{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_16643/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_16643","id":"gutenberg_16643","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/16643","summary":null,"tags":["Category: American Literature","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Essays","Harvard Classics"],"text":"ESSAYS\n\n                                  BY\n\n                          RALPH WALDO EMERSON\n\n\n\n\n                        Merrill's English Texts\n\n                SELECTED AND EDITED, WITH INTRODUCTION\n                AND NOTES, BY EDNA H.L. TURPIN, AUTHOR\n                OF \"STORIES FROM AMERICAN HISTORY,\"\n               \"CLASSIC FABLES,\" \"FAMOUS PAINTERS,\" ETC.\n\n\n\n                               NEW YORK\n\n                        CHARLES E. MERRILL CO.\n\n                                 1907\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n  LIFE OF EMERSON\n  CRITICAL OPINIONS\n  CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF PRINCIPAL WORKS\n\nTHE AMERICAN SCHOLAR\n\nCOMPENSATION\n\nSELF RELIANCE\n\nFRIENDSHIP\n\nHEROISM\n\nMANNERS\n\nGIFTS\n\nNATURE\n\nSHAKESPEARE; OR, THE POET\n\nPRUDENCE\n\nCIRCLES\n\nNOTES\n\n\n\n\nPUBLISHERS' NOTE\n\nMerrill's English Texts\n\n\nThis series of books will include in complete editions those\nmasterpieces of English Literature that are best adapted for the use\nof schools and colleges. The editors of the several volumes will be\nchosen for their special qualifications in connection with the texts\nto be issued under their individual supervision, but familiarity with\nthe practical needs of the classroom, no less than sound scholarship,\nwill characterize the editing of every book in the series.\n\nIn connection with each text, a critical and historical introduction,\nincluding a sketch of the life of the author and his relation to the\nthought of his time, critical opinions of the work in question chosen\nfrom the great body of English criticism, and, where possible, a\nportrait of the author, will be given. Ample explanatory notes of such\npassages in the text as call for special attention will be supplied,\nbut irrelevant annotation and explanations of the obvious will be\nrigidly excluded.\n\nCHARLES E. MERRILL CO.\n\n\n\n\nLIFE OF EMERSON\n\n\nRalph Waldo Emerson was born in Boston, May 25, 1803. He was descended\nfrom a long line of New England ministers, men of refinement and\neducation. As a school-boy he was quiet and retiring, reading a great\ndeal, but not paying much attention to his lessons. He entered Harvard\nat the early age of fourteen, but never attained a high rank there,\nalthough he took a prize for an essay on Socrates, and was made class\npoet after several others had declined. Next to his reserve and the\nfaultless propriety of his conduct, his contemporaries at college\nseemed most impressed by the great maturity of his mind. Emerson\nappears never to have been really a boy. He was always serene and\nthoughtful, impressing all who knew him with that spirituality which\nwas his most distinguishing characteristic.\n\nAfter graduating from college he taught school for a time, and then\nentered the Harvard Divinity School under Dr. Channing, the great\nUnitarian preacher. Although he was not strong enough to attend all\nthe lectures of the divinity course, the college authorities deemed\nthe name Emerson sufficient passport to the ministry. He was\naccordingly \"approbated to preach\" by the Middlesex Association of\nMinisters on October 10, 1826. As a preacher, Emerson was interesting,\nthough not particularly original. His talent seems to have been in\ngiving new meaning to the old truths of religion. One of his hearers\nhas said: \"In looking back on his preaching I find he has impressed\ntruths to which I always assented in such a manner as to make them\nappear new, like a clearer revelation.\" Although his sermons were\nalways couched in scriptural language, they were touched with the\nlight of that genius which avoids the conventional and commonplace. In\nhis other pastoral duties Emerson was not quite so successful. It is\ncharacteristic of his deep humanity and his dislike for all fuss and\ncommonplace that he appeared to least advantage at a funeral. A\nconnoisseur in such matters, an old sexton, once remarked that on such\noccasions \"he did not appear at ease at all. To tell the truth, in my\nopinion, that young man was not born to be a minister.\"\n\nEmerson did not long remain a minister. In 1832 he preached a sermon\nin which he announced certain views in regard to the communion service\nwhich were disapproved by a large part of his congregation. He found\nit impossible to continue preaching, and, with the most friendly\nfeelings on both sides, he parted from his congregation.\n\nA few months later (1833) he went to Europe for a short year of\ntravel. While abroad, he visited Walter Savage Landor, Coleridge and\nWordsworth, and Thomas Carlyle. This visit to Carlyle was to both men\na most interesting experience. They parted feeling that they had much\nintellectually in common. This belief fostered a sympathy which, by\nthe time they had discovered how different they really were, had grown\nso strong a habit that they always kept up their intimacy. This year\nof travel opened Emerson's eyes to many things of which he had\npreviously been ignorant; he had profited by detachment from the\nconcerns of a limited community and an isolated church.\n\nAfter his return he began to find his true field of activity in the\nlecture-hall, and delivered a number of addresses in Boston and its\nvicinity. While thus coming before the open public on the lecture\nplatform, he was all the time preparing the treatise which was to\nembody all the quintessential elements of his philosophical doctrine.\nThis was the essay _Nature_, which was published in 1836. By its\nconception of external Nature as an incarnation of the Divine Mind it\nstruck the fundamental principle of Emerson's religious belief. The\nessay had a very small circulation at first, though later it became\nwidely known.\n\nIn the winter of 1836 Emerson followed up his discourse on Nature by a\ncourse of twelve lectures on the \"Philosophy of History,\" a\nconsiderable portion of which eventually became embodied in his\nessays. The next year (1837) was the year of the delivery of the _Man\nThinking, or the American Scholar_ address before the Phi Beta Kappa\nSociety at Cambridge.\n\nThis society, composed of the first twenty-five men in each class\ngraduating from college, has annual meetings which have called forth\nthe best efforts of many distinguished scholars and thinkers.\nEmerson's address was listened to with the most profound interest. It\ndeclared a sort of intellectual independence for America. Henceforth\nwe were to be emancipated from clogging foreign influences, and a\nnational literature was to expand under the fostering care of the\nRepublic.\n\nThese two discourses, _Nature_ and _The American Scholar_, strike the\nkeynote of Emerson's philosophical, poetical, and moral teachings. In\nfact he had, as every great teacher has, only a limited number of\nprinciples and theories to teach. These principles of life can all be\nenumerated in twenty words--self-reliance, culture, intellectual and\nmoral independence, the divinity of nature and man, the necessity of\nlabor, and high ideals.\n\nEmerson spent the latter part of his life in lecturing and in literary\nwork. His son, Dr. Edward Emerson, gave an interesting account of how\nthese lectures were constructed. \"All through his life he kept a\njournal. This book, he said, was his 'Savings Bank.' The thoughts thus\nreceived and garnered in his journals were indexed, and a great many\nof them appeared in his published works. They were religiously set\ndown just as they came, in no order except chronological, but later\nthey were grouped, enlarged or pruned, illustrated, worked into a\nlecture or discourse, and, after having in this capacity undergone\nrepeated testing and rearranging, were finally carefully sifted and\nmore rigidly pruned, and were printed as essays.\"\n\nBesides his essays and lectures Emerson left some poetry in which is\nembodied those thoughts which were to him too deep for prose\nexpression. Oliver Wendell Holmes in speaking of this says: \"Emerson\nwrote occasionally in verse from his school-days until he had reached\nthe age which used to be known as the grand climacteric,\nsixty-three.... His poems are not and hardly can become popular; they\nare not meant to be liked by the many, but to be dearly loved and\ncherished by the few.... His occasional lawlessness in technical\nconstruction, his somewhat fantastic expressions, his enigmatic\nobscurities hardly detract from the pleasant surprise his verses so\noften bring with them.... The poetic license which we allow in the\nverse of Emerson is more than excused by the noble spirit which makes\nus forget its occasional blemishes, sometimes to be pleased with them\nas characteristic of the writer.\"\n\nEmerson was always a striking figure in the intellectual life of\nAmerica. His discourses were above all things inspiring. Through them\nmany were induced to strive for a higher self-culture. His influence\ncan be discerned in all the literary movements of the time. He was the\ncentral figure of the so-called transcendental school which was so\nprominent fifty years ago, although he always rather held aloof from\nany enthusiastic participation in the movement.\n\nEmerson lived a quiet life in Concord, Massachusetts. \"He was a\nfirst-rate neighbor and one who always kept his fences up.\" He\ntraveled extensively on his lecturing tours, even going as far as\nEngland. In _English Traits_ he has recorded his impressions of what\nhe saw of English life and manners.\n\nOliver Wendell Holmes has described him in this wise: \"His personal\nappearance was that of the typical New Englander of college-bred\nancestry. Tall, spare, slender, with sloping shoulders, slightly\nstooping in his later years, with light hair and eyes, the scholar's\ncomplexion, the prominent, somewhat arched nose which belongs to many\nof the New England sub-species, thin lips, suggestive of delicacy, but\nhaving nothing like primness, still less of the rigidity which is\noften noticeable in the generation succeeding next to that of the men\nin their shirt-sleeves, he would have been noticed anywhere as one\nevidently a scholarly thinker astray from the alcove or the study,\nwhich were his natural habitats. His voice was very sweet, and\npenetrating without any loudness or mark of effort. His enunciation\nwas beautifully clear, but he often hesitated as if waiting for the\nright word to present itself. His manner was very quiet, his smile was\npleasant, but he did not like explosive laughter any better than\nHawthorne did. None who met him can fail to recall that serene and\nkindly presence, in which there was mingled a certain spiritual\nremoteness with the most benignant human welcome to all who were\nprivileged to enjoy his companionship.\"\n\nEmerson died April 27, 1882, after a few days' illness from pneumonia.\nDr. Garnett in his excellent biography says: \"Seldom had 'the reaper\nwhose name is Death' gathered such illustrious harvest as between\nDecember 1880 and April 1882. In the first month of this period George\nEliot passed away, in the ensuing February Carlyle followed; in April\nLord Beaconsfield died, deplored by his party, nor unregretted by his\ncountry; in February of the following year Longfellow was carried to\nthe tomb; in April Rossetti was laid to rest by the sea, and the\npavement of Westminster Abbey was disturbed to receive the dust of\nDarwin. And now Emerson lay down in death beside the painter of man\nand the searcher of nature, the English-Oriental statesman, the poet\nof the plain man and the poet of the artist, and the prophet whose\nname is indissolubly linked with his own. All these men passed into\neternity laden with the spoils of Time, but of none of them could it\nbe said, as of Emerson, that the most shining intellectual glory and\nthe most potent intellectual force of a continent had departed along\nwith him.\"\n\n\n\n\nCRITICAL OPINIONS OF EMERSON AND HIS WRITINGS.\n\n\nMatthew Arnold, in an address on Emerson delivered in Boston, gave\nan excellent estimate of the rank we should accord to him in the great\nhierarchy of letters. Some, perhaps, will think that Arnold was\nunappreciative and cold, but dispassionate readers will be inclined to\nagree with his judgment of our great American.\n\nAfter a review of the poetical works of Emerson the English critic\ndraws his conclusions as follows:\n\n\"I do not then place Emerson among the great poets. But I go farther,\nand say that I do not place him among the great writers, the great men\nof letters. Who are the great men of letters? They are men like\nCicero, Plato, Bacon, Pascal, Swift, Voltaire--writers with, in the\nfirst place, a genius and instinct for style.... Brilliant and\npowerful passages in a man's writings do not prove his possession of\nit. Emerson has passages of noble and pathetic eloquence; he has\npassages of shrewd and felicitous wit; he has crisp epigram; he has\npassages of exquisitely touched observation of nature. Yet he is not a\ngreat writer.... Carlyle formulates perfectly the defects of his\nfriend's poetic and literary productions when he says: 'For me it is\ntoo ethereal, speculative, theoretic; I will have all things condense\nthemselves, take shape and body, if they are to have my sympathy.' ...\n\n\".... Not with the Miltons and Grays, not with the Platos and Spinozas,\nnot with the Swifts and Voltaires, not with the Montaignes and\nAddisons, can we rank Emerson. No man could see this clearer than\nEmerson himself. 'Alas, my friend,' he writes in reply to Carlyle, who\nhad exhorted him to creative work,--'Alas, my friend, I can do no such\ngay thing as you say. I do not belong to the poets, but only to a low\ndepartment of literature,--the reporters; suburban men.' He deprecated\nhis friend's praise; praise 'generous to a fault' he calls it; praise\n'generous to the shaming of me,--cold, fastidious, ebbing person that\nI am.'\"\n\nAfter all this unfavorable criticism Arnold begins to praise. Quoting\npassages from the Essays, he adds:\n\n\"This is tonic indeed! And let no one object that it is too general;\nthat more practical, positive direction is what we want.... Yes,\ntruly, his insight is admirable; his truth is precious. Yet the secret\nof his effect is not even in these; it is in his temper. It is in the\nhopeful, serene, beautiful temper wherewith these, in Emerson, are\nindissolubly united; in which they work and have their being.... One\ncan scarcely overrate the importance of holding fast to happiness and\nhope. It gives to Emerson's work an invaluable virtue. As Wordsworth's\npoetry is, in my judgment, the most important done in verse, in our\nlanguage, during the present century, so Emerson's Essays are, I\nthink, the most important work done in prose.... But by his conviction\nthat in the life of the spirit is happiness, and by his hope that this\nlife of the spirit will come more and more to be sanely understood,\nand to prevail, and to work for happiness,--by this conviction and\nhope Emerson was great, and he will surely prove in the end to have\nbeen right in them.... You cannot prize him too much, nor heed him too\ndiligently.\"\n\nHerman Grimm, a German critic of great influence in his own country,\ndid much to obtain a hearing for Emerson's works in Germany. At first\nthe Germans could not understand the unusual English, the unaccustomed\nturns of phrase which are so characteristic of Emerson's style.\n\n\"Macaulay gives them no difficulty; even Carlyle is comprehended. But\nin Emerson's writings the broad turnpike is suddenly changed into a\nhazardous sandy foot-path. His thoughts and his style are American. He\nis not writing for Berlin, but for the people of Massachusetts.... It\nis an art to rise above what we have been taught.... All great men are\nseen to possess this freedom. They derive their standard from their\nown natures, and their observations on life are so natural and\nspontaneous that it would seem as if the most illiterate person with a\nscrap of common-sense would have made the same.... We become wiser\nwith them, and know not how the difficult appears easy and the\ninvolved plain.\n\n\"Emerson possesses this noble manner of communicating himself. He\ninspires me with courage and confidence. He has read and seen but\nconceals the labor. I meet in his works plenty of familiar facts, but\nhe does not employ them to figure up anew the old worn-out problems:\neach stands on a new spot and serves for new combinations. From\neverything he sees the direct line issuing which connects it with the\nfocus of life....\n\n\".... Emerson's theory is that of the 'sovereignty of the individual.'\nTo discover what a young man is good for, and to equip him for the\npath he is to strike out in life, regardless of any other\nconsideration, is the great duty to which he calls attention. He makes\nmen self-reliant. He reveals to the eyes of the idealist the\nmagnificent results of practical activity, and unfolds before the\nrealist the grandeur of the ideal world of thought. No man is to allow\nhimself, through prejudice, to make a mistake in choosing the task to\nwhich he will devote his life. Emerson's essays are, as it were,\nprinted sermons--all having this same text.... The wealth and harmony\nof his language overpowered and entranced me anew. But even now I\ncannot say wherein the secret of his influence lies. What he has\nwritten is like life itself--the unbroken thread ever lengthened\nthrough the addition of the small events which make up each day's\nexperience.\"\n\nFroude in his famous \"Life of Carlyle\" gives an interesting description\nof Emerson's visit to the Carlyles in Scotland:\n\n\"The Carlyles were sitting alone at dinner on a Sunday afternoon at\nthe end of August when a Dumfries carriage drove to the door, and\nthere stepped out of it a young American then unknown to fame, but\nwhose influence in his own country equals that of Carlyle in ours, and\nwhose name stands connected with his wherever the English language is\nspoken. Emerson, the younger of the two, had just broken his Unitarian\nfetters, and was looking out around him like a young eagle longing for\nlight. He had read Carlyle's articles and had discerned with the\ninstinct of genius that here was a voice speaking real and fiery\nconvictions, and no longer echoes and conventionalisms. He had come to\nEurope to study its social and spiritual phenomena; and to the young\nEmerson as to the old Goethe, the most important of them appeared to\nbe Carlyle.... The acquaintance then begun to their mutual pleasure\nripened into a deep friendship, which has remained unclouded in spite\nof wide divergences of opinion throughout their working lives.\"\n\nCarlyle wrote to his mother after Emerson had left:\n\n\"Our third happiness was the arrival of a certain young unknown friend\nnamed Emerson, from Boston, in the United States, who turned aside so\nfar from his British, French, and Italian travels to see me here! He\nhad an introduction from Mill and a Frenchman (Baron d'Eichthal's\nnephew) whom John knew at Rome. Of course, we could do no other than\nwelcome him; the rather as he seemed to be one of the most lovable\ncreatures in himself we had ever looked on. He stayed till next day\nwith us, and talked and heard to his heart's content, and left us all\nreally sad to part with him.\"\n\nIn 1841 Carlyle wrote to John Sterling a few words apropos of the\nrecent publication of Emerson's essays in England:\n\n\"I love Emerson's book, not for its detached opinions, not even for\nthe scheme of the general world he has framed for himself, or any\neminence of talent he has expressed that with, but simply because it\nis his own book; because there is a tone of veracity, an unmistakable\nair of its being _his_, and a real utterance of a human soul, not a\nmere echo of such. I consider it, in that sense, highly remarkable,\nrare, very rare, in these days of ours. Ach Gott! It is frightful to\nlive among echoes. The few that read the book, I imagine, will get\nbenefit of it. To America, I sometimes say that Emerson, such as he\nis, seems to me like a kind of New Era.\"\n\nJohn Morley, the acute English critic, has made an analytic study of\nEmerson's style, which may reconcile the reader to some of its\nexasperating peculiarities.\n\n\"One of the traits that every critic notes in Emerson's writing is\nthat it is so abrupt, so sudden in its transitions, so discontinuous,\nso inconsecutive. Dislike of a sentence that drags made him\nunconscious of the quality that French critics name _coulant_.\nEverything is thrown in just as it comes, and sometimes the pell-mell\nis enough to persuade us that Pope did not exaggerate when he said\nthat no one qualification is so likely to make a good writer as the\npower of rejecting his own thoughts.... Apart from his difficult\nstaccato, Emerson is not free from secondary faults. He uses words\nthat are not only odd, but vicious in construction; he is sometimes\noblique and he is often clumsy; and there is a visible feeling after\nepigrams that do not always come. When people say that Emerson's style\nmust be good and admirable because it fits his thought, they forget\nthat though it is well that a robe should fit, there is still\nsomething to be said about its cut and fashion.... Yet, as happens to\nall fine minds, there came to Emerson ways of expression deeply marked\nwith character. On every page there is set the strong stamp of\nsincerity, and the attraction of a certain artlessness; the most\nawkward sentence rings true; and there is often a pure and simple note\nthat touches us more than if it were the perfection of elaborated\nmelody. The uncouth procession of the periods discloses the travail of\nthe thought, and that, too, is a kind of eloquence. An honest reader\neasily forgives the rude jolt or unexpected start when it shows a\nthinker faithfully working his way along arduous and unworn tracks.\nEven at the roughest, Emerson often interjects a delightful cadence.\nAs he says of Landor, his sentences are cubes which will stand firm,\nplace them how or where you will. He criticised Swedenborg for being\nsuperfluously explanatory, and having an exaggerated feeling of the\nignorance of men. 'Men take truths of this nature,' said Emerson,\n'very fast;' and his own style does no doubt very boldly take this\ncapacity for granted in us. In 'choice and pith of diction,' again, of\nwhich Mr. Lowell speaks, he hits the mark with a felicity that is\nalmost his own in this generation. He is terse, concentrated, and free\nfrom the important blunder of mistaking intellectual dawdling for\nmeditation. Nor in fine does his abruptness ever impede a true\nurbanity. The accent is homely and the apparel plain, but his bearing\nhas a friendliness, a courtesy, a hospitable humanity, which goes\nnearer to our hearts than either literary decoration or rhetorical\nunction. That modest and lenient fellow-feeling which gave such charm\nto his companionship breathes in his gravest writing, and prevents us\nfrom finding any page of it cold or hard or dry.\"\n\nE.P. Whipple, the well-known American critic, wrote soon after Emerson's\ndeath:\n\n\"But 'sweetness and light' are precious and inspiring only so far as\nthey express the essential sweetness of the disposition of the\nthinker, and the essential illuminating power of his intelligence.\nEmerson's greatness came from his character. Sweetness and light\nstreamed from him because they were _in_ him. In everything he\nthought, wrote, and did, we feel the presence of a personality as\nvigorous and brave as it was sweet, and the particular radical thought\nhe at any time expressed derived its power to animate and illuminate\nother minds from the might of the manhood, which was felt to be within\nand behind it. To 'sweetness and light' he therefore added the prime\nquality of fearless manliness.\n\n\"If the force of Emerson's character was thus inextricably blended\nwith the force of all his faculties of intellect and imagination, and\nthe refinement of all his sentiments, we have still to account for the\npeculiarities of his genius, and to answer the question, why do we\ninstinctively apply the epithet 'Emersonian' to every characteristic\npassage in his writings? We are told that he was the last in a long\nline of clergymen, his ancestors, and that the modern doctrine of\nheredity accounts for the impressive emphasis he laid on the moral\nsentiment; but that does not solve the puzzle why he unmistakably\ndiffered in his nature and genius from all other Emersons. An\nimaginary genealogical chart of descent connecting him with Confucius\nor Gautama would be more satisfactory.\n\n\"What distinguishes _the_ Emerson was his exceptional genius and\ncharacter, that something in him which separated him from all other\nEmersons, as it separated him from all other eminent men of letters,\nand impressed every intelligent reader with the feeling that he was\nnot only 'original but aboriginal.' Some traits of his mind and\ncharacter may be traced back to his ancestors, but what doctrine of\nheredity can give us the genesis of his genius? Indeed, the safest\ncourse to pursue is to quote his own words, and despairingly confess\nthat it is the nature of genius 'to spring, like the rainbow daughter\nof Wonder, from the invisible, to abolish the past, and refuse all\nhistory.'\"\n\n\n\n\nCHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF EMERSON'S PRINCIPAL WORKS.\n\n\nNature                         1836\nEssays (First Series)          1841\nEssays (Second Series)         1844\nPoems                          1847\nMiscellanies                   1849\nRepresentative Men             1850\nEnglish Traits                 1856\nConduct of Life                1860\nSociety and Solitude           1870\nCorrespondence of Thomas\nCarlyle and R.W. Emerson       1883\n\n\n\n\nTHE AMERICAN SCHOLAR.\n\n     This address was delivered at Cambridge in 1837, before the\n     Harvard Chapter of the Phi Beta Kappa Society, a college\n     fraternity composed of the first twenty-five men in each\n     graduating class. The society has annual meetings, which\n     have been the occasion for addresses from the most\n     distinguished scholars and thinkers of the day.\n\n\nMR. PRESIDENT AND GENTLEMEN,\n\nI greet you on the recommencement of our literary year. Our\nanniversary is one of hope, and, perhaps, not enough of labor. We do\nnot meet for games of strength[1] or skill, for the recitation of\nhistories, tragedies, and odes, like the ancient Greeks; for\nparliaments of love and poesy, like the Troubadours;[2] nor for the\nadvancement of science, like our co-temporaries in the British and\nEuropean capitals. Thus far, our holiday has been simply a friendly\nsign of the survival of the love of letters amongst a people too busy\nto give to letters any more. As such it is precious as the sign of an\nindestructible instinct. Perhaps the time is already come when it\nought to be, and will be, something else; when the sluggard intellect\nof this continent will look from under its iron lids and fill the\npostponed expectation of the world with something better than the\nexertions of mechanical skill. Our day of dependence, our long\napprenticeship to the learning of other lands, draws to a close. The\nmillions that around us are rushing into life cannot always be fed on\nthe sere remains of foreign harvests.[3] Events, actions arise that\nmust be sung, that will sing themselves. Who can doubt that poetry\nwill revive and lead in a new age, as the star in the constellation\nHarp, which now flames in our zenith, astronomers announce, shall one\nday be the pole-star[4] for a thousand years?\n\nIn the light of this hope I accept the topic which not only usage but\nthe nature of our association seem to prescribe to this day,--the\nAMERICAN SCHOLAR. Year by year we come up hither to read one\nmore chapter of his biography. Let us inquire what new lights, new\nevents, and more days have thrown on his character, his duties, and\nhis hopes.\n\nIt is one of those fables which out of an unknown antiquity convey an\nunlooked-for wisdom, that the gods, in the beginning, divided Man into\nmen, that he might be more helpful to himself; just as the hand was\ndivided into fingers, the better to answer its end.[5]\n\nThe old fable covers a doctrine ever new and sublime; that there is\nOne Man,--present to all particular men only partially, or through one\nfaculty; and that you must take the whole society to find the whole\nman. Man is not a farmer, or a professor, or an engineer, but he is\nall. Man is priest, and scholar, and statesman, and producer, and\nsoldier. In the _divided_ or social state these functions are parceled\nout to individuals, each of whom aims to do his stint[6] of the joint\nwork, whilst each other performs his. The fable implies that the\nindividual, to possess himself, must sometimes return from his own\nlabor to embrace all the other laborers. But, unfortunately, this\noriginal unit, this fountain of power, has been so distributed to\nmultitudes, has been so minutely subdivided and peddled out, that it\nis spilled into drops, and cannot be gathered. The state of society is\none in which the members have suffered amputation from the trunk and\nstrut about so many walking monsters,--a good finger, a neck, a\nstomach, an elbow, but never a man.\n\nMan is thus metamorphosed into a thing, into many things. The planter,\nwho is Man sent out into the field to gather food, is seldom cheered\nby any idea of the true dignity of his ministry. He sees his bushel\nand his cart, and nothing beyond, and sinks into the farmer, instead\nof Man on the farm. The tradesman scarcely ever gives an ideal worth\nto his work, but is ridden[7] by the routine of his craft, and the\nsoul is subject to dollars. The priest becomes a form; the attorney a\nstatute-book; the mechanic a machine; the sailor a rope of the ship.\n\nIn this distribution of functions the scholar is the delegated\nintellect. In the right state he is _Man Thinking_. In the degenerate\nstate, when the victim of society, he tends to become a mere thinker,\nor, still worse, the parrot of other men's thinking.\n\nIn this view of him, as Man Thinking, the whole theory of his office\nis contained. Him Nature solicits with all her placid, all her\nmonitory pictures.[8] Him the past instructs. Him the future invites.\nIs not indeed every man a student, and do not all things exist for the\nstudent's behoof? And, finally, is not the true scholar the only true\nmaster? But as the old oracle said, \"All things have two handles:\nBeware of the wrong one.\"[9] In life, too often, the scholar errs with\nmankind and forfeits his privilege. Let us see him in his school, and\nconsider him in reference to the main influences he receives.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI. The first in time and the first in importance of the influences upon\nthe mind is that of nature. Every day, the sun;[10] and, after sunset,\nNight and her stars. Ever the winds blow; ever the grass grows. Every\nday, men and women, conversing, beholding and beholden.[11] The scholar\nmust needs stand wistful and admiring before this great spectacle. He\nmust settle its value in his mind. What is nature to him? There is never\na beginning, there is never an end, to the inexplicable continuity of\nthis web of God, but always circular power returning into itself.[12]\nTherein it resembles his own spirit, whose beginning, whose ending, he\nnever can find,--so entire, so boundless. Far too as her splendors\nshine, system on system shooting like rays, upward, downward, without\ncenter, without circumference,--in the mass and in the particle, Nature\nhastens to render account of herself to the mind. Classification begins.\nTo the young mind everything is individual, stands by itself. By and by\nit finds how to join two things and see in them one nature; then three,\nthen three thousand; and so, tyrannized over by its own unifying\ninstinct, it goes on tying things together, diminishing anomalies,\ndiscovering roots running under ground whereby contrary and remote\nthings cohere and flower out from one stem. It presently learns that\nsince the dawn of history there has been a constant accumulation and\nclassifying of facts. But what is classification but the perceiving that\nthese objects are not chaotic, and are not foreign, but have a law which\nis also a law of the human mind? The astronomer discovers that geometry,\na pure abstraction of the human mind, is the measure of planetary\nmotion. The chemist finds proportions and intelligible method throughout\nmatter; and science is nothing but the finding of analogy, identity, in\nthe most remote parts. The ambitious soul sits down before each\nrefractory fact; one after another reduces all strange constitutions,\nall new powers, to their class and their law, and goes on forever to\nanimate the last fiber of organization, the outskirts of nature, by\ninsight.\n\nThus to him, to this school-boy under the bending dome of day, is\nsuggested that he and it proceed from one Root; one is leaf and one is\nflower; relation, sympathy, stirring in every vein. And what is that\nroot? Is not that the soul of his soul?--A thought too bold?--A dream\ntoo wild? Yet when this spiritual light shall have revealed the law of\nmore earthly natures,--when he has learned to worship the soul, and to\nsee that the natural philosophy that now is, is only the first\ngropings of its gigantic hand,--he shall look forward to an\never-expanding knowledge as to a becoming creator.[13] He shall see\nthat nature is the opposite of the soul, answering to it part for\npart. One is seal and one is print. Its beauty is the beauty of his\nown mind. Its laws are the laws of his own mind. Nature then becomes\nto him the measure of his attainments. So much of nature as he is\nignorant of, so much of his own mind does he not yet possess. And, in\nfine, the ancient precept, \"Know thyself,\"[14] and the modern precept,\n\"Study nature,\" become at last one maxim.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nII. The next great influence into the spirit of the scholar is the\nmind of the Past,--in whatever form, whether of literature, of art, of\ninstitutions, that mind is inscribed. Books are the best type of the\ninfluence of the past, and perhaps we shall get at the truth,--learn\nthe amount of this influence more conveniently,--by considering their\nvalue alone.\n\nThe theory of books is noble. The scholar of the first age received\ninto him the world around; brooded thereon; gave it the new\narrangement of his own mind, and uttered it again. It came into him\nlife; it went out from him truth. It came to him short-lived actions;\nit went out from him immortal thoughts. It came to him business; it\nwent from him poetry. It was dead fact; now, it is quick thought. It\ncan stand, and it can go. It now endures, it now flies, it now\ninspires.[15] Precisely in proportion to the depth of mind from which\nit issued, so high does it soar, so long does it sing.\n\nOr, I might say, it depends on how far the process had gone, of\ntransmuting life into truth. In proportion to the completeness of the\ndistillation, so will the purity and imperishableness of the product\nbe. But none is quite perfect. As no air-pump can by any means make a\nperfect vacuum,[16] so neither can any artist entirely exclude the\nconventional, the local, the perishable from his book, or write a book\nof pure thought, that shall be as efficient, in all respects, to a\nremote posterity, as to contemporaries, or rather to the second age.\nEach age, it is found, must write its own books; or rather, each\ngeneration for the next succeeding. The books of an older period will\nnot fit this.\n\nYet hence arises a grave mischief. The sacredness which attaches to\nthe act of creation, the act of thought, is instantly transferred to\nthe record. The poet chanting was felt to be a divine man. Henceforth\nthe chant is divine also. The writer was a just and wise spirit.\nHenceforward it is settled the book is perfect; as love of the hero\ncorrupts into worship of his statue. Instantly the book becomes\nnoxious.[17] The guide is a tyrant. We sought a brother, and lo, a\ngovernor. The sluggish and perverted mind of the multitude, always\nslow to open to the incursions of Reason, having once so opened,\nhaving once received this book, stands upon it, and makes an outcry if\nit is disparaged. Colleges are built on it. Books are written on it by\nthinkers, not by Man Thinking, by men of talent, that is, who start\nwrong, who set out from accepted dogmas, not from their own sight of\nprinciples. Meek young men grow up in libraries, believing it their\nduty to accept the views which Cicero, which Locke,[18] which\nBacon,[19] have given; forgetful that Cicero, Locke and Bacon were\nonly young men in libraries when they wrote these books.\n\nHence, instead of Man Thinking, we have the bookworm. Hence the\nbook-learned class, who value books, as such; not as related to nature\nand the human constitution, but as making a sort of Third Estate[20]\nwith the world and soul. Hence the restorers of readings,[21] the\nemendators,[22] the bibliomaniacs[23] of all degrees. This is bad;\nthis is worse than it seems.\n\nBooks are the best of things, well used; abused, among the worst. What\nis the right use? What is the one end which all means go to effect?\nThey are for nothing but to inspire.[24] I had better never see a book\nthan to be warped by its attraction clean out of my own orbit, and\nmade a satellite instead of a system. The one thing in the world of\nvalue is the active soul,--the soul, free, sovereign, active. This\nevery man is entitled to; this every man contains within him, although\nin almost all men obstructed, and as yet unborn. The soul active sees\nabsolute truth and utters truth, or creates. In this action it is\ngenius; not the privilege of here and there a favorite, but the sound\nestate of every man.[25] In its essence it is progressive. The book,\nthe college, the school of art, the institution of any kind, stop with\nsome past utterance of genius. This is good, say they,--let us hold by\nthis. They pin me down.[26] They look backward and not forward. But\ngenius always looks forward. The eyes of man are set in his forehead,\nnot in his hindhead. Man hopes. Genius creates. To create,--to\ncreate,--is the proof of a divine presence. Whatever talents may be,\nif the man create not, the pure efflux of the Deity is not\nhis;[27]--cinders and smoke there may be, but not yet flame. There are\ncreative manners, there are creative actions, and creative words;\nmanners, actions, words, that is, indicative of no custom or\nauthority, but springing spontaneous from the mind's own sense of good\nand fair.\n\nOn the other part, instead of being its own seer, let it receive\nalways from another mind its truth, though it were in torrents of\nlight, without periods of solitude, inquest, and self-recovery; and a\nfatal disservice[28] is done. Genius is always sufficiently the enemy\nof genius by over-influence.[29] The literature of every nation bear\nme witness. The English dramatic poets have Shakespearized now for two\nhundred years.[30]\n\nUndoubtedly there is a right way of reading, so it be sternly\nsubordinated. Man Thinking must not be subdued by his instruments.\nBooks are for the scholar's idle times. When he can read God directly,\nthe hour is too precious to be wasted in other men's transcripts of\ntheir readings.[31] But when the intervals of darkness come, as come\nthey must,--when the soul seeth not, when the sun is hid and the stars\nwithdraw their shining,--we repair to the lamps which were kindled by\ntheir ray, to guide our steps to the East again, where the dawn\nis.[32] We hear, that we may speak. The Arabian proverb says, \"A\nfig-tree, looking on a fig-tree, becometh fruitful.\"\n\nIt is remarkable, the character of the pleasure we derive from the\nbest books. They impress us ever with the conviction that one nature\nwrote and the same reads. We read the verses of one of the great\nEnglish poets, of Chaucer,[33] of Marvell,[34] of Dryden,[35] with the\nmost modern joy,--with a pleasure, I mean, which is in great part\ncaused by the abstraction of all _time_ from their verses. There is\nsome awe mixed with the joy of our surprise, when this poet, who lived\nin some past world, two or three hundred years ago, says that which\nlies close to my own soul, that which I also had well-nigh thought and\nsaid. But for the evidence thence afforded to the philosophical\ndoctrine of the identity of all minds, we should suppose some\npre-established harmony, some foresight of souls that were to be, and\nsome preparation of stores for their future wants, like the fact\nobserved in insects, who lay up food before death for the young grub\nthey shall never see.\n\nI would not be hurried by any love of system, by any exaggeration of\ninstincts, to underrate the Book. We all know that as the human body\ncan be nourished on any food, though it were boiled grass and the\nbroth of shoes, so the human mind can be fed by any knowledge. And\ngreat and heroic men have existed who had almost no other information\nthan by the printed page. I only would say that it needs a strong head\nto bear that diet. One must be an inventor to read well. As the\nproverb says, \"He that would bring home the wealth of the Indies must\ncarry out the wealth of the Indies.\" There is then creative reading as\nwell as creative writing. When the mind is braced by labor and\ninvention, the page of whatever book we read becomes luminous with\nmanifold allusion. Every sentence is doubly significant, and the sense\nof our author is as broad as the world. We then see, what is always\ntrue, that as the seer's hour of vision is short and rare among heavy\ndays and months, so is its record, perchance, the least part of his\nvolume. The discerning will read, in his Plato[36] or Shakespeare,\nonly that least part,--only the authentic utterances of the\noracle;--all the rest he rejects, were it never so many times Plato's\nand Shakespeare's.\n\nOf course there is a portion of reading quite indispensable to a wise\nman. History and exact science he must learn by laborious reading.\nColleges, in like manner, have their indispensable office,--to teach\nelements. But they can only highly serve us when they aim not to\ndrill, but to create; when they gather from far every ray of various\ngenius to their hospitable halls, and by the concentrated fires set\nthe hearts of their youth on flame. Thought and knowledge are natures\nin which apparatus and pretension avail nothing. Gowns[37] and\npecuniary foundations,[38] though of towns of gold, can never\ncountervail the least sentence or syllable of wit.[39] Forget this,\nand our American colleges will recede in their public importance,\nwhilst they grow richer every year.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIII. There goes in the world a notion that the scholar should be a\nrecluse, a valetudinarian,[40]--as unfit for any handiwork or public\nlabor as a penknife for an axe. The so-called \"practical men\" sneer at\nspeculative men, as if, because they speculate or _see_, they could do\nnothing. I have heard it said that the clergy--who are always, more\nuniversally than any other class, the scholars of their day--are\naddressed as women; that the rough, spontaneous conversation of men\nthey do not hear, but only a mincing[41] and diluted speech. They are\noften virtually disfranchised; and indeed there are advocates for\ntheir celibacy. As far as this is true of the studious classes, it is\nnot just and wise. Action is with the scholar subordinate, but it is\nessential. Without it he is not yet man. Without it thought can never\nripen into truth. Whilst the world hangs before the eye as a cloud of\nbeauty, we cannot even see its beauty. Inaction is cowardice, but\nthere can be no scholar without the heroic mind. The preamble[42] of\nthought, the transition through which it passes from the unconscious\nto the conscious, is action. Only so much do I know, as I have lived.\nInstantly we know whose words are loaded with life, and whose not.\n\nThe world--this shadow of the soul, or _other me_, lies wide around.\nIts attractions are the keys which unlock my thoughts and make me\nacquainted with myself. I launch eagerly into this resounding tumult.\nI grasp the hands of those next me, and take my place in the ring to\nsuffer and to work, taught by an instinct that so shall the dumb\nabyss[43] be vocal with speech. I pierce its order; I dissipate its\nfear;[44] I dispose of it within the circuit of my expanding life. So\nmuch only of life as I know by experience, so much of the wilderness\nhave I vanquished and planted, or so far have I extended my being, my\ndominion. I do not see how any man can afford, for the sake of his\nnerves and his nap, to spare any action in which he can partake. It is\npearls and rubies to his discourse. Drudgery, calamity, exasperation,\nwant, are instructors in eloquence and wisdom. The true scholar\ngrudges every opportunity of action passed by, as a loss of power.\n\nIt is the raw material out of which the intellect molds her splendid\nproducts. A strange process too, this by which experience is converted\ninto thought, as a mulberry-leaf is converted into satin.[45] The\nmanufacture goes forward at all hours.\n\nThe actions and events of our childhood and youth are now matters of\ncalmest observation. They lie like fair pictures in the air. Not so\nwith our recent actions,--with the business which we now have in hand.\nOn this we are quite unable to speculate. Our affections as yet\ncirculate through it. We no more feel or know it than we feel the\nfeet, or the hand, or the brain of our body. The new deed is yet a\npart of life,--remains for a time immersed in our unconscious life. In\nsome contemplative hour it detaches itself from the life like a ripe\nfruit,[46] to become a thought of the mind. Instantly it is raised,\ntransfigured; the corruptible has put on incorruption.[47] Henceforth\nit is an object of beauty, however base its origin and neighborhood.\nObserve, too, the impossibility of antedating this act. In its grub\nstate it cannot fly, it cannot shine, it is a dull grub. But suddenly,\nwithout observation, the selfsame thing unfurls beautiful wings, and\nis an angel of wisdom. So is there no fact, no event, in our private\nhistory, which shall not, sooner or later, lose its adhesive, inert\nform, and astonish us by soaring from our body into the empyrean.[48]\nCradle and infancy, school and playground, the fear of boys, and dogs,\nand ferules,[49] the love of little maids and berries, and many\nanother fact that once filled the whole sky, are gone already; friend\nand relative, profession and party, town and country, nation and\nworld, must also soar and sing.[50]\n\nOf course, he who has put forth his total strength in fit actions has\nthe richest return of wisdom. I will not shut myself out of this globe\nof action, and transplant an oak into a flower-pot, there to hunger\nand pine; nor trust the revenue of some single faculty, and exhaust\none vein of thought, much like those Savoyards,[51] who, getting their\nlivelihood by carving shepherds, shepherdesses, and smoking Dutchmen,\nfor all Europe, went out one day to the mountain to find stock, and\ndiscovered that they had whittled up the last of their pine-trees.\nAuthors we have, in numbers, who have written out their vein, and who,\nmoved by a commendable prudence, sail for Greece or Palestine, follow\nthe trapper into the prairie, or ramble round Algiers, to replenish\ntheir merchantable stock.\n\nIf it were only for a vocabulary, the scholar would be covetous of\naction. Life is our dictionary.[52] Years are well spent in country\nlabors; in town; in the insight into trades and manufactures; in frank\nintercourse with many men and women; in science; in art; to the one\nend of mastering in all their facts a language by which to illustrate\nand embody our perceptions. I learn immediately from any speaker how\nmuch he has already lived, through the poverty or the splendor of his\nspeech. Life lies behind us as the quarry from whence we get tiles and\ncopestones for the masonry of to-day. This is the way to learn\ngrammar. Colleges and books only copy the language which the field and\nthe work-yard made.\n\nBut the final value of action, like that of books, and better than\nbooks, is that it is a resource. That great principle of Undulation in\nnature, that shows itself in the inspiring and expiring of the breath;\nin desire and satiety; in the ebb and flow of the sea; in day and night;\nin heat and cold; and, as yet more deeply ingrained in every atom and\nevery fluid, is known to us under the name of Polarity,--these \"fits of\neasy transmission and reflection,\" as Newton[53] called them, are the\nlaw of nature because they are the law of spirit.\n\nThe mind now thinks, now acts, and each fit reproduces the other. When\nthe artist has exhausted his materials, when the fancy no longer\npaints, when thoughts are no longer apprehended and books are a\nweariness,--he has always the resource _to live_. Character is higher\nthan intellect. Thinking is the function. Living is the functionary.\nThe stream retreats to its source. A great soul will be strong to\nlive, as well as strong to think. Does he lack organ or medium to\nimpart his truth? He can still fall back on this elemental force of\nliving them. This is a total act. Thinking is a partial act. Let the\ngrandeur of justice shine in his affairs. Let the beauty of affection\ncheer his lowly roof. Those \"far from fame,\" who dwell and act with\nhim, will feel the force of his constitution in the doings and\npassages of the day better than it can be measured by any public and\ndesigned display. Time shall teach him that the scholar loses no hour\nwhich the man lives. Herein he unfolds the sacred germ of his\ninstinct, screened from influence. What is lost in seemliness is\ngained in strength. Not out of those on whom systems of education have\nexhausted their culture comes the helpful giant to destroy the old or\nto build the new, but out of unhandselled[54] savage nature; out of\nterrible Druids[55] and Berserkers[56] come at last Alfred[57] and\nShakespeare. I hear therefore with joy whatever is beginning to be\nsaid of the dignity and necessity of labor to every citizen. There is\nvirtue yet in the hoe and the spade,[58] for learned as well as for\nunlearned hands. And labor is everywhere welcome; always we are\ninvited to work; only be this limitation observed, that a man shall\nnot for the sake of wider activity sacrifice any opinion to the\npopular judgments and modes of action.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI have now spoken of the education of the scholar by nature, by books,\nand by action. It remains to say somewhat of his duties.\n\nThey are such as become Man Thinking. They may all be comprised in\nself-trust. The office of the scholar is to cheer, to raise, and to\nguide men by showing them facts amidst appearances. He plies the slow,\nunhonored, and unpaid task of observation. Flamsteed[59] and\nHerschel,[60] in their glazed observatories, may catalogue the stars\nwith the praise of all men, and, the results being splendid and\nuseful, honor is sure. But he, in his private observatory, cataloguing\nobscure and nebulous[61] stars of the human mind, which as yet no man\nhas thought of as such,--watching days and months sometimes for a few\nfacts; correcting still his old records,--must relinquish display and\nimmediate fame. In the long period of his preparation he must betray\noften an ignorance and shiftlessness in popular arts, incurring the\ndisdain of the able who shoulder him aside. Long he must stammer in\nhis speech; often forego the living for the dead. Worse yet, he must\naccept--how often!--poverty and solitude. For the ease and pleasure of\ntreading the old road, accepting the fashions, the education, the\nreligion of society, he takes the cross of making his own, and, of\ncourse, the self-accusation, the faint heart, the frequent uncertainty\nand loss of time, which are the nettles and tangling vines in the way\nof the self-relying and self-directed; and the state of virtual\nhostility in which he seems to stand to society, and especially to\neducated society. For all this loss and scorn, what offset? He is to\nfind consolation in exercising the highest functions of human nature.\nHe is one who raises himself from private considerations and breathes\nand lives on public and illustrious thoughts. He is the world's eye.\nHe is the world's heart. He is to resist the vulgar prosperity that\nretrogrades ever to barbarism, by preserving and communicating heroic\nsentiments, noble biographies, melodious verse, and the conclusions of\nhistory. Whatsoever oracles the human heart, in all emergencies, in\nall solemn hours, has uttered as its commentary on the world of\nactions,--these he shall receive and impart. And whatsoever new\nverdict Reason from her inviolable seat pronounces on the passing men\nand events of to-day,--this he shall hear and promulgate.\n\nThese being his functions, it becomes him to feel all confidence in\nhimself, and to defer never to the popular cry. He and he only knows\nthe world. The world of any moment is the merest appearance. Some\ngreat decorum, some fetich[62] of a government, some ephemeral trade,\nor war, or man, is cried up[63] by half mankind and cried down by the\nother half, as if all depended on this particular up or down. The odds\nare that the whole question is not worth the poorest thought which the\nscholar has lost in listening to the controversy. Let him not quit his\nbelief that a popgun is a popgun, though the ancient and honorable[64]\nof the earth affirm it to be the crack of doom. In silence, in\nsteadiness, in severe abstraction, let him hold by himself; add\nobservation to observation, patient of neglect, patient of reproach,\nand bide his own time,--happy enough if he can satisfy himself alone\nthat this day he has seen something truly. Success treads on every\nright step. For the instinct is sure that prompts him to tell his\nbrother what he thinks. He then learns that in going down into the\nsecrets of his own mind he has descended into the secrets of all\nminds. He learns that he who has mastered any law in his private\nthoughts is master to that extent of all men whose language he speaks,\nand of all into whose language his own can be translated. The poet, in\nutter solitude remembering his spontaneous thoughts and recording\nthem, is found to have recorded that which men in cities vast find\ntrue for them also. The orator distrusts at first the fitness of his\nfrank confessions, his want of knowledge of the persons he addresses,\nuntil he finds that he is the complement[65] of his hearers;--that\nthey drink his words because he fulfills for them their own nature;\nthe deeper he dives into his privatest, secretest presentiment, to his\nwonder he finds this is the most acceptable, most public and\nuniversally true. The people delight in it; the better part of every\nman feels--This is my music; this is myself.\n\nIn self-trust all the virtues are comprehended. Free should the\nscholar be,--free and brave. Free even to the definition of freedom,\n\"without any hindrance that does not arise out of his own\nconstitution.\" Brave; for fear is a thing which a scholar by his very\nfunction puts behind him. Fear always springs from ignorance. It is a\nshame to him if his tranquility, amid dangerous times, arise from the\npresumption that like children and women his is a protected class; or\nif he seek a temporary peace by the diversion of his thoughts from\npolitics or vexed questions, hiding his head like an ostrich in the\nflowering bushes, peeping into microscopes, and turning rhymes, as a\nboy whistles to keep his courage up. So is the danger a danger still;\nso is the fear worse. Manlike let him turn and face it. Let him look\ninto its eye and search its nature, inspect its origin,--see the\nwhelping of this lion,--which lies no great way back; he will then\nfind in himself a perfect comprehension of its nature and extent; he\nwill have made his hands meet on the other side, and can henceforth\ndefy it and pass on superior. The world is his who can see through its\npretension. What deafness, what stone-blind custom, what overgrown\nerror you behold is there only by sufferance,--by your sufferance. See\nit to be a lie, and you have already dealt it its mortal blow.\n\nYes, we are the cowed,--we the trustless. It is a mischievous notion\nthat we are come late into nature; that the world was finished a long\ntime ago. As the world was plastic and fluid in the hands of God, so\nit is ever to so much of his attributes as we bring to it. To\nignorance and sin it is flint. They adapt themselves to it as they\nmay; but in proportion as a man has any thing in him divine, the\nfirmament flows before him and takes his signet[66] and form. Not he\nis great who can alter matter, but he who can alter my state of mind.\nThey are the kings of the world who give the color of their present\nthought to all nature and all art, and persuade men, by the cheerful\nserenity of their carrying the matter, that this thing which they do\nis the apple which the ages have desired to pluck, now at last ripe,\nand inviting nations to the harvest. The great man makes the great\nthing. Wherever Macdonald[67] sits, there is the head of the table.\nLinn\u00e6us[68] makes botany the most alluring of studies, and wins it\nfrom the farmer and the herb-woman: Davy,[69] chemistry; and\nCuvier,[70] fossils. The day is always his who works in it with\nserenity and great aims. The unstable estimates of men crowd to him\nwhose mind is filled with a truth, as the heaped waves of the Atlantic\nfollow the moon.[71]\n\nFor this self-trust, the reason is deeper than can be fathomed,--darker\nthan can be enlightened. I might not carry with me the feeling of my\naudience in stating my own belief. But I have already shown the ground\nof my hope, in adverting to the doctrine that man is one. I believe man\nhas been wronged; he has wronged himself. He has almost lost the light\nthat can lead him back to his prerogatives. Men are become of no\naccount. Men in history, men in the world of to-day, are bugs, are\nspawn, and are called \"the mass\" and \"the herd.\" In a century, in a\nmillennium, one or two men;[72] that is to say, one or two\napproximations to the right state of every man. All the rest behold in\nthe hero or the poet their own green and crude being,--ripened; yes, and\nare content to be less, so _that_ may attain to its full stature. What a\ntestimony, full of grandeur, full of pity, is borne to the demands of\nhis own nature, by the poor clansman, the poor partisan, who rejoices in\nthe glory of his chief! The poor and the low find some amends to their\nimmense moral capacity, for their acquiescence in a political and social\ninferiority.