +themselves show the way in which they should be handled; and a good +head soon grows wise, and does not govern too much.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span></p> + +<p>Now I believe in the closest affinity between moral and material power. +Virtue and genius are always on the direct way to the control of the +society in which they are found. It is the interest of society that +good men should govern, and there is always a tendency so to place +them. But, for the day that now is, a man of generous spirit will not +need to administer public offices or to direct large interests of +trade, or war, or politics, or manufacture, but he will use a high +prudence in the conduct of life to guard himself from being dissipated +on many things. There is no need that he should count the pounds of +property or the numbers of agents whom his influence touches; it +suffices that his aims are high, that the interest of intellectual and +moral beings is paramount with him, that he comes into what is called +fine society from higher ground, and he has an elevation of habit which +ministers of empires will be forced to see and to remember.</p> + +<p>I do not know whether that word Gentleman, although it signifies +a leading idea in recent civilization, is a sufficiently broad +generalization to convey the deep and grave fact of self-reliance. To +many the word expresses only the outsides of cultivated men,—only +graceful manners, and independence in trifles; but the fountains of +that thought are in the deeps of man, a beauty which reaches through +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span> +and through, from the manners to the soul; an honor which is only +a name for sanctity, a self-trust which is a trust in God himself. +Call it man of honor, or call it Man, the American who would serve +his country must learn the beauty and honor of perseverance, he must +reinforce himself by the power of character, and revisit the margin of +that well from which his fathers drew waters of life and enthusiasm, +the fountain I mean of the moral sentiments, the parent fountain from +which this goodly Universe flows as a wave.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p class="nind"><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> +First read as a lecture—in England—in 1848; here printed +with additions from other papers.</p> + +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="PERPETUAL_FORCES">PERPETUAL FORCES.</h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_8" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="allsmcap">MORE</span> servants wait on man</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Than he’ll take notice of.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="allsmcap">EVER</span> the Rock of Ages melts</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Into the mineral air</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To be the quarry whence is built</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Thought and its mansions fair.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="PERPETUAL_FORCES_2">PERPETUAL FORCES.<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_9" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<p>THE hero in the fairy tales has a servant who can eat granite rocks, +another who can hear the grass grow, and a third who can run a hundred +leagues in half an hour; so man in nature is surrounded by a gang of +friendly giants who can accept harder stints than these, and help him +in every kind. Each by itself has a certain omnipotence, but all, like +contending kings and emperors, in the presence of each other, are +antagonized and kept polite and own the balance of power.</p> + +<p>We cannot afford to miss any advantage. Never was any man too strong +for his proper work. Art is long, and life short, and he must supply +this disproportion by borrowing and applying to his task the energies +of Nature. Reinforce his self-respect, show him his means, his arsenal +of forces, physical, metaphysical, immortal. Show him the riches of +the poor, show him what mighty allies and helpers he has. And though +King David had no good from making his census out of vain-glory, yet I +find it wholesome and invigorating to enumerate the resources we can +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span> +command, to look a little into this arsenal, and see how many rounds +of ammunition, what muskets and how many arms better than Springfield +muskets we can bring to bear.</p> + +<p>Go out of doors and get the air. Ah, if you knew what was in the air. +See what your robust neighbor, who never feared to live in it, has got +from it; strength, cheerfulness, power to convince, heartiness and +equality to each event.</p> + +<p>All the earths are burnt metals. One half the avoirdupois of the +rocks which compose the solid crust of the globe consists of oxygen. +The adamant is always passing into smoke; the marble column, the +brazen statue burn under the daylight, and would soon decompose if +their molecular structure, disturbed by the raging sunlight, were not +restored by the darkness of the night. What agencies of electricity, +gravity, light, affinity combine to make every plant what it is, and in +a manner so quiet that the presence of these tremendous powers is not +ordinarily suspected. Faraday said, “A grain of water is known to have +electric relations equivalent to a very powerful flash of lightning.” +The ripe fruit is dropped at last without violence, but the lightning +fell and the storm raged and strata were deposited and uptorn and bent +back, and Chaos moved from beneath, to create and flavor the fruit on +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span> +your table to-day. The winds and the rains come back a thousand and a +thousand times. The coal on your grate gives out in decomposing to-day +exactly the same amount of light and heat which was taken from the +sunshine in its formation in the leaves and boughs of the antediluvian +tree.</p> + +<p>Take up a spadeful or a buck-load of loam; who can guess what it holds? +But a gardener knows that it is full of peaches, full of oranges, +and he drops in a few seeds by way of keys to unlock and combine its +virtues; lets it lie in sun and rain, and by and by it has lifted into +the air its full weight in golden fruit.</p> + +<p>The earliest hymns of the world were hymns to these natural forces. +The Vedas of India, which have a date older than Homer, are hymns +to the winds, to the clouds, and to fire. They all have certain +properties which adhere to them, such as conservation, persisting to be +themselves, impossibility of being warped. The sun has lost no beams, +the earth no elements; gravity is as adhesive, heat as expansive, light +as joyful, air as virtuous, water as medicinal as on the first day. +There is no loss, only transference. When the heat is less here it is +not lost, but more heat is there. When the rain exceeds on the coast, +there is drought on the prairie. When the continent sinks, the opposite +continent, that is to say, the opposite shore of the ocean, rises. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span> +When life is less here, it spawns there.</p> + +<p>These forces are in an ascending series, but seem to leave no room for +the individual; man or atom, he only shares them; he sails the way +these irresistible winds blow. But behind all these are finer elements, +the sources of them, and much more rapid and strong; a new style and +series, the spiritual. Intellect and morals appear only the material +forces on a higher plane. The laws of material nature run up into the +invisible world of the mind, and hereby we acquire a key to those +sublimities which skulk and hide in the caverns of human consciousness. +And in the impenetrable mystery which hides—and hides through absolute +transparency—the mental nature, I await the insight which our +advancing knowledge of material laws shall furnish.</p> + +<p>But the laws of force apply to every form of it. The husbandry +learned in the economy of heat or light or steam or muscular fibre +applies precisely to the use of wit. What I have said of the +inexorable persistence of every elemental force to remain itself, +the impossibility of tampering with it or warping it,—the same +rule applies again strictly to this force of intellect; that it is +perception, a seeing, not making, thoughts. The man must bend to the +law, never the law to him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span></p> + +<p>The brain of man has methods and arrangements corresponding to these +material powers, by which he can use them. See how trivial is the use +of the world by any other of its creatures. Whilst these forces act on +us from the outside and we are not in their counsel, we call them Fate. +The animal instincts guide the animal as gravity governs the stone, +and in man that bias or direction of his constitution is often as +tyrannical as gravity. We call it temperament, and it seems to be the +remains of wolf, ape, and rattlesnake in him. While the reason is yet +dormant, this rules; as the reflective faculties open, this subsides. +We come to reason and knowledge; we see the causes of evils and learn +to parry them and use them as instruments, by knowledge, being inside +of them and dealing with them as the Creator does. It is curious to +see how a creature so feeble and vulnerable as a man, who, unarmed, is +no match for the wild beasts, tiger, or crocodile, none for the frost, +none for the sea, none for a fog, or a damp air, or the feeble fork +of a poor worm,—each of a thousand petty accidents puts him to death +every day,—is yet able to subdue to his will these terrific forces, +and more than these. His whole frame is responsive to the world, part +for part, every sense, every pore to a new element, so that he seems +to have as many talents as there are qualities in nature. No force but +is his force. He does not possess them, he is a pipe through which +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span> +their currents flow. If a straw be held still in the direction of the +ocean-current, the sea will pour through it as through Gibraltar. If +he should measure strength with them, if he should fight the sea and +the whirlwind with his ship, he would snap his spars, tear his sails, +and swamp his bark; but by cunningly dividing the force, tapping the +tempest for a little side-wind, he uses the monsters, and they carry +him where he would go. Look at him; you can give no guess at what +power is in him. It never appears directly, but follow him and see his +effects, see his productions. He is a planter, a miner, a shipbuilder, +a machinist, a musician, a steam-engine, a geometer, an astronomer, a +persuader of men, a lawgiver, a builder of towns;—and each of these by +dint of a wonderful method or series that resides in him and enables +him to work on the material elements.</p> + +<p>We are surrounded by human thought and labor. Where are the farmer’s +days gone? See, they are hid in that stone-wall, in that excavated +trench, in the harvest grown on what was shingle and pine-barren. +He put his days into carting from the distant swamp the mountain +of muck which has been trundled about until it now makes the cover +of fruitful soil. Labor hides itself in every mode and form. It is +massed and blocked away in that stone house, for five hundred years. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span> +It is twisted and screwed into fragrant hay which fills the barn. +It surprises in the perfect form and condition of trees clean of +caterpillars and borers, rightly pruned, and loaded with grafted fruit. +It is under the house in the well; it is over the house in slates and +copper and water-spout; it grows in the corn; it delights us in the +flower-bed; it keeps the cow out of the garden, the rain out of the +library, the miasma out of the town. It is in dress, in pictures, in +ships, in cannon; in every spectacle, in odors, in flavors, in sweet +sounds, in works of safety, of delight, of wrath, of science.</p> + +<p>The thoughts, no man ever saw, but disorder becomes order where he +goes; weakness becomes power; surprising and admirable effects follow +him like a creator. All forces are his; as the wise merchant by truth +in his dealings finds his credit unlimited,—he can use in turn, as he +wants it, all the property in the world,—so a man draws on all the +air for his occasions, as if there were no other breather; on all the +water as if there were no other sailor; he is warmed by the sun, and +so of every element; he walks and works by the aid of gravitation; he +draws on all knowledge as his province, on all beauty for his innocent +delight, and first or last he exhausts by his use all the harvests, all +the powers of the world. For man, the receiver of all, and depositary +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span> +of these volumes of power, I am to say that his ability and performance +are according to his reception of these various streams of force. +We define Genius to be a sensibility to all the impressions of the +outer world, a sensibility so equal that it receives accurately all +impressions, and can truly report them without excess or loss as it +received. It must not only receive all, but it must render all. And the +health of man is an equality of inlet and outlet, gathering and giving. +Any hoarding is tumor and disease.</p> + +<p>If we were truly to take account of stock before the last Court of +Appeals,—that were an inventory! What are my resources? “Our stock +in life, our real estate, is that amount of thought which we have +had,”—and which we have applied, and so domesticated. The ground we +have thus created is forever a fund for new thoughts. A few moral +maxims confirmed by much experience would stand high on the list, +constituting a supreme prudence. Then the knowledge unutterable of our +private strength, of where it lies, of its accesses and facilitations, +and of its obstructions. My conviction of principles, that is great +part of my possessions. Certain thoughts, certain observations, long +familiar to me in night-watches and daylights, would be my capital +if I removed to Spain or China, or, by stranger translation, to the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span> +planet Jupiter or Mars, or to new spiritual societies. Every valuable +person who joins in an enterprise,—is it a piece of industry, or the +founding of a colony or a college, the reform of some public abuse, or +some effort of patriotism,—what he chiefly brings, all he brings, is +not his land or his money or body’s strength, but his thoughts, his way +of classifying and seeing things, his method. And thus with every one a +new power. In proportion to the depth of the insight is the power and +reach of the kingdom he controls.</p> + +<p>It would be easy to awake wonder by sketching the performance of each +of these mental forces; as of the diving-bell of the Memory, which +descends into the deeps of our past and oldest experience and brings +up every lost jewel; or of the Fancy, which sends its gay balloon +aloft into the sky to catch every tint and gleam of romance; of the +Imagination, which turns every dull fact into pictures and poetry, by +making it an emblem of thought. What a power, when, combined with the +analyzing understanding, it makes Eloquence; the art of compelling +belief, the art of making peoples’ hearts dance to his pipe! And not +less, method, patience, self-trust, perseverance, love, desire of +knowledge, the passion for truth. These are the angels that take us +by the hand, these our immortal, invulnerable guardians. By their +strength we are strong, and on the signal occasions in our career +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span> +their inspirations flow to us and make the selfish and protected and +tenderly-bred person strong for his duty, wise in counsel, skilful in +action, competent to rule, willing to obey.</p> + +<p>I delight in tracing these wonderful powers, the electricity and +gravity of the human world. The power of persistence, of enduring +defeat and of gaining victory by defeats, is one of these forces +which never loses its charm. The power of a man increases steadily +by continuance in one direction. He becomes acquainted with the +resistances, and with his own tools; increases his skill and strength +and learns the favorable moments and favorable accidents. He is his +own apprentice, and more time gives a great addition of power, just +as a falling body acquires momentum with every foot of the fall. +How we prize a good continuer! I knew a manufacturer who found his +property invested in chemical works which were depreciating in value. +He undertook the charge of them himself, began at the beginning, +learned chemistry and acquainted himself with all the conditions of +the manufacture. His friends dissuaded him, advised him to give up the +work, which was not suited to the country. Why throw good money after +bad? But he persisted, and after many years succeeded in his production +of the right article for commerce, brought up the stock of his mills +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span> +to par, and then sold out his interest, having accomplished the reform +that was required.</p> + +<p>In each the talent is the perception of an order and series in the +department he deals with,—of an order and series which pre-existed in +nature, and which this mind sees and conforms to. The geometer shows us +the true order in figures; the painter in laws of color; the dancer in +grace. Bonaparte, with his celerity of combination, mute, unfathomable, +reads the geography of Europe as if his eyes were telescopes; his will +is an immense battery discharging irresistible volleys of power always +at the right point in the right time.</p> + +<p>There was a story in the journals of a poor prisoner in a Western +police-court who was told he might be released if he would pay his +fine. He had no money, he had no friends, but he took his flute out of +his pocket and began to play, to the surprise, and, as it proved, to +the delight of all the company; the jurors waked up, the sheriff forgot +his duty, the judge himself beat time, and the prisoner was by general +consent of court and officers allowed to go his way without any money. +And I suppose, if he could have played loud enough, we here should have +beat time, and the whole population of the globe would beat time, and +consent that he should go without his fine.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span></p> + +<p>I knew a stupid young farmer, churlish, living only for his gains, and +with whom the only intercourse you could have was to buy what he had +to sell. One day I found his little boy of four years dragging about +after him the prettiest little wooden cart, so neatly built, and with +decorations too, and learned that Papa had made it; that hidden deep +in that thick skull was this gentle art and taste which the little +fingers and caresses of his son had the power to draw out into day; +he was no peasant after all. So near to us is the flowering of Fine +Art in the rudest population. See in a circle of school-girls one with +no beauty, no special vivacity,—but she can so recite her adventures +that she is never alone, but at night or at morning wherever she sits +the inevitable circle gathers around her, willing prisoners of that +wonderful memory and fancy and spirit of life. Would you know where +to find her? Listen for the laughter, follow the cheerful hum, see +where is the rapt attention, and a pretty crowd all bright with one +electricity; there in the centre of fellowship and joy is Scheherazade +again.</p> + +<p>See how rich life is; rich in private talents, each of which charms us +in turn and seems the best. If we hear music we give up all to that; if +we fall in with a cricket-club and see the game masterly played, the +best player is the first of men; if we go to the regatta, we forget +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span> +the bowler for the stroke oar; and when the soldier comes home from +the fight, he fills all eyes. But the soldier has the same admiration +of the great parliamentary debater. And poetry and literature are +disdainful of all these claims beside their own. Like the boy who +thought in turn each one of the four seasons the best, and each of +the three hundred and sixty-five days in the year the crowner. The +sensibility is all.</p> + +<p>Every one knows what are the effects of music to put people in gay or +mournful or martial mood. But these are the effects on dull subjects, +and only the hint of its power on a keener sense. It is a stroke on a +loose or tense cord. The story of Orpheus, of Arion, of the Arabian +minstrel, are not fables, but experiments on the same iron at white +heat.</p> + +<p>By this wondrous susceptibility to all the impressions of Nature the +man finds himself the receptacle of celestial thoughts, of happy +relations to all men. The imagination enriches him, as if there were +no other; the memory opens all her cabinets and archives; Science +her length and breadth, Poetry her splendor and joy and the august +circles of eternal law. These are means and stairs for new ascensions +of the mind. But they are nowise impoverished for any other mind, +not tarnished, not breathed upon; for the mighty Intellect did not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span> +stoop to him and become property, but he rose to it and followed its +circuits. “It is ours while we use it, it is not ours when we do not +use it.”</p> + +<p>And so, one step higher, when he comes into the realm of sentiment +and will. He sees the grandeur of justice, the victory of love, the +eternity that belongs to all moral nature. He does not then invent his +sentiment or his act, but obeys a pre-existing right which he sees. We +arrive at virtue by taking its direction instead of imposing ours.</p> + +<p>The last revelation of intellect and of sentiment is that in a manner +it severs the man from all other men; makes known to him that the +spiritual powers are sufficient to him if no other being existed; that +he is to deal absolutely in the world, as if he alone were a system and +a state, and though all should perish could make all anew.</p> + +<p>The forces are infinite. Every one has the might of all, for the secret +of the world is that its energies are <i>solidaires</i>; that they work +together on a system of mutual aid, all for each and each for all; that +the strain made on one point bears on every arch and foundation of the +structure. But if you wish to avail yourself of their might, and in +like manner if you wish the force of the intellect, the force of the +will, you must take their divine direction, not they yours. Obedience +alone gives the right to command. It is like the village operator +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span> +who taps the telegraph-wire and surprises the secrets of empires as +they pass to the capital. So this child of the dust throws himself +by obedience into the circuit of the heavenly wisdom, and shares the +secret of God.</p> + +<p>Thus is the world delivered into your hand, but on two conditions,—not +for property, but for use, use according to the noble nature of the +gifts; and not for toys, not for self-indulgence. Things work to their +ends, not to yours, and will certainly defeat any adventurer who fights +against this ordination.</p> + +<p>The effort of men is to use them for private ends. They wish to +pocket land and water and fire and air and all fruits of these, for +property, and would like to have Aladdin’s lamp to compel darkness, +and iron-bound doors, and hostile armies, and lions and serpents to +serve them like footmen. And they wish the same service from the +spiritual faculties. A man has a rare mathematical talent, inviting +him to the beautiful secrets of geometry, and wishes to clap a patent +on it; or has the fancy and invention of a poet, and says, ‘I will +write a play that shall be repeated in London a hundred nights;’ or a +military genius, and instead of using that to defend his country, he +says, ‘I will fight the battle so as to give me place and political +consideration;’ or Canning or Thurlow has a genius of debate, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span> +says, ‘I will know how with this weapon to defend the cause that +will pay best and make me Chancellor or Foreign Secretary.’ But this +perversion is punished with instant loss of true wisdom and real power.</p> + +<p>I find the survey of these cosmical powers a doctrine of consolation +in the dark hours of private or public fortune. It shows us the world +alive, guided, incorruptible; that its cannon cannot be stolen nor its +virtues misapplied. It shows us the long Providence, the safeguards +of rectitude. It animates exertion; it warns us out of that despair +into which Saxon men are prone to fall,—out of an idolatry of forms, +instead of working to simple ends, in the belief that Heaven always +succors us in working for these. This world belongs to the energetical. +It is a fagot of laws, and a true analysis of these laws, showing how +immortal and how self-protecting they are, would be a wholesome lesson +for every time and for this time. That band which ties them together +is unity, is universal good, saturating all with one being and aim, +so that each translates the other, is only the same spirit applied to +new departments. Things are saturated with the moral law. There is no +escape from it. Violets and grass preach it; rain and snow, wind and +tides, every change, every cause in Nature is nothing but a disguised +missionary.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span></p> + +<p>All our political disasters grow as logically out of our attempts in +the past to do without justice, as the sinking of some part of your +house comes of defect in the foundation. One thing is plain; a certain +personal virtue is essential to freedom; and it begins to be doubtful +whether our corruption in this country has not gone a little over the +mark of safety, so that when canvassed we shall be found to be made up +of a majority of reckless self-seekers. The divine knowledge has ebbed +out of us and we do not know enough to be free.</p> + +<p>I hope better of the state. Half a man’s wisdom goes with his courage. +A boy who knows that a bully lives round the corner which he must +pass on his daily way to school, is apt to take sinister views of +streets and of school-education. And a sensitive politician suffers +his ideas of the part New York or Pennsylvania or Ohio are to play in +the future of the Union, to be fashioned by the election of rogues in +some counties. But we must not gratify the rogues so deeply. There is a +speedy limit to profligate politics.</p> + +<p>Fear disenchants life and the world. If I have not my own respect I am +an impostor, not entitled to other men’s, and had better creep into +my grave. I admire the sentiment of Thoreau, who said, “Nothing is so +much to be feared as fear; God himself likes atheism better.” For the +world is a battle-ground; every principle is a war-note, and the most +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span> +quiet and protected life is at any moment exposed to incidents which +test your firmness. The illusion that strikes me as the masterpiece in +that ring of illusions which our life is, is the timidity with which +we assert our moral sentiment. We are made of it, the world is built +by it, things endure as they share it; all beauty, all health, all +intelligence exist by it; yet we shrink to speak of it or to range +ourselves by its side. Nay, we presume strength of him or them who +deny it. Cities go against it; the college goes against it, the courts +snatch at any precedent, at any vicious form of law to rule it out; +legislatures listen with appetite to declamations against it, and vote +it down. Every new asserter of the right surprises us, like a man +joining the church, and we hardly dare believe he is in earnest.</p> + +<p>What we do and suffer is in moments, but the cause of right for which +we labor never dies, works in long periods, can afford many checks, +gains by our defeats, and will know how to compensate our extremest +sacrifice. Wrath and petulance may have their short success, but they +quickly reach their brief date and decompose, whilst the massive might +of ideas is irresistible at last. Whence does the knowledge come? +Where is the source of power? The soul of God is poured into the world +through the thoughts of men. The world stands on ideas, and not on +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span> +iron or cotton; and the iron of iron, the fire of fire, the ether and +source of all the elements is moral force. As cloud on cloud, as snow +on snow, as the bird on the air, and the planet on space in its flight, +so do nations of men and their institutions rest on thoughts.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p class="nind"><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a> +Reprinted from the <i>North American Review</i>, No. 125, +1877.</p> + +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHARACTER">CHARACTER.</h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_10" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent2"><span class="allsmcap">SHUN</span> passion, fold the hands of thrift,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Sit still, and Truth is near;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Suddenly it will uplift</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Your eyelids to the sphere:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wait a little, you shall see</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The portraiture of things to be.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="allsmcap">FOR</span> what need I of book or priest</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or Sibyl from the mummied East</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When every star is Bethlehem Star,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I count as many as there are</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Cinquefoils or violets in the grass,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">So many saints and saviours,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">So many high behaviours.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHARACTER_2">CHARACTER.<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_11" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<p>MORALS respects what men call goodness, that which all men agree to +honor as justice, truth-speaking, good-will and good works. Morals +respects the source or motive of this action. It is the science +of substances, not of shows. It is the <i>what</i>, and not the +<i>how</i>. It is that which all men profess to regard, and by their +real respect for which recommend themselves to each other.</p> + +<p>There is this eternal advantage to morals, that, in the question +between truth and goodness, the moral cause of the world lies behind +all else in the mind. It was for good, it is to good, that all works. +Surely it is not to prove or show the truth of things,—that sounds a +little cold and scholastic,—no, it is for benefit, that all subsists. +As we say in our modern politics, catching at last the language of +morals, that the object of the State is the greatest good of the +greatest number,—so, the reason we must give for the existence of the +world is, that it is for the benefit of all being.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span></p> + +<p>Morals implies freedom and will. The will constitutes the man. He has +his life in Nature, like a beast: but choice is born in him; here is he +that chooses; here is the Declaration of Independence, the July Fourth +of zoölogy and astronomy. He chooses,—as the rest of the creation does +not. But will, pure and perceiving, is not wilfulness. When a man, +through stubbornness, insists to do this or that, something absurd or +whimsical, only because he will, he is weak; he blows with his lips +against the tempest, he dams the incoming ocean with his cane. It were +an unspeakable calamity if any one should think he had the right to +impose a private will on others. That is the part of a striker, an +assassin. All violence, all that is dreary and repels, is not power but +the absence of power.</p> + +<p>Morals is the direction of the will on universal ends. He is immoral +who is acting to any private end. He is moral,—we say it with Marcus +Aurelius and with Kant,—whose aim or motive may become a universal +rule, binding on all intelligent beings; and with Vauvenargues, “the +mercenary sacrifice of the public good to a private interest is the +eternal stamp of vice.”</p> + +<p>All the virtues are special directions of this motive; justice is the +application of this good of the whole to the affairs of each one; +courage is contempt of danger in the determination to see this good of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span> +the whole enacted; love is delight in the preference of that benefit +redounding to another over the securing of our own share; humility is +a sentiment of our insignificance when the benefit of the universe is +considered.</p> + +<p>If from these external statements we seek to come a little nearer +to the fact, our first experiences in moral as in intellectual +nature force us to discriminate a universal mind, identical in all +men. Certain biases, talents, executive skills, are special to each +individual; but the high, contemplative, all-commanding vision, +the sense of Right and Wrong, is alike in all. Its attributes are +self-existence, eternity, intuition and command. It is the mind of the +mind. We belong to it, not it to us. It is in all men, and constitutes +them men. In bad men it is dormant, as health is in men entranced or +drunken; but, however inoperative, it exists underneath whatever vices +and errors. The extreme simplicity of this intuition embarrasses every +attempt at analysis. We can only mark, one by one, the perfections +which it combines in every act. It admits of no appeal, looks to no +superior essence. It is the reason of things.</p> + +<p>The antagonist nature is the individual, formed into a finite body of +exact dimensions, with appetites which take from everybody else what +they appropriate to themselves, and would enlist the entire spiritual +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span> +faculty of the individual, if it were possible, in catering for them. +On the perpetual conflict between the dictate of this universal mind +and the wishes and interests of the individual, the moral discipline +of life is built. The one craves a private benefit, which the other +requires him to renounce out of respect to the absolute good. Every +hour puts the individual in a position where his wishes aim at +something which the sentiment of duty forbids him to seek. He that +speaks the truth executes no private function of an individual will, +but the world utters a sound by his lips. He who doth a just action +seeth therein nothing of his own, but an inconceivable nobleness +attaches to it, because it is a dictate of the general mind. We have +no idea of power so simple and so entire as this. It is the basis of +thought, it is the basis of being. Compare all that we call ourselves, +all our private and personal venture in the world, with this deep +of moral nature in which we lie, and our private good becomes an +impertinence, and we take part with hasty shame against ourselves:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent2">“High instincts, before which our mortal nature</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Doth tremble like a guilty thing surprised,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Which, be they what they may,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Are yet the fountain-light of all our day,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Are yet the master-light of all our seeing,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Our noisy years seem moments in the being</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Of the eternal silence,—truths that wake</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To perish never.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The moral element invites man to great enlargements, to find his +satisfaction, not in particulars or events, but in the purpose and +tendency; not in bread, but in his right to his bread; not in much corn +or wool, but in its communication.</p> + +<p>Not by adding, then, does the moral sentiment help us; no, but in quite +another manner. It puts us in place. It centres, it concentrates us. +It puts us at the heart of Nature, where we belong, in the cabinet of +science and of causes, there where all the wires terminate which hold +the world in magnetic unity, and so converts us into universal beings.</p> + +<p>This wonderful sentiment, which endears itself as it is obeyed, seems +to be the fountain of intellect; for no talent gives the impression of +sanity, if wanting this; nay, it absorbs everything into itself. Truth, +Power, Goodness, Beauty, are its varied names,—faces of one substance, +the heart of all. Before it, what are persons, prophets, or seraphim +but its passing agents, momentary rays of its light?</p> + +<p>The moral sentiment is alone omnipotent. There is no labor or sacrifice +to which it will not bring a man, and which it will not make easy. Thus +there is no man who will bargain to sell his life, say at the end of a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span> +year, for a million or ten millions of gold dollars in hand, or for any +temporary pleasures, or for any rank, as of peer or prince; but many a +man who does not hesitate to lay down his life for the sake of a truth, +or in the cause of his country, or to save his son or his friend. And +under the action of this sentiment of the Right, his heart and mind +expand above himself, and above Nature.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Though Love repine, and Reason chafe,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">There came a voice without reply,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“’Tis man’s perdition to be safe,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">When for the truth he ought to die.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="nind"> +Such is the difference of the action of the heart within and of the +senses without. One is enthusiasm, and the other more or less amounts +of horsepower.</p> + +<p>Devout men, in the endeavor to express their convictions, have used +different images to suggest this latent force; as, the light, the seed, +the Spirit, the Holy Ghost, the Comforter, the Dæmon, the still, small +voice, etc.,—all indicating its power and its latency. It is serenely +above all mediation. In all ages, to all men, it saith, <i>I am</i>; +and he who hears it feels the impiety of wandering from this revelation +to any record or to any rival. The poor Jews of the wilderness cried: +“Let not the Lord speak to us; let Moses speak to us.” But the simple +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span> +and sincere soul makes the contrary prayer: ‘Let no intruder come +between thee and me; deal <span class="allsmcap">THOU</span> with me; let me know it is +thy will, and I ask no more.’ The excellence of Jesus, and of every +true teacher, is, that he affirms the Divinity in him and in us,—not +thrusts himself between it and us. It would instantly indispose us to +any person claiming to speak for the Author of Nature, the setting +forth any fact or law which we did not find in our consciousness. We +should say with Heraclitus: “Come into this smoky cabin; God is here +also: approve yourself to him.”</p> + +<p>We affirm that in all men is this majestic perception and command; +that it is the presence of the Eternal in each perishing man; +that it distances and degrades all statements of whatever saints, +heroes, poets, as obscure and confused stammerings before its silent +revelation. <i>They</i> report the truth. <i>It</i> is the truth. +When I think of Reason, of Truth, of Virtue, I cannot conceive them +as lodged in your soul and lodged in my soul, but that you and I +and all souls are lodged in that; and I may easily speak of that +adorable nature, there where only I behold it in my dim experiences, +in such terms as shall seem to the frivolous, who dare not fathom +their consciousness, as profane. How is a man a man? How can he exist +to weave relations of joy and virtue with other souls, but because +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span> +he is inviolable, anchored at the centre of Truth and Being? In the +ever-returning hour of reflection, he says: ‘I stand here glad at heart +of all the sympathies I can awaken and share, clothing myself with them +as with a garment of shelter and beauty, and yet knowing that it is not +in the power of all who surround me to take from me the smallest thread +I call mine. If all things are taken away, I have still all things in +my relation to the Eternal.’</p> + +<p>We pretend not to define the way of its access to the private heart. +It passes understanding. There was a time when Christianity existed in +one child. But if the child had been killed by Herod, would the element +have been lost? God sends his message, if not by one, then quite as +well by another. When the Master of the Universe has ends to fulfill, +he impresses his will on the structure of minds.</p> + +<p>The Divine Mind imparts itself to the single person: his whole duty is +to this rule and teaching. The aid which others give us is like that +of the mother to the child,—temporary, gestative, a short period of +lactation, a nurse’s or a governess’s care; but on his arrival at a +certain maturity, it ceases, and would be hurtful and ridiculous if +prolonged. Slowly the body comes to the use of its organs; slowly the +soul unfolds itself in the new man. It is partial at first, and honors +only some one or some few truths. In its companions it sees other +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span> +truths honored, and successively finds their foundation also in itself. +Then it cuts the cord, and no longer believes “because of thy saying,” +but because it has recognized them in itself.</p> + +<p>The Divine Mind imparts itself to the single person: but it is also +true that men act powerfully on us. There are men who astonish and +delight, men who instruct and guide. Some men’s words I remember so +well that I must often use them to express my thought. Yes, because +I perceive that we have heard the same truth, but they have heard it +better. That is only to say, there is degree and gradation throughout +Nature; and the Deity does not break his firm laws in respect to +imparting truth, more than in imparting material heat and light. Men +appear from time to time who receive with more purity and fulness +these high communications. But it is only as fast as this hearing from +another is authorized by its consent with his own, that it is pure and +safe to each; and all receiving from abroad must be controlled by this +immense reservation.</p> + +<p>It happens now and then, in the ages, that a soul is born which has +no weakness of self, which offers no impediment to the Divine Spirit, +which comes down into Nature as if only for the benefit of souls, and +all its thoughts are perceptions of things as they are, without any +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span> +infirmity of earth. Such souls are as the apparition of gods among men, +and simply by their presence pass judgment on them. Men are forced +by their own self-respect to give them a certain attention. Evil men +shrink and pay involuntary homage by hiding or apologizing for their +action.</p> + +<p>When a man is born with a profound moral sentiment, preferring truth, +justice and the serving of all men to any honors or any gain, men +readily feel the superiority. They who deal with him are elevated +with joy and hope; he lights up the house or the landscape in which +he stands. His actions are poetic and miraculous in their eyes. In +his presence, or within his influence, every one believes in the +immortality of the soul. They feel that the invisible world sympathizes +with him. The Arabians delight in expressing the sympathy of the unseen +world with holy men.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">When Omar prayed and loved,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Where Syrian waters roll,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Aloft the ninth heaven glowed and moved</div> + <div class="verse indent2">To the tread of the jubilant soul.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>A chief event of life is the day in which we have encountered a +mind that startled us by its large scope. I am in the habit of +thinking,—not, I hope, out of a partial experience, but confirmed by +what I notice in many lives,—that to every serious mind Providence +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span> +sends from time to time five or six or seven teachers who are of the +first importance to him in the lessons they have to impart. The highest +of these not so much give particular knowledge, as they elevate by +sentiment and by their habitual grandeur of view.</p> + +<p>Great men serve us as insurrections do in bad governments. The world +would run into endless routine, and forms incrust forms, till the life +was gone. But the perpetual supply of new genius shocks us with thrills +of life, and recalls us to principles. Lucifer’s wager in the old drama +was, “There is no steadfast man on earth.” He is very rare. “A man +is already of consequence in the world when it is known that we can +implicitly rely on him.” See how one noble person dwarfs a whole nation +of underlings. This steadfastness we indicate when we praise character.</p> + +<p>Character denotes habitual self-possession, habitual regard to interior +and constitutional motives, a balance not to be overset or easily +disturbed by outward events and opinion, and by implication points to +the source of right motive. We sometimes employ the word to express the +strong and consistent will of men of mixed motive, but, when used with +emphasis, it points to what no events can change, that is, a will built +on the reason of things. Such souls do not come in troops: oftenest +appear solitary, like a general without his command, because those who +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span> +can understand and uphold such appear rarely, not many, perhaps not +one, in a generation. And the memory and tradition of such a leader is +preserved in some strange way by those who only half understand him, +until a true disciple comes, who apprehends and interprets every word.</p> + +<p>The sentiment never stops in pure vision, but will be enacted. It +affirms not only its truth, but its supremacy. It is not only insight, +as science, as fancy, as imagination is; or an entertainment, as +friendship and poetry are; but it is a sovereign rule: and the acts +which it suggests—as when it impels a man to go forth and impart +it to other men, or sets him on some asceticism or some practice of +self-examination to hold him to obedience, or some zeal to unite men +to abate some nuisance, or establish some reform or charity which it +commands—are the homage we render to this sentiment, as compared with +the lower regard we pay to other thoughts: and the private or social +practices we establish in its honor we call religion.</p> + +<p>The sentiment, of course, is the judge and measure of every expression +of it,—measures Judaism, Stoicism, Christianity, Buddhism, or whatever +philanthropy, or politics, or saint, or seer pretends to speak in its +name. The religions we call false were once true. They also were +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span> +affirmations of the conscience correcting the evil customs of their +times. The populace drag down the gods to their own level, and give +them their egotism; whilst in Nature is none at all, God keeping out +of sight, and known only as pure law, though resistless. Châteaubriand +said, with some irreverence of phrase, If God made man in his image, +man has paid him well back. “<i>Si Dieu a fait l’homme à son image, +l’homme l’a bien rendu.</i>” Every nation is degraded by the goblins it +worships instead of this Deity. The Dionysia and Saturnalia of Greece +and Rome, the human sacrifice of the Druids, the Sradda of Hindoos, +the Purgatory, the Indulgences, and the Inquisition of Popery, the +vindictive mythology of Calvinism, are examples of this perversion.</p> + +<p>Every particular instruction is speedily embodied in a ritual, is +accommodated to humble and gross minds, and corrupted. The moral +sentiment is the perpetual critic on these forms, thundering its +protest, sometimes in earnest and lofty rebuke; but sometimes also it +is the source, in natures less pure, of sneers and flippant jokes of +common people, who feel that the forms and dogmas are not true for +them, though they do not see where the error lies.</p> + +<p>The religion of one age is the literary entertainment of the next. +We use in our idlest poetry and discourse the words Jove, Neptune, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span> +Mercury, as mere colors, and can hardly believe that they had to the +lively Greek the anxious meaning which, in our towns, is given and +received in churches when our religious names are used: and we read +with surprise the horror of Athens when, one morning, the statues of +Mercury in the temples were found broken, and the like consternation +was in the city as if, in Boston, all the Orthodox churches should be +burned in one night.</p> + +<p>The greatest dominion will be to the deepest thought. The establishment +of Christianity in the world does not rest on any miracle but the +miracle of being the broadest and most humane doctrine. Christianity +was once a schism and protest against the impieties of the time, which +had originally been protests against earlier impieties, but had lost +their truth. Varnhagen von Ense, writing in Prussia in 1848, says: “The +Gospels belong to the most aggressive writings. No leaf thereof could +attain the liberty of being printed (in Berlin) to-day. What Mirabeaus, +Rousseaus, Diderots, Fichtes, Heines, and many another heretic, one can +detect therein!”</p> + +<p>But before it was yet a national religion it was alloyed, and, in the +hands of hot Africans, of luxurious Byzantines, of fierce Gauls, its +creeds were tainted with their barbarism. In Holland, in England, in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span> +Scotland, it felt the national narrowness. How unlike our habitual +turn of thought was that of the last century in this country! Our +ancestors spoke continually of angels and archangels with the same good +faith as they would have spoken of their own parents or their late +minister. Now the words pale, are rhetoric, and all credence is gone. +Our horizon is not far, say one generation, or thirty years: we all +see so much. The older see two generations, or sixty years. But what +has been running on through three horizons, or ninety years, looks +to all the world like a law of Nature, and ’tis an impiety to doubt. +Thus, ’tis incredible to us, if we look into the religious books of +our grandfathers, how they held themselves in such a pinfold. But why +not? As far as they could see, through two or three horizons, nothing +but ministers and ministers. Calvinism was one and the same thing in +Geneva, in Scotland, in Old and New England. If there was a wedding, +they had a sermon; if a funeral, then a sermon; if a war, or small-pox, +or a comet, or canker-worms, or a deacon died,—still a sermon: Nature +was a pulpit; the churchwarden or tithing-man was a petty persecutor; +the presbytery, a tyrant; and in many a house in country places the +poor children found seven sabbaths in a week. Fifty or a hundred years +ago, prayers were said, morning and evening, in all families; grace +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span> +was said at table; an exact observance of the Sunday was kept in the +houses of laymen as of clergymen. And one sees with some pain the +disuse of rites so charged with humanity and aspiration. But it by no +means follows, because those offices are much disused, that the men and +women are irreligious; certainly not that they have less integrity or +sentiment, but only, let us hope, that they see that they can omit the +form without loss of real ground; perhaps that they find some violence, +some cramping of their freedom of thought, in the constant recurrence +of the form.</p> + +<p>So of the changed position and manners of the clergy. They have +dropped, with the sacerdotal garb and manners of the last century, many +doctrines and practices once esteemed indispensable to their order. +But the distinctions of the true clergyman are not less decisive. Men +ask now, “Is he serious? Is he a sincere man, who lives as he teaches? +Is he a benefactor?” So far the religion is now where it should be. +Persons are discriminated as honest, as veracious, as illuminated, as +helpful, as having public and universal regards, or otherwise;—are +discriminated according to their aims, and not by these ritualities.</p> + +<p>The changes are inevitable; the new age cannot see with the eyes of +the last. But the change is in what is superficial; the principles are +immortal, and the rally on the principle must arrive as people become +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span> +intellectual. I consider theology to be the rhetoric of morals. The +mind of this age has fallen away from theology to morals. I conceive +it an advance. I suspect, that, when the theology was most florid and +dogmatic, it was the barbarism of the people, and that, in that very +time, the best men also fell away from theology, and rested in morals. +I think that all the dogmas rest on morals, and that it is only a +question of youth or maturity, of more or less fancy in the recipient; +that the stern determination to do justly, to speak the truth, to +be chaste and humble, was substantially the same, whether under a +self-respect, or under a vow made on the knees at the shrine of Madonna.</p> + +<p>When once Selden had said that the priests seemed to him to be +baptizing their own fingers, the rite of baptism was getting late in +the world. Or when once it is perceived that the English missionaries +in India put obstacles in the way of schools, (as is alleged,)—do not +wish to enlighten but to Christianize the Hindoos,—it is seen at once +how wide of Christ is English Christianity.</p> + +<p>Mankind at large always resemble frivolous children: they are impatient +of thought, and wish to be amused. Truth is too simple for us; we do +not like those who unmask our illusions. Fontenelle said: “If the +Deity should lay bare to the eyes of men the secret system of Nature, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span> +the causes by which all the astronomic results are effected, and they +finding no magic, no mystic numbers, no fatalities, but the greatest +simplicity, I am persuaded they would not be able to suppress a feeling +of mortification, and would exclaim, with disappointment, ‘Is that +all?’” And so we paint over the bareness of ethics with the quaint +grotesques of theology.</p> + +<p>We boast the triumph of Christianity over Paganism, meaning the victory +of the spirit over the senses; but Paganism hides itself in the uniform +of the Church. Paganism has only taken the oath of allegiance, taken +the cross, but is Paganism still, outvotes the true men by millions +of majority, carries the bag, spends the treasure, writes the tracts, +elects the minister, and persecutes the true believer.</p> + +<p>There is a certain secular progress of opinion, which, in civil +countries, reaches everybody. One service which this age has rendered +is, to make the life and wisdom of every past man accessible and +available to all. Socrates and Marcus Aurelius are allowed to be +saints; Mahomet is no longer accursed; Voltaire is no longer a +scarecrow; Spinoza has come to be revered. “The time will come,” +says Varnhagen von Ense, “when we shall treat the jokes and sallies +against the myths and church-rituals of Christianity—say the sarcasms +of Voltaire, Frederic the Great, and D’Alembert—good-naturedly and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span> +without offence: since, at bottom, those men mean honestly, their +polemics proceed out of a religious striving, and what Christ meant +and willed is in essence more with them than with their opponents, who +only wear and misrepresent the <i>name</i> of Christ.... Voltaire was +an apostle of Christian ideas; only the names were hostile to him, and +he never knew it otherwise. He was like the son of the vine-dresser in +the Gospel, who said No, and went; the other said Yea, and went not. +These men preached the true God,—Him whom men serve by justice and +uprightness; but they called themselves atheists.”</p> + +<p>When the highest conceptions, the lessons of religion, are imported, +the nation is not culminating, has not genius, but is servile. A true +nation loves its vernacular tongue. A completed nation will not import +its religion. Duty grows everywhere, like children, like grass; and we +need not go to Europe or to Asia to learn it. I am not sure that the +English religion is not all quoted. Even the Jeremy Taylors, Fullers, +George Herberts, steeped, all of them, in Church traditions, are only +using their fine fancy to emblazon their memory. ’Tis Judæa, not +England, which is the ground. So with the mordant Calvinism of Scotland +and America. But this quoting distances and disables them: since with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span> +every repeater something of creative force is lost, as we feel when we +go back to each original moralist. Pythagoras, Socrates, the Stoics, +the Hindoo, Behmen, George Fox,—these speak originally; and how many +sentences and books we owe to unknown authors,—to writers who were not +careful to set down name or date or titles or cities or postmarks in +these illuminations!</p> + +<p>We, in our turn, want power to drive the ponderous State. The +constitution and law in America must be written on ethical principles, +so that the entire power of the spiritual world can be enlisted to +hold the loyalty of the citizen, and to repel every enemy as by force +of Nature. The laws of old empires stood on the religious convictions. +Now that their religions are outgrown, the empires lack strength. +Romanism in Europe does not represent the real opinion of enlightened +men. The Lutheran Church does not represent in Germany the opinions of +the universities. In England, the gentlemen, the journals, and now, at +last, churchmen and bishops, have fallen away from the Anglican Church. +And in America, where are no legal ties to churches, the looseness +appears dangerous.</p> + +<p>Our religion has got on as far as Unitarianism. But all the forms grow +pale. The walls of the temple are wasted and thin, and, at last, only +a film of whitewash, because the mind of our culture has already left +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span> +our liturgies behind. “Every age,” says Varnhagen, “has another sieve +for the religious tradition, and will sift it out again. Something is +continually lost by this treatment, which posterity cannot recover.”</p> + +<p>But it is a capital truth that Nature, moral as well as material, +is always equal to herself. Ideas always generate enthusiasm. The +creed, the legend, forms of worship, swiftly decay. Morals is the +incorruptible essence, very heedless in its richness of any past +teacher or witness, heedless of their lives and fortunes. It does not +ask whether you are wrong or right in your anecdotes of them; but it is +all in all how you stand to your own tribunal.</p> + +<p>The lines of the religious sects are very shifting; their platforms +unstable; the whole science of theology of great uncertainty, and +resting very much on the opinions of who may chance to be the leading +doctors of Oxford or Edinburgh, of Princeton or Cambridge, to-day. No +man can tell what religious revolutions await us in the next years; +and the education in the divinity colleges may well hesitate and vary. +But the science of ethics has no mutation; and whoever feels any love +or skill for ethical studies may safely lay out all his strength and +genius in working in that mine. The pulpit may shake, but this platform +will not. All the victories of religion belong to the moral sentiment. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span> +Some poor soul beheld the Law blazing through such impediments as he +had, and yielded himself to humility and joy. What was gained by being +told that it was justification by faith?</p> + +<p>The Church, in its ardor for beloved persons, clings to the miraculous, +in the vulgar sense, which has even an immoral tendency, as one sees +in Greek, Indian and Catholic legends, which are used to gloze every +crime. The soul, penetrated with the beatitude which pours into it +on all sides, asks no interpositions, no new laws,—the old are good +enough for it,—finds in every cart-path of labor ways to heaven, and +the humblest lot exalted. Men will learn to put back the emphasis +peremptorily on pure morals, always the same, not subject to doubtful +interpretation, with no sale of indulgences no massacre of heretics, +no female slaves, no disfranchisement of woman, no stigma on race; to +make morals the absolute test, and so uncover and drive out the false +religions. There is no vice that has not skulked behind them. It is +only yesterday that our American churches, so long silent on Slavery, +and notoriously hostile to the Abolitionist, wheeled into line for +Emancipation.</p> + +<p>I am far from accepting the opinion that the revelations of the moral +sentiment are insufficient, as if it furnished a rule only, and not +the spirit by which the rule is animated. For I include in these, of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span> +course, the history of Jesus, as well as those of every divine soul +which in any place or time delivered any grand lesson to humanity; +and I find in the eminent experiences in all times a substantial +agreement. The sentiment itself teaches unity of source, and disowns +every superiority other than of deeper truth. Jesus has immense claims +on the gratitude of mankind, and knew how to guard the integrity of his +brother’s soul from himself also; but, in his disciples, admiration of +him runs away with their reverence for the human soul, and they hamper +us with limitations of person and text. Every exaggeration of these is +a violation of the soul’s right, and inclines the manly reader to lay +down the New Testament, to take up the Pagan philosophers. It is not +that the Upanishads or the Maxims of Antoninus are better, but that +they do not invade his freedom; because they are only suggestions, +whilst the other adds the inadmissible claim of positive authority,—of +an external command, where command cannot be. This is the secret of the +mischievous result that, in every period of intellectual expansion, +the Church ceases to draw into its clergy those who best belong there, +the largest and freest minds, and that in its most liberal forms, when +such minds enter it, they are coldly received, and find themselves out +of place. This charm in the Pagan moralists, of suggestion, the charm +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span> +of poetry, of mere truth, (easily disengaged from their historical +accidents which nobody wishes to force on us,) the New Testament loses +by its connection with a church. Mankind cannot long suffer this loss, +and the office of this age is to put all these writings on the eternal +footing of equality of origin in the instincts of the human mind. It is +certain that each inspired master will gain instantly by the separation +from the idolatry of ages.</p> + +<p>To their great honor, the simple and free minds among our clergy +have not resisted the voice of Nature and the advanced perceptions +of the mind; and every church divides itself into a liberal and +expectant class, on one side, and an unwilling and conservative class +on the other. As it stands with us now, a few clergymen, with a more +theological cast of mind, retain the traditions, but they carry +them quietly. In general discourse, they are never obtruded. If the +clergyman should travel in France, in England, in Italy, he might leave +them locked up in the same closet with his “occasional sermons” at +home, and, if he did not return, would never think to send for them. +The orthodox clergymen hold a little firmer to theirs, as Calvinism has +a more tenacious vitality; but that is doomed also, and will only die +last; for Calvinism rushes to be Unitarianism, as Unitarianism rushes +to be pure Theism.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span></p> + +<p>But the inspirations are never withdrawn. In the worst times, men +of organic virtue are born,—men and women of native integrity, and +indifferently in high and low conditions. There will always be a class +of imaginative youths, whom poetry, whom the love of beauty, lead to +the adoration of the moral sentiment, and these will provide it with +new historic forms and songs. Religion is as inexpugnable as the use +of lamps, or of wells, or of chimneys. We must have days and temples +and teachers. The Sunday is the core of our civilization, dedicated +to thought and reverence. It invites to the noblest solitude and the +noblest society, to whatever means and aids of spiritual refreshment. +Men may well come together to kindle each other to virtuous living. +Confucius said, “If in the morning I hear of the right way, and in the +evening die, I can be happy.”