[73] They are content to be brushed like flies from the path\nof a great person, so that justice shall be done by him to that common\nnature which it is the dearest desire of all to see enlarged and\nglorified. They sun themselves in the great man's light, and feel it to\nbe their own element. They cast the dignity of man from their downtrod\nselves upon the shoulders of a hero, and will perish to add one drop of\nblood to make that great heart beat, those giant sinews combat and\nconquer. He lives for us, and we live in him.\n\nMen such as they[74] are very naturally seek money or power; and power\nbecause it is as good as money,--the \"spoils,\" so called, \"of office.\"\nAnd why not? For they aspire to the highest, and this, in their\nsleep-walking, they dream is highest. Wake them and they shall quit\nthe false good and leap to the true, and leave governments to clerks\nand desks. This revolution is to be wrought by the gradual\ndomestication of the idea of Culture. The main enterprise of the world\nfor splendor, for extent, is the upbuilding of a man. Here are the\nmaterials strewn along the ground. The private life of one man shall\nbe a more illustrious monarchy, more formidable to its enemy, more\nsweet and serene in its influence to its friend, than any kingdom in\nhistory. For a man, rightly viewed, comprehendeth[75] the particular\nnatures of all men. Each philosopher, each bard, each actor has only\ndone for me, as by a delegate, what one day I can do for myself. The\nbooks which once we valued more than the apple of the eye, we have\nquite exhausted. What is that but saying that we have come up with the\npoint of view which the universal mind took through the eyes of one\nscribe; we have been that man, and have passed on. First, one, then\nanother, we drain all cisterns, and waxing greater by all these\nsupplies, we crave a better and a more abundant food. The man has\nnever lived that can feed us ever. The human mind cannot be enshrined\nin a person who shall set a barrier on any one side to this unbounded,\nunboundable empire. It is one central fire, which, flaming now out of\nthe lips of Etna, lightens the capes of Sicily, and now out of the\nthroat of Vesuvius, illuminates the towers and vineyards of Naples. It\nis one light which beams out of a thousand stars. It is one soul which\nanimates all men.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBut I have dwelt perhaps tediously upon this abstraction of the\nScholar. I ought not to delay longer to add what I have to say of\nnearer reference to the time and to this country.\n\nHistorically, there is thought to be a difference in the ideas which\npredominate over successive epochs, and there are data for marking the\ngenius of the Classic, of the Romantic, and now of the Reflective or\nPhilosophical age.[76] With the views I have intimated of the oneness\nor the identity of the mind through all individuals, I do not much\ndwell on these differences. In fact, I believe each individual passes\nthrough all three. The boy is a Greek; the youth, romantic; the\nadult, reflective. I deny not, however, that a revolution in the\nleading idea may be distinctly enough traced.\n\nOur age is bewailed as the age of Introversion.[77] Must that needs be\nevil? We, it seems, are critical. We are embarrassed with second\nthoughts.[78] We cannot enjoy anything for hankering to know whereof\nthe pleasure consists. We are lined with eyes. We see with our feet.\nThe time is infected with Hamlet's unhappiness,--\n\n     \"Sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.\"[79]\n\nIs it so bad then? Sight is the last thing to be pitied. Would we be\nblind? Do we fear lest we should outsee nature and God, and drink\ntruth dry? I look upon the discontent of the literary class as a mere\nannouncement of the fact that they find themselves not in the state of\nmind of their fathers, and regret the coming state as untried; as a\nboy dreads the water before he has learned that he can swim. If there\nis any period one would desire to be born in, is it not the age of\nRevolution; when the old and the new stand side by side and admit of\nbeing compared; when the energies of all men are searched by fear and\nby hope; when the historic glories of the old can be compensated by\nthe rich possibilities of the new era? This time, like all times, is a\nvery good one, if we but know what to do with it.\n\nI read with some joy of the auspicious signs of the coming days, as\nthey glimmer already through poetry and art, through philosophy and\nscience, through church and state.\n\nOne of these signs is the fact that the same movement[80] which\neffected the elevation of what was called the lowest class in the\nstate assumed in literature a very marked and as benign an aspect.\nInstead of the sublime and beautiful, the near, the low, the common,\nwas explored and poetized. That which had been negligently trodden\nunder foot by those who were harnessing and provisioning themselves\nfor long journeys into far countries, is suddenly found to be richer\nthan all foreign parts. The literature of the poor, the feelings of\nthe child, the philosophy of the street, the meaning of household\nlife, are the topics of the time. It is a great stride. It is a\nsign--is it not?--of new vigor when the extremities are made active,\nwhen currents of warm life run into the hands and the feet. I ask not\nfor the great, the remote, the romantic; what is doing in Italy or\nArabia; what is Greek art, or Proven\u00e7al minstrelsy; I embrace the\ncommon, I explore and sit at the feet of the familiar, the low. Give\nme insight into to-day, and you may have the antique and future\nworlds. What would we really know the meaning of? The meal in the\nfirkin; the milk in the pan; the ballad in the street; the news of the\nboat; the glance of the eye; the form and the gait of the body;--show\nme the ultimate reason of these matters; show me the sublime presence\nof the highest spiritual cause lurking, as always it does lurk, in\nthese suburbs and extremities of nature; let me see every trifle\nbristling with the polarity that ranges it instantly on an eternal\nlaw;[81] and the shop, the plow, and the ledger referred to the like\ncause by which light undulates and poets sing;--and the world lies no\nlonger a dull miscellany and lumber-room, but has form and order:\nthere is no trifle, there is no puzzle, but one design unites and\nanimates the farthest pinnacle and the lowest trench.\n\nThis idea has inspired the genius of Goldsmith,[82] Burns,[83]\nCowper,[84] and, in a newer time, of Goethe,[85] Wordsworth,[86] and\nCarlyle.[87] This idea they have differently followed and with various\nsuccess. In contrast with their writing, the style of Pope,[88] of\nJohnson,[89] of Gibbon,[90] looks cold and pedantic. This writing is\nblood-warm. Man is surprised to find that things near are not less\nbeautiful and wondrous than things remote. The near explains the far.\nThe drop is a small ocean. A man is related to all nature. This\nperception of the worth of the vulgar is fruitful in discoveries.\nGoethe, in this very thing the most modern of the moderns, has shown\nus, as none ever did, the genius of the ancients.\n\nThere is one man of genius who has done much for this philosophy of\nlife, whose literary value has never yet been rightly estimated:--I\nmean Emanuel Swedenborg.[91] The most imaginative of men, yet writing\nwith the precision of a mathematician, he endeavored to engraft a\npurely philosophical Ethics on the popular Christianity of his time.\nSuch an attempt of course must have difficulty which no genius could\nsurmount. But he saw and showed the connexion between nature and the\naffections of the soul. He pierced the emblematic or spiritual\ncharacter of the visible, audible, tangible world. Especially did his\nshade-loving muse hover over and interpret the lower parts of nature;\nhe showed the mysterious bond that allies moral evil to the foul\nmaterial forms, and has given in epical parables a theory of insanity,\nof beasts, of unclean and fearful things.\n\nAnother sign of our times, also marked by an analogous political\nmovement, is the new importance given to the single person. Everything\nthat tends to insulate the individual--to surround him with barriers\nof natural respect, so that each man shall feel the world is his, and\nman shall treat with man as a sovereign state with a sovereign\nstate--tends to true union as well as greatness. \"I learned,\" said the\nmelancholy Pestalozzi,[92] \"that no man in God's wide earth is either\nwilling or able to help any other man.\" Help must come from the bosom\nalone. The scholar is that man who must take up into himself all the\nability of the time, all the contributions of the past, all the hopes\nof the future. He must be an university of knowledges. If there be one\nlesson more than another that should pierce his ear, it is--The world\nis nothing, the man is all; in yourself is the law of all nature, and\nyou know not yet how a globule of sap ascends; in yourself slumbers\nthe whole of Reason; it is for you to know all; it is for you to dare\nall. Mr. President and Gentlemen, this confidence in the unsearched\nmight of man belongs, by all motives, by all prophecy, by all\npreparation, to the American Scholar. We have listened too long to the\ncourtly muses of Europe. The spirit of the American freeman is already\nsuspected to be timid, imitative, tame. Public and private avarice\nmake the air we breathe thick and fat. The scholar is decent,\nindolent, complaisant. See already the tragic consequence. The mind of\nthis country, taught to aim at low objects, eats upon itself. There is\nno work for any one but the decorous and the complaisant. Young men of\nthe fairest promise, who begin life upon our shores, inflated by the\nmountain winds, shined upon by all the stars of God, find the earth\nbelow not in unison with these, but are hindered from action by the\ndisgust which the principles on which business is managed inspire, and\nturn drudges, or die of disgust, some of them suicides. What is the\nremedy? They did not yet see, and thousands of young men as hopeful\nnow crowding to the barriers for the career do not yet see, that if\nthe single man plant himself indomitably on his instincts, and there\nabide, the huge world will come round to him. Patience,--patience;\nwith the shades of all the good and great for company; and for solace\nthe perspective of your own infinite life; and for work the study and\nthe communication of principles, the making those instincts prevalent,\nthe conversion of the world. Is it not the chief disgrace in the\nworld, not to be an unit; not to be reckoned one character; not to\nyield that peculiar fruit which each man was created to bear, but to\nbe reckoned in the gross, in the hundred, or the thousand, of the\nparty, the section, to which we belong; and our opinion predicted\ngeographically, as the north, or the south? Not so, brothers and\nfriends,--please God, ours shall not be so. We will walk on our own\nfeet; we will work with our own hands; we will speak our own minds.\nThen shall man be no longer a name for pity, for doubt, and for\nsensual indulgence. The dread of man and the love of man shall be a\nwall of defense and a wreath of joy around all. A nation of men will\nfor the first time exist, because each believes himself inspired by\nthe Divine Soul which also inspires all men.\n\n\n\n\nCOMPENSATION.[93]\n\n    The wings of Time are black and white,\n    Pied with morning and with night.\n    Mountain tall and ocean deep\n    Trembling balance duly keep.\n    In changing moon, in tidal wave,\n    Glows the feud of Want and Have.\n    Gauge of more and less through space\n    Electric star and pencil plays.\n    The lonely Earth amid the balls\n    That hurry through the eternal halls,\n    A makeweight flying to the void,\n    Supplemental asteroid,\n    Or compensatory spark,\n    Shoots across the neutral Dark.\n\n    Man's the elm, and Wealth the vine,\n    Stanch and strong the tendrils twine;\n    Through the frail ringlets thee deceive,\n    None from its stock that vine can reave.\n    Fear not, then, thou child infirm,\n    There's no god dare wrong a worm.\n    Laurel crowns cleave to deserts,\n    And power to him who power exerts;\n    Hast not thy share? On winged feet,\n    Lo! it rushes thee to meet;\n    And all that Nature made thy own,\n    Floating in air or pent in stone,\n    Will rive the hills and swim the sea,\n    And, like thy shadow, follow thee.\n\n\nEver since I was a boy, I have wished to write a discourse on\nCompensation: for it seemed to me when very young, that on this\nsubject life was ahead of theology, and the people knew more than the\npreachers taught. The documents,[94] too, from which the doctrine is\nto be drawn, charmed my fancy by their endless variety, and lay always\nbefore me, even in sleep; for they are the tools in our hands, the\nbread in our basket, the transactions of the street, the farm, and the\ndwelling-house, greetings, relations, debts and credits, the influence\nof character, the nature and endowment of all men. It seemed to me,\nalso, that in it might be shown men a ray of divinity, the present\naction of the soul of this world, clean from all vestige of tradition,\nand so the heart of man might be bathed by an inundation of eternal\nlove, conversing with that which he knows was always and always must\nbe, because it really is now. It appeared, moreover, that if this\ndoctrine could be stated in terms with any resemblance to those bright\nintuitions in which this truth is sometimes revealed to us, it would\nbe a star in many dark hours and crooked passages in our journey that\nwould not suffer us to lose our way.\n\nI was lately confirmed in these desires by hearing a sermon at church.\nThe preacher, a man esteemed for his orthodoxy, unfolded in the\nordinary manner the doctrine of the Last Judgment. He assumed that\njudgment is not executed in this world; that the wicked are\nsuccessful; that the good are miserable;[95] and then urged from\nreason and from Scripture a compensation to be made to both parties in\nthe next life. No offense appeared to be taken by the congregation at\nthis doctrine. As far as I could observe, when the meeting broke up,\nthey separated without remark on the sermon.\n\nYet what was the import of this teaching? What did the preacher mean\nby saying that the good are miserable in the present life? Was it that\nhouses and lands, offices, wine, horses, dress, luxury, are had by\nunprincipled men, whilst the saints are poor and despised; and that a\ncompensation is to be made to these last hereafter, by giving them the\nlike gratifications another day,--bank stock and doubloons,[96]\nvenison and champagne? This must be the compensation intended; for\nwhat else? Is it that they are to have leave to pray and praise? to\nlove and serve men? Why, that they can do now. The legitimate\ninference the disciple would draw was: \"We are to have _such_ a good\ntime as the sinners have now\"; or, to push it to its extreme import:\n\"You sin now; we shall sin by and by; we would sin now, if we could;\nnot being successful, we expect our revenue to-morrow.\"\n\nThe fallacy lay in the immense concession that the bad are successful;\nthat justice is not done now. The blindness of the preacher consisted\nin deferring to the base estimate of the market of what constitutes a\nmanly success, instead of confronting and convicting the world from\nthe truth; announcing the presence of the soul; the omnipotence of the\nwill: and so establishing the standard of good and ill, of success and\nfalsehood.\n\nI find a similar base tone in the popular religious works of the day,\nand the same doctrines assumed by the literary men when occasionally\nthey treat the related topics. I think that our popular theology has\ngained in decorum, and not in principle, over the superstitions it has\ndisplaced. But men are better than this theology. Their daily life\ngives it the lie. Every ingenuous and aspiring soul leaves the\ndoctrine behind him in his own experience; and all men feel sometimes\nthe falsehood which they cannot demonstrate. For men are wiser than\nthey know. That which they hear in schools and pulpits without\nafterthought, if said in conversation, would probably be questioned in\nsilence. If a man dogmatize in a mixed company on Providence and the\ndivine laws, he is answered by a silence which conveys well enough to\nan observer the dissatisfaction of the hearer, but his incapacity to\nmake his own statement.\n\nI shall attempt in this and the following chapter to record some facts\nthat indicate the path of the law of Compensation; happy beyond my\nexpectation, if I shall truly draw the smallest arc of this circle.\n\nPOLARITY,[97] or action and reaction, we meet in every part of nature;\nin darkness and light; in heat and cold; in the ebb and flow of waters;\nin male and female; in the inspiration and expiration of plants and\nanimals; in the equation of quantity and quality in the fluids of the\nanimal body; in the systole and diastole[98] of the heart; in the\nundulations of fluids, and of sound; in the centrifugal and centripetal\ngravity; in electricity, galvanism, and chemical affinity. Superinduce\nmagnetism at one end of a needle; the opposite magnetism takes place at\nthe other end. If the south attracts, the north repels. To empty here,\nyou must condense there. An inevitable dualism bisects nature, so that\neach thing is a half, and suggests another thing to make it whole; as,\nspirit, matter; man, woman; odd, even; subjective, objective; in, out;\nupper, under; motion, rest; yea, nay.\n\nWhilst the world is thus dual, so is every one of its parts. The\nentire system of things gets represented in every particle. There is\nsomewhat that resembles the ebb and flow of the sea, day and night,\nman and woman, in a single needle of the pine, in a kernel of corn, in\neach individual of every animal tribe. The reaction, so grand in the\nelements, is repeated within these small boundaries. For example, in\nthe animal kingdom the physiologist has observed that no creatures\nare favorites, but a certain compensation balances every gift and\nevery defect. A surplusage given to one part is paid out of a\nreduction from another part of the same creature. If the head and neck\nare enlarged, the trunk and extremities are cut short.\n\nThe theory of the mechanic forces is another example. What we gain in\npower is lost in time; and the converse. The periodic or compensating\nerrors of the planets is another instance. The influences of climate\nand soil in political history is another. The cold climate\ninvigorates. The barren soil does not breed fevers, crocodiles,\ntigers, or scorpions.\n\nThe same dualism underlies the nature and condition of man. Every\nexcess causes a defect; every defect an excess. Every sweet hath its\nsour; every evil its good. Every faculty which is a receiver of\npleasure has an equal penalty put on its abuse. It is to answer for\nits moderation with its life. For every grain of wit there is a grain\nof folly. For everything you have missed, you have gained something\nelse; and for everything you gain, you lose something. If riches\nincrease, they are increased[99] that use them. If the gatherer\ngathers too much, nature takes out of the man what she puts into his\nchest, swells the estate, but kills the owner. Nature hates monopolies\nand exceptions. The waves of the sea do not more speedily seek a level\nfrom their loftiest tossing, than the varieties of condition tend to\nequalize themselves. There is always some leveling circumstance that\nputs down the overbearing, the strong, the rich, the fortunate,\nsubstantially on the same ground with all others. Is a man too strong\nand fierce for society, and by temper and position a bad citizen,--a\nmorose ruffian, with a dash of the pirate in him;--nature sends him a\ntroop of pretty sons and daughters, who are getting along in the\ndame's classes at the village school, and love and fear for them\nsmooths his grim scowl to courtesy. Thus she contrives to\nintenerate[100] the granite and felspar, takes the boar out and puts\nthe lamb in, and keeps her balance true.\n\nThe farmer imagines power and place are fine things. But the President\nhas paid dear for his White House.[101] It has commonly cost him all\nhis peace, and the best of his many attributes. To preserve for a\nshort time so conspicuous an appearance before the world, he is\ncontent to eat dust[102] before the real masters who stand erect\nbehind the throne. Or, do men desire the more substantial and\npermanent grandeur of genius? Neither has this an immunity. He who by\nforce of will or of thought, is great, and overlooks[103] thousands,\nhas the charges of that eminence. With every influx of light comes new\ndanger. Has he light? he must bear witness to the light, and always\noutrun that sympathy which gives him such keen satisfaction, by his\nfidelity to new revelations of the incessant soul. He must hate father\nand mother, wife and child. Has he all that the world loves and\nadmires and covets?--he must cast behind him their admiration, and\nafflict them by faithfulness to his truth, and become a by-word and a\nhissing.\n\nThis law writes the laws of cities and nations. It is in vain to build\nor plot or combine against it. Things refuse to be mismanaged long.\n_Res nolunt diu male administrari._[104] Though no checks to a new\nevil appear, the checks exist, and will appear. If the government is\ncruel, the governor's life is not safe. If you tax too high, the\nrevenue will yield nothing. If you make the criminal code sanguinary,\njuries will not convict. If the law is too mild, private vengeance\ncomes in. If the government is a terrific democracy, the pressure is\nresisted by an overcharge of energy in the citizen, and life glows\nwith a fiercer flame. The true life and satisfactions of man seem to\nelude the utmost rigors or felicities of condition, and to establish\nthemselves with great indifferency under all varieties of\ncircumstances. Under all governments the influence of character\nremains the same,--in Turkey and in New England about alike. Under the\nprimeval despots of Egypt, history honestly confesses that man must\nhave been as free as culture could make him.\n\nThese appearances indicate the fact that the universe is represented\nin every one of its particles. Everything in nature contains all the\npowers of nature. Everything is made of one hidden stuff; as the\nnaturalist sees one type under every metamorphosis, and regards a\nhorse as a running man, a fish as a swimming man, a bird as a flying\nman, a tree as a rooted man. Each new form repeats not only the main\ncharacter of the type, but part for part all the details, all the\naims, furtherances, hindrances, energies, and whole system of every\nother. Every occupation, trade, art, transaction, is a compend of the\nworld and a correlative of every other. Each one is an entire emblem\nof human life; of its good and ill, its trials, its enemies, its\ncourse and its end. And each one must somehow accommodate the whole\nman, and recite all his destiny.\n\nThe world globes itself in a drop of dew.[105] The microscope cannot\nfind the animalcule which is less perfect for being little.[106] Eyes,\nears, taste, smell, motion, resistance, appetite, and organs of\nreproduction that take hold on eternity,--all find room to consist in\nthe small creature. So do we put our life into every act. The true\ndoctrine of omnipresence is, that God reappears with all his parts in\nevery moss and cobweb.[107] The value of the universe contrives to\nthrow itself into every point. If the good is there, so is the evil;\nif the affinity, so the repulsion; if the force, so the limitation.\n\nThus is the universe alive. All things are moral. That soul, which\nwithin us is a sentiment, outside of us is a law. We feel its\ninspiration; out there in history we can see its fatal strength. \"It\nis in the world, and the world was made by it.\" Justice is not\npostponed. A perfect equity adjusts its balance in all parts of life.\n[Greek: Hoi  kyboi Dios aei eupiptousi],[108]--the dice of God are\nalways loaded. The world looks like a multiplication table, or a\nmathematical equation, which, turn it how you will, balances itself.\nTake what figure you will, its exact value, nor more nor less, still\nreturns to you. Every secret is told, every crime is punished, every\nvirtue rewarded, every wrong redressed, in silence and certainty. What\nwe call retribution is the universal necessity by which the whole\nappears wherever a part appears. If you see smoke, there must be fire.\nIf you see a hand or limb, you know that the trunk to which it belongs\nis there behind.\n\nEvery act rewards itself, or, in other words, integrates itself, in a\ntwofold manner; first, in the thing, or in real nature; and secondly,\nin the circumstance, or in apparent nature. Men call the circumstance\nthe retribution. The causal retribution is in the thing, and is seen\nby the soul. The retribution in the circumstance is seen by the\nunderstanding; it is inseparable from the thing, but is often spread\nover a long time, and so does not become distinct until after many\nyears. The specific stripes may follow late after the offense, but\nthey follow because they accompany it. Crime and punishment grow out\nof one stem. Punishment is a fruit that unsuspected ripens within the\nflower of the pleasure which concealed it. Cause and effect, means and\nends, seed and fruit, cannot be severed; for the effect already blooms\nin the cause, the end pre\u00ebxists in the means, the fruit in the seed.\n\nWhilst thus the world will be whole, and refuses to be disparted, we\nseek to act partially, to sunder, to appropriate; for example,--to\ngratify the senses, we sever the pleasure of the senses from the needs\nof the character. The ingenuity of man has always been dedicated to\nthe solution of one problem,--how to detach the sensual sweet, the\nsensual strong, the sensual bright, etc., from the moral sweet, the\nmoral deep, the moral fair; that is, again, to contrive to cut clean\noff this upper surface so thin as to leave it bottomless; to get a\n_one end_, without an _other end_. The soul says, Eat; the body would\nfeast. The soul says, The man and woman shall be one flesh and one\nsoul; the body would join the flesh only. The soul says, Have dominion\nover all things to the ends of virtue; the body would have the power\nover things to its own ends.\n\nThe soul strives amain[109] to live and work through all things. It\nwould be the only fact. All things shall be added unto it,--power,\npleasure, knowledge, beauty. The particular man aims to be somebody;\nto set up for himself; to truck and higgle for a private good; and, in\nparticulars, to ride, that he may ride; to dress, that he may be\ndressed; to eat, that he may eat; and to govern, that he may be seen.\nMen seek to be great; they would have offices, wealth, power, and\nfame. They think that to be great is to possess one side of\nnature,--the sweet, without the other side,--the bitter.\n\nThis dividing and detaching is steadily counteracted. Up to this day,\nit must be owned, no projector has had the smallest success. The\nparted water reunites behind our hand. Pleasure is taken out of\npleasant things, profit out of profitable things, power out of strong\nthings, as soon as we seek to separate them from the whole. We can no\nmore have things and get the sensual good, by itself, than we can get\nan inside that shall have no outside, or a light without a shadow.\n\"Drive out nature with a fork, she comes running back.\"[110]\n\nLife invests itself with inevitable conditions, which the unwise seek\nto dodge, which one and another brags that he does not know; that they\ndo not touch him;--but the brag is on his lips, the conditions are in\nhis soul. If he escapes them in one part, they attack him in another\nmore vital part. If he has escaped them in form, and in the\nappearance, it is because he has resisted his life, and fled from\nhimself, and the retribution is so much death. So signal is the\nfailure of all attempts to make this separation of the good from the\ntax, that the experiment would not be tried,--since to try it is to be\nmad,--but for the circumstance, that when the disease began in the\nwill, of rebellion and separation, the intellect is at once infected,\nso that the man ceases to see God whole in each object, but is able to\nsee the sensual allurement of an object, and not see the sensual hurt;\nhe sees the mermaid's head, but not the dragon's tail; and thinks he\ncan cut off that which he would have, from that which he would not\nhave. \"How secret art thou who dwellest in the highest heavens in\nsilence, O thou only great God, sprinkling with an unwearied\nProvidence certain penal blindnesses upon such as have unbridled\ndesires!\"[111]\n\nThe human soul is true to these facts in the painting of fable, of\nhistory, of law, of proverbs, of conversation. It finds a tongue in\nliterature unawares. Thus the Greeks called Jupiter,[112] Supreme\nMind; but having traditionally ascribed to him many base actions, they\ninvoluntarily made amends to reason, by tying up the hands[113] of so\nbad a god. He is made as helpless as a king of England.[114]\nPrometheus[115] knows one secret which Jove must bargain for;\nMinerva,[116] another. He cannot get his own thunders; Minerva keeps\nthe key of them.\n\n   \"Of all the gods, I only know the keys\n    That ope the solid doors within whose vaults\n    His thunders sleep.\"\n\nA plain confession of the in-working of the All, and of its moral aim.\nThe Indian mythology ends in the same ethics; and it would seem\nimpossible for any fable to be invented to get any currency which was\nnot moral. Aurora[117] forgot to ask youth for her lover, and though\nTithonus is immortal, he is old, Achilles[118] is not quite\ninvulnerable; the sacred waters did not wash the heel by which Thetis\nheld him. Siegfried,[119] in the Niebelungen, is not quite immortal,\nfor a leaf fell on his back whilst he was bathing in the dragon's\nblood, and that spot which it covered is mortal. And so it must be.\nThere is a crack in everything God has made. It would seem, there is\nalways this vindictive circumstance stealing in at unawares, even into\nthe wild poesy in which the human fancy attempted to make bold\nholiday, and to shake itself free of the old laws,--this back-stroke,\nthis kick of the gun, certifying that the law is fatal; that in nature\nnothing can be given, all things are sold.\n\nThis is that ancient doctrine of Nemesis,[120] who keeps watch in the\nuniverse, and lets no offense go unchastised. The Furies,[121] they\nsaid, are attendants on justice, and if the sun in heaven should\ntransgress his path, they would punish him. The poets related that\nstone walls, and iron swords, and leathern thongs had an occult\nsympathy with the wrongs of their owners; that the belt which Ajax\ngave Hector[122] dragged the Trojan hero over the field at the wheels\nof the car of Achilles, and the sword which Hector gave Ajax was that\non whose point Ajax fell. They recorded, that when the Thasians[123]\nerected a statue to Theagenes, a victor in the games, one of his\nrivals went to it by night, and endeavored to throw it down by\nrepeated blows, until at last he moved it from its pedestal, and was\ncrushed to death beneath its fall.\n\nThis voice of fable has in it somewhat divine. It came from thought\nabove the will of the writer. That is the best part of each writer,\nwhich has nothing private in it;[124] that which he does not know,\nthat which flowed out of his constitution, and not from his too\nactive invention; that which in the study of a single artist you might\nnot easily find, but in the study of many, you would abstract as the\nspirit of them all. Phidias it is not, but the work of man in that\nearly Hellenic[125] world, that I would know. The name and\ncircumstance of Phidias, however convenient for history, embarrass\nwhen we come to the highest criticism. We are to see that which man\nwas tending to do in a given period, and was hindered, or, if you\nwill, modified in doing, by the interfering volitions of Phidias, of\nDante, of Shakespeare, the organ whereby man at the moment wrought.\n\nStill more striking is the expression of this fact in the proverbs of\nall nations, which are always the literature of reason, or the\nstatements of an absolute truth, without qualification. Proverbs, like\nthe sacred books of each nation, are the sanctuary of the intuitions.\nThat which the droning world, chained to appearances, will not allow\nthe realist to say in his own words, it will suffer him to say in\nproverbs without contradiction. And this law of laws which the pulpit,\nthe senate, and the college deny, is hourly preached in all markets\nand workshops by flights of proverbs, whose teaching is as true and as\nomnipresent as that of birds and flies.\n\nAll things are double, one against another.--Tit for tat;[126] an eye\nfor an eye; a tooth for a tooth; blood for blood; measure for measure;\nlove for love.--Give and it shall be given you.--- He that watereth\nshall be watered himself.--What will you have? quoth God; pay for it\nand take it.--Nothing venture, nothing have.--Thou shalt be paid\nexactly for what thou hast done, no more, no less.--Who doth not work\nshall not eat.--Harm watch, harm catch.--Curses always recoil on the\nhead of him who imprecates them.--If you put a chain around the neck\nof a slave, the other end fastens itself around your own.--Bad counsel\nconfounds the adviser.--The Devil is an ass.\n\nIt is thus written, because it is thus in life. Our action is\novermastered and characterized above our will by the law of nature. We\naim at a petty end quite aside from the public good, but our act\narranges itself by irresistible magnetism in a line with the poles of\nthe world.\n\nA man cannot speak but he judges himself. With his will, or against\nhis will, he draws his portrait to the eye of his companions by every\nword. Every opinion reacts on him who utters it. It is a thread-ball\nthrown at a mark, but the other end remains in the thrower's bag. Or,\nrather, it is a harpoon hurled at the whale, unwinding, as it flies, a\ncoil of cord in the boat, and if the harpoon is not good, or not well\nthrown, it will go nigh to cut the steersman in twain, or to sink the\nboat.\n\nYou cannot do wrong without suffering wrong. \"No man had ever a point\nof pride that was not injurious to him,\" said Burke.[127] The\nexclusive in fashionable life does not see that he excludes himself\nfrom enjoyment in the attempt to appropriate it. The exclusionist in\nreligion does not see that he shuts the door of heaven on himself, in\nstriving to shut out others. Treat men as pawns[128] and ninepins, and\nyou shall suffer as well as they. If you leave out their heart, you\nshall lose your own. The senses would make things of all persons; of\nwomen, of children, of the poor. The vulgar proverb, \"I will get it\nfrom his purse or get it from his skin,\" is sound philosophy.\n\nAll infractions of love and equity in our social relations are\nspeedily punished. They are punished by fear. Whilst I stand in simple\nrelations to my fellow-man, I have no displeasure in meeting him. We\nmeet as water meets water, or as two currents of air mix, with perfect\ndiffusion and interpenetration of nature. But as soon as there is any\ndeparture from simplicity, and attempt at halfness, or good for me\nthat is not good for him, my neighbor feels the wrong; he shrinks from\nme as far as I have shrunk from him; his eyes no longer seek mine;\nthere is war between us; there is hate in him and fear in me.\n\nAll the old abuses in society, universal and particular, all unjust\naccumulations of property and power, are avenged in the same manner.\nFear is an instructor of great sagacity, and the herald of all\nrevolutions. One thing he teaches, that there is rottenness where he\nappears. He is a carrion crow, and though you see not well what he\nhovers for, there is death somewhere. Our property is timid, our laws\nare timid, our cultivated classes are timid. Fear for ages has boded\nand mowed and gibbered over government and property. That obscene[129]\nbird is not there for nothing. He indicates great wrongs which must be\nrevised.\n\nOf the like nature is that expectation of change which instantly\nfollows the suspension of our voluntary activity. The terror of\ncloudless noon, the emerald of Polycrates,[130] the awe of prosperity,\nthe instinct which leads every generous soul to impose on itself tasks\nof a noble asceticism and vicarious virtue, are the tremblings of the\nbalance of justice through the heart and mind of man.\n\nExperienced men of the world know very well that it is best to pay\nscot and lot[131] as they go along, and that a man often pays dear for\na small frugality. The borrower runs in his own debt. Has a man gained\nanything who has received a hundred favors and rendered none? Has he\ngained by borrowing, through indolence or cunning, his neighbor's\nwares, or horses, or money? There arises on the deed the instant\nacknowledgment of benefit on the one part, and of debt on the other;\nthat is, of superiority and inferiority. The transaction remains in\nthe memory of himself and his neighbor; and every new transaction\nalters, according to its nature, their relation to each other. He may\nsoon come to see that he had better have broken his own bones than to\nhave ridden in his neighbor's coach, and that \"the highest price he\ncan pay for a thing is to ask for it.\"\n\nA wise man will extend this lesson to all parts of life, and know that\nit is the part of prudence to face every claimant, and pay every just\ndemand on your time, your talents, or your heart. Always pay; for,\nfirst or last, you must pay your entire debt. Persons and events may\nstand for a time between you and justice, but it is only a\npostponement. You must pay at last your own debt. If you are wise, you\nwill dread a prosperity which only loads you with more. Benefit is the\nend of nature. But for every benefit which you receive, a tax is\nlevied. He is great who confers the most benefits. He is base--and\nthat is the one base thing in the universe--to receive favors and\nrender none. In the order of nature we cannot render benefits to those\nfrom whom we receive them, or only seldom.[132] But the benefit we\nreceive must be rendered again, line for line, deed for deed, cent for\ncent, to somebody. Beware of too much good staying in your hand. It\nwill fast corrupt and worm worms.[133] Pay it away quickly in some\nsort.\n\nLabor is watched over by the same pitiless laws. Cheapest, say the\nprudent, is the dearest labor. What we buy in a broom, a mat, a wagon,\na knife, is some application of good sense to a common want. It is\nbest to pay in your land a skillful gardener, or to buy good sense\napplied to gardening; in your sailor, good sense applied to\nnavigation; in the house, good sense applied to cooking, sewing,\nserving; in your agent, good sense applied to accounts and affairs.\nSo do you multiply your presence, or spread yourself throughout your\nestate. But because of the dual constitution of things, in labor as in\nlife there can be no cheating. The thief steals from himself. The\nswindler swindles himself. For the real price of labor is knowledge\nand virtue, whereof wealth and credit are signs. These signs, like\npaper money, may be counterfeited or stolen, but that which they\nrepresent, namely, knowledge and virtue, cannot be counterfeited or\nstolen. These ends of labor cannot be answered but by real exertions\nof the mind, and in obedience to pure motives. The cheat, the\ndefaulter, the gambler, cannot extort the knowledge of material and\nmoral nature which his honest care and pains yield to the operative.\nThe law of nature is, Do the thing, and you shall have the power: but\nthey who do not the thing have not the power.\n\nHuman labor, through all its forms, from the sharpening of a stake to\nthe construction of a city or an epic, is one immense illustration of\nthe perfect compensation of the universe. The absolute balance of Give\nand Take, the doctrine that everything has its price,--and if that\nprice is not paid, not that thing but something else is obtained, and\nthat it is impossible to get anything without its price,--is not less\nsublime in the columns of a ledger than in the budgets of states, in\nthe laws of light and darkness, in all the action and reaction of\nnature. I cannot doubt that the high laws which each man sees\nimplicated in those processes with which he is conversant, the stern\nethics which sparkle on his chisel edge, which are measured out by his\nplumb and foot rule, which stand as manifest in the footing of the\nshop bill as in the history of a state,--do recommend to him his\ntrade, and though seldom named, exalt his business to his imagination.\n\nThe league between virtue and nature engages all things to assume a\nhostile front to vice. The beautiful laws and substances of the world\npersecute and whip the traitor. He finds that things are arranged for\ntruth and benefit, but there is no den in the wide world to hide a\nrogue. Commit a crime,[134] and the earth is made of glass. Commit a\ncrime, and it seems as if a coat of snow fell on the ground, such as\nreveals in the woods the track of every partridge and fox and squirrel\nand mole. You cannot recall the spoken word,[135] you cannot wipe out\nthe foot-track, you cannot draw up the ladder, so as to leave no inlet\nor clew. Some damning circumstance always transpires. The laws and\nsubstances of nature--water, snow, wind, gravitation--become penalties\nto the thief.\n\nOn the other hand, the law holds with equal sureness for all right\naction. Love, and you shall be loved. All love is mathematically just,\nas much as the two sides of an algebraic equation. The good man has\nabsolute good, which like fire turns everything to its own nature, so\nthat you cannot do him any harm; but as the royal armies sent against\nNapoleon, when he approached, cast down their colors and from enemies\nbecame friends, so disasters of all kinds, as sickness, offense,\npoverty, prove benefactors:--\n\n              \"Winds blow and waters roll\n    Strength to the brave, and power and deity,\n    Yet in themselves are nothing.\"\n\nThe good are befriended even by weakness and defect. As no man had\never a point of pride that was not injurious to him, so no man had\never a defect that was not somewhere made useful to him. The stag in\nthe fable[136] admired his horns and blamed his feet, but when the\nhunter came, his feet saved him, and afterwards, caught in the\nthicket, his horns destroyed him. Every man in his lifetime needs to\nthank his faults. As no man thoroughly understands a truth until he\nhas contended against it, so no man has a thorough acquaintance with\nthe hindrances or talents of men, until he has suffered from the one,\nand seen the triumph of the other over his own want of the same. Has\nhe a defect of temper that unfits him to live in society? Thereby he\nis driven to entertain himself alone, and acquire habits of self-help;\nand thus, like the wounded oyster, he mends his shell with pearl.\n\nOur strength grows out of our weakness. The indignation which arms\nitself with secret forces does not awaken until we are pricked and\nstung and sorely assailed. A great man is always willing to be little.\nWhilst he sits on the cushion of advantages, he goes to sleep. When he\nis punished, tormented, defeated, he has a chance to learn something;\nhe has been put on his wits, on his manhood; he has gained facts;\nlearns his ignorance; is cured of the insanity of conceit; has got\nmoderation and real skill. The wise man throws himself on the side of\nhis assailants. It is more his interest than it is theirs to find his\nweak point. The wound cicatrizes and falls off from him like a dead\nskin, and when they would triumph, lo! he has passed on invulnerable.\nBlame is safer than praise. I hate to be defended in a newspaper. As\nlong as all that is said is said against me, I feel a certain\nassurance of success. But as soon as honeyed words of praise are\nspoken for me, I feel as one that lies unprotected before his enemies.\nIn general, every evil to which we do not succumb is a benefactor. As\nthe Sandwich Islander believes that the strength and valor of the\nenemy he kills passes into himself, so we gain the strength of the\ntemptation we resist.\n\nThe same guards which protect us from disaster, defect, and enmity,\ndefend us, if we will, from selfishness and fraud. Bolts and bars are\nnot the best of our institutions, nor is shrewdness in trade a mark of\nwisdom. Men suffer all their life long, under the foolish superstition\nthat they can be cheated. But it is as impossible for a man to be\ncheated by anyone but himself,[137] as for a thing to be and not to be\nat the same time. There is a third silent party to all our bargains.\nThe nature and soul of things takes on itself the guaranty of the\nfulfillment of every contract, so that honest service cannot come to\nloss. If you serve an ungrateful master, serve him the more. Put God\nin your debt. Every stroke shall be repaid. The longer the payment is\nwithholden,[138] the better for you; for compound interest on compound\ninterest is the rate and usage of this exchequer.\n\nThe history of persecution is a history of endeavors to cheat nature,\nto make water run up hill, to twist a rope of sand. It makes no\ndifference whether the actors be many or one, a tyrant or a mob. A\nmob[139] is a society of bodies voluntarily bereaving themselves of\nreason, and traversing its work. The mob is man voluntarily descending\nto the nature of the beast. Its fit hour of activity is night. Its\nactions are insane like its whole constitution; it persecutes a\nprinciple; it would whip a right; it would tar and feather justice, by\ninflicting fire and outrage upon the houses and persons of those who\nhave these. It resembles the prank of boys, who run with fire engines\nto put out the ruddy aurora streaming to the stars. The inviolate\nspirit turns their spite against the wrongdoers. The martyr cannot be\ndishonored. Every lash inflicted is a tongue of fame; every prison, a\nmore illustrious abode; every burned book or house enlightens the\nworld; every suppressed or expunged word reverberates through the\nearth from side to side. Hours of sanity and consideration are always\narriving to communities, as to individuals, when the truth is seen,\nand the martyrs are justified.\n\nThus do all things preach the indifferency of circumstances. The man\nis all. Everything has two sides, a good and an evil. Every advantage\nhas its tax. I learn to be content. But the doctrine of compensation\nis not the doctrine of indifferency. The thoughtless say, on hearing\nthese representations, What boots it to do well? there is one event to\ngood and evil; if I gain any good, I must pay for it; if I lose any\ngood, I gain some other; all actions are indifferent.\n\nThere is a deeper fact in the soul than compensation, to wit, its own\nnature. The soul is not a compensation, but a life. The soul _is_.\nUnder all this running sea of circumstance, whose waters ebb and flow\nwith perfect balance, lies the aboriginal abyss of real Being.\nEssence, or God, is not a relation, or a part, but the whole. Being is\nthe vast affirmative, excluding negation, self-balanced, and\nswallowing up all relations, parts, and times within itself. Nature,\ntruth, virtue, are the influx from thence. Vice is the absence or\ndeparture of the same. Nothing, Falsehood, may indeed stand as the\ngreat Night or shade, on which, as a background, the living universe\npaints itself forth, but no fact is begotten by it; it cannot work,\nfor it is not. It cannot work any good; it cannot work any harm. It is\nharm inasmuch as it is worse not to be than to be.\n\nWe feel defrauded of the retribution due to evil acts, because the\ncriminal adheres to his vice and contumacy, and does not come to a\ncrisis or judgment anywhere in visible nature. There is no stunning\nconfutation of his nonsense before men and angels. Has he therefore\noutwitted the law? Inasmuch as he carries the malignity and the lie\nwith him, he so far deceases from nature. In some manner there will be\na demonstration of the wrong to the understanding also; but should we\nnot see it, this deadly deduction makes square the eternal account.\n\nNeither can it be said, on the other hand, that the gain of rectitude\nmust be bought by any loss. There is no penalty to virtue; no penalty\nto wisdom; they are proper additions of being. In a virtuous action, I\nproperly _am_; in a virtuous act, I add to the world; I plant into\ndeserts conquered from Chaos and Nothing, and see the darkness\nreceding on the limits of the horizon. There can be no excess to love;\nnone to knowledge; none to beauty, when these attributes are\nconsidered in the purest sense. The soul refuses limits, and always\naffirms an Optimism,[140] never a Pessimism.\n\nMan's life is a progress, and not a station. His instinct is trust.\nOur instinct uses \"more\" and \"less\" in application to man, of the\n_presence of the soul_, and not of its absence; the brave man is\ngreater than the coward; the true, the benevolent, the wise, is more a\nman, and not less, than the fool and knave. There is no tax on the\ngood of virtue; for that is the incoming of God himself, or absolute\nexistence without any comparative. Material good has its tax, and if\nit came without desert or sweat, has no root in me, and the next wind\nwill blow it away. But all the good of nature is the soul's, and may\nbe had, if paid for in nature's lawful coin, that is, by labor which\nthe heart and the head allow. I no longer wish to meet a good I do not\nearn; for example, to find a pot of buried gold, knowing that it\nbrings with it new burdens. I do not wish more external\ngoods,--neither possessions, nor honors, nor powers, nor persons. The\ngain is apparent; the tax is certain. But there is no tax on the\nknowledge that the compensation exists, and that it is not desirable\nto dig up treasure. Herein I rejoice with a serene eternal peace. I\ncontract the boundaries of possible mischief. I learn the wisdom of\nSt. Bernard,[141]--\"Nothing can, work me damage except myself; the\nharm, that I sustain I carry about with me, and never am a real\nsufferer but by my own fault.\"\n\nIn the nature of the soul is the compensation for the inequalities of\ncondition. The radical tragedy of nature seems to be the distinction\nof More and Less. How can Less not feel the pain; how not feel\nindignation or malevolence towards More? Look at those who have less\nfaculty, and one feels sad, and knows not well what to make of it. He\nalmost shuns their eye; he fears they will upbraid God. What should\nthey do? It seems a great injustice. But see the facts nearly, and\nthese mountainous inequalities vanish. Love reduces them, as the sun\nmelts the iceberg in the sea. The heart and soul of all men being one,\nthis bitterness of _His_ and _Mine_ ceases. His is mine. I am my\nbrother, and my brother is me. If I feel overshadowed and outdone by\ngreat neighbors, I can yet love; I can still receive; and he that\nloveth maketh his own the grandeur he loves. Thereby I make the\ndiscovery that my brother is my guardian, acting for me with the\nfriendliest designs, and the estate I so admired and envied is my own.\nIt is the nature of the soul to appropriate all things. Jesus[142] and\nShakespeare are fragments of the soul, and by love I conquer and\nincorporate them in my own conscious domain. His[143] virtue,--is not\nthat mine? His wit,--if it cannot be made mine, it is not wit.\n\nSuch, also, is the natural history of calamity. The changes which\nbreak up at short intervals the prosperity of men are advertisements\nof a nature whose law is growth. Every soul is by this intrinsic\nnecessity quitting its whole system of things, its friends, and home,\nand laws, and faith, as the shellfish crawls out of its beautiful but\nstony case, because it no longer admits of its growth, and slowly\nforms a new house. In proportion to the vigor of the individual, these\nrevolutions are frequent, until in some happier mind they are\nincessant, and all worldly relations hang very loosely about him,\nbecoming, as it were, a transparent fluid membrane through which the\nliving form is seen, and not, as in most men, an indurated\nheterogeneous fabric of many dates, and of no settled character, in\nwhich the man is imprisoned. Then there can be enlargement, and the\nman of to-day scarcely recognizes the man of yesterday. And such\nshould be the outward biography of man in time, a putting off of dead\ncircumstances day by day, as he renews his raiment day by day. But to\nus, in our lapsed estate, resting, not advancing, resisting, not\nco\u00f6perating with the divine expansion, this growth comes by shocks.\n\nWe cannot part with our friend. We cannot let our angels go. We do not\nsee that they only go out, that archangels may come in. We are\nidolaters of the old. We do not believe in the riches of the soul, in\nits proper eternity and omnipresence. We do not believe there is any\nforce in to-day to rival or recreate that beautiful yesterday. We\nlinger in the ruins of the old tent, where once we had bread and\nshelter and organs, nor believe that the spirit can feed, cover, and\nnerve us again. We cannot again find aught so dear, so sweet, so\ngraceful. But we sit and weep in vain. The voice of the Almighty\nsaith, \"Up and onward forevermore!\" We cannot stay amid the ruins.\nNeither will we rely on the new; and so we walk ever with reverted\neyes, like those monsters who look backwards.\n\nAnd yet the compensations of calamity are made apparent to the\nunderstanding also, after long intervals of time. A fever, a\nmutilation, a cruel disappointment, a loss of wealth, a loss of\nfriends, seems at the moment unpaid loss, and unpayable. But the sure\nyears reveal the deep remedial force that underlies all facts. The\ndeath of a dear friend, wife, brother, lover, which seemed nothing but\nprivation, somewhat later assumes the aspect of a guide or genius;\nfor it commonly operates revolutions in our way of life, terminates an\nepoch of infancy or of youth which was waiting to be closed, breaks up\na wonted occupation, or a household, or style of living, and allows\nthe formation of new ones more friendly to the growth of character. It\npermits or constrains the formation of new acquaintances, and the\nreception of new influences that prove of the first importance to the\nnext years; and the man or woman who would have remained a sunny\ngarden flower, with no room for its roots and too much sunshine for\nits head, by the falling of the walls and the neglect of the gardener,\nis made the banyan[144] of the forest, yielding shade and fruit to\nwide neighborhoods of men.\n\n\n\n\nSELF-RELIANCE\n\n\"Ne te qu\u00e6siveris extra.\"[145]\n\n    \"Man is his own star; and the soul that can\n    Render an honest and a perfect man,\n    Commands all light, all influence, all fate;\n    Nothing to him falls early or too late.\n    Our acts our angels are, or good or ill,\n    Our fatal shadows that walk by us still.\"[146]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n      Cast the bantling on the rocks,\n      Suckle him with the she-wolf's teat;\n      Wintered with the hawk and fox,\n      Power and speed be hands and feet.[147]\n\nI read the other day some verses written by an eminent painter which\nwere original and not conventional. The soul always hears an\nadmonition in such lines, let the subject be what it may. The\nsentiment they instill is of more value than any thought they may\ncontain. To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for\nyou in your private heart is true for all men,--that is genius.[148]\nSpeak your latent conviction, and it shall be the universal\nsense;[149] for the inmost in due time becomes the outmost,--and our\nfirst thought is rendered back to us by the trumpets of the Last\nJudgment. Familiar as the voice of the mind is to each, the highest\nmerit we ascribe to Moses, Plato,[150] and Milton[151] is, that they\nset at naught books and traditions, and spoke not what men, but what\nthey thought. A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of\nlight which flashes across his mind from within, more than the luster\nof the firmament of bards and sages. Yet he dismisses without notice\nhis thought, because it is his. In every work of genius we recognize\nour own rejected thoughts:[152] they come back to us with a certain\nalienated majesty. Great works of art have no more affecting lesson\nfor us than this. They teach us to abide by our spontaneous impression\nwith good-humored inflexibility then most when[153] the whole cry of\nvoices is on the other side. Else, to-morrow a stranger will say with\nmasterly good sense precisely what we have thought and felt all the\ntime, and we shall be forced to take with shame our own opinion from\nanother.\n\nThere is a time in every man's education when he arrives at the\nconviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide;[154]\nthat he must take himself for better, for worse, as his portion; that\nthough the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn\ncan come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground\nwhich is given to him to till. The power which resides in him is new\nin nature, and none but he knows what that is which he can do, nor\ndoes he know until he has tried. Not for nothing one face, one\ncharacter, one fact, makes much impression on him, and another none.\nThis sculpture in the memory is not without pre\u00ebstablished harmony.\nThe eye was placed where one ray should fall, that it might testify of\nthat particular ray. We but half express ourselves,[155] and are\nashamed of that divine idea which each of us represents. It may be\nsafely trusted as proportionate and of good issues, so it be\nfaithfully imparted, but God will not have his work made manifest by\ncowards. A man is relieved and gay when he has put his heart into his\nwork and done his best; but what he has said or done otherwise shall\ngive him no peace. It is a deliverance which does not deliver. In the\nattempt his genius deserts him; no muse befriends; no invention, no\nhope.\n\nTrust thyself:[156] every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept\nthe place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your\ncontemporaries, the connection of events. Great men have always done\nso, and confided themselves childlike to the genius of their age,\nbetraying their perception that the absolutely trustworthy was seated\nat their heart, working through their hands, predominating in all\ntheir being. And we are now men, and must accept in the highest mind\nthe same transcendent destiny; and not minors and invalids in a\nprotected corner, not cowards fleeing before a revolution, but guides,\nredeemers, and benefactors, obeying the Almighty effort, and advancing\non Chaos[157] and the Dark.\n\nWhat pretty oracles nature yields us on this text, in the face and\nbehavior of children, babes, and even brutes! That divided and rebel\nmind, that distrust of a sentiment because our arithmetic has computed\nthe strength and means opposed to our purpose, these[158] have not.\nTheir mind being whole, their eye is as yet unconquered, and when we\nlook in their faces we are disconcerted. Infancy conforms to nobody:\nall conform to it, so that one babe commonly makes four or five[159]\nout of the adults who prattle and play to it. So God has armed youth\nand puberty and manhood no less with its own piquancy and charm, and\nmade it enviable and gracious and its claims not to be put by, if it\nwill stand by itself. Do not think the youth has no force, because he\ncannot speak to you and me. Hark! in the next room his voice is\nsufficiently clear and emphatic. It seems he knows how to speak to his\ncontemporaries. Bashful or bold, then, he will know how to make us\nseniors very unnecessary.\n\nThe nonchalance[160] of boys who are sure of a dinner, and would\ndisdain as much as a lord to do or say aught to conciliate one, is the\nhealthy attitude of human nature. A boy is in the parlor what the pit\nis in the playhouse;[161] independent, irresponsible, looking out from\nhis corner on such people and facts as pass by, he tries and sentences\nthem on their merits, in the swift, summary way of boys, as good, bad,\ninteresting, silly, eloquent, troublesome. He cumbers himself never\nabout consequences about interests; he gives an independent, genuine\nverdict. You must court him: he does not court you. But the man is, as\nit were, clapped into jail by his consciousness. As soon as he has\nonce acted or spoken with _\u00e9clat_[162] he is a committed person,\nwatched by the sympathy or the hatred of hundreds, whose affections\nmust now enter into his account. There is no Lethe[163] for this. Ah,\nthat he could pass again into his neutrality! Who[164] can thus avoid\nall pledges, and having observed, observe again from the same\nunaffected, unbiased, unbribable, unaffrighted innocence, must always\nbe formidable. He would utter opinions on all passing affairs, which\nbeing seen to be not private, but necessary, would sink like darts\ninto the ear of men, and put them in fear.\n\nThese are the voices which we hear in solitude, but they grow faint\nand inaudible as we enter into the world. Society everywhere is in\nconspiracy against the manhood of every one of its members. Society is\na joint-stock company, in which the members agree, for the better\nsecuring of his bread to each shareholder, to surrender the liberty\nand culture of the eater. The virtue in most request is conformity.\nSelf-reliance is its aversion. It loves not realities and creators,\nbut names and customs.\n\nWhoso would be a man must be a nonconformist.[165] He who would gather\nimmortal palms must not be hindered by the name of goodness, but must\nexplore if it be goodness.[166] Nothing is at last sacred but the\nintegrity of your own mind. Absolve you to yourself, and you shall\nhave the suffrage[167] of the world. I remember an answer which when\nquite young I was prompted to make to a valued adviser, who was wont\nto importune me with the dear old doctrines of the church. On my\nsaying, What have I to do with the sacredness of traditions, if I live\nwholly from within? my friend suggested: \"But these impulses may be\nfrom below, not from above.\" I replied: \"They do not seem to me to be\nsuch; but if I am the Devil's child, I will live then from the Devil.\"\nNo law can be sacred to me but that of my nature. Good and bad are but\nnames very readily transferable to that or this;[168] the only right\nis what is after my constitution, the only wrong what is against it. A\nman is to carry himself in the presence of all opposition, as if\neverything were titular and ephemeral but he. I am ashamed to think\nhow easily we capitulate to badges and names, to large societies and\ndead institutions. Every decent and well-spoken individual affects and\nsways me more than is right. I ought to go upright and vital, and\nspeak the rude truth in all ways. If malice and vanity wear the coat\nof philanthropy, shall that pass? If an angry bigot assumes this\nbountiful cause of Abolition, and comes to me with his last news from\nBarbadoes,[169] why should I not say to him: \"Go love thy infant; love\nthy wood-chopper: be good-natured and modest: have that grace; and\nnever varnish your hard, uncharitable ambition with this incredible\ntenderness for black folk a thousand miles off. Thy love afar is\nspite at home.\" Rough and graceless would be such greeting, but truth\nis handsomer than the affectation of love. Your goodness must have\nsome edge to it,--else it is none. The doctrine of hatred must be\npreached as the counteraction of the doctrine of love when that pules\nand whines. I shun father and mother and wife and brother, when my\ngenius calls me. I would write on the lintels of the door-post,\n_Whim_.[170] I hope it is somewhat better than whim at last, but we\ncannot spend the day in explanation. Expect me not to show cause why I\nseek or why I exclude company. Then, again, do not tell me, as a good\nman did to-day, of my obligation to put all poor men in good\nsituations. Are they _my_ poor? I tell thee, thou foolish\nphilanthropist, that I grudge the dollar, the dime, the cent, I give\nto such men as do not belong to me and to whom I do not belong. There\nis a class of persons to whom by all spiritual affinity I am bought\nand sold; for them I will go to prison, if need be; but your\nmiscellaneous popular charities; the education at college of fools;\nthe building of meeting-houses to the vain end to which many now\nstand; alms to sots; and the thousand-fold Relief Societies;--though I\nconfess with shame I sometimes succumb and give the dollar, it is a\nwicked dollar which by and by I shall have the manhood to withhold.\n\nVirtues are, in the popular estimate, rather the exception than the\nrule. There is the man _and_ his virtues. Men do what is called a good\naction, as some piece of courage or charity, much as they would pay a\nfine in expiation of daily non-appearance on parade. Their works are\ndone as an apology or extenuation of their living in the world,--as\ninvalids and the insane pay a high board. Their virtues are penances.\nI do not wish to expiate, but to live. My life is for itself and not\nfor a spectacle. I much prefer that it should be of a lower strain, so\nit be genuine and equal, than that it should be glittering and\nunsteady. I wish it to be sound and sweet, and not to need diet and\nbleeding.[171] I ask primary evidence that you are a man, and refuse\nthis appeal from the man to his actions. I know that for myself it\nmakes no difference whether I do or forbear those actions which are\nreckoned excellent. I cannot consent to pay for a privilege where I\nhave intrinsic right. Few and mean as my gifts may be, I actually am,\nand do not need for my own assurance or the assurance of my fellows\nany secondary testimony.\n\nWhat I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think.\nThis rule, equally arduous in actual and in intellectual life, may\nserve for the whole distinction between greatness and meanness. It is\nthe harder, because you will always find those who think they know\nwhat is your duty better than you know it. It is easy in the world to\nlive after the world's opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after\nour own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps\nwith perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.[172]\n\nThe objection to conforming to usages that have become dead to you is,\nthat it scatters your force. It loses your time and blurs the\nimpression of your character. If you maintain a dead church,\ncontribute to a dead Bible-society, vote with a great party either for\nthe government or against it, spread your table like base\nhousekeepers,--under all these screens I have difficulty to detect the\nprecise[173] man you are. And, of course, so much force is withdrawn\nfrom your proper life. But do your work, and I shall know you.[174] Do\nyour work, and you shall reinforce yourself. A man must consider what\na blindman's-buff is this game of conformity. If I know your sect, I\nanticipate your argument. I hear a preacher announce for his text and\ntopic the expediency of one of the institutions of his church. Do I\nnot know beforehand that not possibly can he say a new and spontaneous\nword? Do I not know that, with[175] all this ostentation of examining\nthe grounds of the institution, he will do no such thing? Do I not\nknow that he is pledged to himself not to look but at one side,--the\npermitted side, not as a man, but as a parish minister? He is a\nretained attorney, and these airs of the bench[176] are the emptiest\naffectation. Well, most men have bound their eyes with one or another\nhandkerchief,[177] and attached themselves to some one of these\ncommunities of opinion.[178] This conformity makes them not false in a\nfew particulars, authors of a few lies, but false in all particulars.\nTheir every truth is not quite true. Their two is not the real two,\ntheir four not the real four; so that every word they say chagrins us,\nand we know not where to begin to set them right. Meantime nature is\nnot slow to equip us in the prison-uniform of the party to which we\nadhere. We come to wear one cut of face and figure, and acquire by\ndegrees the gentlest asinine expression. There is a mortifying\nexperience in particular which does not fail to wreak itself also in\nthe general history; I mean \"the foolish face of praise,\" the forced\nsmile which we put on in company where we do not feel at ease in\nanswer to conversation which does not interest us. The muscles, not\nspontaneously moved, but moved by a low usurping willfulness, grow\ntight about the outline of the face with the most disagreeable\nsensation.\n\nFor nonconformity the world whips you with its displeasure.[179] And\ntherefore a man must know how to estimate a sour face. The bystanders\nlook askance on him in the public street or in the friend's parlor. If\nthis aversation had its origin in contempt and resistance like his\nown, he might well go home with a sad countenance; but the sour faces\nof the multitude, like their sweet faces, have no deep cause, but are\nput on and off as the wind blows and a newspaper directs.[180] Yet is\nthe discontent of the multitude more formidable than that of the\nsenate and the college. It is easy enough for a firm man who knows the\nworld to brook the rage of the cultivated classes. Their rage is\ndecorous and prudent, for they are timid as being very vulnerable\nthemselves. But when to their feminine rage the indignation of the\npeople is added, when the ignorant and the poor are aroused, when the\nunintelligent brute force that lies at the bottom of society is made\nto growl and mow, it needs the habit of magnanimity and religion to\ntreat it godlike as a trifle of no concernment.\n\nThe other terror[181] that scares us from self-trust is our\nconsistency;[182] a reverence for our past act or word, because the\neyes of others have no other data for computing our orbit[183] than\nour past acts, and we are loth to disappoint them.\n\nBut why should you keep your head over your shoulder? Why drag about\nthis corpse of your memory, lest you contradict somewhat[184] you have\nstated in this or that public place? Suppose you should contradict\nyourself; what then? It seems to be a rule of wisdom never to rely on\nyour memory alone, scarcely even in acts of pure memory, but to bring\nthe past for judgment into the thousand-eyed present, and live ever in\na new day. In your metaphysics you have denied personality to the\nDeity; yet when the devout motions of the soul come, yield to them\nheart and life, though they should clothe God with shape and color.\nLeave your theory, as Joseph his coat in the hand of the harlot, and\nflee.[185]\n\nA foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by\nlittle statesmen and philosophers and divines. With consistency a\ngreat soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself\nwith the shadow on the wall. Speak what you think now in hard words,\nand to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though\nit contradict everything you said to-day.--\"Ah, so you shall be sure\nto be misunderstood.\"--Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood?\nPythagoras[186] was misunderstood, and Socrates,[187] and Jesus, and\nLuther,[188] and Copernicus,[189] and Galileo,[190] and Newton,[191]\nand every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to\nbe misunderstood.\n\nI suppose no man can violate his nature. All the sallies of his will\nare rounded in by the law of his being, as the inequalities of\nAndes[192] and Himmaleh[193] are insignificant in the curve of the\nsphere. Nor does it matter how you gauge and try him. A character is\nlike an acrostic or Alexandrian stanza;[194]--read it forward,\nbackward, or across, it still spells the same thing. In this pleasing,\ncontrite wood-life which God allows me, let me record day by day my\nhonest thought without prospect or retrospect, and, I cannot doubt, it\nwill be found symmetrical, though I mean it not, and see it not. My\nbook should smell of pines and resound with the hum of insects. The\nswallow over my window should interweave that thread or straw he\ncarries in his bill into my web also. We pass for what we are.\nCharacter teaches above our wills. Men imagine that they communicate\ntheir virtue or vice only by overt actions, and do not see that virtue\nor vice emit a breath every moment.\n\nThere will be an agreement in whatever variety of actions, so they be\neach honest and natural in their hour. For of one will, the actions\nwill be harmonious, however unlike they seem. These varieties are lost\nsight of at a little distance, at a little height of thought. One\ntendency unites them all. The voyage of the best ship is a zigzag line\nof a hundred tacks.[195] See the line from a sufficient distance, and\nit straightens itself to the average tendency. Your genuine action\nwill explain itself, and will explain your other genuine actions. Your\nconformity explains nothing. Act singly, and what you have already\ndone singly will justify you now. Greatness appeals to the future. If\nI can be firm enough to-day to do right, and scorn eyes,[196] I must\nhave done so much right before as to defend me now. Be it how it will,\ndo right now. Always scorn appearances, and you always may. The force\nof character is cumulative. All the foregone days of virtue work their\nhealth into this. What makes the majesty of the heroes of the senate\nand the field, which so fills the imagination? The consciousness of a\ntrain of great days and victories behind. They shed an united light on\nthe advancing actor. He is attended as by a visible escort of angels.\nThat is it which throws thunder into Chatham's[197] voice, and dignity\ninto Washington's port, and America into Adams's[198] eye. Honor is\nvenerable to us because it is no ephemeris. It is always ancient\nvirtue. We worship it to-day because it is not of to-day. We love it\nand pay it homage, because it is not a trap for our love and homage,\nbut is self-dependent, self-derived, and therefore of an old\nimmaculate pedigree, even if shown in a young person.\n\nI hope in these days we have heard the last of conformity and\nconsistency. Let the words be gazetted and ridiculous henceforward.\nInstead of the gong for dinner, let us hear a whistle from the\nSpartan[199] fife. Let us never bow and apologize more. A great man is\ncoming to eat at my house. I do not wish to please him; I wish that he\nshould wish to please me. I will stand here for humanity, and though I\nwould make it kind, I would make it true. Let us affront and reprimand\nthe smooth mediocrity and squalid contentment of the times, and hurl\nin the face of custom, and trade, and office, the fact which is the\nupshot of all history, that there is a great responsible Thinker and\nActor working wherever a man works; that a true man belongs to no\nother time or place, but is the center of things. Where he is, there\nis nature. He measures you, and all men, and all events. Ordinarily,\neverybody in society reminds us of somewhat else, or of some other\nperson. Character, reality, reminds you of nothing else; it takes\nplace of the whole creation. The man must be so much, that he must\nmake all circumstances indifferent. Every true man is a cause, a\ncountry, and an age; requires infinite spaces and numbers and time\nfully to accomplish his design;--and posterity seem to follow his\nsteps as a train of clients. A man C\u00e6sar[200] is born, and for ages\nafter we have a Roman Empire. Christ is born, and millions of minds\nso grow and cleave to his genius, that he is confounded with virtue\nand the possible of man. An institution is the lengthened shadow of\none man; as Monachism, of the hermit Antony;[201] the Reformation, of\nLuther; Quakerism, of Fox;[202] Methodism, of Wesley;[203] Abolition,\nof Clarkson.[204] Scipio,[205] Milton called \"the height of Rome\"; and\nall history resolves itself very easily into the biography of a few\nstout and earnest persons.\n\nLet a man then know his worth, and keep things under his feet. Let him\nnot peep or steal, or skulk up and down with the air of a charity-boy,\na bastard, or an interloper, in the world which exists for him. But\nthe man in the street, finding no worth in himself which corresponds\nto the force which built a tower or sculptured a marble god, feels\npoor when he looks on these. To him a palace, a statue, a costly book,\nhave an alien and forbidding air, much like a gay equipage, and seem\nto say like that, \"Who are you, Sir?\" Yet they all are his, suitors\nfor his notice, petitioners to his faculties that they will come out\nand take possession. The picture waits for my verdict: it is not to\ncommand me, but I am to settle its claims to praise. That popular\nfable of the sot who was picked up dead drunk in the street, carried\nto the duke's house, washed and dressed and laid in the duke's bed,\nand, on his waking, treated with all obsequious ceremony like the\nduke, and assured that he had been insane,[206] owes its popularity to\nthe fact that it symbolizes so well the state of man, who is in the\nworld a sort of sot, but now and then wakes up, exercises his reason,\nand finds himself a true prince.\n\nOur reading is mendicant and sycophantic. In history, our imagination\nplays us false. Kingdom and lordship, power and estate, are a gaudier\nvocabulary than private John and Edward in a small house and common\nday's work; but the things of life are the same to both; the sum total\nof both is the same. Why all this deference to Alfred,[207] and\nScanderbeg,[208] and Gustavus?[209] Suppose they were virtuous; did\nthey wear out virtue? As great a stake depends on your private act\nto-day, as followed their public and renowned steps. When private men\nshall act with original views, the luster will be transferred from the\nactions of kings to those of gentlemen.\n\nThe world has been instructed by its kings, who have so magnetized the\neyes of nations. It has been taught by this colossal symbol the mutual\nreverence that is due from man to man. The joyful loyalty with which\nmen have everywhere suffered the king, the noble, or the great\nproprietor to walk among them by a law of his own, make his own scale\nof men and things, and reverse theirs, pay for benefits not with money\nbut with honor, and represent the law in his person, was the\nhieroglyphic[210] by which they obscurely signified their\nconsciousness of their own right and comeliness, the right of every\nman.\n\nThe magnetism which all original action exerts is explained when we\ninquire the reason of self-trust. Who is the Trustee? What is the\naboriginal Self, on which a universal reliance may be grounded? What\nis the nature and power of that science-baffling star, without\nparallax,[211] without calculable elements, which shoots a ray of\nbeauty even into trivial and impure actions, if the least mark of\nindependence appear? The inquiry leads us to that source, at once the\nessence of genius, of virtue, and of life, which we call Spontaneity\nor Instinct. We denote this primary wisdom as Intuition, whilst all\nlater teachings are tuitions. In that deep force, the last fact behind\nwhich analysis cannot go, all things find their common origin. For the\nsense of being which in calm hours rises, we know not how, in the\nsoul, is not diverse from things, from space, from light, from time,\nfrom man, but one with them, and proceeds obviously from the same\nsource whence their life and being also proceed. We first share the\nlife by which things exist, and afterwards see them as appearances in\nnature, and forget that we have shared their cause. Here is the\nfountain of action and of thought. Here are the lungs of that\ninspiration which giveth man wisdom, and which cannot be denied\nwithout impiety and atheism. We lie in the lap of immense\nintelligence, which makes us receivers of its truth and organs of its\nactivity. When we discern justice, when we discern truth, we do\nnothing of ourselves, but allow a passage to its beams. If we ask\nwhence this comes, if we seek to pry into the soul that causes, all\nphilosophy is at fault. Its presence or its absence is all we can\naffirm. Every man discriminates between the voluntary acts of his\nmind, and his involuntary perceptions, and knows that to his\ninvoluntary perceptions a perfect faith is due. He may err in the\nexpression of them, but he knows that these things are so, like day\nand night, not to be disputed. My willful actions and acquisitions are\nbut roving;--the idlest reverie, the faintest native emotion, command\nmy curiosity and respect. Thoughtless people contradict as readily the\nstatement of perceptions as of opinions, or rather much more readily;\nfor, they do not distinguish between perception and notion. They fancy\nthat I choose to see this or that thing. But perception is not\nwhimsical, it is fatal. If I see a trait, my children will see it\nafter me, and in course of time, all mankind,--although it may chance\nthat no one has seen it before me. For my perception of it is as much\na fact as the sun.\n\nThe relations of the soul to the divine spirit are so pure, that it is\nprofane to seek to interpose helps. It must be that when God speaketh\nhe should communicate, not one thing, but all things; should fill the\nworld with his voice; should scatter forth light, nature, time, souls,\nfrom the center of the present thought; and new date and new create\nthe whole. Whenever a mind is simple, and receives a divine wisdom,\nold things pass away,--means, teachers, texts, temples, fall; it lives\nnow, and absorbs past and future into the present hour. All things are\nmade sacred by relation to it,--one as much as another. All things\nare dissolved to their center by their cause, and, in the universal\nmiracle, petty and particular miracles disappear. If, therefore, a man\nclaims to know and speak of God, and carries you backward to the\nphraseology of some old moldered nation in another country, in another\nworld, believe him not. Is the acorn better than the oak which is its\nfullness and completion? Is the parent better than the child into whom\nhe has cast his ripened being?[212] Whence, then, this worship of the\npast?[213] The centuries are conspirators against the sanity and\nauthority of the soul. Time and space are but physiological colors\nwhich the eye makes, but the soul is light; where it is, is day; where\nit was, is night; and history is an impertinence and an injury, if it\nbe anything more than a cheerful apologue or parable of my being and\nbecoming.\n\nMan is timid and apologetic; he is no longer upright; he dares not say\n\"I think,\" \"I am,\" but quotes some saint or sage. He is ashamed before\nthe blade of grass or the blowing rose. These roses under my window\nmake no reference to former roses or to better ones; they are for what\nthey are; they exist with God to-day. There is no time to them. There\nis simply the rose; it is perfect in every moment of its existence.\nBefore a leaf-bud has burst, its whole life acts; in the full-blown\nflower there is no more; in the leafless root there is no less. Its\nnature is satisfied, and it satisfies nature, in all moments alike.\nBut man postpones, or remembers; he does not live in the present, but\nwith a reverted eye laments the past, or, heedless of the riches that\nsurround him, stands on tiptoe to foresee the future. He cannot be\nhappy and strong until he too lives with nature in the present, above\ntime.\n\nThis should be plain enough. Yet see what strong intellects dare not\nyet hear God himself, unless he speak the phraseology of I know not\nwhat David, or Jeremiah, or Paul. We shall not always set so great a\nprice on a few texts, on a few lives.[214] We are like children who\nrepeat by rote the sentences of grandames and tutors, and, as they\ngrow older, of the men and talents and characters they chance to\nsee,--painfully recollecting the exact words they spoke; afterwards,\nwhen they come into the point of view which those had who uttered\nthose saying, they understand them, and are willing to let the words\ngo; for, at any time, they can use words as good when occasion comes.\nIf we live truly, we shall see truly. It is as easy for the strong man\nto be strong, as it is for the weak to be weak. When we have new\nperception, we shall gladly disburden the memory of its hoarded\ntreasures as old rubbish. When a man lives with God, his voice shall\nbe as sweet as the murmur of the brook and the rustle of the corn.\n\nAnd now at last the highest truth on this subject remains unsaid;\nprobably cannot be said; for all that we say is the far-off\nremembering of the intuition. That thought, by what I can now nearest\napproach to say it, is this. When good is near you, when you have\nlife in yourself, it is not by any known or accustomed way; you shall\nnot discern the footprints of any other; you shall not see the face of\nman; you shall not hear any name;--the way, the thought, the good,\nshall be wholly strange and new. It shall exclude example and\nexperience. You take the way from man, not to man. All persons that\never existed are its forgotten ministers. Fear and hope are alike\nbeneath it. There is somewhat low even in hope. In the hour of vision,\nthere is nothing that can be called gratitude, nor properly joy. The\nsoul raised over passion beholds identity and eternal causation,\nperceives the self-existence of Truth and Right, and calms itself with\nknowing that all things go well. Vast spaces of nature, the Atlantic\nOcean, the South Sea,--long intervals of time, years, centuries,--are\nof no account. This which I think and feel underlay every former state\nof life and circumstances, as it does underlie my present, and what is\ncalled life, and what is called death.\n\nLife only avails, not the having lived. Power ceases in the instant of\nrepose; it resides in the moment of transition from a past to a new\nstate, in the shooting of the gulf, in the darting to an aim. This one\nfact the world hates, that the soul _becomes_; for that forever\ndegrades the past, turns all riches to poverty, all reputation to\nshame, confounds the saint with the rogue, shoves Jesus and Judas[215]\nequally aside. Why, then, do we prate of self-reliance? Inasmuch as\nthe soul is present, there will be power not confident but agent.[216]\nTo talk of reliance is a poor external way of speaking. Speak rather\nof that which relies, because it works and is. Who has more obedience\nthan I masters me, though he should not raise his finger. Round him I\nmust revolve by the gravitation of spirits. We fancy it rhetoric, when\nwe speak of eminent virtue. We do not yet see that virtue is Height,\nand that a man or a company of men, plastic and permeable to\nprinciples, by the law of nature must overpower and ride all cities,\nnations, kings, rich men, poets, who are not.\n\nThis is the ultimate fact which we so quickly reach on this, as on\nevery topic, the resolution of all into the ever-blessed ONE.\nSelf-existence is the attribute of the Supreme Cause, and it\nconstitutes the measure of good by the degree in which it enters into\nall lower forms. All things real are so by so much virtue as they\ncontain. Commerce, husbandry, hunting, whaling, war eloquence,\npersonal weight, are somewhat, and engage my respect as examples of\nits presence and impure action. I see the same law working in nature\nfor conservation and growth. Power is in nature the essential measure\nof right. Nature suffers nothing to remain in her kingdoms which\ncannot help itself. The genesis and maturation of a planet, its poise\nand orbit, the bended tree recovering itself from the strong wind, the\nvital resources of every animal and vegetable, are demonstrations of\nthe self-sufficing, and therefore self-relying soul.\n\nThus all concentrates: let us not rove; let us sit at home with the\ncause. Let us stun and astonish the intruding rabble of men and books\nand institutions, by a simple declaration of the divine fact. Bid the\ninvaders take the shoes from off their feet, for God is here\nwithin.[217] Let our simplicity judge them, and our docility to our\nown law demonstrate the poverty of nature and fortune beside our\nnative riches.\n\nBut now we are a mob. Man does not stand in awe of man, nor is his\ngenius admonished to stay at home to put itself in communication with\nthe internal ocean, but it goes abroad to beg a cup of water of the\nurns of other men. We must go alone. I like the silent church before\nthe service begins, better than any preaching. How far off, how cool,\nhow chaste the persons look, begirt each one with a precinct or\nsanctuary! So let us always sit. Why should we assume the faults of\nour friend, or wife, or father, or child, because they sit around our\nhearth, or are said to have the same blood? All men have my blood, and\nI have all men's.[218] Not for that will I adopt their petulance or\nfolly, even to the extent of being ashamed of it. But your isolation\nmust not be mechanical, but spiritual, that is, must be elevation. At\ntimes the whole world seems to be in conspiracy to importune you with\nemphatic trifles. Friend, client, child, sickness, fear, want,\ncharity, all knock at once at thy closet door, and say, \"Come out unto\nus.\" But keep thy state; come not into their confusion. The power men\npossess to annoy men, I give them by a weak curiosity. No man can\ncome near me but through my act. \"What we love that we have, but by\ndesire we bereave ourselves of the love.\"\n\nIf we cannot at once rise to the sanctities of obedience and faith,\nlet us at least resist our temptations; let us enter into the state of\nwar, and wake Thor and Woden,[219] courage and constancy, in our Saxon\nbreasts. This is to be done in our smooth times by speaking the truth.\nCheck this lying hospitality and lying affection. Live no longer to\nthe expectation of these deceived and deceiving people with whom we\nconverse. Say to them, O father, O mother, O wife, O brother, O\nfriend, I have lived with you after appearances hitherto. Henceforward\nI am the truth's. Be it known unto you that henceforward I obey no law\nless than the eternal law. I will have no covenants but\nproximities.[220] I shall endeavor to nourish my parents, to support\nmy family, to be the chaste husband of one wife,--but these relations\nI must fill after a new and unprecedented way. I appeal from your\ncustoms. I must be myself. I cannot break myself any longer for you,\nor you.[221] If you can love me for what I am, we shall be the\nhappier. If you cannot, I will still seek to deserve that you should.\nI will not hide my tastes or aversions. I will so trust that what is\ndeep is holy, that I will do strongly before the sun and moon whatever\ninly rejoices me, and the heart appoints. If you are noble, I will\nlove you; if you are not, I will not hurt you and myself by\nhypocritical attentions. If you are true, but not in the same truth\nwith me, cleave to your companions; I will seek my own. I do this not\nselfishly, but humbly and truly. It is alike your interest, and mine,\nand all men's however long we have dwelt in lies, to live in truth.\nDoes this sound harsh to-day? You will soon love what is dictated by\nyour nature as well as mine, and, if we follow the truth, it will\nbring us out safe at last.[222] But so may you give these friends\npain. Yes, but I cannot sell my liberty and my power, to save their\nsensibility. Besides, all persons have their moments of reason, when\nthey look out into the region of absolute truth; then will they\njustify me, and do the same thing.\n\nThe populace think that your rejection of popular standards is a\nrejection of all standard, and mere antinomianism;[223] and the bold\nsensualist will use the name of philosophy to gild his crimes. But the\nlaw of consciousness abides. There are two confessionals, in one or\nthe other of which we must be shriven. You may fulfill your round of\nduties by clearing yourself in the _direct_, or in the _reflex_ way.\nConsider whether you have satisfied your relations to father, mother,\ncousin, neighbor, town, cat, and dog; whether any of these can upbraid\nyou. But I may also neglect this reflex standard, and absolve me to\nmyself. I have my own stern claims and perfect circle. It denies the\nname of duty to many offices that are called duties. But if I can\ndischarge its debts, it enables me to dispense with the popular code.\nIf any one imagines that this law is lax, let him keep its\ncommandment one day.\n\nAnd truly it demands something godlike in him who has cast off the\ncommon motives of humanity, and has ventured to trust himself for a\ntaskmaster. High be his heart, faithful his will, clear his sight,\nthat he may in good earnest be doctrine, society, law, to himself,\nthat a simple purpose may be to him as strong as iron necessity is to\nothers!\n\nIf any man consider the present aspects of what is called by\ndistinction _society_, he will see the need of these ethics. The sinew\nand heart of man seem to be drawn out, and we are become timorous,\ndesponding whimperers. We are afraid of truth, afraid of fortune,\nafraid of death, and afraid of each other. Our age yields no great and\nperfect persons. We want men and women who shall renovate life and our\nsocial state, but we see that most natures are insolvent, cannot\nsatisfy their own wants, have an ambition out of all proportion to\ntheir practical force,[224] and do lean and beg day and night\ncontinually. Our housekeeping is mendicant, our arts, our occupations,\nour marriages, our religion, we have not chosen, but society has\nchosen for us. We are parlor soldiers. We shun the rugged battle of\nfate, where strength is born.\n\nIf our young men miscarry in their first enterprises, they lose all\nheart. If the young merchant fails, men say he is _ruined_. If the\nfinest genius studies at one of our colleges, and is not installed in\nan office within one year afterwards in the cities or suburbs of\nBoston or New York, it seems to his friends and to himself that he is\nright in being disheartened, and in complaining the rest of his life.\nA sturdy lad from New Hampshire or Vermont, who in turn tries all the\nprofessions, who _teams it, farms it_,[225] _peddles_, keeps a school,\npreaches, edits a newspaper, goes to Congress, buys a township, and so\nforth, in successive years, and always, like a cat, falls on his feet,\nis worth a hundred of these city dolls. He walks abreast with his\ndays, and feels no shame in not \"studying a profession,\" for he does\nnot postpone his life, but lives already. He has not one chance, but a\nhundred chances. Let a Stoic[226] open the resources of man, and tell\nmen they are not leaning willows, but can and must detach themselves;\nthat with the exercise of self-trust, new powers shall appear; that a\nman is the word made flesh,[227] born to shed healing to the\nnations,[228] that he should be ashamed of our compassion, and that\nthe moment he acts from himself, tossing the laws, the books,\nidolatries and customs out of the window, we pity him no more, but\nthank and revere him,--and that teacher shall restore the life of man\nto splendor, and make his name dear to all history.\n\nIt is easy to see that a greater self-reliance must work a revolution\nin all the offices and relations of men; in their religion; in their\neducation; in their pursuits; their modes of living; their\nassociation; in their property; in their speculative views.\n\n1. In what prayers do men allow themselves![229] That which they call\na holy office is not so much as brave and manly. Prayer looks abroad\nand asks for some foreign addition to come through some foreign\nvirtue, and loses itself in endless mazes of natural and supernatural,\nand mediatorial and miraculous. Prayer that craves a particular\ncommodity,--anything less than all good,--is vicious. Prayer is the\ncontemplation of the facts of life from the highest point of view. It\nis the soliloquy of a beholding and jubilant soul.[230] It is the\nspirit of God pronouncing his works good. But prayer as a means to\neffect a private end is meanness and theft. It supposes dualism and\nnot unity in nature and consciousness. As soon as the man is at one\nwith God, he will not beg. He will then see prayer in all action. The\nprayer of the farmer kneeling in his field to weed it, the prayer of\nthe rower kneeling with the stroke of his oar, are true prayers heard\nthroughout nature, though for cheap ends. Caratach,[231] in Fletcher's\nBonduca, when admonished to inquire the mind of the god Audate,\nreplies,--\n\n   \"His hidden meaning lies in our endeavors;\n    Our valors are our best gods.\"\n\nAnother sort of false prayers are our regrets. Discontent is the want\nof self-reliance; it is infirmity of will. Regret calamities, if you\ncan thereby help the sufferer; if not, attend your own work, and\nalready the evil begins to be repaired. Our sympathy is just as base.\nWe come to them who weep foolishly, and sit down and cry for company,\ninstead of imparting to them truth and health in rough electric\nshocks, putting them once more in communication with their own reason.\nThe secret of fortune is joy in our hands. Welcome evermore to gods\nand men is the self-helping man. For him all doors are flung wide: him\nall tongues greet, all honors crown, all eyes follow with desire. Our\nlove goes out to him and embraces him, because he did not need it. We\nsolicitously and apologetically caress and celebrate him, because he\nheld on his way and scorned our disapprobation. The gods love him\nbecause men hated him. \"To the persevering mortal,\" said\nZoroaster,[232] \"the blessed Immortals are swift.\"\n\nAs men's prayers are a disease of the will, so are their creeds a\ndisease of the intellect. They say with those foolish Israelites, \"Let\nnot God speak to us, lest we die. Speak thou, speak any man with us, and\nwe will obey.\"[233] Everywhere I am hindered of meeting God in my\nbrother, because he has shut his own temple doors, and recites fables\nmerely of his brother's, or his brother's brother's God. Every new mind\nis a new classification. If it prove a mind of uncommon activity and\npower, a Locke,[234] a Lavoisier,[235] a Hutton,[236] a Betham,[237] a\nFourier,[238] it imposes its classification on other men, and lo! a new\nsystem. In proportion to the depth of the thought, and so to the number\nof the objects it touches and brings within reach of the pupil, is his\ncomplacency. But chiefly is this apparent in creeds and churches, which\nare also classifications of some powerful mind acting on the elemental\nthought of duty, and man's relation to the Highest. Such is\nCalvinism,[239] Quakerism,[240] Swedenborgism.[241] The pupil takes the\nsame delight in subordinating everything to the new terminology, as a\ngirl who has just learned botany in seeing a new earth and new seasons\nthereby. It will happen for a time, that the pupil will find his\nintellectual power has grown by the study of his master's mind. But in\nall unbalanced minds, the classification is idolized, passes for the\nend, and not for a speedily exhaustible means, so that the walls of the\nsystem blend to their eye in the remote horizon with the walls of the\nuniverse; the luminaries of heaven seem to them hung on the arch their\nmaster built. They cannot imagine how you aliens have any right to\nsee,--how you can see; \"It must be somehow that you stole the light from\nus.\" They do not yet perceive that light, unsystematic, indomitable,\nwill break into any cabin, even into theirs. Let them chirp awhile and\ncall it their own. If they are honest and do well, presently their neat\nnew pinfold will be too strait and low, will crack, will lean, will rot\nand vanish, and the immortal light, all young and joyful, million-orbed,\nmillion-colored, will beam over the universe as on the first morning.\n\n2. It is for want of self-culture that the superstition of Traveling,\nwhose idols are Italy, England, Egypt, retains its fascination for all\neducated Americans. They who made England, Italy, or Greece venerable\nin the imagination did so by sticking fast where they were, like an\naxis of the earth. In manly hours, we feel that duty is our place. The\nsoul is no traveler; the wise man stays at home, and when his\nnecessities, his duties, on any occasion call him from his house, or\ninto foreign lands, he is at home still; and shall make men sensible\nby the expression of his countenance, that he goes the missionary of\nwisdom and virtue, and visits cities and men like a sovereign, and not\nlike an interloper or a valet.\n\nI have no churlish objection to the circumnavigation of the globe, for\nthe purposes of art, of study, and benevolence, so that the man is\nfirst domesticated, or does not go abroad with the hope of finding\nsomewhat greater than he knows. He who travels to be amused, or to get\nsomewhat which he does not carry,[242] travels away from himself, and\ngrows old even in youth among old things. In Thebes,[243] in\nPalmyra,[244] his will and mind have become old and dilapidated as\nthey. He carries ruins to ruins.\n\nTraveling is a fool's paradise. Our first journeys discover to us the\nindifference of places. At home I dream that at Naples, at Rome, I can\nbe intoxicated with beauty, and lose my sadness. I pack my trunk,\nembrace my friends, embark on the sea, and at last wake up in Naples,\nand there beside me is the stern fact, the sad self, unrelenting,\nidentical, that I fled from.[245] I seek the Vatican,[246] and the\npalaces. I affect to be intoxicated with sights and suggestions, but\nI am not intoxicated. My giant goes with me wherever I go.\n\n3. But the rage of traveling is a symptom of a deeper unsoundness\naffecting the whole intellectual action. The intellect is vagabond,\nand our system of education fosters restlessness. Our minds travel\nwhen our bodies are forced to stay at home. We imitate; and what is\nimitation but the traveling of the mind? Our houses are built with\nforeign taste; our shelves are garnished with foreign ornaments; our\nopinions, our tastes, our faculties, lean, and follow the Past and the\nDistant. The soul created the arts wherever they have flourished. It\nwas in his own mind that the artist sought his model. It was an\napplication of his own thought to the thing to be done and the\nconditions to be observed. And why need we copy the Doric[247] or the\nGothic[248] model? Beauty, convenience, grandeur of thought, and\nquaint expression are as near to us as to any, and if the American\nartist will study with hope and love the precise thing to be done by\nhim considering the climate, the soil, the length of the day, the\nwants of the people, the habit and form of the government, he will\ncreate a house in which all these will find themselves fitted, and\ntaste and sentiment will be satisfied also.\n\nInsist on yourself; never imitate.[249] Your own gift you can present\nevery moment with the cumulative force of a whole life's cultivation;\nbut of the adopted talent of another, you have only an extemporaneous,\nhalf possession. That which each can do best, none but his Maker can\nteach him. No man yet knows what it is, nor can, till that person has\nexhibited it. Where is the master who could have taught\nShakespeare?[250] Where is the master who could have instructed\nFranklin,[251] or Washington, or Bacon,[252] or Newton?[253] Every great\nman is a unique. The Scipionism of Scipio[254] is precisely that part he\ncould not borrow. Shakespeare will never be made by the study of\nShakespeare. Do that which is assigned to you, and you cannot hope too\nmuch or dare too much. There is at this moment for you an utterance\nbrave and grand as that of the colossal chisel of Phidias,[255] or\ntrowel of the Egyptians,[256] or the pen of Moses,[257] or Dante,[258]\nbut different from all these. Not possibly will the soul all rich, all\neloquent, with thousand-cloven tongue, deign to repeat itself; but if\nyou can hear what these patriarchs say, surely you can reply to them in\nthe same pitch of voice; for the ear and the tongue are two organs of\none nature. Abide in the simple and noble regions of thy life, obey thy\nheart, and thou shalt reproduce the Foreworld[259] again.\n\n4. As our Religion, our Education, our Art look abroad, so does our\nspirit of society. All men plume themselves on the improvement of\nsociety, and no man improves.\n\nSociety never advances. It recedes as fast on one side as it gains on\nthe other. It undergoes continual changes; it is barbarous, it is\ncivilized, it is Christianized, it is rich, it is scientific; but this\nchange is not amelioration. For everything that is given, something is\ntaken. Society acquires new arts, and loses old instincts. What a\ncontrast between the well-clad, reading, writing, thinking American,\nwith a watch, a pencil, and a bill of exchange in his pocket, and the\nnaked New Zealander,[260] whose property is a club, a spear, a mat,\nand an undivided twentieth of a shed to sleep under! But compare the\nhealth of the two men, and you shall see that the white man has lost\nhis aboriginal strength. If the traveler tell us truly, strike the\nsavage with a broad ax, and in a day or two the flesh shall unite and\nheal as if you struck the blow into soft pitch, and the same blow\nshall send the white to his grave.\n\nThe civilized man has built a coach, but has lost the use of his feet.\nHe is supported on crutches, but lacks so much support of muscle. He\nhas a fine Geneva[261] watch, but he fails of the skill to tell the\nhour by the sun. A Greenwich nautical almanac[262] he has, and so\nbeing sure of the information when he wants it, the man in the street\ndoes not know a star in the sky. The solstice[263] he does not\nobserve; the equinox he knows as little; and the whole bright calendar\nof the year is without a dial in his mind. His notebooks impair his\nmemory; his libraries overload his wit; the insurance office increases\nthe number of accidents; and it may be a question whether machinery\ndoes not encumber; whether we have not lost by refinement some\nenergy, by a Christianity entrenched in establishments and forms, some\nvigor of wild virtue. For every Stoic was a Stoic; but in Christendom\nwhere is the Christian?\n\nThere is no more deviation in the moral standard than in the standard\nof height or bulk. No greater men are now than ever were. A singular\nequality may be observed between great men of the first and of the\nlast ages; nor can all the science, art, religion, and philosophy of\nthe nineteenth century avail to educate greater men than\nPlutarch's[264] heroes, three or four and twenty centuries ago. Not in\ntime is the race progressive. Phocion,[265] Socrates, Anaxagoras,[266]\nDiogenes,[267] are great men, but they leave no class. He who is\nreally of their class will not be called by their name, but will be\nhis own man, and, in his turn, the founder of a sect. The arts and\ninventions of each period are only its costume, and do not invigorate\nmen. The harm of the improved machinery may compensate its good.\nHudson[268] and Bering[269] accomplished so much in their fishing\nboats, as to astonish Parry[270] and Franklin,[271] whose equipment\nexhausted the resources of science and art. Galileo, with an\nopera-glass, discovered a more splendid series of celestial phenomena\nthan any one since. Columbus[272] found the New World in an undecked\nboat. It is curious to see the periodical disuse and perishing of\nmeans and machinery, which were introduced with loud laudation a few\nyears or centuries before. The great genius returns to essential man.\nWe reckoned the improvements of the art of war among the triumphs of\nscience, and yet Napoleon[273] conquered Europe by the bivouac, which\nconsisted of falling back on naked valor, and disencumbering it of all\naids. The Emperor held it impossible to make a perfect army, says Las\nCasas,[274] \"without abolishing our arms, magazines, commissaries, and\ncarriages, until, in imitation of the Roman custom, the soldier should\nreceive his supply of corn, grind it in his handmill, and bake his\nbread himself.\"\n\nSociety is a wave. The wave moves onward, but the water of which it is\ncomposed does not. The same particle does not rise from the valley to\nthe ridge. Its unity is only phenomenal. The persons who make up a\nnation to-day, next year die, and their experience with them.\n\nAnd so the reliance on Property, including the reliance on governments\nwhich protect it, is the want of self-reliance. Men have looked away\nfrom themselves and at things so long, that they have come to esteem\nthe religious, learned, and civil institutions as guards of property,\nand they deprecate assaults on these, because they feel them to be\nassaults on property. They measure their esteem of each other by what\neach has, and not by what each is. But a cultivated man becomes\nashamed of his property, out of new respect for his nature. Especially\nhe hates what he has, if he see that it is accidental,--came to him by\ninheritance, or gift, or crime; then he feels that it is not having;\nit does not belong to him, has no root in him, and merely lies there,\nbecause no revolution or no robber takes it away. But that which a man\nis, does always by necessity acquire, and what the man acquires is\nliving property, which does not wait the beck of rulers, or mobs, or\nrevolutions, or fire, or storm, or bankruptcies, but perpetually\nrenews itself wherever the man breathes. \"Thy lot or portion of life,\"\nsaid the Caliph Ali,[275] \"is seeking after thee; therefore be at rest\nfrom seeking after it.\" Our dependence on these foreign goods leads us\nto our slavish respect for numbers. The political parties meet in\nnumerous conventions; the greater the concourse, and with each new\nuproar of announcement, The delegation from Essex![276] The Democrats\nfrom New Hampshire! The Whigs of Maine! the young patriot feels\nhimself stronger than before by a new thousand of eyes and arms. In\nlike manner the reformers summon conventions, and vote and resolve in\nmultitude. Not so, O friends! will the god deign to enter and inhabit\nyou, but by a method precisely the reverse. It is only as a man puts\noff all foreign support, and stands alone, that I see him to be strong\nand to prevail. He is weaker by every recruit to his banner. Is not a\nman better than a town? Ask nothing of men, and in the endless\nmutation, thou only firm column must presently appear the upholder of\nall that surrounds thee. He who knows that power is inborn, that he is\nweak because he has looked for good out of him and elsewhere, and so\nperceiving, throws himself unhesitatingly on his thought, instantly\nrights himself, stands in the erect position, commands his limbs,\nworks miracles; just as a man who stands on his feet is stronger than\na man who stands on his head.\n\nSo use all that is called Fortune.[277] Most men gamble with her, and\ngain all, and lose all, as her wheel rolls. But do thou leave as\nunlawful these winnings, and deal with Cause and Effect, the\nchancelors of God. In the Will work and acquire, and thou hast chained\nthe wheel of Chance, and shalt sit hereafter out of fear from her\nrotations. A political victory, a rise of rents, the recovery of your\nsick, or the return of your absent friend, or some other favorable\nevent, raises your spirits, and you think good days are preparing for\nyou. Do not believe it. Nothing can bring you peace but yourself.\nNothing can bring you peace but the triumph of principles.\n\n\n\n\nFRIENDSHIP.[278]\n\n\n1. We have a great deal more kindness than is ever spoken. Barring all\nthe selfishness that chills like east winds the world, the whole human\nfamily is bathed with an element of love like a fine ether. How many\npersons we meet in houses, whom we scarcely speak to, whom yet we\nhonor, and who honor us! How many we see in the street, or sit with in\nchurch, whom, though silently, we warmly rejoice to be with! Read the\nlanguage of these wandering eyebeams. The heart knoweth.\n\n2. The effect of the indulgence of this human affection is a certain\ncordial exhilaration. In poetry, and in common speech, the emotions of\nbenevolence and complacency which are felt toward others, are likened\nto the material effects of fire; so swift, or much more swift, more\nactive, more cheering are these fine inward irradiations. From the\nhighest degree of passionate love, to the lowest degree of good will,\nthey make the sweetness of life.\n\n3. Our intellectual and active powers increase with our affection. The\nscholar sits down to write, and all his years of meditation do not\nfurnish him with one good thought or happy expression; but it is\nnecessary to write a letter to a friend, and, forthwith, troops of\ngentle thoughts invest themselves, on every hand, with chosen words.\nSee in any house where virtue and self-respect abide, the palpitation\nwhich the approach of a stranger causes. A commended stranger is\nexpected and announced, and an uneasiness between pleasure and pain\ninvades all the hearts of a household. His arrival almost brings fear\nto the good hearts that would welcome him. The house is dusted, all\nthings fly into their places, the old coat is exchanged for the new,\nand they must get up a dinner if they can. Of a commended stranger,\nonly the good report is told by others, only the good and new is heard\nby us. He stands to us for humanity. He is, what we wish. Having\nimagined and invested him, we ask how we should stand related in\nconversation and action with such a man, and are uneasy with fear. The\nsame idea exalts conversation with him. We talk better than we are\nwont. We have the nimblest fancy, a richer memory, and our dumb devil\nhas taken leave for the time. For long hours we can continue a series\nof sincere, graceful, rich communications, drawn from the oldest,\nsecretest experience, so that they who sit by, of our own kinsfolk and\nacquaintance, shall feel a lively surprise at our unusual powers. But\nas soon as the stranger begins to intrude his partialities, his\ndefinitions, his defects, into the conversation, it is all over. He\nhas heard the first, the last and best, he will ever hear from us. He\nis no stranger now. Vulgarity, ignorance, misapprehension, are old\nacquaintances. Now, when he comes, he may get the order, the dress,\nand the dinner, but the throbbing of the heart, and the communications\nof the soul, no more.\n\n4. What is so pleasant as these jets of affection which relume[279] a\nyoung world for me again? What is so delicious as a just and firm\nencounter of two, in a thought, in a feeling? How beautiful, on their\napproach to this beating heart, the steps and forms of the gifted and\nthe true! The moment we indulge our affections, the earth is\nmetamorphosed; there is no winter, and no night; all tragedies, all\nennuis vanish; all duties even; nothing fills the proceeding eternity\nbut the forms all radiant of beloved persons. Let the soul be assured\nthat somewhere in the universe it should rejoin its friend, and it\nwould be content and cheerful alone for a thousand years.\n\n5. I awoke this morning with devout thanksgiving for my friends, the old\nand the new. Shall I not call God, the Beautiful, who daily showeth\nhimself so to me in his gifts? I chide society, I embrace solitude, and\nyet I am not so ungrateful as not to see the wise, the lovely, and the\nnoble-minded, as from time to time they pass my gate.[280] Who hears me,\nwho understands me, becomes mine,--a possession for all time. Nor is\nnature so poor, but she gives me this joy several times, and thus we\nweave social threads of our own, a new web of relations; and, as many\nthoughts in succession substantiate themselves, we shall by-and-by stand\nin a new world of our own creation, and no longer strangers and pilgrims\nis a traditionary globe. My friends have come[281] to me unsought. The\ngreat God gave them to me. By oldest right, by the divine affinity of\nvirtue with itself, I find them, or rather, not I, but the Deity in me\nand in them, both deride and cancel the thick walls of individual\ncharacter, relation, age, sex and circumstance, at which he usually\nconnives, and now makes many one. High thanks I owe you, excellent\nlovers, who carry out the world for me to new and noble depths, and\nenlarge the meaning of all my thoughts. These are new poetry of the\nfirst Bard[282]--poetry without stop--hymn, ode and epic,[283] poetry\nstill flowing, Apollo[284] and the Muses[285] chanting still. Will these\ntwo separate themselves from me again, or some of them? I know not, but\nI fear it not; for my relation to them is so pure, that we hold by\nsimple affinity, and the Genius[286] of my life being thus social, the\nsame affinity will exert its energy on whomsoever is as noble as these\nmen and women, wherever I may be.\n\n6. I confess to an extreme tenderness of nature on this point. It is\nalmost dangerous to me to \"crush the sweet poison,[287] of misused\nwine\" of the affections. A new person is to me a great event, and\nhinders me from sleep. I have had such fine fancies lately about two\nor three persons, as have given me delicious hours, but the joy ends\nin the day: it yields no fruit. Thought is not born of it; my action\nis very little modified. I must feel pride in my friend's\naccomplishments as if they were mine, and a property in his virtues.\nI feel as warmly when he is praised, as the lover when he hears\napplause of his engaged maiden. We over-estimate the conscience of our\nfriend. His goodness seems better than our goodness, his nature finer,\nhis temptations less. Everything that is his,--his name, his form, his\ndress, books and instruments,--fancy enhances. Our own thought sounds\nnew and larger from his mouth.