</p> + +<p>The churches already indicate the new spirit in adding to the perennial +office of teaching, beneficent activities,—as in creating hospitals, +ragged schools, offices of employment for the poor, appointing almoners +to the helpless, guardians of foundlings and orphans. The power that in +other times inspired crusades, or the colonization of New England, or +the modern revivals, flies to the help of the deaf-mute and the blind, +to the education of the sailor and the vagabond boy, to the reform +of convicts and harlots,—as the war created the Hilton Head and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span> +Charleston missions, the Sanitary Commission, the nurses and teachers +at Washington.</p> + +<p class="space-above2"> +In the present tendency of our society, in the new importance of the +individual, when thrones are crumbling and presidents and governors are +forced every moment to remember their constituencies; when counties +and towns are resisting centralization, and the individual voter his +party,—society is threatened with actual granulation, religious as +well as political. How many people are there in Boston? Some two +hundred thousand. Well, then so many sects. Of course each poor soul +loses all his old stays; no bishop watches him, no confessor reports +that he has neglected the confessional, no class-leader admonishes him +of absences, no fagot, no penance, no fine, no rebuke. Is not this +wrong? is not this dangerous? ’Tis not wrong, but the law of growth. +It is not dangerous, any more than the mother’s withdrawing her hands +from the tottering babe, at his first walk across the nursery-floor: +the child fears and cries, but achieves the feat, instantly tries it +again, and never wishes to be assisted more. And this infant soul must +learn to walk alone. At first he is forlorn, homeless; but this rude +stripping him of all support drives him inward, and he finds himself +unhurt; he finds himself face to face with the majestic Presence, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span> +reads the original of the Ten Commandments, the original of Gospels and +Epistles; nay, his narrow chapel expands to the blue cathedral of the +sky, where he</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Looks in and sees each blissful deity,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where he before the thunderous throne doth lie.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>To nations or to individuals the progress of opinion is not a loss of +moral restraint, but simply a change from coarser to finer checks. No +evil can come from reform which a deeper thought will not correct. If +there is any tendency in national expansion to form character, religion +will not be a loser. There is a fear that pure truth, pure morals, will +not make a religion for the affections. Whenever the sublimities of +character shall be incarnated in a man, we may rely that awe and love +and insatiable curiosity will follow his steps. Character is the habit +of action from the permanent vision of truth. It carries a superiority +to all the accidents of life. It compels right relation to every other +man,—domesticates itself with strangers and enemies. “But I, father,” +says the wise Prahlada, in the Vishnu Purana, “know neither friends nor +foes, for I behold Kesava in all beings as in my own soul.” It confers +perpetual insight. It sees that a man’s friends and his foes are of his +own household, of his own person. What would it avail me, if I could +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span> +destroy my enemies? There would be as many to-morrow. That which I hate +and fear is really in myself, and no knife is long enough to reach to +its heart. Confucius said one day to Ke Kang: “Sir, in carrying on your +government, why should you use killing at all? Let your evinced desires +be for what is good, and the people will be good. The grass must bend, +when the wind blows across it.” Ke Kang, distressed about the number of +thieves in the state, inquired of Confucius how to do away with them. +Confucius said, “If you, sir, were not covetous, although you should +reward them to do it, they would not steal.”</p> + +<p>Its methods are subtle, it works without means. It indulges no enmity +against any, knowing, with Prahlada that “the suppression of malignant +feeling is itself a reward.” The more reason, the less government. In +a sensible family, nobody ever hears the words “shall” and “sha’n’t;” +nobody commands, and nobody obeys, but all conspire and joyfully +co-operate. Take off the roofs of hundreds of happy houses, and you +shall see this order without ruler, and the like in every intelligent +and moral society. Command is exceptional, and marks some break in +the link of reason; as the electricity goes round the world without +a spark or a sound, until there is a break in the wire or the water +chain. Swedenborg said, that, “in the spiritual world, when one wishes +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span> +to rule, or despises others, he is thrust out of doors.” Goethe, in +discussing the characters in “Wilhelm Meister,” maintained his belief +that “pure loveliness and right good-will are the highest manly +prerogatives, before which all energetic heroism, with its lustre and +renown, must recede.” In perfect accord with this, Henry James affirms, +that “to give the feminine element in life its hard-earned but eternal +supremacy over the masculine has been the secret inspiration of all +past history.”</p> + +<p>There is no end to the sufficiency of character. It can afford to +wait; it can do without what is called success; it cannot but succeed. +To a well-principled man existence is victory. He defends himself +against failure in his main design by making every inch of the road +to it pleasant. There is no trifle, and no obscurity to him: he feels +the immensity of the chain whose last link he holds in his hand, and +is led by it. Having nothing, this spirit hath all. It asks, with +Marcus Aurelius, “What matter by whom the good is done?” It extols +humility,—by every self-abasement lifted higher in the scale of being. +It makes no stipulations for earthly felicity,—does not ask, in the +absoluteness of its trust, even for the assurance of continued life.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p class="nind"><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a> +Reprinted from the <i>North American Review</i> of April, +1866.</p> + +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="EDUCATION">EDUCATION.</h2> +</div> + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_12" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="allsmcap">WITH</span> the key of the secret he marches faster</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From strength to strength, and for night brings day,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While classes or tribes too weak to master</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The flowing conditions of life, give way.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="EDUCATION_2">EDUCATION.</h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_13" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<p>A NEW degree of intellectual power seems cheap at any price. The use +of the world is that man may learn its laws. And the human race have +wisely signified their sense of this, by calling wealth, means,—Man +being the end. Language is always wise.</p> + +<p>Therefore I praise New England because it is the country in the world +where is the freest expenditure for education. We have already taken, +at the planting of the Colonies, (for aught I know for the first time +in the world,) the initial step, which for its importance might have +been resisted as the most radical of revolutions, thus deciding at the +start the destiny of this country,—this, namely, that the poor man, +whom the law does not allow to take an ear of corn when starving, nor +a pair of shoes for his freezing feet, is allowed to put his hand into +the pocket of the rich, and say, You shall educate me, not as you will, +but as I will: not alone in the elements, but, by further provision, +in the languages, in sciences, in the useful and in elegant arts. The +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span> +child shall be taken up by the State, and taught, at the public cost, +the rudiments of knowledge, and, at last, the ripest results of art and +science.</p> + +<p>Humanly speaking, the school, the college, society, make the difference +between men. All the fairy tales of Aladdin or the invisible Gyges +or the talisman that opens kings’ palaces or the enchanted halls +underground or in the sea, are only fictions to indicate the one +miracle of intellectual enlargement. When a man stupid becomes a man +inspired, when one and the same man passes out of the torpid into the +perceiving state, leaves the din of trifles, the stupor of the senses, +to enter into the quasi-omniscience of high thought,—up and down, +around, all limits disappear. No horizon shuts down. He sees things in +their causes, all facts in their connection.</p> + +<p>One of the problems of history is the beginning of civilization. The +animals that accompany and serve man make no progress as races. Those +called domestic are capable of learning of man a few tricks of utility +or amusement, but they cannot communicate the skill to their race. Each +individual must be taught anew. The trained dog cannot train another +dog. And Man himself in many races retains almost the unteachableness +of the beast. For a thousand years the islands and forests of a great +part of the world have been filled with savages who made no steps of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span> +advance in art or skill beyond the necessity of being fed and warmed. +Certain nations with a better brain and usually in more temperate +climates, have made such progress as to compare with these as these +compare with the bear and the wolf.</p> + +<p>Victory over things is the office of man. Of course, until it is +accomplished, it is the war and insult of things over him. His +continual tendency, his great danger, is to overlook the fact that the +world is only his teacher, and the nature of sun and moon, plant and +animal only means of arousing his interior activity. Enamored of their +beauty, comforted by their convenience, he seeks them as ends, and fast +loses sight of the fact that they have worse than no values, that they +become noxious, when he becomes their slave.</p> + +<p>This apparatus of wants and faculties, this craving body, whose +organs ask all the elements and all the functions of Nature for their +satisfaction, educate the wondrous creature which they satisfy with +light, with heat, with water, with wood, with bread, with wool. The +necessities imposed by this most irritable and all-related texture have +taught Man hunting, pasturage, agriculture, commerce, weaving, joining, +masonry, geometry, astronomy. Here is a world pierced and belted +with natural laws, and fenced and planted with civil partitions and +properties, which all put new restraints on the young inhabitant. He +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span> +too must come into this magic circle of relations, and know health and +sickness, the fear of injury, the desire of external good, the charm +of riches, the charm of power. The household is a school of power. +There, within the door, learn the tragi-comedy of human life. Here is +the sincere thing, the wondrous composition for which day and night go +round. In that routine are the sacred relations, the passions that bind +and sever. Here is poverty and all the wisdom its hated necessities +can teach, here labor drudges, here affections glow, here the secrets +of character are told, the guards of man, the guards of woman, the +compensations which, like angels of justice, pay every debt: the opium +of custom, whereof all drink and many go mad. Here is Economy, and +Glee, and Hospitality, and Ceremony, and Frankness, and Calamity, and +Death and Hope.</p> + +<p>Every one has a trust of power,—every man, every boy a jurisdiction, +whether it be over a cow or a rood of a potato-field, or a fleet of +ships, or the laws of a state. And what activity the desire of power +inspires! What toils it sustains! How it sharpens the perceptions and +stores the memory with facts. Thus a man may well spend many years of +life in trade. It is a constant teaching of the laws of matter and +of mind. No dollar of property can be created without some direct +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span> +communication with nature, and of course some acquisition of knowledge +and practical force. It is a constant contest with the active faculties +of men, a study of the issues of one and another course of action, an +accumulation of power, and, if the higher faculties of the individual +be from time to time quickened, he will gain wisdom and virtue from his +business.</p> + +<p>As every wind draws music out of the Æolian harp, so doth every object +in Nature draw music out of his mind. Is it not true that every +landscape I behold, every friend I meet, every act I perform, every +pain I suffer, leaves me a different being from that they found me? +That poverty, love, authority, anger, sickness, sorrow, success, all +work actively upon our being and unlock for us the concealed faculties +of the mind? Whatever private or petty ends are frustrated, this end is +always answered. Whatever the man does, or whatever befalls him, opens +another chamber in his soul,—that is, he has got a new feeling, a new +thought, a new organ. Do we not see how amazingly for this end man is +fitted to the world?</p> + +<p>What leads him to science? Why does he track in the midnight heaven a +pure spark, a luminous patch wandering from age to age, but because +he acquires thereby a majestic sense of power; learning that in his +own constitution he can set the shining maze in order, and finding +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span> +and carrying their law in his mind, can, as it were, see his simple +idea realized up yonder in giddy distances and frightful periods of +duration. If Newton come and first of men perceive that not alone +certain bodies fall to the ground at a certain rate, but that all +bodies in the Universe, the universe of bodies, fall always, and at one +rate; that every atom in nature draws to every other atom,—he extends +the power of his mind not only over every cubic atom of his native +planet, but he reports the condition of millions of worlds which his +eye never saw. And what is the charm which every ore, every new plant, +every new fact touching winds, clouds, ocean currents, the secrets of +chemical composition and decomposition possess for Humboldt? What but +that much revolving of similar facts in his mind has shown him that +always the mind contains in its transparent chambers the means of +classifying the most refractory phenomena, of depriving them of all +casual and chaotic aspect, and subordinating them to a bright reason +of its own, and so giving to man a sort of property,—yea, the very +highest property in every district and particle of the globe.</p> + +<p>By the permanence of Nature, minds are trained alike, and made +intelligible to each other. In our condition are the roots of language +and communication, and these instructions we never exhaust.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span></p> + +<p>In some sort the end of life is that the man should take up +the universe into himself, or out of that quarry leave nothing +unrepresented. Yonder mountain must migrate into his mind. Yonder +magnificent astronomy he is at last to import, fetching away moon, and +planet, solstice, period, comet and binal star, by comprehending their +relation and law. Instead of the timid stripling he was, he is to be +the stalwart Archimedes, Pythagoras, Columbus, Newton, of the physic, +metaphysic and ethics of the design of the world.</p> + +<p>For truly the population of the globe has its origin in the aims which +their existence is to serve; and so with every portion of them. The +truth takes flesh in forms that can express it; and thus in history an +idea always overhangs, like the moon, and rules the tide which rises +simultaneously in all the souls of a generation.</p> + +<p>Whilst thus the world exists for the mind; whilst thus the man is +ever invited inward into shining realms of knowledge and power by the +shows of the world, which interpret to him the infinitude of his own +consciousness,—it becomes the office of a just education to awaken him +to the knowledge of this fact.</p> + +<p>We learn nothing rightly until we learn the symbolical character of +life. Day creeps after day, each full of facts, dull, strange, despised +things, that we cannot enough despise,—call heavy, prosaic, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span> +desert. The time we seek to kill: the attention it is elegant to divert +from things around us. And presently the aroused intellect finds gold +and gems in one of these scorned facts,—then finds that the day of +facts is a rock of diamonds; that a fact is an Epiphany of God.</p> + +<p>We have our theory of life, our religion, our philosophy; and the +event of each moment, the shower, the steamboat disaster, the passing +of a beautiful face, the apoplexy of our neighbor, are all tests to +try our theory, the approximate result we call truth, and reveal its +defects. If I have renounced the search of truth, if I have come into +the port of some pretending dogmatism, some new church or old church, +some Schelling or Cousin, I have died to all use of these new events +that are born out of prolific time into multitude of life every hour. +I am as a bankrupt to whom brilliant opportunities offer in vain. He +has just foreclosed his freedom, tied his hands, locked himself up and +given the key to another to keep.</p> + +<p>When I see the doors by which God enters into the mind; that there +is no sot or fop, ruffian or pedant into whom thoughts do not enter +by passages which the individual never left open, I can expect any +revolution in character. “I have hope,” said the great Leibnitz, +“that society may be reformed, when I see how much education may be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span> +reformed.”</p> + +<p>It is ominous, a presumption of crime, that this word Education has +so cold, so hopeless a sound. A treatise on education, a convention +for education, a lecture, a system, affects us with slight paralysis +and a certain yawning of the jaws. We are not encouraged when the law +touches it with its fingers. Education should be as broad as man. +Whatever elements are in him that should foster and demonstrate. If +he be dexterous, his tuition should make it appear; if he be capable +of dividing men by the trenchant sword of his thought, education +should unsheathe and sharpen it; if he is one to cement society by his +all-reconciling affinities, oh! hasten their action! If he is jovial, +if he is mercurial, if he is great-hearted, a cunning artificer, a +strong commander, a potent ally, ingenious, useful, elegant, witty, +prophet, diviner,—society has need of all these. The imagination +must be addressed. Why always coast on the surface and never open the +interior of nature, not by science, which is surface still, but by +poetry? Is not the Vast an element of the mind? Yet what teaching, what +book of this day appeals to the Vast?</p> + +<p>Our culture has truckled to the times,—to the senses. It is not +manworthy. If the vast and the spiritual are omitted, so are the +practical and the moral. It does not make us brave or free. We teach +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span> +boys to be such men as we are. We do not teach them to aspire to be all +they can. We do not give them a training as if we believed in their +noble nature. We scarce educate their bodies. We do not train the eye +and the hand. We exercise their understandings to the apprehension and +comparison of some facts, to a skill in numbers, in words; we aim to +make accountants, attorneys, engineers; but not to make able, earnest, +great-hearted men. The great object of Education should be commensurate +with the object of life. It should be a moral one; to teach self-trust: +to inspire the youthful man with an interest in himself; with a +curiosity touching his own nature; to acquaint him with the resources +of his mind, and to teach him that there is all his strength, and to +inflame him with a piety towards the Grand Mind in which he lives. Thus +would education conspire with the Divine Providence. A man is a little +thing whilst he works by and for himself, but, when he gives voice to +the rules of love and justice, is god-like, his word is current in all +countries; and all men, though his enemies, are made his friends and +obey it as their own.</p> + +<p>In affirming that the moral nature of man is the predominant element +and should therefore be mainly consulted in the arrangements of a +school, I am very far from wishing that it should swallow up all the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span> +other instincts and faculties of man. It should be enthroned in his +mind, but if it monopolize the man he is not yet sound, he does not +yet know his wealth. He is in danger of becoming merely devout, and +wearisome through the monotony of his thought. It is not less necessary +that the intellectual and the active faculties should be nourished and +matured. Let us apply to this subject the light of the same torch by +which we have looked at all the phenomena of the time; the infinitude, +namely, of every man. Everything teaches that.</p> + +<p>One fact constitutes all my satisfaction, inspires all my trust, +viz., this perpetual youth, which, as long as there is any good in +us, we cannot get rid of. It is very certain that the coming age +and the departing age seldom understand each other. The old man +thinks the young man has no distinct purpose, for he could never get +anything intelligible and earnest out of him. Perhaps the young man +does not think it worth his while to explain himself to so hard and +inapprehensive a confessor. Let him be led up with a long-sighted +forbearance, and let not the sallies of his petulance or folly be +checked with disgust or indignation or despair.</p> + +<p>I call our system a system of despair, and I find all the correction, +all the revolution that is needed and that the best spirits of this age +promise, in one word, in Hope. Nature, when she sends a new mind into +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span> +the world, fills it beforehand with a desire for that which she wishes +it to know and do. Let us wait and see what is this new creation, of +what new organ the great Spirit had need when it incarnated this new +Will. A new Adam in the garden, he is to name all the beasts in the +field, all the gods in the sky. And jealous provision seems to have +been made in his constitution that you shall not invade and contaminate +him with the worn weeds of your language and opinions. The charm of +life is this variety of genius, these contrasts and flavors by which +Heaven has modulated the identity of truth, and there is a perpetual +hankering to violate this individuality, to warp his ways of thinking +and behavior to resemble or reflect their thinking and behavior. A +low self-love in the parent desires that his child should repeat his +character and fortune; an expectation which the child, if justice is +done him, will nobly disappoint. By working on the theory that this +resemblance exists, we shall do what in us lies to defeat his proper +promise and produce the ordinary and mediocre. I suffer whenever I see +that common sight of a parent or senior imposing his opinion and way +of thinking and being on a young soul to which they are totally unfit. +Cannot we let people be themselves, and enjoy life in their own way? +You are trying to make that man another <i>you</i>. One’s enough.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span></p> + +<p>Or we sacrifice the genius of the pupil, the unknown possibilities of +his nature, to a neat and safe uniformity, as the Turks whitewash the +costly mosaics of ancient art which the Greeks left on their temple +walls. Rather let us have men whose manhood is only the continuation +of their boyhood, natural characters still; such are able and fertile +for heroic action; and not that sad spectacle with which we are too +familiar, educated eyes in uneducated bodies.</p> + +<p>I like boys, the masters of the playground and of the street,—boys, +who have the same liberal ticket of admission to all shops, factories, +armories, town-meetings, caucuses, mobs, target-shootings, as flies +have; quite unsuspected, coming in as naturally as the janitor,—known +to have no money in their pockets, and themselves not suspecting the +value of this poverty; putting nobody on his guard, but seeing the +inside of the show,—hearing all the asides. There are no secrets from +them, they know everything that befalls in the fire-company, the merits +of every engine and of every man at the brakes, how to work it, and +are swift to try their hand at every part; so too the merits of every +locomotive on the rails, and will coax the engineer to let them ride +with him and pull the handles when it goes to the engine-house. They +are there only for fun, and not knowing that they are at school, in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span> +the court-house, or the cattle-show, quite as much and more than they +were, an hour ago, in the arithmetic class.</p> + +<p>They know truth from counterfeit as quick as the chemist does. They +detect weakness in your eye and behavior a week before you open your +mouth, and have given you the benefit of their opinion quick as a +wink. They make no mistakes, have no pedantry, but entire belief on +experience. Their elections at base-ball or cricket are founded on +merit, and are right. They don’t pass for swimmers until they can swim, +nor for stroke-oar until they can row: and I desire to be saved from +their contempt. If I can pass with them, I can manage well enough with +their fathers.</p> + +<p>Everybody delights in the energy with which boys deal and talk with +each other; the mixture of fun and earnest, reproach and coaxing, love +and wrath, with which the game is played;—the good-natured yet defiant +independence of a leading boy’s behavior in the school-yard. How we +envy in later life the happy youths to whom their boisterous games and +rough exercise furnish the precise element which frames and sets off +their school and college tasks, and teaches them, when least they think +it, the use and meaning of these. In their fun and extreme freak they +hit on the topmost sense of Horace. The young giant, brown from his +hunting-tramp, tells his story well, interlarded with lucky allusions +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span> +to Homer, to Virgil, to college-songs, to Walter Scott; and Jove and +Achilles, partridge and trout, opera and binomial theorem, Cæsar in +Gaul, Sherman in Savannah, and hazing in Holworthy, dance through the +narrative in merry confusion, yet the logic is good. If he can turn +his books to such picturesque account in his fishing and hunting, it +is easy to see how his reading and experience, as he has more of both, +will interpenetrate each other. And every one desires that this pure +vigor of action and wealth of narrative, cheered with so much humor and +street rhetoric, should be carried into the habit of the young man, +purged of its uproar and rudeness, but with all its vivacity entire. +His hunting and campings-out have given him an indispensable base: I +wish to add a taste for good company through his impatience of bad. +That stormy genius of his needs a little direction to games, charades, +verses of society, song, and a correspondence year by year with his +wisest and best friends. Friendship is an order of nobility; from its +revelations we come more worthily into nature. Society he must have or +he is poor indeed; he gladly enters a school which forbids conceit, +affectation, emphasis and dulness, and requires of each only the +flower of his nature and experience; requires good-will, beauty, wit, +and select information; teaches by practice the law of conversation, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span> +namely, to hear as well as to speak.</p> + +<p>Meantime, if circumstances do not permit the high social advantages, +solitude has also its lessons. The obscure youth learns there the +practice instead of the literature of his virtues; and, because of the +disturbing effect of passion and sense, which by a multitude of trifles +impede the mind’s eye from the quiet search of that fine horizon-line +which truth keeps,—the way to knowledge and power has ever been an +escape from too much engagement with affairs and possessions; a way, +not through plenty and superfluity, but by denial and renunciation, +into solitude and privation; and, the more is taken away, the more +real and inevitable wealth of being is made known to us. The solitary +knows the essence of the thought, the scholar in society only its fair +face. There is no want of example of great men, great benefactors, who +have been monks and hermits in habit. The bias of mind is sometimes +irresistible in that direction. The man is as it were born deaf and +dumb, and dedicated to a narrow and lonely life. Let him study the art +of solitude, yield as gracefully as he can to his destiny. Why cannot +he get the good of his doom, and if it is from eternity a settled fact +that he and society shall be nothing to each other, why need he blush +so, and make wry faces to keep up a freshman’s seat in the fine world? +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span> +Heaven often protects valuable souls charged with great secrets, great +ideas, by long shutting them up with their own thoughts. And the most +genial and amiable of men must alternate society with solitude, and +learn its severe lessons.</p> + +<p class="space-above2"> +There comes the period of the imagination to each, a later youth; the +power of beauty, the power of books, of poetry. Culture makes his books +realities to him, their characters more brilliant, more effective on +his mind, than his actual mates. Do not spare to put novels into the +hands of young people as an occasional holiday and experiment; but, +above all, good poetry in all kinds, epic, tragedy, lyric. If we can +touch the imagination, we serve them, they will never forget it. Let +him read “Tom Brown at Rugby,” read “Tom Brown at Oxford,”—better +yet, read “Hodson’s Life”—Hodson who took prisoner the king of Delhi. +They teach the same truth,—a trust, against all appearances, against +all privations, in your own worth, and not in tricks, plotting, or +patronage.</p> + +<p>I believe that our own experience instructs us that the secret of +Education lies in respecting the pupil. It is not for you to choose +what he shall know, what he shall do. It is chosen and foreordained, +and he only holds the key to his own secret. By your tampering and +thwarting and too much governing he may be hindered from his end and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span> +kept out of his own. Respect the child. Wait and see the new product of +Nature. Nature loves analogies, but not repetitions. Respect the child. +Be not too much his parent. Trespass not on his solitude.</p> + +<p>But I hear the outcry which replies to this suggestion:—Would you +verily throw up the reins of public and private discipline; would +you leave the young child to the mad career of his own passions and +whimsies, and call this anarchy a respect for the child’s nature? +I answer,—Respect the child, respect him to the end, but also +respect yourself. Be the companion of his thought, the friend of his +friendship, the lover of his virtue,—but no kinsman of his sin. Let +him find you so true to yourself that you are the irreconcilable hater +of his vice and the imperturbable slighter of his trifling.</p> + +<p>The two points in a boy’s training are, to keep his <i>naturel</i> +and train off all but that:—to keep his <i>naturel</i>, but stop off +his uproar, fooling and horse-play;—keep his nature and arm it with +knowledge in the very direction in which it points. Here are the two +capital facts, genius and drill. The first is the inspiration in the +well-born healthy child, the new perception he has of nature. Somewhat +he sees in forms or hears in music or apprehends in mathematics, or +believes practicable in mechanics or possible in political society, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span> +which no one else sees or hears or believes. This is the perpetual +romance of new life, the invasion of God into the old dead world, when +he sends into quiet houses a young soul with a thought which is not +met, looking for something which is not there, but which ought to be +there: the thought is dim but it is sure, and he casts about restless +for means and masters to verify it; he makes wild attempts to explain +himself and invoke the aid and consent of the bystanders. Baffled for +want of language and methods to convey his meaning, not yet clear +to himself, he conceives that though not in this house or town, yet +in some other house or town is the wise master who can put him in +possession of the rules and instruments to execute his will. Happy this +child with a bias, with a thought which entrances him, leads him, now +into deserts now into cities, the fool of an idea. Let him follow it +in good and in evil report, in good or bad company; it will justify +itself; it will lead him at last into the illustrious society of the +lovers of truth.</p> + +<p>In London, in a private company, I became acquainted with a gentleman, +Sir Charles Fellowes, who, being at Xanthus, in the Ægean Sea, had +seen a Turk point with his staff to some carved work on the corner of +a stone almost buried in the soil. Fellowes scraped away the dirt, +was struck with the beauty of the sculptured ornaments, and, looking +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span> +about him, observed more blocks and fragments like this. He returned +to the spot, procured laborers and uncovered many blocks. He went back +to England, bought a Greek grammar and learned the language; he read +history and studied ancient art to explain his stones; he interested +Gibson the sculptor; he invoked the assistance of the English +Government; he called in the succor of Sir Humphry Davy to analyze the +pigments; of experts in coins, of scholars and connoisseurs; and at +last in his third visit brought home to England such statues and marble +reliefs and such careful plans that he was able to reconstruct, in the +British Museum where it now stands, the perfect model of the Ionic +trophy-monument, fifty years older than the Parthenon of Athens, and +which had been destroyed by earthquakes, then by iconoclast Christians, +then by savage Turks. But mark that in the task he had achieved an +excellent education, and become associated with distinguished scholars +whom he had interested in his pursuit; in short, had formed a college +for himself; the enthusiast had found the master, the masters, whom he +sought. Always genius seeks genius, desires nothing so much as to be a +pupil and to find those who can lend it aid to perfect itself.</p> + +<p>Nor are the two elements, enthusiasm and drill, incompatible. Accuracy +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span> +is essential to beauty. The very definition of the intellect is +Aristotle’s: “that by which we know terms or boundaries.” Give a boy +accurate perceptions. Teach him the difference between the similar and +the same. Make him call things by their right names. Pardon in him +no blunder. Then he will give you solid satisfaction as long as he +lives. It is better to teach the child arithmetic and Latin grammar +than rhetoric or moral philosophy, because they require exactitude of +performance; it is made certain that the lesson is mastered, and that +power of performance is worth more than the knowledge. He can learn +anything which is important to him now that the power to learn is +secured: as mechanics say, when one has learned the use of tools, it is +easy to work at a new craft.</p> + +<p>Letter by letter, syllable by syllable, the child learns to read, +and in good time can convey to all the domestic circle the sense of +Shakspeare. By many steps each just as short, the stammering boy and +the hesitating collegian, in the school debate, in college clubs, in +mock court, comes at last to full, secure, triumphant unfolding of his +thought in the popular assembly, with a fullness of power that makes +all the steps forgotten.</p> + +<p>But this function of opening and feeding the human mind is not to be +fulfilled by any mechanical or military method; is not to be trusted +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span> +to any skill less large than Nature itself. You must not neglect the +form, but you must secure the essentials. It is curious how perverse +and intermeddling we are, and what vast pains and cost we incur to +do wrong. Whilst we all know in our own experience and apply natural +methods in our own business,—in education our common sense fails us, +and we are continually trying costly machinery against nature, in +patent schools and academies and in great colleges and universities.</p> + +<p>The natural method forever confutes our experiments, and we must still +come back to it. The whole theory of the school is on the nurse’s or +mother’s knee. The child is as hot to learn as the mother is to impart. +There is mutual delight. The joy of our childhood in hearing beautiful +stories from some skilful aunt who loves to tell them, must be repeated +in youth. The boy wishes to learn to skate, to coast, to catch a fish +in the brook, to hit a mark with a snowball or a stone; and a boy a +little older is just as well pleased to teach him these sciences. +Not less delightful is the mutual pleasure of teaching and learning +the secret of algebra, or of chemistry, or of good reading and good +recitation of poetry or of prose, or of chosen facts in history or in +biography.</p> + +<p>Nature provided for the communication of thought, by planting with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span> +it in the receiving mind a fury to impart it. ’Tis so in every art, +in every science. One burns to tell the new fact, the other burns to +hear it. See how far a young doctor will ride or walk to witness a new +surgical operation. I have seen a carriage-maker’s shop emptied of all +its workmen into the street, to scrutinize a new pattern from New York. +So in literature, the young man who has taste for poetry, for fine +images, for noble thoughts, is insatiable for this nourishment, and +forgets all the world for the more learned friend,—who finds equal joy +in dealing out his treasures.</p> + +<p>Happy the natural college thus self-instituted around every natural +teacher; the young men of Athens around Socrates; of Alexandria around +Plotinus; of Paris around Abelard; of Germany around Fichte, or +Niebuhr, or Goethe: in short the natural sphere of every leading mind. +But the moment this is organized, difficulties begin. The college was +to be the nurse and home of genius; but, though every young man is born +with some determination in his nature, and is a potential genius; is +at last to be one; it is, in the most, obstructed and delayed, and, +whatever they may hereafter be, their senses are now opened in advance +of their minds. They are more sensual than intellectual. Appetite and +indolence they have, but no enthusiasm. These come in numbers to the +college: few geniuses: and the teaching comes to be arranged for these +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span> +many, and not for those few. Hence the instruction seems to require +skilful tutors, of accurate and systematic mind, rather than ardent and +inventive masters. Besides, the youth of genius are eccentric, won’t +drill, are irritable, uncertain, explosive, solitary, not men of the +world, not good for every-day association. You have to work for large +classes instead of individuals; you must lower your flag and reef your +sails to wait for the dull sailors; you grow departmental, routinary, +military almost with your discipline and college police. But what doth +such a school to form a great and heroic character? What abiding Hope +can it inspire? What Reformer will it nurse? What poet will it breed to +sing to the human race? What discoverer of Nature’s laws will it prompt +to enrich us by disclosing in the mind the statute which all matter +must obey? What fiery soul will it send out to warm a nation with +his charity? What tranquil mind will it have fortified to walk with +meekness in private and obscure duties, to wait and to suffer? Is it +not manifest that our academic institutions should have a wider scope; +that they should not be timid and keep the ruts of the last generation, +but that wise men thinking for themselves and heartily seeking the good +of mankind, and counting the cost of innovation, should dare to arouse +the young to a just and heroic life; that the moral nature should be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span> +addressed in the school-room, and children should be treated as the +high-born candidates of truth and virtue?</p> + +<p>So to regard the young child, the young man, requires, no doubt, rare +patience: a patience that nothing but faith in the remedial forces +of the soul can give. You see his sensualism; you see his want of +those tastes and perceptions which make the power and safety of your +character. Very likely. But he has something else. If he has his own +vice, he has its correlative virtue. Every mind should be allowed to +make its own statement in action, and its balance will appear. In these +judgments one needs that foresight which was attributed to an eminent +reformer, of whom it was said “his patience could see in the bud of the +aloe the blossom at the end of a hundred years.” Alas for the cripple +Practice when it seeks to come up with the bird Theory, which flies +before it. Try your design on the best school. The scholars are of all +ages and temperaments and capacities. It is difficult to class them, +some are too young, some are slow, some perverse. Each requires so +much consideration, that the morning hope of the teacher, of a day of +love and progress, is often closed at evening by despair. Each single +case, the more it is considered, shows more to be done; and the strict +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span> +conditions of the hours, on one side, and the number of tasks, on the +other. Whatever becomes of our method, the conditions stand fast,—six +hours, and thirty, fifty, or a hundred and fifty pupils. Something must +be done, and done speedily, and in this distress the wisest are tempted +to adopt violent means, to proclaim martial law, corporal punishment, +mechanical arrangement, bribes, spies, wrath, main strength and +ignorance, in lieu of that wise genial providential influence they had +hoped, and yet hope at some future day to adopt. Of course the devotion +to details reacts injuriously on the teacher. He cannot indulge his +genius, he cannot delight in personal relations with young friends, +when his eye is always on the clock, and twenty classes are to be dealt +with before the day is done. Besides, how can he please himself with +genius, and foster modest virtue? A sure proportion of rogue and dunce +finds its way into every school and requires a cruel share of time, and +the gentle teacher, who wished to be a Providence to youth, is grown +a martinet, sore with suspicions; knows as much vice as the judge of +a police court, and his love of learning is lost in the routine of +grammars and books of elements.</p> + +<p>A rule is so easy that it does not need a man to apply it; an +automaton, a machine, can be made to keep a school so. It facilitates +labor and thought so much that there is always the temptation in large +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span> +schools to omit the endless task of meeting the wants of each single +mind, and to govern by steam. But it is at frightful cost. Our modes of +Education aim to expedite, to save labor; to do for masses what cannot +be done for masses, what must be done reverently, one by one: say +rather, the whole world is needed for the tuition of each pupil. The +advantages of this system of emulation and display are so prompt and +obvious, it is such a time-saver, it is so energetic on slow and on bad +natures, and is of so easy application, needing no sage or poet, but +any tutor or schoolmaster in his first term can apply it,—that it is +not strange that this calomel of culture should be a popular medicine. +On the other hand, total abstinence from this drug, and the adoption +of simple discipline and the following of nature, involves at once +immense claims on the time, the thoughts, on the life of the teacher. +It requires time, use, insight, event, all the great lessons and +assistances of God; and only to think of using it implies character and +profoundness; to enter on this course of discipline is to be good and +great. It is precisely analogous to the difference between the use of +corporal punishment and the methods of love. It is so easy to bestow on +a bad boy a blow, overpower him, and get obedience without words, that +in this world of hurry and distraction, who can wait for the returns +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span> +of reason and the conquest of self; in the uncertainty too whether +that will ever come? And yet the familiar observation of the universal +compensations might suggest the fear that so summary a stop of a bad +humor was more jeopardous than its continuance.</p> + +<p>Now the correction of this quack practice is to import into Education +the wisdom of life. Leave this military hurry and adopt the pace of +Nature. Her secret is patience. Do you know how the naturalist learns +all the secrets of the forest, of plants, of birds, of beasts, of +reptiles, of fishes, of the rivers and the sea? When he goes into the +woods the birds fly before him and he finds none; when he goes to the +river bank, the fish and the reptile swim away and leave him alone. +His secret is patience; he sits down, and sits still; he is a statue; +he is a log. These creatures have no value for their time, and he must +put as low a rate on his. By dint of obstinate sitting still, reptile, +fish, bird and beast, which all wish to return to their haunts, begin +to return. He sits still; if they approach, he remains passive as the +stone he sits upon. They lose their fear. They have curiosity too about +him. By and by the curiosity masters the fear, and they come swimming, +creeping and flying towards him; and as he is still immovable, they +not only resume their haunts and their ordinary labors and manners, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span> +show themselves to him in their work-day trim, but also volunteer +some degree of advances towards fellowship and good understanding +with a biped who behaves so civilly and well. Can you not baffle the +impatience and passion of the child by your tranquillity? Can you not +wait for him, as Nature and Providence do? Can you not keep for his +mind and ways, for his secret, the same curiosity you give to the +squirrel, snake, rabbit, and the sheldrake and the deer? He has a +secret; wonderful methods in him; he is,—every child,—a new style +of man; give him time and opportunity. Talk of Columbus and Newton! +I tell you the child just born in yonder hovel is the beginning of a +revolution as great as theirs. But you must have the believing and +prophetic eye. Have the self-command you wish to inspire. Your teaching +and discipline must have the reserve and taciturnity of Nature. Teach +them to hold their tongues by holding your own. Say little; do not +snarl; do not chide; but govern by the eye. See what they need, and +that the right thing is done.</p> + +<p>I confess myself utterly at a loss in suggesting particular reforms +in our ways of teaching. No discretion that can be lodged with a +school-committee, with the overseers or visitors of an academy, +of a college, can at all avail to reach these difficulties and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span> +perplexities, but they solve themselves when we leave institutions +and address individuals. The will, the male power, organizes, imposes +its own thought and wish on others, and makes that military eye +which controls boys as it controls men; admirable in its results, +a fortune to him who has it, and only dangerous when it leads the +workman to overvalue and overuse it and precludes him from finer +means. Sympathy, the female force,—which they must use who have not +the first,—deficient in instant control and the breaking down of +resistance, is more subtle and lasting and creative. I advise teachers +to cherish mother-wit. I assume that you will keep the grammar, +reading, writing and arithmetic in order; ’tis easy and of course you +will. But smuggle in a little contraband wit, fancy, imagination, +thought. If you have a taste which you have suppressed because it +is not shared by those about you, tell them that. Set this law up, +whatever becomes of the rules of the school: they must not whisper, +much less talk; but if one of the young people says a wise thing, greet +it, and let all the children clap their hands. They shall have no book +but school-books in the room; but if one has brought in a Plutarch or +Shakspeare or Don Quixote or Goldsmith or any other good book, and +understands what he reads, put him at once at the head of the class. +Nobody shall be disorderly, or leave his desk without permission, but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span> +if a boy runs from his bench, or a girl, because the fire falls, or +to check some injury that a little dastard is inflicting behind his +desk on some helpless sufferer, take away the medal from the head of +the class and give it on the instant to the brave rescuer. If a child +happens to show that he knows any fact about astronomy, or plants, or +birds, or rocks, or history, that interests him and you, hush all the +classes and encourage him to tell it so that all may hear. Then you +have made your school-room like the world. Of course you will insist +on modesty in the children, and respect to their teachers, but if the +boy stops you in your speech, cries out that you are wrong and sets you +right, hug him!</p> + +<p>To whatsoever upright mind, to whatsoever beating heart I speak, to you +it is committed to educate men. By simple living, by an illimitable +soul, you inspire, you correct, you instruct, you raise, you embellish +all. By your own act you teach the beholder how to do the practicable. +According to the depth from which you draw your life, such is the depth +not only of your strenuous effort, but of your manners and presence.</p> + +<p>The beautiful nature of the world has here blended your happiness with +your power. Work straight on in absolute duty, and you lend an arm and +an encouragement to all the youth of the universe. Consent yourself to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span> +be an organ of your highest thought, and lo! suddenly you put all men +in your debt, and are the fountain of an energy that goes pulsing on +with waves of benefit to the borders of society, to the circumference +of things.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SUPERLATIVE">THE SUPERLATIVE.</h2> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="allsmcap">WHEN</span> wrath and terror changed Jove’s regal port</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the rash-leaping thunderbolt fell short.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_14" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">For Art, for Music overthrilled,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The wine-cup shakes, the wine is spilled.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SUPERLATIVE_2">THE SUPERLATIVE.<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_15" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<p>THE doctrine of temperance is one of many degrees. It is usually taught +on a low platform, but one of great necessity,—that of meats and +drinks, and its importance cannot be denied and hardly exaggerated. +But it is a long way from the Maine Law to the heights of absolute +self-command which respect the conservatism of the entire energies of +the body, the mind, and the soul. I wish to point at some of its higher +functions as it enters into mind and character.</p> + +<p>There is a superlative temperament which has no medium range, but +swiftly oscillates from the freezing to the boiling point, and which +affects the manners of those who share it with a certain desperation. +Their aspect is grimace. They go tearing, convulsed through +life,—wailing, praying, exclaiming, swearing. We talk, sometimes, with +people whose conversation would lead you to suppose that they had lived +in a museum, where all the objects were monsters and extremes. Their +good people are phœnixes; their naughty are like the prophet’s figs. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span> +They use the superlative of grammar: “most perfect,” “most exquisite,” +“most horrible.” Like the French, they are enchanted, they are +desolate, because you have got or have not got a shoe-string or a wafer +you happen to want,—not perceiving that superlatives are diminutives, +and weaken; that the positive is the sinew of speech, the superlative +the fat. If the talker lose a tooth, he thinks the universal thaw and +dissolution of things has come. Controvert his opinion and he cries +“Persecution!” and reckons himself with Saint Barnabas, who was sawn in +two.</p> + +<p>Especially we note this tendency to extremes in the pleasant excitement +of horror-mongers. Is there something so delicious in disasters and +pain? Bad news is always exaggerated, and we may challenge Providence +to send a fact so tragical that we cannot contrive to make it a little +worse in our gossip.</p> + +<p>All this comes of poverty. We are unskilful definers. From want of +skill to convey quality, we hope to move admiration by quantity. +Language should aim to describe the fact. It is not enough to suggest +it and magnify it. Sharper sight would indicate the true line. ’Tis +very wearisome, this straining talk, these experiences all exquisite, +intense and tremendous,—“The best I ever saw;” “I never in my life!” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span> +One wishes these terms gazetted and forbidden. Every favorite is not +a cherub, nor every cat a griffin, nor each unpleasing person a dark, +diabolical intriguer; nor agonies, excruciations nor ecstasies our +daily bread.</p> + +<p>Horace Walpole relates that in the expectation, current in London a +century ago, of a great earthquake, some people provided themselves +with dresses for the occasion. But one would not wear earthquake +dresses or resurrection robes for a working jacket, nor make a codicil +to his will whenever he goes out to ride; and the secrets of death, +judgment and eternity are tedious when recurring as minute-guns. +Thousands of people live and die who were never, on a single occasion, +hungry or thirsty, or furious or terrified. The books say, “It made +my hair stand on end!” Who, in our municipal life, ever had such an +experience? Indeed, I believe that much of the rhetoric of terror,—“It +froze my blood,” “It made my knees knock,” etc.—most men have realized +only in dreams and nightmares.</p> + +<p>Then there is an inverted superlative, or superlative contrary, which +shivers, like Demophoön, in the sun: wants fan and parasol on the +cold Friday; is tired by sleep; feeds on drugs and poisons; finds the +rainbow a discoloration; hates birds and flowers.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span></p> + +<p>The exaggeration of which I complain makes plain fact the more welcome +and refreshing. It is curious that a face magnified in a concave +mirror loses its expression. All this overstatement is needless. A +little fact is worth a whole limbo of dreams, and I can well spare the +exaggerations which appear to me screens to conceal ignorance. Among +these glorifiers, the coldest stickler for names and dates and measures +cannot lament his criticism and coldness of fancy. Think how much +pains astronomers and opticians have taken to procure an achromatic +lens. Discovery in the heavens has waited for it; discovery on the +face of the earth not less. I hear without sympathy the complaint of +young and ardent persons that they find life no region of romance, +with no enchanter, no giant, no fairies, nor even muses. I am very +much indebted to my eyes, and am content that they should see the real +world, always geometrically finished without blur or halo. The more I +am engaged with it the more it suffices.</p> + +<p>How impatient we are, in these northern latitudes, of looseness and +intemperance in speech! Our measure of success is the moderation and +low level of an individual’s judgment. Doctor Channing’s piety and +wisdom had such weight that, in Boston, the popular idea of religion +was whatever this eminent divine held. But I remember that his best +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span> +friend, a man of guarded lips, speaking of him in a circle of his +admirers, said: “I have known him long, I have studied his character, +and I believe him capable of virtue.” An eminent French journalist paid +a high compliment to the Duke of Wellington, when his documents were +published: “Here are twelve volumes of military dispatches, and the +word <i>glory</i> is not found in them.”</p> + +<p>The English mind is arithmetical, values exactness, likes literal +statement; stigmatizes any heat or hyperbole as Irish, French, Italian, +and infers weakness and inconsequence of character in speakers who +use it. It does not love the superlative but the positive degree. +Our customary and mechanical existence is not favorable to flights; +long nights and frost hold us pretty fast to realities. The people of +English stock, in all countries, are a solid people, wearing good hats +and shoes, and owners of land whose title-deeds are properly recorded. +Their houses are of wood, and brick, and stone, not designed to reel +in earthquakes, nor blow about through the air much in hurricanes, nor +to be lost under sand-drifts, nor to be made bonfires of by whimsical +viziers; but to stand as commodious, rentable tenements for a century +or two. All our manner of life is on a secure and moderate pattern, +such as can last. Violence and extravagance are, once for all, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span> +distasteful; competence, quiet, comfort, are the agreed welfare.</p> + +<p>Ever a low style is best. “I judge by every man’s truth of his degree +of understanding,” said Chesterfield. And I do not know any advantage +more conspicuous which a man owes to his experience in markets and +the Exchange, or politics, than the caution and accuracy he acquires +in his report of facts. “Uncle Joel’s news is always true,” said a +person to me with obvious satisfaction, and said it justly; for the old +head, after deceiving and being deceived many times, thinks, “What’s +the use of having to unsay to-day what I said yesterday? I will not +be responsible; I will not add an epithet. I will be as moderate as +the fact, and will use the same expression, without color, which I +received; and rather repeat it several times, word for word, than vary +it ever so little.”</p> + +<p>The first valuable power in a reasonable mind, one would say, was +the power of plain statement, or the power to receive things as they +befall, and to transfer the picture of them to another mind unaltered. +’Tis a good rule of rhetoric which Schlegel gives,—“In good prose, +every word is underscored;” which, I suppose, means, Never italicize.</p> + +<p>Spartans, stoics, heroes, saints and gods use a short and positive +speech. They are never off their centres. As soon as they swell and +paint and find truth not enough for them, softening of the brain has +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span> +already begun. It seems as if inflation were a disease incident to +too much use of words, and the remedy lay in recourse to things. I am +daily struck with the forcible understatement of people who have no +literary habit. The low expression is strong and agreeable. The citizen +dwells in delusions. His dress and draperies, house and stables, occupy +him. The poor countryman, having no circumstance of carpets, coaches, +dinners, wine and dancing in his head to confuse him, is able to look +straight at you, without refraction or prismatic glories, and he sees +whether you see straight also, or whether your head is addled by this +mixture of wines.</p> + +<p>The common people diminish: “a cold snap;” “it rains easy;” “good +haying weather.” When a farmer means to tell you that he is doing +well with his farm, he says, “I don’t work as hard as I did, and I +don’t mean to.” When he wishes to condemn any treatment of soils or of +stock, he says, “It won’t do any good.” Under the Catskill Mountains +the boy in the steamboat said, “Come up here, Tony; it looks pretty +out-of-doors.” The farmers in the region do not call particular +summits, as Killington, Camel’s Hump, Saddle-back, etc., mountains, but +only “them ’ere rises,” and reserve the word mountains for the range.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span></p> + +<p>I once attended a dinner given to a great state functionary by +functionaries,—men of law, state, and trade. The guest was a great man +in his own country and an honored diplomatist in this. His health was +drunk with some acknowledgment of his distinguished services to both +countries, and followed by nine cold hurrahs. There was the vicious +superlative. Then the great official spoke and beat his breast, and +declared that he should remember this honor to the latest moment of his +existence. He was answered again by officials. Pity, thought I, they +should lie so about their keen sensibility to the nine cold hurrahs +and to the commonplace compliment of a dinner. Men of the world value +truth, in proportion to their ability; not by its sacredness, but for +its convenience. Of such, especially of diplomatists, one has a right +to expect wit and ingenuity to avoid the lie if they must comply with +the form. Now, I had been present, a little before, in the country at a +cattle-show dinner, which followed an agricultural discourse delivered +by a farmer: the discourse, to say the truth, was bad; and one of our +village fathers gave at the dinner this toast: “The orator of the +day: his subject deserves the attention of every farmer.” The caution +of the toast did honor to our village father. I wish great lords and +diplomatists had as much respect for truth.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span></p> + +<p>But whilst thus everything recommends simplicity and temperance of +action; the utmost directness, the positive degree, we mean thereby +that “rightly to be great is not to stir without great argument.” +Whenever the true objects of action appear, they are to be heartily +sought. Enthusiasm is the height of man; it is the passing from the +human to the divine.</p> + +<p>The superlative is as good as the positive, if it be alive. If man +loves the conditioned, he also loves the unconditioned. We don’t +wish to sin on the other side, and to be purists, nor to check the +invention of wit or the sally of humor. ’Tis very different, this weak +and wearisome lie, from the stimulus to the fancy which is given by +a romancing talker who does not mean to be exactly taken,—like the +gallant skipper who complained to his owners that he had pumped the +Atlantic Ocean three times through his ship on the passage, and ’twas +common to strike seals and porpoises in the hold. Or what was similarly +asserted of the late Lord Jeffrey, at the Scottish bar,—an attentive +auditor declaring on one occasion after an argument of three hours, +that he had spoken the whole English language three times over in his +speech.</p> + +<p>The objection to unmeasured speech is its lie. All men like an +impressive fact. The astronomer shows you in his telescope the +nebula of Orion, that you may look on that which is esteemed the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span> +farthest-off land in visible nature. At the Bank of England they put a +scrap of paper that is worth a million pounds sterling into the hands +of the visitor to touch. Our travelling is a sort of search for the +superlatives or summits of art,—much more the real wonders of power in +the human form. The arithmetic of Newton, the memory of Magliabecchi +or Mirandola, the versatility of Julius Cæsar, the concentration of +Bonaparte, the inspiration of Shakspeare, are sure of commanding +interest and awe in every company of men.</p> + +<p>The superlative is the excess of expression. We are a garrulous, +demonstrative kind of creatures, and cannot live without much outlet +for all our sense and nonsense. And fit expression is so rare that +mankind have a superstitious value for it, and it would seem the whole +human race agree to value a man precisely in proportion to his power of +expression; and to the most expressive man that has existed, namely, +Shakspeare, they have awarded the highest place.