\n\n7. Yet the systole and diastole[288] of the heart are not without\ntheir analogy in the ebb and flow of love. Friendship, like the\nimmortality[289] of the soul, is too good to be believed. The lover,\nbeholding his maiden, half knows that she is not verily that which he\nworships; and in the golden hour of friendship, we are surprised with\nshades of suspicion and unbelief. We doubt that we bestow on our hero\nthe virtues in which he shines, and afterward worship the form to\nwhich we have ascribed this divine inhabitation. In strictness, the\nsoul does not respect men as it respects itself. In strict science,\nall persons underlie the same condition of an infinite remoteness.\nShall we fear to cool our love by mining for the metaphysical\nfoundation of this Elysian temple?[290] Shall I not be as real as the\nthings I see? If I am, I shall not fear to know them for what they\nare. Their essence is not less beautiful than their appearance, though\nit needs finer organs for its apprehension. The root of the plant is\nnot unsightly to science, though for chaplets and festoons we cut the\nstem short. And I must hazard the production of the bald fact amid\nthese pleasing reveries, though it should prove an Egyptian skull at\nour banquet.[291] A man who stands united with his thought, conceives\nmagnificently to himself. He is conscious of a universal success,[292]\neven though bought by uniform particular failures. No advantages, no\npowers, no gold or force can be any match for him. I cannot choose but\nrely on my own poverty, more than on your wealth. I cannot make your\nconsciousness tantamount to mine. Only the star dazzles; the planet\nhas a faint, moon-like ray. I hear what you say of the admirable parts\nand tried temper of the party you praise, but I see well that for all\nhis purple cloaks I shall not like him, unless he is at least a poor\nGreek like me. I cannot deny it, O friend, that the vast shadow of the\nPhenomenal includes thee, also, in its pied and painted\nimmensity,--thee, also, compared with whom all else is shadow. Thou\nart not Being, as Truth is, as Justice is,--thou art not my soul, but\na picture and effigy of that. Thou hast come to me lately, and already\nthou art seizing thy hat and cloak. It is not that the soul puts forth\nfriends, as the tree puts forth leaves, and presently, by the\ngermination of new buds, extrudes the old leaf?[293] The law of nature\nis alternation forevermore. Each electrical state superinduces the\nopposite. The soul environs itself with friends, that it may enter\ninto a grander self-acquaintance or solitude; and it goes alone, for a\nseason, that it may exalt its conversation or society. This method\nbetrays itself along the whole history of our personal relations. The\ninstinct of affection revives the hope of union with our mates, and\nthe returning sense of insulation recalls us from the chase. Thus\nevery man passes his life in the search after friendship, and if he\nshould record his true sentiment, he might write a letter like this,\nto each new candidate for his love:--\n\n     DEAR FRIEND:--\n\n     If I was sure of thee, sure of thy capacity, sure to match\n     my mood with thine, I should never think again of trifles,\n     in relation to thy comings and goings. I am not very wise;\n     my moods are quite attainable; and I respect thy genius; it\n     is to me as yet unfathomed; yet dare I not presume in thee a\n     perfect intelligence of me, and so thou art to me a\n     delicious torment. Thine ever, or never.\n\n8. Yet these uneasy pleasures and fine pains are for curiosity, and\nnot for life. They are not to be indulged. This is to weave cobweb,\nand not cloth. Our friendships hurry to short and poor conclusions,\nbecause we have made them a texture of wine and dreams,[294] instead\nof the tough fiber of the human heart. The laws of friendship are\ngreat, austere, and eternal, of one web with the laws of nature and of\nmorals. But we have aimed at a swift and petty benefit, to suck a\nsudden sweetness. We snatch at the slowest fruit in the whole garden\nof God, which many summers and many winters must ripen. We seek our\nfriend not sacredly but with an adulterate passion which would\nappropriate him to ourselves. In vain. We are armed all over with\nsubtle antagonisms, which, as soon as we meet, begin to play, and\ntranslate all poetry into stale prose. Almost all people descend to\nmeet. All association must be a compromise, and, what is worst, the\nvery flower and aroma of the flower of each of the beautiful natures\ndisappears as they approach each other. What a perpetual\ndisappointment is actual society, even of the virtuous and gifted!\nAfter interviews have been compassed with long foresight, we must be\ntormented presently by baffled blows, by sudden, unseasonable\napathies, by epilepsies of wit and of animal spirits, in the heyday of\nfriendship and thought. Our faculties do not play us true, and both\nparties are relieved by solitude.\n\n9. I ought to be equal to every relation. It makes no difference how\nmany friends I have, and what content I can find in conversing with\neach, if there be one to whom I am not equal. If I have shrunk unequal\nfrom one contest instantly, the joy I find in all the rest becomes\nmean and cowardly. I should hate myself, if then I made my other\nfriends my asylum.\n\n    \"The valiant warrior[295] famoused for fight,\n       After a hundred victories, once foiled,\n     Is from the book of honor razed quite,\n       And all the rest forgot for which he toiled.\"\n\n10. Our impatience is thus sharply rebuked. Bashfulness and apathy are\na tough husk in which a delicate organization is protected from\npremature ripening. It would be lost if it knew itself before any of\nthe best souls were yet ripe enough to know and own it. Respect the\n_naturlangsamkeit_[296] which hardens the ruby in a million years,\nand works in duration, in which Alps and Andes come and go as\nrainbows. The good spirit of our life has no heaven which is the price\nof rashness. Love, which is the essence of God, is not for levity, but\nfor the total worth of man. Let us not have this childish luxury in\nour regards, but the austerest worth; let us approach our friend with\nan audacious trust in the truth of his heart, in the breadth,\nimpossible to be overturned, of his foundations.\n\n11. The attractions of this subject are not to be resisted, and I\nleave, for the time, all account of subordinate social benefit, to\nspeak of that select and sacred relation which is a kind of absolute,\nand which even leaves the language of love suspicious and common, so\nmuch is this purer, and nothing is so much divine.\n\n12. I do not wish to treat friendships daintily, but with roughest\ncourage. When they are real, they are not glass threads or frost-work,\nbut the solidest thing we know. For now, after so many ages of\nexperience, what do we know of nature, or of ourselves? Not one step\nhas man taken toward the solution of the problem of his destiny. In\none condemnation of folly stand the whole universe of men. But the\nsweet sincerity of joy and peace, which I draw from this alliance\nwith my brother's soul, is the nut itself whereof all nature and all\nthought is but the husk and shell. Happy is the house that shelters a\nfriend! It might well be built, like a festal bower or arch, to\nentertain him a single day. Happier, if he know the solemnity of that\nrelation, and honor its law! He who offers himself a candidate for\nthat covenant comes up, like an Olympian,[297] to the great games,\nwhere the first-born of the world are the competitors. He proposes\nhimself for contest where Time, Want, Danger are in the lists, and he\nalone is victor who has truth enough in his constitution to preserve\nthe delicacy of his beauty from the wear and tear of all these. The\ngifts of fortune may be present or absent, but all the hap in that\ncontest depends on intrinsic nobleness, and the contempt of trifles.\nThere are two elements that go to the composition of friendship, each\nso sovereign, that I can detect no superiority in either, no reason\nwhy either should be first named. One is Truth. A friend is a person\nwith whom I may be sincere. Before him, I may think aloud. I am\narrived at last in the presence of a man so real and equal that I may\ndrop even those undermost garments of dissimulation, courtesy, and\nsecond thought, which men never put off, and may deal with him with\nthe simplicity and wholeness, with which one chemical atom meets\nanother. Sincerity is the luxury allowed, but diadems and authority,\nonly to the highest rank, _that_ being permitted to speak truth as\nhaving none above it to court or conform unto. Every man alone is\nsincere. At the entrance of a second person, hypocrisy begins. We\nparry and fend the approach of our fellow-man by compliments, by\ngossip, by amusements, by affairs. We cover up our thought from him\nunder a hundred folds. I knew a man who,[298] under a certain\nreligious frenzy, cast off this drapery, and omitting all compliments\nand commonplace, spoke to the conscience of every person he\nencountered, and that with great insight and beauty. At first he was\nresisted, and all men agreed he was mad. But persisting, as indeed he\ncould not help doing, for some time in this course, he attained to the\nadvantage of bringing every man of his acquaintance into true\nrelations with him. No man would think of speaking falsely with him,\nor of putting him off with any chat of markets or reading-rooms. But\nevery man was constrained by so much sincerity to the like plain\ndealing and what love of nature, what poetry, what symbol of truth he\nhad, he did certainly show him. But to most of us society shows not\nits face and eye, but its side and its back. To stand in true\nrelations with men in a false age, is worth a fit of insanity, is it\nnot? We can seldom go erect. Almost every man we meet requires some\ncivility,--requires to be humored; he has some fame, some talent, some\nwhim of religion or philanthropy in his head that is not to be\nquestioned, and which spoils all conversation with him. But a friend\nis a sane man who exercises not my ingenuity, but me. My friend gives\nme entertainment without requiring any stipulation on my part. A\nfriend, therefore, is a sort of paradox[299] in nature. I who alone\nam, I who see nothing in nature whose existence I can affirm with\nequal evidence to my own, behold now the semblance of my being in all\nits height, variety and curiosity, reiterated in a foreign form; so\nthat a friend may well be reckoned the masterpiece of nature.\n\n13. The other element of friendship is tenderness. We are holden to\nmen by every sort of tie, by blood, by pride, by fear, by hope, by\nlucre, by lust, by hate, by admiration, by every circumstance and\nbadge and trifle, but we can scarce believe that so much character can\nsubsist in another as to draw us by love. Can another be so blessed,\nand we so pure, that we can offer him tenderness? When a man becomes\ndear to me, I have touched the goal of fortune. I find very little\nwritten directly to the heart of this matter in books. And yet I have\none text which I cannot choose but remember. My author says,[300]--\"I\noffer myself faintly and bluntly to those whose I effectually am, and\ntender myself least to him to whom I am the most devoted.\" I wish that\nfriendship should have feet, as well as eyes and eloquence. It must\nplant itself on the ground, before it vaults over the moon. I wish it\nto be a little of a citizen, before it is quite a cherub.[301] We\nchide the citizen because he makes love a commodity. It is an exchange\nof gifts, of useful loans; it is good neighborhood; it watches with\nthe sick; it holds the pall at the funeral; and quite loses sight of\nthe delicacies and nobility of the relation. But though we cannot find\nthe god under this disguise of a sutler, yet, on the other hand, we\ncannot forgive the poet if he spins his thread too fine, and does not\nsubstantiate his romance by the municipal virtues of justice,\npunctuality, fidelity and pity. I hate the prostitution of the name of\nfriendship to signify modish and worldly alliances. I much prefer the\ncompany of plow-boys and tin-peddlers, to the silken and perfumed\namity which only celebrates its days of encounter by a frivolous\ndisplay, by rides in a curricle,[302] and dinners at the best taverns.\nThe end of friendship is a commerce the most strict and homely that\ncan be joined; more strict than any of which we have experience. It is\nfor aid and comfort through all the relations and passages of life and\ndeath. It is fit for serene days, and graceful gifts, and country\nrambles, but also for rough roads and hard fare, shipwreck, poverty,\nand persecution. It keeps company with the sallies of the wit and the\ntrances of religion. We are to dignify to each other the daily needs\nand offices of man's life, and embellish it by courage, wisdom and\nunity. It should never fall into something usual and settled, but\nshould be alert and inventive, and add rhyme and reason to what was\ndrudgery.\n\n14. Friendship may be said to require natures so rare and costly, each\nso well-tempered, and so happily adapted, and withal so\ncircumstanced, (for even in that particular, a poet says, love demands\nthat the parties be altogether paired,) that its satisfaction can very\nseldom be assured. It cannot subsist in its perfection, say some of\nthose who are learned in this warm lore of the heart, betwixt more\nthan two. I am not quite so strict in my terms, perhaps because I have\nnever known so high a fellowship as others. I please my imagination\nmore with a circle of godlike men and women variously related to each\nother, and between whom subsists a lofty intelligence. But I find this\nlaw of _one to one_,[303] peremptory for conversation, which is the\npractice and consummation of friendship. Do not mix waters too much.\nThe best mix as ill as good and bad. You shall have very useful and\ncheering discourse at several times with two several men, but let all\nthree of you come together, and you shall not have one new and hearty\nword. Two may talk and one may hear, but three cannot take part in a\nconversation of the most sincere and searching sort. In good company\nthere is never such discourse between two, across the table, as takes\nplace when you leave them alone. In good company, the individuals at\nonce merge their egotism into a social soul exactly co-extensive with\nthe several consciousnesses there present. No partialities of friend\nto friend, no fondnesses of brother to sister, of wife to husband, are\nthere pertinent, but quite otherwise. Only he may then speak who can\nsail on the common thought of the party, and not poorly limited to\nhis own. Now this convention, which good sense demands, destroys the\nhigh freedom of great conversation, which requires an absolute running\nof two souls into one.\n\n15. No two men but being left alone with each other, enter into\nsimpler relations. Yet it is affinity that determines _which_ two\nshall converse. Unrelated men give little joy to each other; will\nnever suspect the latent powers of each. We talk sometimes of a great\ntalent for conversation, as if it were a permanent property in some\nindividuals. Conversation is an evanescent relation,--no more. A man\nis reputed to have thought and eloquence; he cannot, for all that, say\na word to his cousin or his uncle. They accuse his silence with as\nmuch reason as they would blame the insignificance of a dial in the\nshade. In the sun it will mark the hour. Among those who enjoy his\nthought, he will regain his tongue.\n\n16. Friendship requires that rare mean betwixt likeness and\nunlikeness, that piques each with the presence of power and of consent\nin the other party. Let me be alone to the end of the world, rather\nthan that my friend should overstep by a word or a look his real\nsympathy. I am equally balked by antagonism and by compliance. Let him\nnot cease an instant to be himself. The only joy I have in his being\nmine, is that the _not mine_ is _mine_. I hate, where I looked for a\nmanly furtherance, or at least a manly resistance, to find a mush of\nconcession. Better be a nettle in the side of your friend, than his\necho. The condition which high friendship demands is ability to do\nwithout it. That high office requires great and sublime parts. There\nmust be very two before there can be very one. Let it be an alliance\nof two large formidable natures, mutually beheld, mutually feared,\nbefore yet they recognize the deep identity which beneath these\ndisparities unites them.\n\n17. He only is fit for this society who is magnanimous; who is sure\nthat greatness and goodness are always economy; who is not swift to\nintermeddle with his fortunes. Let him not intermeddle with this.\nLeave to the diamond its ages to grow, nor expect to accelerate the\nbirths of the eternal. Friendship demands a religious treatment. We\ntalk of choosing our friends, but friends are self-elected. Reverence\nis a great part of it. Treat your friend as a spectacle. Of course he\nhas merits that are not yours, and that you cannot honor, if you must\nneeds hold him close to your person. Stand aside; give those merits\nroom; let them mount and expand. Are you the friend of your friend's\nbuttons, or of his thought? To a great heart he will still be a\nstranger in a thousand particulars, that he may come near in the\nholiest ground. Leave it to girls and boys to regard a friend as\nproperty, and to suck a short and all-confounding pleasure instead of\nthe noblest benefits.\n\n18. Let us buy our entrance to this guild by a long probation. Why\nshould we desecrate noble and beautiful souls by intruding on them?\nWhy insist on rash personal relations with your friend? Why go to his\nhouse, or know his mother and brother and sisters? Why be visited by\nhim at your own? Are these things material to our covenant? Leave this\ntouching and clawing. Let him be to me a spirit. A message, a thought,\na sincerity, a glance from him I want, but not news, nor pottage. I\ncan get politics, and chat, and neighborly conveniences, from cheaper\ncompanions. Should not the society of my friend be to me poetic, pure,\nuniversal, and great as nature itself? Ought I to feel that our tie is\nprofane in comparison with yonder bar of cloud that sleeps on the\nhorizon, or that clump of waving grass that divides the brook? Let us\nnot vilify but raise it to that standard. That great defying eye, that\nscornful beauty of his mien and action, do not pique yourself on\nreducing, but rather fortify and enhance. Worship his superiorities;\nwish him not less by a thought, but hoard and tell them all. Guard him\nas thy counterpart. Let him be to thee forever a sort of beautiful\nenemy, untamable, devoutly revered, and not a trivial conveniency to\nbe soon outgrown and cast aside. The hues of the opal, the light of\nthe diamond, are not to be seen, if the eye is too near. To my friend\nI write a letter, and from him I receive a letter. That seems to you a\nlittle. It suffices me. It is a spiritual gift worthy of him to give\nand of me to receive. It profanes nobody. In these warm lines the\nheart will trust itself, as it will not to the tongue, and pour out\nthe prophecy of a godlier existence than all the annals of heroism\nhave yet made good.\n\n19. Respect so far the holy laws of this fellowship as not to\nprejudice its perfect flower by your impatience for its opening. We\nmust be our own before we can be another's. There is at least this\nsatisfaction in crime, according to the Latin proverb;--you can speak\nto your accomplice on even terms. _Crimen quos[304] inquinat, \u00e6quat_.\nTo those whom we admire and love, at first we cannot. Yet the least\ndefect of self-possession vitiates, in my judgment, the entire\nrelation. There can never be deep peace between two spirits, never\nmutual respect until, in their dialogue, each stands for the whole\nworld.\n\n20. What is so great as friendship, let us carry with what grandeur of\nspirit we can. Let us be silent,--so we may hear the whisper of the\ngods. Let us not interfere. Who set you to cast about what you should\nsay to the select souls, or how to say anything to such? No matter how\ningenious, no matter how graceful and bland. There are innumerable\ndegrees of folly and wisdom, and for you to say aught is to be\nfrivolous. Wait, and thy heart shall speak. Wait until the necessary\nand everlasting overpowers you, until day and night avail themselves\nof your lips. The only reward of virtue, is virtue; the only way to\nhave a friend is to be one. You shall not come nearer a man by getting\ninto his house. If unlike, his soul only flees the faster from you,\nand you shall catch never a true glance of his eye. We see the noble\nafar off, and they repel us; why should we intrude? Late,--very\nlate,--we perceive that no arrangements, no introductions, no\nconsuetudes or habits of society, would be of any avail to establish\nus in such relations with them as we desire,--but solely the uprise of\nnature in us to the same degree it is in them; then shall we meet as\nwater with water; and if we should not meet them then, we shall not\nwant them, for we are already they. In the last analysis, love is only\nthe reflection of a man's own worthiness from other men. Men have\nsometimes exchanged names with their friends, as if they would signify\nthat in their friend each loved his own soul.\n\n21. The higher the style we demand of friendship, of course the less\neasy to establish it with flesh and blood. We walk alone in the world.\nFriends, such as we desire, are dreams and fables. But a sublime hope\ncheers ever the faithful heart, that elsewhere, in other regions of\nthe universal power, souls are now acting, enduring and daring, which\ncan love us, and which we can love. We may congratulate ourselves that\nthe period of nonage,[305] of follies, of blunders, and of shame, is\npassed in solitude, and when we are finished men, we shall grasp\nheroic hands in heroic hands. Only be admonished by what you already\nsee, not to strike leagues of friendship with cheap persons, where no\nfriendship can be. Our impatience betrays us into rash and foolish\nalliances which no God attends. By persisting in your path, though\nyou forfeit the little you gain the great. You demonstrate yourself,\nso as to put yourself out of the reach of false relations, and you\ndraw to you the first-born of the world, those rare pilgrims whereof\nonly one or two wander in nature at once, and before whom the vulgar\ngreat show as specters and shadows merely.\n\n22. It is foolish to be afraid of making our ties too spiritual, as if\nso we could lose any genuine love. Whatever correction of our popular\nviews we make from insight, nature will be sure to bear us out in, and\nthough it seem to rob us of some joy, will repay us with a greater.\nLet us feel, if we will, the absolute insulation of man. We are sure\nthat we have all in us. We go to Europe, or we pursue persons, or we\nread books, in the instinctive faith that these will call it out and\nreveal us to ourselves. Beggars all. The persons are such as we; the\nEurope, an old faded garment of dead persons; the books, their ghosts.\nLet us drop this idolatry. Let us give over this mendicancy. Let us\neven bid our dearest friends farewell, and defy them, saying, \"Who are\nyou? Unhand me. I will be dependent no more.\" Ah! seest thou not, O\nbrother, that thus we part only to meet again on a higher platform,\nand only be more each other's, because we are more our own? A friend\nis Janus-faced:[306] he looks to the past and the future. He is the\nchild of all my foregoing hours, the prophet of those to come, and\nthe harbinger[307] of a greater friend.\n\n23. I do then with my friends as I do with my books. I would have them\nwhere I can find them, but I seldom use them. We must have society on\nour own terms, and admit or exclude it on the slightest cause. I\ncannot afford to speak much with my friend. If he is great, he makes\nme so great that I cannot descend to converse. In the great days,\npresentiments hover before me, far before me in the firmament. I ought\nthen to dedicate myself to them. I go in that I may seize them, I go\nout that I may seize them. I fear only that I may lose them receding\ninto the sky in which now they are only a patch of brighter light.\nThen, though I prize my friends, I cannot afford to talk with them and\nstudy their visions, lest I lose my own. It would indeed give me a\ncertain household joy to quit this lofty seeking, this spiritual\nastronomy, or search of stars, and come down to warm sympathies with\nyou; but then I know well I shall mourn always the vanishing of my\nmighty gods. It is true, next week I shall have languid moods, when I\ncan well afford to occupy myself with foreign objects; then I shall\nregret the lost literature of your mind, and wish you were by my side\nagain. But if you come, perhaps you will fill my mind only with new\nvisions, not with yourself but with your lusters, and I shall not be\nable any more than now to converse with you. So I will owe to my\nfriends this evanescent intercourse. I will receive from them, not\nwhat they have, but what they are. They shall give me that which\nproperly they cannot give, but which emanates from them. But they\nshall not hold me by any relations less subtile and pure. We will meet\nas though we met not, and part as though we parted not.\n\n24. It has seemed to me lately more possible than I knew, to carry a\nfriendship greatly, on one side, without due correspondence on the\nother. Why should I cumber myself with regrets that the receiver is\nnot capacious? It never troubles the sun that some of his rays fall\nwide and vain into ungrateful space, and only a small part on the\nreflecting planet. Let your greatness educate the crude and cold\ncompanion. If he is unequal, he will presently pass away; but thou art\nenlarged by thy own shining, and no longer a mate for frogs and worms,\ndost soar and burn with the gods of the empyrean.[308] It is thought a\ndisgrace to love unrequited. But the great will see that true love\ncannot be unrequited. True love transcends the unworthy object, and\ndwells and broods on the eternal, and when the poor interposed mask\ncrumbles, it is not sad, but feels rid of so much earth, and feels its\nindependency the surer. Yet these things may hardly be said without a\nsort of treachery to the relation. The essence of friendship is\nentireness, a total magnanimity and trust. It must not surmise or\nprovide for infirmity. It treats its object as a god, that it may\ndeify both.\n\n\n\n\nHEROISM[309]\n\n    \"Paradise is under the shadow of swords,\"[310]\n                                          _Mahomet._\n\n\n1. In the elder English dramatists,[311] and mainly in the plays of\nBeaumont and Fletcher,[312] there is a constant recognition of\ngentility, as if a noble behavior were as easily marked in the society\nof their age, as color is in our American population. When any Rodrigo,\nPedro, or Valerio[313] enters, though he be a stranger, the duke or\ngovernor exclaims, This is a gentleman,--and proffers civilities without\nend; but all the rest are slag and refuse. In harmony with this delight\nin personal advantages, there is in their plays a certain heroic cast of\ncharacter and dialogue,--as in Bonduca, Sophocles, the Mad Lover, the\nDouble Marriage,[314]--wherein the speaker is so earnest and cordial,\nand on such deep grounds of character, that the dialogue, on the\nslightest additional incident in the plot, rises naturally into poetry.\nAmong many texts, take the following. The Roman Martius has conquered\nAthens--all but the invincible spirits of Sophocles, the duke of Athens,\nand Dorigen, his wife. The beauty of the latter inflames Martius, and he\nseeks to save her husband; but Sophocles will not ask his life, although\nassured, that a word will save him, and the execution of both proceeds.\n\n\"_Valerius._ Bid thy wife farewell.\n\n_Soph._ No, I will take no leave. My Dorigen,\nYonder, above, 'bout Ariadne's crown.[315]\nMy spirit shall hover for thee. Prithee, haste.\n\n_Dor._ Stay, Sophocles--with this, tie up my sight;\nLet not soft nature so transformed be,\nAnd lose her gentler sexed humanity,\nTo make me see my lord bleed. So, 'tis well;\nNever one object underneath the sun\nWill I behold before my Sophocles:\nFarewell; now teach the Romans how to die.\n\n_Mar._ Dost know what 'tis to die?\n\n_Soph._ Thou dost not, Martius,\nAnd therefore, not what 'tis to live; to die\nIs to begin to live. It is to end\nAn old, stale, weary work, and to commence\nA newer and a better. 'Tis to leave\nDeceitful knaves for the society\nOf gods and goodness. Thou, thyself, must part\nAt last, from all thy garlands, pleasures, triumphs,\nAnd prove thy fortitude what then 'twill do.\n\n_Val._ But art not grieved nor vexed to leave thy life thus?\n\n_Soph._ Why should I grieve or vex for being sent\nTo them I ever loved best? Now, I'll kneel,\nBut with my back toward thee; 'tis the last duty\nThis trunk can do the gods.\n\n_Mar._ Strike, strike, Valerius,\nOr Martius' heart will leap out at his mouth:\nThis is a man, a woman! Kiss thy lord,\nAnd live with all the freedom you were wont.\nO love! thou doubly hast afflicted me\nWith virtue and with beauty. Treacherous heart,\nMy hand shall cast thee quick into my urn,\nEre thou transgress this knot of piety.\n\n_Val._ What ails my brother?\n\n_Soph._ Martius, oh Martius,\nThou now hast found a way to conquer me.\n\n_Dor._ O star of Rome! what gratitude can speak\nFit words to follow such a deed as this?\n\n_Mar._ This admirable duke, Valerius,\nWith his disdain of fortune and of death,\nCaptived himself, has captived me,\nAnd though my arm hath ta'en his body here,\nHis soul hath subjugated Martius' soul.\nBy Romulus,[316] he is all soul, I think;\nHe hath no flesh, and spirit cannot be gyved;\nThen we have vanquished nothing; he is free,\nAnd Martius walks now in captivity.\"\n\n2. I do not readily remember any poem, play, sermon, novel, or\noration, that our press vents in the last few years, which goes to the\nsame tune. We have a great many flutes and flageolets, but not often\nthe sound of any fife. Yet, Wordsworth's Laodamia, and the ode of\n\"Dion,\"[317] and some sonnets, have a certain noble music; and\nScott[318] will sometimes draw a stroke like the portrait of Lord\nEvandale, given by Balfour of Burley.[319] Thomas Carlyle,[320] with\nhis natural taste for what is manly and daring in character, has\nsuffered no heroic trait in his favorites to drop from his\nbiographical and historical pictures. Earlier, Robert Burns[321] has\ngiven us a song or two. In the Harleian Miscellanies,[322] there is an\naccount of the battle of Lutzen,[323] which deserves to be read. And\nSimon Ockley's[324] History of the Saracens recounts the prodigies of\nindividual valor with admiration, all the more evident on the part of\nthe narrator, that he seems to think that his place in Christian\nOxford[325] requires of him some proper protestations of abhorrence.\nBut if we explore the literature of Heroism, we shall quickly come to\nPlutarch,[326] who is its Doctor and historian. To him we owe the\nBrasidas,[327] the Dion,[328] the Epaminondas,[329] the Scipio[330] of\nold, and I must think we are more deeply indebted to him than to all\nthe ancient writers. Each of his \"Lives\" is a refutation to the\ndespondency and cowardice of our religious and political theorists. A\nwild courage, a Stoicism[331] not of the schools, but of the blood,\nshines in every anecdote, and has given that book its immense fame.\n\n3. We need books of this tart cathartic virtue, more than books of\npolitical science, or of private economy. Life is a festival only to\nthe wise. Seen from the nook and chimney-side of prudence, it wears a\nragged and dangerous front. The violations of the laws of nature by\nour predecessors and our contemporaries are punished in us also. The\ndisease and deformity around us certify the infraction of natural,\nintellectual, and moral laws, and often violation on violation to\nbreed such compound misery. A lockjaw that bends a man's head back to\nhis heels, hydrophobia that makes him bark at his wife and babes,\ninsanity that makes him eat grass; war, plague, cholera, famine\nindicate a certain ferocity in nature, which, as it had its inlet by\nhuman crime, must have its outlet by human suffering. Unhappily,\nalmost no man exists who has not in his own person become, to some\namount, a stockholder in the sin, and so made himself liable to a\nshare in the expiation.\n\n4. Our culture, therefore, must not omit the arming of the man. Let\nhim hear in season that he is born into the state of war, and that the\ncommonwealth and his own well-being require that he should not go\ndancing in the weeds of peace, but warned, self-collected, and neither\ndefying nor dreading the thunder, let him take both reputation and\nlife in his hand, and, with perfect urbanity, dare the gibbet and the\nmob by the absolute truth of his speech, and the rectitude of his\nbehavior.\n\n5. Toward all this external evil, the man within the breast assumes a\nwarlike attitude, and affirms his ability to cope single-handed with\nthe infinite army of enemies. To this military attitude of the soul we\ngive the name of Heroism. Its rudest form is the contempt for safety\nand ease, which makes the attractiveness of war. It is a self-trust\nwhich slights the restraints of prudence, in the plenitude of its\nenergy and power to repair the harms it may suffer. The hero is a mind\nof such balance that no disturbances can shake his will, but\npleasantly, and, as it were, merrily, he advances to his own music,\nalike in frightful alarms, and in the tipsy mirth of universal\ndissoluteness. There is somewhat not philosophical in heroism; there\nis somewhat not holy in it; it seems not to know that other souls are\nof one texture with it; it has pride; it is the extreme of individual\nnature. Nevertheless, we must profoundly revere it. There is somewhat\nin great actions, which does not allow us to go behind them. Heroism\nfeels and never reasons, and therefore is always right; and although a\ndifferent breeding, different religion, and greater intellectual\nactivity, would have modified or even reversed the particular action,\nyet for the hero, that thing he does is the highest deed, and is not\nopen to the censure of philosophers or divines. It is the avowal of\nthe unschooled man, that he finds a quality in him that is negligent\nof expense, of health, of life, of danger, of hatred, of reproach, and\nknows that his will is higher and more excellent than all actual and\nall possible antagonists.\n\n6. Heroism works in contradiction to the voice of mankind, and in\ncontradiction, for a time, to the voice of the great and good. Heroism\nis an obedience[332] to a secret impulse of an individual's character.\nNow to no other man can its wisdom appear as it does to him, for every\nman must be supposed to see a little further on his own proper path\nthan any one else. Therefore, just and wise men take umbrage at his\nact, until after some little time be past: then they see it to be in\nunison with their acts. All prudent men see that the action is clean\ncontrary to a sensual prosperity; for every heroic act measures itself\nby its contempt of some external good. But it finds its own success\nat last, and then the prudent also extol.\n\n7. Self-trust is the essence of heroism. It is the state of the soul\nat war, and its ultimate objects are the last defiance of falsehood\nand wrong, and the power to bear all that can be inflicted by evil\nagents. It speaks the truth, and it is just, generous, hospitable,\ntemperate, scornful of petty calculations, and scornful of being\nscorned. It persists; it is of an undaunted boldness, and of a\nfortitude not to be wearied out. Its jest is the littleness of common\nlife. That false prudence which dotes on health and wealth is the butt\nand merriment of heroism. Heroism, like Plotinus,[333] is almost\nashamed of its body. What shall it say, then, to the sugar-plums, and\ncats'-cradles, to the toilet, compliments, quarrels, cards, and\ncustard, which rack the wit of all human society. What joys has kind\nnature provided for us dear creatures! There seems to be no interval\nbetween greatness and meanness. When the spirit is not master of the\nworld then it is its dupe. Yet the little man takes the great hoax so\ninnocently, works in it so headlong and believing, is born red, and\ndies gray, arranging his toilet, attending on his own health, laying\ntraps for sweet food and strong wine, setting his heart on a horse or\na rifle, made happy with a little gossip or a little praise, that the\ngreat soul cannot choose but laugh at such earnest nonsense. \"Indeed,\nthese humble considerations[334] make me out of love with greatness.\nWhat a disgrace is it to me to take note how many pairs of silk\nstockings thou hast, namely, these and those that were the\npeach-colored ones; or to bear the inventory of thy shirts, as one for\nsuperfluity, and one other for use!\"\n\n8. Citizens, thinking after the laws of arithmetic, consider the\ninconvenience of receiving strangers at their fireside, reckon\nnarrowly the loss of time and the unusual display: the soul of a\nbetter quality thrusts back the unreasonable economy into the vaults\nof life, and says, I will obey the God, and the sacrifice and the fire\nhe will provide. Ibn Hankal,[335] the Arabian geographer, describes a\nheroic extreme in the hospitality of Sogd, in Bokhar,[336] \"When I was\nin Sogd I saw a great building, like a palace, the gates of which were\nopen and fixed back to the wall with large nails. I asked the reason,\nand was told that the house had not been shut, night or day, for a\nhundred years. Strangers may present themselves at any hour, and in\nwhatever number; the master has amply provided for the reception of\nthe men and their animals, and is never happier than when they tarry\nfor some time. Nothing of the kind have I seen in any other country.\"\nThe magnanimous know very well that they who give time, or money, or\nshelter, to the stranger--so it be done for love, and not for\nostentation--do, as it were, put God under obligation to them, so\nperfect are the compensations of the universe. In some way the time\nthey seem to lose is redeemed, and the pains they seem to take\nremunerate themselves. These men fan the flame of human love, and\nraise the standard of civil virtue among mankind. But hospitality must\nbe for service, and not for show, or it pulls down the host. The brave\nsoul rates itself too high to value itself by the splendor of its\ntable and draperies. It gives what it hath, and all it hath, but its\nown majesty can lend a better grace to bannocks[337] and fair water\nthan belong to city feasts.\n\n9. The temperance of the hero proceeds from the same wish to do no\ndishonor to the worthiness he has. But he loves it for its elegancy,\nnot for its austerity. It seems not worth his while to be solemn, and\ndenounce with bitterness flesh-eating or wine-drinking, the use of\ntobacco, or opium, or tea, or silk, or gold. A great man scarcely\nknows how he dines, how he dresses; but without railing or precision,\nhis living is natural and poetic. John Eliot,[338] the Indian Apostle,\ndrank water, and said of wine,--\"It is a noble, generous liquor, and\nwe should be humbly thankful for it, but, as I remember, water was\nmade before it.\" Better still is the temperance of king David[339] who\npoured out on the ground unto the Lord the water which three of his\nwarriors had brought him to drink, at the peril of their lives.\n\n10. It is told of Brutus,[340] that when he fell on his sword, after\nthe battle of Philippi,[341] he quoted a line of Euripides,[342]--\"O\nvirtue! I have followed thee through life, and I find thee at last but\na shade.\" I doubt not the hero is slandered by this report. The heroic\nsoul does not sell its justice and its nobleness. It does not ask to\ndine nicely, and to sleep warm. The essence of greatness is the\nperception that virtue is enough. Poverty is its ornament. It does not\nneed plenty, and can very well abide its loss.\n\n11. But that which takes my fancy most, in the heroic class, is the\ngood humor and hilarity they exhibit. It is a height to which common\nduty can very well attain, to suffer and to dare with solemnity. But\nthese rare souls set opinion, success, and life, at so cheap a rate,\nthat they will not soothe their enemies by petitions, or the show of\nsorrow, but wear their own habitual greatness. Scipio,[343] charged\nwith peculation, refuses to do himself so great a disgrace as to wait\nfor justification, though he had the scroll of his accounts in his\nhands, but tears it to pieces before the tribunes. Socrates'[344]\ncondemnation of himself to be maintained in all honor in the\nPrytaneum,[345] during his life, and Sir Thomas More's[346]\nplayfulness at the scaffold, are of the same strain. In Beaumont and\nFletcher's \"Sea Voyage,\" Juletta tells the stout captain and his\ncompany,\n\n_Jul._ Why, slaves, 'tis in our power to hang ye.\n\n_Master._                         Very likely,\n'Tis in our powers, then, to be hanged, and scorn ye.\n\nThese replies are sound and whole. Sport is the bloom and glow of a\nperfect health. The great will not condescend to take anything\nseriously; all must be as gay as the song of a canary, though it were\nthe building of cities, or the eradication of old and foolish\nchurches and nations, which have cumbered the earth long thousands of\nyears. Simple hearts put all the history and customs of this world\nbehind them, and play their own play in innocent defiance of the\nBlue-Laws[347] of the world; and such would appear, could we see the\nhuman race assembled in vision, like little children frolicking\ntogether; though, to the eyes of mankind at large, they wear a stately\nand solemn garb of works and influences.\n\n12. The interest these fine stories have for us, the power of a\nromance over the boy who grasps the forbidden book under his bench at\nschool, our delight in the hero, is the main fact to our purpose. All\nthese great and transcendent properties are ours. If we dilate in\nbeholding the Greek energy, the Roman pride, it is that we are already\ndomesticating the same sentiment. Let us find room for this great\nguest in our small houses. The first step of worthiness will be to\ndisabuse us of our superstitious associations with places and times,\nwith number and size. Why should these words, Athenian, Roman, Asia,\nand England, so tingle in the ear? Where the heart is, there the\nmuses, there the gods sojourn, and not in any geography of fame.\nMassachusetts, Connecticut River, and Boston Bay, you think paltry\nplaces, and the ear loves names of foreign and classic topography. But\nhere we are; and, if we will tarry a little, we may come to learn that\nhere is best. See to it only that thyself is here;--and art and\nnature, hope and fate, friends, angels, and the Supreme Being, shall\nnot be absent from the chamber where thou sittest. Epaminondas,[348]\nbrave and affectionate, does not seem to us to need Olympus[349] to\ndie upon, nor the Syrian sunshine. He lies very well where he is. The\nJerseys[350] were handsome ground enough for Washington to tread, and\nLondon streets for the feet of Milton.[351] A great man makes his\nclimate genial in the imagination of men, and its air the beloved\nelement of all delicate spirits. That country is the fairest, which is\ninhabited by the noblest minds. The pictures which fill the\nimagination in reading the actions of Pericles,[352] Xenophon,[353]\nColumbus,[354] Bayard,[355] Sidney,[356] Hampden,[357] teach us how\nneedlessly mean our life is, that we, by the depth of our living,\nshould deck it with more than regal or national splendor, and act on\nprinciples that should interest man and nature in the length of our\ndays.\n\n13. We have seen or heard of many extraordinary young men, who never\nripened, or whose performance in actual life was not extraordinary.\nWhen we see their air and mien, when we hear them speak of society, or\nbooks, or religion, we admire their superiority; they seem to throw\ncontempt on our entire polity and social state; theirs is the tone of\na youthful giant, who is sent to work revolutions. But they enter an\nactive profession, and the forming Colossus[358] shrinks to the common\nsize of man. The magic they used was the ideal tendencies, which\nalways make the Actual ridiculous; but the tough world had its revenge\nthe moment they put their horses of the sun to plow in its furrow.\nThey found no example and no companion, and their heart fainted. What\nthen? The lesson they gave in their first aspirations, is yet true;\nand a better valor and a purer truth shall one day organize their\nbelief. Or why should a woman liken herself to any historical woman,\nand think, because Sappho,[359] or S\u00e9vign\u00e9,[360] or De Sta\u00ebl,[361] or\nthe cloistered souls who have had genius and cultivation, do not\nsatisfy the imagination and the serene Themis,[362] none\ncan,--certainly not she. Why not? She has a new and unattempted\nproblem to solve, perchance that of the happiest nature that ever\nbloomed. Let the maiden, with erect soul, walk serenely on her way,\naccept the hint of each new experience, search, in turn, all the\nobjects that solicit her eye, that she may learn the power and the\ncharm of her new-born being which is the kindling of a new dawn in the\nrecesses of space. The fair girl, who repels interference by a decided\nand proud choice of influences, so careless of pleasing, so wilful and\nlofty, inspires every beholder with somewhat of her own nobleness. The\nsilent heart encourages her; O friend, never strike sail to a fear!\nCome into port greatly, or sail with God the seas. Not in vain you\nlive, for every passing eye is cheered and refined by the vision.\n\n14. The characteristic of a genuine heroism is its persistency. All\nmen have wandering impulses, fits and starts of generosity. But when\nyou have chosen your part, abide by it, and do not weakly try to\nreconcile yourself with the world. The heroic cannot be the common,\nnor the common the heroic. Yet we have the weakness to expect the\nsympathy of people in those actions whose excellence is that they\noutrun sympathy, and appeal to a tardy justice. If you would serve\nyour brother, because it is fit for you to serve him, do not take back\nyour words when you find that prudent people do not commend you.\nAdhere to your own act, and congratulate yourself if you have done\nsomething strange and extravagant, and broken the monotony of a\ndecorous age. It was a high counsel[363] that I once heard given to a\nyoung person,--\"Always do what you are afraid to do.\" A simple manly\ncharacter need never make an apology, but should regard its past\naction with the calmness of Phocion,[364] when he admitted that the\nevent of the battle was happy, yet did not regret his dissuasion from\nthe battle.\n\n15. There is no weakness or exposure for which we cannot find\nconsolation in the thought,--this is a part of my constitution, part\nof my relation and office to my fellow-creature. Has nature covenanted\nwith me that I should never appear to disadvantage, never make a\nridiculous figure? Let us be generous of our dignity as well as of our\nmoney. Greatness once and forever has done with opinion. We tell our\ncharities, not because we wish to be praised for them, not because we\nthink they have great merit, but for our justification. It is a\ncapital blunder; as you discover, when another man recites his\ncharities.\n\n16. To speak the truth, even with some austerity, to live with some\nrigor of temperance, or some extremes of generosity, seems to be an\nasceticism which common good-nature would appoint to those who are at\nease and in plenty, in sign that they feel a brotherhood with the\ngreat multitude of suffering men. And not only need we breathe and\nexercise the soul by assuming the penalties of abstinence, of debt, of\nsolitude, of unpopularity, but it behooves the wise man to look with a\nbold eye into those rarer dangers which sometimes invade men, and to\nfamiliarize himself with disgusting forms of disease, with sounds of\nexecration, and the vision of violent death.\n\n17. Times of heroism are generally times of terror, but the day never\nshines in which this element may not work. The circumstances of man,\nwe say, are historically somewhat better in this country, and at this\nhour, than perhaps ever before. More freedom exists for culture. It\nwill not now run against an ax at the first step out of the beaten\ntrack of opinion. But whoso is heroic will always find crises to try\nhis edge. Human virtue demands her champions and martyrs, and the\ntrial of persecution always proceeds. It is but the other day that the\nbrave Lovejoy[365] gave his breast to the bullets of a mob, for the\nrights of free speech and opinion, and died when it was better not to\nlive.\n\n18. I see not any road to perfect peace which a man can walk, but to\ntake counsel of his own bosom. Let him quit too much association, let\nhim go home much, and establish himself in those courses he approves.\nThe unremitting retention of simple and high sentiments in obscure\nduties is hardening the character to that temper which will work with\nhonor, if need be, in the tumult, or on the scaffold. Whatever\noutrages have happened to men may befall a man again; and very easily\nin a republic, if there appear any signs of a decay of religion.\nCoarse slander, fire, tar and feathers, and the gibbet, the youth may\nfreely bring home to his mind, and with what sweetness of temper he\ncan, and inquire how fast he can fix his sense of duty, braving such\npenalties, whenever it may please the next newspaper and a sufficient\nnumber of his neighbors to pronounce his opinions incendiary.\n\n19. It may calm the apprehension of calamity in the most susceptible\nheart to see how quick a bound nature has set to the utmost infliction\nof malice. We rapidly approach a brink over which no enemy can follow\nus.\n\n                \"Let them rave:[366]\n    Thou art quiet in thy grave.\"\n\nIn the gloom of our ignorance of what shall be, in the hour when we\nare deaf to the higher voices, who does not envy them who have seen\nsafely to an end their manful endeavor? Who that sees the meanness of\nour politics, but inly congratulates Washington that he is long\nalready wrapped in his shroud, and forever safe; that he was laid\nsweet in his grave, the hope of humanity not yet subjugated in him?\nWho does not sometimes envy the good and brave, who are no more to\nsuffer from the tumults of the natural world, and await with curious\ncomplacency the speedy term of his own conversation with finite\nnature? And yet the love that will be annihilated sooner than\ntreacherous has already made death impossible, and affirms itself no\nmortal, but a native of the deeps of absolute and inextinguishable\nbeing.\n\n\n\n\nMANNERS[367]\n\n\n1. Half the world, it is said, knows not how the other half live. Our\nExploring Expedition saw the Feejee Islanders[368] getting their\ndinner off human bones; and they are said to eat their own wives and\nchildren. The husbandry of the modern inhabitants of Gournou[369]\n(west of old Thebes) is philosophical to a fault. To set up their\nhousekeeping, nothing is requisite but two or three earthen pots, a\nstone to grind meal, and a mat which is the bed. The house, namely, a\ntomb, is ready without rent or taxes. No rain can pass through the\nroof, and there is no door, for there is no want of one, as there is\nnothing to lose. If the house do not please them, they walk out and\nenter another, as there are several hundreds at their command. \"It is\nsomewhat singular,\" adds Berzoni, to whom we owe this account, \"to\ntalk of Happiness among people who live in sepulchers, among corpses\nand rags of an ancient nation which they knew nothing of.\" In the\ndeserts of Borgoo[370] the rock-Tibboos still dwell in caves, like\ncliff-swallows, and the language of these negroes is compared by their\nneighbors to the shrieking of bats, and to the whistling of birds.\nAgain, the Bornoos[371] have no proper names; individuals are called\nafter their height, thickness, or other accidental quality, and have\nnick-names merely. But the salt, the dates, the ivory, and the gold,\nfor which these horrible regions are visited, find their way into\ncountries, where the purchaser and consumer can hardly be ranked in\none race with these cannibals and man-stealers; countries where man\nserves himself with metals, wood, stone, glass, gum, cotton, silk and\nwool; honors himself with architecture;[372] writes laws, and\ncontrives to execute his will through the hands of many nations; and,\nespecially, establishes a select society, running through all the\ncountries of intelligent men, a self-constituted aristocracy, or\nfraternity of the best, which, without written law, or exact usage of\nany kind, perpetuates itself, colonizes every new-planted island, and\nadopts and makes its own whatever personal beauty or extraordinary\nnative endowment anywhere appears.\n\n2. What fact more conspicuous in modern history, than the creation of\nthe gentleman? Chivalry[373] is that, and loyalty is that, and, in\nEnglish literature, half the drama, and all the novels, from Sir\nPhilip Sidney[374] to Sir Walter Scott,[375] paint this figure. The\nword _gentleman_, which, like the word Christian, must hereafter\ncharacterize the present and the few preceding centuries, by the\nimportance attached to it, is a homage to personal and incommunicable\nproperties. Frivolous and fantastic additions have got associated with\nthe name, but the steady interest of mankind in it must be attributed\nto the valuable properties which it designates. An element which\nunites all the most forcible persons of every country; makes them\nintelligible and agreeable to each other, and is somewhat so precise,\nthat it is at once felt if an individual lack the masonic sign,[376]\ncannot be any casual product, but must be an average result of the\ncharacter and faculties universally found in men. It seems a certain\npermanent average; as the atmosphere is a permanent composition,\nwhilst so many gases are combined only to be decompounded. _Comme il\nfaut_, is the Frenchman's description of good society, _as we must\nbe_. It is a spontaneous fruit of talents and feelings of precisely\nthat class who have most vigor, who take the lead in the world of this\nhour, and, though far from pure, far from constituting the gladdest\nand highest tone of human feeling, is as good as the whole society\npermits it to be. It is made of the spirit, more than of the talent of\nmen, and is a compound result, into which every great force enters as\nan ingredient, namely, virtue, wit, beauty, wealth, and power.\n\n3. There is something equivocal in all the words in use to express the\nexcellence of manners and social cultivation, because the qualities\nare fluxional, and the last effect is assumed by the senses as the\ncause. The word _gentleman_ has not any correlative abstract[377] to\nexpress the quality. _Gentility_ is mean, and _gentilesse_[378] is\nobsolete. But we must keep alive in the vernacular the distinction\nbetween _fashion_, a word of narrow and often sinister meaning, and\nthe heroic character which the gentleman imports. The usual words,\nhowever, must be respected: they will be found to contain the root of\nthe matter. The point of distinction in all this class of names, as\ncourtesy, chivalry, fashion, and the like, is, that the flower and\nfruit, not the grain of the tree, are contemplated. It is beauty which\nis the aim this time, and not worth. The result is now in question,\nalthough our words intimate well enough the popular feeling, that the\nappearance supposes a substance. The gentleman is a man of truth, lord\nof his own actions, and expressing that lordship in his behavior, not\nin any manner dependent and servile either on persons, or opinions, or\npossessions. Beyond this fact of truth and real force, the word\ndenotes good-nature and benevolence: manhood first, and then\ngentleness. The popular notion certainly adds a condition of ease and\nfortune; but that is a natural result of personal force and love, that\nthey should possess and dispense the goods of the world. In times of\nviolence, every eminent person must fall in with many opportunities to\napprove his stoutness and worth; therefore every man's name that\nemerged at all from the mass in the feudal ages,[379] rattles in our\near like a flourish of trumpets. But personal force never goes out of\nfashion. That is still paramount to-day, and, in the moving crowd of\ngood society, the men of valor and reality are known, and rise to\ntheir natural place. The competition is transferred from war to\npolitics and trade, but the personal force appears readily enough in\nthese new arenas.\n\n4. Power first, or no leading class. In politics and in trade,\nbruisers and pirates are of better promise than talkers and clerks.\nGod knows[380] that all sorts of gentlemen knock at the door; but\nwhenever used in strictness, and with any emphasis, the name will be\nfound to point at original energy. It describes a man standing in his\nown right, and working after untaught methods. In a good lord, there\nmust first be a good animal, at least to the extent of yielding the\nincomparable advantage of animal spirits.[381] The ruling class must\nhave more, but they must have these, giving in every company the sense\nof power,[382] which makes things easy to be done which daunt the\nwise. The society of the energetic class, in their friendly and\nfestive meetings, is full of courage, and of attempts, which\nintimidate the pale scholar. The courage which girls exhibit is like a\nbattle of Lundy's Lane,[383] or a sea-fight. The intellect relies on\nmemory to make some supplies to face these extemporaneous squadrons.\nBut memory is a base mendicant with basket and badge, in the presence\nof these sudden masters. The rulers of society must be up to the work\nof the world, and equal to their versatile office: men of the right\nC\u00e6sarian pattern,[384] who have great range of affinity. I am far from\nbelieving the timid maxim[385] of Lord Falkland,[386] (\"That for\nceremony there must go two to it; since a bold fellow will go through\nthe cunningest forms,\") and am of opinion that the gentleman is the\nbold fellow whose forms are not to be broken through; and only that\nplenteous nature is rightful master, which is the complement of\nwhatever person it converses with. My gentleman gives the law where he\nis; he will outpray saints in chapel, outgeneral veterans in the\nfield, and outshine all courtesy in the hall. He is good company for\npirates, and good with academicians; so that it is useless to fortify\nyourself against him; he has the private entrance to all minds, and I\ncould as easily exclude myself as him. The famous gentlemen of Asia\nand Europe have been of this strong type: Saladin,[387] Sapor,[388]\nthe Cid,[389] Julius C\u00e6sar,[390] Scipio,[391] Alexander,[392]\nPericles,[393] and the lordliest personages. They sat very carelessly\nin their chairs, and were too excellent themselves to value any\ncondition at a high rate.