</p> + +<p>The expressors are the gods of the world, but the men whom these +expressors revere are the solid, balanced, undemonstrative citizens +who make the reserved guard, the central sense, of the world. For the +luminous object wastes itself by its shining,—is luminous because it +is burning up; and if the powers are disposed for display, there is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span> +all the less left for use and creation. The talent sucks the substance +of the man. Superlatives must be bought by too many positives. Gardens +of roses must be stripped to make a few drops of otto. And these +raptures of fire and frost, which indeed cleanse pedantry out of +conversation and make the speech salt and biting, would cost me the +days of well-being which are now so cheap to me, yet so valued. I like +no deep stakes. I am a coward at gambling. I will bask in the common +sun a while longer.</p> + +<p>Children and thoughtless people like exaggerated event and activity; +like to run to a house on fire, to a fight, to an execution; like to +talk of a marriage, of a bankruptcy, of a debt, of a crime. The wise +man shuns all this. I knew a grave man who, being urged to go to a +church where a clergyman was newly ordained, said “he liked him very +well, but he would go when the interesting Sundays were over.”</p> + +<p>All rests at last on the simplicity of nature, or real being. Nothing +is for the most part less esteemed. We are fond of dress, of ornament, +of accomplishments, of talents, but distrustful of health, of +soundness, of pure innocence. Yet nature measures her greatness by what +she can spare, by what remains when all superfluity and accessories are +shorn off.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span></p> + +<p>Nor is there in nature itself any swell, any brag, any strain or shock, +but a firm common sense through all her elephants and lions, through +all her ducks and geese; a true proportion between her means and her +performance. <i>Semper sibi similis.</i> You shall not catch her in +any anomalies, nor swaggering into any monsters. In all the years +that I have sat in town and forest, I never saw a winged dragon, a +flying man, or a talking fish, but ever the strictest regard to rule, +and an absence of all surprises. No; nature encourages no looseness, +pardons no errors; freezes punctually at 32°, boils punctually at 212°; +crystallizes in water at one invariable angle, in diamond at one, in +granite at one; and if you omit the smallest condition the experiment +will not succeed. Her communication obeys the gospel rule, yea or nay. +She never expatiates, never goes into the reasons. Plant beechmast +and it comes up, or it does not come up. Sow grain, and it does not +come up: put lime into the soil and try again, and this time she says +yea. To every question an abstemious but absolute reply. The like +staidness is in her dealings with us. Nature is always serious,—does +not jest with us. Where we have begun in folly, we are brought quickly +to plain dealing. Life could not be carried on except by fidelity and +good earnest; and she brings the most heartless trifler to determined +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span> +purpose presently. The men whom she admits to her confidence, the +simple and great characters, are uniformly marked by absence of +pretension and by understatement. The old and the modern sages of +clearest insight are plain men, who have held themselves hard to the +poverty of nature.</p> + +<p>The firmest and noblest ground on which people can live is truth; the +real with the real; a ground on which nothing is assumed, but where +they speak and think and do what they must, because they are so and not +otherwise.</p> + +<p>But whilst the basis of character must be simplicity, the expression +of character, it must be remembered, is, in great degree, a matter +of climate. In the temperate climates there is a temperate speech, +in torrid climates an ardent one. Whilst in Western nations the +superlative in conversation is tedious and weak, and in character is a +capital defect, nature delights in showing us that in the East it is +animated, it is pertinent, pleasing, poetic. Whilst she appoints us +to keep within the sharp boundaries of form as the condition of our +strength, she creates in the East the uncontrollable yearning to escape +from limitation into the vast and boundless; to use a freedom of fancy +which plays with all the works of nature, great or minute, galaxy or +grain of dust, as toys and words of the mind; inculcates the tenet +of a beatitude to be found in escape from all organization and all +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span> +personality, and makes ecstasy an institution.</p> + +<p>Religion and poetry are all the civilization of the Arab. “The ground +of Paradise,” said Mohammed, “is extensive, and the plants of it are +hallelujahs.” Religion and poetry: the religion teaches an inexorable +destiny; it distinguishes only two days in each man’s history, the day +of his lot, and the day of judgment. The religion runs into asceticism +and fate. The costume, the articles in which wealth is displayed, are +in the same extremes. Thus the diamond and the pearl, which are only +accidental and secondary in their use and value to us, are proper to +the oriental world. The diver dives a beggar and rises with the price +of a kingdom in his hand. A bag of sequins, a jewel, a balsam, a single +horse, constitute an estate in countries where insecure institutions +make every one desirous of concealable and convertible property. Shall +I say, further, that the orientals excel in costly arts, in the cutting +of precious stones, in working in gold, in weaving on hand-looms +costly stuffs from silk and wool, in spices, in dyes and drugs, +henna, otto and camphor, and in the training of slaves, elephants and +camels,—things which are the poetry and superlative of commerce.</p> + +<p>On the other hand,—and it is a good illustration of the difference +of genius,—the European nations, and, in general, all nations in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span> +proportion to their civilization, understand the manufacture of iron. +One of the meters of the height to which any civility rose is the +skill in the fabric of iron. Universally, the better gold, the worse +man. The political economist defies us to show any gold-mine country +that is traversed by good roads: or a shore where pearls are found +on which good schools are erected. The European civility, or that of +the positive degree, is established by coal-mines, by ventilation, by +irrigation and every skill—in having water cheap and pure, by iron, +by agriculture for bread-stuffs, and manufacture of coarse and family +cloths. Our modern improvements have been in the invention of friction +matches; of India-rubber shoes; of the famous two parallel bars of +iron; then of the air-chamber of Watt, and of the judicious tubing of +the engine, by Stephenson, in order to the construction of locomotives.</p> + +<p>Meantime, Nature, who loves crosses and mixtures, makes these two +tendencies necessary each to the other, and delights to re-enforce each +peculiarity by imparting the other. The Northern genius finds itself +singularly refreshed and stimulated by the breadth and luxuriance of +Eastern imagery and modes of thinking, which go to check the pedantry +of our inventions and the excess of our detail. There is no writing +which has more electric power to unbind and animate the torpid +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span> +intellect than the bold Eastern muse.</p> + +<p>If it come back however to the question of final superiority, it is too +plain that there is no question that the star of empire rolls West: +that the warm sons of the Southeast have bent the neck under the yoke +of the cold temperament and the exact understanding of the Northwestern +races.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p class="nind"><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">[7]</a> +Reprinted from the <i>Century</i> of February, 1882.</p> + +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SOVEREIGNTY_OF_ETHICS">THE SOVEREIGNTY OF ETHICS.</h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_16" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="allsmcap">THESE</span> rules were writ in human heart</div> + <div class="verse indent2">By Him who built the day;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The columns of the universe</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Not firmer based than they.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent8"><span class="allsmcap">THOU</span> shalt not try</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To plant thy shrivelled pedantry</div> + <div class="verse indent2">On the shoulders of the sky.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SOVEREIGNTY_OF_ETHICS_2">THE SOVEREIGNTY OF ETHICS.<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a></h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_17" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<p>SINCE the discovery of Oersted that galvanism and electricity +and magnetism are only forms of one and the same force, and +convertible each into the other, we have continually suggested to +us a larger generalization: that each of the great departments of +Nature—chemistry, vegetation, the animal life—exhibits the same +laws on a different plane; that the intellectual and moral worlds are +analogous to the material. There is a kind of latent omniscience not +only in every man but in every particle. That convertibility we so +admire in plants and animal structures, whereby the repairs and the +ulterior uses are subserved, when one part is wounded or deficient, +by another; this self-help and self-creation proceed from the same +original power which works remotely in grandest and meanest structures +by the same design,—works in a lobster or a mite-worm as a wise man +would if imprisoned in that poor form. ’Tis the effort of God, of the +Supreme Intellect, in the extremest frontier of his universe.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span></p> + +<p>As this unity exists in the organization of insect, beast and bird, +still ascending to man, and from lower type of man to the highest +yet attained, so it does not less declare itself in the spirit or +intelligence of the brute. In ignorant ages it was common to vaunt the +human superiority by underrating the instinct of other animals; but a +better discernment finds that the difference is only of less and more. +Experiment shows that the bird and the dog reason as the hunter does, +that all the animals show the same good sense in their humble walk that +the man who is their enemy or friend does; and, if it be in smaller +measure, yet it is not diminished, as his often is, by freak and folly. +St. Pierre says of the animals that a moral sentiment seems to have +determined their physical organization.</p> + +<p>I see the unity of thought and of morals running through all animated +Nature; there is no difference of quality, but only of more and less. +The animal who is wholly kept down in Nature has no anxieties. By +yielding, as he must do, to it, he is enlarged and reaches his highest +point. The poor grub, in the hole of a tree, by yielding itself to +Nature, goes blameless through its low part and is rewarded at last, +casts its filthy hull, expands into a beautiful form with rainbow +wings, and makes a part of the summer day. The Greeks called it Psyche, +a manifest emblem of the soul. The man down in Nature occupies himself +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span> +in guarding, in feeding, in warming and multiplying his body, and, +as long as he knows no more, we justify him; but presently a mystic +change is wrought, a new perception opens, and he is made a citizen +of the world of souls: he feels what is called duty; he is aware that +he owes a higher allegiance to do and live as a good member of this +universe. In the measure in which he has this sense he is a man, rises +to the universal life. The high intellect is absolutely at one with +moral nature. A thought is imbosomed in a sentiment, and the attempt to +detach and blazon the thought is like a show of cut flowers. The moral +is the measure of health, and in the voice of Genius I hear invariably +the moral tone, even when it is disowned in words;—health, melody and +a wider horizon belong to moral sensibility. The finer the sense of +justice, the better poet. The believer says to the skeptic:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“One avenue was shaded from thine eyes</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Through which I wandered to eternal truth.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="nind"> +Humility is the avenue. To be sure, we exaggerate when we represent +these two elements as disunited; every man shares them both; but it is +true that men generally are marked by a decided predominance of one or +of the other element.</p> + +<p>In youth and in age we are moralists, and in mature life the moral +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span> +element steadily rises in the regard of all reasonable men.</p> + +<p>’Tis a sort of proverbial dying speech of scholars (at least it is +attributed to many) that which Anthony Wood reports of Nathaniel +Carpenter, an Oxford Fellow. “It did repent him,” he said, “that he had +formerly so much courted the maid instead of the mistress” (meaning +philosophy and mathematics to the neglect of divinity). This, in the +language of our time, would be ethics.</p> + +<p>And when I say that the world is made up of moral forces, these are not +separate. All forces are found in Nature united with that which they +move: heat is not separate, light is not massed aloof, nor electricity, +nor gravity, but they are always in combination. And so moral powers; +they are thirsts for action, and the more you accumulate the more they +mould and form.</p> + +<p>It is in the stomach of plants that development begins, and ends in +the circles of the universe. ’Tis a long scale from the gorilla to +the gentleman—from the gorilla to Plato, Newton, Shakspeare—to the +sanctities of religion, the refinements of legislation, the summits of +science, art and poetry. The beginnings are slow and infirm, but it is +an always-accelerated march. The geologic world is chronicled by the +growing ripeness of the strata from lower to higher, as it becomes the +abode of more highly-organized plants and animals. The civil history +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span> +of men might be traced by the successive meliorations as marked in +higher moral generalizations;—virtue meaning physical courage, then +chastity and temperance, then justice and love;—bargains of kings +with peoples of certain rights to certain classes, then of rights to +masses,—then at last came the day when, as the historians rightly +tell, the nerves of the world were electrified by the proclamation that +all men are born free and equal.</p> + +<p>Every truth leads in another. The bud extrudes the old leaf, and every +truth brings that which will supplant it. In the court of law the judge +sits over the culprit, but in the court of life in the same hour the +judge also stands as culprit before a true tribunal. Every judge is +a culprit, every law an abuse. Montaigne kills off bigots as cowhage +kills worms; but there is a higher muse there sitting where he durst +not soar, of eye so keen that it can report of a realm in which all the +wit and learning of the Frenchman is no more than the cunning of a fox.</p> + +<p>It is the same fact existing as sentiment and as will in the mind, +which works in Nature as irresistible law, exerting influence over +nations, intelligent beings, or down in the kingdoms of brute or +of chemical atoms. Nature is a tropical swamp in sunshine, on +whose purlieus we hear the song of summer birds, and see prismatic +dew-drops—but her interiors are terrific, full of hydras and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span> +crocodiles. In the pre-adamite she bred valor only; by-and-by she gets +on to man, and adds tenderness, and thus raises virtue piecemeal.</p> + +<p>When we trace from the beginning, that ferocity has uses; only so +are the conditions of the then world met, and these monsters are the +scavengers, executioners, diggers, pioneers and fertilizers, destroying +what is more destructive than they, and making better life possible. We +see the steady aim of Benefit in view from the first. Melioration is +the law. The cruelest foe is a masked benefactor. The wars which make +history so dreary, have served the cause of truth and virtue. There is +always an instinctive sense of right, an obscure idea which animates +either party and which in long periods vindicates itself at last. Thus +a sublime confidence is fed at the bottom of the heart that, in spite +of appearances, in spite of malignity and blind self-interest living +for the moment, an eternal, beneficent necessity is always bringing +things right; and, though we should fold our arms,—which we cannot +do, for our duty requires us to be the very hands of this guiding +sentiment, and work in the present moment,—the evils we suffer will +at last end themselves through the incessant opposition of Nature to +everything hurtful.</p> + +<p>The excellence of men consists in the completeness with which the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span> +lower system is taken up into the higher—a process of much time +and delicacy, but in which no point of the lower should be left +untranslated; so that the warfare of beasts should be renewed in a +finer field, for more excellent victories. Savage war gives place to +that of Turenne and Wellington, which has limitations and a code. This +war again gives place to the finer quarrel of property, where the +victory is wealth and the defeat poverty.</p> + +<p>The inevitabilities are always sapping every seeming prosperity built +on a wrong. No matter how you seem to fatten on a crime, that can +never be good for the bee which is bad for the hive. See how these +things look in the page of history. Nations come and go, cities rise +and fall, all the instincts of man, good and bad, work,—and every +wish, appetite, and passion, rushes into act and embodies itself +in usages, protects itself with laws. Some of them are useful and +universally acceptable, hinder none, help all, and these are honored +and perpetuated. Others are noxious. Community of property is tried, +as when a Tartar horde or an Indian tribe roam over a vast tract for +pasturage or hunting; but it is found at last that some establishment +of property, allowing each on some distinct terms to fence and +cultivate a piece of land, is best for all.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span></p> + +<p>“For my part,” said Napoleon, “it is not the mystery of the incarnation +which I discover in religion, but the mystery of social order, which +associates with heaven that idea of equality which prevents the rich +from destroying the poor.”</p> + +<p>Shall I say then it were truer to see Necessity calm, beautiful, +passionless, without a smile, covered with ensigns of woe, stretching +her dark warp across the universe? These threads are Nature’s +pernicious elements, her deluges, miasma, disease, poison; her +curdling cold, her hideous reptiles and worse men, cannibals, and the +depravities of civilization; the secrets of the prisons of tyranny, the +slave and his master, the proud man’s scorn, the orphan’s tears, the +vices of men, lust, cruelty and pitiless avarice. These make the gloomy +warp of ages. Humanity sits at the dread loom and throws the shuttle +and fills it with joyful rainbows, until the sable ground is flowered +all over with a woof of human industry and wisdom, virtuous examples, +symbols of useful and generous arts, with beauty and pure love, courage +and the victories of the just and wise over malice and wrong.</p> + +<p>Nature is not so helpless but it can rid itself at last of every crime. +An Eastern poet, in describing the golden age, said that God had made +justice so dear to the heart of Nature that, if any injustice lurked +anywhere under the sky, the blue vault would shrivel to a snake-skin +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span> +and cast it out by spasms. But the spasms of Nature are years and +centuries, and it will tax the faith of man to wait so long.</p> + +<p>Man is always throwing his praise or blame on events, and does not see +that he only is real, and the world his mirror and echo. He imputes +the stroke to fortune, which in reality himself strikes. The student +discovers one day that he lives in enchantment: the house, the works, +the persons, the days, the weathers—all that he calls Nature, all that +he calls institutions, when once his mind is active are visions merely, +wonderful allegories, significant pictures of the laws of the mind; and +through this enchanted gallery he is led by unseen guides to read and +learn the laws of Heaven. This discovery may come early,—sometimes in +the nursery, to a rare child; later in the school, but oftener when +the mind is more mature; and to multitudes of men wanting in mental +activity it never comes—any more than poetry or art. But it ought to +come; it belongs to the human intellect, and is an insight which we +cannot spare.</p> + +<p>The idea of right exists in the human mind, and lays itself out in the +equilibrium of Nature, in the equalities and periods of our system, in +the level of seas, in the action and reaction of forces. Nothing is +allowed to exceed or absorb the rest; if it do, it is disease, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span> +is quickly destroyed. It was an early discovery of the mind,—this +beneficent rule. Strength enters just as much as the moral element +prevails. The strength of the animal to eat and to be luxurious and to +usurp is rudeness and imbecility. The law is: To each shall be rendered +his own. As thou sowest, thou shalt reap. Smite, and thou shalt smart. +Serve, and thou shalt be served. If you love and serve men, you +cannot, by any hiding or stratagem, escape the remuneration. Secret +retributions are always restoring the level, when disturbed, of the +Divine justice. It is impossible to tilt the beam. All the tyrants and +proprietors and monopolists of the world in vain set their shoulders to +heave the bar. Settles for evermore the ponderous equator to its line, +and man and mote and star and sun must range with it, or be pulverized +by the recoil.</p> + +<p>It is a doctrine of unspeakable comfort. He that plants his foot here, +passes at once out of the kingdom of illusions. Others may well suffer +in the hideous picture of crime with which earth is filled and the life +of society threatened, but the habit of respecting that great order +which certainly contains and will dispose of our little system, will +take all fear from the heart. It did itself create and distribute all +that is created and distributed, and, trusting to its power, we cease +to care for what it will certainly order well. To good men, as we +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span> +call good men, this doctrine of Trust is an unsounded secret. They use +the word, they have accepted the notion of a mechanical supervision +of human life, by which that certain wonderful being whom they call +God does take up their affairs where their intelligence leaves them, +and somehow knits and co-ordinates the issues of them in all that is +beyond the reach of private faculty. They do not see that <i>He</i>, +that <i>It</i>, is there, next and within; the thought of the thought; +the affair of affairs; that he is existence, and take him from them and +they would not be. They do not see that particulars are sacred to him, +as well as the scope and outline; that these passages of daily life are +his work; that in the moment when they desist from interference, these +particulars take sweetness and grandeur, and become the language of +mighty principles.</p> + +<p>A man should be a guest in his own house, and a guest in his own +thought. He is there to speak for truth; but who is he? Some clod the +truth has snatched from the ground, and with fire has fashioned to a +momentary man. Without the truth, he is a clod again. Let him find his +superiority in not wishing superiority; find the riches of love which +possesses that which it adores; the riches of poverty; the height of +lowliness, the immensity of to-day; and, in the passing hour, the age +of ages. Wondrous state of man! never so happy as when he has lost all +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span> +private interests and regards, and exists only in obedience and love of +the Author.</p> + +<p>The fiery soul said: “Let me be a blot on this fair world, the +obscurest, the loneliest sufferer, with one proviso,—that I know it is +His agency. I will love him, though he shed frost and darkness on every +way of mine.” The emphasis of that blessed doctrine lay in lowliness. +The new saint gloried in infirmities. Who or what was he? His rise and +his recovery were vicarious. He has fallen in another; he rises in +another.</p> + +<p>We perish, and perish gladly, if the law remains. I hope it is +conceivable that a man may go to ruin gladly, if he see that thereby +no shade falls on that he loves and adores. We need not always be +stipulating for our clean shirt and roast joint <i>per diem</i>. +We do not believe the less in astronomy and vegetation, because we +are writhing and roaring in our beds with rheumatism. Cripples and +invalids, we doubt not there are bounding fawns in the forest, and +lilies with graceful, springing stem; so neither do we doubt or fail +to love the eternal law, of which we are such shabby practisers. +Truth gathers itself spotless and unhurt after all our surrenders and +concealments and partisanship—never hurt by the treachery or ruin +of its best defenders, whether Luther, or William Penn, or St. Paul. +We answer, when they tell us of the bad behavior of Luther or Paul: +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span> +“Well, what if he did? Who was more pained than Luther or Paul?” +Shall we attach ourselves violently to our teachers and historical +personalities, and think the foundation shaken if any fault is shown in +their record? But how is the truth hurt by their falling from it? The +law of gravity is not hurt by every accident, though our leg be broken. +No more is the law of justice by our departure from it.</p> + +<p>We are to know that we are never without a pilot. When we know not how +to steer, and dare not hoist a sail, we can drift. The current knows +the way, though we do not. When the stars and sun appear, when we have +conversed with navigators who know the coast, we may begin to put out +an oar and trim a sail. The ship of heaven guides itself, and will not +accept a wooden rudder.</p> + +<p>Have you said to yourself ever: ‘I abdicate all choice, I see it is not +for me to interfere. I see that I have been one of the crowd; that I +have been a pitiful person, because I have wished to be my own master, +and to dress and order my whole way and system of living. I thought I +managed it very well. I see that my neighbors think so. I have heard +prayers, I have prayed even, but I have never until now dreamed that +this undertaking the entire management of my own affairs was not +commendable. I have never seen, until now, that it dwarfed me. I have +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span> +not discovered, until this blessed ray flashed just now through my +soul, that there dwelt any power in Nature that would relieve me of my +load. But now I see.’</p> + +<p>What is this intoxicating sentiment that allies this scrap of dust to +the whole of Nature and the whole of Fate,—that makes this doll a +dweller in ages, mocker at time, able to spurn all outward advantages, +peer and master of the elements? I am taught by it that what touches +any thread in the vast web of being touches me. I am representative of +the whole; and the good of the whole, or what I call the right, makes +me invulnerable.</p> + +<p>How came this creation so magically woven that nothing can do me +mischief but myself,—that an invisible fence surrounds my being +which screens me from all harm that I will to resist? If I will stand +upright, the creation cannot bend me. But if I violate myself, if I +commit a crime, the lightning loiters by the speed of retribution, +and every act is not hereafter but instantaneously rewarded according +to its quality. Virtue is the adopting of this dictate of the +universal mind by the individual will. Character is the habit of this +obedience, and Religion is the accompanying emotion, the emotion of +reverence which the presence of the universal mind ever excites in the +individual.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span></p> + +<p>We go to famous books for our examples of character, just as we send +to England for shrubs which grow as well in our own door-yards and +cow-pastures. Life is always rich, and spontaneous graces and forces +elevate it in every domestic circle, which are overlooked while we are +reading something less excellent in old authors. From the obscurity and +casualty of those which I know, I infer the obscurity and casualty of +the like balm and consolation and immortality in a thousand homes which +I do not know, all round the world. And I see not why to these simple +instincts, simple yet grand, all the heights and transcendencies of +virtue and of enthusiasm are not open. There is power enough in them +to move the world; and it is not any sterility or defect in ethics, +but our negligence of these fine monitors, of these world-embracing +sentiments, that makes religion cold and life low.</p> + +<p>While the immense energy of the sentiment of duty and the awe of the +supernatural exert incomparable influence on the mind,—yet it is +often perverted, and the tradition received with awe, but without +correspondent action of the receiver. Then you find so many men +infatuated on that topic! Wise on all other, they lose their head the +moment they talk of religion. It is the sturdiest prejudice in the +public mind that religion is something by itself; a department distinct +from all other experiences, and to which the tests and judgment +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span> +men are ready enough to show on other things, do not apply. You may +sometimes talk with the gravest and best citizen, and the moment the +topic of religion is broached, he runs into a childish superstition. +His face looks infatuated, and his conversation is. When I talked with +an ardent missionary, and pointed out to him that his creed found no +support in my experience, he replied, “It is not so in your experience, +but is so in the other world.” I answer: Other world! there is no other +world. God is one and omnipresent; here or nowhere is the whole fact. +The one miracle which God works evermore is in Nature, and imparting +himself to the mind. When we ask simply, “What is true in thought? +what is just in action?” it is the yielding of the private heart to +the Divine mind, and all personal preferences, and all requiring of +wonders, are profane.</p> + +<p>The word miracle, as it is used, only indicates the ignorance of +the devotee, staring with wonder to see water turned into wine, and +heedless of the stupendous fact of his own personality. Here he stands, +a lonely thought harmoniously organized into correspondence with the +universe of mind and matter. What narrative of wonders coming down from +a thousand years ought to charm his attention like this? Certainly +it is human to value a general consent, a fraternity of believers, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span> +a crowded church; but as the sentiment purifies and rises, it leaves +crowds. It makes churches of two, churches of one. A fatal disservice +does this Swedenborg or other who offers to do my thinking for me. It +seems as if, when the Spirit of God speaks so plainly to each soul, +it were an impiety to be listening to one or another saint. Jesus was +better than others, because he refused to listen to others and listened +at home.</p> + +<p>You are really interested in your thought. You have meditated in silent +wonder on your existence in this world. You have perceived in the first +fact of your conscious life here a miracle so astounding,—a miracle +comprehending all the universe of miracles to which your intelligent +life gives you access,—as to exhaust wonder, and leave you no need of +hunting here or there for any particular exhibitions of power. Then +up comes a man with a text of 1 John v. 7, or a knotty sentence from +St. Paul, which he considers as the axe at the root of your tree. You +cannot bring yourself to care for it. You say: “Cut away; my tree is +Ygdrasil—the tree of life.” He interrupts for the moment your peaceful +trust in the Divine Providence. Let him know by your security that your +conviction is clear and sufficient, and if he were Paul himself, you +also are here, and with your Creator.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span></p> + +<p>We all give way to superstitions. The house in which we were born +is not quite mere timber and stone; is still haunted by parents and +progenitors. The creeds into which we were initiated in childhood and +youth no longer hold their old place in the minds of thoughtful men, +but they are not nothing to us, and we hate to have them treated with +contempt. There is so much that we do not know, that we give to these +suggestions the benefit of the doubt.</p> + +<p>It is a necessity of the human mind that he who looks at one object +should look away from all other objects. He may throw himself upon some +sharp statement of one fact, some verbal creed, with such concentration +as to hide the universe from him: but the stars roll above; the sun +warms him. With patience and fidelity to truth he may work his way +through, if only by coming against somebody who believes more fables +than he does; and, in trying to dispel the illusions of his neighbor, +he opens his own eyes.</p> + +<p>In the Christianity of this country there is wide difference of opinion +in regard to inspiration, prophecy, miracles, the future state of the +soul; every variety of opinion, and rapid revolution in opinions, in +the last half-century. It is simply impossible to read the old history +of the first century as it was read in the ninth; to do so you must +abolish in your mind the lessons of all the centuries from the ninth +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span> +to the nineteenth.</p> + +<p>Shall I make the mistake of baptizing the daylight, and time, and +space, by the name of John or Joshua, in whose tent I chance to behold +daylight, and space, and time? What anthropomorphists we are in this, +that we cannot let moral distinctions be, but must mould them into +human shape! “Mere morality” means,—not put into a personal master of +morals. Our religion is geographical, belongs to our time and place; +respects and mythologizes some one time and place and person and +people. So it is occasional. It visits us only on some exceptional and +ceremonial occasion, on a wedding or a baptism, on a sick-bed, or at a +funeral, or perhaps on a sublime national victory or a peace. But that +be sure is not the religion of the universal unsleeping providence, +which lurks in trifles, in still, small voices, in the secrets of the +heart and our closest thoughts, as efficiently as in our proclamations +and successes.</p> + +<p>Far be it from me to underrate the men or the churches that have fixed +the hearts of men and organized their devout impulses or oracles into +good institutions. The Church of Rome had its saints, and inspired the +conscience of Europe—St. Augustine, and Thomas à Kempis, and Fénelon; +the piety of the English Church in Cranmer, and Herbert, and Taylor; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span> +the Reformed Church, Scougal; the mystics, Behmen and Swedenborg; +the Quakers, Fox and James Naylor. I confess our later generation +appears ungirt, frivolous, compared with the religions of the last +or Calvinistic age. There was in the last century a serious habitual +reference to the spiritual world, running through diaries, letters and +conversation—yes, and into wills and legal instruments also, compared +with which our liberation looks a little foppish and dapper.</p> + +<p>The religion of seventy years ago was an iron belt to the mind, giving +it concentration and force. A rude people were kept respectable by +the determination of thought on the eternal world. Now men fall +abroad,—want polarity,—suffer in character and intellect. A sleep +creeps over the great functions of man. Enthusiasm goes out. In its +stead a low prudence seeks to hold society staunch, but its arms are +too short, cordage and machinery never supply the place of life.</p> + +<p>Luther would cut his hand off sooner than write theses against the +pope if he suspected that he was bringing on with all his might the +pale negations of Boston Unitarianism. I will not now go into the +metaphysics of that reaction by which in history a period of belief +is followed by an age of criticism, in which wit takes the place of +faith in the leading spirits, and an excessive respect for forms out +of which the heart has departed becomes most obvious in the least +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span> +religious minds. I will not now explore the causes of the result, but +the fact must be conceded as of frequent recurrence, and never more +evident than in our American church. To a self-denying, ardent church, +delighting in rites and ordinances, has succeeded a cold, intellectual +race, who analyze the prayer and psalm of their forefathers, and the +more intellectual reject every yoke of authority and custom with a +petulance unprecedented. It is a sort of mark of probity and sincerity +to declare how little you believe, while the mass of the community +indolently follow the old forms with childish scrupulosity, and we have +punctuality for faith, and good taste for character.</p> + +<p>But I hope the defect of faith with us is only apparent. We shall find +that freedom has its own guards, and, as soon as in the vulgar it runs +to license, sets all reasonable men on exploring those guards. I do +not think the summit of this age truly reached or expressed unless it +attain the height which religion and philosophy reached in any former +age. If I miss the inspiration of the saints of Calvinism, or of +Platonism, or Buddhism, our times are not up to theirs, or, more truly, +have not yet their own legitimate force.</p> + +<p>Worship is the regard for what is above us. Men are respectable only +as they respect. We delight in children because of that religious eye +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span> +which belongs to them; because of their reverence for their seniors, +and for their objects of belief. The poor Irish laborer one sees with +respect, because he believes in something, in his church, and in his +employers. Superstitious persons we see with respect, because their +whole existence is not bounded by their hats and their shoes, but they +walk attended by pictures of the imagination, to which they pay homage. +You cannot impoverish man by taking away these objects above him +without ruin. It is very sad to see men who think their goodness made +of themselves; it is very grateful to see those who hold an opinion the +reverse of this.</p> + +<p>All ages of belief have been great; all of unbelief have been mean. +The Orientals believe in Fate. That which shall befall them is written +on the iron leaf; they will not turn on their heel to avoid famine, +plague, or the sword of the enemy. That is great, and gives a great +air to the people. We in America are charged with a great deficiency +in worship; that reverence does not belong to our character; that +our institutions, our politics, and our trade, have fostered a +self-reliance which is small, liliputian, full of fuss and bustle; +we look at and will bear nothing above us in the state, and do +exceedingly applaud and admire ourselves, and believe in our senses +and understandings, while our imagination and our moral sentiment are +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span> +desolated. In religion too we want objects above; we are fast losing +or have already lost our old reverence; new views of inspiration, of +miracles, of the saints, have supplanted the old opinions, and it +is vain to bring them again. Revolutions never go backward, and in +all churches a certain decay of ancient piety is lamented, and all +threatens to lapse into apathy and indifferentism. It becomes us to +consider whether we cannot have a real faith and real objects in lieu +of these false ones. The human mind, when it is trusted, is never false +to itself. If there be sincerity and good meaning—if there be really +in us the wish to seek for our superiors, for that which is lawfully +above us, we shall not long look in vain.</p> + +<p>Meantime there is great centrality, a centripetence equal to the +centrifugence. The mystic or theist is never scared by any startling +materialism. He knows the laws of gravitation and of repulsion are +deaf to French talkers, be they never so witty. If theology shows that +opinions are fast changing, it is not so with the convictions of men +with regard to conduct. These remain. The most daring heroism, the most +accomplished culture, or rapt holiness, never exhausted the claim of +these lowly duties,—never penetrated to their origin, or was able to +look behind their source. We cannot disenchant, we cannot impoverish +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span> +ourselves, by obedience; but by humility we rise, by obedience we +command, by poverty we are rich, by dying we live.</p> + +<p>We are thrown back on rectitude forever and ever, only rectitude,—to +mend one; that is all we can do. But <i>that</i> the zealot stigmatizes +as a sterile chimney-corner philosophy. Now the first position I +make is that natural religion supplies still all the facts which are +disguised under the dogma of popular creeds. The progress of religion +is steadily to its identity with morals.</p> + +<p>How is the new generation to be edified? How should it not? The life +of those once omnipotent traditions was really not in the legend, but +in the moral sentiment and the metaphysical fact which the legends +enclosed—and these survive. A new Socrates, or Zeno, or Swedenborg, or +Pascal, or a new crop of geniuses like those of the Elizabethan age, +may be born in this age, and, with happy heart and a bias for theism, +bring asceticism, duty, and magnanimity into vogue again.</p> + +<p>It is true that Stoicism, always attractive to the intellectual and +cultivated, has now no temples, no academy, no commanding Zeno or +Antoninus. It accuses us that it has none: that pure ethics is not +now formulated and concreted into a <i>cultus</i>, a fraternity with +assemblings and holy-days, with song and book, with brick and stone. +Why have not those who believe in it and love it left all for this, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span> +and dedicated themselves to write out its scientific scriptures to +become its Vulgate for millions? I answer for one that the inspirations +we catch of this law are not continuous and technical, but joyful +sparkles, and are recorded for their beauty, for the delight they give, +not for their obligation; and that is their priceless good to men, that +they charm and uplift, not that they are imposed. It has not yet its +first hymn. But, that every line and word may be coals of true fire, +ages must roll, ere these casual wide-falling cinders can be gathered +into broad and steady altar-flame.</p> + +<p>It does not yet appear what forms the religious feeling will take. It +prepares to rise out of all forms to an absolute justice and healthy +perception. Here is now a new feeling of humanity infused into public +action. Here is contribution of money on a more extended and systematic +scale than ever before to repair public disasters at a distance, and +of political support to oppressed parties. Then there are the new +conventions of social science, before which the questions of the rights +of women, the laws of trade, the treatment of crime, regulation of +labor, come for a hearing. If these are tokens of the steady currents +of thought and will in these directions, one might well anticipate a +new nation.</p> + +<p>I know how delicate this principle is,—how difficult of adaptation +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span> +to practical and social arrangements. It cannot be profaned; it cannot +be forced; to draw it out of its natural current is to lose at once +all its power. Such experiments as we recall are those in which some +sect or dogma made the tie, and that was an artificial element, which +chilled and checked the union. But is it quite impossible to believe +that men should be drawn to each other by the simple respect which +each man feels for another in whom he discovers absolute honesty; +the respect he feels for one who thinks life is quite too coarse and +frivolous, and that he should like to lift it a little, should like +to be the friend of some man’s virtue? for another who, underneath +his compliances with artificial society, would dearly like to serve +somebody,—to test his own reality by making himself useful and +indispensable?</p> + +<p>Man does not live by bread alone, but by faith, by admiration, by +sympathy. ’Tis very shallow to say that cotton, or iron, or silver and +gold are kings of the world; there are rulers that will at any moment +make these forgotten. Fear will. Love will. Character will. Men live by +their credence. Governments stand by it,—by the faith that the people +share,—whether it comes from the religion in which they were bred, or +from an original conscience in themselves, which the popular religion +echoes. If government could only stand by force, if the instinct of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span> +the people was to resist the government, it is plain the government +must be two to one in order to be secure, and then it would not be safe +from desperate individuals. But no; the old commandment, “Thou shalt +not kill,” holds down New York, and London, and Paris, and not a police +or horse-guards.</p> + +<p>The credence of men it is that moulds them, and creates at will one +or another surface. The mind as it opens transfers very fast its +choice from the circumstance to the cause; from courtesy to love, +from inventions to science, from London or Washington law, or public +opinion, to the self-revealing idea; from all that talent executes to +the sentiment that fills the heart and dictates the future of nations. +The commanding fact which I never do not see, is the sufficiency of +the moral sentiment. We buttress it up, in shallow hours or ages, with +legends, traditions and forms, each good for the one moment in which +it was a happy type or symbol of the Power, but the Power sends in the +next moment a new lesson, which we lose while our eyes are reverted and +striving to perpetuate the old.</p> + +<p>America shall introduce a pure religion. Ethics are thought not to +satisfy affection. But all the religion we have is the ethics of one +or another holy person; as soon as character appears, be sure love +will, and veneration, and anecdotes, and fables about him, and delight +of good men and women in him. And what deeps of grandeur and beauty +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span> +are known to us in ethical truth, what divination or insight belongs +to it! For innocence is a wonderful electuary for purging the eyes to +search the nature of those souls that pass before it. What armor it is +to protect the good from outward or inward harm, and with what power it +converts evil accidents into benefits; the power of its countenance; +the power of its presence! To it alone comes true friendship; to it +come grandeur of situation and poetic perception, enriching all it +deals with.</p> + +<p>Once men thought Spirit divine, and Matter diabolic; one Ormuzd, the +other Ahriman. Now science and philosophy recognize the parallelism, +the approximation, the unity of the two: how each reflects the other as +face answers to face in a glass: nay, how the laws of both are one, or +how one is the realization. We are learning not to fear truth.</p> + +<p>The man of this age must be matriculated in the university of sciences +and tendencies flowing from all past periods. He must not be one +who can be surprised and shipwrecked by every bold or subtile word +which malignant and acute men may utter in his hearing, but should be +taught all skepticisms and unbeliefs, and made the destroyer of all +card-houses and paper walls, and the sifter of all opinions, by being +put face to face from his infancy with Reality.</p> + +<p>A man who has accustomed himself to look at all his circumstances +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span> +as very mutable, to carry his possessions, his relations to persons, +and even his opinions, in his hand, and in all these to pierce to the +principle and moral law, and everywhere to find that,—has put himself +out of the reach of all skepticism; and it seems as if whatever is most +affecting and sublime in our intercourse, in our happiness, and in our +losses, tended steadily to uplift us to a life so extraordinary, and, +one might say, superhuman.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p class="nind"><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="label">[8]</a> +Reprinted from the <i>North American Review</i>, of May, +1878.</p> + +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_PREACHER">THE PREACHER.</h2> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="allsmcap">ASCENDING</span> thorough just degrees</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To a consummate holiness,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As angel blind to trespass done,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And bleaching all souls like the sun.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_18" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_PREACHER_2">THE PREACHER.<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a></h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_19" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<p>IN the history of opinion, the pinch of falsehood shows itself first, +not in argument and formal protest, but in insincerity, indifference +and abandonment of the Church or the scientific or political or +economic institution for other better or worse forms.</p> + +<p>The venerable and beautiful traditions in which we were educated are +losing their hold on human belief, day by day; a restlessness and +dissatisfaction in the religious world marks that we are in a moment +of transition; as when the Roman Church broke into Protestant and +Catholic, or, earlier, when Paganism broke into Christians and Pagans. +The old forms rattle, and the new delay to appear; material and +industrial activity have materialized the age, and the mind, haughty +with its sciences, disdains the religious forms as childish.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span></p> + +<p>In consequence of this revolution in opinion, it appears, for the +time, as the misfortune of this period that the cultivated mind has +not the happiness and dignity of the religious sentiment. We are +born too late for the old and too early for the new faith. I see in +those classes and those persons in whom I am accustomed to look for +tendency and progress, for what is most positive and most rich in human +nature, and who contain the activity of to-day and the assurance of +to-morrow,—I see in them character, but skepticism; a clear enough +perception of the inadequacy of the popular religious statement to the +wants of their heart and intellect, and explicit declarations of this +fact. They have insight and truthfulness; they will not mask their +convictions; they hate cant; but more than this I do not readily find. +The gracious motions of the soul,—piety, adoration,—I do not find. +Scorn of hypocrisy, pride of personal character, elegance of taste +and of manners and pursuit, a boundless ambition of the intellect, +willingness to sacrifice personal interests for the integrity of the +character,—all these they have; but that religious submission and +abandonment which give man a new element and being, and make him +sublime,—it is not in churches, it is not in houses. I see movement, I +hear aspirations, but I see not how the great God prepares to satisfy +the heart in the new order of things. No Church, no State emerges; and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span> +when we have extricated ourselves from all the embarrassments of the +social problem, the oracle does not yet emit any light on the mode of +individual life. A thousand negatives it utters, clear and strong, on +all sides; but the sacred affirmative it hides in the deepest abyss.</p> + +<p>We do not see that heroic resolutions will save men from those tides +which a most fatal moon heaps and levels in the moral, emotive +and intellectual nature. It is certain that many dark hours, many +imbecilities, periods of inactivity,—solstices when we make no +progress, but stand still,—will occur. In those hours, we can find +comfort in reverence of the highest power, and only in that. We never +do quite nothing, or never need. It looks as if there were much doubt, +much waiting, to be endured by the best. Perhaps there must be austere +elections and determinations before any clear vision.</p> + +<p>No age and no person is destitute of the sentiment, but in +actual history its illustrious exhibitions are interrupted and +periodical,—the ages of belief, of heroic action, of intellectual +activity, of men cast in a higher mould.</p> + +<p>But the sentiment that pervades a nation, the nation must react upon. +It is resisted and corrupted by that obstinate tendency to personify +and bring under the eyesight what should be the contemplation of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span> +Reason alone. The Understanding will write out the vision in a +Confession of Faith. Art will embody this vanishing Spirit in temples, +pictures, sculptures and hymns. The senses instantly transfer the +reverence from the vanishing Spirit to this steadfast form. Ignorance +and passion alloy and degrade. In proportion to a man’s want of +goodness, it seems to him another and not himself; that is to say, the +Deity becomes more objective, until finally flat idolatry prevails.</p> + +<p>Of course the virtuous sentiment appears arrayed against the nominal +religion, and the true men are hunted as unbelievers, and burned. Then +the good sense of the people wakes up so far as to take tacit part with +them, to cast off reverence for the Church; and there follows an age of +unbelief.</p> + +<p>This analysis was inevitable and useful. But the sober eye finds +something ghastly in this empiricism. At first, delighted with the +triumph of the intellect, the surprise of the results and the sense +of power, we are like hunters on the scent and soldiers who rush to +battle: but when the game is run down, when the enemy lies cold in his +blood at our feet, we are alarmed at our solitude; we would gladly +recall the life that so offended us; the face seems no longer that of +an enemy.</p> + +<p>I say the effect is withering; for, this examination resulting in the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span> +constant detection of errors, the flattered understanding assumes to +judge all things, and to anticipate the same victories. In the activity +of the understanding, the sentiments sleep. The understanding presumes +in things above its sphere, and, because it has exposed errors in a +church, concludes that a church is an error; because it has found +absurdities to which the sentiment of veneration is attached, sneers at +veneration; so that analysis has run to seed in unbelief. There is no +faith left. We laugh and hiss, pleased with our power in making heaven +and earth a howling wilderness.</p> + +<p>Unlovely, nay, frightful, is the solitude of the soul which is without +God in the world. To wander all day in the sunlight among the tribes +of animals, unrelated to anything better; to behold the horse, cow and +bird, and to foresee an equal and speedy end to him and them;—no, the +bird, as it hurried by with its bold and perfect flight, would disclaim +his sympathy and declare him an outcast. To see men pursuing in faith +their varied action, warm-hearted, providing for their children, loving +their friends, performing their promises,—what are they to this +chill, houseless, fatherless, aimless Cain, the man who hears only the +sound of his own footsteps in God’s resplendent creation? To him, it +is no creation; to him, these fair creatures are hapless spectres: +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span> +he knows not what to make of it. To him, heaven and earth have lost +their beauty. How gloomy is the day, and upon yonder shining pond what +melancholy light! I cannot keep the sun in heaven, if you take away the +purpose that animates him. The ball, indeed, is there, but his power +to cheer, to illuminate the heart as well as the atmosphere, is gone +forever. It is a lamp-wick for meanest uses. The words, <i>great</i>, +<i>venerable</i>, have lost their meaning; every thought loses all its +depth and has become mere surface.</p> + +<p>But religion has an object. It does not grow thin or robust with the +health of the votary. The object of adoration remains forever unhurt +and identical. We are in transition, from the worship of the fathers +which enshrined the law in a private and personal history, to a worship +which recognizes the true eternity of the law, its presence to you +and me, its equal energy in what is called brute nature as in what is +called sacred. The next age will behold God in the ethical laws—as +mankind begins to see them in this age, self-equal, self-executing, +instantaneous and self-affirmed; needing no voucher, no prophet and +no miracle besides their own irresistibility,—and will regard natural +history, private fortunes and politics, not for themselves, as we +have done, but as illustrations of those laws, of that beatitude and +love. Nature is too thin a screen; the glory of the One breaks in +everywhere.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span></p> + +<p>Every movement of religious opinion is of profound importance to +politics and social life; and this of to-day has the best omens as +being of the most expansive humanity, since it seeks to find in every +nation and creed the imperishable doctrines. I find myself always +struck and stimulated by a good anecdote, any trait of heroism, of +faithful service. I do not find that the age or country makes the least +difference; no, nor the language the actors spoke, nor the religion +which they professed, whether Arab in the desert, or Frenchman in the +Academy. I see that sensible men and conscientious men all over the +world were of one religion,—the religion of well-doing and daring, men +of sturdy truth, men of integrity and feeling for others. My inference +is that there is a statement of religion possible which makes all +skepticism absurd.</p> + +<p>The health and welfare of man consist in ascent from surfaces to +solids; from occupation with details to knowledge of the design; from +self-activity of talents, which lose their way by the lust of display, +to the controlling and reinforcing of talents by the emanation of +character. All that we call religion, all that saints and churches and +Bibles from the beginning of the world have aimed at, is to suppress +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span> +this impertinent surface-action, and animate man to central and entire +action. The human race are afflicted with a St. Vitus’ dance; their +fingers and toes, their members, their senses, their talents, are +superfluously active, while the torpid heart gives no oracle. When +that wakes, it will revolutionize the world. Let that speak, and all +these rebels will fly to their loyalty. Now every man defeats his own +action,—professes this but practises the reverse; with one hand rows, +and with the other backs water. A man acts not from one motive, but +from many shifting fears and short motives; it is as if he were ten or +twenty less men than himself, acting at discord with one another, so +that the result of most lives is zero. But when he shall act from one +motive, and all his faculties play true, it is clear mathematically, +is it not, that this will tell in the result as if twenty men had +co-operated,—will give new senses, new wisdom of its own kind; that +is, not more facts, nor new combinations, but divination, or direct +intuition of the state of men and things?</p> + +<p>The lessons of the moral sentiment are, once for all, an emancipation +from that anxiety which takes the joy out of all life. It teaches +a great peace. It comes itself from the highest place. It is that, +which being in all sound natures, and strongest in the best and most +gifted men, we know to be implanted by the Creator of Men. It is a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span> +commandment at every moment and in every condition of life to do the +duty of that moment and to abstain from doing the wrong. And it is so +near and inward and constitutional to each, that no commandment can +compare with it in authority. All wise men regard it as the voice of +the Creator himself.</p> + +<p>I know there are those to whom the question of what shall be believed +is the more interesting because they are to proclaim and teach what +they believe.</p> + +<p>All positive rules, ceremonial, ecclesiastical, distinctions of race or +of person, are perishable; only those distinctions hold which are in +the nature of things, not matters of positive ordinance. As the earth +we stand upon is not imperishable, but is chemically resolvable into +gases and nebulæ, so is the universe an infinite series of planes, each +of which is a false bottom; and, when we think our feet are planted now +at last on adamant, the slide is drawn out from under us.</p> + +<p>We must reconcile ourselves to the new order of things. But is it +a calamity? The poet Wordsworth greeted even the steam-engine and +railroads; and when they came into his poetic Westmoreland, bisecting +every delightful valley, deforming every consecrated grove, yet manned +himself to say:—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“In spite of all that Beauty may disown</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In your harsh features, Nature doth embrace</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Her lawful offspring in man’s art, and Time,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pleased with your triumphs o’er his brother Space,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Accepts from your bold hands the proffered crown</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of hope, and smiles on you with cheer sublime.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="nind"> +And we can keep our religion, despite of the violent railroads of +generalization, whether French or German, that block and intersect our +old parish highways.</p> + +<p>In matters of religion, men eagerly fasten their eyes on the +differences between their creed and yours, whilst the charm of the +study is in finding the agreements and identities in all the religions +of men. What is essential to the theologian is, that whilst he is +select in his opinions, severe in his search for truth, he shall be +broad in his sympathies,—not to allow himself to be excluded from any +church. He is to claim for his own whatever eloquence of St. Chrysostom +or St. Jerome or St. Bernard he has felt. So not less of Bishop Taylor +or George Herbert or Henry Scougal. He sees that what is most effective +in the writer is what is dear to his, the reader’s, mind.</p> + +<p>Be not betrayed into undervaluing the churches which annoy you by +their bigoted claims. They too were real churches. They answered to +their times the same need as your rejection of them does to ours. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span> +The Catholic Church has been immensely rich in men and influences. +Augustine, à Kempis, Fénelon, breathe the very spirit which now fires +you. So with Cudworth, More, Bunyan. I agree with them more than I +disagree. I agree with their heart and motive; my discontent is with +their limitations and surface and language. Their statement is grown +as fabulous as Dante’s Inferno. Their purpose is as real as Dante’s +sentiment and hatred of vice. Always put the best interpretation on +a tenet. Why not on Christianity, wholesome, sweet and poetic? It is +the record of a pure and holy soul, humble, absolutely disinterested, +a truth-speaker and bent on serving, teaching and uplifting men. +Christianity taught the capacity, the element, to love the All-perfect +without a stingy bargain for personal happiness. It taught that to love +him was happiness,—to love him in other’s virtues.</p> + +<p>An era in human history is the life of Jesus; and the immense influence +for good leaves all the perversion and superstition almost harmless. +Mankind have been subdued to the acceptance of his doctrine, and cannot +spare the benefit of so pure a servant of truth and love.</p> + +<p>Of course a hero so attractive to the hearts of millions drew the +hypocrite and the ambitious into his train, and they used his name to +falsify his history and undo his work. I fear that what is called +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span> +religion, but is perhaps pew-holding, not obeys but conceals the moral +sentiment. I put it to this simple test: Is a rich rogue made to +feel his roguery among divines or literary men? No? Then ’tis rogue +again under the cassock. What sort of respect can these preachers or +newspapers inspire by their weekly praises of texts and saints, when we +know that they would say just the same things if Beelzebub had written +the chapter, provided it stood where it does in the public opinion?