\n\n5. A plentiful fortune is reckoned necessary, in the popular judgment,\nto the completion of this man of the world: and it is a material deputy\nwhich walks through the dance which the first has led. Money is not\nessential, but this wide affinity is, which transcends the habits of\nclique and caste, and makes itself felt by men of all classes. If the\naristocrat is only valid in fashionable circles, and not with truckmen,\nhe will never be a leader in fashion; and if the man of the people\ncannot speak on equal terms with the gentleman, so that the gentleman\nshall perceive that he is already really of his own order, he is not to\nbe feared. Diogenes,[394] Socrates,[395] and Epaminondas[396] are\ngentlemen of the best blood, who have chosen the condition of poverty,\nwhen that of wealth was equally open to them. I use these old names, but\nthe men I speak of are my contemporaries.[397] Fortune will not supply\nto every generation one of these well-appointed knights, but every\ncollection of men furnishes some example of the class: and the politics\nof this country, and the trade of every town, are controlled by these\nhardy and irresponsible doers, who have invention to take the lead, and\na broad sympathy which puts them in fellowship with crowds, and makes\ntheir action popular.\n\n6. The manners of this class are observed and caught with devotion by\nmen of taste. The association of these masters with each other, and\nwith men intelligent of their merits, is mutually agreeable and\nstimulating. The good forms, the happiest expressions of each, are\nrepeated and adopted. By swift consent, everything superfluous is\ndropped, everything graceful is renewed. Fine manners[398] show\nthemselves formidable to the uncultivated man. They are a subtler\nscience of defence to parry and intimidate; but once matched by the\nskill of the other party, they drop the point of the sword,--points\nand fences disappear, and the youth finds himself in a more\ntransparent atmosphere, wherein life is a less troublesome game, and\nnot a misunderstanding rises between the players. Manners aim to\nfacilitate life, to get rid of impediments, and bring the man pure to\nenergize. They aid our dealing and conversation, as a railway aids\ntraveling, by getting rid of all avoidable obstructions of the road,\nand leaving nothing to be conquered but pure space. These forms very\nsoon become fixed, and a fine sense of propriety is cultivated with\nmore heed, that it becomes a badge of social and civil distinctions.\nThus grows up Fashion, an equivocal semblance, the most puissant, the\nmost fantastic and frivolous, the most feared and followed, and which\nmorals and violence assault in vain.\n\n7. There exists a strict relation between the class of power, and the\nexclusive and polished circles. The last are always filled or filling\nfrom the first. The strong men usually give some allowance even to the\npetulances of fashion, for that affinity they find in it.\nNapoleon,[399] child of the revolution, destroyer of the old\nnoblesse,[400] never ceased to court the Faubourg St. Germain:[401]\ndoubtless with the feeling, that fashion is a homage to men of his\nstamp. Fashion, though in a strange way, represents all manly virtue.\nIt is a virtue gone to seed: it is a kind of posthumous honor. It does\nnot often caress the great, but the children of the great: it is a\nhall of the Past. It usually sets its face against the great of this\nhour. Great men are not commonly in its halls: they are absent in the\nfield: they are working, not triumphing. Fashion is made up of their\nchildren; of those, who, through the value and virtue of somebody,\nhave acquired lustre to their name, marks of distinction, means of\ncultivation and generosity, and, in their physical organization, a\ncertain health and excellence, which secures to them, if not the\nhighest power to work, yet high power to enjoy. The class of power,\nthe working heroes, the Cortez,[402] the Nelson,[403] the Napoleon,\nsee that this is the festivity and permanent celebration of such as\nthey; that fashion is funded talent; is Mexico,[404] Marengo,[405] and\nTrafalgar[406][407] beaten out thin; that the brilliant names of\nfashion run back to just such busy names as their own, fifty or sixty\nyears ago. They are the sowers, their sons shall be the reapers, and\n_their_ sons, in the ordinary course of things, must yield the\npossession of the harvest, to new competitors with keener eyes and\nstronger frames. The city is recruited from the country. In the year\n1805, it is said, every legitimate monarch in Europe was imbecile. The\ncity would have died out, rotted, and exploded, long ago, but that it\nwas reinforced from the fields. It is only country which came to town\nday before yesterday, that is city and court to-day.\n\n8. Aristocracy and fashion are certain inevitable results. These\nmutual selections are indestructible. If they provoke anger in the\nleast favored class, and the excluded majority revenge themselves on\nthe excluding minority, by the strong hand, and kill them, at once a\nnew class finds itself at the top, as certainly as cream rises in a\nbowl of milk: and if the people should destroy class after class,\nuntil two men only were left, one of these would be the leader, and\nwould be involuntarily served and copied by the other. You may keep\nthis minority out of sight and out of mind, but it is tenacious of\nlife, and is one of the estates of the realm.[408] I am the more\nstruck with this tenacity, when I see its work. It respects the\nadministration of such unimportant matters, that we should not look\nfor any durability in its rule. We sometimes meet men under some\nstrong moral influence, as a patriotic, a literary, a religious\nmovement, and feel that the moral sentiment rules man and nature. We\nthink all other distinctions and ties will be slight and fugitive,\nthis of caste or fashion, for example; yet come from year to year, and\nsee how permanent that is, in this Boston or New York life of man,\nwhere, too, it has not the lease countenance from the law of the land.\nNot in Egypt or in India a firmer or more impassable line. Here are\nassociations whose ties go over, and under, and through it, a meeting\nof merchants, a military corps, a college-class, a fire-club, a\nprofessional association, a political, a religious convention;--the\npersons seem to draw inseparably near; yet that assembly once\ndispersed, its members will not in the year meet again. Each returns\nto his degree in the scale of good society, porcelain remains\nporcelain, and earthen earthen. The objects of fashion may be\nfrivolous, or fashion may be objectless, but the nature of this union\nand selection can be neither frivolous nor accidental. Each man's rank\nin that perfect graduation depends on some symmetry in his structure,\nor some agreement in his structure to the symmetry of society. Its\ndoors unbar instantaneously to a natural claim of their own kind. A\nnatural gentleman finds his way in, and will keep the oldest patrician\nout, who has lost his intrinsic rank. Fashion understands itself;\ngood-breeding and personal superiority of whatever country readily\nfraternize with those of every other. The chiefs of savage tribes have\ndistinguished themselves in London and Paris, by the purity of their\ntournure.[409]\n\n9. To say what good of fashion we can,--it rests on reality, and hates\nnothing so much as pretenders;--to exclude and mystify pretenders, and\nsend them into everlasting \"Coventry,\"[410] is its delight. We\ncontemn, in turn, every other gift of men of the world; but the habit,\neven in little and the least matters, of not appealing to any but our\nown sense of propriety, constitutes the foundation of all chivalry.\nThere is almost no kind of self-reliance, so it be sane and\nproportioned, which fashion does not occasionally adopt, and give it\nthe freedom of its saloons. A sainted soul is always elegant, and, if\nit will, passes unchallenged into the most guarded ring. But so will\nJock the teamster pass, in some crisis that brings him thither, and\nfind favor, as long as his head is not giddy with the new\ncircumstance, and the iron shoes do not wish to dance in waltzes and\ncotillions. For there is nothing settled in manners, but the laws of\nbehavior yield to the energy of the individual. The maiden at her\nfirst ball, the countryman at a city dinner, believes that there is a\nritual according to which every act and compliment must be performed,\nor the failing party must be cast out of this presence. Later, they\nlearn that good sense and character make their own forms every moment,\nand speak or abstain, to take wine or refuse it, stay or go, sit in a\nchair or sprawl with children on the floor, or stand on their head, or\nwhat else soever, in a new and aboriginal way: and that strong will is\nalways in fashion, let who will be unfashionable. All that fashion\ndemands is composure, and self-content. A circle of men perfectly\nwell-bred would be a company of sensible persons, in which every man's\nnative manners and character appear. If the fashionist have not this\nquality, he is nothing. We are such lovers of self-reliance, that we\nexcuse in man many sins, if he will show us a complete satisfaction in\nhis position, which asks no leave to be of mine, or any man's good\nopinion. But any deference to some eminent man or woman of the world,\nforfeits all privilege of nobility. He is an underling: I have nothing\nto do with him; I will speak with his master. A man should not go\nwhere he cannot carry his whole sphere or society with him,--not\nbodily, the whole circle of his friends, but atmospherically. He\nshould preserve in a new company the same attitude of mind and reality\nof relation, which his daily associates draw him to, else he is shorn\nof his best beams, and will be an orphan in the merriest club. \"If you\ncould see Vich Ian Vohr with his tail on![411]--\" But Vich Ian Vohr\nmust always carry his belongings in some fashion, if not added as\nhonor, then severed as disgrace.\n\n10. There will always be in society certain persons who are\nmercuries[412] of its approbation, and whose glance will at any time\ndetermine for the curious their standing in the world. These are the\nchamberlains of the lesser gods. Accept their coldness as an omen of\ngrace with the loftier deities, and allow them all their privilege.\nThey are clear in their office, nor could they be thus formidable,\nwithout their own merits. But do not measure the importance of this\nclass by their pretension, or imagine that a fop can be the dispenser\nof honor and shame. They pass also at their just rate; for how can\nthey otherwise, in circles which exist as a sort of herald's\noffice[413] for the sifting of character?\n\n11. As the first thing man requires of man is reality, so that appears\nin all the forms of society. We pointedly, and by name, introduce the\nparties to each other. Know you before all heaven and earth, that this\nis Andrew, and this is Gregory;--they look each other in the eye; they\ngrasp each other's hand, to identify and signalize each other. It is a\ngreat satisfaction. A gentleman never dodges; his eyes look straight\nforward, and he assures the other party, first of all, that he has\nbeen met. For what is it that we seek, in so many visits and\nhospitalities? Is it your draperies, pictures, and decorations? Or, do\nwe not insatiably ask. Was a man in the house? I may easily go into a\ngreat household where there is much substance, excellent provision for\ncomfort, luxury, and taste, and yet not encounter there any\nAmphitryon,[414] who shall subordinate these appendages. I may go into\na cottage, and find a farmer who feels that he is the man I have come\nto see, and fronts me accordingly. It was therefore a very natural\npoint of old feudal etiquette, that a gentleman who received a visit,\nthough it were of his sovereign, should not leave his roof, but should\nwait his arrival at the door of his house. No house, though it were\nthe Tuileries,[415] or the Escurial,[416] is good for anything without\na master. And yet we are not often gratified by this hospitality.\nEverybody we know surrounds himself with a fine house, fine books,\nconservatory, gardens, equipage, and all manner of toys, as screens to\ninterpose between himself and his guests. Does it not seem as if man\nwas of a very sly, elusive nature, and dreaded nothing so much as a\nfull renconter front to front with his fellow? It were unmerciful, I\nknow, quite to abolish the use of these screens, which are of eminent\nconvenience, whether the guest is too great, or too little. We call\ntogether many friends who keep each other in play, or by luxuries and\nornaments we amuse the young people, and guard our retirement. Or if,\nperchance, a searching realist comes to our gate, before whose eyes we\nhave no care to stand, then again we run to our curtain, and hide\nourselves as Adam[417] at the voice of the Lord God in the garden.\nCardinal Caprara,[418] the Pope's[419] legate at Paris, defended\nhimself from the glances of Napoleon, by an immense pair of green\nspectacles. Napoleon remarked them, and speedily managed to rally them\noff: and yet Napoleon, in his turn, was not great enough, with eight\nhundred thousand troops at his back, to face a pair of free-born eyes,\nbut fenced himself with etiquette, and within triple barriers of\nreserve: and, as all the world knows from Madame de Stael,[420] was\nwont, when he found himself observed, to discharge his face of all\nexpression. But emperors and rich men are by no means the most\nskillful masters of good manners. No rent roll nor army-list can\ndignify skulking and dissimulations: and the first point of courtesy\nmust always be truth, as really all forms of good-breeding point that\nway.\n\n12. I have just been reading, in Mr. Hazlitt's[421] translation,\nMontaigne's[422] account of his journey into Italy, and am struck with\nnothing more agreeably than the self-respecting fashions of the time.\nHis arrival in each place, the arrival of a gentleman of France, is an\nevent of some consequence. Wherever he goes, he pays a visit to\nwhatever prince or gentleman of note resides upon his road, as a duty\nto himself and to civilization. When he leaves any house in which he\nhas lodged for a few weeks, he causes his arms to be painted and hung\nup as a perpetual sign to the house, as was the custom of gentlemen.\n\n13. The complement of this graceful self-respect, and that of all the\npoints of good breeding I most require and insist upon, is deference.\nI like that every chair should be a throne, and hold a king. I prefer\na tendency to stateliness, to an excess of fellowship. Let the\nincommunicable objects of nature and the metaphysical isolation of man\nteach us independence. Let us not be too much acquainted. I would have\na man enter his house through a hall filled with heroic and sacred\nsculptures, that he might not want the hint of tranquillity and\nself-poise.[423] We should meet each morning, as from foreign\ncountries, and spending the day together, should depart at night, as\ninto foreign countries. In all things I would have the island of a man\ninviolate. Let us sit apart as the gods, talking from peak to peak all\nround Olympus. No degree of affection need invade this religion. This\nis myrrh and rosemary to keep the other sweet. Lovers should guard\ntheir strangeness. If they forgive too much, all slides into confusion\nand meanness. It is easy to push this deference to a Chinese\netiquette;[424] but coolness and absence of heat and haste indicate\nfine qualities. A gentleman makes no noise: a lady is serene\nProportionate is our disgust at those invaders who fill a studious\nhouse with blast and running, to secure some paltry convenience. Not\nless I dislike a low sympathy of each with his neighbors's needs. Must\nwe have a good understanding with one another's palates? as foolish\npeople who have lived long together, know when each wants salt or\nsugar. I pray my companion, if he wishes for bread, to ask me for\nbread, and if he wishes for sassafras or arsenic, to ask me for them,\nand not to hold out his plate, as if I knew already. Every natural\nfunction can be dignified by deliberation and privacy. Let us leave\nhurry to slaves. The compliments and ceremonies of our breeding should\nrecall,[425] however remotely, the grandeur of our destiny.\n\n14. The flower of courtesy does not very well bide handling, but if we\ndare to open another leaf, and explore what parts go to its\nconformation, we shall find also an intellectual quality. To the\nleaders of men, the brain as well as the flesh and the heart must\nfurnish a proportion. Defect in manners is usually the defect of fine\nperceptions. Men are too coarsely made for the delicacy of beautiful\ncarriage and customs. It is not quite sufficient to good breeding, a\nunion of kindness and independence. We imperatively require a\nperception of, and a homage to, beauty in our companions. Other\nvirtues are in request in the field and work yard, but a certain\ndegree of taste is not to be spared in those we sit with. I could\nbetter eat with one who did not respect the truth or the laws, than\nwith a sloven and unpresentable person. Moral qualities rule the\nworld, but at short distances the senses are despotic. The same\ndiscrimination of fit and fair runs out, if with less rigor, into all\nparts of life. The average spirit of the energetic class is good\nsense, acting under certain limitations and to certain ends. It\nentertains every natural gift. Social in its nature, it respects\neverything which tends to unite men. It delights in measure.[426] The\nlove of beauty is mainly the love of measure or proportion. The person\nwho screams, or uses the superlative degree, or converses with heat,\nputs whole drawing-rooms to flight. If you wish to be loved, love\nmeasure. You must have genius, or a prodigious usefulness, if you will\nhide the want of measure. This perception comes in to polish and\nperfect the parts of the social instrument. Society will pardon much\nto genius and special gifts, but, being in its nature a convention, it\nloves what is conventional, or what belongs to coming together. That\nmakes the good and bad of manners, namely, what helps or hinders\nfellowship. For, fashion is not good sense absolute, but relative; not\ngood sense private, but good sense entertaining company. It hates\ncorners and sharp points of character, hates quarrelsome, egotistical,\nsolitary, and gloomy people; hates whatever can interfere with total\nblending of parties; whilst it values all peculiarities as in the\nhighest degree refreshing, which can consist with good fellowship. And\nbesides the general infusion of wit to heighten civility, the direct\nsplendor of intellectual power is ever welcome in fine society as the\ncostliest addition to its rule and its credit.\n\n15. The dry light must shine in to adorn our festival, but it must be\ntempered and shaded, or that will also offend. Accuracy is essential\nto beauty, and quick perceptions to politeness, but not too quick\nperceptions. One may be too punctual and too precise. He must leave\nthe omniscience of business at the door, when he comes into the palace\nof beauty. Society loves creole natures,[427] and sleepy, languishing\nmanners, so that they cover sense, grace, and good-will: the air of\ndrowsy strength, which disarms criticism; perhaps, because such a\nperson seems to reserve himself for the best of the game, and not\nspend himself on surfaces; an ignoring eye, which does not see the\nannoyances, shifts, and inconveniences, that cloud the brow and\nsmother the voice of the sensitive.\n\n16. Therefore, besides personal force and so much perception as\nconstitutes unerring taste, society demands in its patrician class,\nanother element already intimated, which it significantly terms\ngood-nature, expressing all degrees of generosity, from the lowest\nwillingness and faculty to oblige, up to the heights of magnanimity\nand love. Insight we must have, or we shall run against one another,\nand miss the way to our food; but intellect is selfish and barren. The\nsecret of success in society, is a certain heartiness and sympathy. A\nman who is not happy in the company, cannot find any word in his\nmemory that will fit the occasion. All his information is a little\nimpertinent. A man who is happy there, finds in every turn of the\nconversation equally lucky occasions for the introduction of that\nwhich he has to say. The favorites of society, and what it calls\n_whole souls_, are able men, and of more spirit than wit, who have no\nuncomfortable egotism, but who exactly fill the hour and the company,\ncontented and contenting, at a marriage or a funeral, a ball or a\njury, a water-party or a shooting-match. England, which is rich in\ngentlemen, furnished, in the beginning of the present century, a good\nmodel of that genius which the world loves, in Mr. Fox,[428] who\nadded to his great abilities the most social disposition, and real\nlove of men. Parliamentary history has few better passages than the\ndebate, in which Burke[429] and Fox separated in the House of Commons;\nwhen Fox urged on his old friend the claims of old friendship with\nsuch tenderness, that the house was moved to tears. Another anecdote\nis so close to my matter, that I must hazard the story. A tradesman\nwho had long dunned him for a note of three hundred guineas, found him\none day counting gold, and demanded payment. \"No,\" said Fox, \"I owe\nthis money to Sheridan[430]: it is a debt of honor: if an accident\nshould happen to me, he has nothing to show.\" \"Then,\" said the\ncreditor, \"I change my debt into a debt of honor,\" and tore the note\nin pieces. Fox thanked the man for his confidence, and paid him,\nsaying, \"his debt was of older standing, and Sheridan must wait.\"\nLover of liberty, friend of the Hindoo, friend of the African slave,\nhe possessed a great personal popularity; and Napoleon said of him on\nthe occasion of his visit to Paris, in 1805, \"Mr. Fox will always hold\nthe first place in an assembly at the Tuileries.\"\n\n17. We may easily seem ridiculous in our eulogy of courtesy, whenever\nwe insist on benevolence as its foundation. The painted phantasm\nFashion rises to cast a species of derision on what we say. But I will\nneither be driven from some allowance to Fashion as a symbolic\ninstitution, nor from the belief that love is the basis of courtesy.\n\"We must obtain _that_, if we can; but by all means we must affirm\n_this_. Life owes much of its spirit to these sharp contrasts. Fashion\nwhich affects to be honor, is often, in all men's experience, only a\nballroom code. Yet, so long as it is the highest circle, in the\nimagination of the best heads on the planet, there is something\nnecessary and excellent in it; for it is not to be supposed that men\nhave agreed to be the dupes of anything preposterous; and the respect\nwhich these mysteries inspire in the most rude and sylvan characters,\nand the curiosity with which details of high life are read, betray the\nuniversality of the love of cultivated manners. I know that a comic\ndisparity would be felt, if we should enter the acknowledged 'first\ncircles,' and apply these terrific standards of justice, beauty, and\nbenefit, to the individuals actually found there. Monarchs and heroes,\nsages and lovers, these gallants are not. Fashion has many classes and\nmany rules of probation and admission; and not the best alone. There\nis not only the right of conquest, which genius pretends,--the\nindividual, demonstrating his natural aristocracy best of the\nbest;--but less claims will pass for the time; for Fashion loves\nlions, and points, like Circe,[431] to her horned company. This\ngentleman is this afternoon arrived from Denmark; and that is my Lord\nRide, who came yesterday from Bagdad; here is Captain Friese, from\nCape Turnagain, and Captain Symmes,[432] from the interior of the\nearth; and Monsieur Jovaire, who came down this morning in a balloon;\nMr. Hobnail, the reformer; and Reverend Jul Bat, who has converted\nthe whole torrid zone in his Sunday school; and Signer Torre del\nGreco, who extinguished Vesuvius by pouring into it the Bay of Naples;\nSpahr, the Persian ambassador; and Tul Wil Shan, the exiled nabob of\nNepaul, whose saddle is the new moon.--But these are monsters of one\nday, and to-morrow will be dismissed to their holes and dens; for, in\nthese rooms every chair is waited for. The artist, the scholar, and,\nin general, the clerisy,[433] wins its way up into these places, and\ngets represented here, somewhat on this footing of conquest. Another\nmode is to pass through all the degrees, spending a year and a day in\nSt. Michael's Square,[434] being steeped in Cologne water,[435] and\nperfumed, and dined, and introduced, and properly grounded in all the\nbiography, and politics, and anecdotes of the boudoirs.\n\n18. Yet these fineries may have grace and wit. Let there be grotesque\nsculpture about the gates and offices of temples. Let the creed and\ncommandments even have the saucy homage of parody. The forms of\npoliteness universally express benevolence in superlative degrees.\nWhat if they are in the mouths of selfish men, and used as means of\nselfishness? What if the false gentleman almost bows the true out of\nthe world? What if the false gentleman contrives so to address his\ncompanion, as civilly to exclude all others from his discourse, and\nalso to make them feel excluded? Real service will not lose its\nnobleness. All generosity is not merely French and sentimental; nor is\nit to be concealed, that living blood and a passion of kindness does\nat last distinguish God's gentleman from Fashion's. The epitaph of Sir\nJenkin Grout is not wholly unintelligible to the present age. \"Here\nlies Sir Jenkin Grout, who loved his friend, and persuaded his enemy:\nwhat his mouth ate, his hand paid for: what his servants robbed, he\nrestored: if a woman gave him pleasure, he supported her in pain: he\nnever forgot his children: and whoso touched his finger, drew after it\nhis whole body.\" Even the line of heroes is not utterly extinct. There\nis still ever some admirable person in plain clothes, standing on the\nwharf, who jumps in to rescue a drowning man; there is still some\nabsurd inventor of charities; some guide and comforter of runaway\nslaves; some friend of Poland;[436] some Philhellene;[437] some\nfanatic who plants shade-trees for the second and third generation,\nand orchards when he is grown old; some well-concealed piety; some\njust man happy in an ill-fame; some youth ashamed of the favors of\nfortune, and impatiently casting them on other shoulders. And these\nare the centers of society, on which it returns for fresh impulses.\nThese are the creators of Fashion, which is an attempt to organize\nbeauty of behavior. The beautiful and the generous are in the theory,\nthe doctors and apostles of this church: Scipio, and the Cid, and Sir\nPhilip Sidney, and Washington, and every pure and valiant heart, who\nworshiped Beauty by word and by deed. The persons who constitute the\nnatural aristocracy, are not found in the actual aristocracy, or only\non its edge; as the chemical energy of the spectrum is found to be\ngreatest just outside of the spectrum. Yet that is the infirmity of\nthe seneschals, who do not know their sovereign, when he appears. The\ntheory of society supposes the existence and sovereignty of these. It\ndivines afar off their coming. It says with the elder gods,--\n\n    \"As Heaven and Earth are fairer far[438]\n    Than Chaos and blank Darkness, though once chiefs;\n    And as we show beyond that Heaven and Earth,\n    In form and shape compact and beautiful;\n    So, on our heels a fresh perfection treads;\n    A power, more strong in beauty, born of us,\n    And fated to excel us, as we pass\n    In glory that old Darkness:\n     ... for, 'tis the eternal law,\n    That first in beauty shall be first in might.\"\n\n19. Therefore, within the ethnical circle of good society, there is a\nnarrower and higher circle, concentration of its light, and flower of\ncourtesy, to which there is always a tacit appeal of pride and\nreference, as to its inner and imperial court, the parliament of love\nand chivalry. And this is constituted of those persons in whom heroic\ndispositions are native, with the love of beauty, the delight in\nsociety, and the power to embellish the passing day. If the\nindividuals who compose the purest circles of aristocracy in Europe,\nthe guarded blood of centuries, should pass in review, in such manner\nas that we could, leisurely and critically, inspect their behavior, we\nmight find no gentleman, and no lady; for although excellent specimens\nof courtesy and high-breeding would gratify us in the assemblage, in\nthe particulars, we should detect offense. Because, elegance comes of\nno breeding, but of birth. There must be romance of character, or the\nmost fastidious exclusion of impertinencies will not avail. It must be\ngenius which takes that direction: it must be not courteous, but\ncourtesy. High behavior is as rare in fiction as it is in fact. Scott\nis praised for the fidelity with which he painted the demeanor and\nconversation of the superior classes. Certainly, kings and queens,\nnobles and great ladies, had some right to complain of the absurdity\nthat had been put in their mouths, before the days of Waverley;[439]\nbut neither does Scott's dialogue bear criticism. His lords brave each\nother in smart epigrammatic speeches, but the dialogue is in costume,\nand does not please on the second reading; it is not warm with life.\nIn Shakespeare alone, the speakers do not strut and bridle, the\ndialogue is easily great, and he adds to so many titles that of being\nthe best-bred man in England, and in Christendom. Once or twice in a\nlifetime we are permitted to enjoy the charm of noble manners, in the\npresence of a man or woman who have no bar in their nature, but whose\ncharacter emanates freely in their word and gesture. A beautiful form\nis better than a beautiful face: a beautiful behavior is better than a\nbeautiful form: it gives a higher pleasure than statues or pictures;\nit is the finest of the fine arts. A man is but a little thing in the\nmidst of the objects of nature, yet, by the moral quality radiating\nfrom his countenance, he may abolish all considerations of magnitude,\nand in his manners equal the majesty of the world. I have seen an\nindividual whose manners though wholly within the conventions of\nelegant society, were never learned there, but were original and\ncommanding, and held out protection and prosperity; one who did not\nneed the aid of a court-suit, but carried the holiday in his eye; who\nexhilarated the fancy by flinging wide the doors of new modes of\nexistence; who shook off the captivity of etiquette, with happy,\nspirited bearing, good-natured and free as Robin Hood;[440] yet with\nthe port of an emperor,--if need be, calm, serious, and fit to stand\nthe gaze of millions.\n\n20. The open air and the fields, the street and public chambers, are\nthe places where Man executes his will; let him yield or divide the\nscepter at the door of the house. Woman, with her instinct of\nbehavior, instantly detects in man a love of trifles, any coldness or\nimbecility, or, in short, any want of that large, flowing, and\nmagnanimous deportment, which is indispensable as an exterior in the\nhall. Our American institutions have been friendly to her, and at this\nmoment I esteem it a chief felicity of this country, that it excels in\nwomen. A certain awkward consciousness of inferiority in the men, may\ngive rise to the new chivalry in behalf of Woman's Rights. Certainly,\nlet her be as much better placed in the laws and in social forms, as\nthe most zealous reformer can ask, but I confide so entirely in her\ninspiring and musical nature, that I believe only herself can show us\nhow she shall be served. The wonderful generosity of her sentiments\nraises her at times into heroical and godlike regions, and verifies\nthe pictures of Minerva,[441] Juno,[442] or Polymnia;[443] and, by the\nfirmness with which she treads her upward path, she convinces the\ncoarsest calculators that another road exists than that which their\nfeet know. But besides those who make good in our imagination the\nplace of muses and of Delphic Sibyls,[444] are there not women who\nfill our vase with wine and roses to the brim, so that the wine runs\nover and fills the house with perfume; who inspire us with courtesy;\nwho unloose our tongues, and we speak; who anoint our eyes, and we\nsee? We say things we never thought to have said; for once, our walls\nof habitual reserve vanished, and left us at large; we were children\nplaying with children in a wide field of flowers. Steep us, we cried,\nin these influences, for days, for weeks, and we shall be sunny poets,\nand will write out in many-colored words the romance that you are. Was\nit Hafiz[445] or Firdousi[446] that said of his Persian Lilla, \"She\nwas an elemental force, and astonished me by her amount of life, when\nI saw her day after day radiating, every instant, redundant joy and\ngrace on all around her.[447] She was a solvent powerful to reconcile\nall heterogeneous persons into one society; like air or water, an\nelement of such a great range of affinities, that it combines readily\nwith a thousand substances. Where she is present, all others will be\nmore than they are wont. She was a unit and whole, so that whatsoever\nshe did, became her. She had too much sympathy and desire to please,\nthan that you could say, her manners were marked with dignity, yet no\nprincess could surpass her clear and erect demeanor on each occasion.\nShe did not study the Persian grammar, nor the books of the seven\npoets, but all the poems of the seven seemed to be written upon her.\nFor, though the bias of her nature was not to thought, but to\nsympathy, yet was she so perfect in her own nature, as to meet\nintellectual persons by the fullness of her heart, warming them by her\nsentiments; believing, as she did, that by dealing nobly with all, all\nwould show themselves noble.\"\n\n21. I know that this Byzantine[448] pile of chivalry of Fashion, which\nseems so fair and picturesque to those who look at the contemporary\nfacts for science or for entertainment, is not equally pleasant to all\nspectators. The constitution of our society makes it a giant's castle\nto the ambitious youth who have not found their names enrolled in its\nGolden Book,[449] and whom it has excluded from its coveted honors and\nprivileges. They have yet to learn that its seeming grandeur is\nshadowy and relative: it is great by their allowance: its proudest\ngates will fly open at the approach of their courage and virtue. For\nthe present distress, however, of those who are predisposed to suffer\nfrom the tyrannies of this caprice, there are easy remedies. To remove\nyour residence a couple of miles, or at most four, will commonly\nrelieve the most extreme susceptibility. For, the advantages which\nfashion values are plants which thrive in very confined localities,\nin a few streets, namely. Out of this precinct, they go for nothing;\nare of no use in the farm, in the forest, in the market, in war, in\nthe nuptial society, in the literary or scientific circle, at sea, in\nfriendship, in the heaven of thought or virtue.\n\n22. But we have lingered long enough in these painted courts. The\nworth of the thing signified must vindicate our taste for the emblem.\nEverything that is called fashion and courtesy humbles itself before\nthe cause and fountain of honor, creator of titles and dignities,\nnamely, the heart of love. This is the royal blood, this the fire,\nwhich, in all countries and contingencies, will work after its kind\nand conquer ind expand all that approaches it. This gives new meanings\nto every fact. This impoverishes the rich, suffering no grandeur but\nits own. What _is_ rich? Are you rich enough to help anybody? to\nsuccor the unfashionable and the eccentric? rich enough to make the\nCanadian in his wagon, the itinerant with his consul's paper which\ncommends him \"To the charitable,\" the swarthy Italian with his few\nbroken words of English, the lame pauper hunted by overseers from town\nto town, even the poor insane or besotted wreck of man or woman, feel\nthe noble exception of your presence and your house, from the general\nbleakness and stoniness; to make such feel that they were greeted with\na voice which made them both remember and hope? What is vulgar, but to\nrefuse the claim on acute and conclusive reasons? What is gentle, but\nto allow it, and give their heart and yours lone holiday from the\nnational caution? Without the rich heart, wealth is an ugly beggar.\nThe king of Schiraz[450] could not afford to be so bountiful as the\npoor Osman[451] who dwelt at his gate. Osman had a humanity so broad\nand deep, that although his speech was so bold and free with the\nKoran[452] as to disgust all the dervishes, yet was there never a poor\noutcast, eccentric, or insane man, some fool who had cut off his\nbeard, or who had been mutilated under a vow, or had a pet madness in\nhis brain, but fled at once to him,--that great heart lay there so\nsunny and hospitable in the center of the country,--that it seemed as\nif the instinct of all sufferers drew them to his side. And the\nmadness which he harbored, he did not share. Is not this to be rich?\nthis only to be rightly rich?\n\n23. But I shall hear without pain, that I play the courtier very ill,\nand talk of that which I do not well understand. It is easy to see,\nthat what is called by distinction society and fashion, has good laws\nas well as bad, has much that is necessary, and much that is absurd.\nToo good for banning, and too bad for blessing, it reminds us of a\ntradition of the pagan mythology, in any attempt to settle its\ncharacter. \"I overheard Jove,[453] one day,\" said Silenus,[454]\n\"talking of destroying the earth; he said, it had failed; they were\nall rogues and vixens, who went from bad to worse, as fast as the days\nsucceeded each other. Minerva said, she hoped not; they were only\nridiculous little creatures, with this odd circumstance, that they had\na blur, or indeterminate aspect, seen far or seen near; if you called\nthem bad, they would appear so; if you called them good, they would\nappear so; and there was no one person or action among them, which\nwould not puzzle her owl,[455] much more all Olympus, to know whether\nit was fundamentally bad or good.\"\n\n\n\n\nGIFTS[456]\n\n    Gifts of one who loved me--\n    'Twas high time they came;\n    When he ceased to love me,\n    Time they stopped for shame.\n\n\n1. It is said that the world is in a state of bankruptcy, that the\nworld owes the world more than the world can pay, and ought to go into\nchancery,[457] and be sold. I do not think this general insolvency,\nwhich involves in some sort all the population, to be the reason of\nthe difficulty experienced at Christmas and New Year, and other times,\nin bestowing gifts; since it is always so pleasant to be generous,\nthough very vexatious to pay debts. But the impediment lies in the\nchoosing. If, at any time, it comes into my head that a present is due\nfrom me to somebody, I am puzzled what to give, until the opportunity\nis gone. Flowers and fruits are always fit presents; flowers, because\nthey are a proud assertion that a ray of beauty outvalues all the\nutilities of the world. These gay natures contrast with the somewhat\nstern countenance of ordinary nature: they are like music heard out of\na work-house. Nature does not cocker us:[458] we are children, not\npets: she is not fond: everything is dealt to us without fear or\nfavor, after severe universal laws. Yet these delicate flowers look\nlike the frolic and interference of love and beauty. Men use to tell\nus that we love flattery, even though we are not deceived by it,\nbecause it shows that we are of importance enough to be courted.\nSomething like that pleasure, the flowers give us: what am I to whom\nthese sweet hints are addressed? Fruits are acceptable gifts,[459]\nbecause they are the flower of commodities, and admit of fantastic\nvalues being attached to them. If a man should send to me to come a\nhundred miles to visit him, and should set before me a basket of fine\nsummer-fruit, I should think there was some proportion between the\nlabor and the reward.\n\n2. For common gifts, necessity makes pertinences and beauty every day,\nand one is glad when an imperative leaves him no option, since if the\nman at the door have no shoes, you have not to consider whether you\ncould procure him a paint-box. And as it is always pleasing to see a\nman eat bread or drink water, in the house or out of doors, so it is\nalways a great satisfaction to supply these first wants. Necessity\ndoes everything well. In our condition of universal dependence, it\nseems heroic to let the petitioner[460] be the judge of his necessity,\nand to give all that is asked, though at great inconvenience. If it be\na fantastic desire, it is better to leave to others the office of\npunishing him. I can think of many parts I should prefer playing to\nthat of the Furies.[461] Next to things of necessity, the rule for a\ngift, which one of my friends prescribed, is that we might convey to\nsome person that which properly belonged to his character, and was\neasily associated with him in thought. But our tokens of compliment\nand love are for the most part barbarous. Rings and other jewels are\nnot gifts, but apologies for gifts. The only gift is a portion of\nthyself. Thou must bleed for me. Therefore the poet brings his poem;\nthe shepherd, his lamb; the farmer, corn; the miner, a gem; the\nsailor, coral and shells; the painter, his picture; the girl, a\nhandkerchief of her own sewing. This is right and pleasing, for it\nrestores society in so far to its primary basis, when a man's\nbiography[462] is conveyed in his gift, and every man's wealth is an\nindex of his merit. But it is a cold lifeless business when you go to\nthe shops to buy me something which does not represent your life and\ntalent, but a goldsmith's. That is fit for kings, and rich men who\nrepresent kings, and a false state of property, to make presents of\ngold and silver stuffs, as a kind of symbolical sin-offering,[463] or\npayment of blackmail.[464]\n\n3. The law of benefits is a difficult channel, which requires careful\nsailing, or rude boats. It is not the office of a man to receive\ngifts. How dare you give them? We wish to be self-sustained. We do not\nquite forgive a forgiver. The hand that feeds us is in some danger of\nbeing bitten. We can receive anything from love, for that is a way of\nreceiving it from ourselves; but not from any one who assumes to\nbestow. We sometimes hate the meat which we eat, because there seems\nsomething of degrading dependence in living by it.\n\n    \"Brother, if Jove[465] to thee a present make,\n    Take heed that from his hands thou nothing take.\"\n\nWe ask the whole. Nothing less will content us. We arraign society, if\nit do not give us besides earth, and fire, and water, opportunity,\nlove, reverence, and objects of veneration.\n\n4. He is a good man, who can receive a gift well. We are either glad\nor sorry at a gift, and both emotions are unbecoming. Some violence, I\nthink, is done, some degradation borne, when I rejoice or grieve at a\ngift. I am sorry when my independence is invaded, or when a gift comes\nfrom such as do not know my spirit, and so the act is not supported;\nand if the gift pleases me overmuch, then I should be ashamed that the\ndonor should read my heart, and see that I love his commodity, and not\nhim. The gift, to be true, must be the flowing of the giver unto me,\ncorrespondent to my flowing unto him. When the waters are at level,\nthen my goods pass to him, and his to me. All his are mine, all mine\nhis. I say to him, How can you give me this pot of oil, or this flagon\nof wine, when all your oil and wine is mine, which belief of mine this\ngift seems to deny? Hence the fitness of beautiful, not useful things\nfor gifts. This giving is flat usurpation, and therefore when the\nbeneficiary is ungrateful, as all beneficiaries hate all Timons,[466]\nnot at all considering the value of the gift, but looking back to the\ngreater store it was taken from, I rather sympathize with the\nbeneficiary, than with the anger of my lord, Timon. For, the\nexpectation of gratitude is mean, and is continually punished by the\ntotal insensibility of the obliged person. It is a great happiness to\nget off without injury and heart-burning, from one who has had the ill\nluck to be served by you. It is a very onerous business,[467] this of\nbeing served, and the debtor naturally wishes to give you a slap. A\ngolden text for these gentlemen is that which I admire in the\nBuddhist,[468] who never thanks, and who says, \"Do not flatter your\nbenefactors.\"\n\n5. The reason of these discords I conceive to be, that there is no\ncommensurability between a man and any gift. You cannot give anything\nto a magnanimous person. After you have served him, he at once puts\nyou in debt by his magnanimity. The service a man renders his friend\nis trivial and selfish, compared with the service he knows his friend\nstood in readiness to yield him, alike before he had begun to serve\nhis friend, and now also. Compared with that good-will I bear my\nfriend, the benefit it is in my power to render him seems small.\nBesides, our action on each other, good as well as evil, is so\nincidental and at random, that we can seldom hear the acknowledgments\nof any person who would thank us for a benefit, without some shame and\nhumiliation. We can rarely strike a direct stroke, but must be content\nwith an oblique one; we seldom have the satisfaction of yielding a\ndirect benefit, which is directly received. But rectitude scatters\nfavors on every side without knowing it, and receives with wonder the\nthanks of all people.\n\n6. I fear to breathe any treason against the majesty of love, which is\nthe genius and god of gifts, and to whom we must not affect to\nprescribe. Let him give kingdoms or flower-leaves indifferently. There\nare persons from whom we always expect fairy tokens; let us not cease\nto expect them. This is prerogative, and not to be limited by our\nmunicipal rules. For the rest, I like to see that we cannot be bought\nand sold. The best of hospitality and of generosity is also not in the\nwill, but in fate. I find that I am not much to you; you do not need\nme; you do not feel me; then am I thrust out of doors, though you\nproffer me house and lands. No services are of any value, but only\nlikeness. When I have attempted to join myself to others by services,\nit proved an intellectual trick--no more. They eat your service like\napples, and leave you out. But love them, and they feel for you, and\ndelight in you all the time.\n\n\n\n\nNATURE[469]\n\n    The rounded world is fair to see,\n    Nine times folded in mystery:\n    Though baffled seers cannot impart\n    The secret of its laboring heart,\n    Throb thine with Nature's throbbing breast,\n    And all is clear from east to west.\n    Spirit that lurks each form within\n    Beckons to spirit of its kin;\n    Self-kindled every atom glows,\n    And hints the future which it owes.\n\n\n1. There are days[470] which occur in this climate, at almost any\nseason of the year, wherein the world reaches its perfection, when the\nair, the heavenly bodies, and the earth, make a harmony, as if nature\nwould indulge her offspring; when, in these bleak upper sides of the\nplanet, nothing is to desire that we have heard of the happiest\nlatitudes, and we bask in the shining hours of Florida and Cuba; when\neverything that has life gives sign of satisfaction, and the cattle\nthat lie on the ground seem to have great and tranquil thoughts. These\nhalcyons[471] may be looked for with a little more assurance in that\npure October weather, which we distinguish by the name of Indian\nSummer.[472] The day, immeasurably long, sleeps over the broad hills\nand warm wide fields. To have lived through all its sunny hours,\nseems longevity enough. The solitary places do not seem quite lonely.\nAt the gates of the forest, the surprised man of the world is forced\nto leave his city estimates of great and small, wise and foolish. The\nknapsack of custom falls off his back with the first step he makes\ninto these precincts. Here is sanctity which shames our religions, and\nreality which discredits our heroes. Here we find nature to be the\ncircumstance which dwarfs every other circumstance, and judges like a\ngod all men that come to her. We have crept out of our close and\ncrowded houses into the night and morning, and we see what majestic\nbeauties daily wrap us in their bosom. How willingly we would escape\nthe barriers which render them comparatively impotent, escape the\nsophistication and second thought, and suffer nature to entrance us.\nThe tempered light of the woods is like a perpetual morning, and is\nstimulating and heroic. The anciently reported spells of these places\ncreep on us. The stems of pines, hemlocks, and oaks, almost gleam like\niron on the excited eye. The incommunicable trees begin to persuade us\nto live with them, and quit our life of solemn trifles. Here no\nhistory, or church, or state, is interpolated on the divine sky and\nthe immortal year. How easily we might walk onward into opening\nlandscape, absorbed by new pictures, and by thoughts fast succeeding\neach other, until by degrees the recollection of home was crowded out\nof the mind, all memory obliterated by the tyranny of the present,\nand we were led in triumph by nature.\n\n2. These enchantments are medicinal, they sober and heal us. These are\nplain pleasures, kindly and native to us. We come to our own, and make\nfriends with matter, which the ambitious chatter of the schools would\npersuade us to despise. We never can part with it; the mind loves its\nold home: as water to our thirst, so is the rock, the ground, to our\neyes, and hands, and feet. It is firm water: it is cold flame: what\nhealth, what affinity! Ever an old friend, ever like a dear friend and\nbrother, when we chat affectedly with strangers, comes in this honest\nface, and takes a grave liberty with us, and shames us out of our\nnonsense. Cities give not the human senses room enough. We go out\ndaily and nightly to feed the eyes on the horizon, and require so much\nscope, just as we need water for our bath. There are all degrees of\nnatural influence, from these quarantine powers of nature, up to her\ndearest and gravest ministrations to the imagination and the soul.\nThere is the bucket of cold water from the spring, the wood-fire to\nwhich the chilled traveler rushes for safety,--and there is the\nsublime moral of autumn and of noon. We nestle in nature, and draw our\nliving as parasites from her roots and grains, and we receive glances\nfrom the heavenly bodies, which call us to solitude, and foretell the\nremotest future. The blue zenith is the point in which romance and\nreality meet. I think, if we should be rapt away into all that we\ndream of heaven, and should converse with Gabriel[473] and Uriel,[474]\nthe upper sky would be all that would remain of our furniture.\n\n3. It seems as if the day was not wholly profane, in which we have\ngiven heed to some natural object. The fall of snowflakes in a still\nair, preserving to each crystal its perfect form; the blowing of sleet\nover a wide sheet of water, and over plains; the waving rye-fields;\nthe mimic waving of acres of houstonia, whose innumerable florets\nwhiten and ripple before the eye; the reflections of trees and flowers\nin glassy lakes; the musical steaming odorous south wind, which\nconverts all trees to wind-harps;[475] the crackling and spurting of\nhemlock in the flames; or of pine-logs, which yield glory to the walls\nand faces in the sitting-room,--these are the music and pictures of\nthe most ancient religion. My house stands in low land, with limited\noutlook, and on the skirt of the village.[476] But I go with my\nfriend[477] to the shore of our little river,[478] and with one stroke\nof the paddle, I leave the village politics and personalities, yes,\nand the world of villages and personalities behind, and pass into a\ndelicate realm of sunset and moonlight, too bright almost for spotted\nman to enter without novitiate and probation.[479] We penetrate bodily\nthis incredible beauty: we dip our hands in this painted element: our\neyes are bathed in these lights and forms. A holiday, a\nvilleggiatura,[480] a royal revel, the proudest, most heart-rejoicing\nfestival that valor and beauty, power and taste, ever decked and\nenjoyed, establishes itself on the instant. These sunset clouds, these\ndelicately emerging stars, with their private and ineffable glances,\nsignify it and proffer it. I am taught the poorness of our invention,\nthe ugliness of towns and palaces. Art and luxury have early learned\nthat they must work as enhancement and sequel to this original beauty.\nI am overinstructed for my return. Henceforth I shall be hard to\nplease. I cannot go back to toys. I am grown expensive and\nsophisticated. I can no longer live without elegance: but a countryman\nshall be my master of revels. He who knows the most, he who knows what\nsweets and virtues are in the ground, the waters, the plants, the\nheavens, and how to come at these enchantments, is the rich and royal\nman. Only as far as masters of the world have called in nature to\ntheir aid, can they reach the height of magnificence. This is the\nmeaning of their hanging-gardens,[481] villas, garden-houses, islands,\nparks, and preserves, to back their faulty personality with these\nstrong accessories. I do not wonder that the landed interest should be\ninvincible in the state with these dangerous auxiliaries. These bribe\nand invite; not kings, not palaces, not men, not women, but these\ntender and poetic stars, eloquent of secret promises. We heard what\nthe rich man said, we knew of his villa, his grove, his wine, and his\ncompany, but the provocation and point of the invitation came out of\nthese beguiling stars. In their soft glances, I see what men strove to\nrealize in some Versailles,[482] or Paphos,[483] or Ctesiphon.[484]\nIndeed, it is the magical lights of the horizon, and the blue sky for\nthe background, which save all our works of art, which were otherwise\nbaubles. When the rich tax the poor with servility and obsequiousness,\nthey should consider the effect of man reputed to be the possessors of\nnature, on imaginative minds. Ah! if the rich were rich as the poor\nfancy riches! A boy hears a military band play on the field at night,\nand he has kings and queens, and famous chivalry palpably before him.\nHe hears the echoes of a horn in a hill country, in the Notch\nMountains,[485] for example, which converts the mountains into an\n\u00c6olian harp,[486] and this supernatural _tiralira_ restores to him the\nDorian[487] mythology, Apollo,[488] Diana,[489] and all divine hunters\nand huntresses. Can a musical note be so lofty, so haughtily\nbeautiful! To the poor young poet, thus fabulous is his picture of\nsociety; he is loyal; he respects the rich; they are rich for the sake\nof his imagination; how poor his fancy would be, if they were not\nrich! That they have some high-fenced grove, which they call a park;\nthat they live in larger and better-garnished saloons than he has\nvisited, and go in coaches, keeping only the society of the elegant,\nto watering-places, and to distant cities, are the groundwork from\nwhich he has delineated estates of romance, compared with which their\nactual possessions are shanties and paddocks. The muse herself betrays\nher son, and enhances the gift of wealthy and well-born beauty, by a\nradiation out of the air, and clouds, and forests that skirt the\nroad,--a certain haughty favor, as if from patrician genii to\npatricians, a kind of aristocracy in nature, a prince of the power of\nthe air.\n\n4. The moral sensibility which makes Edens[490] and Tempes[491] so\neasily, may not be always found, but the material landscape is never\nfar off. We can find these enchantments without visiting the Como\nLake,[492] or the Madeira Islands.[493] We exaggerate the praises of\nlocal scenery. In every landscape, the point of astonishment is the\nmeeting of the sky and the earth, and that is seen from the first\nhillock as well as from the top of the Alleghanies. The stars at night\nstoop down over the brownest, homeliest common,[494] with all the\nspiritual magnificence which they shed on the Campagna,[495] or on the\nmarble deserts of Egypt. The uprolled clouds and the colors of morning\nand evening, will transfigure maples and alders. The difference\nbetween landscape and landscape is small, but there is great\ndifference in the beholders. There is nothing so wonderful in any\nparticular landscape, as the necessity of being beautiful under which\nevery landscape lies. Nature cannot be surprised in undress. Beauty\nbreaks in everywhere.\n\n5. But it is very easy to outrun the sympathy of readers on this\ntopic, which school-men called _natura naturata_, or nature passive.\nOne can hardly speak directly of it without excess. It is as easy to\nbroach in mixed companies what is called \"the subject of religion.