</p> + +<p>Anything but unbelief, anything but losing hold of the moral +intuitions, as betrayed in the clinging to a form of devotion or a +theological dogma; as if it was the liturgy, or the chapel, that was +sacred, and not justice and humility and the loving heart and serving +hand.</p> + +<p>But besides the passion and interest which pervert, is the shallowness +which impoverishes. The opinions of men lose all worth to him who +perceives that they are accurately predictable from the ground of their +sect. Nothing is more rare, in any man, than an act of his own. The +clergy are as like as peas. I cannot tell them apart. It was said: They +have bronchitis because they read from their papers sermons with a near +voice, and then, looking at the congregation, they try to speak with +their far voice, and the shock is noxious. I think they do this, or +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span> +the converse of this, with their thought. They look into Plato, or into +the mind, and then try to make parish mince-meat of the amplitudes and +eternities, and the shock is noxious. It is the old story again: once +we had wooden chalices and golden priests, now we have golden chalices +and wooden priests.</p> + +<p>The clergy are always in danger of becoming wards and pensioners of +the so-called producing classes. Their first duty is self-possession +founded on knowledge. The man of practice or worldly force requires +of the preacher a talent, a force, like his own; the same as his own, +but wholly applied to the priest’s things. He does not forgive an +application in the preacher to the merchant’s things. He wishes him to +be such a one as he himself should have been, had he been priest. He is +sincere and ardent in his vocation, and plunged in it. Let priest or +poet be as good in theirs.</p> + +<p>The simple fact that the pulpit exists, that all over this country the +people are waiting to hear a sermon on Sunday, assures that opportunity +which is inestimable to young men, students of theology, for those +large liberties. The existence of the Sunday, and the pulpit waiting +for a weekly sermon, give him the very conditions, the ποὺ στὼ he +wants. That must be filled, and he is armed to fill it. Let him value +his talent as a door into Nature. Let him see his performances only +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span> +as limitations. Then, over all, let him value the sensibility that +receives, that loves, that dares, that affirms.</p> + +<p>There are always plenty of young, ignorant people,—though some of them +are seven, and some of them seventy years old,—wanting peremptorily +instruction; but, in the usual averages of parishes, only one person +that is qualified to give it. It is only that person who concerns +me,—him only that I see. The others are very amiable and promising, +but they are only neuters in the hive,—every one a possible royal bee, +but not now significant. It does not signify what they say or think +to-day; ’tis the cry and the babble of the nursery, and their only +virtue, docility. Buckminster, Channing, Dr. Lowell, Edward Taylor, +Parker, Bushnell, Chapin,—it is they who have been necessary, and the +opinions of the floating crowd of no importance whatever.</p> + +<p>I do not love sensation preaching,—the personalities for spite, the +hurrah for our side, the review of our appearances and what others say +of us! That you may read in the gazette. We come to church properly +for self-examination, for approach to principles to see how it stands +with <i>us</i>, with the deep and dear facts of right and love. At the +same time it is impossible to pay no regard to the day’s events, to +the public opinion of the times, to the stirring shouts of parties, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span> +to the calamities and prosperities of our town and country; to war and +peace, new events, great personages, to good harvests, new resources, +to bankruptcies, famines and desolations. We are not stocks or stones, +we are not thinking machines, but allied to men around us, as really +though not quite so visibly as the Siamese brothers. And it were +inhuman to affect ignorance or indifference on Sundays to what makes +our blood beat and our countenance dejected Saturday or Monday. No, +these are fair tests to try our doctrines by, and see if they are worth +anything in life. The value of a principle is the number of things it +will explain; and there is no good theory of disease which does not at +once suggest a cure.</p> + +<p>Man proposes, but God disposes. We shall not very long have any part +or lot in this earth, in whose affairs we so hotly mix, and where +we feel and speak so energetically of our country and our cause. It +is a comfort to reflect that the gigantic evils which seem to us so +mischievous and so incurable will at last end themselves and rid the +world of their presence, as all crime sooner or later must. But be +that event for us soon or late, we are not excused from playing our +short part in the best manner we can, no matter how insignificant +our aid may be. Our children will be here, if we are not; and their +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span> +children’s history will be colored by our action. But if we have no +children, or if the events in which we have taken our part shall not +see their solution until a distant future, there is yet a deeper fact; +that as much justice as we can see and practise is useful to men, and +imperative, whether we can see it to be useful or not.</p> + +<p>The essential ground of a new book or a new sermon is a new spirit. +The author has a new thought, sees the sweep of a more comprehensive +tendency than others are aware of; falters never, but takes the +victorious tone. For power is not so much shown in talent as in tone. +And if I had to counsel a young preacher, I should say: When there is +any difference felt between the foot-board of the pulpit and the floor +of the parlor, you have not yet said that which you should say.</p> + +<p>Inspiration will have advance, affirmation, the forward foot, the +ascending state; it will be an opener of doors; it will invent its own +methods: the new wine will make the bottles new. Spirit is motive and +ascending. Only let there be a deep observer, and he will make light +of new shop and new circumstance that afflict you; new shop, or old +cathedral, it is all one to him. He will find the circumstance not +altered, as deep a cloud of mystery on the cause, as dazzling a glory +on the invincible law. Given the insight, and he will find as many +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span> +beauties and heroes and strokes of genius close by him as Dante or +Shakspeare beheld. A vivid thought brings the power to paint it; and in +proportion to the depth of its source is the force of its projection. +We are happy and enriched; we go away invigorated, assisted each in our +own work, however different, and shall not forget to come again for new +impulses.</p> + +<p>The supposed embarrassments to young clergymen exist only to feeble +wills. They need not consider them. The differences of opinion, the +strength of old sects or timorous literalists, since it is not armed +with prisons or fagots as in ruder times or countries, is not worth +considering except as furnishing a needed stimulus. That gray deacon +or respectable matron with Calvinistic antecedents, you can readily +see, could not have presented any obstacle to the march of St. Bernard +or of George Fox, of Luther or of Theodore Parker. And though I +observe the deafness to counsel among men, yet the power of sympathy +is always great; and affirmative discourse, presuming assent, will +often obtain it when argument would fail. Such, too, is the active +power of good temperament. Great sweetness of temper neutralizes such +vast amounts of acid! As for position, the position is always the +same,—insulting the timid, and not taken by storm, but flanked, I may +say, by the resolute, simply by minding their own affair. Speak the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span> +affirmative; emphasize your choice by utter ignoring of all that you +reject; seeing that opinions are temporary, but convictions uniform +and eternal,—seeing that a sentiment never loses its pathos or its +persuasion, but is youthful after a thousand years.</p> + +<p>The inevitable course of remark for us, when we meet each other for +meditation on life and duty, is not so much the enjoining of this or +that cure or burning out of our errors of practice, as simply the +celebration of the power and beneficence amid which and by which we +live, not critical, but affirmative.</p> + +<p>All civil mankind have agreed in leaving one day for contemplation +against six for practice. I hope that day will keep its honor and its +use. A wise man advises that we should see to it that we read and speak +two or three reasonable words, every day, amid the crowd of affairs and +the noise of trifles. I should say boldly that we should astonish every +day by a beam out of eternity; retire a moment to the grand secret we +carry in our bosom, of inspiration from heaven. But certainly on this +seventh let us be the children of liberty, of reason, of hope; refresh +the sentiment; think as spirits think, who belong to the universe, +whilst our feet walk in the streets of a little town and our hands work +in a small knot of affairs. We shall find one result, I am sure,—a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span> +certain originality and a certain haughty liberty proceeding out of our +retirement and self-communion, which streets can never give, infinitely +removed from all vaporing and bravado, and which yet is more than a +match for any physical resistance. It is true that which they say of +our New England œstrum, which will never let us stand or sit, but +drives us like mad through the world. The calmest and most protected +life cannot save us. We want some intercalated days, to bethink us and +to derive order to our life from the heart. That should be the use of +the Sabbath,—to check this headlong racing and put us in possession of +ourselves once more, for love or for shame.</p> + +<p>The Sabbath changes its forms from age to age, but the substantial +benefit endures. We no longer recite the old creeds of Athanasius or +Arius, of Calvin or Hopkins. The forms are flexible, but the uses not +less real. The old heart remains as ever with its old human duties. The +old intellect still lives, to pierce the shows to the core. Truth is +simple, and will not be antique; is ever present, and insists on being +of this age and of this moment. Here is thought and love and truth and +duty, new as on the first day of Adam and of angels.</p> + +<p>“There are two pairs of eyes in man; and it is requisite that the pair +which are beneath should be closed when the pair that are above them +perceive; and that when the pair above are closed, those which are +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span> +beneath are opened.” The lower eyes see only surfaces and effects, the +upper eyes behold causes and the connection of things. And when we go +alone, or come into the house of thought and worship, we come with +purpose to be disabused of appearances, to see realities, the great +lines of our destiny, to see that life has no caprice or fortune, is +no hopping squib, but a growth after immutable laws under beneficent +influences the most immense. The Church is open to great and small in +all nations; and how rare and lofty, how unattainable, are the aims it +labors to set before men! We come to educate, come to isolate, to be +abstractionists; in fine, to open the upper eyes to the deep mystery of +cause and effect, to know that though ministers of justice and power +fail, Justice and Power fail never. The open secret of the world is the +art of subliming a private soul with inspirations from the great and +public and divine Soul from which we live.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p class="nind"><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="label">[9]</a> +Originally written as a parlor lecture to some Divinity +students, in 1867; afterwards enlarged from earlier writings, and read +in its present form at the Divinity Chapel, Cambridge, May 5th, 1879. +Reprinted from the <i>Unitarian Review</i> for January, 1880.</p> + +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_MAN_OF_LETTERS">THE MAN OF LETTERS.</h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_20" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="allsmcap">ON</span> bravely through the sunshine and the showers,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Time hath his work to do, and we have ours.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="allsmcap">SO</span> nigh is grandeur to our dust,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">So near is God to man;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When Duty whispers low ‘Thou must,’</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The youth replies, ‘I can.’</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_MAN_OF_LETTERS_2">THE MAN OF LETTERS.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="hanging2"> +<span class="allsmcap">AN ADDRESS DELIVERED BEFORE THE LITERARY SOCIETIES OF WATERVILLE +COLLEGE, 1863.</span></p> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_21" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<p class="nind"> +<span class="allsmcap">GENTLEMEN OF THE LITERARY SOCIETIES</span>:—</p> + +<p>Some of you are to-day saying your farewells to each other, and +to-morrow will receive the parting honors of the College. You go to +be teachers, to become physicians, lawyers, divines; in due course, +statesmen, naturalists, philanthropists; I hope, some of you, to be the +men of letters, critics, philosophers; perhaps the rare gift of poetry +already sparkles, and may yet burn. At all events, before the shadows +of these times darken over your youthful sensibility and candor, let +me use the occasion which your kind request gives me, to offer you +some counsels which an old scholar may without pretension bring to +youth, in regard to the career of letters,—the power and joy that +belong to it, and its high office in evil times. I offer perpetual +congratulation to the scholar; he has drawn the white lot in life. The +very disadvantages of his condition point at superiorities. He is too +good for the world; he is in advance of his race; his function is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span> +prophetic. He belongs to a superior society, and is born one or two +centuries too early for the rough and sensual population into which he +is thrown. But the Heaven which sent him hither knew that well enough, +and sent him as a leader to lead. Are men perplexed with evil times? +The inviolate soul is in perpetual telegraphic communication with the +source of events. He has earlier information, a private despatch which +relieves him of the terror which presses on the rest of the community. +He is a learner of the laws of nature and the experiences of history; a +prophet surrendered with self-abandoning sincerity to the Heaven which +pours through him its will to mankind. This is the theory, but you know +how far this is from the fact, that nothing has been able to resist the +tide with which the material prosperity of America in years past has +beat down the hope of youth, the piety of learning. The country was +full of activity, with its wheat, coal, iron, cotton; the wealth of the +globe was here, too much work and not men enough to do it. Britain, +France, Germany, Scandinavia sent millions of laborers; still the need +was more. Every kind of skill was in demand, and the bribe came to men +of intellectual culture,—Come, drudge in our mill. America at large +exhibited such a confusion as California showed in 1849, when the cry +of gold was first raised. All the distinctions of profession and habit +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span> +ended at the mines. All the world took off their coats and worked in +shirt-sleeves. Lawyers went and came with pick and wheelbarrow; doctors +of medicine turned teamsters; stray clergymen kept the bar in saloons; +professors of colleges sold cigars, mince-pies, matches, and so on. It +is the perpetual tendency of wealth to draw on the spiritual class, not +in this coarse way, but in plausible and covert ways. It is charged +that all vigorous nations, except our own, have balanced their labor by +mental activity, and especially by the imagination,—the cardinal human +power, the angel of earnest and believing ages. The subtle Hindoo, who +carried religion to ecstasy and philosophy to idealism, produced the +wonderful epics of which, in the present century, the translations have +added new regions to thought. The Egyptian built Thebes and Karnak on +a scale which dwarfs our art, and by the paintings on their interior +walls invited us into the secret of the religious belief whence he drew +such power. The Greek was so perfect in action and in imagination, his +poems, from Homer to Euripides, so charming in form and so true to +the human mind, that we cannot forget or outgrow their mythology. The +Hebrew nation compensated for the insignificance of its members and +territory by its religious genius, its tenacious belief; its poems and +histories cling to the soil of this globe like the primitive rocks. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span> +On the south and east shores of the Mediterranean Mahomet impressed +his fierce genius how deeply into the manners, language and poetry of +Arabia and Persia! See the activity of the imagination in the Crusades: +the front of morn was full of fiery shapes; the chasm was bridged over; +heaven walked on earth, and Earth could see with eyes the Paradise +and the Inferno. Dramatic “mysteries” were the entertainment of the +people. Parliaments of Love and Poesy served them, instead of the +House of Commons, Congress and the newspapers. In Puritanism, how the +whole Jewish history became flesh and blood in those men, let Bunyan +show. Now it is agreed that we are utilitarian; that we are skeptical, +frivolous; that with universal cheap education we have stringent +theology, but religion is low. There is much criticism, not on deep +grounds, but an affirmative philosophy is wanting. Our profoundest +philosophy (if it were not contradiction in terms) is skepticism. +The great poem of the age is the disagreeable poem of “Faust,”—of +which the “Festus” of Bailey and the “Paracelsus” of Browning are +English variations. We have superficial sciences, restless, gossiping, +aimless activity. We run to Paris, to London, to Rome, to Mesmerism, +Spiritualism, to Pusey, to the Catholic Church, as if for the want of +thought, and those who would check and guide have a dreary feeling +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span> +that in the change and decay of the old creeds and motives there was no +offset to supply their place. Our industrial skill, arts ministering to +convenience and luxury, have made life expensive, and therefore greedy, +careful, anxious; have turned the eyes downward to the earth, not +upward to thought.</p> + +<p>Ernest Renan finds that Europe has thrice assembled for exhibitions of +industry, and not a poem graced the occasion; and nobody remarked the +defect. A French prophet of our age, Fourier, predicted that one day, +instead of by battles and Œcumenical Councils, the rival portions of +humanity would dispute each other’s excellence in the manufacture of +little cakes.</p> + +<p>“In my youth,” said a Scotch mountaineer, “a Highland gentleman +measured his importance by the number of men his domain could support. +After some time the question was, to know how many great cattle it +would feed. To-day we are come to count the number of sheep. I suppose +posterity will ask how many rats and mice it will feed.”</p> + +<p>Dickens complained that in America, as soon as he arrived in any of the +Western towns, a committee waited on him and invited him to deliver a +temperance lecture. Bowditch translated Laplace, and when he removed to +Boston, the Hospital Life Assurance Company insisted that he should +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span> +make their tables of annuities. Napoleon knows the art of war, but +should not be put on picket duty. Linnæus or Robert Brown must not +be set to raise gooseberries and cucumbers, though they be excellent +botanists. A shrewd broker out of State Street visited a quiet +countryman possessed of all the virtues, and in his glib talk said, +“With your character now I could raise all this money at once, and make +an excellent thing of it.”</p> + +<p>There is an oracle current in the world, that nations die by suicide. +The sign of it is the decay of thought. Niebuhr has given striking +examples of that fatal portent; as in the loss of power of thought that +followed the disasters of the Athenians in Sicily.</p> + +<p>I cannot forgive a scholar his homeless despondency. He represents +intellectual or spiritual force. I wish him to rely on the spiritual +arm; to live by his strength, not by his weakness. A scholar defending +the cause of slavery, of arbitrary government, of monopoly, of the +oppressor, is a traitor to his profession. He has ceased to be a +scholar. He is not company for clean people. The worst times only show +him how independent he is of times; only relieve and bring out the +splendor of his privilege. Disease alarms the family, but the physician +sees in it a temporary mischief, which he can check and expel. The +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span> +fears and agitations of men who watch the markets, the crops, the +plenty or scarcity of money, or other superficial events, are not +for him. He knows that the world is always equal to itself; that the +forces which uphold and pervade it are eternal. Air, water, fire, iron, +gold, wheat, electricity, animal fibre, have not lost a particle of +power, and no decay has crept over the spiritual force which gives +bias and period to boundless nature. Bad times,—what are bad times? +Nature is rich, exuberant, and mocks at the puny forces of destruction. +Man makes no more impression on her wealth than the caterpillar or +the cankerworm whose petty ravage, though noticed in an orchard or a +village, is insignificant in the vast exuberance of the summer. There +is no unemployed force in Nature. All decomposition is recomposition. +War disorganizes, but it is to reorganize. Weeks, months pass—a new +harvest; trade springs up, and there stand new cities, new homes, all +rebuilt and sleepy with permanence. Italy, France—a hundred times +those countries have been trampled with armies and burned over: a few +summers, and they smile with plenty and yield new men and new revenues.</p> + +<p>If churches are effete, it is because the new Heaven forms. You are +here as the carriers of the power of Nature,—as Roger Bacon, with his +secret of gunpowder, with his secret of the balloon and of steam; as +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span> +Copernicus, with his secret of the true astronomy; as Columbus, with +America in his log-book; as Newton, with his gravity; Harvey, with his +circulation; Smith, with his law of trade; Franklin, with lightning; +Adams, with Independence; Kant, with pure reason; Swedenborg, with his +spiritual world. You are the carriers of ideas which are to fashion the +mind and so the history of this breathing world, so as they shall be, +and not otherwise.</p> + +<p>Every man is a scholar potentially, and does not need any one good so +much as this of right thought.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Calm pleasures here abide, majestic pains.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Coleridge traces “three silent revolutions,” of which the first was +“when the clergy fell from the Church.” A scholar was once a priest. +But the Church clung to ritual, and the scholar clung to joy, low +as well as high, and thus the separation was a mutual fault. But I +think it is a schism which must be healed. The true scholar is the +Church. Only the duties of Intellect must be owned. Down with these +dapper trimmers and sycophants! let us have masculine and divine men, +formidable lawgivers, Pythagoras, Plato, Aristotle, who warp the +churches of the world from their traditions, and penetrate them through +and through with original perception. The intellectual man lives in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span> +perpetual victory. As certainly as water falls in rain on the tops of +mountains and runs down into valleys, plains and pits, so does thought +fall first on the best minds, and run down, from class to class, until +it reaches the masses, and works revolutions.</p> + +<p>Nature says to the American: “I understand mensuration and numbers; +I compute the ellipse of the moon, the ebb and flow of waters, the +curve and the errors of planets, the balance of attraction and recoil. +I have measured out to you by weight and tally the powers you need. +I give you the land and sea, the forest and the mine, the elemental +forces, nervous energy. When I add difficulty, I add brain. See to it +that you hold and administer the continent for mankind. One thing you +have rightly done. You have offered a patch of land in the wilderness +to every son of Adam who will till it. Other things you have begun to +do,—to strike off the chains which snuffling hypocrites had bound +on the weaker race.” You are to imperil your lives and fortunes for +a principle. The ambassador is held to maintain the dignity of the +Republic which he represents. But what does the scholar represent? +The organ of ideas, the subtle force which creates Nature and men and +states;—consoler, upholder, imparting pulses of light and shocks of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span> +electricity, guidance and courage. So let his habits be formed, and +all his economies heroic; no spoiled child, no drone, no epicure, but +a stoic, formidable, athletic, knowing how to be poor, loving labor, +and not flogging his youthful wit with tobacco and wine; treasuring his +youth. I wish the youth to be an armed and complete man; no helpless +angel to be slapped in the face, but a man dipped in the Styx of human +experience, and made invulnerable so,—self-helping. A redeeming trait +of the Sophists of Athens, Hippias and Gorgias, is that they made their +own clothes and shoes. Learn to harness a horse, to row a boat, to camp +down in the woods, to cook your supper. I chanced lately to be at West +Point, and, after attending the examination in scientific classes, I +went into the barracks. The chamber was in perfect order; the mattress +on the iron camp-bed rolled up, as if ready for removal. I asked the +first Cadet, “Who makes your bed?” “I do.” “Who fetches your water?” “I +do.” “Who blacks your shoes?” “I do.” It was so in every room. These +are first steps to power. Learn of Samuel Johnson or David Hume, that +it is a primary duty of the man of letters to secure his independence.</p> + +<p>Stand by your order. ’Tis some thirty years since the days of the +Reform Bill in England, when on the walls in London you read everywhere +placards, “Down with the Lords.” At that time, Earl Grey, who was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span> +leader of Reform, was asked, in Parliament, his policy on the measures +of the Radicals. He replied, “I shall stand by my order.” Where there +is no vision, the people perish. The fault lies with the educated +class, the men of study and thought. There is a very low feeling of +duty: the merchant is true to the merchant, the noble in England and +Europe stands by his order, the politician believes in his arts and +combinations; but the scholar does not stand by his order, but defers +to the men of this world.</p> + +<p>Gentlemen, I am here to commend to you your art and profession as +thinkers. It is real. It is the secret of power. It is the art of +command. All superiority is this, or related to this. “All that the +world admires comes from within.” Thought makes us men; ranks us; +distributes society; distributes the work of the world; is the prolific +source of all arts, of all wealth, of all delight, of all grandeur. Men +are as they believe. Men are as they think, and the man who knows any +truth not yet discerned by other men, is master of all other men so far +as that truth and its wide relations are concerned.</p> + +<p>Intellect measures itself by its counteraction to any accumulation of +material force. There is no mass which it cannot surmount and dispose +of. The exertions of this force are the eminent experiences,—out of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span> +a long life all that is worth remembering. These are the moments that +balance years. Does any one doubt between the strength of a thought +and that of an institution? Does any one doubt that a good general is +better than a park of artillery? See a political revolution dogging a +book. See armies, institutions, literatures, appearing in the train of +some wild Arabian’s dream.</p> + +<p>There is a proverb that Napoleon, when the Mameluke cavalry approached +the French lines, ordered the grenadiers to the front, and the asses +and the <i>savans</i> to fall into the hollow square. It made a good +story, and circulated in that day. But how stands it now? The military +expedition was a failure. Bonaparte himself deserted, and the army got +home as it could, all fruitless; not a trace of it remains. All that is +left of it is the researches of those <i>savans</i> on the antiquities +of Egypt, including the great work of Denon, which led the way to all +the subsequent studies of the English and German scholars on that +foundation. Pytheas of Ægina was victor in the Pancratium of the boys, +at the Isthmian games. He came to the poet Pindar and wished him to +write an ode in his praise, and inquired what was the price of a poem. +Pindar replied that he should give him one talent, about a thousand +dollars of our money. “A talent!” cried Pytheas; “why, for so much +money I can erect a statue of bronze in the temple.” “Very likely.” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span> +On second thoughts, he returned and paid for the poem. And now not +only all the statues of bronze in the temples of Ægina are destroyed, +but the temples themselves, and the very walls of the city are utterly +gone, whilst the ode of Pindar, in praise of Pytheas, remains entire.</p> + +<p>The treachery of scholars! They are idealists, and should stand for +freedom, justice, and public good. The scholar is bound to stand for +all the virtues and all the liberties,—liberty of trade, liberty of +the press, liberty of religion,—and he should open all the prizes of +success and all the roads of Nature to free competition.</p> + +<p>The country complains loudly of the inefficiency of the army. It was +badly led. But, before this, it was not the army alone, it was the +population that was badly led. The clerisy, the spiritual guides, the +scholars, the seers have been false to their trust.</p> + +<p>Rely on yourself. There is respect due to your teachers, but every age +is new, and has problems to solve, insoluble by the last age. Men over +forty are no judges of a book written in a new spirit. Neither your +teachers, nor the universal teachers, the laws, the customs or dogmas +of nations, neither saint nor sage, can compare with that counsel which +is open to you. No, it is not nations, no, nor even masters, not at +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span> +last a few individuals or any heroes, but himself only, the large +equality to truth of a single mind,—as if, in the narrow walls of a +human heart, the wide realm of truth, the world of morals, the tribunal +by which the universe is judged, found room to exist.</p> + +<p>Our people have this levity and complaisance,—they fear to offend, +do not wish to be misunderstood; do not wish, of all things, to be in +the minority. God and Nature are altogether sincere, and Art should +be as sincere. It is not enough that the work should show a skilful +hand, ingenious contrivance and admirable polish and finish; it should +have a commanding motive in the time and condition in which it was +made. We should see in it the great belief of the artist, which caused +him to make it so as he did, and not otherwise; nothing frivolous, +nothing that he might do or not do, as he chose, but somewhat that +must be done then and there by him; he could not take his neck out +of that yoke, and save his soul. And this design must shine through +the whole performance. Sincerity is, in dangerous times, discovered +to be an immeasurable advantage. I distrust all the legends of great +accomplishments or performance of unprincipled men. Very little +reliance must be put on the common stories that circulate of this +great senator’s or that great barrister’s learning, their Greek, their +varied literature. That ice won’t bear. Reading!—do you mean that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span> +this senator or this lawyer, who stood by and allowed the passage of +infamous laws, was a reader of Greek books? That is not the question; +but to what purpose did they read? I allow them the merit of that +reading which appears in their opinions, tastes, beliefs, and practice. +They read that they might know, did they not? Well, these men did +not know. They blundered; they were utterly ignorant of that which +every boy or girl of fifteen knows perfectly,—the rights of men and +women. And this big-mouthed talker, among his dictionaries and Leipzic +editions of Lysias, had lost his knowledge. But the President of the +Bank nods to the President of the Insurance Office, and relates that +at Virginia Springs this idol of the forum exhausted a trunkful of +classic authors. There is always the previous question, How came you on +that side? You are a very elegant writer, but you can’t write up what +gravitates down.</p> + +<p>It is impossible to extricate oneself from the questions in which our +age is involved. All of us have shared the new enthusiasm of country +and of liberty which swept like a whirlwind through all souls at the +outbreak of war, and brought, by ennobling us, an offset for its +calamity.</p> + +<p>War, seeking for the roots of strength, comes upon the moral aspects at +once. In quiet times, custom stifles this discussion as sentimental, +and brings in the brazen devil, as by immemorial right. The war +uplifted us into generous sentiments. War ennobles the age. We do not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span> +often have a moment of grandeur in these hurried, slipshod lives, but +the behavior of the young men has taught us much. We will not again +disparage America, now that we have seen what men it will bear. Battle, +with the sword, has cut many a Gordian knot in twain which all the wit +of East and West, of Northern and Border statesmen could not untie.</p> + +<p>I learn with joy and with deep respect that this college has sent its +full quota to the field. I learn with grief, but with honoring pain, +that you have had your sufferers in the battle, and that the noble +youth have returned wounded and maimed. The times are dark, but heroic. +The times develop the strength they need. Boys are heroes. Women have +shown a tender patriotism and inexhaustible charity. And on each new +threat of faction, the ballot of the people has been unexpectedly +right. But the issues already appearing overpay the cost. Slavery +is broken, and, if we use our advantage, irretrievably. For such a +gain, to end once for all that pest of all our free institutions, +one generation might well be sacrificed; perhaps it will; that this +continent be purged and a new era of equal rights dawn on the universe. +Who would not, if it could be made certain that the new morning of +universal liberty should rise on our race by the perishing of one +generation,—who would not consent to die?</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SCHOLAR">THE SCHOLAR.</h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_22" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="allsmcap">FOR</span> thought, and not praise,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Thought is the wages</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For which I sell days,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Will gladly sell ages</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And willing grow old,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Deaf and dumb, blind and cold,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Melting matter into dreams,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Panoramas which I saw,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And whatever glows or seems</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Into substance, into Law.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="allsmcap">THE</span> sun and moon shall fall amain</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like sowers’ seeds into his brain,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">There quickened to be born again.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SCHOLAR_2">THE SCHOLAR.</h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_23" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="hanging2"> +<span class="allsmcap">AN ORATION DELIVERED BEFORE THE WASHINGTON AND +JEFFERSON SOCIETIES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA, +28TH JUNE, 1876.</span></p> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"><span class="allsmcap">GENTLEMEN:</span></p> + +<p>The Athenians took an oath, on a certain crisis in their affairs, +to esteem wheat, the vine and the olive the bounds of Attica. The +territory of scholars is yet larger. A stranger but yesterday to every +person present, I find myself already at home, for the society of +lettered men is a university which does not bound itself with the walls +of one cloister or college, but gathers in the distant and solitary +student into its strictest amity. Literary men gladly acknowledge these +ties which find for the homeless and the stranger a welcome where +least looked for. But in proportion as we are conversant with the +laws of life, we have seen the like. We are used to these surprises. +This is but one operation of a more general law. As in coming among +strange faces we find that the love of letters makes us friends, so in +strange thoughts, in the worldly habits which harden us, we find with +some surprise that learning and truth and beauty have not let us go; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span> +that the spiritual nature is too strong for us; that those excellent +influences which men in all ages have called the <i>Muse</i>, or by +some kindred name, come in to keep us warm and true; that the face +of Nature remains irresistibly alluring. We have strayed from the +territorial monuments of Attica, but here still are wheat and olives +and the vine.</p> + +<p>I do not now refer to that intellectual conscience which forms +itself in tender natures, and gives us many twinges for our sloth +and unfaithfulness:—the influence I speak of is of a higher strain. +Stung by this intellectual conscience, we go to measure our tasks +as scholars, and screw ourselves up to energy and fidelity, and our +sadness is suddenly overshone by a sympathy of blessing. Beauty, the +inspirer, the cheerful festal principle, the leader of gods and men, +which draws by being beautiful, and not by considerations of advantage, +comes in and puts a new face on the world. I think the peculiar +office of scholars in a careful and gloomy generation is to be (as +the poets were called in the Middle Ages) Professors of the Joyous +Science, detectors and delineators of occult symmetries and unpublished +beauties; heralds of civility, nobility, learning and wisdom; affirmers +of the one law, yet as those who should affirm it in music and dancing; +expressors themselves of that firm and cheerful temper, infinitely +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span> +removed from sadness, which reigns through the kingdoms of chemistry, +vegetation, and animal life. Every natural power exhilarates; a true +talent delights the possessor first. A celebrated musician was wont +to say, that men knew not how much more he delighted himself with +his playing than he did others; for if they knew, his hearers would +rather demand of him than give him a reward. The scholar is here to +fill others with love and courage by confirming their trust in the +love and wisdom which are at the heart of all things; to affirm noble +sentiments; to hear them wherever spoken, out of the deeps of ages, out +of the obscurities of barbarous life, and to republish them:—to untune +nobody, but to draw all men after the truth, and to keep men spiritual +and sweet.</p> + +<p>Language can hardly exaggerate the beatitude of the intellect flowing +into the faculties. This is the power that makes the world incarnated +in man, and laying again the beams of heaven and earth, setting the +north and the south, and the stars in their places. Intellect is the +science of metes and bounds; yet it sees no bound to the eternal +proceeding of law forth into nature. All the sciences are only new +applications, each translatable into the other, of the one law which +his mind is.</p> + +<p>This, gentlemen, is the topic on which I shall speak,—the natural +and permanent function of the Scholar, as he is no permissive or +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span> +accidental appearance, but an organic agent in nature. He is here to +be the beholder of the real; self-centred amidst the superficial; here +to revere the dominion of a serene necessity and be its pupil and +apprentice by tracing everything home to a cause; here to be sobered, +not by the cares of life, as men say, no, but by the depth of his +draughts of the cup of immortality.</p> + +<p>One is tempted to affirm the office and attributes of the scholar +a little the more eagerly, because of a frequent perversity of the +class itself. Men are ashamed of their intellect. The men committed by +profession as well as by bias to study, the clergyman, the chemist, the +astronomer, the metaphysician, the poet, talk hard and worldly, and +share the infatuation of cities. The poet and the citizen perfectly +agree in conversation on the wise life. The poet counsels his own +son as if he were a merchant. The poet with poets betrays no amiable +weakness. They all chime in, and are as inexorable as bankers on the +subject of real life. They have no toleration for literature; art is +only a fine word for appearance in default of matter. And they sit +white over their stoves, and talk themselves hoarse over the mischief +of books and the effeminacy of book-makers. But at a single strain of +a bugle out of a grove, or at the dashing among the stones of a brook +from the hills; at the sound of some subtle word that falls from the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span> +lips of an imaginative person, or even at the reading in solitude +of some moving image of a wise poet, this grave conclusion is blown +out of memory; the sun shines, and the worlds roll to music, and the +poet replaces all this cowardly Self-denial and God-denial of the +literary class with the conviction that to one poetic success the world +will surrender on its knees. Instantly he casts in his lot with the +pearl-diver and the diamond-merchant. Like them he will joyfully lose +days and months, and estates and credit, in the profound hope that one +restoring, all-rewarding, immense success will arrive at last, which +will give him at one bound a universal dominion. And rightly; for if +his wild prayers are granted, if he is to succeed, his achievement is +the piercing of the brass heavens of use and limitation, and letting +in a beam of the pure eternity which burns up this limbo of shadows +and chimeras in which we dwell. Yes, Nature is too strong for us; she +will not be denied; she has balsams for our hurts, and hellebores for +our insanities. She does not bandy words with us, but comes in with a +new ravishing experience and makes the old time ridiculous. Every poet +knows the unspeakable hope, and represents its audacity.</p> + +<p>I am not disposed to magnify temporary differences, but for the +moment it appears as if in former times learning and intellectual +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span> +accomplishments had secured to the possessor greater rank and +authority. If this were only the reaction from excessive expectations +from literature, now disappointed, it were a just censure. It was +superstitious to exact too much from philosophers and the literary +class. The Sophists, the Alexandrian grammarians, the wits of Queen +Anne’s, the philosophers and diffusion-societies have not much helped +us. Granted, freely granted. Men run out of one superstition into an +opposite superstition, and practical people in America give themselves +wonderful airs. The cant of the time inquires superciliously after the +new ideas; it believes that ideas do not lead to the owning of stocks; +they are perplexing and effeminating.</p> + +<p>Young men, I warn you against the clamors of these self-praising +frivolous activities,—against these busybodies; against irrational +labor; against chattering, meddlesome, rich and official people. If +their doing came to any good end! Action is legitimate and good; +forever be it honored! right, original, private, necessary action, +proceeding new from the heart of man, and going forth to beneficent and +as yet incalculable ends. Yes; but not a petty fingering and running, a +senseless repeating of yesterday’s fingering and running; an acceptance +of the method and frauds of other men; an overdoing and busy-ness +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span> +which pretends to the honors of action, but resembles the twitches +of St. Vitus. The action of these men I cannot respect, for they do +not respect it themselves. They were better and more respectable abed +and asleep. All the best of this class, all who have any insight or +generosity of spirit are frequently disgusted, and fain to put it +behind them.</p> + +<p>Gentlemen, I do not wish to check your impulses to action: I would +not hinder you of one swing of your arm. I do not wish to see you +effeminate gownsmen, taking hold of the world with the tips of your +fingers, or that life should be to you as it is to many, optical, not +practical. Far otherwise: I rather wish you to experiment boldly and +give play to your energies, but not, if I could prevail with you, +in conventional ways. I should wish your energy to run in works and +emergencies growing out of your personal character. Nature will fast +enough instruct you in the occasion and the need, and will bring to +each of you the crowded hour, the great opportunity. Love, Rectitude, +everlasting Fame, will come to each of you in loneliest places with +their grand alternatives, and Honor watches to see whether you dare +seize the palms.</p> + +<p>I have no quarrel with action, only I prefer no action to misaction, +and I reject the abusive application of the term <i>practical</i> to +those lower activities. Let us hear no more of the practical men, or I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span> +will tell you something of them,—this, namely, that the scholar finds +in them unlooked-for acceptance of his most paradoxical experience. +There is confession in their eyes, and if they parade their business +and public importance, it is by way of apology and palliation for not +being the students and obeyers of those diviner laws. Talk frankly with +them and you learn that you have little to tell them; that the Spirit +of the Age has been before you with influences impossible to parry +or resist. The dry-goods men, and the brokers, the lawyers and the +manufacturers are idealists, and only differ from the philosopher in +the intensity of the charge. We are all contemporaries and bones of one +body.</p> + +<p>The shallow clamor against theoretic men comes from the weak. Able men +may sometimes affect a contempt for thought, which no able man ever +feels. For what alone in the history of this world interests all men in +proportion as they are men? What but truth, and perpetual advance in +knowledge of it, and brave obedience to it in right action? Every man +or woman who can voluntarily or involuntarily give them any insight or +suggestion on these secrets they will hearken after. The poet writes +his verse on a scrap of paper, and instantly the desire and love of all +mankind take charge of it, as if it were Holy Writ. What need has he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span> +to cross the sill of his door? Why need he meddle with politics? His +idlest thought, his yesternight’s dream is told already in the Senate. +What the Genius whispered him at night he reported to the young men at +dawn. He rides in them, he traverses sea and land. The engineer in the +locomotive is waiting for him; the steamboat is hissing at the wharf, +and the wheels whirling to go. ’Tis wonderful, ’tis almost scandalous, +this extraordinary favoritism shown to poets. I do not mean to excuse +it. I admit the enormous partiality. It only shows that such is the +gulf between our perception and our painting, the eye is so wise, and +the hand so clumsy, that all the human race have agreed to value a man +according to his power of expression. For him arms, art, politics, +trade waited like menials, until the lord of the manor should arrive. +Even the demonstrations of nature for millenniums seem not to have +attained their end, until this interpreter arrives. “I,” said the +great-hearted Kepler, “may well wait a hundred years for a reader, +since God Almighty has waited six thousand years for an observer like +myself.”</p> + +<p>Genius is a poor man and has no house, but see, this proud landlord who +has built the palace and furnished it so delicately, opens it to him +and beseeches him to make it honorable by entering there and eating +bread. Where is the palace in England whose tenants are not too happy +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span> +if it can make a home for Pope or Addison or Swift or Burke or Canning +or Tennyson? Or if wealth has humors and wishes to shake off the yoke +and assert itself,—oh, by all means let it try! Will it build its +fences very high, and make its Almacks too narrow for a wise man to +enter? Will it be independent? I incline to concede the isolation which +it asks, that it may learn that it is not independent but parasitical.</p> + +<p>There could always be traced, in the most barbarous tribes, and also in +the most character-destroying civilization, some vestiges of a faith +in genius, as in the exemption of a priesthood or bards or artists +from taxes and tolls levied on other men; or in civic distinction; or +in enthusiastic homage; or in hospitalities; as if men would signify +their sense that genius and virtue should not pay money for house and +land and bread, because they have a royal right in these and in all +things,—a first mortgage that takes effect before the right of the +present proprietor. For they are the First Good, of which Plato affirms +that “all things are for its sake, and it is the cause of everything +beautiful.”</p> + +<p>This reverence is the re-establishment of natural order; for as the +solidest rocks are made up of invisible gases, as the world is made +of thickened light and arrested electricity, so men know that ideas +are the parents of men and things; there was never anything that did +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span> +not proceed from a thought. The scholar has a deep ideal interest in +the moving show around him. He knew the motley system in its egg. +We have—have we not?—a real relation to markets and brokers and +currency and coin. “Gold and silver,” says one of the Platonists, “grow +in the earth from the celestial gods,—an effluxion from them.” The +unmentionable dollar itself has at last a high origin in moral and +metaphysical nature. Union Pacific stock is not quite private property, +but the quality and essence of the universe is in that also. Have we +less interest in ships or in shops, in manual work or in household +affairs; in any object of nature, or in any handiwork of man; in any +relation of life or custom of society? The scholar is to show, in each, +identity and connexion; he is to show its origin in the brain of man, +and its secret history and issues. He is the attorney of the world, and +can never be superfluous where so vast a variety of questions are ever +coming up to be solved, and for ages.</p> + +<p>I proceed to say that the allusions just now made to the extent of +his duties, the manner in which every day’s events will find him in +work, may show that his place is no sinecure. The scholar, when he +comes, will be known by an energy that will animate all who see him. +The labor of ambition and avarice will appear fumbling beside his. In +the right hands, literature is not resorted to as a consolation, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span> +by the broken and decayed, but as a decalogue. In this country we are +fond of results and of short ways to them; and most in this department. +In our experiences, learning is not learned, nor is genius wise. The +name of the Scholar is taken in vain. We who should be the channel of +that unweariable Power which never sleeps, must give our diligence no +holidays. Other men are planting and building, baking and tanning, +running and sailing, heaving and carrying, each that he may peacefully +execute the fine function by which they all are helped. Shall he play, +whilst their eyes follow him from far with reverence, attributing +to him the delving in great fields of thought, and conversing with +supernatural allies? If he is not kindling his torch or collecting oil, +he will fear to go by a workshop; he will not dare to hear the music of +a saw or plane; the steam-engine will reprimand, the steam-pipe will +hiss at him; he cannot look a blacksmith in the eye; in the field he +will be shamed by mowers and reapers. The speculative man, the scholar, +is the right hero. He is brave, because he sees the omnipotence of that +which inspires him. Is there only one courage and one warfare? I cannot +manage sword and rifle; can I not therefore be brave? I thought there +were as many courages as men. Is an armed man the only hero? Is a man +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span> +only the breech of a gun or the haft of a bowie-knife? Men of thought +fail in fighting down malignity, because they wear other armor than +their own. Let them decline henceforward foreign methods and foreign +courages. Let them do that which they can do. Let them fight by their +strength, not by their weakness. It seems to me that the thoughtful man +needs no armor but this—concentration. One thing is for him settled, +that he is to come at his ends. He is not there to defend himself, +but to deliver his message; if his voice is clear, then clearly; if +husky, then huskily; if broken, he can at least scream; gag him, he can +still write it; bruise, mutilate him, cut off his hands and feet, he +can still crawl towards his object on his stumps. It is the corruption +of our generation that men value a long life, and do not esteem life +simply as a means of expressing a sentiment.</p> + +<p>The great English patriot Algernon Sidney wrote to his father from his +prison a little before his execution: “I have ever had in my mind that +when God should cast me into such a condition as that I cannot save my +life but by doing an indecent thing he shows me the time has come when +I should resign it.” Beauty belongs to the sentiment, and is always +departing from those who depart out of that. The hero rises out of +all comparison with contemporaries and with ages of men, because he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span> +disesteems old age, and lands, and money, and power, and will oppose +all mankind at the call of that private and perfect Right and Beauty in +which he lives.</p> + +<p>Man is a torch borne in the wind. The ends I have hinted at made the +scholar or spiritual man indispensable to the Republic or Commonwealth +of Man. Nature could not leave herself without a seer and expounder. +But he could not see or teach without organs. The same necessity +then that would create him reappears in his splendid gifts. There is +no power in the mind but in turn becomes an instrument. The descent +of genius into talents is part of the natural order and history of +the world. The incarnation must be. We cannot eat the granite nor +drink hydrogen. They must be decompounded and recompounded into corn +and water before they can enter our flesh. There is a great deal of +spiritual energy in the universe, but it is not palpable to us until +we can make it up into man. There is plenty of air, but it is worth +nothing until by gathering it into sails we can get it into shape and +service to carry us and our cargo across the sea. Then it is paid +for by hundreds of thousands of our money. Plenty of water also, sea +full, sky full; who cares for it? But when we can get it where we want +it, and in measured portions, on a mill-wheel, or boat-paddle, we +will buy it with millions. There is plenty of wild azote and carbon +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</span> +unappropriated, but it is nought till we have made it up into loaves +and soup. So we find it in higher relations. There is plenty of wild +wrath, but it steads not until we can get it racked off, shall I say? +and bottled into persons; a little pure, and not too much, to every +head. How many young geniuses we have known, and none but ourselves +will ever hear of them for want in them of a little talent!</p> + +<p>Ah, gentlemen, I own I love talents and accomplishments; the feet +and hands of genius. As Burke said, “it is not only our duty to make +the right known, but to make it prevalent.” So I delight to see the +Godhead in distribution; to see men that can come at their ends. These +shrewd faculties belong to man. I love to see them in play, and to see +them trained: this memory carrying in its caves the pictures of all +the past, and rendering them in the instant when they can serve the +possessor;—the craft of mathematical combination, which carries a +working-plan of the heavens and of the earth in a formula. I am apt to +believe, with the Emperor Charles V., that “as many languages as a man +knows, so many times is he a man.” I like to see a man of that virtue +that no obscurity or disguise can conceal, who wins all souls to his +way of thinking. I delight in men adorned and weaponed with manlike +arts, who could alone, or with a few like them, reproduce Europe and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</span> +America, the result of our civilization.</p> + +<p>It is excellent when the individual is ripened to that degree that +he touches both the centre and the circumference, so that he is not +only widely intelligent, but carries a council in his breast for the +emergency of to-day; and alternates the contemplation of the fact +in pure intellect, with the total conversion of the intellect into +energy; Jove, and the thunderbolt launched from his hand. Perhaps I +value power of achievement a little more because in America there +seems to be a certain indigence in this respect. I think there is no +more intellectual people than ours. They are very apprehensive and +curious. But there is a sterility of talent. These iron personalities, +such as in Greece and Italy and once in England were formed to strike +fear into kings and draw the eager service of thousands, rarely +appear. We have general intelligence, but no Cyclop arms. A very +little intellectual force makes a disproportionately great impression, +and when one observes how eagerly our people entertain and discuss +a new theory, whether home-born or imported, and how little thought +operates how great an effect, one would draw a favorable inference as +to their intellectual and spiritual tendencies. It seems as if two +or three persons coming who should add to a high spiritual aim great +constructive energy, would carry the country with them.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</span></p> + +<p>In making this claim of costly accomplishments for the scholar, I +chiefly wish to infer the dignity of his work by the lustre of his +appointments. He is not cheaply equipped. The universe was rifled to +furnish him. He is to forge out of coarsest ores the sharpest weapons. +But if the weapons are valued for themselves, if his talents assume +an independence, and come to work for ostentation, they cannot serve +him. It was said of an eminent Frenchman, that “he was drowned in his +talents.” The peril of every fine faculty is the delight of playing +with it for pride. Talent is commonly developed at the expense of +character, and the greater it grows, the more is the mischief and +misleading; so that presently all is wrong, talent is mistaken for +genius, a dogma or system for truth, ambition for greatness, ingenuity +for poetry, sensuality for art; and the young, coming up with innocent +hope, and looking around them at education, at the professions and +employments, at religious and literary teachers and teaching,—finding +that nothing outside corresponds to the noble order in the soul, +are confused, and become skeptical and forlorn. Hope is taken from +youth unless there be, by the grace of God, sufficient vigor in +their instinct to say, “All is wrong and human invention. I declare +anew from Heaven that truth exists new and beautiful and profitable +forevermore.” Order is heaven’s first law. These gifts, these senses, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</span> +these facilities are excellent as long as subordinated; all wasted and +mischievous when they assume to lead and not obey. What is the use of +strength or cunning or beauty, or musical voice, or birth, or breeding, +or money, to a maniac? Yet society, in which we live, is subject to +fits of frenzy; sometimes is for an age together a maniac, with birth, +breeding, beauty, cunning, strength and money. And there is but one +defence against this principle of chaos, and that is the principle of +order, or brave return at all hours to an infinite common-sense, to the +mother-wit, to the wise instinct, to the pure intellect.</p> + +<p>When a man begins to dedicate himself to a particular function, as his +logical, or his remembering, or his oratorical, or his arithmetical +skill; the advance of his character and genius pauses; he has run to +the end of his line; seal the book; the development of that mind is +arrested. The scholar is lost in the showman. Society is babyish, and +is dazzled and deceived by the weapon, without inquiring into the cause +for which it is drawn; like boys by the drums and colors of the troops.</p> + +<p>The objection of men of the world to what they call the morbid +intellectual tendency in our young men at present, is not a hostility +to their truth, but to this, its shortcoming, that the idealistic views +unfit their children for business in their sense, and do not qualify +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</span> +them for any complete life of a better kind. They threaten the validity +of contracts, but do not prevail so far as to establish the new kingdom +which shall supersede contracts, oaths, and property. “We have seen to +weariness what you cannot do; now show us what you can and will do,” +asks the practical man, and with perfect reason.</p> + +<p>We are not afraid of new truth,—of truth never, new, or old,—no, +but of a counterfeit. Everybody hates imbecility and shortcoming, not +new methods. The astronomer is not ridiculous inasmuch as he is an +astronomer, but inasmuch as he is not an astronomer. Be that you are: +be that cheerly and sovereignly. Plotinus makes no apologies, he says +roundly, “the knowledge of the senses is truly ludicrous.” “Body and +its properties belong to the region of nonentity, as if more of body +was necessarily produced where a defect of being happens in a greater +degree.” “Matter,” says Plutarch, “is privation.” Let the man of ideas +at this hour be as direct, and as fully committed. Have you a thought +in your heart? There was never such need of it as now. As we read +the newspapers, as we see the effrontery with which money and power +carry their ends and ride over honesty and good-meaning, patriotism +and religion seem to shriek like ghosts. We will not speak for them, +because to speak for them seems so weak and hopeless. We will hold +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</span> +fast our opinion and die in silence. But a true orator will make us +feel that the states and kingdoms, the senators, lawyers and rich men +are caterpillars’ webs and caterpillars, when seen in the light of this +despised and imbecile truth. Then we feel what cowards we have been. +Truth alone is great. The orator too becomes a fool and a shadow before +this light which lightens through him. It shines backward and forward, +diminishes and annihilates everybody, and the prophet so gladly feels +his personality lost in this victorious life. The spiritual nature +exhibits itself so in its counteraction to any accumulation of material +force. There is no mass that can be a counterweight for it. This makes +one man good against mankind. This is the secret of eloquence, for +it is the end of eloquence in a half-hour’s discourse,—perhaps by a +few sentences,—to persuade a multitude of persons to renounce their +opinions, and change the course of life. They go forth not the men they +came in, but shriven, convicted, and converted.