\" A\nsusceptible person does not like to indulge his tastes in this kind,\nwithout the apology of some trivial necessity: he goes to see a\nwood-lot, or to look at the crops, or to fetch a plant or a mineral\nfrom a remote locality, or he carries a fowling-piece, or a\nfishing-rod. I suppose this shame must have a good reason. A\ndilettantism[496] in nature is barren and unworthy. The fop of fields\nis no better than his brother of Broadway. Men are naturally hunters\nand inquisitive of woodcraft and I suppose that such a gazetteer as\nwood-cutters and Indians should furnish facts for would take place in\nthe most sumptuous drawing-rooms of all the \"Wreaths\" and \"Flora's\nchaplets\"[497] of the book-shops; yet ordinarily, whether we are too\nclumsy for so subtle a topic, or from whatever cause, as soon as men\nbegin to write on nature, they fall into euphuism. Frivolity is a most\nunfit tribute to Pan,[498] who ought to be represented in the\nmythology as the most continent of gods. I would not be frivolous\nbefore the admirable reserve and prudence of time, yet I cannot\nrenounce the right of returning often to this old topic. The multitude\nof false churches[499] accredits the true religion. Literature,\npoetry, science, are the homage of man to this unfathomed secret,\nconcerning which no sane man can affect an indifference or\nincuriosity. Nature is loved by what is best in us. It is loved as the\ncity of God, although, or rather because there is no citizen. The\nsunset is unlike anything that is underneath it: it wants men. And the\nbeauty of nature must always seem unreal and mocking, until the\nlandscape has human figures, that are as good as itself. If there\nwere good men, there would never be this rapture in nature. If the\nking is in the palace nobody looks at the walls. It is when he is\ngone, and the house is filled with grooms and gazers, that we turn\nfrom the people, to find relief in the majestic men that are suggested\nby the pictures and architecture. The critics who complain of the\nsickly separation of the beauty of nature from the thing to be done,\nmust consider that our hunting of the picturesque is inseparable from\nour protest against false society. Man is fallen; nature is erect, and\nserves as a differential thermometer, detecting the presence or\nabsence of the divine sentiment in man. By fault of our dulness and\nselfishness, we are looking up to nature, but when we are\nconvalescent, nature will look up to us. We see the foaming brook with\ncompunction; if our own life flowed with the right energy, we should\nshame the brook. The stream of zeal sparkles with real fire, and not\nwith reflex rays of sun and moon. Nature may be as selfishly studied\nas trade. Astronomy to the selfish becomes astrology; psychology,\nmesmerism (with intent to show where our spoons are gone); and anatomy\nand physiology become phrenology and palmistry.\n\n6. But taking timely warning, and leaving many things unsaid on this\ntopic, but not longer omit our homage to the Efficient Nature, _natura\nnaturans_, the quick cause, before which all forms flee as the driven\nsnows, itself secret, its works driven before it in flocks and\nmultitudes, (as the ancient represented nature by Proteus,[500] a\nshepherd), and in undescribable variety. It publishes itself in\ncreatures, reaching from particles and spicula, through transformation\non transformation to the highest symmetries, arriving at consummate\nresults without a shock or a leap. A little heat, that is, a little\nmotion, is all that differences the bald, dazzling white, and deadly\ncold poles of the earth from the prolific tropical climates. All changes\npass without violence, by reason of the two cardinal conditions of\nboundless space and boundless time. Geology has initiated us into the\nsecularity of nature, and taught us to disuse our dame-school measures,\nand exchange our Mosaic[501] and Ptolemaic schemes[502] for her large\nstyle. We know nothing rightly, for want of perspective. Now we learn\nwhat patient periods must round themselves before the rock is formed,\nthen before the rock is broken, and the first lichen race has\ndisintegrated the thinnest external plate into soil, and opened the door\nfor the remote Flora,[503] Fauna,[504] Ceres,[505] and Pomona,[506] to\ncome in. How far off yet is the trilobite! how far the quadruped! how\ninconceivably remote is man! All duly arrive,[507] and then race after\nrace of men. It is a long way from granite to the oyster; farther yet to\nPlato,[508] and the preaching of the immortality of the soul. Yet all\nmust come, as surely as the first atom has two sides.\n\n7. Motion or change, and identity or rest, are the first and second\nsecrets of nature: Motion and Rest. The whole code of her laws may be\nwritten on the thumb-nail, or the signet of a ring. The whirling\nbubble on the surface of a brook, admits us to the secret of the\nmechanics of the sky. Every shell on the beach is a key to it. A\nlittle water made to rotate in a cup explains the formation of the\nsimpler shells; the addition of matter from year to year, arrives at\nlast at the most complex forms; and yet so poor is nature with all her\ncraft, that, from the beginning to the end of the universe, she has\nbut one stuff,--but one stuff with its two ends, to serve up all her\ndream-like variety. Compound it how she will, star, sand, fire, water,\ntree, man, it is still one stuff, and betrays the same properties.\n\n8. Nature is always consistent, though she feigns to contravene her\nown laws. She keeps her laws, and seems to transcend them. She arms\nand equips an animal to find its place and living in the earth, and,\nat the same time, she arms and equips another animal to destroy it.\nSpace exists to divide creatures; but by clothing the sides of a bird\nwith a few feathers, she gives him a petty omnipresence. The direction\nis forever onward, but the artist still goes back for materials, and\nbegins again with the first elements on the most advanced stage:\notherwise, all goes to ruin. If we look at her work, we seem to catch\na glance of a system in transition. Plants are the young of the world,\nvessels of health and vigor; but they grope ever upward toward\nconsciousness; the trees are imperfect men, and seem to bemoan their\nimprisonment, rooted in the ground. The animal is the novice and\nprobationer of a more advanced order. The men, though young, having\ntasted the first drop from the cup of thought, are already dissipated:\nthe maples and ferns are still uncorrupt; yet no doubt, when they come\nto consciousness, they too will curse and swear. Flowers so strictly\nbelong to youth, that we adult men soon come to feel, that their\nbeautiful generations concern not us: we have had our day; now let the\nchildren have theirs. The flowers jilt us, and we are old bachelors\nwith our ridiculous tenderness.\n\n9. Things are so strictly related, that according to the skill of the\neye, from any one object the parts and properties of any other may be\npredicted. If we had eyes to see it, a bit of stone from the city wall\nwould certify us of the necessity that man must exist, as readily as\nthe city. That identity makes us all one, and reduces to nothing great\nintervals on our customary scale. We talk of deviations from natural\nlife, as if artificial life were not also natural. The smoothest\ncurled courtier in the boudoirs of a palace has an animal nature, rude\nand aboriginal as a white bear, omnipotent to its own ends, and is\ndirectly related, there amid essences and billets-doux, to Himalaya\nmountain-chains[509] and the axis of the globe. If we consider how\nmuch we are nature's, we need not be superstitious about towns, as if\nthat terrific or benefic force did not find us there also, and fashion\ncities. Nature, who made the mason, made the house. We may easily hear\ntoo much of rural influences. The cool, disengaged air of natural\nobjects, makes them enviable to us, chafed and irritable creatures\nwith red faces, and we think we shall be as grand as they, if we camp\nout and eat roots, but let us be men instead of wood-chucks, and the\noak and the elm shall gladly serve us, though we sit in chairs of\nivory on carpets of silk.\n\n10. This guiding identity runs through all the surprises and contrasts\nof the piece, and characterizes every law. Man carries the world in\nhis head, the whole astronomy and chemistry suspended in a thought.\nBecause the history of nature is charactered in his brain, therefore\nis he the prophet and discoverer of her secrets. Every known fact in\nnatural science was divined by the presentiment of somebody, before it\nwas actually verified. A man does not tie his shoe without recognizing\nlaws which bind the farthest regions of nature: moon, plant, gas,\ncrystal, are concrete geometry and numbers. Common sense knows its\nown, and recognizes the fact at first sight in chemical experiment.\nThe common sense of Franklin,[510] Dalton,[511] Davy[512] and\nBlack,[513] is the same common sense which made the arrangements which\nnow it discovers.\n\n11. If the identity expresses organized rest, the counter action runs\nalso into organization. The astronomers said,[514] \"Give us matter,\nand a little motion, and we will construct the universe. It is not\nenough that we should have matter, we must also have a single impulse,\none shove to launch the mass, and generate the harmony of the\ncentrifugal and centripetal[515] forces. Once heave the ball from the\nhand, and we can show how all this mighty order grew.\" \"A very\nunreasonable postulate,\" said the metaphysicians, \"and a plain begging\nof the question. Could you not prevail to know the genesis of\nprojection, as well as the continuation of it?\" Nature, meanwhile, had\nnot waited for the discussion, but, right or wrong, bestowed the\nimpulse, and the balls rolled. It was no great affair, a mere push,\nbut the astronomers were right in making much of it, for there is no\nend of the consequences of the act. That famous aboriginal push\npropagates itself through all the balls of the system, and through\nevery atom of every ball, through all the races of creatures, and\nthrough the history and performances of every individual. Exaggeration\nis in the course of things. Nature sends no creature, no man into the\nworld, without adding a small excess of his proper quality. Given the\nplanet, it is still necessary to add the impulse; so, to every\ncreature nature added a little violence of direction in its proper\npath, a shove to put it on its way; in every instance, a slight\ngenerosity, a drop too much. Without electricity the air would rot,\nand without this violence of direction which men and women have,\nwithout a spice of bigot and fanatic, no excitement, no efficiency. We\naim above the mark, to hit the mark. Every act hath some falsehood of\nexaggeration in it. And when now and then comes along some sad,\nsharp-eyed man, who sees how paltry a game is played, and refuses to\nplay, but blabs the secret;--how then? is the bird flown? O no, the\nwary Nature sends a new troop of fairer forms, of lordlier youths,\nwith a little more excess of direction to hold them fast to their\nseveral aims; makes them a little wrongheaded in that direction in\nwhich they are rightest, and on goes the game again with new whirl,\nfor a generation or two more. The child with his sweet pranks, the\nfool of his senses, commanded by every sight and sound, without any\npower to compare and rank his sensations, abandoned to a whistle or a\npainted chip, to a lead dragoon, or a ginger-bread dog,\nindividualizing everything, generalizing nothing, delighted with every\nnew thing, lies down at night overpowered by the fatigue, which this\nday of continual petty madness has incurred. But Nature has answered\nher purpose with the curly, dimpled lunatic. She has tasked every\nfaculty, and has secured the symmetrical growth of the bodily frame,\nby all these attitudes and exertions,--an end of the first importance,\nwhich could not be trusted to any care less perfect than her own. This\nglitter, this opaline luster plays round the top of every toy to his\neye, to insure his fidelity, and he is deceived to his good. We are\nmade alive and kept alive by the same arts. Let the Stoics[516] say\nwhat they please, we do not eat for the good of living, but because\nthe meat is savory and the appetite is keen. The vegetable life does\nnot content itself with casting from the flower or the tree a single\nseed, but it fills the air and earth with a prodigality of seeds,\nthat if thousands perish, thousands may plant themselves, that\nhundreds may come up, that tens may live to maturity, that, at least,\none may replace the parent. All things betray the same calculated\nprofusion. The excess of fear with which the animal frame is hedged\nround, shrinking from cold, starting at sight of a snake, or a sudden\nnoise, protects us, through a multitude of groundless alarms, from\nsome one real danger at last. The lover seeks in marriage his private\nfelicity and perfection, with no prospective end; and nature hides in\nhis happiness her own end, namely, progeny, or the perpetuity of the\nrace.\n\n12. But the craft with which the world is made runs also into the mind\nand character of men. No man is quite sane; each has a vein of folly in\nhis composition, a slight determination of blood to the head, to make\nsure of holding him hard to some one point which nature had taken to\nheart. Great causes are never tried on their merits; but the cause is\nreduced to particulars to suit the size of the partisans, and the\ncontention is ever hottest on minor matters. Not less remarkable is the\noverfaith of each man in the importance of what he has to do or say. The\npoet, the prophet, has a higher value for what he utters than any\nhearer, and therefore it gets spoken. The strong, self-complacent\nLuther[517] declares with an emphasis, not to be mistaken, that \"God\nhimself cannot do without wise men.\" Jacob Behmen[518] and George\nFox[519] betray their egotism in the pertinacity of their controversial\ntracts, and James Naylor[520] once suffered himself to be worshiped as\nthe Christ. Each prophet comes presently to identify himself with his\nthought, and to esteem his hat and shoes sacred. However this may\ndiscredit such persons with the judicious, it helps them with the\npeople, as it gives heat, pungency, and publicity to their words. A\nsimilar experience is not infrequent in private life. Each young and\nardent person writes a diary, in which, when the hours of prayer and\npenitence arrive, he inscribes his soul. The pages thus written are, to\nhim, burning and fragrant: he reads them on his knees by midnight and by\nthe morning star; he wets them with his tears: they are sacred; too good\nfor the world, and hardly yet to be shown to the dearest friend. This is\nthe man-child that is born to the soul, and her life still circulates in\nthe babe. The umbilical cord has not yet been cut. After some time has\nelapsed, he begins to wish to admit his friend to this hallowed\nexperience, and with hesitation, yet with firmness, exposes the pages to\nhis eye. Will they not burn his eyes? The friend coldly turns them\nover, and passes from the writing to conversation, with easy transition,\nwhich strikes the other party with astonishment and vexation. He cannot\nsuspect the writing itself. Days and nights of fervid life, of communion\nwith angels of darkness and of light, have engraved their shadowy\ncharacters on that tear-stained book. He suspects the intelligence or\nthe heart of his friend. Is there then no friend? He cannot yet credit\nthat one may have impressive experience, and yet may not know how to put\nhis private fact into literature; and perhaps the discovery that wisdom\nhas other tongues and ministers than we, that though we should hold our\npeace, the truth would not the less be spoken, might check injuriously\nthe flames of our zeal. A man can only speak, so long as he does not\nfeel his speech to be partial and inadequate. It is partial, but he does\nnot see it to be so, whilst he utters it. As soon as he is released from\nthe instinctive and particular, and sees its partiality, he shuts his\nmouth in disgust. For, no man can write anything, who does not think\nthat what he writes is for the time the history of the world; or do\nanything well, who does not esteem his work to be of importance. My work\nmay be of none, but I must not think it is of none, or I shall not do it\nwith impunity.\n\n13. In like manner, there is throughout nature something mocking,\nsomething that leads us on and on, but arrives nowhere, keeps no faith\nwith us. All promise outruns the performance. We live in a system of\napproximations. Every end is prospective of some other end, which is\nalso temporary; a round and final success nowhere. We are encamped in\nnature, not domesticated. Hunger and thirst lead us on to eat and to\ndrink; but bread and wine, mix and cook them how you will, leave us\nhungry and thirsty, after the stomach is full. It is the same with all\nour arts and performances. Our music, our poetry, our language itself\nare not satisfactions, but suggestions. The hunger for wealth, which\nreduces the planet to a garden, fools the eager pursuer. What is the\nend sought? Plainly to secure the ends of good sense and beauty, from\nthe intrusion of deformity or vulgarity of any kind. But what an\noperose[521] method! What a train of means to secure a little\nconversation! This palace of brick and stone, these servants, this\nkitchen, these stables, horses and equipage, this bank-stock, and file\nof mortgages; trade to all the world, country-house and cottage by the\nwater-side, all for a little conversation, high, clear, and spiritual!\nCould it not be had as well by beggars on the highway? No, all these\nthings came from successive efforts of these beggars to remove\nfriction from the wheels of life, and give opportunity. Conversation,\ncharacter, were the avowed ends; wealth was good as it appeased the\nanimal cravings, cured the smoky chimney, silenced the creaking door,\nbrought friends together in a warm and quiet room, and kept the\nchildren and the dinner-table in a different apartment. Thought,\nvirtue, beauty, were the ends; but it was known that men of thought\nand virtue sometimes had the headache, or wet feet, or could lose good\ntime, whilst the room was getting warm in winter days. Unluckily, in\nthe exertions necessary to remove these inconveniences, the main\nattention has been diverted to this object; the old aims have been\nlost sight of, and to remove friction has come to be the end. That is\nthe ridicule of rich men, and Boston, London, Vienna, and now the\ngovernments generally of the world, are cities and governments of the\nrich, and the masses are not men, but _poor men_, that is, men who\nwould be rich; this is the ridicule of the class, that they arrive\nwith pains and sweat and fury nowhere; when all is done, it is for\nnothing. They are like one who has interrupted the conversation of a\ncompany to make his speech, and now has forgotten what he went to say.\nThe appearance strikes the eye everywhere of an aimless society, of\naimless nations. Were the ends of nature so great and cogent, as to\nexact this immense sacrifice of men?\n\n14. Quite analogous to the deceits in life, there is, as might be\nexpected, a similar effect on the eye from the face of external\nnature. There is in woods and waters a certain enticement and\nflattery, together with a failure to yield a present satisfaction.\nThis disappointment is felt in every landscape. I have seen the\nsoftness and beauty of the summer clouds floating feathery overhead,\nenjoying, as it seemed, their height and privilege of motion, whilst\nyet they appeared not so much the drapery of this place and hour, as\nfore-looking to such pavilions and gardens of festivity beyond. It is\nan odd jealousy; but the poet finds himself not near enough to this\nobject. The pine tree, the river, the bank of flowers before him, does\nnot seem to be nature. Nature is still elsewhere. This or this is but\noutskirt and far-off reflection[522] and echo of the triumph that has\npassed by, and is now at its glancing splendor and heyday, perchance\nin the neighboring fields, or, if you stand in the field, then in the\nadjacent woods. The present object shall give you this sense of\nstillness that follows a pageant which has just gone by. What splendid\ndistance, what recesses of ineffable pomp and loveliness in the\nsunset! But who can go where they are, or lay his hand or plant his\nfoot thereon? Off they fall from the round world forever and ever. It\nis the same among men and women as among the silent trees; always a\nreferred existence, an absence, never a presence and satisfaction. Is\nit, that beauty can never be grasped? in persons and in landscapes is\nequally inaccessible? The accepted and betrothed lover has lost the\nwildest charm of his maiden in her acceptance of him. She was heaven\nwhilst he pursued her as a star: she cannot be heaven, if she stoops\nto such a one as he.\n\n15. What shall we say of this omnipresent appearance of that first\nprojectile impulse, of this flattery and balking of so many\nwell-meaning creatures? Must we not suppose somewhere in the universe\na slight treachery and derision? Are we not engaged to a serious\nresentment of this use that is made of us? Are we tickled trout, and\nfools of nature? One looks at the face of heaven and earth lays all\npetulance at rest, and soothes us to wiser convictions. To the\nintelligent, nature converts itself into a vast promise, and will not\nbe rashly explained. Her secret is untold. Many and many an\nOedipus[523] arrives: he has the whole mystery teeming in his brain.\nAlas! the same sorcery has spoiled his skill; no syllable can he shape\non his lips. Her mighty orbit vaults like the fresh rainbow into the\ndeep, but no archangel's wing was yet strong enough to follow it, and\nreport of the return of the curve. But it also appears, that our\nactions are seconded and disposed to greater conclusions than we\ndesigned. We are escorted on every hand through life by spiritual\nagents, and a beneficent purpose lies in wait for us. We cannot bandy\nwords with nature, or deal with her as we deal with persons. If we\nmeasure our individual forces against hers, we may easily feel as if\nwe were the sport of an insuperable destiny. But if, instead of\nidentifying ourselves with the work, we feel that the soul of the\nworkman streams through us, we shall find the peace of the morning\ndwelling first in our hearts, and the fathomless powers of gravity and\nchemistry, and, over them, of life pre\u00ebxisting within us in their\nhighest form.\n\n16. The uneasiness which the thought of our helplessness in the chain\nof causes occasions us, results from looking too much at one condition\nof nature, namely, Motion. But the drag is never taken from the wheel.\nWherever the impulse exceeds the Rest or Identity insinuates its\ncompensation. All over the wide fields of earth grows the\nprunella[524] or self-heal. After every foolish day we sleep off the\nfumes and furies of its hours; and though we are always engaged with\nparticulars, and often enslaved to them, we bring with us to every\nexperiment the innate universal laws. These, while they exist in the\nmind as ideas, stand around us in nature forever embodied, a present\nsanity to expose and cure the insanity of men. Our servitude to\nparticulars betrays us into a hundred foolish expectations. We\nanticipate a new era from the invention of a locomotive, or a balloon;\nthe new engine brings with it the old checks. They say that by\nelectro-magnetism, your salad shall be grown from the seed whilst your\nfowl is roasting for dinner: it is a symbol of our modern aims and\nendeavors,--of our condensation and acceleration of objects: but\nnothing is gained: nature cannot be cheated: man's life is but seventy\nsalads long, grow they swift or grow they slow. In these checks and\nimpossibilities, however, we find our advantage, not less than in\nimpulses. Let the victory fall where it will, we are on that side. And\nthe knowledge that we traverse the whole scale of being, from the\ncenter to the poles of nature, and have some stake in every\npossibility, lends that sublime luster to death, which philosophy and\nreligion have too outwardly and literally striven to express in the\npopular doctrine of the immortality of the soul. The reality is more\nexcellent than the report. Here is no ruin, no discontinuity, no spent\nball. The divine circulations never rest nor linger. Nature is the\nincarnation of a thought, and turns to a thought again, as ice becomes\nwater and gas. The world is mind precipitated, and the volatile\nessence is forever escaping again into the state of free thought.\nHence the virtue and pungency of the influence on the mind, of natural\nobjects, whether inorganic or organized. Man imprisoned, man\ncrystallized, man vegetative, speaks to man impersonated. That power\nwhich does not respect quantity, which makes the whole and the\nparticle its equal channel, delegates its smile to the morning, and\ndistills its essence into every drop of rain. Every moment instructs\nand every object: for wisdom is infused into every form. It has been\npoured into us as blood; it convulsed us as pain; it slid into us as\npleasure; it enveloped us in dull, melancholy days, or in days of\ncheerful labor; we did not guess its essence, until after a long\ntime.\n\n\n\n\nSHAKSPEARE;[525] OR, THE POET\n\n[Transcriber's Note: Shakspeare is spelled as \"Shakspeare\" as well as\n\"Shakespeare\" in this book. The original spellings have been retained.]\n\n\n1. Great men are more distinguished by range and extent, than by\noriginality. If we require the originality which consists in weaving,\nlike a spider, their web from their own bowels; in finding clay, and\nmaking bricks, and building the house; no great men are original. Nor\ndoes valuable originality consist in unlikeness to other men. The hero\nis in the press of knights, and the thick of events; and, seeing what\nmen want, and sharing their desire, he adds the needful length of\nsight and of arm, to come to the desired point. The greatest genius is\nthe most indebted man. A poet is no rattlebrain, saying what comes\nuppermost and, because he says everything, saying, at last, something\ngood; but a heart in unison with his time and country. There is\nnothing whimsical and fantastic in his production, but sweet and sad\nearnest, freighted with the weightiest convictions, and pointed with\nthe most determined aim which any man or class knows of in his times.\n\n2. The Genius[526] of our life is jealous of individuals and will not\nhave any individual great, except through the general. There is no\nchoice to genius. A great man does not wake up on some fine morning,\nand say, \"I am full of life, I will go to sea, and find an Antarctic\ncontinent: to-day I will square the circle: I will ransack botany, and\nfind a new food for man: I have a new architecture in my mind: I\nforesee a new mechanic power:\" no, but he finds himself in the river\nof the thoughts and events, forced onward by the ideas and necessities\nof his contemporaries. He stands where all the eyes of men look one\nway, and their hands all point in the direction in which he should go.\nThe church has reared him amidst rites and pomps, and he carries out\nthe advice which her music gave him, and builds a cathedral needed by\nher chants and processions. He finds a war raging: it educates him, by\ntrumpet, in barracks, and he betters the instruction. He finds two\ncounties groping to bring coal, or flour, or fish, from the place of\nproduction to the place of consumption, and he hits on a railroad.\nEvery master has found his materials collected, and his power lay in\nhis sympathy with his people, and in his love of the materials he\nwrought in. What an economy of power! and what a compensation for the\nshortness of life! All is done to his hand. The world has brought him\nthus far on his way. The human race has gone out before him, sunk the\nhills, filled the hollows, and bridged the rivers. Men, nations,\npoets, artisans, women, all have worked for him, and he enters into\ntheir labors. Choose any other thing, out of the line of tendency, out\nof the national feeling and history, and he would have all to do for\nhimself: his powers would be expended in the first preparations. Great\ngenial power, one would almost say, consists in not being original at\nall; in being altogether receptive; in letting the world do all, and\nsuffering the spirit of the hour to pass unobstructed through the\nmind.\n\n3. Shakspeare's youth[527] fell in a time when the English people were\nimportunate for dramatic entertainments. The court took offense easily\nat political allusions, and attempted to suppress them. The\nPuritans,[528] a growing and energetic party and the religious among\nthe Anglican Church,[529] would suppress them. But the people wanted\nthem. Inn-yards, houses without roofs, and extemporaneous inclosures\nat country fairs, were the ready theaters of strolling players. The\npeople had tasted this new joy; and, as we could not hope to suppress\nnewspapers now,--no, not by the strongest party,--neither then could\nking, prelate, or puritan,--alone or united, suppress an organ, which\nwas ballad, epic, newspaper, caucus, lecture, Punch,[530] and library,\nat the same time. Probably king, prelate, and puritan, all found their\nown account in it. It had become, by all causes, a national\ninterest,--by no means conspicuous, so that some great scholar would\nhave thought of treating it in an English history,--but not a whit\nless considerable, because it was cheap, and of no account, like a\nbaker's shop. The best proof of its vitality is the crowd of writers\nwhich suddenly broke into this field; Kyd, Marlow, Greene,[531]\nJonson, Chapman, Dekker, Webster, Heywood, Middleton, Peele, Ford,\nMassinger, Beaumont, and Fletcher.\n\n4. The secure possession, by the stage, of the public mind, is of the\nfirst importance to the poet who works for it. He loses no time in\nidle experiments. Here is audience and expectation prepared. In the\ncase of Shakspeare there is much more. At the time when[532] he left\nStratford, and went up to London, a great body of stage-plays, of all\ndates and writers, existed in manuscript, and were in turn produced on\nthe boards. Here is the Tale of Troy,[533] which the audience will\nbear hearing some part of, every week; the Death of Julius C\u00e6sar,[534]\nand other stories out of Plutarch,[535] which they never tire of; a\nshelf full of English history, from the chronicles of Brut[536] and\nArthur,[537] down to the royal Henries,[538] which men hear eagerly;\nand a string of doleful tragedies, merry Italian tales,[539] and\nSpanish voyages,[540] which all the London prentices know. All the\nmass has been treated, with more or less skill, by every playwright,\nand the prompter has the soiled and tattered manuscripts. It is now no\nlonger possible to say who wrote them first. They have been the\nproperty of the Theater so long, and so many rising geniuses have\nenlarged or altered them, inserting a speech, or a whole scene, or\nadding a song, that no man can any longer claim copyright in this work\nof numbers. Happily, no man wishes to. They are not yet desired in\nthat way. We have few readers, many spectators and hearers. They had\nbest lie where they are.\n\n5. Shakspeare, in common with his comrades, esteemed the mass of old\nplays, waste stock, in which any experiment could be freely tried.\nHad the _prestige_[541] which hedges about a modern tragedy existed,\nnothing could have been done. The rude warm blood of the living\nEngland circulated in the play, as in street-ballads, and gave body\nwhich he wanted to his airy and majestic fancy. The poet needs a\nground in popular tradition on which he may work, and which, again,\nmay restrain his art within the due temperance. It holds him to the\npeople, supplies a foundation for his edifice; and, in furnishing so\nmuch work done to his hand, leaves him at leisure, and in full\nstrength for the audacities of his imagination. In short, the poet\nowes to his legend what sculpture owed to the temple. Sculpture in\nEgypt, and in Greece, grew up in subordination to architecture. It was\nthe ornament of the temple wall: at first, a rude relief carved on\npediments, then the relief became bolder, and a head or arm was\nprojected from the wall, the groups being still arranged with\nreference to the building, which serves also as a frame to hold the\nfigures; and when, at last, the greatest freedom of style and\ntreatment was reached, the prevailing genius of architecture still\nenforced a certain calmness and continence in the statue. As soon as\nthe statue was begun for itself, and with no reference to the temple\nor palace, the art began to decline: freak, extravagance, and\nexhibition, took the place of the old temperance. This balance-wheel,\nwhich the sculptor found in architecture, the perilous irritability of\npoetic talent found in the accumulated dramatic materials to which the\npeople were already wonted, and which had a certain excellence which\nno single genius,[542] however extraordinary, could hope to create.\n\n6. In point of fact, it appears that Shakspeare did owe debts in all\ndirections, and was able to use whatever he found; and the amount of\nindebtedness may be inferred from Malone's[543] laborious computations\nin regard to the First, Second, and Third parts of Henry VI., in\nwhich, \"out of 6043 lines, 1771 were written by some author preceding\nShakspeare; 2373 by him, on the foundation laid by his predecessors;\nand 1899 were entirely his own.\" And the proceeding investigation\nhardly leaves a single drama of his absolute invention. Malone's\nsentence is an important piece of external history. In Henry VIII, I\nthink I see plainly the cropping out of the original rock on which his\nown finer stratum was laid. The first play was written by a superior,\nthoughtful man, with a vicious ear. I can mark his lines, and know\nwell their cadence. See Wolsey's soliloquy,[544] and the following\nscene from Cromwell,[545] where,--instead of the meter of Shakspeare,\nwhose secret is, that the thought constructs the tune, so that reading\nfor the sense will best bring out the rhythm,--here the lines are\nconstructed on a given tune, and the verse has even a trace of pulpit\neloquence. But the play contains, through all its length, unmistakable\ntraits of Shakspeare's hand, and some passages, as the account of the\ncoronation,[546] are like autographs. What is odd, the compliment to\nQueen Elizabeth[547] is in bad rhythm.[548]\n\n7. Shakspeare knew that tradition supplies a better fable than any\ninvention can. If he lost any credit of design, he augmented his\nresources; and, at that day, our petulant demand for originality was\nnot so much pressed. There was no literature for the million. The\nuniversal reading, the cheap press, were unknown. A great poet, who\nappears in illiterate times, absorbs into his sphere all the light\nwhich is anywhere radiating. Every intellectual jewel, every flower of\nsentiment, it is his fine office to bring to his people; and he comes\nto value his memory[549] equally with his invention. He is therefore\nlittle solicitous whence his thoughts have been derived; whether\nthrough translation, whether through tradition, whether by travel in\ndistant countries, whether by inspiration; from whatever source, they\nare equally welcome to his uncritical audience. Nay, he borrows very\nnear home. Other men say wise things as well as he; only they say a\ngood many foolish things, and do not know when they have spoken\nwisely. He knows the sparkle of the true stone, and puts it in high\nplace, wherever he finds it. Such is the happy position of Homer,[550]\nperhaps; of Chaucer,[551] of Saadi.[552] They felt that all wit was\ntheir wit. And they are librarians and historiographers, as well as\npoets. Each romancer was heir and dispenser of all the hundred tales\nof the world,--\n\n   \"Presenting Thebes'[553] and Pelops' line\n    And the tale of Troy divine.\"\n\nThe influence of Chaucer is conspicuous in all our early literature;\nand, more recently, not only Pope[554] and Dryden[555] have been\nbeholden to him, but, in the whole society of English writers, a large\nunacknowledged debt is easily traced. One is charmed with the opulence\nwhich feeds so many pensioners. But Chaucer is a huge borrower.[556]\nChaucer, it seems, drew continually, through Lydgat[557] and\nCaxton,[558] from Guido di Colonna,[559] whose Latin romance of the\nTrojan war was in turn a compilation from Dares Phrygius,[560]\nOvid,[561] and Statius.[562] Then Petrarch,[563] Boccaccio,[564] and\nthe Proven\u00e7al poets,[565] and his benefactors: the Romaunt of the\nRose[566] is only judicious translation from William of Lorris and\nJohn of Meung: Troilus and Creseide,[567] from Lollius of Urbino: The\nCock and the Fox,[568] from the _Lais_ of Marie: The House of\nFame,[569] from the French or Italian: and poor Gower[570] he uses as\nif he were only a brick-kiln or stone-quarry, out of which to build\nhis house. He steals by this apology,--that what he takes has no worth\nwhere he finds it, and the greatest where he leaves it. It has come to\nbe practically a sort of rule in literature, that a man, having once\nshown himself capable of original writing, is entitled thenceforth to\nsteal from the writings of others at discretion. Thought is the\nproperty of him who can entertain it; and of him who can adequately\nplace it. A certain awkwardness marks the use of borrowed thoughts;\nbut, as soon as we have learned what to do with them, they become our\nown.\n\n8. Thus, all originality is relative. Every thinker is retrospective.\nThe learned member of the legislature, at Westminister,[571] or at\nWashington, speaks and votes for thousands. Show us the constituency,\nand the now invisible channels by which the senator is made aware of\ntheir wishes, the crowd of practical and knowing men, who, by\ncorrespondence or conversation, are feeding him with evidence,\nanecdotes, and estimates, and it will bereave his fine attitude and\nresistance of something of their impressiveness. As Sir Robert\nPeel[572] and Mr. Webster[573] vote, so Locke[574] and Rousseau[575]\nthink for thousands; and so there were foundations all around\nHomer,[576] Menu,[577] Saada,[578] or Milton,[579] from which they\ndrew; friends, lovers, books, traditions, proverbs,--all\nperished,--which, if seen, would go to reduce the wonder. Did the bard\nspeak with authority? Did he feel himself overmatched by any\ncompanion? The appeal is to the consciousness of the writer. Is there\nat last in his breast a Delphi[580] whereof to ask concerning any\nthought or thing whether it be verily so, yea or nay? and to have\nanswer, and rely on that? All the debts which such a man could\ncontract to other wit, would never disturb his consciousness of\noriginality: for the ministrations of books, and of other minds, are a\nwhiff of smoke to that most private reality with which he has\nconversed.\n\n9. It is easy to see that what is best written or done by genius, in\nthe world, was no man's work, but came by wide social labor, when a\nthousand wrought like one, sharing the same impulse. Our English\nBible[581] is a wonderful specimen of the strength and music of the\nEnglish language. But it was not made by one man, or at one time; but\ncenturies and churches brought it to perfection. There never was a\ntime when there was not some translation existing. The Liturgy,[582]\nadmired for its energy and pathos, is an anthology of the piety of\nages and nations, a translation of the prayers and forms of the\nCatholic church,--these collected, too, in long periods, from the\nprayers and meditations of every saint and sacred writer all over the\nworld. Grotius[583] makes the like remark in respect to the Lord's\nPrayer, that the single clauses of which it is composed were already\nin use, in the time of Christ, in the rabbinical forms.[584] He picked\nout the grains of gold. The nervous language of the Common Law,[585]\nthe impressive forms of our courts, and the precision and substantial\ntruth of the legal distinctions, are the contribution of all the\nsharp-sighted, strong-minded men who have lived in the countries where\nthese laws govern. The translation of Plutarch gets its excellence by\nbeing translation on translation. There never was a time when there\nwas none. All the truly idiomatic and national phrases are kept, and\nall others successively picked out, and thrown away. Something like\nthe same process had gone on, long before, with the originals of these\nbooks. The world takes liberties with world-books. Vedas,[586] \u00c6sop's\nFables,[587] Pilpay,[588] Arabian Nights,[589] Cid,[590] Iliad,[591]\nRobin Hood,[592] Scottish Minstrelsy,[593] are not the work of single\nmen. In the composition of such works, the time thinks, the market\nthinks, the mason, the carpenter, the merchant, the farmer, the fop,\nall think for us. Every book supplies its time with one good word;\nevery municipal law, every trade, every folly of the day, and the\ngeneric catholic genius who is not afraid or ashamed to owe his\noriginality to the originality of all, stands with the next age as the\nrecorder and embodiment of his own.\n\n10. We have to thank the researches of antiquaries, and the Shakspeare\nSociety,[594] for ascertaining the steps of the English drama, from\nthe Mysteries[595] celebrated in churches and by churchmen, and the\nfinal detachment from the church, and the completion of secular plays,\nfrom Ferrex and Porrex,[596] and Gammer Gurton's Needle,[597] down to\nthe possession of the stage by the very pieces which Shakspeare\naltered, remodelled, and finally made his own. Elated with success,\nand piqued by the growing interest of the problem, they have left no\nbook-stall unsearched, no chest in a garret unopened, no file of old\nyellow accounts to decompose in damp and worms, so keen was the hope\nto discover whether the boy Shakspeare poached[598] or not, whether he\nheld horses at the theater-door, whether he kept school, and why he\nleft in his will only his second-best bed to Ann Hathaway, his wife.\n\n11. There is somewhat touching in the madness with which the passing\nage mischooses the object on which all candles shine, and all eyes are\nturned; the care with which it registers every trifle touching Queen\nElizabeth,[599] and King James,[600] and the Essexes,[601]\nLeicesters,[602] Burleighs,[603] and Buckinghams;[604] and lets pass\nwithout a single valuable note the founder of another dynasty, which\nalone will cause the Tudor dynasty[605] to be remembered,--the man who\ncarries the Saxon race in him by the inspiration which feeds him, and\non whose thoughts the foremost people of the world are now for some\nages to be nourished, and minds to receive this and not another bias.\nA popular player,--nobody suspected he was the poet of the human race;\nand the secret was kept as faithfully from poets and intellectual men,\nas from courtiers and frivolous people. Bacon,[606] who took the\ninventory of the human understanding for his times, never mentioned\nhis name. Ben Jonson,[607] though we have strained his few words of\nregard and panegyric, had no suspicion of the elastic fame whose first\nvibrations he was attempting. He no doubt thought the praise he has\nconceded to him generous, and esteemed himself, out of all question,\nthe better poet of the two.\n\n12. If it need wit to know wit, according to the proverb, Shakspeare's\ntime should be capable of recognizing it. Sir Henry Wotton[608] was\nborn four years after Shakspeare, and died twenty-three years after\nhim; and I find, among his correspondents and acquaintances, the\nfollowing persons:[609] Theodore Beza, Isaac Casaubon, Sir Philip\nSidney, Earl of Essex, Lord Bacon, Sir Walter Raleigh, John Milton,\nSir Henry Vane, Isaac Walton, Dr. Donne, Abraham Cowley, Berlarmine,\nCharles Cotton, John Pym, John Hales, Kepler, Vieta, Albericus\nGentilis, Paul Sarpi, Arminius; with all of whom exists some token of\nhis having communicated, without enumerating many others, whom\ndoubtless[610] he saw,--Shakspeare, Spenser, Jonson, Beaumont,\nMassinger, two Herberts, Marlow, Chapman and the rest. Since the\nconstellation of great men who appeared in Greece in the time of\nPericles,[611] there was never any such society;--yet their genius\nfailed them to find out the best head in the universe. Our poet's mask\nwas impenetrable. You cannot see the mountain near. It took a century\nto make it suspected; and not until two centuries had passed, after\nhis death, did any criticism which we think adequate begin to appear.\nIt was not possible to write the history of Shakspeare till now; for\nhe is the father of German literature: it was on the introduction of\nShakspeare into German, by Lessing,[612] and the translation of his\nworks by Wieland[613] and Schlegel,[614] that the rapid burst of\nGerman literature was most intimately connected. It was not until the\nnineteenth century, whose speculative genius is a sort of living\nHamlet,[615] that the tragedy of Hamlet could find such wondering\nreaders. Now, literature, philosophy, and thought, are Shakspearized.\nHis mind is the horizon beyond which, at present, we do not see. Our\nears are educated to music by his rhythm. Coleridge[616] and\nGoethe[617] are the only critics who have expressed our convictions\nwith any adequate fidelity; but there is in all cultivated minds a\nsilent appreciation of his superlative power and beauty, which, like\nChristianity, qualifies the period.\n\n[Transcriber's Note: Number runs from 12 to 14. Number 13 omitted]\n\n14. The Shakspeare Society have inquired in all directions,\nadvertised the missing facts, offered money for any information that\nwill lead to proof; and with what result? Beside some important\nillustration of the history of the English stage, to which I have\nadverted, they have gleaned a few facts touching the property, and\ndealings in regard to property, of the poet. It appears that, from\nyear to year, he owned a larger share in the Blackfriars'\nTheater:[618] its wardrobe and other appurtenances were his: and he\nbought an estate in his native village, with his earnings, as writer\nand shareholder; that he lived in the best house in Stratford;[619]\nwas intrusted by his neighbors with their commissions in London, as of\nborrowing money, and the like; and he was a veritable farmer. About\nthe time when he was writing Macbeth,[620] he sues Philip Rogers, in\nthe borough-court of Stratford, for thirty-five shillings, ten pence,\nfor corn delivered to him at different times; and, in all respects,\nappears as a good husband with no reputation for eccentricity or\nexcess. He was a good-natured sort of man, an actor and shareholder in\nthe theater, not in any striking manner distinguished from other\nactors and managers. I admit the importance of this information. It is\nwell worth the pains that have been taken to procure it.\n\n15. But whatever scraps of information concerning his condition these\nresearches may have rescued, they can shed no light upon that infinite\ninvention which is the concealed magnet of his attraction for us. We\nare very clumsy writers of history. We tell the chronicle of\nparentage, birth, birth-place, schooling, schoolmates, earning of\nmoney, marriage, publication of books, celebrity, death; and when we\nhave come to an end of this gossip no ray of relation appears between\nit and the goddess-born; and it seems as if, had we dipped at random\ninto the \"Modern Plutarch,\" and read any other life there, it would\nhave fitted the poems as well. It is the essence of poetry to spring,\nlike the rainbow daughter of Wonder, from the invisible, to abolish\nthe past, and refuse all history. Malone, Warburton, Dyce, and\nCollier,[621] have wasted their oil. The famed theaters, Covent\nGarden, Drury Lane, the Park, and Tremont,[622] have vainly assisted.\nBetterton, Garrick, Kemble, Kean, and Macready,[623] dedicate their\nlives to this genius; him they crown, elucidate, obey, and express.\nThe genius knows them not. The recitation begins; one golden word\nleaps out immortal from all this painted pedantry, and sweetly\ntorments us with invitations to its own inaccessible homes. I\nremember, I went once to see the Hamlet of a famed performer,[624] the\npride of the English stage; and all I then heard, and all I now\nremember, of the tragedian, was that in which the tragedian had no\npart; simply, Hamlet's question to the ghost,--\n\n                            \"What may this mean,[625]\n    That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel\n    Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon?\"\n\nThat imagination which dilates the closet he writes in to the world's\ndimension, crowds it with agents in rank and order, as quickly\nreduces the big reality to be the glimpses of the moon. These tricks\nof his magic spoil for us the illusions of the green-room. Can any\nbiography shed light on the localities into which the Midsummer\nNight's Dream[626] admits me? Did Shakspeare confide to any notary or\nparish recorder, sacristan, or surrogate, in Stratford, the genesis of\nthat delicate creation? The forest of Arden,[627] the nimble air of\nScone Castle,[628] the moonlight of Portia's villa,[629] \"the antres\nvast[630] and desarts idle,\" of Othello's captivity,--where is the\nthird cousin, or grand-nephew, the chancellor's file of accounts, or\nprivate letter, that has kept one word of those transcendent secrets?\nIn fine, in this drama, as in all great works of art,--in the\nCyclopean architecture[631] of Egypt and India; in the Phidian\nsculpture;[632] the Gothic ministers;[633] the Italian painting;[634]\nthe Ballads of Spain and Scotland,[635]--the Genius draws up the\nladder after him, when the creative age goes up to heaven, and gives\nway to a new, which sees the works, and ask in vain for a history.\n\n16. Shakspeare is the only biographer of Shakspeare; and even he can\ntell nothing, except to the Shakspeare in us; that is, to our most\napprehensive and sympathetic hour. He cannot step from off his\ntripod,[636] and give us anecdotes of his inspirations. Read the antique\ndocuments extricated, analyzed, and compared, by the assiduous Dyce and\nCollier; and now read one of those skyey sentences,--aerolites,--which\nseem to have fallen out of heaven, and which, not your experience, but\nthe man within the breast, has accepted, as words of fate; and tell me\nif they match; if the former account in any manner for the latter; or,\nwhich gives the most historical insight into the man.\n\n17. Hence, though our external history is so meager, yet, with\nShakspeare for biographer, instead of Aubrey[637] and Rowe,[638] we\nhave really the information which is material, that which describes\ncharacter and fortune, that which, if we were about to meet the man\nand deal with him, would most import us to know. We have his recorded\nconvictions on those questions which knock for answer at every\nheart,--on life and death, on love, on wealth and poverty, on the\nprizes of life, and the ways whereby we come at them; on the\ncharacters of men, and the influences, occult and open, which affect\ntheir fortunes; and on those mysterious and demoniacal powers which\ndefy our science, and which yet interweave their malice and their gift\nin our brightest hours. Who ever read the volume of the Sonnets,\nwithout finding that the poet had there revealed, under masks that are\nno masks to the intelligent, the lore of friendship and of love; the\nconfusion of sentiments in the most susceptible, and, at the same\ntime, the most intellectual of men? What trait of his private mind has\nhe hidden in his dramas? One can discern, in his ample pictures of the\ngentleman and the king, what forms and humanities pleased him; his\ndelight in troops of friends, in large hospitality, in cheerful\ngiving. Let Timon,[639] let Warwick,[640] let Antonio[641] the\nmerchant, answer for his great heart. So far from Shakspeare's being\nthe least known, he is the one person, in all modern history, known to\nus. What point of morals, of manners, of economy, of philosophy, of\nreligion, of taste, of the conduct of life, has he not settled? What\nmystery has he not signified his knowledge of? What office, or\nfunction, or district of man's work, has he not remembered? What king\nhas he not taught state, as Talma[642] taught Napoleon? What maiden\nhas not found him finer than her delicacy? What lover has he not\nout-loved? What sage has he not outseen? What gentleman has he not\ninstructed in the rudeness of his behavior?\n\n18. Some able and appreciating critics think no criticism on\nShakspeare valuable, that does not rest purely on the dramatic merit;\nthat he is falsely judged as poet and philosopher. I think as highly\nas these critics of his dramatic merit, who still think it secondary.\nHe was a full man, who liked to talk; a brain exhaling thoughts and\nimages, which, seeking vent, found the drama next at hand. Had he been\nless, we should have had to consider how well he filled his place, how\ngood a dramatist he was,--and he is the best in the world. But it\nturns out, that what he has to say is of that weight, as to withdraw\nsome attention from the vehicle; and he is like some saint whose\nhistory is to be rendered into all languages, into verse and prose,\ninto songs and pictures, and cut up into proverbs; so that the\noccasion which gave the saint's meaning the form of a conversation, or\nof a prayer, or of a code of laws, is immaterial, compared with the\nuniversality of its application. So it fares with the wise Shakspeare\nand his book of life. He wrote the airs for all our modern music: he\nwrote the text of modern life; the text of manners: he drew the man of\nEngland and Europe; the father of the man in America: he drew the man,\nand described the day, and what is done in it: he read the hearts of\nmen and women, their probity, and their second thought, and wiles; the\nwiles of innocence, and the transitions by which virtues and vices\nslide into their contraries: he could divide the mother's part from\nthe father's part in the face of the child, or draw the fine\ndemarcations of freedom and of fate: he knew the laws of repression\nwhich make the police of nature: and all the sweets and all the\nterrors of human lot lay in his mind as truly but as softly as the\nlandscape lies on the eye. And the importance of this wisdom of life\nsinks the form, as of Drama or Epic, out of notice. 'Tis like making a\nquestion concerning the paper on which a king's message is written.\n\n19. Shakspeare is as much out of the category of eminent authors, as\nhe is out of the crowd. He is inconceivably wise; the others,\nconceivably. A good reader can, in a sort, nestle into Plato's brain,\nand think from thence; but not into Shakspeare's. We are still out of\ndoors. For executive faculty, for creation, Shakspeare is unique. No\nman can imagine it better. He was the farthest reach of subtlety\ncompatible with an individual self,--the subtilest of authors, and\nonly just within the possibility of authorship. With this wisdom of\nlife, is the equal endowment of imaginative and of lyric power. He\nclothed the creatures of his legend with form and sentiments, as if\nthey were people who had lived under his roof; and few real men have\nleft such distinct characters as these fictions. And they spoke in\nlanguage as sweet as it was fit. Yet his talents never seduced him\ninto an ostentation, nor did he harp on one string. An omnipresent\nhumanity[643] co\u00f6rdinates all his faculties. Give a man of talents a\nstory to tell, and his partiality will presently appear. He has\ncertain observations, opinions, topics, which have some accidental\nprominence, and which he disposes all to exhibit. He crams this part,\nand starves that other part, consulting not the fitness of the thing,\nbut his fitness and strength. But Shakspeare has no peculiarity, no\nimportunate topic; but all is duly given; no veins, no curiosities: no\ncow-painter, no bird-fancier, no mannerist is he: he has no\ndiscoverable egotism: the great he tells greatly; the small,\nsubordinately. He is wise without emphasis or assertion; he is strong,\nas nature is strong, who lifts the land into mountain slopes without\neffort, and by the same rule as she floats a bubble in the air, and\nlikes as well to do the one as the other. This makes that equality of\npower in farce, tragedy, narrative, and love-songs; a merit so\nincessant, that each reader is incredulous of the perception of other\nreaders.\n\n20. This power of expression, or of transferring the inmost truth of\nthings into music and verse, makes him the type of the poet, and has\nadded a new problem to metaphysics. This is that which throws him into\nnatural history, as a main production of the globe, and as announcing\nnew eras and ameliorations. Things were mirrored in his poetry without\nloss or blur; he could paint the fine with precision, the great with\ncompass: the tragic and the comic indifferently, and without any\ndistortion or favor. He carried his powerful execution into minute\ndetails, to a hair point; finishes an eyelash or a dimple as firmly as\nhe draws a mountain; and yet these, like nature's, will bear the\nscrutiny of the solar microscope.\n\n21. In short, he is the chief example to prove that more or less of\nproduction, more or fewer pictures, is a thing indifferent. He had the\npower to make one picture. Daguerre[644] learned how to let one flower\netch its image on his plate of iodine; and then proceeds at leisure to\netch a million. There are always objects; but there was never\nrepresentation. Here is perfect representation, at last; and now let\nthe world of figures sit for their portraits. No recipe can be given\nfor the making of a Shakspeare; but the possibility of the translation\nof things into song is demonstrated.\n\n22. His lyric power lies in the genius of the piece. The sonnets,\nthough their excellence is lost in the splendor of the dramas, are as\ninimitable as they: and it is not a merit of lines, but a total merit\nof the piece; like the tone of voice of some incomparable person, so\nis this a speech of poetic beings, and any clause as unproducible now\nas a whole poem.\n\n23. Though the speeches in the plays, and single lines, have a beauty\nwhich tempts the ear to pause on them for their euphuism,[645] yet the\nsentence is so loaded with meaning, and so linked with its foregoers\nand followers, that the logician is satisfied. His means are as\nadmirable as his ends; every subordinate invention, by which he helps\nhimself to connect some irreconcilable opposites, is a poem too. He is\nnot reduced to dismount and walk, because his horses are running off\nwith him in some distant direction; he always rides.\n\n24. The finest poetry was first experienced: but the thought has\nsuffered a transformation since it was an experience. Cultivated men\noften attain a good degree of skill in writing verses; but it is easy\nto read, through their poems, their personal history: any one\nacquainted with parties can name every figure: this is Andrew, and\nthat is Rachael. The sense thus remains prosaic. It is a caterpillar\nwith wings, and not yet a butterfly. In the poet's mind, the fact has\ngone quite over into the new element of thought, and has lost all that\nis exuvial. This generosity bides with Shakspeare. We say, from the\ntruth and closeness of his pictures, that he knows the lesson by\nheart. Yet there is not a trace of egotism.\n\n25. One more royal trait properly belongs to the poet. I mean his\ncheerfulness, without which no man can be a poet,--for beauty is his\naim. He loves virtue, not for its obligation, but for its grace: he\ndelights in the world, in man, in woman, for the lovely light that\nsparkles from them. Beauty, the spirit of joy and hilarity, he sheds\nover the universe. Epicurus[646] relates, that poetry hath such charms\nthat a lover might forsake his mistress to partake of them. And the\ntrue bards have been noted for their firm and cheerful temper. Homer\nlies in sunshine; Chaucer is glad and erect; and Saadi says, \"It was\nrumored abroad that I was penitent; but what had I to do with\nrepentance?\" Not less sovereign and cheerful,--much more sovereign and\ncheerful, is the tone of Shakspeare. His name suggests joy and\nemancipation to the heart of men. If he should appear in any company\nof human souls, who would not march in his troop? He touches nothing\nthat does not borrow health and longevity from his festal style.\n\n26. And now, how stands the account of man with this bard and\nbenefactor, when in solitude, shutting our ears to the reverberations\nof his fame, we seek to strike the balance? Solitude has austere\nlessons; it can teach us to spare both heroes and poets; and it weighs\nShakspeare also, and finds him to share the halfness and imperfection\nof humanity.\n\n27. Shakspeare, Homer, Dante,[647] Chaucer, saw the splendor of\nmeaning that plays over the visible world; knew that a tree had\nanother use than for apples, and corn another than for meal, and the\nball of the earth, than for tillage and roads: that these things bore\na second and finer harvest to the mind, being emblems of its\nthoughts, and conveying in all their natural history a certain mute\ncommentary on human life. Shakspeare employed them as colors to\ncompose his picture. He rested in their beauty; and never took the\nstep which seemed inevitable to such genius, namely, to explore the\nvirtue which resides in these symbols, and imparts this power,--what\nis that which they themselves say? He converted the elements, which\nwaited on his command, into entertainments. He was master of the\nrevels[648] to mankind. Is it not as if one should have, through\nmajestic powers of science, the comets given into his hand, or the\nplanets and their moons, and should draw them from their orbits to\nglare with the municipal fireworks on a holiday night, and advertise\nin all towns, \"very superior pyrotechny this evening!\" Are the agents\nof nature, and the power to understand them, worth no more than a\nstreet serenade, or the breath of a cigar? One remembers again the\ntrumpet-text in the Koran,[649]--\"The heavens and the earth, and all\nthat is between them, think ye we have created them in jest?\" As long\nas the question is of talent and mental power, the world of men has\nnot his equal to show. But when the question is to life, and its\nmaterials, and its auxiliaries, how does he profit me? What does it\nsignify? It is but a Twelfth Night,[650] or Midsummer Night's Dream,\nor a Winter Evening's Tale: what signifies another picture more or\nless? The Egyptian verdict[651] of the Shakspeare Societies comes to\nmind, that he was a jovial actor and manager. I cannot marry this\nfact to his verse. Other admirable men have led lives in some sort of\nkeeping with their thought; but this man, in wide contrast. Had he\nbeen less, had he reached only the common measure of great authors, of\nBacon, Milton, Tasso,[652] Cervantes,[653] we might leave the fact in\nthe twilight of human fate: but, that this man of men, he who gave to\nthe science of mind a new and larger subject than had ever existed,\nand planted the standard of humanity some furlongs forward into\nChaos,--that he should not be wise for himself,--it must even go into\nthe world's history, that the best poet led an obscure and profane\nlife, using his genius for the public amusement.\n\n28. Well, other men, priest and prophet, Israelite,[654] German,[655]\nand Swede,[656] beheld the same objects: they also saw through them\nthat which was contained. And to what purpose? The beauty straightway\nvanished; they read commandments, all-excluding mountainous duty; an\nobligation, a sadness, as of piled mountains, fell on them, and life\nbecame ghastly, joyless, a pilgrim's progress,[657] a probation,\nbeleaguered round with doleful histories, of Adam's fall[658] and\ncurse, behind us; with doomsdays and purgatorial[659] and penal fires\nbefore us; and the heart of the seer and the heart of the listener\nsank in them.\n\n29. It must be conceded that these are half-views of half-men. The\nworld still wants its poet-priest, a reconciler, who shall not trifle\nwith Shakspeare the player, nor shall grope in graves with Swedenborg\nthe mourner; but who shall see, speak, and act, with equal\ninspiration. For knowledge will brighten the sunshine; right is more\nbeautiful than private affection; and love is compatible with\nuniversal wisdom.\n\n\n\n\nPRUDENCE.[660]\n\n\nWhat right have I to write on Prudence, whereof I have little, and\nthat of the negative sort? My prudence consists in avoiding and going\nwithout, not in the inventing of means and methods, not in adroit\nsteering, not in gentle repairing. I have no skill to make money spend\nwell, no genius in my economy, and whoever sees my garden discovers\nthat I must have some other garden. Yet I love facts, and hate\nlubricity[661] and people without perception. Then I have the same\ntitle to write on prudence that I have to write on poetry or holiness.\nWe write from aspiration and antagonism, as well as from experience.\nWe paint those qualities which we do not possess. The poet admires the\nman of energy and tactics; the merchant breeds his son for the church\nor the bar; and where a man is not vain and egotistic you shall find\nwhat he has not by his praise. Moreover it would be hardly honest in\nme not to balance these fine lyric words of Love and Friendship[662]\nwith words of coarser sound, and whilst my debt to my senses is real\nand constant, not to own it in passing.\n\nPrudence is the virtue of the senses. It is the science of\nappearances. It is the outmost action of the inward life. It is God\ntaking thought for oxen. It moves matter after the laws of matter. It\nis content to seek health of body by complying with physical\nconditions, and health of mind by the laws of the intellect.\n\nThe world of the senses is a world of shows; it does not exist for\nitself, but has a symbolic character; and a true prudence or law of\nshows recognizes the co-presence of other laws and knows that its own\noffice is subaltern; knows that it is surface and not centre where it\nworks. Prudence is false when detached. It is legitimate when it is\nthe Natural History of the soul incarnate, when it unfolds the beauty\nof laws within the narrow scope of the senses.\n\nThere are all degrees of proficiency in knowledge of the world. It is\nsufficient to our present purpose to indicate three. One class lives\nto the utility of the symbol, esteeming health and wealth a final\ngood. Another class live above this mark of the beauty of the symbol,\nas the poet and artist and the naturalist and man of science. A third\nclass live above the beauty of the symbol to the beauty of the thing\nsignified; these are wise men. The first class have common sense; the\nsecond, taste; and the third, spiritual perception. Once in a long\ntime, a man traverses the whole scale, and sees and enjoys the symbol\nsolidly, then also has a clear eye for its beauty, and lastly, whilst\nhe pitches his tent on this sacred volcanic isle of nature, does not\noffer to build houses and barns thereon reverencing the splendor of\nthe God which he sees bursting through each chink and cranny.\n\nThe world is filled with the proverbs[663] and acts and winkings of a\nbase prudence, which is a devotion to matter, as if we possessed no\nother faculties than the palate, the nose, the touch, the eye and ear;\na prudence which adores the Rule of Three, which never subscribes,\nwhich gives never, which seldom lends, and asks but one question of\nany project,--Will it bake bread? This is a disease like a thickening\nof the skin until the vital organs are destroyed. But culture,\nrevealing the high origin of the apparent world and aiming at the\nperfection of the man as the end, degrades everything else, as health\nand bodily life, into means. It sees prudence not to be a several\nfaculty, but a name for wisdom and virtue conversing with the body and\nits wants. Cultivated men always feel and speak so as if a great\nfortune, the achievement of a civil or social measure, great personal\ninfluence, a graceful and commanding address, had their value as\nproofs of the energy of the spirit. If a man lose his balance and\nimmerse himself in any trades or pleasures for their own sake, he may\nbe a good wheel or pin,[664] but he is not a cultivated man.\n\nThe spurious prudence, making the senses final, is the god of sots and\ncowards, and is the subject of all comedy. It is nature's joke, and\ntherefore literature's. The true prudence limits this sensualism by\nadmitting the knowledge of an internal and real world. This\nrecognition once made,--the order of the world and the distribution\nof affairs and times being studied with the co-perception of their\nsubordinate place, will reward any degree of attention. For, our\nexistence, thus apparently attached in nature to the sun and the\nreturning moon and the periods which they mark; so susceptible to\nclimate and to country, so alive to social good and evil, so fond of\nsplendor and so tender to hunger and cold and debt,--reads all its\nprimary lessons out of these books.\n\nPrudence does not go behind nature and ask whence it is? It takes the\nlaws of the world whereby man's being is conditioned, as they are, and\nkeeps these laws that it may enjoy their proper good. It respects\nspace and time, climate, want, sleep, the law of polarity,[665] growth\nand death. There revolve, to give bound and period to his being on all\nsides, the sun and moon, the great formalists in the sky: here lies\nstubborn matter, and will not swerve from its chemical routine. Here\nis a planted globe, pierced and belted with natural laws and fenced\nand distributed externally with civil partitions and properties which\nimpose new restraints on the young inhabitant.\n\nWe eat of the bread which grows in the field. We live by the air which\nblows around us and we are poisoned by the air that is too cold or too\nhot, too dry or too wet. Time, which shows so vacant, indivisible and\ndivine in its coming, is slit and peddled into trifles and tatters. A\ndoor is to be painted, a lock to be repaired. I want wood or oil, or\nmeal, or salt; the house smokes, or I have a headache; then the tax;\nand an affair to be transacted with a man without heart or brains, and\nthe stinging recollection of an injurious or very awkward word,--these\neat up the hours. Do what we can, summer will have its flies.[666] If\nwe walk in the woods we must feed mosquitoes. If we go a-fishing we\nmust expect a wet coat. Then climate is a great impediment to idle\npersons. We often resolve to give up the care of the weather, but\nstill we regard the clouds and the rain.\n\nWe are instructed by these petty experiences which usurp the hours and\nyears. The hard soil and four months of snow make the inhabitant of the\nnorthern temperate zone wiser and abler than his fellow who enjoys the\nfixed smile of the tropics. The islander may ramble all day at will. At\nnight he may sleep on a mat under the moon, and wherever a wild\ndate-tree grows, nature has, without a prayer even, spread a table for\nhis morning meal. The northerner is perforce a householder. He must\nbrew, bake, salt and preserve his food. He must pile wood and coal. But\nas it happens that not one stroke can labor lay to without some new\nacquaintance with nature; and as nature is inexhaustibly significant,\nthe inhabitants of these climates[667] have always excelled the\nsoutherner in force. Such is the value of these matters that a man who\nknows other things can never know too much of these. Let him have\naccurate perceptions. Let him, if he have hands, handle; if eyes,\nmeasure and discriminate; let him accept and hive every fact of\nchemistry, natural history and economics; the more he has, the less is\nhe willing to spare any one. Time is always bringing the occasions that\ndisclose their value. Some wisdom comes out of every natural and\ninnocent action. The domestic man, who loves no music so well as his\nkitchen clock and the airs which the logs sing to him as they burn on\nthe hearth, has solaces which others never dream of. The application of\nmeans to ends ensures victory and the songs of victory not less in a\nfarm or a shop than in the tactics of party or of war. The good husband\nfinds method as efficient in the packing of fire-wood in a shed or in\nthe harvesting of fruits in the cellar, as in Peninsular campaigns[668]\nor the files of the Department of State. In the rainy day he builds a\nwork-bench, or gets his tool-box set in the corner of the barn-chamber,\nand stored with nails, gimlet, pincers, screwdriver and chisel. Herein\nhe tastes an old joy of youth and childhood, the cat-like love of\ngarrets, presses and corn-chambers, and of the conveniences of long\nhousekeeping. His garden or his poultry-yard--very paltry places it may\nbe--tells him many pleasant anecdotes. One might find argument for\noptimism in the abundant flow of this saccharine element of pleasure in\nevery suburb and extremity of the good world. Let a man keep the\nlaw--any law,--and his way will be strown with satisfactions. There is\nmore difference in the quality of our pleasures than in the amount.\n\nOn the other hand, nature punishes any neglect of prudence. If you\nthink the senses final, obey their law. If you believe in the soul, do\nnot clutch at sensual sweetness before it is ripe on the slow tree of\ncause and effect. It is vinegar to the eyes to deal with men of loose\nand imperfect perception. Dr. Johnson is reported to have\nsaid,[669]--\"If the child says he looked out of this window, when he\nlooked out of that,--whip him.\" Our American character is marked by a\nmore than average delight in accurate perception, which is shown by\nthe currency of the by-word, \"No mistake.\"\n\nBut the discomfort of unpunctuality, of confusion of thought about\nfacts, inattention to the wants of to-morrow, is of no nation. The\nbeautiful laws of time and space, once dislocated by our inaptitude,\nare holes and dens. If the hive be disturbed by rash and stupid hands,\ninstead of honey it will yield us bees. Our words and actions to be\nfair must be timely. A gay and pleasant sound is the whetting of the\nscythe in the mornings of June; yet what is more lonesome and sad than\nthe sound of a whetstone or mower's rifle[670] when it is too late in\nthe season to make hay? Scatter brained and \"afternoon men\" spoil much\nmore than their own affairs in spoiling the temper of those who deal\nwith them. I have seen a criticism on some paintings, of which I am\nreminded when I see the shiftless and unhappy men who are not true to\ntheir senses. The last Grand Duke of Weimar,[671] a man of superior\nunderstanding, said: \"I have sometimes remarked in the presence of\ngreat works of art, and just now especially in Dresden, how much a\ncertain property contributes to the effect which gives life to the\nfigures, and to the life an irresistible truth. This property is the\nhitting, in all the figures we draw, the right centre of gravity. I\nmean the placing the figures firm upon their feet, making the hands\ngrasp, and fastening the eyes on the spot where they should look. Even\nlifeless figures, as vessels and stools--let them be drawn ever so\ncorrectly--lose all effect so soon as they lack the resting upon their\ncentre of gravity, and have a certain swimming and oscillating\nappearance. The Raphael in the Dresden gallery[672] (the only great\naffecting picture which I have seen) is the quietest and most\npassionless piece you can imagine; a couple of saints who worship the\nVirgin and child. Nevertheless it awakens a deeper impression than the\ncontortions of ten crucified martyrs. For, beside all the resistless\nbeauty of form, it possesses in the highest degree the property of the\nperpendicularity of all the figures.\" This perpendicularity we demand\nof all the figures in this picture of life. Let them stand on their\nfeet, and not float and swing. Let us know where to find them. Let\nthem discriminate between what they remember and what they dreamed.\nLet them call a spade a spade.[673] Let them give us facts, and honor\ntheir own senses with trust.\n\nBut what man shall dare task another with imprudence? Who is prudent?\nThe men we call greatest are least in this kingdom. There is a certain\nfatal dislocation in our relation to nature, distorting all our modes\nof living and making every law our enemy, which seems at last to have\naroused all the wit and virtue in the world to ponder the question of\nReform. We must call the highest prudence to counsel, and ask why\nhealth and beauty and genius should now be the exception rather than\nthe rule of human nature? We do not know the properties of plants and\nanimals and the laws of nature, through our sympathy with the same;\nbut this remains the dream of poets. Poetry and prudence should be\ncoincident. Poets should be lawgivers; that is, the boldest lyric\ninspiration should not chide and insult, but should announce and lead\nthe civil code and the day's work. But now the two things seem\nirreconcilably parted. We have violated law upon law until we stand\namidst ruins, and when by chance we espy a coincidence between reason\nand the phenomena, we are surprised. Beauty should be the dowry of\nevery man and woman, as invariably as sensation; but it is rare.\nHealth or sound organization should be universal. Genius should be the\nchild of genius, and every child should be inspired; but now it is not\nto be predicted of any child, and nowhere is it pure. We call partial\nhalf lights, by courtesy, genius; talent which converts itself to\nmoney; talent which glitters to-day that it may dine and sleep well\nto-morrow; and society is officered by _men of parts_,[674] as they\nare properly called, and not by divine men. These use their gifts to\nrefine luxury, not to abolish it. Genius is always ascetic; and piety,\nand love. Appetite shows to the finer souls as a disease, and they\nfind beauty in rites and bounds that resist it.\n\nWe have found out[675] fine names to cover our sensuality withal, but\nno gifts can raise intemperance. The man of talent affects to call his\ntransgressions of the laws of the senses trivial and to count them\nnothing considered with his devotion to his art. His art rebukes him.\nThat never taught him lewdness, nor the love of wine, nor the wish to\nreap where he had not sowed. His art is less for every deduction from\nhis holiness, and less for every defect of common sense. On him who\nscorned the world, as he said, the scorned world wreaks its revenge.\nHe that despiseth small things will perish by little and little.\nGoethe's Tasso[676] is very likely to be a pretty fair historical\nportrait, and that is true tragedy. It does not seem to me so genuine\ngrief when some tyrannous Richard III.[677] oppresses and slays a\nscore of innocent persons, as when Antonio and Tasso, both apparently\nright, wrong each other. One living after the maxims of this world and\nconsistent and true to them, the other fired with all divine\nsentiments, yet grasping also at the pleasures of sense, without\nsubmitting to their law. That is a grief we all feel, a knot we cannot\nuntie. Tasso's is no infrequent case in modern biography. A man of\ngenius, of an ardent temperament, reckless of physical laws,\nself-indulgent, becomes presently unfortunate, querulous, a\n\"discomfortable cousin,\" a thorn to himself and to others.\n\nThe scholar shames us by his bifold[678] life. Whilst something higher\nthan prudence is active, he is admirable; when common sense is wanted,\nhe is an encumbrance. Yesterday, C\u00e6sar[679] was not so great; to-day,\nJob[680] not so miserable. Yesterday, radiant with the light of an\nideal world in which he lives, the first of men, and now oppressed by\nwants and by sickness, for which he must thank himself, none is so\npoor to do him reverence. He resembles the opium eaters whom\ntravellers describe as frequenting the bazaars of Constantinople, who\nskulk about all day, the most pitiful drivellers, yellow, emaciated,\nragged, sneaking; then at evening, when the bazaars are open, they\nslink to the opium-shop, swallow their morsel and become tranquil,\nglorious and great. And who has not seen the tragedy of imprudent\ngenius struggling for years with paltry pecuniary difficulties, at\nlast sinking, chilled, exhausted and fruitless, like a giant\nslaughtered by pins?\n\nIs it not better that a man should accept the first pains and\nmortifications of this sort, which nature is not slack in sending him,\nas hints that he must expect no other good than the just fruit of his\nown labor and self-denial? Health, bread, climate, social position,\nhave their importance, and he will give them their due. Let him esteem\nNature a perpetual counsellor, and her perfections the exact measure\nof our deviations. Let him make the night night, and the day day. Let\nhim control the habit of expense. Let him see that as much wisdom may\nbe expended on a private economy as on an empire, and as much wisdom\nmay be drawn from it. The laws of the world are written out for him on\nevery piece of money in his hand. There is nothing he will not be the\nbetter for knowing, were it only the wisdom of Poor Richard,[681] or\nthe State-street[682] prudence of buying by the acre to sell by the\nfoot; or the thrift of the agriculturist, to stick[683] in a tree\nbetween whiles, because it will grow whilst he sleeps; or the prudence\nwhich consists in husbanding little strokes of the tool, little\nportions of time, particles of stock and small gains. The eye of\nprudence may never shut. Iron, if kept at the ironmonger's, will rust;\nbeer, if not brewed in the right state of the atmosphere, will sour;\ntimber of ships will rot at sea, or if laid up high and dry, will\nstrain, warp and dry-rot. Money, if kept by us, yields no rent and is\nliable to loss; if invested, is liable to depreciation of the\nparticular kind of stock. Strike, says the smith, the iron is white.\nKeep the rake, says the haymaker, as nigh the scythe as you can, and\nthe cart as nigh the rake. Our Yankee trade is reputed to be very much\non the extreme of this prudence. It saves itself by its activity. It\ntakes bank notes,--good, bad, clean, ragged, and saves itself by the\nspeed with which it passes them off. Iron cannot rust, nor beer sour,\nnor timber rot, nor calicoes go out of fashion, nor money stocks\ndepreciate, in the few swift moments in which the Yankee suffers any\none of them to remain in his possession. In skating over thin ice our\nsafety is in our speed.\n\nLet him learn a prudence of a higher strain. Let him learn that\neverything in nature, even motes and feathers, go by law and not by\nluck, and that what he sows he reaps. By diligence and self-command\nlet him put the bread he eats at his own disposal, and not at that of\nothers, that he may not stand in bitter and false relations to other\nmen; for the best good of wealth is freedom. Let him practise the\nminor virtues.[684] How much of human life is lost in waiting! Let him\nnot make his fellow creatures wait. How many words and promises are\npromises of conversation! Let his be words of fate. When he sees a\nfolded and sealed scrap of paper float around the globe in a pine ship\nand come safe to the eye for which it was written, amidst a swarming\npopulation, let him likewise feel the admonition to integrate his\nbeing across all these distracting forces, and keep a slender human\nword among the storms, distances and accidents that drive us hither\nand thither, and, by persistency, make the paltry force of one man\nreappear to redeem its pledge after months and years in the most\ndistant climates.\n\nWe must not try to write the laws of any one virtue, looking at that\nonly. Human nature loves no contradictions, but is symmetrical. The\nprudence which secures an outward well-being is not to be studied by\none set of men, whilst heroism and holiness are studied by another,\nbut they are reconcilable. Prudence concerns the present time,\npersons, property and existing forms. But as every fact hath its roots\nin the soul, and, if the soul were changed, would cease to be, or\nwould become some other thing, therefore the proper administration of\noutward things will always rest on a just apprehension of their cause\nand origin; that is, the good man will be the wise man, and the\nsingle-hearted the politic man. Every violation of truth is not only a\nsort of suicide in the liar, but is a stab at the health of human\nsociety. On the most profitable lie the course of events presently\nlays a destructive tax; whilst frankness proves to be the best\ntactics, for it invites frankness, puts the parties on a convenient\nfooting and makes their business a friendship. Trust men and they will\nbe true to you; treat them greatly and they will show themselves\ngreat, though they make an exception in your favor to all their rules\nof trade.\n\nSo, in regard to disagreeable and formidable things, prudence does not\nconsist in evasion or in flight, but in courage. He who wishes to walk\nin the most peaceful parts of life with any serenity must screw\nhimself up to resolution. Let him front the object of his worst\napprehension, and his stoutness will commonly make his fears\ngroundless. The Latin proverb says,[685] \"in battles the eye is first\novercome.\" The eye is daunted and greatly exaggerates the perils of\nthe hour. Entire self-possession may make a battle very little more\ndangerous to life than a match at foils or at football. Examples are\ncited by soldiers of men who have seen the cannon pointed and the fire\ngiven to it, and who have stepped aside from the path of the ball. The\nterrors of the storm are chiefly confined to the parlor and the cabin.\nThe drover, the sailor, buffets it all day, and his health renews\nitself at as vigorous a pulse under the sleet as under the sun of\nJune.\n\nIn the occurrence of unpleasant things among neighbors, fear comes\nreadily to heart and magnifies the consequence of the other party; but\nit is a bad counsellor. Every man is actually weak and apparently\nstrong. To himself he seems weak; to others formidable. You are afraid\nof Grim; but Grim also is afraid of you. You are solicitous of the\ngood will of the meanest person, uneasy at his ill will. But the\nsturdiest offender of your peace and of the neighborhood, if you rip\nup _his_ claims, is as thin and timid as any; and the peace of society\nis often kept, because, as children say, one is afraid and the other\ndares not. Far off, men swell, bully and threaten: bring them hand to\nhand, and they are a feeble folk.\n\nIt is a proverb that \"courtesy costs nothing\"; but calculation might\ncome to value love for its profit. Love is fabled to be blind, but\nkindness is necessary to perception; love is not a hood, but an\neye-water. If you meet a sectary or a hostile partisan, never\nrecognize the dividing lines, but meet on what common ground\nremains,--if only that the sun shines and the rain rains for\nboth,--the area will widen very fast, and ere you know it, the\nboundary mountains on which the eye had fastened have melted into air.\nIf he set out to contend,[686] almost St. Paul will lie, almost St.\nJohn will hate. What low, poor, paltry, hypocritical people an\nargument on religion will make of the pure and chosen souls. Shuffle\nthey will and crow, crook and hide, feign to confess here, only that\nthey may brag and conquer there, and not a thought has enriched either\nparty, and not an emotion of bravery, modesty, or hope. So neither\nshould you put yourself in a false position to your contemporaries by\nindulging a vein of hostility and bitterness. Though your views are in\nstraight antagonism[687] to theirs, assume an identity of sentiment,\nassume that you are saying precisely that which all think, and in the\nflow of wit and love roll out your paradoxes in solid column, with not\nthe infirmity of a doubt. So at least shall you get an adequate\ndeliverance. The natural emotions of the soul are so much better than\nthe voluntary ones that you will never do yourself justice in dispute.\nThe thought is not then taken hold of by the right handle, does not\nshow itself proportioned and in its true bearings, but bears extorted,\nhoarse, and half witness. But assume a consent and it shall presently\nbe granted, since really and underneath their all external\ndiversities, all men are of one heart and mind.\n\nWisdom will never let us stand with any man or men on an unfriendly\nfooting. We refuse sympathy and intimacy with people, as if we waited\nfor some better sympathy and intimacy to come. But whence and when?\nTo-morrow will be like to-day. Life wastes itself whilst we are\npreparing to live. Our friends and fellow-workers die off from us.\nScarcely can we say we see new men, new women, approaching us. We are\ntoo old to regard fashion, too old to expect patronage of any greater\nor more powerful. Let us suck the sweetness of those affections and\nconsuetudes[688] that grow near us. These old shoes are easy to the\nfeet. Undoubtedly we can easily pick faults in our company, can easily\nwhisper names prouder and that tickle the fancy more. Every man's\nimagination hath its friends; and pleasant would life be with such\ncompanions. But if you cannot have them on good mutual terms, you\ncannot have them. If not the Deity but our ambition hews and shapes\nthe new relations, their virtue escapes, as strawberries lose their\nflavor in garden beds.\n\nThus truth, frankness, courage, love, humility, and all the virtues\nrange themselves on the side of prudence, or the art of securing a\npresent well-being. I do not know if all matter will be found to be\nmade of one element, as oxygen or hydrogen, at last, but the world of\nmanners and actions is wrought of one stuff, and begin where we\nwill[689] we are pretty sure in a short space to be mumbling our ten\ncommandments.\n\n\n\n\nCIRCLES.[690]\n\n\nThe eye is the first circle; the horizon which it forms is the second;\nand throughout nature this primary picture is repeated without end. It\nis the highest emblem in the cipher of the world. St. Augustine[691]\ndescribed the nature of God as a circle whose centre was everywhere\nand its circumference nowhere. We are all our lifetime reading the\ncopious sense of this first of forms. One moral we have already\ndeduced in considering the circular or compensatory character of every\nhuman action. Another analogy we shall now trace, that every action\nadmits of being outdone. Our life is an apprenticeship to the truth\nthat around every circle another can be drawn; that there is no end in\nnature, but every end is a beginning; that there is always another\ndawn risen on mid-noon,[692] and under every deep a lower deep opens.\n\nThis fact, as far as it symbolizes the moral fact of the Unattainable,\nthe flying Perfect, around which the hands of man can never meet, at\nonce the inspirer and the condemner of every success, may conveniently\nserve us to connect many illustrations of human power in every\ndepartment.\n\nThere are no fixtures in nature. The universe is fluid and volatile.\nPermanence is but a word of degrees. Our globe seen by God is a\ntransparent law, not a mass of facts. The law dissolves the fact and\nholds its fluid. Our culture is the predominance of an idea which\ndraws after it all this train of cities and institutions. Let us rise\ninto another idea; they will disappear. The Greek sculpture[693] is\nall melted away, as if it had been statues of ice: here and there a\nsolitary figure or fragment remaining, as we see flecks and scraps of\nsnow left in cold dells and mountain clefts in June and July. For the\ngenius that created it creates now somewhat else. The Greek\nletters[694] last a little longer, but are already passing under the\nsame sentence and tumbling into the inevitable pit which the creation\nof new thought opens for all that is old. The new continents are built\nout of the ruins of an old planet; the new races fed out of the\ndecomposition of the foregoing. New arts destroy the old.[695] See the\ninvestment of capital in aqueducts, made useless by hydraulics;\nfortifications, by gunpowder; roads and canals, by railways; sails, by\nsteam; steam, by electricity.\n\nYou admire this tower of granite, weathering the hurts of so many\nages. Yet a little waving hand built this huge wall, and that which\nbuilds is better than that which is built. The hand that built can\ntopple it down much faster. Better than the hand and nimbler was the\ninvisible thought which wrought through it; and thus ever, behind the\ncoarse effect, is a fine cause, which, being narrowly seen, is itself\nthe effect of a finer cause. Everything looks permanent until its\nsecret is known. A rich estate appears to women and children a firm\nand lasting fact; to a merchant, one easily created out of any\nmaterials, and easily lost. An orchard, good tillage, good grounds,\nseem a fixture, like a gold mine, or a river, to a citizen; but to a\nlarge farmer, not much more fixed than the state of the crop. Nature\nlooks provokingly stable and secular, but it has a cause like all the\nrest; and when once I comprehend that, will these fields stretch so\nimmovably wide, these leaves hang so individually considerable?\nPermanence is a word of degrees. Every thing is medial. Moons are no\nmore bounds to spiritual power than bat-balls.\n\nThe key to every man is his thought. Sturdy and defying though he look,\nhe has a helm which he obeys, which is the idea after which all his\nfacts are classified. He can only be reformed by showing him a new idea\nwhich commands his own. The life of man is a self-evolving circle,[696]\nwhich, from a ring imperceptibly small, rushes on all sides outwards to\nnew and larger circles, and that without end. The extent to which this\ngeneration of circles, wheel without wheel, will go, depends on the\nforce or truth of the individual soul. For it is the inert effort of\neach thought, having formed itself into a circular wave of circumstance,\nas for instance an empire, rules of an art, a local usage, a religious\nrite, to heap itself on that ridge and to solidify and hem in the life.\nBut if the soul is quick and strong it bursts over that boundary on all\nsides and expands another orbit on the great deep, which also runs up\ninto a high wave, with attempt again to stop and to bind. But the heart\nrefuses to be imprisoned;[697] in its first and narrowest pulses it\nalready tends outward with a vast force and to immense and innumerable\nexpansions.\n\nEvery ultimate fact is only the first of a new series. Every general\nlaw only a particular fact of some more general law presently to\ndisclose itself. There is no outside, no inclosing wall, no\ncircumference to us. The man finishes his story,--how good! how final!\nhow it puts a new face on all things! He fills the sky. Lo, on the\nother side rises also a man and draws a circle around the circle we\nhad just pronounced the outline of the sphere. Then already is our\nfirst speaker not man, but only a first speaker. His only redress is\nforthwith to draw a circle outside of his antagonist. And so men do by\nthemselves. The result of to-day, which haunts the mind and cannot be\nescaped will presently be abridged into a word, and the principle that\nseemed to explain nature will itself be included as one example of a\nbolder generalization. In the thought of to-morrow there is a power to\nupheave all thy creed, all the creeds, all the literatures of the\nnations, and marshal thee to a heaven which no epic dream has yet\ndepicted. Every man is not so much a workman in the world as he is a\nsuggestion of that he should be. Men walk as prophecies of the next\nage.\n\nStep by step we scale this mysterious ladder; the steps are actions,\nthe new prospect is power. Every several result is threatened and\njudged by that which follows. Every one seems to be contradicted by\nthe new; it is only limited by the new. The new statement is always\nhated by the old, and, to those dwelling in the old, comes like an\nabyss of scepticism. But the eye soon gets wonted to it, for the eye\nand it are effects of one cause; then its innocency and benefit\nappear, and presently, all its energy spent, it pales and dwindles\nbefore the revelation of the new hour.\n\nFear not the new generalization. Does the fact look crass[698] and\nmaterial, threatening to degrade thy theory of spirit? Resist it not;\nit goes to refine and raise thy theory of matter just as much.\n\nThere are no fixtures to men, if we appeal to consciousness. Every man\nsupposes himself not to be fully understood; and if there is any truth\nin him, if he rests at last on the divine soul, I see not how it can\nbe otherwise. The last chamber, the last closet, he must feel was\nnever opened; there is always a residuum unknown, unanalyzable. That\nis, every man believes that he has a greater possibility.\n\nOur moods do not believe in each other. To-day I am full of thoughts\nand can write what I please. I see no reason why I should not have the\nsame thought, the same power of expression, to-morrow. What I write,\nwhilst I write it, seems the most natural thing in the world: but\nyesterday I saw a dreary vacuity in this direction in which now I see\nso much; and a month hence, I doubt not, I shall wonder who he was\nthat wrote so many continuous pages. Alas for this infirm faith, this\nwill not strenuous, this vast ebb of a vast flow! I am God in nature;\nI am a weed by the wall.\n\nThe continual effort to raise himself above himself,[699] to work a\npitch above his last height, betrays itself in a man's relations. We\nthirst for approbation, yet cannot forgive the approver. The sweet of\nnature is love; yet if I have a friend I am tormented by my\nimperfections. The love of me accuses the other party. If he were high\nenough[700] to slight me, then could I love him, and rise by my\naffection to new heights. A man's growth is seen in the successive\nchoirs of his friends. For every friend whom he loses for truth, he\ngains a better. I thought as I walked in the woods and mused on any\nfriends, why should I play with them this game of idolatry? I know and\nsee too well, when not voluntarily blind, the speedy limits of persons\ncalled high and worthy. Rich, noble and great they are by the\nliberality of our speech, but truth is sad. O blessed Spirit, whom I\nforsake for these, they are not thee! Every personal consideration\nthat we allow costs us heavenly state. We sell the thrones of angels\nfor a short and turbulent pleasure.\n\nHow often must we learn this lesson? Men cease to interest us when we\nfind their limitations. The only sin is limitation. As soon as you\nonce come up with a man's limitations, it is all over with him. Has\nhe talents? has he enterprises? has he knowledge? It boots not.\nInfinitely alluring and attractive was he to you yesterday, a great\nhope, a sea to swim in; now, you have found his shores, found it a\npond, and you care not if you never see it again.\n\nEach new step we take in thought reconciles twenty seemingly\ndiscordant facts, as expressions of one law. Aristotle and Plato[701]\nare reckoned the respective heads of two schools. A wise man will see\nthat Aristotle platonizes. By going one step farther back in thought,\ndiscordant opinions are reconciled by being seen to be two extremes of\none principle, and we can never go so far back as to preclude a still\nhigher vision.\n\nBeware when the great God lets loose a thinker on this planet. Then\nall things are at risk. It is as when a conflagration has broken out\nin a great city, and no man knows what is safe, or where it will end.\nThere is not a piece of science but its flank may be turned to-morrow;\nthere is not any literary reputation, not the so-called eternal names\nof fame, that may not be revised and condemned. The very hopes of man,\nthe thoughts of his heart, the religion of nations, the manners and\nmorals of mankind are all at the mercy of a new generalization.\nGeneralization is always a new influx of the divinity into the mind.\nHence the thrill that attends it.\n\nValor consists in the power of self-recovery, so that a man cannot\nhave his flank turned, cannot be out-generalled, but put him where you\nwill, he stands. This can only be by his preferring truth to his past\napprehension of truth, and his alert acceptance of it from whatever\nquarter; the intrepid conviction that his laws, his relations to\nsociety, his Christianity, his world, may at any time be superseded\nand decease.\n\nThere are degrees in idealism. We learn first to play with it\nacademically, as the magnet was once a toy. Then we see in the heyday\nof youth and poetry that it may be true, that it is true in gleams and\nfragments. Then, its countenance waxes stern and grand, and we see\nthat it must be true. It now shows itself ethical and practical. We\nlearn that God is; that he is in me; and that all things are shadows\nof him. The idealism of Berkeley[702] is only a crude statement of the\nidealism of Jesus, and that again is a crude statement of the fact\nthat all nature is the rapid efflux of goodness executing and\norganizing itself. Much more obviously is history and the state of the\nworld at any one time directly dependent on the intellectual\nclassification then existing in the minds of men. The things which are\ndear to men at this hour are so on account of the ideas which have\nemerged on their mental horizon, and which cause the present order of\nthings, as a tree bears its apples. A new degree of culture would\ninstantly revolutionize the entire system of human pursuits.\n\nConversation is a game of circles. In conversation we pluck up the\n_termini_[703] which bound the common of silence on every side. The\nparties are not to be judged by the spirit they partake and even\nexpress under this Pentecost.[704] To-morrow they will have receded\nfrom this high-water mark. To-morrow you shall find them stooping\nunder the old pack-saddles. Yet let us enjoy the cloven flame whilst\nit glows on our walls. When each new speaker strikes a new light,\nemancipates us from the oppression of the last speaker to oppress us\nwith the greatness and exclusiveness of his own thought, then yields\nus to another redeemer, we seem to recover our rights, to become men.\nO, what truths profound and executable only in ages and orbs, are\nsupposed in the announcement of every truth! In common hours, society\nsits cold and statuesque. We all stand waiting, empty,--knowing,\npossibly, that we can be full, surrounded by mighty symbols which are\nnot symbols to us, but prose and trivial toys. Then cometh the god and\nconverts the statues into fiery men, and by a flash of his eye burns\nup the veil which shrouded all things, and the meaning of the very\nfurniture, of cup and saucer, of chair and clock and tester, is\nmanifest. The facts which loomed so large in the fogs of\nyesterday,--property, climate, breeding, personal beauty and the like,\nhave strangely changed their proportions. All that we reckoned settled\nshakes and rattles; and literatures, cities, climates, religions,\nleave their foundations and dance before our eyes. And yet here again\nsee the swift circumscription! Good as is discourse, silence is\nbetter, and shames it. The length of the discourse indicates the\ndistance of thought betwixt the speaker and the hearer. If they were\nat a perfect understanding in any part, no words would be necessary\nthereon. If at one in all parts, no words would be suffered.\n\nLiterature is a point outside of our hodiernal[705] circle through\nwhich a new one may be described. The use of literature is to afford\nus a platform whence we may command a view of our present life, a\npurchase by which we may move it. We fill ourselves with ancient\nlearning, install ourselves the best we can in Greek, in Punic,[706]\nin Roman houses, only that we may wiselier see French, English and\nAmerican houses and modes of living. In like manner[707] we see\nliterature best from the midst of wild nature, or from the din of\naffairs, or from a high religion. The field cannot be well seen from\nwithin the field. The astronomer must have his diameter of the earth's\norbit as a base to find the parallax of any star.\n\nTherefore we value the poet. All the argument and all the wisdom is\nnot in the encyclop\u00e6dia, or the treatise on metaphysics, or the Body\nof Divinity, but in the sonnet or the play. In my daily work I incline\nto repeat my old steps, and do not believe in remedial force, in the\npower of change and reform. But some Petrarch[708] or Ariosto,[709]\nfilled with the new wine of his imagination, writes me an ode or a\nbrisk romance, full of daring thought and action. He smites and\narouses me with his shrill tones, breaks up my whole chain of habits,\nand I open my eye on my own possibilities. He claps wings to the sides\nof all the solid old lumber of the world, and I am capable once more\nof choosing a straight path in theory and practice.\n\nWe have the same need to command a view of the religion of the world.\nWe can never see Christianity from the catechism:--from the pastures,\nfrom a boat in the pond, from amidst the songs of wood-birds we\npossibly may. Cleansed by the elemental light and wind, steeped in the\nsea of beautiful forms which the field offers us, we may chance to\ncast a right glance back upon biography. Christianity is rightly dear\nto the best of mankind; yet was there never a young philosopher whose\nbreeding had fallen into the Christian church by whom that brave text\nof Paul's was not specially prized, \"Then shall also the Son be\nsubject unto Him who put all things under him, that God may be all in\nall.\"[710] Let the claims and virtues of persons be never so great and\nwelcome, the instinct of man presses eagerly onward to the impersonal\nand illimitable, and gladly arms itself against the dogmatism of\nbigots with this generous word out of the book itself.\n\nThe natural world may be conceived of as a system of concentric\ncircles, and we now and then detect in nature slight dislocations\nwhich apprize us that this surface on which we now stand is not fixed,\nbut sliding. These manifold tenacious qualities,[711] this chemistry\nand vegetation, these metals and animals, which seem to stand there\nfor their own sake, are means and methods only, are words of God, and\nas fugitive as other words. Has the naturalist or chemist learned his\ncraft, who has explored the gravity of atoms and the elective\naffinities, who has not yet discerned the deeper law whereof this is\nonly a partial or approximate statement, namely that like draws to\nlike, and that the goods which belong to you gravitate to you and need\nnot be pursued with pains and cost? Yet is that statement approximate\nalso, and not final. Omnipresence is a higher fact. Not through subtle\nsubterranean channels need friend and fact be drawn to their\ncounterpart, but, rightly considered, these things proceed from the\neternal generation of the soul. Cause and effect are two sides of one\nfact.\n\nThe same law of eternal procession ranges all that we call the\nvirtues, and extinguishes each in the light of a better. The great man\nwill not be prudent in the popular sense; all his prudence will be so\nmuch deduction from his grandeur. But it behooves each to see, when he\nsacrifices prudence, to what god he devotes it; if to ease and\npleasure, he had better be prudent still; if to a great trust, he can\nwell spare his mule and panniers who has a winged chariot instead.\nGeoffrey draws on his boots to go through the woods, that his feet may\nbe safer from the bite of snakes; Aaron never thinks of such a peril.\nIn many years neither is harmed by such an accident. Yet it seems to\nme that with every precaution you take against such an evil you put\nyourself into the power of the evil. I suppose that the highest\nprudence is the lowest prudence. Is this too sudden a rushing from\nthe centre to the verge of our orbit? Think how many times we shall\nfall back into pitiful calculations before we take up our rest in the\ngreat sentiment, or make the verge of to-day the new centre. Besides,\nyour bravest sentiment is familiar to the humblest men. The poor and\nthe low have their way of expressing the last facts of philosophy as\nwell as you. \"Blessed be nothing\" and \"The worse things are, the\nbetter they are\" are proverbs which express the transcendentalism of\ncommon life.\n\nOne man's justice is another's injustice; one man's beauty another's\nugliness; one man's wisdom another's folly; as one beholds the same\nobjects from a higher point of view. One man thinks justice consists\nin paying debts, and has no measure in his abhorrence of another who\nis very remiss in this duty and makes the creditor wait tediously. But\nthat second man has his own way of looking at things; asks himself\nwhich debt must I pay first, the debt to the rich, or the debt to the\npoor? the debt of money, or the debt of thought to mankind, of genius\nto nature? For you, O broker, there is no other principle but\narithmetic. For me, commerce is of trivial import; love, faith, truth\nof character, the aspiration of man, these are sacred; nor can I\ndetach one duty, like you, from all other duties, and concentrate my\nforces mechanically on the payment of moneys. Let me live onward; you\nshall find that, though slower, the progress of my character will\nliquidate all these debts without injustice to higher claims. If a\nman should dedicate himself to the payment of notes, would not this be\ninjustice? Owes he no debt but money? And are all claims on him to be\npostponed to a landlord's or a banker's?\n\nThere is no virtue which is final; all are initial. The virtues of\nsociety are vices of the saint. The terror of reform is the discovery\nthat we must cast away our virtues, or what we have always esteemed\nsuch, into the same pit that has consumed our grosser vices.\n\n    Forgive his crimes, forgive his virtues too,\n    Those smaller faults, half converts to the right.[712]\n\nIt is the highest power of divine moments that they abolish our\ncontritions also. I accuse myself of sloth and unprofitableness day by\nday; but when these waves of God flow into me I no longer reckon lost\ntime. I no longer poorly compute my possible achievement by what\nremains to me of the month or the year; for these moments confer a\nsort of omnipresence and omnipotence which asks nothing of duration,\nbut sees that the energy of the mind is commensurate with the work to\nbe done, without time.\n\nAnd thus, O circular philosopher, I hear some reader exclaim, you have\narrived at a fine pyrrhonism,[713] at an equivalence and indifferency\nof all actions, and would fain teach us that _if we are true_,\nforsooth, our crimes may be lively stones out of which we shall\nconstruct the temple of the true God.\n\nI am not careful to justify myself. I own I am gladdened[714] by\nseeing the predominance of the saccharine principle throughout\nvegetable nature, and not less by beholding in morals that\nunrestrained inundation of the principle of good into every chink and\nhole that selfishness has left open, yea into selfishness and sin\nitself; so that no evil is pure, nor hell itself without its extreme\nsatisfactions. But lest I should mislead any when I have my own head\nand obey my whims, let me remind the reader that I am only an\nexperimenter. Do not set the least value on what I do, or the least\ndiscredit on what I do not, as if I pretended to settle anything as\ntrue or false. I unsettle all things. No facts are to me sacred; none\nare profane; I simply experiment, an endless seeker with no Past at my\nback.\n\nYet this incessant movement and progression which all things partake\ncould never become sensible to us but by contrast to some principle of\nfixture or stability in the soul. Whilst the eternal generation of\ncircles proceeds, the eternal generator abides. That central life is\nsomewhat superior to creation, superior to knowledge and thought, and\ncontains all its circles. For ever it labors to create a life and\nthought as large and excellent as itself; but in vain; for that which\nis made instructs how to make a better.\n\nThus there is no sleep, no pause, no preservation, but all things\nrenew, germinate and spring. Why should we import rags and relics into\nthe new hour? Nature abhors the old, and old age seems the only\ndisease: all others run into this one. We call it by many\nnames,--fever, intemperance, insanity, stupidity and crime: they are\nall forms of old age: they are rest, conservatism, appropriation,\ninertia; not newness, not the way onward. We grizzle every day. I see\nno need of it. Whilst we converse with what is above us, we do not\ngrow old, but grow young. Infancy, youth, receptive, aspiring, with\nreligious eye looking upward, counts itself nothing and abandons\nitself to the instruction flowing from all sides. But the man and\nwoman of seventy assume to know all; throw up their hope; renounce\naspiration; accept the actual for the necessary and talk down to the\nyoung. Let them then become organs of the Holy Ghost; let them be\nlovers; let them behold truth; and their eyes are uplifted, their\nwrinkles smoothed, they are perfumed again with hope and power. This\nold age ought not to creep on a human mind. In nature every moment is\nnew; the past is always swallowed and forgotten; the coming only is\nsacred. Nothing is secure but life, transition, the energizing spirit.\nNo love can be bound by oath or covenant to secure it against a higher\nlove. No truth so sublime but it may be trivial to-morrow in the light\nof new thoughts. People wish to be settled: only as far as they are\nunsettled is there any hope for them.\n\nLife is a series of surprises. We do not guess to-day the mood, the\npleasure, the power of to-morrow, when we are building up our being.\nOf lower states,--of acts of routine and sense, we can tell somewhat,\nbut the masterpieces of God, the total growths and universal movements\nof the soul, he hideth; they are incalculable. I can know that truth\nis divine and helpful; but how it shall help me I can have no guess,\nfor _so to be_ is the sole inlet of _so to know_. The new position of\nthe advancing man has all the powers of the old, yet has them all new.\nIt carries in its bosom all the energies of the past, yet is itself an\nexhalation of the morning. I cast away in this new moment all my once\nhoarded knowledge, as vacant and vain. Now for the first time seem I\nto know any thing rightly. The simplest words,--we do not know what\nthey mean except when we love and aspire.\n\nThe difference between talents and character is adroitness to keep the\nold and trodden round, and power and courage to make a new road to new\nand better goals. Character makes an overpowering present, a cheerful,\ndetermined hour, which fortifies all the company by making them see\nthat much is possible and excellent that was not thought of. Character\ndulls the impression of particular events. When we see the conqueror\nwe do not think much of any one battle or success. We see that we had\nexaggerated the difficulty. It was easy to him. The great man is not\nconvulsible or tormentable. He is so much that events pass over him\nwithout much impression. People say sometimes, \"See what I have\novercome; see how cheerful I am; see how completely I have triumphed\nover these black events.\" Not if they still remind me of the black\nevent,--they have not yet conquered. Is it conquest to be a gay and\ndecorated sepulchre, or a half-crazed widow, hysterically laughing?\nTrue conquest is the causing the black event to fade and disappear as\nan early cloud of insignificant result in a history so large and\nadvancing.\n\nThe one thing which we seek with insatiable desire is to forget\nourselves, to be surprised out of our propriety, to lose our\nsempiternal[715] memory and to do something without knowing how or\nwhy; in short to draw a new circle. Nothing great was ever achieved\nwithout enthusiasm. The way of life is wonderful. It is by\nabandonment. The great moments of history are the facilities of\nperformance through the strength of ideas, as the works of genius and\nreligion. \"A man,\" said Oliver Cromwell,[716] \"never rises so high as\nwhen he knows not whither he is going.\" Dreams and drunkenness, the\nuse of opium and alcohol are the semblance and counterfeit of this\noracular genius, and hence their dangerous attraction for men. For the\nlike reason they ask the aid of wild passions, as in the gaming and\nwar, ape in some manner these flames and generosities of the heart.\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\nTHE AMERICAN SCHOLAR\n\n\n[Footnote 1: Games of strength. The public games of Greece were\nathletic and intellectual contests of various kinds. There were four\nof importance: the Olympic, held every four years; the Pythian, held\nevery third Olympic year; and the Nemean and Isthmian, held alternate\nyears between the Olympic periods. These great national festivals\nexercised a strong influence in Greece. They were a secure bond of\nunion between the numerous independent states and did much to help the\nnation to repel its foreign invaders. In Greece the accomplished\nathlete was reverenced almost as a god, and cases have been recorded\nwhere altars were erected and sacrifices made in his honor. The\nextreme care and cultivation of the body induced by this national\nspirit is one of the most significant features of Greek culture, and\none which might wisely be imitated in the modern world.]\n\n[Footnote 2: Troubadours. In southern France during the eleventh\ncentury, wandering poets went from castle to castle reciting or\nsinging love-songs, composed in the old Proven\u00e7al dialect, a sort of\nvulgarized Latin. The life in the great feudal chateaux was so dull\nthat the lords and ladies seized with avidity any amusement which\npromised to while away an idle hour. The troubadours were made much of\nand became a strong element in the development of the Southern spirit.\nSo-called Courts of Love were formed where questions of an amorous\nnature were discussed in all their bearings; learned opinions were\nexpressed on the most trivial matters, and offenses were tried.\n\nSome of the Proven\u00e7al poetry is of the highest artistic significance,\nthough the mass of it is worthless high-flown trash.]\n\n[Footnote 3: At the time this oration was delivered (1837), many of\nthe authors who have since given America a place in the world's\nliterature were young men writing their first books. \"We were,\" says\nJames Russell Lowell, \"still socially and intellectually moored to\nEnglish thought, till Emerson cut the cable and gave us a chance at\nthe dangers and glories of blue water.\"]\n\n[Footnote 4: Pole-star. Polaris is now the nearest conspicuous star to\nthe north pole of the celestial equator. Owing to the motion of the\npole of the celestial equator around that of the ecliptic, this star\nwill in course of time recede from its proud position, and the\nbrilliant star Vega in the constellation Harp will become the\npole-star.]