</p> + +<p>We have many revivals of religion. We have had once what was called +the Revival of Letters. I wish to see a revival of the human mind: +to see men’s sense of duty extend to the cherishing and use of their +intellectual powers: their religion should go with their thought and +hallow it. Whosoever looks with heed into his thoughts will find +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</span> +that our science of the mind has not got far. He will find there is +somebody within him that knows more than he does, a certain dumb life +in life; a simple wisdom behind all acquired wisdom; somewhat not +educated or educable; not altered or alterable; a mother-wit which does +not learn by experience or by books, but knew it all already; makes +no progress, but was wise in youth as in age. More or less clouded it +yet resides the same in all, saying <i>Ay, ay</i>, or <i>No, no</i> +to every proposition. Yet its grand <i>Ay</i> and its grand <i>No</i> +are more musical than all eloquence. Nobody has found the limit of its +knowledge. Whatever object is brought before it is already well known +to it. Its justice is perfect; its look is catholic and universal, its +light ubiquitous like the sun. It does not put forth organs, it rests +in presence: yet trusted and obeyed in happy natures it becomes active +and salient, and makes new means for its great ends.</p> + +<p>The scholar then is unfurnished who has only literary weapons. He +ought to have as many talents as he can; memory, arithmetic, practical +power, manners, temper, lion-heart, are all good things, and if he has +none of them he can still manage, if he have the main-mast,—if he is +anything. But he must have the resource of resources, and be planted on +necessity. For the sure months are bringing him to an examination-day +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</span> +in which nothing is remitted or excused, and for which no tutor, no +book, no lectures, and almost no preparation can be of the least avail. +He will have to answer certain questions, which, I must plainly tell +you, cannot be staved off. For all men, all women, Time, your country, +your condition, the invisible world, are the interrogators: <i>Who are +you? What do you? Can you obtain what you wish? Is there method in your +consciousness? Can you see tendency in your life? Can you help any +soul?</i></p> + +<p>Can he answer these questions? can he dispose of them? Happy if you can +answer them mutely in the order and disposition of your life! Happy +for more than yourself, a benefactor of men, if you can answer them in +works of wisdom, art, or poetry; bestowing on the general mind of men +organic creations, to be the guidance and delight of all who know them. +These questions speak to Genius, to that power which is underneath and +greater than all talent, and which proceeds out of the constitution +of every man: to Genius, which is an emanation of that it tells of; +whose private counsels are not tinged with selfishness, but are laws. +Men of talent fill the eye with their pretension. They go out into +some camp of their own, and noisily persuade society that this thing +which they do is the needful cause of all men. They have talents for +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</span> +contention, and they nourish a small difference into a loud quarrel. +But the world is wide, nobody will go there after to-morrow. The gun +they have pointed can defend nothing but itself, nor itself any longer +than the man is by. What is the use of artificial positions? But Genius +has no taste for weaving sand, or for any trifling, but flings itself +on real elemental things, which are powers, self-defensive; which first +subsist, and then resist unweariably forevermore all that opposes. +Genius has truth and clings to it, so that what it says and does is +not in a by-road, visited only by curiosity, but on the great highways +of nature, which were before the Appian Way, and which all souls must +travel. Genius delights only in statements which are themselves true, +which attack and wound any who opposes them, whether he who brought +them here remains here or not;—which are live men, and do daily +declare fresh war against all falsehood and custom, and will not let an +offender go; which society cannot dispose of or forget, but which abide +there and will not down at anybody’s bidding, but stand frowning and +formidable, and will and must be finally obeyed and done.</p> + +<p>The scholar must be ready for bad weather, poverty, insult, weariness, +repute of failure, and many vexations. He must have a great patience, +and ride at anchor and vanquish every enemy whom his small arms cannot +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</span> +reach, by the grand resistance of submission, of ceasing to do. He +is to know that in the last resort he is not here to work, but to be +worked upon. He is to eat insult, drink insult, be clothed and shod in +insult until he has learned that this bitter bread and shameful dress +is also wholesome and warm, is in short indifferent; is of the same +chemistry as praise and fat living; that they also are disgrace and +soreness to him who has them. I think much may be said to discourage +and dissuade the young scholar from his career. Freely be that said. +Dissuade all you can from the lists. Sift the wheat, frighten away the +lighter souls. Let us keep only the heavy-armed. Let those come who +cannot but come, and who see that there is no choice here, no advantage +and no disadvantage compared with other careers. For the great +Necessity is our patron, who distributes sun and shade after immutable +laws.</p> + +<p>Yes, he has his dark days, he has weakness, he has waitings, he +has bad company, he is pelted by storms of cares, untuning cares, +untuning company. Well, let him meet them. He has not consented to the +frivolity, nor to the dispersion. The practical aim is forever higher +than the literary aim. He shall not submit to degradation, but shall +bear these crosses with what grace he can. He is still to decline how +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</span> +many glittering opportunities, and to retreat, and wait. So shall you +find in this penury and absence of thought a purer splendor than ever +clothed the exhibitions of wit. I invite you not to cheap joys, to +the flutter of gratified vanity, to a sleek and rosy comfort; no, but +to bareness, to power, to enthusiasm, to the mountain of vision, to +true and natural supremacy, to the society of the great, and to love. +Give me bareness and poverty so that I know them as the sure heralds +of the Muse. Not in plenty, not in a thriving, well-to-do condition, +she delighteth. He that would sacrifice at her altar must not leave a +few flowers, an apple, or some symbolic gift. No; he must relinquish +orchards and gardens, prosperity and convenience; he may live on a +heath without trees; sometimes hungry, and sometimes rheumatic with +cold. The fire retreats and concentrates within into a pure flame, pure +as the stars to which it mounts.</p> + +<p>But, gentlemen, there is plainly no end to these expansions. I have +exhausted your patience, and I have only begun. I had perhaps wiselier +adhered to my first purpose of confining my illustration to a single +topic, but it is so much easier to say many things than to explain one. +Well, you will see the drift of all my thoughts, this namely—that +the scholar must be much more than a scholar, that his ends give +value to every means, but he is to subdue and keep down his methods; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</span> +that his use of books is occasional, and infinitely subordinate; that +he should read a little proudly, as one who knows the original, and +cannot therefore very highly value the copy. In like manner he is +to hold lightly every tradition, every opinion, every person, out +of his piety to that Eternal Spirit which dwells unexpressed with +him. He shall think very highly of his destiny. He is here to know +the secret of Genius; to become, not a reader of poetry, but Homer, +Dante, Milton, Shakspeare, Swedenborg, in the fountain, through that. +If one man could impart his faith to another, if I could prevail to +communicate the incommunicable mysteries, you should see the breadth of +your realm;—that ever as you ascend your proper and native path, you +receive the keys of Nature and history, and rise on the same stairs to +science and to joy.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="PLUTARCH">PLUTARCH.</h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_24" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent28">The soul</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shall have society of its own rank:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Be great, be true, and all the Scipios,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The Catos, the wise patriots of Rome,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shall flock to you and tarry by your side</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And comfort you with their high company.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="PLUTARCH_2">PLUTARCH.<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a></h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_25" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<p>IT is remarkable that of an author so familiar as Plutarch, not only +to scholars, but to all reading men, and whose history is so easily +gathered from his works, no accurate memoir of his life, not even the +dates of his birth and death, should have come down to us. Strange +that the writer of so many illustrious biographies should wait so long +for his own. It is agreed that he was born about the year 50 of the +Christian era. He has been represented as having been the tutor of the +Emperor Trajan, as dedicating one of his books to him, as living long +in Rome in great esteem, as having received from Trajan the consular +dignity, and as having been appointed by him the governor of Greece. +He was a man whose real superiority had no need of these flatteries. +Meantime, the simple truth is, that he was not the tutor of Trajan, +that he dedicated no book to him, was not consul in Rome, nor governor +of Greece; appears never to have been in Rome but on two occasions, +and then on business of the people of his native city, Chæronea; and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</span> +though he found or made friends at Rome, and read lectures to some +friends or scholars, he did not know or learn the Latin language there; +with one or two doubtful exceptions, never quotes a Latin book; and +though the contemporary, in his youth or in his old age, of Persius, +Juvenal, Lucan and Seneca, of Quintilian, Martial, Tacitus, Suetonius, +Pliny the Elder and the Younger, he does not cite them, and, in return, +his name is never mentioned by any Roman writer. It would seem that +the community of letters and of personal news was even more rare at +that day than the want of printing, of railroads and telegraphs, would +suggest to us.</p> + +<p>But this neglect by his contemporaries has been compensated by an +immense popularity in modern nations. Whilst his books were never known +to the world in their own Greek tongue, it is curious that the “Lives” +were translated and printed in Latin, thence into Italian, French, +and English, more than a century before the original “Works” were yet +printed. For whilst the “Lives” were translated in Rome in 1470, and +the “Morals,” part by part, soon after, the first printed edition of +the Greek “Works” did not appear until 1572. Hardly current in his own +Greek, these found learned interpreters in the scholars of Germany, +Spain and Italy. In France, in the middle of the most turbulent civil +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</span> +wars, Amyot’s translation awakened general attention. His genial +version of the “Lives” in 1559, of the “Morals” in 1572, had signal +success. King Henry IV. wrote to his wife, Marie de Medicis: “<i>Vive +Dieu.</i> As God liveth, you could not have sent me anything which +could be more agreeable than the news of the pleasure you have taken +in this reading. Plutarch always delights me with a fresh novelty. To +love him is to love me; for he has been long time the instructor of +my youth. My good mother, to whom I owe all, and who would not wish, +she said, to see her son an illustrious dunce, put this book into my +hands almost when I was a child at the breast. It has been like my +conscience, and has whispered in my ear many good suggestions and +maxims for my conduct and the government of my affairs.” Still earlier, +Rabelais cites him with due respect. Montaigne, in 1589, says: “We +dunces had been lost, had not this book raised us out of the dirt. By +this favor of his we dare now speak and write. The ladies are able +to read to schoolmasters. ’Tis our breviary.” Montesquieu drew from +him his definition of law, and, in his <i>Pensées</i>, declares, “I +am always charmed with Plutarch; in his writings are circumstances +attached to persons, which give great pleasure;” and adds examples. +Saint Evremond read Plutarch to the great Condé under a tent. Rollin, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</span> +so long the historian of antiquity for France, drew unhesitatingly his +history from him. Voltaire honored him, and Rousseau acknowledged him +as his master. In England, Sir Thomas North translated the “Lives” +in 1579, and Holland the “Morals” in 1603, in time to be used by +Shakspeare in his plays, and read by Bacon, Dryden, and Cudworth.</p> + +<p>Then, recently, there has been a remarkable revival, in France, in +the taste for Plutarch and his contemporaries; led, we may say, by +the eminent critic Sainte-Beuve. M. Octave Gréard, in a critical work +on the “Morals,” has carefully corrected the popular legends and +constructed from the works of Plutarch himself his true biography. +M. Levéque has given an exposition of his moral philosophy, under +the title of “A Physician of the Soul,” in the <i>Revue des Deux +Mondes</i>; and M. C. Martha, chapters on the genius of Marcus +Aurelius, of Persius, and Lucretius, in the same journal; whilst M. +Fustel de Coulanges has explored from its roots in the Aryan race, then +in their Greek and Roman descendants, the primeval religion of the +household.</p> + +<p>Plutarch occupies a unique place in literature as an encyclopædia of +Greek and Roman antiquity. Whatever is eminent in fact or in fiction, +in opinion, in character, in institutions, in science—natural, moral, +or metaphysical, or in memorable sayings, drew his attention and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</span> +came to his pen with more or less fulness of record. He is, among +prose-writers, what Chaucer is among English poets, a repertory for +those who want the story without searching for it at first hand,—a +compend of all accepted traditions. And all this without any supreme +intellectual gifts. He is not a profound mind; not a master in any +science; not a lawgiver, like Lycurgus or Solon; not a metaphysician, +like Parmenides, Plato, or Aristotle; not the founder of any sect +or community, like Pythagoras or Zeno; not a naturalist, like Pliny +or Linnæus; not a leader of the mind of a generation, like Plato or +Goethe. But if he had not the highest powers, he was yet a man of rare +gifts. He had that universal sympathy with genius which makes all its +victories his own; though he never used verse, he had many qualities +of the poet in the power of his imagination, the speed of his mental +associations, and his sharp, objective eyes. But what specially marks +him, he is a chief example of the illumination of the intellect by +the force of morals. Though the most amiable of boon-companions, this +generous religion gives him <i>aperçus</i> like Goethe’s.</p> + +<p>Plutarch was well-born, well-taught, well-conditioned; a +self-respecting, amiable man, who knew how to better a good education +by travels, by devotion to affairs private and public; a master of +ancient culture, he read books with a just criticism; eminently +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</span> +social, he was a king in his own house, surrounded himself with select +friends, and knew the high value of good conversation; and declares in +a letter written to his wife that “he finds scarcely an erasure, as in +a book well-written, in the happiness of his life.”</p> + +<p>The range of mind makes the glad writer. The reason of Plutarch’s vast +popularity is his humanity. A man of society, of affairs; upright, +practical; a good son, husband, father, and friend,—he has a taste for +common life, and knows the court, the camp and the judgment-hall, but +also the forge, farm, kitchen and cellar, and every utensil and use, +and with a wise man’s or a poet’s eye. Thought defends him from any +degradation. He does not lose his way, for the attractions are from +within, not from without. A poet in verse or prose must have a sensuous +eye, but an intellectual co-perception. Plutarch’s memory is full, and +his horizon wide. Nothing touches man but he feels to be his; he is +tolerant even of vice, if he finds it genial; enough a man of the world +to give even the Devil his due, and would have hugged Robert Burns, +when he cried:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“O wad ye tak’ a thought and mend!”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="nind"> +He is a philosopher with philosophers, a naturalist with naturalists, +and sufficiently a mathematician to leave some of his readers, now and +then, at a long distance behind him, or respectfully skipping to the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</span> +next chapter. But this scholastic omniscience of our author engages a +new respect, since they hope he understands his own diagram.</p> + +<p>He perpetually suggests Montaigne, who was the best reader he has ever +found, though Montaigne excelled his master in the point and surprise +of his sentences. Plutarch had a religion which Montaigne wanted, +and which defends him from wantonness; and though Plutarch is as +plain-spoken, his moral sentiment is always pure. What better praise +has any writer received than he whom Montaigne finds “frank in giving +things, not words,” dryly adding, “it vexes me that he is so exposed +to the spoil of those that are conversant with him.” It is one of the +felicities of literary history, the tie which inseparably couples +these two names across fourteen centuries. Montaigne, whilst he grasps +Étienne de la Boèce with one hand, reaches back the other to Plutarch. +These distant friendships charm us, and honor all the parties, and make +the best example of the universal citizenship and fraternity of the +human mind.</p> + +<p>I do not know where to find a book—to borrow a phrase of Ben +Jonson’s—“so rammed with life,” and this in chapters chiefly ethical, +which are so prone to be heavy and sentimental. No poet could +illustrate his thought with more novel or striking similes or happier +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</span> +anecdotes. His style is realistic, picturesque and varied; his sharp +objective eyes seeing everything that moves, shines, or threatens in +nature or art, or thought or dreams. Indeed, twilights, shadows, omens +and spectres have a charm for him. He believes in witchcraft and the +evil eye, in demons and ghosts,—but prefers, if you please, to talk +of these in the morning. His vivacity and abundance never leave him to +loiter or pound on an incident. I admire his rapid and crowded style, +as if he had such store of anecdotes of his heroes that he is forced to +suppress more than he recounts, in order to keep up with the hasting +history.</p> + +<p>His surprising merit is the genial facility with which he deals with +his manifold topics. There is no trace of labor or pain. He gossips +of heroes, philosophers and poets; of virtues and genius; of love and +fate and empires. It is for his pleasure that he recites all that is +best in his reading: he prattles history. But he is no courtier, and +no Boswell: he is ever manly, far from fawning, and would be welcome +to the sages and warriors he reports, as one having a native right +to admire and recount these stirring deeds and speeches. I find him +a better teacher of rhetoric than any modern. His superstitions are +poetic, aspiring, affirmative. A poet might rhyme all day with hints +drawn from Plutarch, page on page. No doubt, this superior suggestion +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</span> +for the modern reader owes much to the foreign air, the Greek wine, +the religion and history of antique heroes. Thebes, Sparta, Athens +and Rome charm us away from the disgust of the passing hour. But his +own cheerfulness and rude health are also magnetic. In his immense +quotation and allusion we quickly cease to discriminate between what +he quotes and what he invents. We sail on his memory into the ports +of every nation, enter into every private property, and do not stop +to discriminate owners, but give him the praise of all. ’Tis all +Plutarch, by right of eminent domain, and all property vests in this +emperor. This facility and abundance make the joy of his narrative, +and he is read to the neglect of more careful historians. Yet he +inspires a curiosity, sometimes makes a necessity, to read them. He +disowns any attempt to rival Thucydides; but I suppose he has a hundred +readers where Thucydides finds one, and Thucydides must often thank +Plutarch for that one. He has preserved for us a multitude of precious +sentences, in prose or verse, of authors whose books are lost; and +these embalmed fragments, through his loving selection alone, have come +to be proverbs of later mankind. I hope it is only my immense ignorance +that makes me believe that they do not survive out of his pages,—not +only Thespis, Polemos, Euphorion, Ariston, Evenus, etc., but fragments +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</span> +of Menander and Pindar. At all events, it is in reading the fragments +he has saved from lost authors that I have hailed another example of +the sacred care which has unrolled in our times, and still searches +and unrolls <i>papyri</i> from ruined libraries and buried cities, and +has drawn attention to what an ancient might call the politeness of +Fate,—we will say, more advisedly, the benign Providence which uses +the violence of war, of earthquakes and changed water-courses, to save +underground through barbarous ages the relics of ancient art, and thus +allows us to witness the upturning of the alphabets of old races, and +the deciphering of forgotten languages, so to complete the annals of +the forefathers of Asia, Africa and Europe.</p> + +<p>His delight in poetry makes him cite with joy the speech of Gorgias, +“that the tragic poet who deceived was juster than he who deceived not, +and he that was deceived was wiser than he who was not deceived.”</p> + +<p>It is a consequence of this poetic trait in his mind, that I confess +that, in reading him, I embrace the particulars, and carry a faint +memory of the argument or general design of the chapter; but he is not +less welcome, and he leaves the reader with a relish and a necessity +for completing his studies. Many examples might be cited of nervous +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</span> +expression and happy allusion, that indicate a poet and an orator, +though he is not ambitious of these titles, and cleaves to the security +of prose narrative, and only shows his intellectual sympathy with +these; yet I cannot forbear to cite one or two sentences which none who +reads them will forget. In treating of the style of the Pythian Oracle, +he says:—</p> + +<p>“Do you not observe, some one will say, what a grace there is in +Sappho’s measures, and how they delight and tickle the ears and fancies +of the hearers? Whereas the Sibyl, with her frantic grimaces, uttering +sentences altogether thoughtful and serious, neither fucused nor +perfumed, continues her voice a thousand years through the favor of the +Divinity that speaks within her.”</p> + +<p>Another gives an insight into his mystic tendencies:—</p> + +<p>“Early this morning, asking Epaminondas about the manner of Lysis’s +burial, I found that Lysis had taught him as far as the incommunicable +mysteries of our sect, and that the same Dæmon that waited on Lysis, +presided over him, if I can guess at the pilot from the sailing of +the ship. The paths of life are large, but in few are men directed +by the Dæmons. When Theanor had said this, he looked attentively on +Epaminondas, as if he designed a fresh search into his nature and +inclinations.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</span></p> + +<p>And here is his sentiment on superstition, somewhat condensed in Lord +Bacon’s citation of it: “I had rather a great deal that men should say, +There was no such man at all as Plutarch, than that they should say +that there was one Plutarch that would eat up his children as soon as +they were born, as the poets speak of Saturn.”</p> + +<p>The chapter “On Fortune” should be read by poets, and other wise men; +and the vigor of his pen appears in the chapter “Whether the Athenians +were more Warlike or Learned,” and in his attack upon Usurers.</p> + +<p>There is, of course, a wide difference of time in the writing of these +discourses, and so in their merit. Many of them are mere sketches +or notes for chapters in preparation, which were never digested or +finished. Many are notes for disputations in the lecture-room. His poor +indignation against Herodotus was perhaps a youthful prize essay: it +appeared to me captious and labored; or perhaps, at a rhetorician’s +school, the subject of Herodotus being the lesson of the day, Plutarch +was appointed by lot to take the adverse side.</p> + +<p>The plain-speaking of Plutarch, as of the ancient writers generally, +coming from the habit of writing for one sex only, has a great gain +for brevity, and, in our new tendencies of civilization, may tend to +correct a false delicacy.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</span></p> + +<p>We are always interested in the man who treats the intellect well. +We expect it from the philosopher,—from Plato, Aristotle, Spinoza +and Kant; but we know that metaphysical studies in any but minds of +large horizon and incessant inspiration have their dangers. One asks +sometimes whether a metaphysician can treat the intellect well. The +central fact is the superhuman intelligence, pouring into us from its +unknown fountain, to be received with religious awe, and defended +from any mixture of our will. But this high Muse comes and goes; and +the danger is that, when the Muse is wanting, the student is prone to +supply its place with microscopic subtleties and logomachy. It is fatal +to spiritual health to lose your admiration. “Let others wrangle,” said +St. Augustine; “I will wonder.” Plato and Plotinus are enthusiasts, +who honor the race; but the logic of the sophists and materialists, +whether Greek or French, fills us with disgust. Whilst we expect this +awe and reverence of the spiritual power from the philosopher in his +closet, we praise it in the man of the world;—the man who lives on +quiet terms with existing institutions, yet indicates his perception of +these high oracles; as do Plutarch, Montaigne, Hume and Goethe. These +men lift themselves at once from the vulgar and are not the parasites +of wealth. Perhaps they sometimes compromise, go out to dine, make and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</span> +take compliments; but they keep open the source of wisdom and health. +Plutarch is uniformly true to this centre. He had not lost his wonder. +He is a pronounced idealist, who does not hesitate to say, like another +Berkeley, “Matter is itself privation;” and again, “The Sun is the +cause that all men are ignorant of Apollo, by sense withdrawing the +rational intellect from that which is to that which appears.” He thinks +that “souls are naturally endowed with the faculty of prediction;” he +delights in memory, with its miraculous power of resisting time. He +thinks that “Alexander invaded Persia with greater assistance from +Aristotle than from his father Philip.” He thinks that “he who has +ideas of his own is a bad judge of another man’s, it being true that +the Eleans would be the most proper judges of the Olympic games, were +no Eleans gamesters.” He says of Socrates, that he endeavored to bring +reason and things together, and make truth consist with sober sense. He +wonders with Plato at that nail of pain and pleasure which fastens the +body to the mind. The mathematics give him unspeakable pleasure, but he +chiefly liked that proportion which teaches us to account that which is +just, equal; and not that which is equal, just.</p> + +<p>Of philosophy he is more interested in the results than in the method. +He has a just instinct of the presence of a master, and prefers +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</span> +to sit as a scholar with Plato, than as a disputant; and, true to +his practical character, he wishes the philosopher not to hide in a +corner, but to commend himself to men of public regards and ruling +genius: “for, if he once possess such a man with principles of honor +and religion, he takes a compendious method, by doing good to one, to +oblige a great part of mankind.” ’Tis a temperance, not an eclecticism, +which makes him adverse to the severe Stoic, or the Gymnosophist, or +Diogenes, or any other extremist. That vice of theirs shall not hinder +him from citing any good word they chance to drop. He is an eclectic +in such sense as Montaigne was,—willing to be an expectant, not a +dogmatist.</p> + +<p>In many of these chapters it is easy to infer the relation between the +Greek philosophers and those who came to them for instruction. This +teaching was no play nor routine, but strict, sincere and affectionate. +The part of each of the class is as important as that of the master. +They are like the base-ball players, to whom the pitcher, the bat, the +catcher and the scout are equally important. And Plutarch thought, with +Ariston, “that neither a bath nor a lecture served any purpose, unless +they were purgative.” Plutarch has such a keen pleasure in realities +that he has none in verbal disputes; he is impatient of sophistry, and +despises the Epicharmian disputations: as, that he who ran in debt +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</span> +yesterday owes nothing to-day, as being another man; so, he that was +yesterday invited to supper, the next night comes an unbidden guest, +for that he is quite another person.</p> + +<p>Except as historical curiosities, little can be said in behalf of +the scientific value of the “Opinions of the Philosophers,” the +“Questions” and the “Symposiacs.” They are, for the most part, very +crude opinions; many of them so puerile that one would believe that +Plutarch in his haste adopted the notes of his younger auditors, some +of them jocosely misreporting the dogma of the professor, who laid them +aside as <i>memoranda</i> for future revision, which he never gave, +and they were posthumously published. Now and then there are hints of +superior science. You may cull from this record of barbarous guesses +of shepherds and travellers, statements that are predictions of facts +established in modern science. Usually, when Thales, Anaximenes or +Anaximander are quoted, it is really a good judgment. The explanation +of the rainbow, of the floods of the Nile, and of the <i>remora</i>, +etc., are just; and the bad guesses are not worse than many of Lord +Bacon’s.</p> + +<p>His Natural History is that of a lover and poet, and not of a +physicist. His humanity stooped affectionately to trace the virtues +which he loved in the animals also. “Knowing and not knowing is the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</span> +affirmative or negative of the dog; knowing you is to be your friend; +not knowing you, your enemy.” He quotes Thucydides’ saying that “not +the desire of honor only never grows old, but much less also the +inclination to society and affection to the State, which continue even +in ants and bees to the very last.”</p> + +<p>But, though curious in the questions of the schools on the nature and +genesis of things, his extreme interest in every trait of character, +and his broad humanity, lead him constantly to Morals, to the study of +the Beautiful and Good. Hence his love of heroes, his rule of life, +and his clear convictions of the high destiny of the soul. La Harpe +said that “Plutarch is the genius the most naturally moral that ever +existed.”</p> + +<p>’Tis almost inevitable to compare Plutarch with Seneca, who, born fifty +years earlier, was for many years his contemporary, though they never +met, and their writings were perhaps unknown to each other. Plutarch +is genial, with an endless interest in all human and divine things; +Seneca, a professional philosopher, a writer of sentences, and, though +he keep a sublime path, is less interesting, because less humane; and +when we have shut his book, we forget to open it again. There is a +certain violence in his opinions, and want of sweetness. He lacks the +sympathy of Plutarch. He is tiresome through perpetual didactics. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</span> +He is not happily living. Cannot the simple lover of truth enjoy the +virtues of those he meets, and the virtues suggested by them, so to +find himself at some time purely contented? Seneca was still more a man +of the world than Plutarch; and, by his conversation with the Court +of Nero, and his own skill, like Voltaire’s, of living with men of +business and emulating their address in affairs by great accumulation +of his own property, learned to temper his philosophy with facts. He +ventured far,—apparently too far,—for so keen a conscience as he +only had. Yet we owe to that wonderful moralist illustrious maxims; as +if the scarlet vices of the times of Nero had the natural effect of +driving virtue to its loftiest antagonisms. “Seneca,” says L’Estrange, +“was a pagan Christian, and is very good reading for our Christian +pagans.” He was Buddhist in his cold abstract virtue, with a certain +impassibility beyond humanity. He called pity, “that fault of narrow +souls.” Yet what noble words we owe to him: “God divided man into men, +that they might help each other;” and again, “The good man differs from +God in nothing but duration.” His thoughts are excellent, if only he +had the right to say them. Plutarch, meantime, with every virtue under +heaven, thought it the top of wisdom to philosophize yet not appear to +do it, and to reach in mirth the same ends which the most serious are +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</span> +proposing.</p> + +<p>Plutarch thought “truth to be the greatest good that man can receive, +and the goodliest blessing that God can give.” “When you are persuaded +in your mind that you cannot either offer or perform anything more +agreeable to the gods than the entertaining a right notion of them, you +will then avoid superstition as a no less evil than atheism.” He cites +Euripides to affirm, “If gods do aught dishonest, they are no gods,” +and the memorable words of Antigone, in Sophocles, concerning the moral +sentiment:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“For neither now nor yesterday began</div> + <div class="verse indent0">These thoughts, which have been ever, nor yet can</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A man be found who their first entrance knew.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>His faith in the immortality of the soul is another measure of his deep +humanity. He reminds his friends that the Delphic oracles have given +several answers the same in substance as that formerly given to Corax +the Naxian:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“It sounds profane impiety</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To teach that human souls e’er die.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="nind"> +He believes that the doctrine of the Divine Providence, and that of the +immortality of the soul, rest on one and the same basis. He thinks it +impossible either that a man beloved of the gods should not be happy, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</span> +or that a wise and just man should not be beloved of the gods. To him +the Epicureans are hateful, who held that the soul perishes when it is +separated from the body. “The soul, incapable of death, suffers in the +same manner in the body, as birds that are kept in a cage.” He believes +“that the souls of infants pass immediately into a better and more +divine state.”</p> + +<p>I can easily believe that an anxious soul may find in Plutarch’s +chapter called “Pleasure not attainable by Epicurus,” and his “Letter +to his Wife Timoxena,” a more sweet and reassuring argument on the +immortality than in the Phædo of Plato; for Plutarch always addresses +the question on the human side, and not on the metaphysical; as Walter +Scott took hold of boys and young men, in England and America, and +through them of their fathers. His grand perceptions of duty lead him +to his stern delight in heroism; a stoic resistance to low indulgence; +to a fight with fortune; a regard for truth; his love of Sparta, +and of heroes like Aristides, Phocion and Cato. He insists that the +highest good is in action. He thinks that the inhabitants of Asia came +to be vassals to one, only for not having been able to pronounce one +syllable; which is, No. So keen is his sense of allegiance to right +reason, that he makes a fight against Fortune whenever she is named. At +Rome he thinks her wings were clipped: she stood no longer on a ball, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</span> +but on a cube as large as Italy. He thinks it was by superior virtue +that Alexander won his battles in Asia and Africa, and the Greeks +theirs against Persia.</p> + +<p>But this Stoic in his fight with Fortune, with vices, effeminacy and +indolence, is gentle as a woman when other strings are touched. He is +the most amiable of men. “To erect a trophy in the soul against anger +is that which none but a great and victorious puissance is able to +achieve.”—“Anger turns the mind out of doors, and bolts the door.” +He has a tenderness almost to tears when he writes on “Friendship,” +on the “Training of Children,” and on the “Love of Brothers.” “There +is no treasure,” he says, “parents can give to their children, like +a brother; ’tis a friend given by nature, a gift nothing can supply; +once lost, not to be replaced. The Arcadian prophet, of whom Herodotus +speaks, was obliged to make a wooden foot in place of that which had +been chopped off. A brother, embroiled with his brother, going to seek +in the street a stranger who can take his place, resembles him who will +cut off his foot to give himself one of wood.”</p> + +<p>All his judgments are noble. He thought, with Epicurus, that it is more +delightful to do than to receive a kindness. “This courteous, gentle, +and benign disposition and behavior is not so acceptable, so obliging +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</span> +or delightful to any of those with whom we converse, as it is to those +who have it.” There is really no limit to his bounty: “It would be +generous to lend our eyes and ears, nay, if possible, our reason and +fortitude to others, whilst we are idle or asleep.” His excessive and +fanciful humanity reminds one of Charles Lamb, whilst it much exceeds +him. When the guests are gone, he “would leave one lamp burning, only +as a sign of the respect he bore to fires, for nothing so resembles +an animal as fire. It is moved and nourished by itself, and by its +brightness, like the soul, discovers and makes everything apparent, and +in its quenching shows some power that seems to proceed from a vital +principle, for it makes a noise and resists, like an animal dying, +or violently slaughtered;” and he praises the Romans, who, when the +feast was over, “dealt well with the lamps, and did not take away the +nourishment they had given, but permitted them to live and shine by it.”</p> + +<p>I can almost regret that the learned editor of the present +republication has not preserved, if only as a piece of history, +the preface of Mr. Morgan, the editor and in part writer of this +Translation of 1718. In his dedication of the work to the Archbishop +of Canterbury, Wm. Wake, he tells the Primate that “Plutarch was the +wisest man of his age, and, if he had been a Christian, one of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</span> +best too; <i>but it was his severe fate to flourish in those days of +ignorance, which, ’tis a favorable opinion to hope that the Almighty +will sometime wink at; that our souls may be with these philosophers +together in the same state of bliss</i>.” The puzzle in the worthy +translator’s mind between his theology and his reason well reappears in +the puzzle of his sentence.</p> + +<p>I know that the chapter of “Apothegms of Noble Commanders” is rejected +by some critics as not a genuine work of Plutarch; but the matter is +good, and is so agreeable to his taste and genius, that if he had found +it, he would have adopted it. If he did not compile the piece, many, +perhaps most of the anecdotes were already scattered in his works. +If I do not lament that a work not his should be ascribed to him, I +regret that he should have suffered such destruction of his own. What +a trilogy is lost to mankind in his Lives of Scipio, Epaminondas, and +Pindar!</p> + +<p>His delight in magnanimity and self-sacrifice has made his books, like +Homer’s Iliad, a bible for heroes; and wherever the Cid is relished, +the legends of Arthur, Saxon Alfred and Richard the Lion-hearted, +Robert Bruce, Sydney, Lord Herbert of Cherbury, Cromwell, Nelson, +Bonaparte, and Walter Scott’s Chronicles in prose or verse,—there +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</span> +will Plutarch, who told the story of Leonidas, of Agesilaus, of +Aristides, Phocion, Themistocles, Demosthenes, Epaminondas, Cæsar, Cato +and the rest, sit as the bestower of the crown of noble knighthood, and +laureate of the ancient world.</p> + +<p>The chapters “On the Fortune of Alexander,” in the “Morals,” are +an important appendix to the portrait in the “Lives.” The union in +Alexander of sublime courage with the refinement of his pure tastes, +making him the carrier of civilization into the East, are in the +spirit of the ideal hero, and endeared him to Plutarch. That prince +kept Homer’s poems not only for himself under his pillow in his tent, +but carried these for the delight of the Persian youth, and made them +acquainted also with the tragedies of Euripides and Sophocles. He +persuaded the Sogdians not to kill, but to cherish their aged parents; +the Persians to reverence, not marry their mothers; the Scythians to +bury and not eat their dead parents. What a fruit and fitting monument +of his best days was his city Alexandria, to be the birthplace or home +of Plotinus, St. Augustine, Synesius, Posidonius, Ammonius, Jamblichus, +Porphyry, Origen, Aratus, Apollonius and Apuleius.</p> + +<p>If Plutarch delighted in heroes, and held the balance between the +severe Stoic and the indulgent Epicurean, his humanity shines not less +in his intercourse with his personal friends. He was a genial host and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</span> +guest, and delighted in bringing chosen companions to the supper-table. +He knew the laws of conversation and the laws of good-fellowship quite +as well as Horace, and has set them down with such candor and grace as +to make them good reading to-day. The guests not invited to a private +board by the entertainer, but introduced by a guest as his companions, +the Greek called <i>shadows</i>; and the question is debated whether +it was civil to bring them, and he treats it candidly, but concludes: +“Therefore, when I make an invitation, since it is hard to break the +custom of the place, I give my guests leave to bring shadows; but when +I myself am invited as a shadow, I assure you I refuse to go.” He +has an objection to the introduction of music at feasts. He thought +it wonderful that a man having a muse in his own breast, and all the +pleasantness that would fit an entertainment would have pipes and harps +play, and by that external noise destroy all the sweetness that was +proper and his own.</p> + +<p>I cannot close these notes without expressing my sense of the valuable +service which the Editor has rendered to his Author and to his readers. +Professor Goodwin is a silent benefactor to the book, wherever I have +compared the editions. I did not know how careless and vicious in +parts the old book was, until, in recent reading of the old text, on +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</span> +coming on anything absurd or unintelligible, I referred to the new +text and found a clear and accurate statement in its place. It is the +vindication of Plutarch. The correction is not only of names of authors +and of places grossly altered or misspelled, but of unpardonable +liberties taken by the translators, whether from negligence or freak.</p> + +<p>One proof of Plutarch’s skill as a writer is that he bears translation +so well. In spite of its carelessness and manifold faults, which, I +doubt not, have tried the patience of its present learned editor and +corrector, I yet confess my enjoyment of this old version, for its +vigorous English style. The work of some forty or fifty University men, +some of them imperfect in their Greek, it is a monument of the English +language at a period of singular vigor and freedom of style. I hope the +Commission of the Philological Society in London, charged with the duty +of preparing a Critical Dictionary, will not overlook these volumes, +which show the wealth of their tongue to greater advantage than many +books of more renown as models. It runs through the whole scale of +conversation in the street, the market, the coffee-house, the law +courts, the palace, the college and the church. There are, no doubt, +many vulgar phrases, and many blunders of the printer; but it is the +speech of business and conversation, and in every tone, from lowest to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</span> +highest.</p> + +<p>We owe to these translators many sharp perceptions of the wit and humor +of their author, sometimes even to the adding of the point. I notice +one, which, although the translator has justified his rendering in a +note, the severer criticism of the Editor has not retained. “Were there +not a sun, we might, for all the other stars, pass our days in the +Reverend Dark, as Heraclitus calls it.” I find a humor in the phrase +which might well excuse its doubtful accuracy.</p> + +<p class="space-above2"> +It is a service to our Republic to publish a book that can force +ambitious young men, before they mount the platform of the county +conventions, to read the “Laconic Apothegms” and the “Apothegms of +Great Commanders.” If we could keep the secret, and communicate it +only to a few chosen aspirants, we might confide that, by this noble +infiltration, they would easily carry the victory over all competitors. +But, as it was the desire of these old patriots to fill with their +majestic spirit all Sparta or Rome, and not a few leaders only, we +hasten to offer them to the American people.</p> + +<p>Plutarch’s popularity will return in rapid cycles. If over-read in +this decade, so that his anecdotes and opinions become commonplace, +and to-day’s novelties are sought for variety, his sterling values +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</span> +will presently recall the eye and thought of the best minds, and his +books will be reprinted and read anew by coming generations. And thus +Plutarch will be perpetually rediscovered from time to time as long as +books last.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p class="nind"><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="label">[10]</a> +This paper was printed as an introduction to Plutarch’s <i>Morals</i>, +edited by Professor William W. Goodwin, Boston, 1871.</p> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="HISTORIC_NOTES_OF_LIFE_AND_LETTERS_IN_NEW_ENGLAND">HISTORIC NOTES OF LIFE AND LETTERS IN NEW ENGLAND.</h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_26" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“<span class="allsmcap">OF</span> old things all are over old,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Of good things none are good enough;—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We’ll show that we can help to frame</div> + <div class="verse indent2">A world of other stuff.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</span></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="allsmcap">FOR</span> Joy and Beauty planted it</div> + <div class="verse indent2">With faerie gardens cheered,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And boding Fancy haunted it</div> + <div class="verse indent2">With men and women weird.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="HISTORIC_NOTES">HISTORIC NOTES OF LIFE AND LETTERS IN NEW ENGLAND.</h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_27" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<p>THE ancient manners were giving way. There grew a certain tenderness on +the people, not before remarked. Children had been repressed and kept +in the background; now they were considered, cosseted and pampered. I +recall the remark of a witty physician who remembered the hardships of +his own youth; he said, “It was a misfortune to have been born when +children were nothing, and to live till men were nothing.”</p> + +<p>There are always two parties, the party of the Past and the party +of the Future; the Establishment and the Movement. At times the +resistance is reanimated, the schism runs under the world and appears +in Literature, Philosophy, Church, State, and social customs. It is +not easy to date these eras of activity with any precision, but in +this region one made itself remarked, say in 1820 and the twenty years +following.</p> + +<p>It seemed a war between intellect and affection; a crack in nature, +which split every church in Christendom into Papal and Protestant; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</span> +Calvinism into Old and New schools; Quakerism into Old and New; brought +new divisions in politics; as the new conscience touching temperance +and slavery. The key to the period appeared to be that the mind had +become aware of itself. Men grew reflective and intellectual. There was +a new consciousness. The former generations acted under the belief that +a shining social prosperity was the beatitude of man, and sacrificed +uniformly the citizen to the State. The modern mind believed that the +nation existed for the individual, for the guardianship and education +of every man. This idea, roughly written in revolutions and national +movements, in the mind of the philosopher had far more precision; the +individual is the world.</p> + +<p>This perception is a sword such as was never drawn before. It +divides and detaches bone and marrow, soul and body, yea, almost +the man from himself. It is the age of severance, of dissociation, +of freedom, of analysis, of detachment. Every man for himself. The +public speaker disclaims speaking for any other; he answers only for +himself. The social sentiments are weak; the sentiment of patriotism +is weak; veneration is low; the natural affections feebler than they +were. People grow philosophical about native land and parents and +relations. There is an universal resistance to ties and ligaments +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</span> +once supposed essential to civil society. The new race is stiff, heady +and rebellious; they are fanatics in freedom; they hate tolls, taxes, +turnpikes, banks, hierarchies, governors, yea, almost laws. They have a +neck of unspeakable tenderness; it winces at a hair. They rebel against +theological as against political dogmas; against mediation, or saints, +or any nobility in the unseen.</p> + +<p>The age tends to solitude. The association of the time is accidental +and momentary and hypocritical, the detachment intrinsic and +progressive. The association is for power, merely,—for means; the end +being the enlargement and independency of the individual. Anciently, +society was in the course of things. There was a Sacred Band, a Theban +Phalanx. There can be none now. College classes, military corps, or +trades-unions may fancy themselves indissoluble for a moment, over +their wine; but it is a painted hoop, and has no girth. The age of +arithmetic and of criticism has set in. The structures of old faith in +every department of society a few centuries have sufficed to destroy. +Astrology, magic, palmistry, are long gone. The very last ghost is +laid. Demonology is on its last legs. Prerogative, government, goes to +pieces day by day. Europe is strewn with wrecks; a constitution once a +week. In social manners and morals the revolution is just as evident. +In the law courts, crimes of fraud have taken the place of crimes of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</span> +force. The stockholder has stepped into the place of the warlike baron. +The nobles shall not any longer, as feudal lords, have power of life +and death over the churls, but now, in another shape, as capitalists, +shall in all love and peace eat them up as before. Nay, government +itself becomes the resort of those whom government was invented to +restrain. “Are there any brigands on the road?” inquired the traveller +in France. “Oh, no, set your heart at rest on that point,” said the +landlord; “what should these fellows keep the highway for, when they +can rob just as effectually, and much more at their ease, in the +bureaus of office?”</p> + +<p>In literature the effect appeared in the decided tendency of criticism. +The most remarkable literary work of the age has for its hero and +subject precisely this introversion: I mean the poem of Faust. In +philosophy, Immanuel Kant has made the best catalogue of the human +faculties and the best analysis of the mind. Hegel also, especially. +In science the French <i>savant</i>, exact, pitiless, with barometer, +crucible, chemic test and calculus in hand, travels into all nooks and +islands, to weigh, to analyze and report. And chemistry, which is the +analysis of matter, has taught us that we eat gas, drink gas, tread on +gas, and are gas. The same decomposition has changed the whole face +of physics; the like in all arts, modes. Authority falls, in Church, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</span> +College, Courts of Law, Faculties, Medicine. Experiment is credible; +antiquity is grown ridiculous.</p> + +<p>It marked itself by a certain predominance of the intellect in the +balance of powers. The warm swart Earth-spirit which made the strength +of past ages, mightier than it knew, with instincts instead of science, +like a mother yielding food from her own breast instead of preparing it +through chemic and culinary skill,—warm negro ages of sentiment and +vegetation,—all gone; another hour had struck and other forms arose. +Instead of the social existence which all shared, was now separation. +Every one for himself; driven to find all his resources, hopes, +rewards, society and deity within himself.</p> + +<p>The young men were born with knives in their brain, a tendency to +introversion, self-dissection, anatomizing of motives. The popular +religion of our fathers had received many severe shocks from the +new times; from the Arminians, which was the current name of the +backsliders from Calvinism, sixty years ago; then from the English +philosophic theologians, Hartley and Priestley and Belsham, the +followers of Locke; and then I should say much later from the slow +but extraordinary influence of Swedenborg; a man of prodigious mind, +though as I think tainted with a certain suspicion of insanity, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</span> +therefore generally disowned, but exerting a singular power over an +important intellectual class; then the powerful influence of the genius +and character of Dr. Channing.</p> + +<p>Germany had created criticism in vain for us until 1820, when Edward +Everett returned from his five years in Europe, and brought to +Cambridge his rich results, which no one was so fitted by natural grace +and the splendor of his rhetoric to introduce and recommend. He made +us for the first time acquainted with Wolff’s theory of the Homeric +writings, with the criticism of Heyne. The novelty of the learning +lost nothing in the skill and genius of his relation, and the rudest +undergraduate found a new morning opened to him in the lecture-room of +Harvard Hall.</p> + +<p>There was an influence on the young people from the genius of Everett +which was almost comparable to that of Pericles in Athens. He had +an inspiration which did not go beyond his head, but which made him +the master of elegance. If any of my readers were at that period in +Boston or Cambridge, they will easily remember his radiant beauty of +person, of a classic style, his heavy large eye, marble lids, which +gave the impression of mass which the slightness of his form needed; +sculptured lips; a voice of such rich tones, such precise and perfect +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</span> +utterance, that, although slightly nasal, it was the most mellow and +beautiful and correct of all the instruments of the time. The word +that he spoke, in the manner in which he spoke it, became current and +classical in New England. He had a great talent for collecting facts, +and for bringing those he had to bear with ingenious felicity on the +topic of the moment. Let him rise to speak on what occasion soever, a +fact had always just transpired which composed, with some other fact +well known to the audience, the most pregnant and happy coincidence. +It was remarked that for a man who threw out so many facts he was +seldom convicted of a blunder. He had a good deal of special learning, +and all his learning was available for purposes of the hour. It was +all new learning, that wonderfully took and stimulated the young men. +It was so coldly and weightily communicated from so commanding a +platform, as if in the consciousness and consideration of all history +and all learning,—adorned with so many simple and austere beauties +of expression, and enriched with so many excellent digressions and +significant quotations, that, though nothing could be conceived +beforehand less attractive or indeed less fit for green boys from +Connecticut, New Hampshire and Massachusetts, with their unripe Latin +and Greek reading, than exegetical discourses in the style of Voss and +Wolff and Ruhnken, on the Orphic and Ante-Homeric remains,—yet this +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</span> +learning instantly took the highest place to our imagination in our +unoccupied American Parnassus. All his auditors felt the extreme beauty +and dignity of the manner, and even the coarsest were contented to go +punctually to listen, for the manner, when they had found out that the +subject-matter was not for them. In the lecture-room, he abstained +from all ornament, and pleased himself with the play of detailing +erudition in a style of perfect simplicity. In the pulpit (for he was +then a clergyman) he made amends to himself and his auditor for the +self-denial of the professor’s chair, and, with an infantine simplicity +still, of manner, he gave the reins to his florid, quaint and affluent +fancy.</p> + +<p>Then was exhibited all the richness of a rhetoric which we have never +seen rivalled in this country. Wonderful how memorable were words +made which were only pleasing pictures, and covered no new or valid +thoughts. He abounded in sentences, in wit, in satire, in splendid +allusion, in quotation impossible to forget, in daring imagery, in +parable and even in a sort of defying experiment of his own wit +and skill in giving an oracular weight to Hebrew or Rabbinical +words;—feats which no man could better accomplish, such was his +self-command and the security of his manner. All his speech was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</span> +music, and with such variety and invention that the ear was never +tired. Especially beautiful were his poetic quotations. He delighted +in quoting Milton, and with such sweet modulation that he seemed to +give as much beauty as he borrowed; and whatever he has quoted will +be remembered by any who heard him, with inseparable association +with his voice and genius. He had nothing in common with vulgarity +and infirmity, but, speaking, walking, sitting, was as much aloof +and uncommon as a star. The smallest anecdote of his behavior or +conversation was eagerly caught and repeated, and every young scholar +could recite brilliant sentences from his sermons, with mimicry, good +or bad, of his voice. This influence went much farther, for he who was +heard with such throbbing hearts and sparkling eyes in the lighted +and crowded churches, did not let go his hearers when the church was +dismissed, but the bright image of that eloquent form followed the boy +home to his bed-chamber; and not a sentence was written in academic +exercises, not a declamation attempted in the college chapel, but +showed the omnipresence of his genius to youthful heads. This made +every youth his defender, and boys filled their mouths with arguments +to prove that the orator had a heart. This was a triumph of Rhetoric. +It was not the intellectual or the moral principles which he had to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</span> +teach. It was not thoughts. When Massachusetts was full of his fame it +was not contended that he had thrown any truths into circulation. But +his power lay in the magic of form; it was in the graces of manner; in +a new perception of Grecian beauty, to which he had opened our eyes. +There was that finish about this person which is about women, and which +distinguishes every piece of genius from the works of talent,—that +these last are more or less matured in every degree of completeness +according to the time bestowed on them, but works of genius in their +first and slightest form are still wholes. In every public discourse +there was nothing left for the indulgence of his hearer, no marks of +late hours and anxious, unfinished study, but the goddess of grace had +breathed on the work a last fragrancy and glitter.</p> + +<p>By a series of lectures largely and fashionably attended for two +winters in Boston he made a beginning of popular literary and +miscellaneous lecturing, which in that region at least had important +results. It is acquiring greater importance every day, and becoming +a national institution. I am quite certain that this purely literary +influence was of the first importance to the American mind.</p> + +<p>In the pulpit Dr. Frothingham, an excellent classical and German +scholar, had already made us acquainted, if prudently, with the genius +of Eichhorn’s theologic criticism. And Professor Norton a little later +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</span> +gave form and method to the like studies in the then infant Divinity +School. But I think the paramount source of the religious revolution +was Modern Science; beginning with Copernicus, who destroyed the pagan +fictions of the Church, by showing mankind that the earth on which we +live was not the centre of the Universe, around which the sun and stars +revolved every day, and thus fitted to be the platform on which the +Drama of the Divine Judgment was played before the assembled Angels of +Heaven,—“the scaffold of the divine vengeance” Saurin called it,—but +a little scrap of a planet, rushing round the sun in our system, +which in turn was too minute to be seen at the distance of many stars +which we behold. Astronomy taught us our insignificance in Nature; +showed that our sacred as our profane history had been written in +gross ignorance of the laws, which were far grander than we knew; and +compelled a certain extension and uplifting of our views of the Deity +and his Providence. This correction of our superstitions was confirmed +by the new science of Geology, and the whole train of discoveries in +every department. But we presently saw also that the religious nature +in man was not affected by these errors in his understanding. The +religious sentiment made nothing of bulk or size, or far or near; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</span> +triumphed over time as well as space; and every lesson of humility, or +justice, or charity, which the old ignorant saints had taught him, was +still forever true.</p> + +<p>Whether from these influences, or whether by a reaction of the general +mind against the too formal science, religion and social life of the +earlier period,—there was, in the first quarter of our nineteenth +century, a certain sharpness of criticism, an eagerness for reform, +which showed itself in every quarter. It appeared in the popularity +of Lavater’s Physiognomy, now almost forgotten. Gall and Spurzheim’s +Phrenology laid a rough hand on the mysteries of animal and spiritual +nature, dragging down every sacred secret to a street show. The attempt +was coarse and odious to scientific men, but had a certain truth in it; +it felt connection where the professors denied it, and was a leading +to a truth which had not yet been announced. On the heels of this +intruder came Mesmerism, which broke into the inmost shrines, attempted +the explanation of miracle and prophecy, as well as of creation. What +could be more revolting to the contemplative philosopher! But a certain +success attended it, against all expectation. It was human, it was +genial, it affirmed unity and connection between remote points, and +as such was excellent criticism on the narrow and dead classification +of what passed for science; and the joy with which it was greeted +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</span> +was an instinct of the people which no true philosopher would fail to +profit by. But while society remained in doubt between the indignation +of the old school and the audacity of the new, a higher note sounded. +Unexpected aid from high quarters came to iconoclasts. The German +poet Goethe revolted against the science of the day, against French +and English science, declared war against the great name of Newton, +proposed his own new and simple optics: in Botany, his simple theory +of metamorphosis;—the eye of a leaf is all; every part of the plant +from root to fruit is only a modified leaf, the branch of a tree is +nothing but a leaf whose serratures have become twigs. He extended this +into anatomy and animal life, and his views were accepted. The revolt +became a revolution. Schelling and Oken introduced their ideal natural +philosophy, Hegel his metaphysics, and extended it to Civil History.</p> + +<p>The result in literature and the general mind was a return to law; +in science, in politics, in social life; as distinguished from the +profligate manners and politics of earlier times. The age was moral. +Every immorality is a departure from nature, and is punished by natural +loss and deformity. The popularity of Combe’s Constitution of Man; +the humanity which was the aim of all the multitudinous works of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</span> +Dickens; the tendency even of Punch’s caricature, was all on the side +of the people. There was a breath of new air, much vague expectation, a +consciousness of power not yet finding its determinate aim.</p> + +<p>I attribute much importance to two papers of Dr. Channing, one on +Milton and one on Napoleon, which were the first specimens in this +country of that large criticism which in England had given power and +fame to the Edinburgh Review. They were widely read, and of course +immediately fruitful in provoking emulation which lifted the style of +Journalism. Dr. Channing, whilst he lived, was the star of the American +Church, and we then thought, if we do not still think, that he left +no successor in the pulpit. He could never be reported, for his eye +and voice could not be printed, and his discourses lose their best in +losing them. He was made for the public; his cold temperament made him +the most unprofitable private companion; but all America would have +been impoverished in wanting him. We could not then spare a single word +he uttered in public, not so much as the reading a lesson in Scripture, +or a hymn, and it is curious that his printed writings are almost a +history of the times; as there was no great public interest, political, +literary, or even economical (for he wrote on the Tariff), on which he +did not leave some printed record of his brave and thoughtful opinion. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</span> +A poor little invalid all his life, he is yet one of those men who +vindicate the power of the American race to produce greatness.</p> + +<p>Dr. Channing took counsel in 1840 with George Ripley, to the point +whether it were possible to bring cultivated, thoughtful people +together, and make society that deserved the name. He had earlier +talked with Dr. John Collins Warren on the like purpose, who admitted +the wisdom of the design and undertook to aid him in making the +experiment. Dr. Channing repaired to Dr. Warren’s house on the +appointed evening, with large thoughts which he wished to open. He +found a well-chosen assembly of gentlemen variously distinguished; +there was mutual greeting and introduction, and they were chatting +agreeably on indifferent matters and drawing gently towards their great +expectation, when a side-door opened, the whole company streamed in to +an oyster supper, crowned by excellent wines; and so ended the first +attempt to establish æsthetic society in Boston.</p> + +<p>Some time afterwards Dr. Channing opened his mind to Mr. and Mrs. +Ripley, and with some care they invited a limited party of ladies +and gentlemen. I had the honor to be present. Though I recall the +fact, I do not retain any instant consequence of this attempt, or any +connection between it and the new zeal of the friends who at that time +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</span> +began to be drawn together by sympathy of studies and of aspiration. +Margaret Fuller, George Ripley, Dr. Convers Francis, Theodore Parker, +Dr. Hedge, Mr. Brownson, James Freeman Clarke, William H. Channing, +and many others, gradually drew together and from time to time spent +an afternoon at each other’s houses in a serious conversation. With +them was always one well-known form, a pure idealist, not at all a +man of letters, nor of any practical talent, nor a writer of books; a +man quite too cold and contemplative for the alliances of friendship, +with rare simplicity and grandeur of perception, who read Plato as an +equal, and inspired his companions only in proportion as they were +intellectual,—whilst the men of talent complained of the want of point +and precision in this abstract and religious thinker.</p> + +<p>These fine conversations, of course, were incomprehensible to some +in the company, and they had their revenge in their little joke. +One declared that “It seemed to him like going to heaven in a +swing;” another reported that, at a knotty point in the discourse, +a sympathizing Englishman with a squeaking voice interrupted with +the question, “Mr. Alcott, a lady near me desires to inquire whether +omnipotence abnegates attribute?”</p> + +<p>I think there prevailed at that time a general belief in Boston that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</span> +there was some concert of <i>doctrinaires</i> to establish certain +opinions and inaugurate some movement in literature, philosophy, +and religion, of which design the supposed conspirators were quite +innocent; for there was no concert, and only here and there two or +three men or women who read and wrote, each alone, with unusual +vivacity. Perhaps they only agreed in having fallen upon Coleridge and +Wordsworth and Goethe, then on Carlyle, with pleasure and sympathy. +Otherwise, their education and reading were not marked, but had the +American superficialness, and their studies were solitary. I suppose +all of them were surprised at this rumor of a school or sect, and +certainly at the name of Transcendentalism, given nobody knows by whom, +or when it was first applied. As these persons became in the common +chances of society acquainted with each other, there resulted certainly +strong friendships, which of course were exclusive in proportion to +their heat: and perhaps those persons who were mutually the best +friends were the most private and had no ambition of publishing their +letters, diaries, or conversation.</p> + +<p>From that time meetings were held for conversation, with very little +form, from house to house, of people engaged in studies, fond of books, +and watchful of all the intellectual light from whatever quarter +it flowed. Nothing could be less formal, yet the intelligence and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</span> +character and varied ability of the company gave it some notoriety and +perhaps waked curiosity as to its aims and results.</p> + +<p>Nothing more serious came of it than the modest quarterly journal +called “The Dial” which, under the editorship of Margaret Fuller, +and later of some other, enjoyed its obscurity for four years. All +its papers were unpaid contributions, and it was rather a work of +friendship among the narrow circle of students than the organ of any +party. Perhaps its writers were its chief readers: yet it contained +some noble papers by Margaret Fuller, and some numbers had an instant +exhausting sale, because of papers by Theodore Parker.</p> + +<p>Theodore Parker was our Savonarola, an excellent scholar, in frank +and affectionate communication with the best minds of his day, yet +the tribune of the people, and the stout Reformer to urge and defend +every cause of humanity with and for the humblest of mankind. He was no +artist. Highly refined persons might easily miss in him the element of +beauty. What he said was mere fact, almost offended you, so bald and +detached; little cared he. He stood altogether for practical truth; and +so to the last. He used every day and hour of his short life, and his +character appeared in the last moments with the same firm control as +in the mid-day of strength. I habitually apply to him the words of a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</span> +French philosopher who speaks of “the man of Nature who abominates the +steam-engine and the factory. His vast lungs breathe independence with +the air of the mountains and the woods.”</p> + +<p>The vulgar politician disposed of this circle cheaply as “the +sentimental class.” State Street had an instinct that they invalidated +contracts and threatened the stability of stocks; and it did not +fancy brusque manners. Society always values, even in its teachers, +inoffensive people, susceptible of conventional polish. The clergyman +who would live in the city <i>may</i> have piety, but <i>must</i> +have taste, whilst there was often coming, among these, some John the +Baptist, wild from the woods, rude, hairy, careless of dress and quite +scornful of the etiquette of cities. There was a pilgrim in those days +walking in the country who stopped at every door where he hoped to find +hearing for his doctrine, which was, Never to give or receive money. +He was a poor printer, and explained with simple warmth the belief of +himself and five or six young men with whom he agreed in opinion, of +the vast mischief of our insidious coin. He thought every one should +labor at some necessary product, and as soon as he had made more than +enough for himself, were it corn, or paper, or cloth, or boot-jacks, +he should give of the commodity to any applicant, and in turn go to +his neighbor for any article which he had to spare. Of course we +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</span> +were curious to know how he sped in his experiments on the neighbor, +and his anecdotes were interesting, and often highly creditable. +But he had the courage which so stern a return to Arcadian manners +required, and had learned to sleep, in cold nights, when the farmer at +whose door he knocked declined to give him a bed, on a wagon covered +with the buffalo-robe under the shed,—or under the stars, when the +farmer denied the shed and the buffalo-robe. I think he persisted for +two years in his brave practice, but did not enlarge his church of +believers.</p> + +<p>These reformers were a new class. Instead of the fiery souls of the +Puritans, bent on hanging the Quaker, burning the witch and banishing +the Romanist, these were gentle souls, with peaceful and even with +genial dispositions, casting sheep’s-eyes even on Fourier and his +houris. It was a time when the air was full of reform. Robert Owen of +Lanark came hither from England in 1845, and read lectures or held +conversations wherever he found listeners; the most amiable, sanguine +and candid of men. He had not the least doubt that he had hit on a +right and perfect socialism, or that all mankind would adopt it. He +was then seventy years old, and being asked, “Well, Mr. Owen, who is +your disciple? How many men are there possessed of your views who +will remain after you are gone, to put them in practice?” “Not one,” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</span> +was his reply. Robert Owen knew Fourier in his old age. He said that +Fourier learned of him all the truth he had; the rest of his system +was imagination, and the imagination of a banker. Owen made the best +impression by his rare benevolence. His love of men made us forget his +“Three Errors.” His charitable construction of men and their actions +was invariable. He was the better Christian in his controversy with +Christians, and he interpreted with great generosity the acts of the +“Holy Alliance,” and Prince Metternich, with whom the persevering +<i>doctrinaire</i> had obtained interviews; “Ah,” he said, “you may +depend on it there are as tender hearts and as much good will to serve +men, in palaces, as in colleges.”</p> + +<p>And truly I honor the generous ideas of the Socialists, the +magnificence of their theories, and the enthusiasm with which they +have been urged. They appeared the inspired men of their time. Mr. +Owen preached his doctrine of labor and reward, with the fidelity and +devotion of a saint, to the slow ears of his generation. Fourier, +almost as wonderful an example of the mathematical mind of France as La +Place or Napoleon, turned a truly vast arithmetic to the question of +social misery, and has put men under the obligation which a generous +mind always confers, of conceiving magnificent hopes and making great +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</span> +demands as the right of man. He took his measure of that which all +should and might enjoy, from no soup-society or charity-concert, but +from the refinements of palaces, the wealth of universities, and the +triumphs of artists. He thought nobly. A man is entitled to pure air, +and to the air of good conversation in his bringing up, and not, as +we or so many of us, to the poor-smell and musty chambers, cats and +fools. Fourier carried a whole French Revolution in his head, and much +more. Here was arithmetic on a huge scale. His ciphering goes where +ciphering never went before, namely, into stars, atmospheres, and +animals, and men and women, and classes of every character. It was the +most entertaining of French romances, and could not but suggest vast +possibilities of reform to the coldest and least sanguine.</p> + +<p>We had an opportunity of learning something of these Socialists and +their theory, from the indefatigable apostle of the sect in New York, +Albert Brisbane. Mr. Brisbane pushed his doctrine with all the force +of memory, talent, honest faith and importunacy. As we listened to his +exposition it appeared to us the sublime of mechanical philosophy; for +the system was the perfection of arrangement and contrivance. The force +of arrangement could no farther go. The merit of the plan was that it +was a system; that it had not the partiality and hint-and-fragment +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</span> +character of most popular schemes, but was coherent and comprehensive +of facts to a wonderful degree. It was not daunted by distance, or +magnitude, or remoteness of any sort, but strode about nature with +a giant’s step, and skipped no fact, but wove its large Ptolemaic +web of cycle and epicycle, of phalanx and phalanstery, with laudable +assiduity. Mechanics were pushed so far as fairly to meet spiritualism. +One could not but be struck with strange coincidences betwixt Fourier +and Swedenborg. Genius hitherto has been shamefully misapplied, a +mere trifler. It must now set itself to raise the social condition +of man and to redress the disorders of the planet he inhabits. The +Desert of Sahara, the Campagna di Roma, the frozen Polar circles, +which by their pestilential or hot or cold airs poison the temperate +regions, accuse man. Society, concert, co-operation, is the secret of +the coming Paradise. By reason of the isolation of men at the present +day, all work is drudgery. By concert and the allowing each laborer to +choose his own work, it becomes pleasure. “Attractive Industry” would +speedily subdue, by adventurous scientific and persistent tillage, the +pestilential tracts; would equalize temperature, give health to the +globe and cause the earth to yield “healthy imponderable fluids” to the +solar system, as now it yields noxious fluids. The hyæna, the jackal, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</span> +the gnat, the bug, the flea, were all beneficent parts of the system; +the good Fourier knew what those creatures should have been, had not +the mould slipped, through the bad state of the atmosphere; caused +no doubt by the same vicious imponderable fluids. All these shall be +redressed by human culture, and the useful goat and dog and innocent +poetical moth, or the wood-tick to consume decomposing wood, shall take +their place. It takes sixteen hundred and eighty men to make one Man, +complete in all the faculties; that is, to be sure that you have got a +good joiner, a good cook, a barber, a poet, a judge, an umbrella-maker, +a mayor and alderman, and so on. Your community should consist of two +thousand persons, to prevent accidents of omission; and each community +should take up six thousand acres of land. Now fancy the earth planted +with fifties and hundreds of these phalanxes side by side,—what +tillage, what architecture, what refectories, what dormitories, what +reading-rooms, what concerts, what lectures, what gardens, what baths! +What is not in one will be in another, and many will be within easy +distance. Then know you one and all, that Constantinople is the natural +capital of the globe. There, in the Golden Horn, will the Arch-Phalanx +be established; there will the Omniarch reside. Aladdin and his +magician, or the beautiful Scheherezade can alone, in these prosaic +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</span> +times before the sight, describe the material splendors collected +there. Poverty shall be abolished; deformity, stupidity and crime +shall be no more. Genius, grace, art, shall abound, and it is not to +be doubted but that in the reign of “Attractive Industry” all men will +speak in blank verse.</p> + +<p>Certainly we listened with great pleasure to such gay and magnificent +pictures. The ability and earnestness of the advocate and his friends, +the comprehensiveness of their theory, its apparent directness of +proceeding to the end they would secure, the indignation they felt +and uttered in the presence of so much social misery, commanded our +attention and respect. It contained so much truth, and promised in the +attempts that shall be made to realize it so much valuable instruction, +that we are engaged to observe every step of its progress. Yet in +spite of the assurances of its friends that it was new and widely +discriminated from all other plans for the regeneration of society, +we could not exempt it from the criticism which we apply to so many +projects for reform with which the brain of the age teems. Our feeling +was that Fourier had skipped no fact but one, namely Life. He treats +man as a plastic thing, something that may be put up or down, ripened +or retarded, moulded, polished, made into solid or fluid or gas, at +the will of the leader; or perhaps as a vegetable, from which, though +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</span> +now a poor crab, a very good peach can by manure and exposure be in +time produced,—but skips the faculty of life, which spawns and scorns +system and system-makers; which eludes all conditions; which makes or +supplants a thousand phalanxes and New Harmonies with each pulsation. +There is an order in which in a sound mind the faculties always appear, +and which, according to the strength of the individual, they seek to +realize in the surrounding world. The value of Fourier’s system is +that it is a statement of such an order externized, or carried outward +into its correspondence in facts. The mistake is that this particular +order and series is to be imposed, by force or preaching and votes, on +all men, and carried into rigid execution. But what is true and good +must not only be begun by life, but must be conducted to its issues by +life. Could not the conceiver of this design have also believed that a +similar model lay in every mind, and that the method of each associate +might be trusted, as well as that of his particular Committee and +General Office, No. 200 Broadway? Nay, that it would be better to say, +Let us be lovers and servants of that which is just, and straightway +every man becomes a centre of a holy and beneficent republic, which he +sees to include all men in its law, like that of Plato, and of Christ. +Before such a man the whole world becomes Fourierized or Christized or +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</span> +humanized, and in obedience to his most private being he finds himself, +according to his presentiment, though against all sensuous probability, +acting in strict concert with all others who followed their private +light.</p> + +<p>Yet, in a day of small, sour and fierce schemes, one is admonished +and cheered by a project of such friendly aims and of such bold and +generous proportion; there is an intellectual courage and strength in +it which is superior and commanding; it certifies the presence of so +much truth in the theory, and in so far is destined to be fact.</p> + +<p>It argued singular courage, the adoption of Fourier’s system, to even a +limited extent, with his books lying before the world only defended by +the thin veil of the French language. The Stoic said, Forbear, Fourier +said, Indulge. Fourier was of the opinion of St. Evremond; abstinence +from pleasure appeared to him a great sin. Fourier was very French +indeed. He labored under a misapprehension of the nature of women. The +Fourier marriage was a calculation how to secure the greatest amount of +kissing that the infirmity of human constitution admitted. It was false +and prurient, full of absurd French superstitions about women; ignorant +how serious and how moral their nature always is; how chaste is their +organization; how lawful a class.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</span></p> + +<p>It is the worst of community that it must inevitably transform into +charlatans the leaders, by the endeavor continually to meet the +expectation and admiration of this eager crowd of men and women seeking +they know not what. Unless he have a Cossack roughness of clearing +himself of what belongs not, charlatan he must be.</p> + +<p>It was easy to see what must be the fate of this fine system in any +serious and comprehensive attempt to set it on foot in this country. As +soon as our people got wind of the doctrine of Marriage held by this +master, it would fall at once into the hands of a lawless crew who +would flock in troops to so fair a game, and, like the dreams of poetic +people on the first outbreak of the old French Revolution, so theirs +would disappear in a slime of mire and blood.</p> + +<p>There is of course to every theory a tendency to run to an extreme, +and to forget the limitations. In our free institutions, where every +man is at liberty to choose his home and his trade, and all possible +modes of working and gaining are open to him, fortunes are easily made +by thousands, as in no other country. Then property proves too much +for the man, and the men of science, art, intellect, are pretty sure +to degenerate into selfish housekeepers, dependent on wine, coffee, +furnace-heat, gas-light and fine furniture. Then instantly things +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</span> +swing the other way, and we suddenly find that civilization crowed +too soon; that what we bragged as triumphs were treacheries: that we +have opened the wrong door and let the enemy into the castle; that +civilization was a mistake; that nothing is so vulgar as a great +warehouse of rooms full of furniture and trumpery; that, in the +circumstances, the best wisdom were an auction or a fire. Since the +foxes and the birds have the right of it, with a warm hole to keep +out the weather, and no more,—a pent-house to fend the sun and rain +is the house which lays no tax on the owner’s time and thoughts, and +which he can leave, when the sun is warm, and defy the robber. This +was Thoreau’s doctrine, who said that the Fourierists had a sense of +duty which led them to devote themselves to their second-best. And +Thoreau gave in flesh and blood and pertinacious Saxon belief the +purest ethics. He was more real and practically believing in them than +any of his company, and fortified you at all times with an affirmative +experience which refused to be set aside. Thoreau was in his own +person a practical answer, almost a refutation, to the theories of the +socialists. He required no Phalanx, no Government, no society, almost +no memory. He lived extempore from hour to hour, like the birds and +the angels; brought every day a new proposition, as revolutionary as +that of yesterday, but different: the only man of leisure in his town; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</span> +and his independence made all others look like slaves. He was a good +Abbot Sampson, and carried a counsel in his breast. “Again and again I +congratulate myself on my so-called poverty, I could not overstate this +advantage.” “What you call bareness and poverty, is to me simplicity. +God could not be unkind to me if he should try. I love best to have +each thing in its season only, and enjoy doing without it at all other +times. It is the greatest of all advantages to enjoy no advantage at +all. I have never got over my surprise that I should have been born +into the most estimable place in all the world, and in the very nick of +time too.” There’s an optimist for you.</p> + +<p>I regard these philanthropists as themselves the effects of the age +in which we live, and, in common with so many other good facts, +the efflorescence of the period, and predicting a good fruit that +ripens. They were not the creators they believed themselves, but they +were unconscious prophets of a true state of society; one which the +tendencies of nature lead unto, one which always establishes itself +for the sane soul, though not in that manner in which they paint it; +but they were describers of that which is really being done. The large +cities are phalansteries; and the theorists drew all their argument +from facts already taking place in our experience. The cheap way is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</span> +to make every man do what he was born for. One merchant to whom I +described the Fourier project, thought it must not only succeed, but +that agricultural association must presently fix the price of bread, +and drive single farmers into association in self-defence, as the great +commercial and manufacturing companion had done. Society in England +and in America is trying the experiment again in small pieces, in +co-operative associations, in cheap eating-houses, as well as in the +economies of club-houses and in cheap reading-rooms.</p> + +<p>It chanced that here in one family were two brothers, one a brilliant +and fertile inventor, and close by him his own brother, a man of +business, who knew how to direct his faculty and make it instantly and +permanently lucrative. Why could not the like partnership be formed +between the inventor and the man of executive talent everywhere? Each +man of thought is surrounded by wiser men than he, if they cannot +write as well. Cannot he and they combine? Talents supplement each +other. Beaumont and Fletcher and many French novelists have known how +to utilize such partnerships. Why not have a larger one, and with more +various members?</p> + +<p>Housekeepers say, “There are a thousand things to everything,” and +if one must study all the strokes to be laid, all the faults to be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</span> +shunned in a building or work of art, of its keeping, its composition, +its site, its color, there would be no end. But the architect, acting +under a necessity to build the house for its purpose, finds himself +helped, he knows not how, into all these merits of detail, and +steering clear, though in the dark, of those dangers which might have +shipwrecked him.</p> + + +<p class="nindc space-above2">BROOK FARM.</p> + + +<p>The West Roxbury association was formed in 1841, by a society of +members, men and women, who bought a farm in West Roxbury, of about two +hundred acres, and took possession of the place in April. Mr. George +Ripley was the President, and I think Mr. Charles Dana (afterwards +well known as one of the editors of the New York Tribune), was the +secretary. Many members took shares by paying money, others held +shares by their labor. An old house on the place was enlarged, and +three new houses built. William Allen was at first and for some time +the head farmer, and the work was distributed in orderly committees to +the men and women. There were many employments more or less lucrative +found for, or brought hither by these members,—shoemakers, joiners, +sempstresses. They had good scholars among them, and so received pupils +for their education. The parents of the children in some instances +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</span> +wished to live there, and were received as boarders. Many persons +attracted by the beauty of the place and the culture and ambition of +the community, joined them as boarders, and lived there for years. I +think the numbers of this mixed community soon reached eighty or ninety +souls.</p> + +<p>It was a noble and generous movement in the projectors, to try an +experiment of better living. They had the feeling that our ways of +living were too conventional and expensive, not allowing each to do +what he had a talent for, and not permitting men to combine cultivation +of mind and heart with a reasonable amount of daily labor. At the same +time, it was an attempt to lift others with themselves, and to share +the advantages they should attain, with others now deprived of them.</p> + +<p>There was no doubt great variety of character and purpose in +the members of the community. It consisted in the main of young +people,—few of middle age, and none old. Those who inspired and +organized it were of course persons impatient of the routine, +the uniformity, perhaps they would say, the squalid contentment +of society around them; which was so timid and skeptical of any +progress. One would say then that impulse was the rule in the society, +without centripetal balance; perhaps it would not be severe to say, +intellectual sans-culottism, an impatience of the formal, routinary +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</span> +character of our educational, religious, social and economical life in +Massachusetts. Yet there was immense hope in these young people. There +was nobleness; there were self-sacrificing victims who compensated for +the levity and rashness of their companions. The young people lived +a great deal in a short time, and came forth some of them perhaps +with shattered constitutions. And a few grave sanitary influences of +character were happily there, which, I was assured, were always felt.</p> + +<p>George W. Curtis of New York, and his brother, of English Oxford, +were members of the family from the first. Theodore Parker, the near +neighbor of the farm and the most intimate friend of Mr. Ripley, was a +frequent visitor. Mr. Ichabod Morton of Plymouth, a plain man formerly +engaged through many years in the fisheries with success,—eccentric, +with a persevering interest in Education, and of a very democratic +religion, came and built a house on the farm, and he, or members of +his family, continued there to the end. Margaret Fuller, with her +joyful conversation and large sympathy, was often a guest, and always +in correspondence with her friends! Many ladies, whom to name were to +praise, gave character and varied attraction to the place.</p> + +<p>In and around Brook Farm, whether as members, boarders, or +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</span> +visitors, were many remarkable persons, for character, intellect, or +accomplishments. I recall one youth of the subtlest mind, I believe +I must say the subtlest observer and diviner of character I ever +met, living, reading, writing, talking there, perhaps as long as the +colony held together; his mind fed and overfed by whatever is exalted +in genius, whether in Poetry or Art, in Drama or Music, or in social +accomplishment and elegancy; a man of no employment or practical aims, +a student and philosopher, who found his daily enjoyment not with the +elders or his exact contemporaries so much as with the fine boys who +were skating and playing ball or bird-hunting; forming the closest +friendships with such, and finding his delight in the petulant heroisms +of boys; yet was he the chosen counsellor to whom the guardians would +repair on any hitch or difficulty that occurred, and draw from him a +wise counsel. A fine, subtle, inward genius, puny in body and habit as +a girl, yet with an <i>aplomb</i> like a general, never disconcerted. +He lived and thought, in 1842, such worlds of life; all hinging on +the thought of Being or Reality as opposed to consciousness; hating +intellect with the ferocity of a Swedenborg. He was the Abbé or +spiritual father, from his religious bias. His reading lay in Æschylus, +Plato, Dante, Calderon, Shakspeare, and in modern novels and romances +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</span> +of merit. There too was Hawthorne, with his cold yet gentle genius, +if he failed to do justice to this temporary home. There was the +accomplished Doctor of Music, who has presided over its literature ever +since in our metropolis. Rev. William Henry Channing, now of London, +was from the first a student of Socialism in France and England, and +in perfect sympathy with this experiment. An English baronet, Sir John +Caldwell, was a frequent visitor, and more or less directly interested +in the leaders and the success.</p> + +<p>Hawthorne drew some sketches, not happily, as I think; I should rather +say, quite unworthy of his genius. No friend who knew Margaret Fuller +could recognize her rich and brilliant genius under the dismal mask +which the public fancied was meant for her in that disagreeable story.</p> + +<p>The Founders of Brook Farm should have this praise, that they made what +all people try to make, an agreeable place to live in. All comers, even +the most fastidious, found it the pleasantest of residences. It is +certain that freedom from household routine, variety of character and +talent, variety of work, variety of means of thought and instruction, +art, music, poetry, reading, masquerade, did not permit sluggishness +or despondency; broke up routine. There is agreement in the testimony +that it was, to most of the associates, education; to many, the most +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</span> +important period of their life, the birth of valued friendships, their +first acquaintance with the riches of conversation, their training +in behavior. The art of letter-writing, it is said, was immensely +cultivated. Letters were always flying not only from house to house, +but from room to room. It was a perpetual picnic, a French Revolution +in small, an Age of Reason in a patty-pan.</p> + +<p>In the American social communities, the gossip found such vent and sway +as to become despotic. The institutions were whispering-galleries, +in which the adored Saxon privacy was lost. Married women I believe +uniformly decided against the community. It was to them like the brassy +and lacquered life in hotels. The common school was well enough, but to +the common nursery they had grave objections. Eggs might be hatched in +ovens, but the hen on her own account much preferred the old way. A hen +without her chickens was but half a hen.</p> + +<p>It was a curious experience of the patrons and leaders of this +noted community, in which the agreement with many parties was that +they should give so many hours of instruction in mathematics, in +music, in moral and intellectual philosophy, and so forth,—that in +every instance the new comers showed themselves keenly alive to the +advantages of the society, and were sure to avail themselves of every +means of instruction; their knowledge was increased, their manners +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</span> +refined,—but they became in that proportion averse to labor, and were +charged by the heads of the departments with a certain indolence and +selfishness.</p> + +<p>In practice it is always found that virtue is occasional, spotty, +and not linear or cubic. Good people are as bad as rogues if steady +performance is claimed; the conscience of the conscientious runs in +veins, and the most punctilious in some particulars are latitudinarian +in others. It was very gently said that people on whom beforehand all +persons would put the utmost reliance were not responsible. They saw +the necessity that the work must be done, and did it not, and it of +course fell to be done by the few religious workers. No doubt there was +in many a certain strength drawn from the fury of dissent. Thus Mr. +Ripley told Theodore Parker, “There is your accomplished friend ——, +he would hoe corn all Sunday if I would let him, but all Massachusetts +could not make him do it on Monday.”</p> + +<p>Of course every visitor found that there was a comic side to this +Paradise of shepherds and shepherdesses. There was a stove in every +chamber, and every one might burn as much wood as he or she would +saw. The ladies took cold on washing-day; so it was ordained that the +gentlemen-shepherds should wring and hang out clothes; which they +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</span> +punctually did. And it would sometimes occur that when they danced +in the evening, clothes-pins dropped plentifully from their pockets. +The country members naturally were surprised to observe that one man +ploughed all day and one looked out of the window all day, and perhaps +drew his picture, and both received at night the same wages. One would +meet also some modest pride in their advanced condition, signified by a +frequent phrase, “Before we came out of civilization.”</p> + +<p>The question which occurs to you had occurred much earlier to Fourier: +“How in this charming Elysium is the dirty work to be done?” And long +ago Fourier had exclaimed, “Ah! I have it,” and jumped with joy. “Don’t +you see,” he cried, “that nothing so delights the young Caucasian child +as dirt? See the mud-pies that all children will make if you will let +them. See how much more joy they find in pouring their pudding on the +table-cloth than into their beautiful mouths. The children from six to +eight, organized into companies with flags and uniforms, shall do this +last function of civilization.”</p> + +<p>In Brook Farm was this peculiarity, that there was no head. In every +family is the father; in every factory, a foreman; in a shop, a master; +in a boat, the skipper; but in this Farm, no authority; each was +master or mistress of his or her actions; happy, hapless anarchists. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</span> +They expressed, after much perilous experience, the conviction that +plain dealing was the best defence of manners and moral between the +sexes. People cannot live together in any but necessary ways. The only +candidates who will present themselves will be those who have tried +the experiment of independence and ambition, and have failed; and none +others will barter for the most comfortable equality the chance of +superiority. Then all communities have quarrelled. Few people can live +together on their merits. There must be kindred, or mutual economy, or +a common interest in their business, or other external tie.</p> + +<p>The society at Brook Farm existed, I think, about six or seven years, +and then broke up, the Farm was sold, and I believe all the partners +came out with pecuniary loss. Some of them had spent on it the +accumulations of years. I suppose they all, at the moment, regarded it +as a failure. I do not think they can so regard it now, but probably +as an important chapter in their experience which has been of lifelong +value. What knowledge of themselves and of each other, what various +practical wisdom, what personal power, what studies of character, what +accumulated culture many of the members owed to it! What mutual measure +they took of each other! It was a close union, like that in a ship’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</span> +cabin, of clergymen, young collegians, merchants, mechanics, farmers’ +sons and daughters, with men and women of rare opportunities and +delicate culture, yet assembled there by a sentiment which all shared, +some of them hotly shared, of the honesty of a life of labor and of +the beauty of a life of humanity. The yeoman saw refined manners in +persons who were his friends; and the lady or the romantic scholar saw +the continuous strength and faculty in people who would have disgusted +them but that these powers were now spent in the direction of their own +theory of life.</p> + +<p>I recall these few selected facts, none of them of much independent +interest, but symptomatic of the times and country. I please myself +with the thought that our American mind is not now eccentric or rude +in its strength, but is beginning to show a quiet power, drawn from +wide and abundant sources, proper to a Continent and to an educated +people. If I have owed much to the special influences I have indicated, +I am not less aware of that excellent and increasing circle of masters +in arts and in song and in science, who cheer the intellect of our +cities and this country to-day,—whose genius is not a lucky accident, +but normal, and with broad foundation of culture, and so inspires the +hope of steady strength advancing on itself, and a day without night.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_CHARDON_STREET_CONVENTION">THE CHARDON STREET CONVENTION.</h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_CHARDON_STREET">THE CHARDON STREET CONVENTION.<a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a></h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_28" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<p>IN the month of November, 1840, a Convention of Friends of Universal +Reform assembled in the Chardon Street Chapel in Boston, in obedience +to a call in the newspapers, signed by a few individuals, inviting all +persons to a public discussion of the institutions of the Sabbath, +the Church and the Ministry. The Convention organized itself by +the choice of Edmund Quincy as Moderator, spent three days in the +consideration of the Sabbath, and adjourned to a day in March of the +following year, for the discussion of the second topic. In March, +accordingly, a three-days’ sessions was holden in the same place, on +the subject of the Church, and a third meeting fixed for the following +November, which was accordingly holden; and the Convention debated, +for three days again, the remaining subject of the Priesthood. This +Convention never printed any report of its deliberations, nor pretended +to arrive at any result by the expression of its sense in formal +resolutions;—the professed objects of those persons who felt the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</span> +greatest interest in its meetings being simply the elucidation of +truth through free discussion. The daily newspapers reported, at the +time, brief sketches of the course of proceedings, and the remarks +of the principal speakers. These meetings attracted a great deal of +public attention, and were spoken of in different circles in every +note of hope, of sympathy, of joy, of alarm, of abhorrence and of +merriment. The composition of the assembly was rich and various. The +singularity and latitude of the summons drew together, from all parts +of New England and also from the Middle States, men of every shade of +opinion from the straitest orthodoxy to the wildest heresy, and many +persons whose church was a church of one member only. A great variety +of dialect and of costume was noticed; a great deal of confusion, +eccentricity, and freak appeared, as well as of zeal and enthusiasm. +If the assembly was disorderly, it was picturesque. Madmen, madwomen, +men with beards, Dunkers, Muggletonians, Come-outers, Groaners, +Agrarians, Seventh-day-Baptists, Quakers, Abolitionists, Calvinists, +Unitarians and Philosophers,—all came successively to the top, and +seized their moment, if not their hour, wherein to chide, or pray, or +preach, or protest. The faces were a study. The most daring innovators +and the champions-until-death of the old cause sat side by side. The +still-living merit of the oldest New England families, glowing yet +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</span> +after several generations, encountered the founders of families, +fresh merit, emerging, and expanding the brows to a new breadth, +and lighting a clownish face with sacred fire. The assembly was +characterized by the predominance of a certain plain, sylvan strength +and earnestness, whilst many of the most intellectual and cultivated +persons attended its councils. Dr. Channing, Edward Taylor, Bronson +Alcott, Mr. Garrison, Mr. May, Theodore Parker, H. C. Wright, Dr. +Osgood, William Adams, Edward Palmer, Jones Very, Maria W. Chapman, and +many other persons of a mystical or sectarian or philanthropic renown, +were present, and some of them participant. And there was no want of +female speakers; Mrs. Little and Mrs. Lucy Sessions took a pleasing +and memorable part in the debate, and that flea of Conventions, Mrs. +Abigail Folsom, was but too ready with her interminable scroll. If +there was not parliamentary order, there was life, and the assurance of +that constitutional love for religion and religious liberty which, in +all periods, characterizes the inhabitants of this part of America.</p> + +<p>There was a great deal of wearisome speaking in each of those +three-days’ sessions, but relieved by signal passages of pure +eloquence, by much vigor of thought, and especially by the exhibition +of character, and by the victories of character. These men and women +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</span> +were in search of something better and more satisfying than a vote or +a definition, and they found what they sought, or the pledge of it, +in the attitude taken by individuals of their number of resistance +to the insane routine of parliamentary usage; in the lofty reliance +on principles, and the prophetic dignity and transfiguration which +accompanies, even amidst opposition and ridicule, a man whose mind is +made up to obey the great inward Commander, and who does not anticipate +his own action, but awaits confidently the new emergency for the new +counsel. By no means the least value of this Convention, in our eye, +was the scope it gave to the genius of Mr. Alcott, and not its least +instructive lesson was the gradual but sure ascendency of his spirit, +in spite of the incredulity and derision with which he is at first +received, and in spite, we might add, of his own failures. Moreover, +although no decision was had, and no action taken on all the great +points mooted in the discussion, yet the Convention brought together +many remarkable persons, face to face, and gave occasion to memorable +interviews and conversations, in the hall, in the lobbies, or around +the doors.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p class="nind"><a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="label">[11]</a> +<i>The Dial</i>, vol. iii., p. 100.</p> + +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="EZRA_RIPLEY_D_D">EZRA RIPLEY, D. D.</h2> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="allsmcap">WE</span> love the venerable house</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Our fathers built to God:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In Heaven are kept their grateful vows,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Their dust endears the sod.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">From humble tenements around</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Came up the pensive train</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And in the church a blessing found</div> + <div class="verse indent2">That filled their homes again.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_29" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="EZRA_RIPLEY_D_D_2">EZRA RIPLEY, D. D.<a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a></h2> +</div> + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_30" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<p>EZRA RIPLEY was born May 1, 1751 (O. S.), at Woodstock, Connecticut. +He was the fifth of the nineteen children of Noah and Lydia (Kent) +Ripley. Seventeen of these nineteen children married, and it is stated +that the mother died leaving nineteen children, one hundred and two +grandchildren and ninety-six great-grandchildren. The father was born +at Hingham, on the farm purchased by his ancestor, William Ripley, +of England, at the first settlement of the town; which farm has been +occupied by seven or eight generations. Ezra Ripley followed the +business of farming till sixteen years of age, when his father wished +him to be qualified to teach a grammar school, not thinking himself +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</span> +able to send one son to college without injury to his other children. +With this view, the father agreed with the late Rev. Dr. Forbes of +Gloucester, then minister of North Brookfield, to fit Ezra for college +by the time he should be twenty-one years of age, and to have him labor +during the time sufficiently to pay for his instruction, clothing and +books.</p> + +<p>But, when fitted for college, the son could not be contented with +teaching, which he had tried the preceding winter. He had early +manifested a desire for learning, and could not be satisfied without a +public education. Always inclined to notice ministers, and frequently +attempting, when only five or six years old, to imitate them by +preaching, now that he had become a professor of religion he had an +ardent desire to be a preacher of the gospel. He had to encounter great +difficulties, but, through a kind providence and the patronage of Dr. +Forbes, he entered Harvard University, July, 1772. The commencement of +the Revolutionary War greatly interrupted his education at college. +In 1775, in his senior year, the college was removed from Cambridge +to this town. The studies were much broken up. Many of the students +entered the army, and the class never returned to Cambridge. There were +an unusually large number of distinguished men in this class of 1776: +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</span> +Christopher Gore, Governor of Massachusetts and Senator in Congress; +Samuel Sewall, Chief Justice of Massachusetts; George Thacher, Judge of +the Supreme Court; Royall Tyler, Chief Justice of Vermont; and the late +learned Dr. Prince, of Salem.</p> + +<p>Mr. Ripley was ordained minister of Concord November 7, 1778. He +married, November 16, 1780, Mrs. Phebe (Bliss) Emerson, then a widow of +thirty-nine, with five children. They had three children: Samuel, born +May 11, 1783; Daniel Bliss, born August 1, 1784; Sarah, born April 8, +1789. He died September 21, 1841.</p> + +<p>To these facts, gathered chiefly from his own diary, and stated nearly +in his own words, I can only add a few traits from memory.</p> + +<p>He was identified with the ideas and forms of the New England Church, +which expired about the same time with him, so that he and his coevals +seemed the rear guard of the great camp and army of the Puritans, +which, however in its last days declining into formalism, in the heyday +of its strength had planted and liberated America. It was a pity that +his old meeting-house should have been modernized in his time. I am +sure all who remember both will associate his form with whatever was +grave and droll in the old, cold, unpainted, uncarpeted square-pewed +meeting-house, with its four iron-gray deacons in their little box +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</span> +under the pulpit,—with Watts’s hymns, with long prayers, rich with the +diction of ages; and not less with the report like musketry from the +movable seats. He and his contemporaries, the old New England clergy, +were believers in what is called a particular providence,—certainly, +as they held it, a very particular providence,—following the +narrowness of King David and the Jews, who thought the universe existed +only or mainly for their church and congregation. Perhaps I cannot +better illustrate this tendency than by citing a record from the +diary of the father of his predecessor,<a id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> the minister of Malden, +written in the blank leaves of the almanac for the year 1735. The +minister writes against January 31st: “Bought a shay for 27 pounds, +10 shillings. The Lord grant it may be a comfort and blessing to my +family.” In March following he notes: “Had a safe and comfortable +journey to York.” But April 24th, we find: “Shay overturned, with +my wife and I in it, yet neither of us much hurt. Blessed be our +gracious Preserver. Part of the shay, as it lay upon one side, went +over my wife, and yet she was scarcely anything hurt. How wonderful +the preservation.” Then again, May 5th: “Went to the beach with three +of the children. The beast, being frightened when we were all out +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</span> +of the shay, overturned and broke it. I desire (I hope I desire it) +that the Lord would teach me suitably to repent this Providence, to +make suitable remarks on it, and to be suitably affected with it. +Have I done well to get me a shay? Have I not been proud or too fond +of this convenience? Do I exercise the faith in the Divine care and +protection which I ought to do? Should I not be more in my study and +less fond of diversion? Do I not withhold more than is meet from pious +and charitable uses?” Well, on 15th May we have this: “Shay brought +home; mending cost thirty shillings. Favored in this respect beyond +expectation.” 16th May: “My wife and I rode together to Rumney Marsh. +The beast frighted several times.” And at last we have this record, +June 4th: “Disposed of my shay to Rev. Mr. White.”</p> + +<p>The same faith made what was strong and what was weak in Dr. Ripley +and his associates. He was a perfectly sincere man, punctual, severe, +but just and charitable, and if he made his forms a strait-jacket +to others, he wore the same himself all his years. Trained in this +church, and very well qualified by his natural talent to work in it, +it was never out of his mind. He looked at every person and thing from +the parochial point of view. I remember, when a boy, driving about +Concord with him, and in passing each house he told the story of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</span> +family that lived in it, and especially he gave me anecdotes of the +nine church members who had made a division in the church in the time +of his predecessor, and showed me how every one of the nine had come +to bad fortune or to a bad end. His prayers for rain and against the +lightning, “that it may not lick up our spirits;” and for good weather; +and against sickness and insanity; “that we have not been tossed to and +fro until the dawning of the day, that we have not been a terror to +ourselves and others;” are well remembered, and his own entire faith +that these petitions were not to be overlooked, and were entitled to a +favorable answer. Some of those around me will remember one occasion of +severe drought in this vicinity, when the late Rev. Mr. Goodwin offered +to relieve the Doctor of the duty of leading in prayer; but the Doctor +suddenly remembering the season, rejected his offer with some humor, +as with an air that said to all the congregation, “This is no time for +you young Cambridge men; the affair, sir, is getting serious. I will +pray myself.” One August afternoon, when I was in his hayfield helping +him with his man to rake up his hay, I well remember his pleading, +almost reproachful looks at the sky, when the thunder gust was coming +up to spoil his hay. He raked very fast, then looked at the cloud, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</span> +said, “We are in the Lord’s hand; mind your rake, George! We are in the +Lord’s hand;” and seemed to say, “You know me; this field is mine,—Dr. +Ripley’s,—thine own servant!”</p> + +<p>He used to tell the story of one of his old friends, the minister +of Sudbury, who, being at the Thursday lecture in Boston, heard the +officiating clergyman praying for rain. As soon as the service was +over, he went to the petitioner, and said, “You Boston ministers, as +soon as a tulip wilts under your windows, go to church and pray for +rain, until all Concord and Sudbury are under water.” I once rode with +him to a house at Nine Acre Corner to attend the funeral of the father +of a family. He mentioned to me on the way his fears that the oldest +son, who was now to succeed to the farm, was becoming intemperate. +We presently arrived, and the Doctor addressed each of the mourners +separately: “Sir, I condole with you.” “Madam, I condole with you.” +“Sir, I knew your great-grandfather. When I came to this town, your +great-grandfather was a substantial farmer in this very place, a member +of the church, and an excellent citizen. Your grandfather followed him, +and was a virtuous man. Now your father is to be carried to his grave, +full of labors and virtues. There is none of that large family left but +you, and it rests with you to bear up the good name and usefulness of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</span> +your ancestors. If you fail, Ichabod, the glory is departed. Let us +pray.” Right manly he was, and the manly thing he could always say. I +can remember a little speech he made to me, when the last tie of blood +which held me and my brothers to his house was broken by the death of +his daughter. He said, on parting, “I wish you and your brothers to +come to this house as you have always done. You will not like to be +excluded; I shall not like to be neglected.”</p> + +<p>When “Put” Merriam, after his release from the state prison, had the +effrontery to call on the doctor as an old acquaintance, in the midst +of general conversation Mr. Frost came in, and the doctor presently +said, “Mr. Merriam, my brother and colleague, Mr. Frost, has come to +take tea with me. I regret very much the causes (which you know very +well) which make it impossible for me to ask you to stay and break +bread with us.” With the Doctor’s views it was a matter of religion to +say thus much. He had a reverence and love of society, and the patient, +continuing courtesy, carrying out every respectful attention to the +end, which marks what is called the manners of the old school. His +hospitality obeyed Charles Lamb’s rule, and “ran fine to the last.” His +partiality for ladies was always strong, and was by no means abated by +time. He claimed privilege of years, was much addicted to kissing; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</span> +spared neither maid, wife, nor widow, and, as a lady thus favored +remarked to me, “seemed as if he was going to make a meal of you.”</p> + +<p>He was very credulous, and as he was no reader of books or journals, he +knew nothing beyond the columns of his weekly religious newspaper, the +tracts of his sect, and perhaps the Middlesex Yeoman. He was the easy +dupe of any tonguey agent, whether colonizationist or anti-papist, or +charlatan of iron combs, or tractors, or phrenology, or magnetism, who +went by. At the time when Jack Downing’s letters were in every paper, +he repeated to me at table some of the particulars of that gentleman’s +intimacy with General Jackson, in a manner that betrayed to me at once +that he took the whole for fact. To undeceive him, I hastened to recall +some particulars to show the absurdity of the thing, as the Major and +the President going out skating on the Potomac, etc. “Why,” said the +Doctor with perfect faith, “it was a bright moonlight night;” and I +am not sure that he did not die in the belief in the reality of Major +Downing. Like other credulous men, he was opinionative, and, as I well +remember, a great browbeater of the poor old fathers who still survived +from the 19th of April, to the end that they should testify to his +history as he had written it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</span></p> + +<p>He was a man so kind and sympathetic, his character was so transparent, +and his merits so intelligible to all observers, that he was very +justly appreciated in this community. He was a natural gentleman, no +dandy, but courtly, hospitable, manly and public-spirited; his nature +social, his house open to all men. We remember the remark made by the +old farmer who used to travel hither from Maine, that no horse from +the Eastern country would go by the doctor’s gate. Travellers from the +West and North and South bear the like testimony. His brow was serene +and open to his visitor, for he loved men, and he had no studies, no +occupations, which company could interrupt. His friends were his study, +and to see them loosened his talents and his tongue. In his house +dwelt order and prudence and plenty. There was no waste and no stint. +He was open-handed and just and generous. Ingratitude and meanness in +his beneficiaries did not wear out his compassion; he bore the insult, +and the next day his basket for the beggar, his horse and chaise for +the cripple, were at their door. Though he knew the value of a dollar +as well as another man, yet he loved to buy dearer and sell cheaper +than others. He subscribed to all charities, and it is no reflection +on others to say that he was the most public-spirited man in the town. +The late Dr. Gardiner, in a funeral sermon on some parishioner whose +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</span> +virtues did not readily come to mind, honestly said, “He was good at +fires.” Dr. Ripley had many virtues, and yet all will remember that +even in his old age, if the fire-bell was rung, he was instantly on +horseback with his buckets and bag.</p> + +<p>He showed even in his fireside discourse traits of that pertinency +and judgment, softening ever and anon into elegancy, which make the +distinction of the scholar, and which, under better discipline, might +have ripened into a Bentley or a Porson. He had a foresight, when he +opened his mouth, of all that he would say, and he marched straight to +the conclusion. In debate in the vestry of the Lyceum, the structure of +his sentences was admirable; so neat, so natural, so terse, his words +fell like stones; and often, though quite unconscious of it, his speech +was a satire on the loose, voluminous, draggle-tail periods of other +speakers. He sat down when he had done. A man of anecdote, his talk in +the parlor was chiefly narrative. We remember the remark of a gentleman +who listened with much delight to his conversation at the time when the +Doctor was preparing to go to Baltimore and Washington, that “a man who +could tell a story so well was company for kings and John Quincy Adams.”</p> + +<p>Sage and savage strove harder in him than in any of my acquaintances, +each getting the mastery by turns, and pretty sudden turns: “Save +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</span> +us from the extremity of cold and these violent sudden changes.” +“The society will meet after the Lyceum, as it is difficult to bring +people together in the evening,—and no moon.” “Mr. N. F. is dead, and +I expect to hear of the death of Mr. B. It is cruel to separate old +people from their wives in this cold weather.”</p> + +<p>With a very limited acquaintance with books, his knowledge was an +external experience, an Indian wisdom, the observation of such facts +as country life for nearly a century could supply. He watched with +interest the garden, the field, the orchard, the house and the barn, +horse, cow, sheep and dog, and all the common objects that engage +the thought of the farmer. He kept his eye on the horizon, and knew +the weather like a sea-captain. The usual experiences of men, birth, +marriage, sickness, death, burial; the common temptations; the common +ambitions;—he studied them all, and sympathized so well in these that +he was excellent company and counsel to all, even the most humble and +ignorant. With extraordinary states of mind, with states of enthusiasm +or enlarged speculation, he had no sympathy, and pretended to none. +He was sincere, and kept to his point, and his mark was never remote. +His conversation was strictly personal and apt to the party and the +occasion. An eminent skill he had in saying difficult and unspeakable +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</span> +things; in delivering to a man or a woman that which all their other +friends had abstained from saying, in uncovering the bandage from a +sore place, and applying the surgeon’s knife with a truly surgical +spirit. Was a man a sot, or a spendthrift, or too long time a bachelor, +or suspected of some hidden crime, or had he quarrelled with his +wife, or collared his father, or was there any cloud or suspicious +circumstances in his behavior, the good pastor knew his way straight +to that point, believing himself entitled to a full explanation, and +whatever relief to the conscience of both parties plain speech could +effect was sure to be procured. In all such passages he justified +himself to the conscience, and commonly to the love, of the persons +concerned. He was the more competent to these searching discourses +from his knowledge of family history. He knew everybody’s grandfather, +and seemed to address each person rather as the representative of his +house and name, than as an individual. In him have perished more local +and personal anecdotes of this village and vicinity than are possessed +by any survivor. This intimate knowledge of families, and this skill +of speech, and still more, his sympathy, made him incomparable in his +parochial visits, and in his exhortations and prayers. He gave himself +up to his feelings, and said on the instant the best things in the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</span> +world. Many and many a felicity he had in his prayer, now forever lost, +which defied all the rules of all the rhetoricians. He did not know +when he was good in prayer or sermon, for he had no literature and no +art; but he believed, and therefore spoke. He was eminently loyal in +his nature, and not fond of adventure or innovation. By education, and +still more by temperament, he was engaged to the old forms of the New +England Church. Not speculative, but affectionate; devout, but with an +extreme love of order, he adopted heartily, though in its mildest form, +the creed and catechism of the fathers, and appeared a modern Israelite +in his attachment to the Hebrew history and faith. He was a man very +easy to read, for his whole life and conversation were consistent. All +his opinions and actions might be securely predicted by a good observer +on short acquaintance. My classmate at Cambridge, Frederick King, told +me from Governor Gore, who was the Doctor’s classmate, that in college +he was called Holy Ripley.</p> + +<p>And now, in his old age, when all the antique Hebraism and its customs +are passing away, it is fit that he too should depart,—most fit that +in the fall of laws a loyal man should die.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p class="nind"><a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="label">[12]</a> +This sketch was written for the Social Circle, a club in Concord, +now more than a century old, and said to be the lineal descendant of +the Committee of Safety in the Revolution. Mr. Emerson was a member +for many years and greatly valued its weekly evening meetings, held, +during the winter, at the houses of the members. After the death of Dr. +Ripley, an early member and connected with him by marriage, Mr. Emerson +was asked to prepare the customary Memoir for the Club Book.</p> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p class="nind"><a id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13" class="label">[13]</a> +Rev. Joseph Emerson.</p> + +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="MARY_MOODY_EMERSON">MARY MOODY EMERSON.</h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_31" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="allsmcap">THE</span> yesterday doth never smile,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To-day goes drudging through the while,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yet in the name of Godhead, I</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The morrow front and can defy;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Though I am weak, yet God, when prayed,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Cannot withhold his conquering aid.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ah me! it was my childhood’s thought,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">If He should make my web a blot</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On life’s fair picture of delight,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My heart’s content would find it right.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But O, these waves and leaves,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When happy, stoic Nature grieves,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No human speech so beautiful</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As their murmurs mine to lull.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On this altar God hath built</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I lay my vanity and guilt;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nor me can Hope or Passion urge,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hearing as now the lofty dirge</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Which blasts of Northern mountains hymn,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nature’s funeral high and dim,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sable pageantry of clouds,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mourning summer laid in shrouds.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Many a day shall dawn and die,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Many an angel wander by,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And passing, light my sunken turf,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Moist perhaps by ocean surf,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Forgotten amid splendid tombs,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yet wreathed and hid by summer blooms.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On earth I dream;—I die to be:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Time! shake not thy bald head at me.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I challenge thee to hurry past,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or for my turn to fly too fast.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</span></p> + +<p>[<span class="allsmcap">LUCY PERCY</span>, Countess of Carlisle, the friend of Strafford and +of Pym, is thus described by Sir Toby Matthews:]</p> + +<p>“She is of too high a mind and dignity not only to seek, but almost +to wish, the friendship of any creature. They whom she is pleased to +choose are such as are of the most eminent condition both for power and +employment,—not with any design towards her own particular, either of +advantage or curiosity, but her nature values fortunate persons. She +prefers the conversation of men to that of women; not but she can talk +on the fashions with her female friends, but she is too soon sensible +that she can set them as she wills; that pre-eminence shortens all +equality. She converses with those who are most distinguished for their +conversational powers. Of Love freely will she discourse, listen to +all its faults and mark its power: and will take a deep interest for +persons of celebrity.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="MARY_MOODY_EMERSON_2">MARY MOODY EMERSON.<a id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a></h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_32" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<p>I WISH to meet the invitation with which the ladies have honored me by +offering them a portrait of real life. It is a representative life, +such as could hardly have appeared out of New England; of an age now +past, and of which I think no types survive. Perhaps I deceive myself +and overestimate its interest. It has to me a value like that which +many readers find in Madame Guyon, in Rahel, in Eugénie de Guérin, but +it is purely original and hardly admits of a duplicate. Then it is a +fruit of Calvinism and New England, and marks the precise time when the +power of the old creed yielded to the influence of modern science and +humanity.</p> + +<p>I have found that I could only bring you this portrait by selections +from the diary of my heroine, premising a sketch of her time and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</span> +place. I report some of the thoughts and soliloquies of a country girl, +poor, solitary,—‘a goody’ as she called herself,—growing from youth +to age amid slender opportunities and usually very humble company.</p> + +<p>Mary Moody Emerson was born just before the outbreak of the Revolution. +When introduced to Lafayette at Portland, she told him that she was +“in arms” at the Concord Fight. Her father, the minister of Concord, +a warm patriot in 1775, went as a chaplain to the American army at +Ticonderoga: he carried his infant daughter, before he went, to his +mother in Malden and told her to keep the child until he returned. +He died at Rutland, Vermont, of army-fever, the next year, and Mary +remained at Malden with her grandmother, and, after her death, with her +father’s sister, in whose house she grew up, rarely seeing her brothers +and sisters in Concord. This aunt and her husband lived on a farm, were +getting old, and the husband a shiftless, easy man. There was plenty of +work for the little niece to do day by day, and not always bread enough +in the house.</p> + +<p>One of her tasks, it appears, was to watch for the approach of the +deputy-sheriff, who might come to confiscate the spoons or arrest the +uncle for debt. Later, another aunt, who had become insane, was brought +hither to end her days. More and sadder work for this young girl. She +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</span> +had no companions, lived in entire solitude with these old people, +very rarely cheered by short visits from her brothers and sisters. +Her mother had married again,—married the minister who succeeded her +husband in the parish at Concord, [Dr. Ezra Ripley,] and had now a +young family growing up around her.</p> + +<p>Her aunt became strongly attached to Mary, and persuaded the family to +give the child up to her as a daughter, on some terms embracing a care +of her future interests. She would leave the farm to her by will. This +promise was kept; she came into possession of the property many years +after, and her dealings with it gave her no small trouble, though they +give much piquancy to her letters in after years. Finally it was sold, +and its price invested in a share of a farm in Maine, where she lived +as a boarder with her sister, for many years. It was in a picturesque +country, within sight of the White Mountains, with a little lake in +front at the foot of a high hill called Bear Mountain. Not far from +the house was a brook running over a granite floor like the Franconia +Flume, and noble forests around. Every word she writes about this farm +(“Elm Vale,” Waterford,) her dealings and vexations about it, her joys +and raptures of religion and Nature, interest like a romance, and to +those who may hereafter read her letters, will make its obscure acres +amiable.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</span></p> + +<p>In Malden she lived through all her youth and early womanhood, with +the habit of visiting the families of her brothers and sisters on any +necessity of theirs. Her good will to serve in time of sickness or of +pressure was known to them, and promptly claimed, and her attachment +to the youths and maidens growing up in those families was secure for +any trait of talent or of character. Her sympathy for young people who +pleased her was almost passionate, and was sure to make her arrival in +each house a holiday.</p> + +<p>Her early reading was Milton, Young, Akenside, Samuel Clarke, Jonathan +Edwards, and always the Bible. Later, Plato, Plotinus, Marcus +Antoninus, Stewart, Coleridge, Cousin, Herder, Locke, Madame De Staël, +Channing, Mackintosh, Byron. Nobody can read in her manuscript, or +recall the conversation of old-school people, without seeing that +Milton and Young had a religious authority in their mind, and nowise +the slight, merely entertaining quality of modern bards. And Plato, +Aristotle, Plotinus, how venerable and organic as Nature they are in +her mind! What a subject is her mind and life for the finest novel! +When I read Dante, the other day, and his paraphrases to signify +with more adequateness Christ or Jehovah, whom do you think I was +reminded of? Whom but Mary Emerson and her eloquent theology? She +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</span> +had a deep sympathy with genius. When it was unhallowed, as in Byron, +she had none the less, whilst she deplored and affected to denounce +him. But she adored it when ennobled by character. She liked to +notice that the greatest geniuses have died ignorant of their power +and influence. She wished you to scorn to shine. “My opinion,” she +writes, (is) “that a mind like Byron’s would never be satisfied with +modern Unitarianism,—that the fiery depths of Calvinism, its high +and mysterious elections to eternal bliss, beyond angels, and all its +attendant wonders would have alone been fitted to fix his imagination.”</p> + +<p>Her wit was so fertile, and only used to strike, that she never used +it for display, any more than a wasp would parade his sting. It was +ever the will and not the phrase that concerned her. Yet certain +expressions, when they marked a memorable state of mind in her +experience, recurred to her afterwards, and she would vindicate herself +as having said to Dr. R—— or Uncle L—— so and so, at such a period +of her life. But they were intensely true when first spoken. All her +language was happy, but inimitable, unattainable by talent, as if +caught from some dream. She calls herself “the puny pilgrim, whose sole +talent is sympathy.” “I like that kind of apathy that is a triumph to +overset.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</span></p> + +<p>She writes to her nephew Charles Emerson, in 1833:—“I could never have +adorned the garden. If I had been in aught but dreary deserts, I should +have idolized my friends, despised the world and been haughty. I never +expected connections and matrimony. My taste was formed in romance, and +I knew I was not destined to please. I love God and his creation as I +never else could. I scarcely feel the sympathies of this life enough to +agitate the pool. This in general, one case or so excepted, and even +this is a relation to God through you. ’Twas so in my happiest early +days, when you were at my side.”</p> + +<p>Destitution is the Muse of her genius,—Destitution and Death. I used +to propose that her epitaph should be: “Here lies the angel of Death.” +And wonderfully as she varies and poetically repeats that image in +every page and day, yet not less fondly and sublimely she returns to +the other,—the grandeur of humility and privation, as thus; “The chief +witness which I have had of a God-like principle of action and feeling +is in the disinterested joy felt in others’ superiority. For the love +of superior virtue is mine own gift from God.” “Where were thine own +intellect if others had not lived?”</p> + +<p>She had many acquaintances among the notables of the time; and now and +then in her migrations from town to town in Maine and Massachusetts, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</span> +in search of a new boarding-place, discovered some preacher with +sense or piety, or both. For on her arrival at any new home she was +likely to steer first to the minister’s house and pray his wife to +take a boarder; and as the minister found quickly that she knew all +his books and many more, and made shrewd guesses at his character and +possibilities, she would easily rouse his curiosity, as a person who +could read his secret and tell him his fortune.</p> + +<p>She delighted in success, in youth, in beauty, in genius, in manners. +When she met a young person who interested her, she made herself +acquainted and intimate with him or her at once, by sympathy, by +flattery, by raillery, by anecdotes, by wit, by rebuke, and stormed the +castle. None but was attracted or piqued by her interest and wit and +wide acquaintance with books and with eminent names. She said she gave +herself full swing in these sudden intimacies, for she knew she should +disgust them soon, and resolved to have their best hours. “Society +is shrewd to detect those who do not belong to her train, and seldom +wastes her attentions.” She surprised, attracted, chided and denounced +her companion by turns, and pretty rapid turns. But no intelligent +youth or maiden could have once met her without remembering her with +interest, and learning something of value. Scorn trifles, lift your +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</span> +aims: do what you are afraid to do: sublimity of character must come +from sublimity of motive: these were the lessons which were urged with +vivacity, in ever new language. But if her companion was dull, her +impatience knew no bounds. She tired presently of dull conversations, +and asked to be read to, and so disposed of the visitor. If the voice +or the reading tired her, she would ask the friend if he or she would +do an errand for her, and so dismiss them. If her companion were a +little ambitious, and asked her opinions on books or matters on which +she did not wish rude hands laid, she did not hesitate to stop the +intruder with “How’s your cat, Mrs. Tenner?”</p> + +<p>“I was disappointed,” she writes, “in finding my little Calvinist +no companion, a cold little thing who lives in society alone, and +is looked up to as a specimen of genius. I performed a mission in +secretly undermining his vanity, or trying to. Alas! never done but by +mortifying affliction.” From the country she writes to her sister in +town, “You cannot help saying that my epistle is a striking specimen of +egotism. To which I can only answer that, in the country, we converse +so much more with ourselves, that we are almost led to forget everybody +else. The very sound of your bells and the rattling of the carriages +have a tendency to divert selfishness.” “This seems a world rather of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</span> +trying each others’ dispositions than of enjoying each others’ virtues.”</p> + +<p>She had the misfortune of spinning with a greater velocity than any +of the other tops. She would tear into the chaise or out of it, into +the house or out of it, into the conversation, into the thought, into +the character of the stranger,—disdaining all the graduation by which +her fellows time their steps: and though she might do very happily in +a planet where others moved with the like velocity, she was offended +here by the phlegm of all her fellow-creatures, and disgusted them by +her impatience. She could keep step with no human being. Her nephew +[R. W. E.] wrote of her: “I am glad the friendship with Aunt Mary is +ripening. As by seeing a high tragedy, reading a true poem, or a novel +like ‘Corinne,’ so, by society with her, one’s mind is electrified +and purged. She is no statute-book of practical commandments, nor +orderly digest of any system of philosophy, divine or human, but a +Bible, miscellaneous in its parts, but one in its spirit, wherein are +sentences of condemnation, promises and covenants of love that make +foolish the wisdom of the world with the power of God.”</p> + +<p>Our Delphian was fantastic enough, Heaven knows, yet could always +be tamed by large and sincere conversation. Was there thought and +eloquence, she would listen like a child. Her aspiration and prayer +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</span> +would begin, and the whim and petulance in which by diseased habit she +had grown to indulge without suspecting it, was burned up in the glow +of her pure and poetic spirit, which dearly loved the Infinite.</p> + +<p>She writes: “August, 1847: Vale.—My oddities were never +designed—effect of an uncalculating constitution, at first, then +through isolation; and as to dress, from duty. To be singular of +choice, without singular talents and virtues, is as ridiculous as +ungrateful.” “It is so universal with all classes to avoid contact +with me that I blame none. The fact has generally increased piety and +self-love.” “As a traveller enters some fine palace and finds all +the doors closed, and he only allowed the use of some avenues and +passages, so have I wandered from the cradle over the apartments of +social affections, or the cabinets of natural or moral philosophy, +the recesses of ancient and modern love. All say—Forbear to enter +the pales of the initiated by birth, wealth, talents and patronage. I +submit with delight, for it is the echo of a decree from above; and +from the highway hedges where I get lodging, and from the rays which +burst forth when the crowd are entering these noble saloons, whilst I +stand in the doors, I get a pleasing vision which is an earnest of the +interminable skies where the mansions are prepared for the poor.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</span></p> + +<p>“To live to give pain rather than pleasure (the latter so delicious) +seems the spider-like necessity of my being on earth, and I have +gone on my queer way with joy, saying, “Shall the clay interrogate?” +But in every actual case, ’tis hard, and we lose sight of the first +necessity,—here too amid works red with default in all great and +grand and infinite aims. Yet with intentions disinterested, though +uncontrolled by proper reverence for others.”</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Thoreau called on her one day, wearing pink ribbons, she shut +her eyes, and so conversed with her for a time. By and by she said, +“Mrs. Thoreau, I don’t know whether you have observed that my eyes are +shut.” “Yes, Madam, I have observed it.” “Perhaps you would like to +know the reasons?” “Yes, I should.” “I don’t like to see a person of +your age guilty of such levity in her dress.”</p> + +<p>When her cherished favorite, E. H., was at the Vale, and had gone out +to walk in the forest with Hannah, her niece, Aunt Mary feared they +were lost, and found a man in the next house and begged him to go and +look for them. The man went and returned saying that he could not find +them. “Go and cry, ‘Elizabeth!’” The man rather declined this service, +as he did not know Miss H. She was highly offended, and exclaimed, +“God has given you a voice that you might use it in the service of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</span> +your fellow-creatures. Go instantly and call ‘Elizabeth’ till you find +them.” The man went immediately, and did as he was bid, and having +found them apologized for calling thus, by telling what Miss Emerson +had said to him.</p> + +<p>When some ladies of my acquaintance by an unusual chance found +themselves in her neighborhood and visited her, I told them that she +was no whistle that every mouth could play on, but a quite clannish +instrument, a pibroch, for example, from which none but a native +Highlander could draw music.</p> + +<p>In her solitude of twenty years, with fewest books and those only +sermons, and a copy of “Paradise Lost,” without covers or title-page, +so that later, when she heard much of Milton and sought his work, she +found it was her very book which she knew so well,—she was driven +to find Nature her companion and solace. She speaks of “her attempts +in Malden, to wake up the soul amid the dreary scenes of monotonous +Sabbaths, when Nature looked like a pulpit.”</p> + +<p>“Malden, November 15th, 1805.—What a rich day, so fully occupied in +pursuing truth that I scorned to touch a novel which for so many years +I have wanted. How insipid is fiction to a mind touched with immortal +views! November 16th.—I am so small in my expectations, that a week +of industry delights. Rose before light every morn; visited from +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</span> +necessity once, and again for books; read Butler’s Analogy; commented +on the Scriptures; read in a little book,—Cicero’s Letters,—a few: +touched Shakspeare,—washed, carded, cleaned house, and baked. To-day +cannot recall an error, nor scarcely a sacrifice, but more fulness +of content in the labors of a day never was felt. There is a sweet +pleasure in bending to circumstances while superior to them.</p> + +<p>“Malden, September, 1807.—The rapture of feeling I would part from, +for days more devoted to higher discipline. But when Nature beams +with such excess of beauty, when the heart thrills with hope in its +Author,—feels that it is related to him more than by any ties of +Creation,—it exults, too fondly perhaps for a state of trial. But in +dead of night, nearer morning, when the eastern stars glow or appear +to glow with more indescribable lustre, a lustre which penetrates the +spirit with wonder and curiosity,—then, however awed, who can fear? +Since Sabbath, Aunt B—— [the insane aunt] was brought here. Ah! +mortifying sight! instinct perhaps triumphs over reason, and every +dignified respect to herself, in her anxiety about recovery, and the +smallest means connected. Not one wish of others detains her, not one +care. But it alarms me not, I shall delight to return to God. His name +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</span> +my fullest confidence. His sole presence ineffable pleasure.</p> + +<p>“I walked yesterday five or more miles, lost to mental or heart +existence, through fatigue,—just fit for the society I went into, +all mildness and the most commonplace virtue. The lady is celebrated +for her cleverness, and she was never so good to me. Met a lady in +the morning walk, a foreigner,—conversed on the accomplishments of +Miss T. My mind expanded with novel and innocent pleasure. Ah! were +virtue, and that of dear heavenly meekness attached by any necessity to +a lower rank of genteel people, who would sympathize with the exalted +with satisfaction? But that is not the case, I believe. A mediocrity +does seem to me more distant from eminent virtue than the extremes of +station; though after all it must depend on the nature of the heart. A +mediocre mind will be deranged in either extreme of wealth or poverty, +praise or censure, society or solitude. The feverish lust of notice +perhaps in all these cases would injure the heart of common refinement +and virtue.”</p> + +<p>Later she writes of her early days in Malden: “When I get a glimpse of +the revolutions of nations—that retribution which seems forever going +on in this part of creation,—I remember with great satisfaction that +from all the ills suffered, in childhood and since, from others, I felt +that it was rather the order of things than their individual fault. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</span> +It was from being early impressed by my poor unpractical aunt, that +Providence and Prayer were all in all. Poor woman! Could her own temper +in childhood or age have been subdued, how happy for herself, who had +a warm heart; but for me would have prevented those early lessons of +fortitude, which her caprices taught me to practise. Had I prospered in +life, what a proud, excited being, even to feverishness, I might have +been. Loving to shine, flattered and flattering, anxious, and wrapped +in others, frail and feverish as myself.”</p> + +<p>She alludes to the early days of her solitude, sixty years afterward, +on her own farm in Maine, speaking sadly the thoughts suggested by the +rich autumn landscape around her: “Ah! as I walked out this afternoon, +so sad was wearied Nature that I felt her whisper to me, ‘Even these +leaves you use to think my better emblems have lost their charm on +me too, and I weary of my pilgrimage,—tired that I must again be +clothed in the grandeurs of winter, and anon be bedizened in flowers +and cascades. Oh, if there be a power superior to me,—and that there +is, my own dread fetters proclaim,—when will He let my lights go +out, my tides cease to an eternal ebb? Oh for transformation! I am +not infinite, nor have I power or will, but bound and imprisoned, the +tool of mind, even of the beings I feed and adorn. Vital, I feel not: +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</span> +not active, but passive, and cannot aid the creatures which seem my +progeny,—myself. But you are ingrate to tire of me, now you want to +look beyond. ’Twas I who soothed your thorny childhood, though you knew +me not, and you were placed in my most leafless waste. Yet I comforted +thee when going on the daily errand, fed thee with my mallows, on the +first young day of bread failing. More, I led thee when thou knewest +not a syllable of my active Cause, (any more than if it had been dead +eternal matter,) to that Cause; and from the solitary heart taught thee +to say, at first womanhood, Alive with God is enough,—’tis rapture.’”</p> + +<p>“This morning rich in existence; the remembrance of past destitution in +the deep poverty of my aunt, and her most unhappy temper; of bitterer +days of youth and age, when my senses and understanding seemed but +means of labor, or to learn my own unpopular destiny, and that—but no +more;—joy, hope and resignation unite me to Him whose mysterious Will +adjusts everything, and the darkest and lightest are alike welcome. +Oh! could this state of mind continue, death would not be longed for.” +“I felt, till above twenty years old, as though Christianity were as +necessary to the world as existence;—was ignorant that it was lately +promulged, or partially received.” Later: “Could I have those hours in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</span> +which in fresh youth I said, To obey God is joy, though there were no +hereafter, I should rejoice, though returning to dust.”</p> + +<p>“Folly follows me as the shadow does the form. Yet my whole life +devoted to find some new truth which will link me closer to God. And +the simple principle which made me say, in youth and laborious poverty, +that, should He make me a blot on the fair face of his Creation, I +should rejoice in His will, has never been equalled, though it returns +in the long life of destitution like an Angel. I end days of fine +health and cheerfulness without getting upward now. How did I use to +think them lost! If more liberal views of the divine government make me +think nothing lost which carries me to His now hidden presence, there +may be danger of losing and causing others the loss of that awe and +sobriety so indispensable.”</p> + +<p>She was addressed and offered marriage by a man of talents, education, +and good social position, whom she respected. The proposal gave her +pause and much to think, but, after consideration she refused it, +I know not on what grounds: but a few allusions to it in her diary +suggest that it was a religious act, and it is easy to see that she +could hardly promise herself sympathy in her religious abandonment with +any but a rarely-found partner.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</span></p> + +<p>“1807. Jan. 19, Malden [alluding to the sale of her farm]. Last night +I spoke two sentences about that foolish place, which I most bitterly +lament,—not because they were improper, but they arose from anger. It +is difficult, when we have no kind of barrier, to command our feelings. +But this shall teach me. It humbles me beyond anything I have met, to +find myself for a moment affected with hope, fear, or especially anger, +about interest. But I did overcome and return kindness for the repeated +provocations. What is it? My uncle has been the means of lessening my +property. Ridiculous to wound him for that. He was honestly seeking +his own. But at last, this very night, the bargain is closed, and I +am delighted with myself:—my dear self has done well. Never did I so +exult in a trifle. Happy beginning of my bargain, though the sale of +the place appears to me one of the worst things for me at this time.”</p> + +<p>“Jan. 21. Weary at times of objects so tedious to hear and see. O the +power of vision, then the delicate power of the nerve which receives +impressions from sounds! If ever I am blest with a social life, let the +accent be grateful. Could I at times be regaled with music, it would +remind me that there are <i>sounds</i>. Shut up in this severe weather +with careful, infirm, afflicted age, it is wonderful, my spirits: hopes +I can have none. Not a prospect but is dark on earth, as to knowledge +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</span> +and joy from externals: but the prospect of a dying bed reflects lustre +on all the rest.</p> + +<p>“The evening is fine, but I dare not enjoy it. The moon and stars +reproach me, because I had to do with mean fools. Should I take so +much care to save a few dollars? Never was I so much ashamed. Did +I say with what rapture I might dispose of them to the poor? Pho! +self-preservation, dignity, confidence in the future, contempt of +trifles! Alas, I am disgraced. Took a momentary revenge on —— for +worrying me.”</p> + +<p>“Jan. 30. I walked to Captain Dexter’s. Sick. Promised never to put +that ring on. Ended miserably the month which began so worldly.</p> + +<p>“It was the choice of the Eternal that gave the glowing seraph his +joys, and to me my vile imprisonment. I adore Him. It was His will +that gives my superiors to shine in wisdom, friendship, and ardent +pursuits, while I pass my youth, its last traces, in the veriest shades +of ignorance and complete destitution of society. I praise Him, though +when my strength of body falters, it is a trial not easily described.”</p> + +<p>“True, I must finger the very farthing candle-ends,—the duty assigned +to my pride; and indeed so poor are some of those allotted to join me +on the weary needy path, that ’tis benevolence enjoins self-denial. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</span> +Could I but dare it in the bread-and-water diet! Could I but live free +from calculation, as in the first half of life, when my poor aunt +lived. I had ten dollars a year for clothes and charity, and I never +remember to have been needy, though I never had but two or three aids +in those six years of earning my home. That ten dollars my dear father +earned, and one hundred dollars remain, and I can’t bear to take it, +and don’t know what to do. Yet I would not breathe to —— or —— my +want. ’Tis only now that I would not let —— pay my hotel-bill. They +have enough to do. Besides, it would send me packing to depend for +anything. Better anything than dishonest dependence, which robs the +poorer, and despoils friendship of equal connection.”</p> + +<p>In 1830, in one of her distant homes, she reproaches herself with some +sudden passion she has for visiting her old home and friends in the +city, where she had lived for a while with her brother [Mr. Emerson’s +father] and afterwards with his widow. “Do I yearn to be in Boston? +’Twould fatigue, disappoint; I, who have so long despised means, who +have always found it a sort of rebellion to seek them? Yet the old +desire for the worm is not so greedy as [mine] to find myself in my old +haunts.”</p> + +<p>1833. “The difficulty of getting places of low board for a lady, is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</span> +obvious. And, at moments, I am tired out. Yet how independent, how +better than to hang on friends! And sometimes I fancy that I am emptied +and peeled to carry some seed to the ignorant, which no idler wind can +so well dispense.” “Hard to contend for a health which is daily used +in petition for a final close.” “Am I, poor victim, swept on through +the sternest ordinations of nature’s laws which slay? yet I’ll trust.” +“There was great truth in what a pious enthusiast said, that, if God +should cast him into hell, he would yet clasp his hands around Him.”</p> + +<p>“Newburyport, Sept. 1822. High, solemn, entrancing noon, prophetic of +the approach of the Presiding Spirit of Autumn. God preserve my reason! +Alone, feeling strongly, fully, that I have deserved nothing; according +to Adam Smith’s idea of society, ‘done nothing;’ doing nothing, never +expect to; yet joying in existence, perhaps striving to beautify one +individual of God’s creation.</p> + +<p>“Our civilization is not always mending our poetry. It is sauced and +spiced with our complexity of arts and inventions, but lacks somewhat +of the grandeur that belongs to a Doric and unphilosophical age. In a +religious contemplative public it would have less outward variety, but +simpler and grander means; a few pulsations of created beings, a few +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</span> +successions of acts, a few lamps held out in the firmament enable us to +talk of Time, make epochs, write histories,—to do more,—to date the +revelations of God to man. But these lamps are held to measure out some +of the moments of eternity, to divide the history of God’s operations +in the birth and death of nations, of worlds. It is a goodly name for +our notions of breathing, suffering, enjoying, acting. We personify it. +We call it by every name of fleeting, dreaming, vaporing imagery. Yet +it is nothing. We exist in eternity. Dissolve the body and the night is +gone, the stars are extinguished, and we measure duration by the number +of our thoughts, by the activity of reason, the discovery of truths, +the acquirement of virtue, the approach to God. And the gray-headed god +throws his shadows all around, and his slaves catch, now at this, now +at that, one at the halo he throws around poetry, or pebbles, bugs, +or bubbles. Sometimes they climb, sometimes creep into the meanest +holes—but they are all alike in vanishing, like the shadow of a cloud.”</p> + +<p>To her nephew Charles: “War; what do I think of it? Why in your ear I +think it so much better than oppression that if it were ravaging the +whole geography of despotism it would be an omen of high and glorious +import. Channing paints its miseries, but does he know those of a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</span> +worse war,—private animosities, pinching, bitter warfare of the human +heart, the cruel oppression of the poor by the rich, which corrupts old +worlds? How much better, more honest, are storming and conflagration +of towns! They are but letting blood which corrupts into worms and +dragons. A war-trump would be harmony to the jars of theologians and +statesmen such as the papers bring. It was the glory of the Chosen +People, nay, it is said there was war in Heaven. War is among the means +of discipline, the rough meliorators, and no worse than the strife with +poverty, malice and ignorance. War devastates the conscience of men, +yet corrupt peace does not less. And if you tell me of the miseries +of the battle-field, with the sensitive Channing, (of whose love of +life I am ashamed), what of a few days of agony, what of a vulture +being the bier, tomb, and parson of a hero, compared to the long years +of sticking on a bed and wished away? For the widows and orphans—O, +I could give facts of the long-drawn years of imprisoned minds and +hearts, which uneducated orphans endure!</p> + +<p>“O Time! Thou loiterer. Thou, whose might has laid low the vastest +and crushed the worm, restest on thy hoary throne, with like potency +over thy agitations and thy graves. When will thy routines give way to +higher and lasting institutions? When thy trophies and thy name and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</span> +all its wizard forms be lost in the Genius of Eternity? In Eternity, no +deceitful promises, no fantastic illusions, no riddles concealed by thy +shrouds, none of thy Arachnean webs, which decoy and destroy. Hasten to +finish thy motley work, on which frightful Gorgons are at play, spite +of holy ghosts. ’Tis already moth-eaten and its shuttles quaver, as the +beams of the loom are shaken.</p> + +<p>“Sat. 25. Hail requiem of departed Time! Never was incumbent’s funeral +followed by expectant heir with more satisfaction. Yet not his hope +is mine. For in the weary womb are prolific numbers of the same sad +hour, colored by the memory of defeats in virtue, by the prophecy of +others, more dreary, blind and sickly. Yet He who formed thy web, who +stretched thy warp from long ages, has graciously given man to throw +his shuttle, or feel he does, and irradiate the filling woof with many +a flowery rainbow,—labors, rather—evanescent efforts, which will wear +like flowerets in brighter soils;—has attuned his mind in such unison +with the harp of the universe, that he is never without some chord of +hope’s music. ’Tis not in the nature of existence, while there is a +God, to be without the pale of excitement. When the dreamy pages of +life seem all turned and folded down to very weariness, even this idea +of those who fill the hour with crowded virtues, lifts the spectator +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</span> +to other worlds, and he adores the eternal purposes of Him who lifteth +up and casteth down, bringeth to dust, and raiseth to the skies. ’Tis a +strange deficiency in Brougham’s title of a System of Natural Theology, +when the moral constitution of the being for whom these contrivances +were made is not recognized. The wonderful inhabitant of the building +to which unknown ages were the mechanics, is left out as to that part +where the Creator had put his own lighted candle, placed a vice-gerent. +Not to complain of the poor old earth’s chaotic state, brought so near +in its long and gloomy transmutings by the geologist. Yet its youthful +charms as decked by the hand of Moses’ Cosmogony, will linger about +the heart, while Poetry succumbs to Science. Yet there is a sombre +music in the whirl of times so long gone by. And the bare bones of this +poor embryo earth may give the idea of the Infinite far, far better +than when dignified with arts and industry:—its oceans, when beating +the symbols of ceaseless ages, than when covered with cargoes of war +and oppression. How grand its preparation for souls,—souls who were +to feel the Divinity, before Science had dissected the emotions, and +applied its steely analysis to that state of being which recognizes +neither psychology nor element.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</span></p> + +<p>“September, 1836. Vale. The mystic dream which is shed over the season. +O, to dream more deeply; to lose external objects a little more! Yet +the hold on them is so slight, that duty is lost sight of perhaps, at +times. Sadness is better than walking talking acting somnambulism. Yes, +this entire solitude with the Being who makes the powers of life! Even +Fame, which lives in other states of Virtue, palls. Usefulness, if it +requires action, seems less like existence than the desire of being +absorbed in God, retaining consciousness. Number the waste-places of +the journey,—the secret martyrdom of youth, heavier than the stake, I +thought, the narrow limits which know no outlet, the bitter dregs of +the cup,—and all are sweetened by the purpose of Him I love. The idea +of being no mate for those intellectualists I’ve loved to admire, is no +pain. Hereafter the same solitary joy will go with me, were I not to +live, as I expect, in the vision of the Infinite. Never do the feelings +of the Infinite, and the consciousness of finite frailty and ignorance, +harmonize so well as at this mystic season in the deserts of life. +Contradictions, the modern German says, of the Infinite and finite.”</p> + +<p>I sometimes fancy I detect in her writings, a certain—shall I +say—polite and courtly homage to the name and dignity of Jesus, not at +all spontaneous, but growing out of her respect to the Revelation, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</span> +really veiling and betraying her organic dislike to any interference, +any mediation between her and the Author of her being, assurance of +whose direct dealing with her she incessantly invokes: for example, +the parenthesis “Saving thy presence, Priest and Medium of all this +approach for a sinful creature!” “Were it possible that the Creator +was not virtually present with the spirits and bodies which He has +made:—if it were in the nature of things possible He could withdraw +himself,—I would hold on to the faith, that, at some moment of His +existence, I was present: that, though cast from Him, my sorrows, my +ignorance and meanness were a part of His plan; my death, too, however +long and tediously delayed to prayer,—was decreed, was fixed. Oh how +weary in youth—more so scarcely now, not whenever I can breathe, as +it seems, the atmosphere of the Omnipresence: then I ask not faith nor +knowledge; honors, pleasures, labors, I always refuse, compared to this +divine partaking of existence;—but how rare, how dependent on the +organs through which the soul operates!</p> + +<p>“The sickness of the last week was fine medicine; pain disintegrated +the spirit, or became spiritual. I rose,—I felt that I had given to +God more perhaps than an angel could,—had promised Him in youth that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</span> +to be a blot on this fair world, at His command, would be acceptable. +Constantly offer myself to continue the obscurest and loneliest thing +ever heard of, with one proviso,—His agency. Yes, love Thee, and all +Thou dost, while Thou sheddest frost and darkness on every path of +mine.”</p> + +<p>For years she had her bed made in the form of a coffin; and delighted +herself with the discovery of the figure of a coffin made every evening +on their sidewalk, by the shadow of a church tower which adjoined the +house.</p> + +<p>Saladin caused his shroud to be made, and carried it to battle as his +standard. She made up her shroud, and death still refusing to come, and +she thinking it a pity to let it lie idle, wore it as a night-gown, or +a day-gown, nay, went out to ride in it, on horseback, in her mountain +roads, until it was worn out. Then she had another made up, and as she +never travelled without being provided for this dear and indispensable +contingency, I believe she wore out a great many.</p> + +<p>“1833. I have given up, the last year or two, the hope of dying. In the +lowest ebb of health nothing is ominous; diet and exercise restore. +So it seems best to get that very humbling business of insurance. I +enter my dear sixty the last of this month.” “1835, June 16. Tedious +indisposition:—hoped, as it took a new form, it would open the cool, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</span> +sweet grave. Now existence itself in any form is sweet. Away with +knowledge;—God alone. He communicates this our condition and humble +waiting, or I should never perceive Him. Science, Nature,—O, I’ve +yearned to open some page;—not now, too late. Ill health and nerves. +O dear worms,—how they will at some sure time take down this tedious +tabernacle, most valuable companions, instructors in the science of +mind, by gnawing away the meshes which have chained it. A very Beatrice +in showing the Paradise. Yes, I irk under contact with forms of +depravity, while I am resigned to being nothing, never expect a palm, a +laurel, hereafter.”</p> + +<p>“1826, July. If one could choose, and without crime be gibbeted,—were +it not altogether better than the long drooping away by age without +mentality or devotion? The vulture and crow would <i>caw caw</i>, +and, unconscious of any deformity in the mutilated body, would relish +their meal, make no grimace of affected sympathy, nor suffer any +real compassion. I pray to die, though happier myriads and mine own +companions press nearer to the throne. His coldest beam will purify +and render me forever holy. Had I the highest place of acquisition +and diffusing virtue here, the principle of human sympathy would be +too strong for that rapt emotion, that severe delight which I crave; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</span> +nay for that kind of obscure virtue which is so rich to lay at the +feet of the Author of morality. Those economists (Adam Smith) who say +nothing is added to the wealth of a nation but what is dug out of the +earth, and that, whatever disposition of virtue may exist, unless +something is done for society, deserves no fame,—why I am content with +such paradoxical kind of facts; but one secret sentiment of virtue, +disinterested (or perhaps not), is worthy, and will tell, in the world +of spirits, of God’s immediate presence, more than the blood of many a +martyr who has it not.” “I have heard that the greatest geniuses have +died ignorant of their power and influence on the arts and sciences. I +believe thus much, that their large perception consumed their egotism, +or made it impossible for them to make small calculations.”</p> + +<p>“That greatest of all gifts, however small my power of receiving,—the +capacity, the element to love the All-perfect, without regard to +personal happiness:—happiness?—’tis itself.” She checks herself +amid her passionate prayers for immediate communion with God;—“I who +never made a sacrifice to record,—I cowering in the nest of quiet +for so many years;—I indulge the delight of sympathizing with great +virtues,—blessing their Original: Have I this right?” “While I am +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</span> +sympathizing in the government of God over the world, perhaps I lose +nearer views. Well, I learned his existence <i>a priori</i>. No object +of science or observation ever was pointed out to me by my poor aunt, +but His Being and commands; and oh how much I trusted Him with every +event till I learned the order of human events from the pressure of +wants.”</p> + +<p>“What a timid, ungrateful creature! Fear the deepest pit-falls of +age, when pressing on, in imagination at least, to Him with whom a +day is a thousand years,—with whom all miseries and irregularities +are conforming to universal good! Shame on me who have learned within +three years to sit whole days in peace and enjoyment without the least +apparent benefit to any, or knowledge to myself;—resigned, too, to +the memory of long years of slavery passed in labor and ignorance, to +the loss of that character which I once thought and felt so sure of, +without ever being conscious of acting from calculation.”</p> + +<p>Her friends used to say to her, “I wish you joy of the worm.” And when +at last her release arrived, the event of her death had really such a +comic tinge in the eyes of every one who knew her, that her friends +feared they might, at her funeral, not dare to look at each other, lest +they should forget the serious proprieties of the hour.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</span></p> + +<p>She gave high counsels. It was the privilege of certain boys to have +this immeasurably high standard indicated to their childhood; a +blessing which nothing else in education could supply. It is frivolous +to ask,—“And was she ever a Christian in practice?” Cassandra uttered, +to a frivolous, skeptical time, the arcana of the Gods: but it is easy +to believe that Cassandra domesticated in a lady’s house would have +proved a troublesome boarder. Is it the less desirable to have the +lofty abstractions because the abstractionist is nervous and irritable? +Shall we not keep Flamsteed and Herschel in the observatory, though it +should even be proved that they neglected to rectify their own kitchen +clock? It is essential to the safety of every mackerel fisher that +latitudes and longitudes should be astronomically ascertained; and so +every banker, shopkeeper and wood-sawyer has a stake in the elevation +of the moral code by saint and prophet. Very rightly, then, the +Christian ages, proceeding on a grand instinct, have said: Faith alone, +Faith alone.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p class="nind"><a id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14" class="label">[14]</a> +Aunt of Mr. Emerson, and a potent influence on the lives of him and +his brothers. This paper was read before the “Woman’s Club,” in +Boston, in 1869, under the title “Amita,” which was also the original +superscription of the “Nun’s Aspiration,” in his Poems; a rendering +into verse of a passage in Miss Emerson’s diary. Part of this poem +forms the motto of this chapter.</p> + +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="SAMUEL_HOAR">SAMUEL HOAR.</h2> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Magno se judice quisque tuetur;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Victrix causa deis placuit sed victa Catoni.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_33" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="allsmcap">A YEAR</span> ago, how often did we meet</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Beneath these elms, once more in sober bloom,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy tall, sad figure pacing down the street,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And now the robin sings above thy tomb!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy name on other shores may ne’er be known,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Though Rome austere no graver consul knew,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But Massachusetts her true son shall own;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Out of her soil thy hardy virtues grew.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">She loves the man that chose the conquered cause,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">With upright soul that bowed to God alone;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The clean hands that upheld her equal laws,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The old religion ne’er to be outgrown;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The cold demeanor, the warm heart beneath,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The simple grandeur of thy life and death.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent24"><span class="allsmcap">F. B. SANBORN.</span></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="nind">April, 1857.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="SAMUEL_HOAR_2">SAMUEL HOAR.</h2> +</div> + +<p class="nindc"> +SPEECH AT CONCORD, MASS., 4TH NOV. [ELECTION DAY], 1856.</p> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_34" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<p>HERE is a day on which more public good or evil is to be done than +was ever done on any day. And this is the pregnant season, when our +old Roman, Samuel Hoar, has chosen to quit this world. <i>Ab iniquo +certamine indignabundus recessit.</i></p> + +<p>He was born under a Christian and humane star, full of mansuetude and +nobleness, honor and charity; and, whilst he was willing to face every +disagreeable duty, whilst he dared to do all that might beseem a man, +his self-respect restrained him from any foolhardiness. The Homeric +heroes, when they saw the gods mingling in the fray, sheathed their +swords. So did not he feel any call to make it a contest of personal +strength with mobs or nations; but when he saw the day and the gods +went against him, he withdrew, but with an unaltered belief. All was +conquered <i>præter atrocem animum Catonis</i>.</p> + +<p>At the time when he went to South Carolina as the Commissioner of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</span> +Massachusetts, in 1844, whilst staying in Charleston, pending his +correspondence with the governor and the legal officers, he was +repeatedly warned that it was not safe for him to appear in public, +or to take his daily walk, as he had done, unattended by his friends, +in the streets of the city. He was advised to withdraw to private +lodgings, which were eagerly offered him by friends. He rejected the +advice, and refused the offers, saying that he was old, and his life +was not worth much, but he had rather the boys should troll his old +head like a foot-ball in their streets, than that he should hide it. +And he continued the uniform practice of his daily walk into all parts +of the city. But when the mob of Charleston was assembled in the +streets before his hotel, and a deputation of gentlemen waited upon him +in the hall to say they had come with the unanimous voice of the state +to remove him by force, and the carriage was at the door, he considered +his duty discharged to the last point of possibility. The force was +apparent and irresistible; the legal officer’s part was up; it was +now time for the military officer to be sent; and he said, “Well, +gentlemen, since it is your pleasure to use force, I must go.” But his +opinion was unchanged.</p> + +<p>In like manner now, when the votes of the Free States, as shown in the +recent election in the State of Pennsylvania, had disappointed the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</span> +hopes of mankind and betrayed the cause of freedom, he considered the +question of justice and liberty, for his age, lost, and had no longer +the will to drag his days through the dishonors of the long defeat, and +promptly withdrew, but with unaltered belief.</p> + +<p>He was a very natural, but a very high character; a man of simple +tastes, plain and true in speech, with a clear perception of +justice, and a perfect obedience thereto in his action; of a strong +understanding, precise and methodical, which gave him great eminence +in the legal profession. It was rather his reputation for severe +method in his intellect than any special direction in his studies +that caused him to be offered the mathematical chair in Harvard +University, when vacant in 1806. The severity of his logic might have +inspired fear, had it not been restrained by his natural reverence, +which made him modest and courteous, though his courtesy had a grave +and almost military air. He combined a uniform self-respect with a +natural reverence for every other man; so that it was perfectly easy +for him to associate with farmers, and with plain, uneducated, poor +men, and he had a strong, unaffected interest in farms, and crops, and +weathers, and the common incidents of rural life. It was just as easy +for him to meet on the same floor, and with the same plain courtesy, +men of distinction and large ability. He was fond of farms and trees, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</span> +fond of birds, and attentive to their manners and habits; addicted to +long and retired walks; temperate to asceticism, for no lesson of his +experience was lost on him, and his self-command was perfect. Though +rich, of a plainness and almost poverty of personal expenditure, yet +liberal of his money to any worthy use, readily lending it to young +men, and industrious men, and by no means eager to reclaim of them +either the interest or the principal. He was open-handed to every +charity, and every public claim that had any show of reason in it. When +I talked with him one day of some inequality of taxes in the town, he +said it was his practice to pay whatever was demanded; for, though he +might think the taxation large and very unequally proportioned, yet he +thought the money might as well go in this way as in any other.</p> + +<p>The strength and the beauty of the man lay in the natural goodness and +justice of his mind, which, in manhood and in old age, after dealing +all his life with weighty private and public interests, left an +infantile innocence, of which we have no second or third example,—the +strength of a chief united to the modesty of a child. He returned from +courts or congresses to sit down, with unaltered humility, in the +church or in the town-house, on the plain wooden bench where honor came +and sat down beside him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</span></p> + +<p>He was a man in whom so rare a spirit of justice visibly dwelt, that if +one had met him in a cabin or in a forest he must still seem a public +man, answering as sovereign state to sovereign state; and might easily +suggest Milton’s picture of John Bradshaw, that “he was a consul from +whom the fasces did not depart with the year, but in private seemed +ever sitting in judgment on kings.” Everybody knew where to find him. +What he said, that would he do. But he disdained any arts in his +speech: he was not adorned with any graces of rhetoric,</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“But simple truth his utmost skill.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="nind"> +So cautious was he, and tender of the truth, that he sometimes +wearied his audience with the pains he took to qualify and verify +his statements, adding clause on clause to do justice to all his +conviction. He had little or no power of generalization. But a plain +way he had of putting his statement with all his might, and now and +then borrowing the aid of a good story, or a farmer’s phrase, whose +force had imprinted it on his memory, and, by the same token, his +hearers were bound to remember his point.</p> + +<p>The impression he made on juries was honorable to him and them. For +a long term of years, he was at the head of the bar in Middlesex, +practising, also, in the adjoining counties. He had one side or the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</span> +other of every important case, and his influence was reckoned despotic, +and sometimes complained of as a bar to public justice. Many good +stories are still told of the perplexity of jurors who found the law +and the evidence on one side, and yet Squire Hoar had said that he +believed, on his conscience, his client entitled to a verdict. And what +Middlesex jury, containing any God-fearing men in it, would hazard +an opinion in flat contradiction to what Squire Hoar believed to be +just? He was entitled to this respect; for he discriminated in the +business that was brought to him, and would not argue a rotten cause; +and he refused very large sums offered him to undertake the defense of +criminal persons.</p> + +<p>His character made him the conscience of the community in which he +lived. And in many a town it was asked, “What does Squire Hoar think of +this?” and in political crises, he was entreated to write a few lines +to make known to good men in Chelmsford, or Marlborough, or Shirley, +what that opinion was. I used to feel that his conscience was a kind +of meter of the degree of honesty in the country, by which on each +occasion it was tried, and sometimes found wanting. I am sorry to say +he could not be elected to Congress a second time from Middlesex.</p> + +<p>And in his own town, if some important end was to be gained,—as, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_413">[Pg 413]</span> +for instance, when the county commissioners refused to rebuild the +burned court-house, on the belief that the courts would be transferred +from Concord to Lowell,—all parties combined to send Mr. Hoar to the +Legislature, where his presence and speech, of course, secured the +rebuilding; and, of course also, having answered our end, we passed him +by and elected somebody else at the next term.</p> + +<p>His head, with singular grace in its lines, had a resemblance to the +bust of Dante. He retained to the last the erectness of his tall but +slender form, and not less the full strength of his mind. Such was, +in old age, the beauty of his person and carriage, as if the mind +radiated, and made the same impression of probity on all beholders. +His beauty was pathetic and touching in these latest days, and, as now +appears, it awakened a certain tender fear in all who saw him, that the +costly ornament of our homes and halls and streets was speedily to be +removed. Yet how solitary he looked, day by day in the world, this man +so revered, this man of public life, of large acquaintance and wide +family connection! Was it some reserve of constitution, or was it only +the lot of excellence, that with aims so pure and single, he seemed to +pass out of life alone, and, as it were, unknown to those who were his +contemporaries and familiars?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_414">[Pg 414]</span></p> + +<p>[The following sketch of Mr. Hoar from a slightly different point of +view, was prepared by Mr. Emerson, shortly after the above speech +appeared in “Putnam’s Magazine” (December, 1856), at the request of +the Editor of the “Monthly Religious Magazine,” and was printed there, +January, 1857. It is here appended as giving some additional traits of +a characteristic figure which may serve as a pendant in some respects +to that of Dr. Ripley.]</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Mr. Hoar was distinguished in his profession by the grasp of his +mind, and by the simplicity of his means. His ability lay in the +clear apprehension and the powerful statement of the material points +of his case. He soon possessed it, and he never possessed it better, +and he was equally ready at any moment to state the facts. He saw +what was essential and refuted whatever was not, so that no man +embarrassed himself less with a needless array of books and evidences +of contingent value.</p> + +<p>These tactics of the lawyer were the tactics of his life. He had +uniformly the air of knowing just what he wanted and of going to that +in the shortest way. It is singular that his character should make +so deep an impression, standing and working as he did on so common +a ground. He was neither spiritualist nor man of genius nor of a +literary nor an executive talent. In strictness the vigor of his +understanding was directed on the ordinary domestic and municipal +well-being. Society had reason to cherish him, for he was a main +pillar on which it leaned. The useful and practical super-abounded +in his mind, and to a degree which might be even comic to young and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_415">[Pg 415]</span> +poetical persons. If he spoke of the engagement of two lovers, he +called it a contract. Nobody cared to speak of thoughts or aspirations +to a black-letter lawyer, who only studied to keep men out of prison, +and their lands out of attachment. Had you read Swedenborg or Plotinus +to him, he would have waited till you had done, and answered you out +of the Revised Statutes. He had an affinity for mathematics, but it +was a taste rather than a pursuit, and of the modern sciences he liked +to read popular books on geology. Yet so entirely was this respect to +the ground plan and substructure of society a natural ability, and +from the order of his mind, and not for “tickling commodity,” that +it was admirable, as every work of nature is, and like one of those +opaque crystals, big beryls weighing tons, which are found in Acworth, +New Hampshire, not less perfect in their angles and structure, and +only less beautiful, than the transparent topazes and diamonds. +Meantime, whilst his talent and his profession led him to guard the +material wealth of society, a more disinterested person did not exist. +And if there were regions of knowledge not open to him, he did not +pretend to them. His modesty was sincere. He had a childlike innocence +and a native temperance, which left him no temptations, and enabled +him to meet every comer with a free and disengaged courtesy that had +no memory in it</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="nind"> +No person was more keenly alive to the stabs which the ambition and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_416">[Pg 416]</span> +avarice of men inflicted on the commonwealth. Yet when politicians +or speculators approached him, these memories left no scar; his +countenance had an unalterable tranquillity and sweetness; he had +nothing to repent of,—let the cloud rest where it might, he dwelt in +eternal sunshine.</p> + +<p>He had his birth and breeding in a little country town, where the +old religion existed in strictness, and spent all his energy in +creating purity of manners and careful education. No art or practice +of the farm was unknown to him, and the farmers greeted him as one of +themselves, whilst they paid due homage to his powers of mind and to +his virtues.</p> + +<p>He loved the dogmas and the simple usages of his church; was +always an honored and sometimes an active member. He never shrunk +from a disagreeable duty. In the time of the Sunday laws he was a +tithing-man; under the Maine Law he was a prosecutor of the liquor +dealers. It seemed as if the New England church had formed him to be +its friend and defender; the lover and assured friend of its parish +by-laws, of its ministers, its rites, and its social reforms. He was a +model of those formal but reverend manners which make what is called +a gentleman of the old school, so called under an impression that the +style is passing away, but which, I suppose, is an optical illusion, +as there are always a few more of the class remaining, and always a +few young men to whom these manners are native.</p> + +<p>I have spoken of his modesty; he had nothing to say about himself; +and his sincere admiration was commanded by certain heroes of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_417">[Pg 417]</span> +profession, like Judge Parsons and Judge Marshall, Mr. Mason and Mr. +Webster. When some one said, in his presence, that Chief Justice +Marshall was failing in his intellect, Mr. Hoar remarked that “Judge +Marshall could afford to lose brains enough to furnish three or four +common men, before common men would find it out.” He had a huge +respect for Mr. Webster’s ability, with whom he had often occasion to +try his strength at the bar, and a proportionately deep regret at Mr. +Webster’s political course in his later years.</p> + +<p>There was no elegance in his reading or tastes beyond the crystal +clearness of his mind. He had no love of poetry; and I have heard that +the only verse that he was ever known to quote was the Indian rule:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“When the oaks are in the gray,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Then, farmers, plant away.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="nind"> +But I find an elegance in his quiet but firm withdrawal from all +business in the courts which he could drop without manifest detriment +to the interests involved (and this when in his best strength), and +his self-dedication thenceforward to unpaid services of the Temperance +and Peace and other philanthropic societies, the Sunday Schools, the +cause of Education, and specially of the University, and to such +political activities as a strong sense of duty and the love of order +and of freedom urged him to forward.</p> + +<p>Perfect in his private life, the husband, father, friend, he was +severe only with himself. He was as if on terms of honor with those +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_418">[Pg 418]</span> +nearest him, nor did he think a lifelong familiarity could excuse any +omission of courtesy from him. He carried ceremony finely to the last. +But his heart was all gentleness, gratitude and bounty.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">With beams December planets dart,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His cold eye truth and conduct scanned;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">July was in his sunny heart,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">October in his liberal hand.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_419">[Pg 419]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THOREAU">THOREAU.</h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_35" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="allsmcap">A QUEEN</span> rejoices in her peers,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And wary Nature knows her own,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By court and city, dale and down,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And like a lover volunteers,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And to her son will treasures more,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And more to purpose, freely pour</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In one wood walk, than learned men</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Will find with glass in ten times ten.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_420">[Pg 420]</span></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="allsmcap">IT</span> seemed as if the breezes brought him,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">It seemed as if the sparrows taught him,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As if by secret sign he knew</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where in far fields the orchis grew.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_421">[Pg 421]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THOREAU_2">THOREAU.<a id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a></h2> +</div> + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_36" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<p>HENRY DAVID THOREAU was the last male descendant of a French ancestor +who came to this country from the Isle of Guernsey. His character +exhibited occasional traits drawn from this blood, in singular +combination with a very strong Saxon genius.</p> + +<p>He was born in Concord, Massachusetts, on the 12th of July, 1817. He +was graduated at Harvard College in 1837, but without any literary +distinction. An iconoclast in literature, he seldom thanked colleges +for their service to him, holding them in small esteem, whilst yet his +debt to them was important. After leaving the University, he joined +his brother in teaching a private school, which he soon renounced. His +father was a manufacturer of lead-pencils, and Henry applied himself +for a time to this craft, believing he could make a better pencil +than was then in use. After completing his experiments, he exhibited +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_422">[Pg 422]</span> +his work to chemists and artists in Boston, and having obtained their +certificates to its excellence and to its equality with the best London +manufacture, he returned home contented. His friends congratulated him +that he had now opened his way to fortune. But he replied, that he +should never make another pencil. “Why should I? I would not do again +what I have done once.” He resumed his endless walks and miscellaneous +studies, making every day some new acquaintance with Nature, though as +yet never speaking of zoölogy or botany, since, though very studious of +natural facts, he was incurious of technical and textual science.</p> + +<p>At this time, a strong, healthy youth, fresh from college, whilst all +his companions were choosing their profession, or eager to begin some +lucrative employment, it was inevitable that his thoughts should be +exercised on the same question, and it required rare decision to refuse +all the accustomed paths and keep his solitary freedom at the cost of +disappointing the natural expectations of his family and friends: all +the more difficult that he had a perfect probity, was exact in securing +his own independence, and in holding every man to the like duty. But +Thoreau never faltered. He was a born protestant. He declined to give +up his large ambition of knowledge and action for any narrow craft +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_423">[Pg 423]</span> +or profession, aiming at a much more comprehensive calling, the art +of living well. If he slighted and defied the opinions of others, it +was only that he was more intent to reconcile his practice with his +own belief. Never idle or self-indulgent, he preferred, when he wanted +money, earning it by some piece of manual labor agreeable to him, as +building a boat or a fence, planting, grafting, surveying, or other +short work, to any long engagements. With his hardy habits and few +wants, his skill in wood-craft, and his powerful arithmetic, he was +very competent to live in any part of the world. It would cost him less +time to supply his wants than another. He was therefore secure of his +leisure.</p> + +<p>A natural skill for mensuration, growing out of his mathematical +knowledge and his habit of ascertaining the measures and distances +of objects which interested him, the size of trees, the depth and +extent of ponds and rivers, the height of mountains, and the air-line +distance of his favorite summits,—this, and his intimate knowledge +of the territory about Concord, made him drift into the profession of +land-surveyor. It had the advantage for him that it led him continually +into new and secluded grounds, and helped his studies of Nature. His +accuracy and skill in this work were readily appreciated, and he found +all the employment he wanted.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_424">[Pg 424]</span></p> + +<p>He could easily solve the problems of the surveyor, but he was +daily beset with graver questions, which he manfully confronted. He +interrogated every custom, and wished to settle all his practice on an +ideal foundation. He was a protestant <i>à outrance</i>, and few lives +contain so many renunciations. He was bred to no profession; he never +married; he lived alone; he never went to church; he never voted; he +refused to pay a tax to the State; he ate no flesh, he drank no wine, +he never knew the use of tobacco; and, though a naturalist, he used +neither trap nor gun. He chose, wisely no doubt for himself, to be +the bachelor of thought and Nature. He had no talent for wealth, and +knew how to be poor without the least hint of squalor or inelegance. +Perhaps he fell into his way of living without forecasting it much, +but approved it with later wisdom. “I am often reminded,” he wrote in +his journal, “that if I had bestowed on me the wealth of Crœsus, my +aims must be still the same, and my means essentially the same.” He +had no temptations to fight against,—no appetites, no passions, no +taste for elegant trifles. A fine house, dress, the manners and talk of +highly cultivated people were all thrown away on him. He much preferred +a good Indian, and considered these refinements as impediments to +conversation, wishing to meet his companion on the simplest terms. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_425">[Pg 425]</span> +He declined invitations to dinner-parties, because there each was in +every one’s way, and he could not meet the individuals to any purpose. +“They make their pride,” he said, “in making their dinner cost much; +I make my pride in making my dinner cost little.” When asked at table +what dish he preferred, he answered, “The nearest.” He did not like the +taste of wine, and never had a vice in his life. He said,—“I have a +faint recollection of pleasure derived from smoking dried lily-stems, +before I was a man. I had commonly a supply of these. I have never +smoked anything more noxious.”</p> + +<p>He chose to be rich by making his wants few, and supplying them +himself. In his travels, he used the railroad only to get over so much +country as was unimportant to the present purpose, walking hundreds of +miles, avoiding taverns, buying a lodging in farmers’ and fishermen’s +houses, as cheaper, and more agreeable to him, and because there he +could better find the men and the information he wanted.</p> + +<p>There was somewhat military in his nature, not to be subdued, always +manly and able, but rarely tender, as if he did not feel himself except +in opposition. He wanted a fallacy to expose, a blunder to pillory, I +may say required a little sense of victory, a roll of the drum, to call +his powers into full exercise. It cost him nothing to say No; indeed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_426">[Pg 426]</span> +he found it much easier than to say Yes. It seemed as if his first +instinct on hearing a proposition was to controvert it, so impatient +was he of the limitations of our daily thought. This habit, of course, +is a little chilling to the social affections; and though the companion +would in the end acquit him of any malice or untruth, yet it mars +conversation. Hence, no equal companion stood in affectionate relations +with one so pure and guileless. “I love Henry,” said one of his +friends, “but I cannot like him; and as for taking his arm, I should as +soon think of taking the arm of an elm-tree.”</p> + +<p>Yet, hermit and stoic as he was, he was really fond of sympathy, and +threw himself heartily and childlike into the company of young people +whom he loved, and whom he delighted to entertain, as he only could, +with the varied and endless anecdotes of his experiences by field and +river: and he was always ready to lead a huckleberry-party or a search +for chestnuts or grapes. Talking, one day, of a public discourse, +Henry remarked, that whatever succeeded with the audience was bad. I +said, “Who would not like to write something which all can read, like +Robinson Crusoe? and who does not see with regret that his page is not +solid with a right materialistic treatment, which delights everybody?” +Henry objected, of course, and vaunted the better lectures which +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_427">[Pg 427]</span> +reached only a few persons. But, at supper, a young girl, understanding +that he was to lecture at the Lyceum, sharply asked him, “Whether his +lecture would be a nice, interesting story, such as she wished to hear, +or whether it was one of those old philosophical things that she did +not care about.” Henry turned to her, and bethought himself, and, I +saw, was trying to believe that he had matter that might fit her and +her brother, who were to sit up and go to the lecture, if it was a good +one for them.</p> + +<p>He was a speaker and actor of the truth, born such, and was ever +running into dramatic situations from this cause. In any circumstance +it interested all bystanders to know what part Henry would take, and +what he would say; and he did not disappoint expectation, but used +an original judgment on each emergency. In 1845 he built himself a +small framed house on the shores of Walden Pond, and lived there two +years alone, a life of labor and study. This action was quite native +and fit for him. No one who knew him would tax him with affectation. +He was more unlike his neighbors in his thought than in his action. +As soon as he had exhausted the advantages of that solitude, he +abandoned it. In 1847, not approving some uses to which the public +expenditure was applied, he refused to pay his town tax, and was put +in jail. A friend paid the tax for him, and he was released. The like +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_428">[Pg 428]</span> +annoyance was threatened the next year. But, as his friends paid the +tax, notwithstanding his protest, I believe he ceased to resist. No +opposition or ridicule had any weight with him. He coldly and fully +stated his opinion of the company. It was of no consequence if every +one present held the opposite opinion. On one occasion he went to the +University Library to procure some books. The librarian refused to +lend them. Mr. Thoreau repaired to the President, who stated to him +the rules and usages, which permitted the loan of books to resident +graduates, to clergymen who were alumni, and to some others resident +within a circle of ten miles’ radius from the College. Mr. Thoreau +explained to the President that the railroad had destroyed the old +scale of distances,—that the library was useless, yes, and President +and College useless, on the terms of his rules,—that the one benefit +he owed to the College was its library,—that, at this moment, not +only his want of books was imperative but he wanted a large number of +books, and assured him that he, Thoreau, and not the librarian, was the +proper custodian of these. In short, the President found the petitioner +so formidable, and the rules getting to look so ridiculous, that he +ended by giving him a privilege which in his hands proved unlimited +thereafter.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_429">[Pg 429]</span></p> + +<p>No truer American existed than Thoreau. His preference of his country +and condition was genuine, and his aversation from English and European +manners and tastes almost reached contempt. He listened impatiently +to news or bonmots gleaned from London circles; and though he tried +to be civil, these anecdotes fatigued him. The men were all imitating +each other, and on a small mould. Why can they not live as far apart +as possible, and each be a man by himself? What he sought was the most +energetic nature; and he wished to go to Oregon, not to London. “In +every part of Great Britain,” he wrote in his diary, “are discovered +traces of the Romans, their funereal urns, their camps, their roads, +their dwellings. But New England, at least, is not based on any Roman +ruins. We have not to lay the foundations of our houses on the ashes of +a former civilization.”</p> + +<p>But, idealist as he was, standing for abolition of slavery, abolition +of tariffs, almost for abolition of government, it is needless to say +he found himself not only unrepresented in actual politics, but almost +equally opposed to every class of reformers. Yet he paid the tribute of +his uniform respect to the Anti-Slavery party. One man, whose personal +acquaintance he had formed, he honored with exceptional regard. Before +the first friendly word had been spoken for Captain John Brown, he +sent notices to most houses in Concord that he would speak in a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_430">[Pg 430]</span> +public hall on the condition and character of John Brown, on Sunday +evening, and invited all people to come. The Republican Committee, +the Abolitionist Committee, sent him word that it was premature and +not advisable. He replied,—“I did not send to you for advice, but to +announce that I am to speak.” The hall was filled at an early hour by +people of all parties, and his earnest eulogy of the hero was heard by +all respectfully, by many with a sympathy that surprised themselves.</p> + +<p>It was said of Plotinus that he was ashamed of his body, and ’tis very +likely he had good reason for it,—that his body was a bad servant, +and he had not skill in dealing with the material world, as happens +often to men of abstract intellect. But Mr. Thoreau was equipped with +a most adapted and serviceable body. He was of short stature, firmly +built, of light complexion, with strong, serious blue eyes, and a grave +aspect,—his face covered in the late years with a becoming beard. His +senses were acute, his frame well-knit and hardy, his hands strong and +skilful in the use of tools. And there was a wonderful fitness of body +and mind. He could pace sixteen rods more accurately than another man +could measure them with rod and chain. He could find his path in the +woods at night, he said, better by his feet than his eyes. He could +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_431">[Pg 431]</span> +estimate the measure of a tree very well by his eye; he could estimate +the weight of a calf or a pig, like a dealer. From a box containing a +bushel or more of loose pencils, he could take up with his hands fast +enough just a dozen pencils at every grasp. He was a good swimmer, +runner, skater, boatman, and would probably outwalk most countrymen in +a day’s journey. And the relation of body to mind was still finer than +we have indicated. He said he wanted every stride his legs made. The +length of his walk uniformly made the length of his writing. If shut up +in the house he did not write at all.</p> + +<p>He had a strong common-sense, like that which Rose Flammock the +weaver’s daughter in Scott’s romance commends in her father, as +resembling a yardstick, which, whilst it measures dowlas and diaper, +can equally well measure tapestry and cloth of gold. He had always a +new resource. When I was planting forest trees, and had procured half +a peck of acorns, he said that only a small portion of them would be +sound, and proceeded to examine them and select the sound ones. But +finding this took time, he said, “I think if you put them all into +water the good ones will sink;” which experiment we tried with success. +He could plan a garden or a house or a barn; would have been competent +to lead a “Pacific Exploring Expedition;” could give judicious counsel +in the gravest private or public affairs.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_432">[Pg 432]</span></p> + +<p>He lived for the day, not cumbered and mortified by his memory. If he +brought you yesterday a new proposition, he would bring you to-day +another not less revolutionary. A very industrious man, and setting, +like all highly organized men, a high value on his time, he seemed +the only man of leisure in town, always ready for any excursion that +promised well, or for conversation prolonged into late hours. His +trenchant sense was never stopped by his rules of daily prudence, but +was always up to the new occasion. He liked and used the simplest food, +yet, when some one urged a vegetable diet, Thoreau thought all diets a +very small matter, saying that “the man who shoots the buffalo lives +better than the man who boards at the Graham House.” He said,—“You +can sleep near the railroad, and never be disturbed: Nature knows very +well what sounds are worth attending to, and has made up her mind not +to hear the railroad-whistle. But things respect the devout mind, and a +mental ecstasy was never interrupted.” He noted what repeatedly befell +him, that, after receiving from a distance a rare plant, he would +presently find the same in his own haunts. And those pieces of luck +which happen only to good players happened to him. One day, walking +with a stranger, who inquired where Indian arrow-heads could be found, +he replied, “Everywhere,” and, stooping forward, picked one on the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_433">[Pg 433]</span> +instant from the ground. At Mount Washington, in Tuckerman’s Ravine, +Thoreau had a bad fall, and sprained his foot. As he was in the act of +getting up from his fall, he saw for the first time the leaves of the +<i>Arnica mollis</i>.</p> + +<p>His robust common sense, armed with stout hands, keen perceptions and +strong will, cannot yet account for the superiority which shone in +his simple and hidden life. I must add the cardinal fact, that there +was an excellent wisdom in him, proper to a rare class of men, which +showed him the material world as a means and symbol. This discovery, +which sometimes yields to poets a certain casual and interrupted light, +serving for the ornament of their writing, was in him an unsleeping +insight; and whatever faults or obstructions of temperament might +cloud it, he was not disobedient to the heavenly vision. In his youth, +he said, one day, “The other world is all my art; my pencils will +draw no other; my jack-knife will cut nothing else; I do not use it +as a means.” This was the muse and genius that ruled his opinions, +conversation, studies, work and course of life. This made him a +searching judge of men. At first glance he measured his companion, +and, though insensible to some fine traits of culture, could very well +report his weight and calibre. And this made the impression of genius +which his conversation sometimes gave.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_434">[Pg 434]</span></p> + +<p>He understood the matter in hand at a glance, and saw the limitations +and poverty of those he talked with, so that nothing seemed concealed +from such terrible eyes. I have repeatedly known young men of +sensibility converted in a moment to the belief that this was the +man they were in search of, the man of men, who could tell them all +they should do. His own dealing with them was never affectionate, but +superior, didactic, scorning their petty ways,—very slowly conceding, +or not conceding at all, the promise of his society at their houses, or +even at his own. “Would he not walk with them?” “He did not know. There +was nothing so important to him as his walk; he had no walks to throw +away on company.” Visits were offered him from respectful parties, but +he declined them. Admiring friends offered to carry him at their own +cost to the Yellowstone River,—to the West Indies,—to South America. +But though nothing could be more grave or considered than his refusals, +they remind one, in quite new relations, of that fop Brummel’s reply to +the gentleman who offered him his carriage in a shower, “But where will +<i>you</i> ride, then?”—and what accusing silences, and what searching +and irresistible speeches, battering down all defenses, his companions +can remember!</p> + +<p>Mr. Thoreau dedicated his genius with such entire love to the fields, +hills and waters of his native town, that he made them known and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_435">[Pg 435]</span> +interesting to all reading Americans, and to people over the sea. The +river on whose banks he was born and died he knew from its springs +to its confluence with the Merrimack. He had made summer and winter +observations on it for many years, and at every hour of the day and +night. The result of the recent survey of the Water Commissioners +appointed by the State of Massachusetts he had reached by his private +experiments, several years earlier. Every fact which occurs in the bed, +on the banks, or in the air over it; the fishes, and their spawning and +nests, their manners, their food; the shad-flies which fill the air on +a certain evening once a year, and which are snapped at by the fishes +so ravenously that many of these die of repletion; the conical heaps +of small stones on the river-shallows, the huge nests of small fishes, +one of which will sometimes overfill a cart; the birds which frequent +the stream, heron, duck, sheldrake, loon, osprey; the snake, muskrat, +otter, woodchuck and fox, on the banks; the turtle, frog, hyla and +cricket, which make the banks vocal,—were all known to him, and, as it +were, townsmen and fellow-creatures; so that he felt an absurdity or +violence in any narrative of one of these by itself apart, and still +more of its dimensions on an inch-rule, or in the exhibition of its +skeleton, or the specimen of a squirrel or a bird in brandy. He liked +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_436">[Pg 436]</span> +to speak of the manners of the river, as itself a lawful creature, yet +with exactness, and always to an observed fact. As he knew the river, +so the ponds in this region.</p> + +<p>One of the weapons he used, more important to him than microscope or +alcohol-receiver to other investigators, was a whim which grew on him +by indulgence, yet appeared in gravest statement, namely, of extolling +his own town and neighborhood as the most favored centre for natural +observation. He remarked that the Flora of Massachusetts embraced +almost all the important plants of America,—most of the oaks, most of +the willows, the best pines, the ash, the maple, the beech, the nuts. +He returned Kane’s “Arctic Voyage” to a friend of whom he had borrowed +it, with the remark, that “Most of the phenomena noted might be +observed in Concord.” He seemed a little envious of the Pole, for the +coincident sunrise and sunset, or five minutes’ day after six months: +a splendid fact, which Annursnuc had never afforded him. He found red +snow in one of his walks, and told me that he expected to find yet the +<i>Victoria regia</i> in Concord. He was the attorney of the indigenous +plants, and owned to a preference of the weeds to the imported plants +as of the Indian to the civilized man, and noticed, with pleasure, that +the willow bean-poles of his neighbor had grown more than his beans. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_437">[Pg 437]</span> +“See these weeds,” he said, “which have been hoed at by a million +farmers all spring and summer, and yet have prevailed, and just now +come out triumphant over all lanes, pastures, fields and gardens, such +is their vigor. We have insulted them with low names, too,—as Pigweed, +Wormwood, Chickweed, Shad-blossom.” He says, “They have brave names, +too,—Ambrosia, Stellaria, Amelanchier, Amaranth, etc.”</p> + +<p>I think his fancy for referring everything to the meridian of Concord +did not grow out of any ignorance or depreciation of other longitudes +or latitudes, but was rather a playful expression of his conviction of +the indifferency of all places, and that the best place for each is +where he stands. He expressed it once in this wise:—“I think nothing +is to be hoped from you, if this bit of mould under your feet is not +sweeter to you to eat than any other in this world, or in any world.”</p> + +<p>The other weapon with which he conquered all obstacles in science was +patience. He knew how to sit immovable, a part of the rock he rested +on, until the bird, the reptile, the fish, which had retired from him, +should come back and resume its habits, nay, moved by curiosity, should +come to him and watch him.</p> + +<p>It was a pleasure and a privilege to walk with him. He knew the country +like a fox or a bird, and passed through it as freely by paths of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_438">[Pg 438]</span> +his own. He knew every track in the snow or on the ground, and what +creature had taken this path before him. One must submit abjectly to +such a guide, and the reward was great. Under his arm he carried an +old music-book to press plants; in his pocket, his diary and pencil, +a spy-glass for birds, microscope, jack-knife, and twine. He wore a +straw hat, stout shoes, strong gray trousers, to brave scrub-oaks and +smilax, and to climb a tree for a hawk’s or a squirrel’s nest. He +waded into the pool for the water-plants, and his strong legs were no +insignificant part of his armor. On the day I speak of he looked for +the Menyanthes, detected it across the wide pool, and, on examination +of the florets, decided that it had been in flower five days. He drew +out of his breast-pocket his diary, and read the names of all the +plants that should bloom on this day, whereof he kept account as a +banker when his notes fall due. The Cypripedium not due till to-morrow. +He thought that, if waked up from a trance, in this swamp, he could +tell by the plants what time of the year it was within two days. The +redstart was flying about, and presently the fine grosbeaks, whose +brilliant scarlet “makes the rash gazer wipe his eye,” and whose fine +clear note Thoreau compared to that of a tanager which has got rid of +its hoarseness. Presently he heard a note which he called that of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_439">[Pg 439]</span> +night-warbler, a bird he had never identified, had been in search of +twelve years, which always, when he saw it, was in the act of diving +down into a tree or bush, and which it was vain to seek; the only bird +which sings indifferently by night and by day. I told him he must +beware of finding and booking it, lest life should have nothing more to +show him. He said, “What you seek in vain for, half your life, one day +you come full upon, all the family at dinner. You seek it like a dream, +and as soon as you find it you become its prey.”</p> + +<p>His interest in the flower or the bird lay very deep in his mind, +was connected with Nature,—and the meaning of Nature was never +attempted to be defined by him. He would not offer a memoir of his +observations to the Natural History Society. “Why should I? To detach +the description from its connections in my mind would make it no longer +true or valuable to me: and they do not wish what belongs to it.” His +power of observation seemed to indicate additional senses. He saw +as with microscope, heard as with ear-trumpet, and his memory was a +photographic register of all he saw and heard. And yet none knew better +than he that it is not the fact that imports, but the impression or +effect of the fact on your mind. Every fact lay in glory in his mind, a +type of the order and beauty of the whole.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_440">[Pg 440]</span></p> + +<p>His determination on Natural History was organic. He confessed that he +sometimes felt like a hound or a panther, and, if born among Indians, +would have been a fell hunter. But, restrained by his Massachusetts +culture, he played out the game in this mild form of botany and +ichthyology. His intimacy with animals suggested what Thomas Fuller +records of Butler the apiologist, that “either he had told the bees +things or the bees had told him.” Snakes coiled round his leg; the +fishes swam into his hand, and he took them out of the water; he pulled +the woodchuck out of its hole by the tail and took the foxes under his +protection from the hunters. Our naturalist had perfect magnanimity; +he had no secrets: he would carry you to the heron’s haunt, or even to +his most prized botanical swamp,—possibly knowing that you could never +find it again, yet willing to take his risks.</p> + +<p>No college ever offered him a diploma, or a professor’s chair; no +academy made him its corresponding secretary, its discoverer, or even +its member. Perhaps these learned bodies feared the satire of his +presence. Yet so much knowledge of Nature’s secret and genius few +others possessed, none in a more large and religious synthesis. For not +a particle of respect had he to the opinions of any man or body of men, +but homage solely to the truth itself; and as he discovered everywhere +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_441">[Pg 441]</span> +among doctors some leaning of courtesy, it discredited them. He grew +to be revered and admired by his townsmen, who had at first known him +only as an oddity. The farmers who employed him as a surveyor soon +discovered his rare accuracy and skill, his knowledge of their lands, +of trees, of birds, of Indian remains and the like, which enabled him +to tell every farmer more than he knew before of his own farm; so +that he began to feel a little as if Mr. Thoreau had better rights in +his land than he. They felt, too, the superiority of character which +addressed all men with a native authority.</p> + +<p>Indian relics abound in Concord,—arrow-heads, stone chisels, pestles, +and fragments of pottery; and on the river-bank, large heaps of +clam-shells and ashes mark spots which the savages frequented. These, +and every circumstance touching the Indian, were important in his eyes. +His visits to Maine were chiefly for love of the Indian. He had the +satisfaction of seeing the manufacture of the bark-canoe, as well as +of trying his hand in its management on the rapids. He was inquisitive +about the making of the stone arrow-head, and in his last days charged +a youth setting out for the Rocky Mountains to find an Indian who could +tell him that: “It was well worth a visit to California to learn it.” +Occasionally, a small party of Penobscot Indians would visit Concord, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_442">[Pg 442]</span> +and pitch their tents for a few weeks in summer on the river-bank. He +failed not to make acquaintance with the best of them; though he well +knew that asking questions of Indians is like catechizing beavers and +rabbits. In his last visit to Maine he had great satisfaction from +Joseph Polis, an intelligent Indian of Oldtown, who was his guide for +some weeks.</p> + +<p>He was equally interested in every natural fact. The depth of his +perception found likeness of law throughout Nature, and I know not any +genius who so swiftly inferred universal law from the single fact. He +was no pedant of a department. His eye was open to beauty, and his ear +to music. He found these, not in rare conditions, but wheresoever he +went. He thought the best of music was in single strains; and he found +poetic suggestion in the humming of the telegraph-wire.</p> + +<p>His poetry might be bad or good; he no doubt wanted a lyric facility +and technical skill, but he had the source of poetry in his spiritual +perception. He was a good reader and critic, and his judgment on poetry +was to the ground of it. He could not be deceived as to the presence or +absence of the poetic element in any composition, and his thirst for +this made him negligent and perhaps scornful of superficial graces. He +would pass by many delicate rhythms, but he would have detected every +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_443">[Pg 443]</span> +live stanza or line in a volume, and knew very well where to find +an equal poetic charm in prose. He was so enamored of the spiritual +beauty that he held all actual written poems in very light esteem in +the comparison. He admired Æschylus and Pindar; but, when someone was +commending them, he said that Æschylus and the Greeks, in describing +Apollo and Orpheus, had given no song, or no good one. “They ought not +to have moved trees, but to have chanted to the gods such a hymn as +would have sung all their old ideas out of their heads, and new ones +in.” His own verses are often rude and defective. The gold does not +yet run pure, is drossy and crude. The thyme and marjoram are not yet +honey. But if he want lyric fineness and technical merits, if he have +not the poetic temperament, he never lacks the causal thought, showing +that his genius was better than his talent. He knew the worth of the +Imagination for the uplifting and consolation of human life, and liked +to throw every thought into a symbol. The fact you tell is of no value, +but only the impression. For this reason his presence was poetic, +always piqued the curiosity to know more deeply the secrets of his +mind. He had many reserves, an unwillingness to exhibit to profane eyes +what was still sacred in his own, and knew well how to throw a poetic +veil over his experience. All readers of “Walden” will remember his +mythical record of his disappointments:—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_444">[Pg 444]</span></p> + +<p>“I long ago lost a hound, a bay horse and a turtle-dove, and am still +on their trail. Many are the travellers I have spoken concerning them, +describing their tracks, and what calls they answered to. I have met +one or two who have heard the hound, and the tramp of the horse, and +even seen the dove disappear behind a cloud; and they seemed as anxious +to recover them as if they had lost them themselves.”<a id="FNanchor_16" href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a></p> + +<p>His riddles were worth the reading, and I confide that if at any time I +do not understand the expression, it is yet just. Such was the wealth +of his truth that it was not worth his while to use words in vain. +His poem entitled “Sympathy” reveals the tenderness under that triple +steel of stoicism, and the intellectual subtility it could animate. +His classic poem on “Smoke” suggests Simonides, but is better than any +poem of Simonides. His biography is in his verses. His habitual thought +makes all his poetry a hymn to the Cause of causes, the Spirit which +vivifies and controls his own:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“I hearing get, who had but ears,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And sight, who had but eyes before;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I moments live, who lived but years,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And truth discern, who knew but learning’s lore.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="nind">And still more in these religious lines:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Now chiefly is my natal hour,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And only now my prime of life;</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_445">[Pg 445]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">I will not doubt the love untold,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Which not my worth nor want have bought,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Which wooed me young, and wooes me old,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And to this evening hath me brought.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Whilst he used in his writings a certain petulance of remark in +reference to churches or churchmen, he was a person of a rare, tender +and absolute religion, a person incapable of any profanation, by act +or by thought. Of course, the same isolation which belonged to his +original thinking and living detached him from the social religious +forms. This is neither to be censured nor regretted. Aristotle long ago +explained it when he said, “One who surpasses his fellow-citizens in +virtue is no longer a part of the city. Their law is not for him, since +he is a law to himself.”</p> + +<p>Thoreau was sincerity itself, and might fortify the convictions of +prophets in the ethical laws by his holy living. It was an affirmative +experience which refused to be set aside. A truth-speaker he, capable +of the most deep and strict conversation; a physician to the wounds +of any soul; a friend, knowing not only the secret of friendship, but +almost worshipped by those few persons who resorted to him as their +confessor and prophet, and knew the deep value of his mind and great +heart. He thought that without religion or devotion of some kind +nothing great was ever accomplished: and he thought that the bigoted +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_446">[Pg 446]</span> +sectarian had better bear this in mind.</p> + +<p>His virtues, of course, sometimes ran into extremes. It was easy to +trace to the inexorable demand on all for exact truth that austerity +which made this willing hermit more solitary even than he wished. +Himself of a perfect probity, he required not less of others. He +had a disgust at crime, and no worldly success would cover it. He +detected paltering as readily in dignified and prosperous persons as +in beggars, and with equal scorn. Such dangerous frankness was in his +dealing that his admirers called him “that terrible Thoreau,” as if +he spoke when silent, and was still present when he had departed. I +think the severity of his ideal interfered to deprive him of a healthy +sufficiency of human society.</p> + +<p>The habit of a realist to find things the reverse of their appearance +inclined him to put every statement in a paradox. A certain habit of +antagonism defaced his earlier writings,—a trick of rhetoric not quite +outgrown in his later, of substituting for the obvious word and thought +its diametrical opposite. He praised wild mountains and winter forests +for their domestic air, in snow and ice he would find sultriness, and +commended the wilderness for resembling Rome and Paris. “It was so dry, +that you might call it wet.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_447">[Pg 447]</span></p> + +<p>The tendency to magnify the moment, to read all the laws of Nature in +the one object or one combination under your eye, is of course comic +to those who do not share the philosopher’s perception of identity. +To him there was no such thing as size. The pond was a small ocean; +the Atlantic, a large Walden Pond. He referred every minute fact +to cosmical laws. Though he meant to be just, he seemed haunted by +a certain chronic assumption that the science of the day pretended +completeness, and he had just found out that the <i>savans</i> had +neglected to discriminate a particular botanical variety, had failed to +describe the seeds or count the sepals. “That is to say,” we replied, +“the blockheads were not born in Concord; but who said they were? It +was their unspeakable misfortune to be born in London, or Paris, or +Rome; but, poor fellows, they did what they could, considering that +they never saw Bateman’s Pond, or Nine-Acre Corner, or Becky Stow’s +Swamp; besides, what were you sent into the world for, but to add this +observation?”</p> + +<p>Had his genius been only contemplative, he had been fitted to his life, +but with his energy and practical ability he seemed born for great +enterprise and for command; and I so much regret the loss of his rare +powers of action, that I cannot help counting it a fault in him that he +had no ambition. Wanting this, instead of engineering for all America, +he was the captain of a huckleberry-party. Pounding beans is good to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_448">[Pg 448]</span> +the end of pounding empires one of these days; but if, at the end of +years, it is still only beans!</p> + +<p>But these foibles, real or apparent, were fast vanishing in the +incessant growth of a spirit so robust and wise, and which effaced its +defeats with new triumphs. His study of Nature was a perpetual ornament +to him, and inspired his friends with curiosity to see the world +through his eyes, and to hear his adventures. They possessed every kind +of interest.</p> + +<p>He had many elegancies of his own, whilst he scoffed at conventional +elegance. Thus, he could not bear to hear the sound of his own steps, +the grit of gravel; and therefore never willingly walked in the road, +but in the grass, on mountains and in woods. His senses were acute, +and he remarked that by night every dwelling-house gives out bad +air, like a slaughter-house. He liked the pure fragrance of melilot. +He honored certain plants with special regard, and, over all, the +pond-lily,—then, the gentian, and the <i>Mikania scandens</i>, and +“life-everlasting,” and a bass-tree which he visited every year when it +bloomed, in the middle of July. He thought the scent a more oracular +inquisition than the sight,—more oracular and trustworthy. The scent, +of course, reveals what is concealed from the other senses. By it he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_449">[Pg 449]</span> +detected earthiness. He delighted in echoes, and said they were almost +the only kind of kindred voices that he heard. He loved Nature so well, +was so happy in her solitude, that he became very jealous of cities and +the sad work which their refinements and artifices made with man and +his dwelling. The axe was always destroying his forest. “Thank God,” +he said, “they cannot cut down the clouds!” “All kinds of figures are +drawn on the blue ground with this fibrous white paint.”</p> + +<p>I subjoin a few sentences taken from his unpublished manuscripts, not +only as records of his thought and feeling, but for their power of +description and literary excellence:—</p> + +<p>“Some circumstantial evidence is very strong, as when you find a trout +in the milk.”</p> + +<p>“The chub is a soft fish, and tastes like boiled brown paper salted.”</p> + +<p>“The youth gets together his materials to build a bridge to the moon, +or, perchance, a palace or temple on the earth, and, at length the +middle-aged man concludes to build a wood-shed with them.”</p> + +<p>“The locust z-ing.”</p> + +<p>“Devil’s-needles zigzagging along the Nut-Meadow brook.”</p> + +<p>“Sugar is not so sweet to the palate as sound to the healthy ear.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_450">[Pg 450]</span></p> + +<p>“I put on some hemlock-boughs, and the rich salt crackling of their +leaves was like mustard to the ear, the crackling of uncountable +regiments. Dead trees love the fire.”</p> + +<p>“The bluebird carries the sky on his back.”</p> + +<p>“The tanager flies through the green foliage as if it would ignite the +leaves.”</p> + +<p>“If I wish for a horse-hair for my compass-sight I must go to the +stable; but the hair-bird, with her sharp eyes, goes to the road.”</p> + +<p>“Immortal water, alive even to the superficies.”</p> + +<p>“Fire is the most tolerable third party.”</p> + +<p>“Nature made ferns for pure leaves, to show what she could do in that +line.”</p> + +<p>“No tree has so fair a bole and so handsome an instep as the beech.”</p> + +<p>“How did these beautiful rainbow-tints get into the shell of the +fresh-water clam, buried in the mud at the bottom of our dark river?”</p> + +<p>“Hard are the times when the infant’s shoes are second-foot.”</p> + +<p>“We are strictly confined to our men to whom we give liberty.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing is so much to be feared as fear. Atheism may comparatively be +popular with God himself.”</p> + +<p>“Of what significance the things you can forget? A little thought is +sexton to all the world.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_451">[Pg 451]</span></p> + +<p>“How can we expect a harvest of thought who have not had a seed-time of +character?”</p> + +<p>“Only he can be trusted with gifts who can present a face of bronze to +expectations.”</p> + +<p>“I ask to be melted. You can only ask of the metals that they be tender +to the fire that melts them. To nought else can they be tender.”</p> + +<p>There is a flower known to botanists, one of the same genus with our +summer plant called “Life-Everlasting,” a <i>Gnaphalium</i> like that, +which grows on the most inaccessible cliffs of the Tyrolese mountains, +where the chamois dare hardly venture, and which the hunter, tempted by +its beauty, and by his love (for it is immensely valued by the Swiss +maidens), climbs the cliffs to gather, and is sometimes found dead at +the foot, with the flower in his hand. It is called by botanists the +<i>Gnaphalium leontopodium</i>, but by the Swiss <i>Edelweisse</i>, +which signifies <i>Noble Purity</i>. Thoreau seemed to me living in the +hope to gather this plant, which belonged to him of right. The scale +on which his studies proceeded was so large as to require longevity, +and we were the less prepared for his sudden disappearance. The country +knows not yet, or in the least part, how great a son it has lost. It +seems an injury that he should leave in the midst his broken task which +none else can finish, a kind of indignity to so noble a soul that he +should depart out of Nature before yet he has been really shown to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_452">[Pg 452]</span> +his peers for what he is. But he, at least, is content. His soul was +made for the noblest society; he had in a short life exhausted the +capabilities of this world; wherever there is knowledge, wherever there +is virtue, wherever there is beauty, he will find a home.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p class="nind"><a id="Footnote_15" href="#FNanchor_15" class="label">[15]</a> +Part of this paper was the Address delivered by Mr. Emerson at the +funeral of Mr. Thoreau, in May, 1862. In the following summer it was +enlarged and printed in the “Atlantic Monthly” in its present form.</p> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p class="nind"><a id="Footnote_16" href="#FNanchor_16" class="label">[16]</a> +<i>Walden</i>: p. 20.</p> + +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_453">[Pg 453]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CARLYLE">CARLYLE.</h2> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="allsmcap">HOLD</span> with the Maker, not the Made,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sit with the Cause, or grim or glad.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_37" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_455">[Pg 455]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CARLYLE_2">CARLYLE.<a id="FNanchor_17" href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a></h2> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="decorate_3_38" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/decorate_3.jpg" width="234" height="70" alt="decorative"> +</figure> + + +<p>THOMAS CARLYLE is an immense talker, as extraordinary in his +conversation as in his writing,—I think even more so.</p> + +<p>He is not mainly a scholar, like the most of my acquaintances, but +a practical Scotchman, such as you would find in any saddler’s or +iron-dealer’s shop, and then only accidentally and by a surprising +addition, the admirable scholar and writer he is. If you would know +precisely how he talks, just suppose Hugh Whelan (the gardener) had +found leisure enough in addition to all his daily work to read Plato +and Shakspeare, Augustine and Calvin, and, remaining Hugh Whelan all +the time, should talk scornfully of all this nonsense of books that +he had been bothered with, and you shall have just the tone and talk +and laughter of Carlyle. I called him a trip-hammer with “an Æolian +attachment.” He has, too, the strong religious tinge you sometimes +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_456">[Pg 456]</span> +find in burly people. That, and all his qualities, have a certain +virulence, coupled though it be in his case with the utmost impatience +of Christendom and Jewdom and all existing presentments of the good +old story. He talks like a very unhappy man,—profoundly solitary, +displeased and hindered by all men and things about him, and, biding +his time, meditating how to undermine and explode the whole world of +nonsense which torments him. He is obviously greatly respected by all +sorts of people, understands his own value quite as well as Webster, of +whom his behavior sometimes reminds me, and can see society on his own +terms.</p> + +<p>And, though no mortal in America could pretend to talk with Carlyle, +who is also as remarkable in England as the Tower of London, yet +neither would he in any manner satisfy us (Americans), or begin to +answer the questions which we ask. He is a very national figure, and +would by no means bear transplantation. They keep Carlyle as a sort of +portable cathedral-bell, which they like to produce in companies where +he is unknown, and set a-swinging, to the surprise and consternation +of all persons,—bishops, courtiers, scholars, writers,—and, as in +companies here (in England) no man is named or introduced, great is +the effect and great the inquiry. Forster of Rawdon described to me +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_457">[Pg 457]</span> +a dinner at the <i>table d’hôte</i> of some provincial hotel where +he carried Carlyle, and where an Irish canon had uttered something. +Carlyle began to talk, first to the waiters, and then to the walls, and +then, lastly, unmistakably to the priest, in a manner that frightened +the whole company.</p> + +<p>Young men, especially those holding liberal opinions, press to see +him, but it strikes me like being hot to see the mathematical or +Greek professor before they have got their lesson. It needs something +more than a clean shirt and reading German to visit him. He treats +them with contempt; they profess freedom and he stands for slavery; +they praise republics and he likes the Russian Czar; they admire +Cobden and free trade and he is a protectionist in political economy; +they will eat vegetables and drink water, and he is a Scotchman who +thinks English national character has a pure enthusiasm for beef +and mutton,—describes with gusto the crowds of people who gaze at +the sirloins in the dealer’s shop-window, and even likes the Scotch +night-cap; they praise moral suasion, he goes for murder, money, +capital punishment, and other pretty abominations of English law. They +wish freedom of the press, and he thinks the first thing he would do, +if he got into Parliament, would be to turn out the reporters, and stop +all manner of mischievous speaking to Buncombe, and wind-bags. “In the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_458">[Pg 458]</span> +Long Parliament,” he says, “the only great Parliament, they sat secret +and silent, grave as an ecumenical council, and I know not what they +would have done to anybody that had got in there and attempted to tell +out of doors what they did.” They go for free institutions, for letting +things alone, and only giving opportunity and motive to every man; +he for a stringent government, that shows people what they must do, +and makes them do it. “Here,” he says, “the Parliament gathers up six +millions of pounds every year to give to the poor, and yet the people +starve. I think if they would give it to me, to provide the poor with +labor, and with authority to make them work or shoot them,—and I to be +hanged if I did not do it,—I could find them in plenty of Indian meal.”</p> + +<p>He throws himself readily on the other side. If you urge free trade, he +remembers that every laborer is a monopolist. The navigation laws of +England made its commerce. “St. John was insulted by the Dutch; he came +home, got the law passed that foreign vessels should pay high fees, and +it cut the throat of the Dutch, and made the English trade.” If you +boast of the growth of the country, and show him the wonderful results +of the census, he finds nothing so depressing as the sight of a great +mob. He saw once, as he told me, three or four miles of human beings, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_459">[Pg 459]</span> +and fancied that “the airth was some great cheese, and these were +mites.” If a tory takes heart at his hatred of stump-oratory and model +republics, he replies, “Yes, the idea of a pig-headed soldier who will +obey orders, and fire on his own father at the command of his officer, +is a great comfort to the aristocratic mind.” It is not so much that +Carlyle cares for this or that dogma, as that he likes genuineness (the +source of all strength) in his companions.</p> + +<p>If a scholar goes into a camp of lumbermen or a gang of riggers, +those men will quickly detect any fault of character. Nothing will +pass with them but what is real and sound. So this man is a hammer +that crushes mediocrity and retention. He detects weakness on the +instant, and touches it. He has a vivacious, aggressive temperament, +and unimpressionable. The literary, the fashionable, the political man, +each fresh from triumphs in his own sphere, comes eagerly to see this +man, whose fun they have heartily enjoyed, sure of a welcome, and are +struck with despair at the first onset. His firm, victorious, scoffing +vituperation strikes them with chill and hesitation. His talk often +reminds you of what was said of Johnson: “If his pistol missed fire he +would knock you down with the butt-end.”</p> + +<p>Mere intellectual partisanship wearies him; he detects in an instant +if a man stands for any cause to which he is not born and organically +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_460">[Pg 460]</span> +committed. A natural defender of anything, a lover who will live and +die for that which he speaks for, and who does not care for him or for +anything but his own business, he respects; and the nobler this object, +of course, the better. He hates a literary trifler, and if, after +Guizot had been a tool of Louis Philippe for years, he is now to come +and write essays on the character of Washington, on “The Beautiful,” +and on “Philosophy of History,” he thinks that nothing.</p> + +<p>Great is his reverence for realities,—for all such traits as spring +from the intrinsic nature of the actor. He humors this into the +idolatry of strength. A strong nature has a charm for him, previous, +it would seem, to all inquiry whether the force be divine or diabolic. +He preaches, as by cannonade, the doctrine that every noble nature +was made by God, and contains, if savage passions, also fit checks +and grand impulses, and, however extravagant, will keep its orbit and +return from far.</p> + +<p>Nor can that decorum which is the idol of the Englishman, and in +attaining which the Englishman exceeds all nations, win from him any +obeisance. He is eaten up with indignation against such as desire to +make a fair show in the flesh.</p> + +<p>Combined with this warfare on respectabilities, and, indeed, pointing +all his satire, is the severity of his moral sentiment. In proportion +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_461">[Pg 461]</span> +to the peals of laughter amid which he strips the plumes of a pretender +and shows the lean hypocrisy to every vantage of ridicule, does he +worship whatever enthusiasm, fortitude, love, or other sign of a good +nature is in a man.</p> + +<p>There is nothing deeper in his constitution than his humor, than the +considerate, condescending good-nature with which he looks at every +object in existence, as a man might look at a mouse. He feels that the +perfection of health is sportiveness, and will not look grave even at +dullness or tragedy.</p> + +<p>His guiding genius is his moral sense, his perception of the sole +importance of truth and justice; but that is a truth of character, not +of catechisms. He says, “There is properly no religion in England. +These idle nobles at Tattersall’s—there is no work or word of serious +purpose in them; they have this great lying Church; and life is a +humbug.” He prefers Cambridge to Oxford, but he thinks Oxford and +Cambridge education indurates the young men, as the Styx hardened +Achilles, so that when they come forth of them, they say, “Now we are +proof; we have gone through all the degrees, and are case-hardened +against the veracities of the Universe; nor man nor God can penetrate +us.”</p> + +<p>Wellington he respects as real and honest, and as having made up his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_462">[Pg 462]</span> +mind, once for all, that he will not have to do with any kind of a lie. +Edwin Chadwick is one of his heroes,—who proposes to provide every +house in London with pure water, sixty gallons to every head, at a +penny a week; and in the decay and downfall of all religions, Carlyle +thinks that the only religious act which a man nowadays can securely +perform is to wash himself well.</p> + +<p>Of course the new French revolution of 1848 was the best thing he +had seen, and the teaching this great swindler, Louis Philippe, that +there is a God’s justice in the Universe, after all, was a great +satisfaction. Czar Nicholas was his hero; for in the ignominy of +Europe, when all thrones fell like card-houses, and no man was found +with conscience enough to fire a gun for his crown, but every one ran +away in a <i>coucou</i>, with his head shaved, through the Barrière de +Passy, one man remained who believed he was put there by God Almighty +to govern his empire, and, by the help of God, had resolved to stand +there.</p> + +<p>He was very serious about the bad times; he had seen this evil coming, +but thought it would not come in his time. But now ’tis coming, and +the only good he sees in it is the visible appearance of the gods. +He thinks it the only question for wise men, instead of art and fine +fancies and poetry and such things, to address themselves to the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_463">[Pg 463]</span> +problem of society. This confusion is the inevitable end of such +falsehoods and nonsense as they have been embroiled with.</p> + +<p>Carlyle has, best of all men in England, kept the manly attitude in +his time. He has stood for scholars, asking no scholar what he should +say. Holding an honored place in the best society, he has stood for the +people, for the Chartist, for the pauper, intrepidly and scornfully +teaching the nobles their peremptory duties.</p> + +<p>His errors of opinion are as nothing in comparison with this merit, in +my judgment. This <i>aplomb</i> cannot be mimicked; it is the speaking +to the heart of the thing. And in England, where the <i>morgue</i> of +aristocracy has very slowly admitted scholars into society,—a very +few houses only in the high circles being ever opened to them,—he has +carried himself erect, made himself a power confessed by all men, and +taught scholars their lofty duty. He never feared the face of man.</p> + + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p class="nind"><a id="Footnote_17" href="#FNanchor_17" class="label">[17]</a> +From a letter written soon after Mr. Emerson’s visit to Carlyle in +1848. Read before the Massachusetts Historical Society at their +meeting after the death of Carlyle, February, 1881. Published in their +Proceedings, and also in “Scribner’s Magazine,” May, 1881.</p> + +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="transnote spa1"> +<p class="nindc"><b>TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES</b></p> + +<p>Simple typographical errors have been silently corrected; unbalanced +quotation marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and +otherwise left unbalanced.</p> + +<p>Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant +preference was found in the original book; otherwise they were not +changed.</p> + +<p>Inconsistent hyphens left as printed. +</p> +</div></div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75942 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/75942-h/images/cover.jpg b/75942-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8a5f174 --- /dev/null +++ b/75942-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/75942-h/images/decorate_1.jpg b/75942-h/images/decorate_1.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6cd7206 --- /dev/null +++ b/75942-h/images/decorate_1.jpg diff --git a/75942-h/images/decorate_2.jpg b/75942-h/images/decorate_2.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..525754c --- /dev/null +++ b/75942-h/images/decorate_2.jpg diff --git a/75942-h/images/decorate_3.jpg b/75942-h/images/decorate_3.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..223baff --- /dev/null +++ b/75942-h/images/decorate_3.jpg diff --git a/75942-h/images/titlepage.jpg b/75942-h/images/titlepage.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..805a3f5 --- /dev/null +++ b/75942-h/images/titlepage.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b5dba15 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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