\n\n[Footnote 5: It is now a well-recognized fact in the development of\nanimal life that as any part of the body falls into disuse it in time\ndisappears. Good examples of this are the disappearance of powerful\nfangs from the mouth of man, the loss of power in the wings of\nbarnyard fowls; and, _vice versa_, as new uses for a member arise, its\nstructure changes to meet the new needs. An example of this is the\ntransformation from the hoof of a horse through the cloven hoofs of\nthe cow to the eventual development of highly expert fingers in the\nmonkey and man. Emerson assumed the doctrine of evolution to be\nsufficiently established by the anatomical evidence of gradual\ndevelopment. In his own words: \"Man is no up-start in the creation.\nHis limbs are only a more exquisite organization--say rather the\nfinish--of the rudimental forms that have been already sweeping the\nsea and creeping in the mud. The brother of his hand is even now\ncleaving the arctic sea in the fin of the whale, and innumerable ages\nsince was pawing the marsh in the flipper of the saurian.\" A view\nafterwards condensed into his memorable couplet:\n\n   \"Striving to be man, the worm\n    Mounts through all the spires of form.\"\n]\n\n[Footnote 6: Stint. A prescribed or allotted task, a share of labor.]\n\n[Footnote 7: Ridden. Here used in the sense of dominated.]\n\n[Footnote 8: Monitory pictures. Instructive warning pictures.]\n\n[Footnote 9: The Greek stoic philosopher Epictetus is the author of\nthis saying, not \"the old oracle.\" It occurs in the Encheiridion, or\nmanual, a work put together by a pupil of Epictetus. The original\nsaying of Epictetus is as follows: \"Every thing has two handles, the\none by which it may be borne, the other by which it may not. If your\nbrother acts unjustly, do not lay hold of the act by that handle\nwherein he acts unjustly, for this is the handle which cannot be\nborne: but lay hold of the other, that he is your brother, that he was\nnurtured with you, and you will lay hold of the thing by that handle\nby which it can be borne.\"]\n\n[Footnote 10: Every day, the sun (shines).]\n\n[Footnote 11: Beholden. Emerson here uses this past participle with\nits original meaning instead of in its present sense of \"indebted.\"]\n\n[Footnote 12: Here we have a reminder of Emerson's pantheism. He means\nthe inexplicable continuity \"of what I call God, and fools nature,\" as\nBrowning expressed it.]\n\n[Footnote 13: His expanding knowledge will become a creator.]\n\n[Footnote 14: Know thyself. Plutarch ascribes this saying to Plato. It\nis also ascribed to Pythagoras, Chilo, Thales, Cleobulus, Bias, and\nSocrates; also to Phemoni\u00eb, a mythical Greek poetess of the\nante-Homeric period. Juvenal (Satire XI. 27) says that this precept\ndescended from heaven. \"Know thyself\" and \"Nothing too much\" were\ninscribed upon the Delphic oracle.\n\n   \"Know then thyself, presume not God to scan;\n    The proper study of mankind is man.\"\n\n]\n\n[Footnote 15: Observe the brisk movement of these sentences. How they\ncatch and hold the attention, giving a new impulse to the reader's\ninterest!]\n\n[Footnote 16: Nature abhors a vacuum.]\n\n[Footnote 17: Noxious. Harmful.]\n\n[Footnote 18: John Locke (1632-1704), an English philosopher whose\nwork was of especial significance in the development of modern\nphilosophy. The work he is best known by is the exhaustive \"Essay on\nthe Human Understanding,\" in which he combated the theory of\nDescartes, that every man has certain \"innate ideas.\" The innate-idea\ntheory was first proved by the philosopher Descartes in this way.\nDescartes began his speculations from a standpoint of absolute doubt.\nThen he said, \"I think, therefore I am,\" and from this formula he\nbuilt up a number of ideas innate to the human mind, ideas which we\ncannot but hold. Locke's \"Essay on the Human Understanding\" did much\nto discredit Descartes' innate ideas, which had been very generally\naccepted in Europe before.]\n\n[Footnote 19: Francis Bacon, Baron Verulam, Viscount Saint Alban's\n(1561-1626), a famous English statesman and philosopher. He occupied\nhigh public offices, but in 1621 was convicted of taking bribes in his\noffice of Lord Chancellor. He pleaded guilty and was sentenced to\nimprisonment and a fine of forty thousand pounds. Both these sentences\nwere remitted, however. In the seventeenth century, judicial\ncorruption was so common that Bacon's offence was not considered so\ngross as it would now be. As a philosopher Bacon's rank has been much\ndisputed. While some claim that to his improved method of studying\nnature are chiefly to be attributed the prodigious strides taken by\nmodern science, others deny him all merit in this respect. His best\nknown works are: \"The Novum Organum,\" a philosophical treatise; \"The\nAdvancement of Learning,\" a remarkable argument in favor of\nscholarship; and the short essays on subjects of common interest,\nusually printed under the simple title \"Bacon's Essays.\"]\n\n[Footnote 20: Third Estate. The thirteenth century was the age when\nthe national assemblies of most European countries were putting on\ntheir definite shape. In most of them the system of _estates_\nprevailed. These in most countries were three--nobles, clergy, and\ncommons, the commons being the third estate. During the French\nRevolution the Third Estate, or Tiers Etat, asserted its rights and\nbecame a powerful factor in French politics, choosing its own leaders\nand effecting the downfall of its oppressors.]\n\n[Footnote 21: Restorers of readings. Men who spend their lives trying\nto improve and correct the texts of classical authors, by comparing\nthe old editions with each other and picking out the version which\nseem most in accordance with the authors' original work.]\n\n[Footnote 22: Emendators. The same as restorers of readings.]\n\n[Footnote 23: Bibliomaniacs. Men with a mania for collecting rare and\nbeautiful books. Not a bad sort of mania, though Emerson never had any\nsympathy for it.]\n\n[Footnote 24: To many readers Emerson's own works richly fulfill this\nobligation. He himself lived continually in such a lofty mental\natmosphere that no one can come within the circle of his influence\nwithout being stimulated and elevated.]\n\n[Footnote 25: Genius, the possession of a thoroughly active soul,\nought not to be the special privilege of favorites of fortune, but the\nright of every sound man.]\n\n[Footnote 26: They stunt my mental growth. A man should not accept\nanother man's conclusions, but merely use them as steps on his upward\npath.]\n\n[Footnote 27: If you do not employ such talent as you have in original\nlabor, in bearing the mental fruit of which you are capable, then you\ndo not vindicate your claim to a share in the divine nature.]\n\n[Footnote 28: Disservice. Injury.]\n\n[Footnote 29: In original composition of any sort our efforts\nnaturally flow in the channels worn for us by the first dominating\nstreams of early genius. The conventional is the continual foe of all\ntrue art.]\n\n[Footnote 30: Emerson is continually stimulating us to look at things\nin new ways. Here, for instance, at once the thought comes: \"Is it not\nperhaps possible that the transcendent genius of Shakespeare has been\nrather noxious than beneficent in its influence on the mind of the\nworld? Has not the all-pervading Shakespearian influence flooded and\ndrowned out a great deal of original genius?\"]\n\n[Footnote 31: That is,--when in his clear, seeing moments he can\ndistil some drops of truth from the world about him, let him not waste\nhis time in studying other men's records of what they have seen.]\n\n[Footnote 32: While Emerson's verse is frequently unmusical, in his\nprose we often find passages like this instinct with the fairest\npoetry.]\n\n[Footnote 33: Geoffrey Chaucer (1340-1400). The father of English\npoetry. Chaucer's chief work is the \"Canterbury Tales,\" a series of\nstories told by pilgrims traveling in company to Canterbury.\nColeridge, the poet, wrote of Chaucer: \"I take unceasing delight in\nChaucer; his manly cheerfulness is especially delicious to me in my\nold age. How exquisitely tender he is, yet how free from the least\ntouch of sickly melancholy or morbid drooping.\" Chaucer's poetry is\nabove all things fresh. It breathes of the morning of literature. Like\nHomer he had at his command all the riches of a new language undefiled\nby usage from which to choose.\n\n   \"Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled,\n    On Fame's eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled.\"\n\n]\n\n[Footnote 34: Andrew Marvell (1620-1678). An eminent English patriot\nand satirist. As a writer he is chiefly known by his \"Rehearsal\nTransposed,\" written in answer to a fanatical defender of absolute\npower. When a young man he was assistant to the poet Milton, who was\nthen Latin secretary to Oliver Cromwell. Marvell's wit and\ndistinguished abilities rendered him formidable to the corrupt\nadministration of Charles II., who attempted without success to buy\nhis friendship. Emerson's literary perspective is a bit unusual when\nhe speaks of Marvell as \"one of the great English poets.\" Marvell\nhardly ranks with Chaucer, Shakespeare, and Milton.]\n\n[Footnote 35: John Dryden (1631-1700). A celebrated English poet.\nEarly in life he wrote almost entirely for the stage and achieved\ngreat success. In the latter part of his life, however, according to\nMacaulay, he \"turned his powers in a new direction with success the\nmost splendid and decisive. The first rank in poetry was beyond his\nreach, but he secured the most honorable place in the second.... With\nhim died the secret of the old poetical diction of England,--the art\nof producing rich effects by familiar words.\"]\n\n[Footnote 36: Plato (429-347 B.C.). One of the most illustrious\nphilosophers of all time. Probably no other philosopher has\ncontributed so much as Plato to the moral and intellectual training of\nthe human race. This pre-eminence is due not solely to his\ntranscendent intellect, but also in no small measure to his poetic\npower and to that unrivaled grace of style which led the ancients to\nsay that if Jove should speak Greek he would speak like Plato. He was\na remarkable example of that universal culture of body and mind which\ncharacterized the last period of ancient Greece. He was proficient in\nevery branch of art and learning and was such a brilliant athlete that\nhe contended in the Isthmian and Pythian games.]\n\n[Footnote 37: Gowns. The black gown worn occasionally in America and\nalways in England at the universities; the distinctive academic dress\nis a cap and gown.]\n\n[Footnote 38: Pecuniary foundations. Gifts of money for the support of\ninstitutions of learning.]\n\n[Footnote 39: Wit is here used in its early sense of intellect, good\nunderstanding.]\n\n[Footnote 40: Valetudinarian. A person of a weak, sickly\nconstitution.]\n\n[Footnote 41: Mincing. Affected.]\n\n[Footnote 42: Preamble. A preface or introduction.]\n\n[Footnote 43: Dumb abyss. That vast immensity of the universe about us\nwhich we can never understand.]\n\n[Footnote 44: I comprehend its laws; I lose my fear of it.]\n\n[Footnote 45: Silkworms feed on mulberry-leaves. Emerson describes\nwhat science calls \"unconscious cerebration.\"]\n\n[Footnote 46: Ripe fruit. Emerson's ripe fruit found its way into his\ndiary, where it lay until he needed it in the preparation of some\nlecture or essay.]\n\n[Footnote 47: I. Corinthians xv. 53.]\n\n[Footnote 48: Empyrean. The region of pure light and fire; the ninth\nheaven of ancient astronomy.\n\n   \"The deep-domed empyrean\n    Rings to the roar of an angel onset.\"\n\n]\n\n[Footnote 49: Ferules. According to the methods of education fifty\nyears ago, it was quite customary for the teacher to punish a\nschool-child with his ferule or ruler.]\n\n[Footnote 50: Oliver Wendell Holmes cites this last sentence as the\nmost extreme development of the distinctively Emersonian style. Such\nthings must be read not too literally but rapidly, with alert\nattention to what the previous train of thought has been.]\n\n[Footnote 51: Savoyards. The people of Savoy, south of Lake Geneva in\nSwitzerland.]\n\n[Footnote 52: Emerson's style is characterized by the frequent use of\npithy epigrams like this.]\n\n[Footnote 53: Sir Isaac Newton (1642-1727). A great English\nphilosopher and mathematician. He is famous as having discovered the\nlaw of gravitation.]\n\n[Footnote 54: Unhandselled. Uncultivated, without natural advantages.\nA handsel is a gift.]\n\n[Footnote 55: Druids. The ancient priesthood of the Britons in C\u00e6sar's\ntime. They had immense power among these primitive peoples. They were\nthe judges as well as the priests and decided all questions. It is\nbelieved that they made human sacrifices to their gods in the depths\nof the primeval forest, but not much is known of their rites.]\n\n[Footnote 56: Berserkers. Berserker was a redoubtable hero in\nScandinavian mythology, the grandson of the eight-handed Starkodder\nand the beautiful Alfhilde. He had twelve sons who inherited the\nwild-battle frenzy, or berserker rage. The sagas, the great\nScandinavian epics, are full of stories of heroes who are seized with\nthis fierce longing for battle, murder, and sudden death. The name\nmeans bear-shirt and has been connected with the old _were-wolf_\ntradition, the myth that certain people were able to change into\nman-devouring wolves with a wolfish mad desire to rend and kill.]\n\n[Footnote 57: Alfred, surnamed the Great (848-901), king of the West\nSaxons in England. When he ascended the throne his country was in a\ndeplorable condition from the repeated inroads of northern invaders.\nHe eventually drove them out and established a secure government.\nEngland owes much to the efforts of Alfred. He not only fought his\ncountry's battles, but also founded schools, translated Latin books\ninto his native tongue, and did much for the intellectual improvement\nof his people.]\n\n[Footnote 58: The hoe and the spade. \"In spite of Emerson's habit of\nintroducing the names of agricultural objects into his writing ('Hay,\ncorn, roots, hemp, flax, apples, wool, and wood' is a line from one of\nhis poems), his familiarity therewith is evidently not so great as he\nwould lead one to imagine. 'Take care, papa,' cried his little son,\nseeing him at work with a spade, 'you will dig your leg.'\"]\n\n[Footnote 59: John Flamsteed (1646-1719). An eminent English\nastronomer. He appears to have been the first to understand the theory\nof the equation of time. He passed his life in patient observation and\ndetermined the position of 2884 stars.]\n\n[Footnote 60: Sir William Herschel (1738-1822). One of the greatest\nastronomers that any age or nation has produced. Brought up to the\nprofession of music, it was not until he was thirty years old that he\nturned his attention to astronomy. By rigid economy he obtained a\ntelescope, and in 1781 discovered the planet Uranus. This great\ndiscovery gave him great fame and other substantial advantages. He was\nmade private astronomer to the king and received a pension. His\ndiscoveries were so far in advance of his time, they had so little\nrelation with those of his predecessors, that he may almost be said\nto have created a new science by revealing the immensity of the scale\non which the universe is constructed.]\n\n[Footnote 61: Nebulous. In astronomy a nebula is a luminous patch in\nthe heavens far beyond the solar system, composed of a mass of stars\nor condensed gases.]\n\n[Footnote 62: Fetich. The word seems to have been applied by\nPortuguese sailors and traders on the west coast of Africa to objects\nworshiped by the natives, which were regarded as charms or talismans.\nOf course the word here means an object of blind admiration and\ndevotion.]\n\n[Footnote 63: Cry up, to praise, extol.]\n\n[Footnote 64: Ancient and honorable. Isaiah ix. 15.]\n\n[Footnote 65: Complement. What is needed to complete or fill up some\nquantity or thing.]\n\n[Footnote 66: Signet. Seal. Emerson is not always felicitous in his\nchoice of metaphors.]\n\n[Footnote 67: Macdonald. In Cervantes' \"Don Quixote,\" Sancho Panza,\nthe squire to the \"knight of the metaphysical countenance,\" tells a\nstory of a gentleman who had asked a countryman to dine with him. The\nfarmer was pressed to take his seat at the head of the table, and when\nhe refused out of politeness to his host, the latter became impatient\nand cried: \"Sit there, clod-pate, for let me sit wherever I will, that\nwill still be the upper end, and the place of worship to thee.\" This\nsaying is commonly attributed to Rob Roy, but Emerson with his usual\ninaccuracy in such matters places it in the mouth of Macdonald,--which\nMacdonald is uncertain.]\n\n[Footnote 68: Carolus Linn\u00e6us (1707-1778). A great Swedish botanist.\nHe did much to make botany the orderly science it now is.]\n\n[Footnote 69: Sir Humphry Davy (1778-1829). The most famous of English\nchemists. The most important to mankind of his many discoveries was\nthe safety-lamp to be used in mines where there is danger of explosion\nfrom fire-damp.]\n\n[Footnote 70: Baron George Cuvier (1769-1832). An illustrious French\nphilosopher, statesman, and writer who made many discoveries in the\nrealm of natural history, geology and philosophy.]\n\n[Footnote 71: The moon. The tides are caused by the attraction of the\nmoon and the sun. The attraction of the moon for the water nearest the\nmoon is somewhat greater than the attraction of the earth's center.\nThis causes a slight bulging of the water toward the moon and a\nconsequent high tide.]\n\n[Footnote 72: Emerson frequently omits the principal verb of his\nsentences as here: \"In a century _there may exist_ one or two men.\"]\n\n[Footnote 73: This obscurely constructed sentence means: \"For their\nacquiescence in a political and social inferiority the poor and low\nfind some compensation in the immense moral capacity thereby gained.\"]\n\n[Footnote 74: \"They\" refers to the hero or poet mentioned some twenty\nlines back.]\n\n[Footnote 75: Comprehendeth. Here used in the original sense _to\ninclude_. The perfect man should be so thoroughly developed at every\npoint that he will possess a share in the nature of every man.]\n\n[Footnote 76: By the Classic age is generally meant the age of Greece\nand Rome; and by the Romantic is meant the middle ages.]\n\n[Footnote 77: Introversion. Introspection is the more usual word to\nexpress the analytic self-searching so common in these days.]\n\n[Footnote 78: Second thoughts. Emerson uses the word here in the same\nsense as the French _arri\u00e8re-pens\u00e9e_, a mental reservation.]\n\n[Footnote 79:\n\n   \"And thus the native hue of resolution\n    Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.\"\n                           _Hamlet_, Act III, Sc. 1.\n\n]\n\n[Footnote 80: Movement. The French Revolution.]\n\n[Footnote 81: Let every common object be credited with the diviner\nattributes which will class it among others of the same importance.]\n\n[Footnote 82: Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774). An eminent English poet\nand writer. He is best known by the comedy \"She Stoops to Conquer,\"\nthe poem \"The Deserted Village,\" and the \"Vicar of Wakefield.\" \"Of all\nromances in miniature,\" says Schlegel, the great German critic, \"the\n'Vicar of Wakefield' is the most exquisite.\" It is probably the most\npopular English work of fiction in Germany.]\n\n[Footnote 83: Robert Burns (1759-1796). A celebrated Scottish poet.\nThe most striking characteristics of Burns' poetry are simplicity and\nintensity, in which he is scarcely, if at all, inferior to any of the\ngreatest poets that have ever lived.]\n\n[Footnote 84: William Cowper (1731-1800). One of the most popular of\nEnglish poets. His poem \"The Task\" was probably more read in his day\nthan any poem of equal length in the language. Cowper also made an\nexcellent translation of Homer.]\n\n[Footnote 85: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832). The most\nillustrious name in German literature; a great poet, dramatist,\nnovelist, philosopher, and critic. The Germans regard Goethe with the\nsame veneration we accord to Shakespeare. The colossal drama \"Faust\"\nis the most splendid product of his genius, though he wrote a large\nnumber of other plays and poems.]\n\n[Footnote 86: William Wordsworth (1770-1850). By many considered the\ngreatest of modern English poets. His descriptions of the ever-varying\nmoods of nature are the most exquisite in the language. Matthew Arnold\nin his essay on Emerson says: \"As Wordsworth's poetry is, in my\njudgment, the most important work done in verse in our language during\nthe present century, so Emerson's 'Essays' are, I think, the most\nimportant work done in prose.\"]\n\n[Footnote 87: Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881). A famous English essayist,\nhistorian, and speculative philosopher. It is scarcely too much to say\nthat no other author of this century has exerted a greater influence\nnot merely upon the literature but upon the mind of the English nation\nthan Carlyle. Emerson was an intimate friend of Carlyle, and during\nthe greater part of his life maintained a correspondence with the\ngreat Englishman. An interesting description of their meeting will be\nfound among the \"Critical Opinions\" at the beginning of the work.]\n\n[Footnote 88: Alexander Pope (1688-1744). The author of the \"Essay on\nCriticism,\" \"Rape of the Lock,\" the \"Essay on Man,\" and other famous\npoems. Pope possessed little originality or creative imagination, but\nhe had a vivid sense of the beautiful and an exquisite taste. He owed\nmuch of his popularity to the easy harmony of his verse and the\nkeenness of his satire.]\n\n[Footnote 89: Samuel Johnson (1709-1784). One of the eminent writers\nof the eighteenth century. He wrote \"Lives of the Poets,\" poems, and\nprobably the most remarkable work of the kind ever produced by a\nsingle person, an English dictionary.]\n\n[Footnote 90: Edward Gibbon (1737-1794). One of the most distinguished\nof English historians. His great work is the \"Decline and Fall of the\nRoman Empire.\" Carlyle called Gibbon, \"the splendid bridge from the\nold world to the new.\"]\n\n[Footnote 91: Emanuel Swedenborg (1688-1772). A great Swedish\ntheologian, naturalist, and mathematician, and the founder of a\nreligious sect which has since his death become prominent among the\nphilosophical schools of Christianity.]\n\n[Footnote 92: Johann Heinrich Pestalozzi (1746-1827). A Swiss teacher\nand educational reformer of great influence in his time.]\n\n\nCOMPENSATION\n\n[Footnote 93: These lines are printed under the title of\n_Compensation_ in Emerson's collected poems. He has also another poem\nof eight lines with the same title.]\n\n[Footnote 94: Documents, data, facts.]\n\n[Footnote 95: This doctrine, which a little observation would confute,\nis still taught by some.]\n\n[Footnote 96: Doubloons, Spanish and South American gold coins of the\nvalue of about $15.60 each.]\n\n[Footnote 97: Polarity, that quality or condition of a body by virtue\nof which it exhibits opposite or contrasted properties in opposite or\ncontrasted directions.]\n\n[Footnote 98: Systole and diastole, the contraction and dilation of\nthe heart and arteries.]\n\n[Footnote 99: They are increased and consequently want more.]\n\n[Footnote 100: Intenerate, soften.]\n\n[Footnote 101: White House, the popular name of the presidential\nmansion at Washington.]\n\n[Footnote 102: Explain the phrase _eat dust_.]\n\n[Footnote 103: Overlook, oversee, superintend.]\n\n[Footnote 104: Res nolunt, etc. Translated in the previous sentence.]\n\n[Footnote 105: The world ... dew. Explain the thought. What gives the\nearth its shape?]\n\n[Footnote 106: The microscope ... little. This statement is not in\naccordance with the facts, if we are to understand _perfect_ in the\nsense which the next sentence would suggest.]\n\n[Footnote 107: Emerson has been considered a pantheist.]\n\n[Footnote 108: _[Greek: Hoi kyboi]_, etc. The translation follows in\nthe text. This old proverb is quoted by Sophocles, (Fragm. LXXIV.2) in\nthe form:\n\n     [Greek: Aei gar eu piptousin oi Dios kyboi],\n\nEmerson uses it in _Nature_ in the form \"Nature's dice are always\nloaded.\"]\n\n[Footnote 109: Amain, with full force, vigorously.]\n\n[Footnote 110: The proverb is quoted by Horace, Epistles, I, X.24:\n\n     \"Naturam expelles furca, tamen usque recurret.\"\n\nA similar thought is expressed by Juvenal, Seneca, Cicero, and\nAristophanes.]\n\n[Footnote 111: Augustine, Confessions, B. I.]\n\n[Footnote 112: Jupiter, the supreme god of the Romans, the Zeus of the\nGreeks.]\n\n[Footnote 113: Tying up the hands. The expression is used\nfiguratively, of course.]\n\n[Footnote 114: The supreme power in England is vested in Parliament.]\n\n[Footnote 115: Prometheus stole fire from heaven to benefit the race\nof men. In punishment for this Jupiter chained him to a rock and set\nan eagle to prey upon his liver. Some unknown and terrible danger\nthreatened Jupiter, the secret of averting which only Prometheus knew.\nFor this secret Jupiter offered him his freedom.]\n\n[Footnote 116: Minerva, goddess of wisdom, who sprang full-armed from\nthe brain of Jupiter. The secret which she held is told in the\nfollowing lines.]\n\n[Footnote 117: Aurora, goddess of the dawn. Enamored of Tithonus, she\npersuaded Jupiter to grant him immortality, but forgot to ask for him\nimmortal youth. Read Tennyson's poem on _Tithonus_.]\n\n[Footnote 118: Achilles, the hero of Homer's _Iliad_. His mother\nThetis, to render him invulnerable, plunged him into the waters of the\nStyx. The heel by which she held him was not washed by the waters and\nremained vulnerable. Here he received a mortal wound.]\n\n[Footnote 119: Siegfried, hero of the Nibelungenlied, the old German\nepic poem. Having slain a dragon, he bathed in its blood and became\ncovered with an invulnerable horny hide, only one small spot between\nhis shoulders which was covered by a leaf remaining vulnerable. Into\nthis spot the treacherous Hagen plunged his lance.]\n\n[Footnote 120: Nemesis, a Greek female deity, goddess of retribution,\nwho visited the righteous anger of the gods upon mortals.]\n\n[Footnote 121: The Furies or Eumenides, stern and inexorable ministers\nof the vengeance of the gods.]\n\n[Footnote 122: Ajax and Hector, Greek and Trojan heroes in the Trojan\nWar. See Homer's _Iliad_. Achilles slew Hector and, lashing him to his\nchariot with the belt which Ajax had given Hector, dragged him round\nthe walls of Troy. Ajax committed suicide with the sword which Hector\nhad presented to him.]\n\n[Footnote 123: Thasians, inhabitants of the island of Thasus. The\nstory here told of the rival of the athlete Theagenes is found in\nPausanias' _Description of Greece_, Book VI. chap. XI.]\n\n[Footnote 124: Shakespeare, the greatest of English writers, seems to\nhave succeeded entirely or almost entirely in removing the personal\nelement from his writings.]\n\n[Footnote 125: Hellenic, Greek.]\n\n[Footnote 126: Tit for tat, etc. This paragraph is composed of a\nseries of proverbs.]\n\n[Footnote 127: Edmund Burke (1729?-1797), illustrious Irish statesman,\norator, and author.]\n\n[Footnote 128: Pawns, the pieces of lowest rank in chess.]\n\n[Footnote 129: What is the meaning of _obscene_ here? Compare the\nLatin.]\n\n[Footnote 130: Polycrates, a tyrant of Samos, who was visited with\nsuch remarkable prosperity that he was advised by a friend to break\nthe course of it by depriving himself of some valued possession. In\naccordance with this advice he cast into the sea an emerald ring which\nhe considered his rarest treasure. A few days later a fisherman\npresented the monarch with a large fish inside of which the ring was\nfound. Soon after this Polycrates fell into the power of an enemy and\nwas nailed to a cross.]\n\n[Footnote 131: Scot and lot, \"formerly, a parish assessment laid on\nsubjects according to their ability. Now, a phrase for obligations of\nevery kind regarded collectively.\" (Webster.)]\n\n[Footnote 132: Read Emerson's essay on _Gifts_.]\n\n[Footnote 133: Worm worms, breed worms.]\n\n[Footnote 134: Compare the old proverb \"Murder will out.\" See Chaucer,\n_N.P.T._, 232 and 237, and _Pr. T._, 124.]\n\n[Footnote 135:\n\n\"Et semel emissum volat irrevocabile verbum.\"\n                       HORACE, _EPIST._, I. XVIII. 65.\n\n]\n\n[Footnote 136: Stag in the fable. See _\u00c6sop_, LXVI. 184, _Cerva et\nLeo_; Ph\u00e6drus I. 12. _Cervus ad fontem_; La Fontaine, vi. 9, _Le Cerf\nse Voyant dans l'eau_.]\n\n[Footnote 137: See the quotation from St. Bernard farther on.]\n\n[Footnote 138: Withholden, old participle of _withhold_, now\n_withheld_.]\n\n[Footnote 139: What is the etymology of the word _mob_?]\n\n[Footnote 140: Optimism and Pessimism. The meanings of these two\nopposites are readily made out from the Latin words from which they\ncome.]\n\n[Footnote 141: St. Bernard de Clairvaux (1091-1153), French\necclesiastic.]\n\n[Footnote 142: Jesus. Holmes writes of Emerson: \"Jesus was for him a\ndivine manifestation, but only as other great human souls have been in\nall ages and are to-day. He was willing to be called a Christian just\nas he was willing to be called a Platonist.... If he did not worship\nthe 'man Christ Jesus' as the churches of Christendom have done, he\nfollowed his footsteps so nearly that our good Methodist, Father\nTaylor, spoke of him as more like Christ than any man he had known.\"]\n\n[Footnote 143: The first _his_ refers to Jesus, the second to\nShakespeare.]\n\n[Footnote 144: Banyan. What is the characteristic of this tree that\nmakes it appropriate for this figure?]\n\n\nSELF-RELIANCE\n\n[Footnote 145: Ne te, etc. \"Do not seek for anything outside of\nthyself.\" From Persius, _Sat._ I. 7. Compare Macrobius, _Com. in Somn.\nScip._, I. ix. 3, and Boethius, _De Consol. Phil._, IV. 4.]\n\n[Footnote 146: _Epilogue to Beaumont and Fletcher's Honest Man's\nFortune_.]\n\n[Footnote 147: These lines appear in Emerson's _Quatrains_ under the\ntitle _Power_.]\n\n[Footnote 148: Genius. See the paragraph on genius in Emerson's\nlecture on _The Method of Nature_, one sentence of which runs: \"Genius\nis its own end, and draws its means and the style of its architecture\nfrom within, going abroad only for audience, and spectator.\"]\n\n[Footnote 149: \"The man that stands by himself, the universe stands by\nhim also.\"--EMERSON, _Behavior_.]\n\n[Footnote 150: Plato (429-347 B.C.), (See note 36.)]\n\n[Footnote 151: Milton (1608-1674), the great English epic poet, author\nof _Paradise Lost._\n\n   \"O mighty-mouth'd inventor of harmonies,\n    O skill'd to sing of Time or Eternity,\n    God-gifted organ-voice of England,\n    Milton, a name to resound for ages.\"--TENNYSON.\n\n]\n\n[Footnote 152: \"The great poet makes feel our own wealth.\"--EMERSON,\n_The Over-Soul_.]\n\n[Footnote 153: Then most when, most at the time when.]\n\n[Footnote 154: \"The imitator dooms himself to hopeless\nmediocrity.\"--EMERSON, _Address to the Senior Class in Divinity\nCollege, Cambridge_.]\n\n[Footnote 155:\n\n   \"For words, like Nature, half reveal\n    And half conceal the soul within.\"\n                      TENNYSON, _In Memoriam_, V. I.\n\n]\n\n[Footnote 156: Trust thyself. This is the theme of the present essay,\nand is a lesson which Emerson is never tired of teaching. In _The\nAmerican Scholar_ he says:\n\n\"In self-trust all the virtues are comprehended.\" In the essay on\n_Greatness_:\n\n\"Self-respect is the early form in which greatness appears.... Stick\nto your own.... Follow the path your genius traces like the galaxy of\nheaven for you to walk in.\"\n\nCarlyle says:\n\n     \"The fearful unbelief is unbelief in yourself.\"\n\n]\n\n[Footnote 157: Chaos ([Greek: Chaos]), the confused, unorganized\ncondition in which the world was supposed to have existed before it\nwas reduced to harmony and order; hence, utter confusion and\ndisorder.]\n\n[Footnote 158: These, _i.e._, children, babes, and brutes.]\n\n[Footnote 159: Four or five. Supply the noun.]\n\n[Footnote 160: Nonchalance, a French word meaning _indifference_,\n_coolness_.]\n\n[Footnote 161: Pit in the playhouse, formerly, the seats on the floor\nbelow the level of the stage. These cheap seats were occupied by a\nclass who did not hesitate to express their opinions of the\nperformances.]\n\n[Footnote 162: Eclat, a French word meaning _brilliancy of success_,\n_striking effect_.]\n\n[Footnote 163: \"Lethe, the river of oblivion.\"--_Paradise Lost_.\nOblivion, forgetfulness.]\n\n[Footnote 164: Who. What is the construction?]\n\n[Footnote 165: Nonconformist, one who does not conform to established\nusages or opinions. Emerson considers conformity and consistency as\nthe two terrors that scare us from self-trust. (See note 182.)]\n\n[Footnote 166: Explore if it be goodness, investigate for himself and\nsee if it be really goodness.\n\n    \"Prove all things; hold fast that which is good.\"\n                                    PAUL, _I. Thes._ v. 21.\n\n]\n\n[Footnote 167: Suffrage, approval.\n\n    \"What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted?\n    Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just;\n    And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel,\n    Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.\"\n                      SHAKESPEARE, _II. Henry VI._, III. 2.\n\n]\n\n[Footnote 168: \"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking\nmakes it so.\" _Hamlet_, II. 2.]\n\n[Footnote 169: Barbadoes, an island in the Atlantic Ocean, one of the\nLesser Antilles. The negroes, composing by far the larger part of the\npopulation, were formerly slaves.]\n\n[Footnote 170: He had rather have his actions ascribed to whim and\ncaprice than to spend the day in explaining them.]\n\n[Footnote 171: Diet and bleeding, special diet and medical care, used\nfiguratively, of course.]\n\n[Footnote 172: Read Emerson's essay on _Greatness_.]\n\n[Footnote 173: The precise man, precisely what kind of man.]\n\n[Footnote 174: \"By their fruits ye shall know them.\"--_Matthew_, vii.\n16 and 20.]\n\n[Footnote 175: With, notwithstanding, in spite of.]\n\n[Footnote 176: Of the bench, of an impartial judge.]\n\n[Footnote 177: Bound their eyes with ... handkerchief, in this game of\nblindman's-buff.]\n\n[Footnote 178: \"Pin thy faith to no man's sleeve; hast thou not two\neyes of thy own?\"--CARLYLE.]\n\n[Footnote 179: Give examples of men who have been made to feel the\ndispleasure of the world for their nonconformity.]\n\n[Footnote 180: \"Nihil tam incertum nec tam in\u00e6stimabile est quam animi\nmultitudinis.\"--LIVY, xxxi. 34.\n\n    \"Mobile mutatur semper cum principe vulgus.\"\n                    CLAUDIANUS, _De IV. Consul. Honorii_, 302.\n\n]\n\n[Footnote 181: _The other terror._ The first, conformity, has just\nbeen treated.]\n\n[Footnote 182: Consistency. Compare, on the other hand, the well-known\nsaying, \"Consistency, thou art a jewel.\"]\n\n[Footnote 183: Orbit, course in life.]\n\n[Footnote 184: Somewhat, something.]\n\n[Footnote 185: See _Genesis_, xxxix. 12.]\n\n[Footnote 186: Pythagoras (fl. about 520 B.C.), a Greek philosopher.\nHis society was scattered and persecuted by the fury of the populace.]\n\n[Footnote 187: Socrates (470?-399 B.C.), the great Athenian\nphilosopher, whose teachings are the subject of most of Plato's\nwritings, was accused of corrupting the youth, and condemned to drink\nhemlock.]\n\n[Footnote 188: Martin Luther (1483-1546) preached against certain\nabuses of the Roman Catholic Church and was excommunicated by the\nPope. He became the leader of the Protestant Reformation.]\n\n[Footnote 189: Copernicus (1473-1543) discovered the error of the old\nPtolemaic system of astronomy and showed that the sun is the centre of\nour planetary system. Fearing the persecution of the church, he\nhesitated long to publish his discovery, and it was many years after\nhis death before the world accepted his theory.]\n\n[Footnote 190: Galileo (1564-1642), the famous Italian astronomer and\nphysicist, discoverer of the satellites of Jupiter and the rings of\nSaturn, was thrown into prison by the Inquisition.]\n\n[Footnote 191: Sir Isaac Newton. (See note 53.)]\n\n[Footnote 192: Andes, the great mountain system of South America.]\n\n[Footnote 193: Himmaleh, Himalaya, the great mountain system of Asia.]\n\n[Footnote 194: Alexandrian stanza. The Alexandrian line consists of\ntwelve syllables (iambic hexameter). Neither the acrostic nor the\nAlexandrine has the property assigned to it here. A palindrame reads\nthe same forward as backward, as:\n\n                \"Madam, I'm Adam\";\n    \"Signa te signa; temere me tangis et angis\";\n\nor the inscription on the church of St. Sophia, Constantinople:\n\n    [Greek: \"Nipson anom\u00eamata m\u00ea monan opsin,\"]\n\n]\n\n[Footnote 195: The reference is to sailing vessels, of course.]\n\n[Footnote 196: Scorn eyes, scorn observers.]\n\n[Footnote 197: Chatham, William Pitt, Earl of Chatham (1708-1778),\nthis distinguished statesman and orator. He became very popular as a\nstatesman and was known as \"The Great Commoner.\"]\n\n[Footnote 198: Adams. The reference is presumably to Samuel Adams\n(1722-1803), a popular leader and orator in the cause of American\nfreedom. He was a member of the Continental Congress and a signer of\nthe Declaration of Independence. Emerson may have in mind, however,\nJohn Adams (1735-1826), second president of the United States.]\n\n[Footnote 199: Spartan. The ancient Spartans were noted for their\ncourage and fortitude.]\n\n[Footnote 200: Julius C\u00e6sar (100-44 B.C.), the great Roman general,\nstatesman, orator, and author.]\n\n[Footnote 201: St. Anthony (251-356), Egyptian founder of monachism,\nthe system of monastic seclusion.]\n\n[Footnote 202: George Fox (1624-1691), English founder of the Society\nof Friends or Quakers.]\n\n[Footnote 203: John Wesley (1703-1791), English founder of the\nreligious sect known as Methodists.]\n\n[Footnote 204: Thomas Clarkson (1760-1846), English philanthropist and\nabolitionist.]\n\n[Footnote 205: Scipio (235-184 B.C.), the great Roman general who\ndefeated Hannibal and decided the fate of Carthage. The quotation is\nfrom _Paradise Lost_, Book IX., line 610.]\n\n[Footnote 206: In the story of _Abou Hassan_ or _The Sleeper Awakened_\nin the _Arabian Nights_ Abou Hassan awakes and finds himself treated\nin every respect as the Caliph Haroun Al-raschid. Shakespeare has made\nuse of a similar trick in _Taming of the Shrew_, where Christopher Sly\nis put to bed drunk in the lord's room and on awaking is treated as a\nlord.]\n\n[Footnote 207: Alfred the Great (849-901), King of the West Saxons. He\nwas a wise king, a great scholar, and a patron of learning.]\n\n[Footnote 208: Scanderbeg, George Castriota (1404-1467), an Albanian\nchief who embraced Christianity and carried on a successful war\nagainst the Turks.]\n\n[Footnote 209: Gustavus Adolphus (1594-1632), King of Sweden, the hero\nof Protestantism in the Thirty Years' War.]\n\n[Footnote 210: Hieroglyphic, a character in the picture-writing of the\nancient Egyptian priests; hence, hidden sign.]\n\n[Footnote 211: Parallax, an angle used in astronomy in calculating the\ndistance of a heavenly body. The parallax decreases as the distance of\nthe body increases.]\n\n[Footnote 212: The child has the advantage of the experience of all\nhis ancestors. Compare Tennyson's line in _Locksley Hall_:\n\n    \"I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time.\"\n\n]\n\n[Footnote 213: \"Why should we grope among the dry bones of the past,\nor put the living generation into masquerade out of its faded\nwardrobe? The sun shines to-day also.\"--EMERSON, _Introd. to Nature,\nAddresses, etc._]\n\n[Footnote 214: Explain the thought in this sentence.]\n\n[Footnote 215: Judas Iscariot, who betrayed Jesus.]\n\n[Footnote 216: Agent, active, acting.]\n\n[Footnote 217: An allusion to the Mohammedan custom of removing the\nshoes before entering a mosque.]\n\n[Footnote 218: Of a truth, men are mystically united; a mystic bond of\nbrotherhood makes all men one.]\n\n[Footnote 219: Thor and Woden. Woden or Odin was the chief god of\nScandinavian mythology. Thor, his elder son, was the god of thunder.\nFrom these names come the names of the days Wednesday and Thursday.]\n\n[Footnote 220: Explain the meaning of this sentence.]\n\n[Footnote 221: You, or you, addressing different persons.]\n\n[Footnote 222: \"The truth shall make you free.\"--_John_, viii. 32.]\n\n[Footnote 223: Antinomianism, the doctrine that the moral law is not\nbinding under the gospel dispensation, faith alone being necessary to\nsalvation.]\n\n[Footnote 224: \"There is no sorrow I have thought more about than\nthat--to love what is great, and try to reach it, and yet to fail.\"\n        GEORGE ELIOT, _Middlemarch_, lxxvi.]\n\n[Footnote 225: Explain the use of _it_ in these expressions.]\n\n[Footnote 226: Stoic, a disciple of the Greek philosopher Zeno, who\ntaught that men should be free from passion, unmoved by joy and grief,\nand should submit without complaint to the inevitable.]\n\n[Footnote 227: Word made flesh, see _John_, i. 14.]\n\n[Footnote 228: Healing to the nations, see _Revelation_, xxii. 2.]\n\n[Footnote 229: In what prayers do men allow themselves to indulge?]\n\n[Footnote 230:\n\n    \"Prayer is the soul's sincere desire,\n     Uttered or unexpressed,\n     The motion of a hidden fire\n     That trembles in the breast.\"\n                    MONTGOMERY, _What is Prayer?_\n]\n\n[Footnote 231: Caratach (Caractacus) is a historical character in\nFletcher's (1576-1625) tragedy of _Bonduca_(Boadicea).]\n\n[Footnote 232: Zoroaster, a Persian philosopher, founder of the\nancient Persian religion. He flourished long before the Christian\nera.]\n\n[Footnote 233: \"Speak thou with us, and we will hear: but let not God\nspeak with us, lest we die.\"--_Exodus_, xx. 19. Compare also the\nparallel passage in _Deuteronomy_, v. 25-27.]\n\n[Footnote 234: John Locke. (See note 18.)]\n\n[Footnote 235: Lavoisier (1743-1794), celebrated French chemical\nphilosopher, discoverer of the composition of water.]\n\n[Footnote 236: James Hutton (1726-1797), great Scotch geologist,\nauthor of the _Theory of the Earth_.]\n\n[Footnote 237: Jeremy Bentham (1748-1832), English philosopher,\njurist, and legislative reformer.]\n\n[Footnote 238: Fourier (1772-1837), French socialist, founder of the\nsystem of Fourierism.]\n\n[Footnote 239: Calvinism, the doctrines of John Calvin (1509-1564).\nFrench theologian and Protestant reformer. A cardinal doctrine of\nCalvinism is predestination.]\n\n[Footnote 240: Quakerism, the doctrines of the Quakers or Friends, a\nsociety founded by George Fox (1624-1691).]\n\n[Footnote 241: Emanuel Swedenborg (1688-1772), Swedish theosophist,\nfounder of the New Jerusalem Church. He is taken by Emerson in his\n_Representative Men_ as the type of the mystic, and is often mentioned\nin his other works.]\n\n[Footnote 242: \"Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful,\nwe must carry it with us, or we find it not.\"--EMERSON, _Art_.]\n\n[Footnote 243: Thebes, a celebrated ruined city of Upper Egypt.]\n\n[Footnote 244: Palmyra, a ruined city of Asia situated in an oasis of\nthe Syrian desert, supposed to be the Tadmor built by Solomon in the\nwilderness (_II. Chr._, viii. 4).]\n\n[Footnote 245:\n\n    \"Vain, very vain, my weary search to find\n     That bliss which only centers in the mind....\n     Still to ourselves in every place consign'd,\n     Our own felicity we make or find.\"\n                              GOLDSMITH (and JOHNSON),\n                              _The Traveler_, 423-32.\n\n    \"He that has light within his own clear breast\n     May sit i' th' center, and enjoy bright day;\n     But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts,\n     Benighted walks under the mid-day sun;\n     Himself in his own dungeon.\"\n                             MILTON, _Comus_, 381-5.\n\nCompare also _Paradise Lost_, I, 255-7.]\n\n[Footnote 246: Vatican, the palace of the pope in Rome, with its\ncelebrated library, museum, and art gallery.]\n\n[Footnote 247: Doric, the oldest, strongest, and simplest of the three\nstyles of Grecian architecture.]\n\n[Footnote 248: Gothic, a pointed style of architecture, prevalent in\nwestern Europe in the latter part of the middle ages.]\n\n[Footnote 249: Never imitate. Emerson insists on this doctrine.]\n\n[Footnote 250: Shakespeare (1564-1616), the great English poet and\ndramatist. He is mentioned in Emerson's writings more than any other\ncharacter in history, and is taken as the type of the poet in his\n_Representative Men_.\n\n\"O mighty poet! Thy works are not as those of other men, simply and\nmerely great works of art; but are also like the phenomena of nature,\nlike the sun and the sea, the stars and the flowers,--like frost and\nsnow, rain and dew, hailstorm and thunder, which are to be studied\nwith entire submission of our own faculties, and in the perfect faith\nthat in them there can be no too much or too little, nothing useless\nor inert,--but that, the further we press in our discoveries, the more\nwe shall see proofs of design and self-supporting arrangement where\nthe careless eye had seen nothing but accident!\"--DE QUINCY.]\n\n[Footnote 251: Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790), American philosopher,\nstatesman, diplomatist, and author. He discovered the identity of\nlightning with electricity, invented the lightning-rod, went on\nseveral diplomatic missions to Europe, was one of the committee that\ndrew up the Declaration of Independence, signed the treaty of Paris,\nand compiled _Poor Richard's Almanac_.]\n\n[Footnote 252: Francis Bacon (1561-1626), a famous English philosopher\nand statesman. He became Lord Chancellor under Elizabeth. He is best\nknown by his _Essays_; he wrote also the _Novum Organum_ and the\n_Advancement of Learning_.]\n\n[Footnote 253: Sir Isaac Newton. (See note 53.)]\n\n[Footnote 254: Scipio. (See note 205.)]\n\n[Footnote 255: Phidias (500?-432? B.C.), famous Greek sculptor.]\n\n[Footnote 256: Egyptians. He has in mind the pyramids.]\n\n[Footnote 257: The Pentateuch is attributed to Moses.]\n\n[Footnote 258: Dante (1265-1321), the greatest of Italian poets,\nauthor of the _Divina Commedia_.]\n\n[Footnote 259: Foreworld, a former ideal state of the world.]\n\n[Footnote 260: New Zealander, inhabitant of New Zealand, a group of\ntwo islands lying southeast of Australia.]\n\n[Footnote 261: Geneva, a city of Switzerland, situated at the\nsouthwestern extremity of Lake Geneva.]\n\n[Footnote 262: Greenwich nautical almanac. The meridian of the Royal\nObservatory at Greenwich, near London, is the prime meridian for\nreckoning the longitude of the world. The nautical almanac is a\npublication containing astronomical data for the use of navigators and\nastronomers. What is the name of the corresponding publication of the\nU.S. Observatory at Washington?]\n\n[Footnote 263: Get the meaning of these astronomical terms.]\n\n[Footnote 264: Plutarch. (50?-120? A.D.), Greek philosopher and\nbiographer, author of _Parallel Lives_, a series of Greek and Roman\nbiographies. Next after Shakespeare and Plato he is the author most\nfrequently mentioned by Emerson. Read the essay of Emerson on\nPlutarch.]\n\n[Footnote 265: Phocion (402-317 B.C.), Athenian statesman and general.\n(See note 364.)]\n\n[Footnote 266: Anaxagoras (500-426 B.C.), Greek philosopher of\ndistinction.]\n\n[Footnote 267: Diogenes (400?-323?), Greek cynic philosopher who\naffected great contempt for riches and honors and the comforts of\ncivilized life, and is said to have taken up his residence in a tub.]\n\n\n[Footnote 268: Henry Hudson (---- - 1611), English navigator and\nexplorer, discoverer of the bay and river which bear his name.]\n\n[Footnote 269: Bering or Behring (1680-1741), Danish navigator,\ndiscoverer of Behring Strait.]\n\n[Footnote 270: Sir William Edward Parry (1790-1855), English navigator\nand Arctic explorer.]\n\n[Footnote 271: Sir John Franklin (1786-1846?), celebrated English\nnavigator and Arctic explorer, lost in the Arctic seas.]\n\n[Footnote 272: Christopher Columbus (1445?-1506), Genoese navigator\nand discoverer of America. His ship, the Santa Maria, appears small\nand insignificant in comparison with the modern ocean ship.]\n\n[Footnote 273: Napoleon Bonaparte (1769-1821), Emperor of France, one\nof the greatest military geniuses the world has ever seen. He was\ndefeated in the battle of Waterloo by the Duke of Wellington, and died\nin exile on the isle of St. Helena. Emerson takes him as a type of the\nman of the world in his _Representative Men_: \"I call Napoleon the\nagent or attorney of the middle class of modern society.... He was the\nagitator, the destroyer of prescription, the internal improver, the\nliberal, the radical, the inventor of means, the opener of doors and\nmarkets, the subverter of monopoly and abuse.... He had the virtues of\nthe masses of his constituents: he had also their vices. I am sorry\nthat the brilliant picture has its reverse.\"]\n\n[Footnote 274: Comte de las Cases (not Casas) (1766-1842), author of\n_M\u00e9morial de Sainte-H\u00e9l\u00e8ne_.]\n\n[Footnote 275: Ali, Arabian caliph, surnamed the \"Lion of God,\" cousin\nand son-in-law of Mohammed. He was assassinated about 661.]\n\n[Footnote 276: The county of Essex in England has several namesakes in\nAmerica.]\n\n[Footnote 277: Fortune. In Roman mythology Fortune, the goddess of\nfortune or chance, is represented as standing on a ball or wheel.\n\n    \"Nec metuis dubio Fortun\u00e6 stantis in orbe\n      Numen, et exos\u00e6 verba superba de\u00e6?\"\n                      OVID, _Tristia_, v., 8, 8.\n\n]\n\n\nFRIENDSHIP\n\n[Footnote 278: Most of Emerson's _Essays_ were first delivered as\nlectures, in practically the form in which they afterwards appeared in\nprint. The form and style, it is true, were always carefully revised\nbefore publication; this Emerson called 'giving his thoughts a Greek\ndress.' His essay on _Friendship_, published in the First Series of\n_Essays_ in 1841 was not, so far as we know, delivered as a lecture;\nparts of it, however, were taken from lectures which Emerson delivered\non _Society_, _The Heart_, and _Private Life_.\n\nIn connection with his essay on _Friendship_, the student should read\nthe two other notable addresses on the same subject, one the speech by\nCicero, the famous Roman orator, and the other the essay by Lord\nBacon, the great English author.]\n\n[Footnote 279: Relume. Is this a common word? Define it.]\n\n[Footnote 280: Pass my gate. The walk opposite Emerson's house on the\n'Great Road' to Boston was a favorite winter walk for Concord people.\nAlong it passed the philosophic Alcott and the imaginative Hawthorne,\nas well as famous townsmen, and school children.]\n\n[Footnote 281: My friends have come to me, etc.: Compare with\nEmerson's views here expressed the noble passage in his essay on _The\nOver-Soul_: \"Every friend whom not thy fantastic will but the great\nand tender heart in thee craveth, shall lock thee in his embrace. And\nthis because the heart in thee is the heart of all; not a valve, not a\nwall, not an intersection is there anywhere in nature, but one blood\nrolls uninterruptedly in endless circulation through all men, as the\nwater of the globe is all one sea, and, truly seen, its tide is one.\"]\n\n[Footnote 282: Bard. Poet: originally one who composed and sang to the\nmusic of a harp verses in honor of heroes and heroic deeds.]\n\n[Footnote 283: Hymn, ode, and epic. Define each of these three kinds\nof poetry.]\n\n[Footnote 284: Apollo. In classic mythology, the sun god who presided\nover music, poetry, and art; he was the guardian and leader of the\nMuses.]\n\n[Footnote 285: Muses. In classic mythology, the nine sisters who\npresided over music, poetry, art, and science. They were Clio the muse\nof history, Euterpe of music, especially the flute, Thalia of comedy,\nMelpomene of tragedy, Terpsichore of dancing, Erato of erotic poetry,\nmistress of the lyre, Polyhymnia of sacred poetry, Urania of\nastronomy, Calliope of eloquence and epic poetry.]\n\n[Footnote 286: Genius. According to an old belief, a spirit that\nwatched over a person to control, guide and aid him.]\n\n[Footnote 287: \"Crush the sweet poison,\" etc. This is a quotation from\n_Comus_, a poem by Milton.]\n\n[Footnote 288: Systole and diastole. (See note 98.)]\n\n[Footnote 289: Friendship, like the immortality, etc. See on what a\nhigh plane Emerson places this relation of friendship. In 1840 he\nwrote in a letter: \"I am a worshiper of friendship, and cannot find\nany other good equal to it. As soon as any man pronounces the words\nwhich approve him fit for that great office, I make no haste; he is\nholy; let me be holy also; our relations are eternal; why should we\ncount days and weeks?\"]\n\n[Footnote 290: Elysian temple. Temple of bliss. In Greek mythology,\nElysium was the abode of the blessed after death.]\n\n[Footnote 291: An Egyptian skull. Plutarch says that at an Egyptian\nfeast a skull was displayed, either as a hint to make the most of the\npleasure which can be enjoyed but for a brief space, or as a warning\nnot to set one's heart upon transitory things.]\n\n[Footnote 292: Conscious of a universal success, etc. Emerson wrote in\nhis journal: \"My entire success, such as it is, is composed wholly of\nparticular failures.\"]\n\n[Footnote 293: Extends the old leaf. Compare Emerson's lines:\n\n   \"When half-gods go\n    The gods arrive.\"\n\n]\n\n[Footnote 294: A texture of wine and dreams. What does Emerson mean by\nthis phrase? Explain the whole sentence.]\n\n[Footnote 295: \"The valiant warrior,\" etc. The quotation is from\nShakespeare's _Sonnet_, XXV.]\n\n[Footnote 296: Naturlangsamkeit. A German word meaning slowness. The\nslowness of natural development.]\n\n[Footnote 297: Olympian. One who took part in the great Greek games\nheld every four years on the plain of Olympia. The racing, wrestling\nand other contests of strength and skill were accompanied by\nsacrifices to the gods, processions, and banquets. There was a sense\nof dignity and almost of worship about the games. The Olympic games\nhave been recently revived, and athletes from all countries of the\nworld contest for the prizes--simple garlands of wild olive.]\n\n[Footnote 298: I knew a man who, etc. The allusion is to Jonas Very, a\nmystic and poet, who lived at Salem, Massachusetts.]\n\n[Footnote 299: Paradox. Define this word. Explain its application to a\nfriend.]\n\n[Footnote 300: My author says, etc. The quotation is from _A\nConsideration upon Cicero_, by the French author, Montaigne. Montaigne\nwas one of Emerson's favorite authors from his boyhood: of the essays\nhe says, \"I felt as if I myself, had written this book in some former\nlife, so sincerely it spoke my thoughts.\"]\n\n[Footnote 301: Cherub. What is the difference between a cherub and a\nseraph?]\n\n[Footnote 302: Curricle. A two-wheeled carriage, especially popular in\nthe eighteenth century.]\n\n[Footnote 303: This law of one to one. Emerson felt that this same law\napplied to nature. He wrote in his journal: \"Nature says to man, 'one\nto one, my dear.'\"]\n\n[Footnote 304: Crimen quos, etc. The Latin saying is translated in\nthe preceding sentence.]\n\n[Footnote 305: Nonage. We use more commonly the word, \"minority.\"]\n\n[Footnote 306: Janus-faced. The word here means simply two-faced,\nwithout the idea of deceit usually attached to it. In Roman mythology,\nJanus, the doorkeeper of heaven was the protector of doors and\ngateways and the patron of the beginning and end of undertakings. He\nwas the god of the rising and setting of the sun, and was represented\nwith two faces, one looking to the east and the other to the west. His\ntemple at Rome was kept open in time of war and closed in time of\npeace.]\n\n[Footnote 307: Harbinger. A forerunner; originally an officer who rode\nin advance of a royal person to secure proper lodgings and\naccommodations.]\n\n[Footnote 308: Empyrean. Highest and purest heaven; according to the\nancients, the region of pure light and fire.]\n\n\nHEROISM\n\n[Footnote 309: Title. Probably this essay is, essentially at least,\nthe lecture on _Heroism_ delivered in Boston in the winter of 1837, in\nthe course of lectures on _Human Culture_.]\n\n[Footnote 310: Motto. This saying of Mahomet's was the only motto\nprefixed to the essay in the first edition. In later editions, Emerson\nprefixed, according to his custom, some original lines;\n\n   \"Ruby wine is drunk by knaves,\n    Sugar spends to fatten slaves,\n    Rose and vine-leaf deck buffoons,\n    Thunder clouds are Jove's festoons,\n    Drooping oft in wreaths of dread\n    Lightning-knotted round his head:\n    The hero is not fed on sweets,\n    Daily his own heart he eats;\n    Chambers of the great are jails,\n    And head-winds right for royal sails.\"\n\n]\n\n[Footnote 311: Elder English dramatists. The dramatists who preceded\nShakespeare. In his essay on _Shakespeare; or, the Poet_, Emerson\nenumerates the foremost of these,--\"Kyd, Marlowe, Greene, Jonson,\nChapman, Dekker, Webster, Heywood, Middleton, Peele, Ford, Massinger,\nBeaumont and Fletcher.\"]\n\n[Footnote 312: Beaumont and Fletcher. Francis Beaumont and John\nFletcher were two dramatists of the Elizabethan age. They wrote\ntogether and their styles were so similar that critics are unable to\nidentify the share of each in their numerous plays.]\n\n[Footnote 313: Rodrigo, Pedro, or Valerio. Favorite names for heroes\namong the dramatists. Rodrigo Diaz de Bivar, known usually by the\ntitle of the Cid, was the national hero of Spain, famous for his\nexploits against the Moors. Don Pedro was the Prince of Arragon in\nShakespeare's play, _Much Ado About Nothing_.]\n\n[Footnote 314: Bonduca, Sophocles, the Mad Lover, and Double Marriage.\nThe first, third and fourth are names of plays by Beaumont and\nFletcher. In the case of the second, Emerson, by a lapse of memory,\ngives the name of one of the chief characters instead of the name of\nthe play--_The Triumph of Honor_ in a piece called _Four Plays in\nOne_. It is from this play by Beaumont and Fletcher that the passage\nin the essay is quoted.]\n\n[Footnote 315: Adriadne's crown. According to Greek mythology, the\ncrown of Adriadne was, for her beauty and her sufferings, put among\nthe stars. She was the daughter of Minos, King of Crete; she gave\nTheseus the clue by means of which he escaped from the labyrinth and\nshe was afterwards abandoned by him.]\n\n[Footnote 316: Romulus. The reputed founder of the city of Rome.]\n\n[Footnote 317: Laodamia, Dion. Read these two poems by Wordsworth, the\ngreat English poet, and tell why you think Emerson mentioned them\nhere.]\n\n[Footnote 318: Scott. Sir Walter Scott, a famous Scotch author.]\n\n[Footnote 319: Lord Evandale, Balfour of Burley. These are characters\nin Scott's novel, _Old Mortality_. The passage referred to by Emerson\nis in the forty-second chapter.]\n\n[Footnote 320: Thomas Carlyle. Carlyle was a great admirer of heroes,\nasserting that history is the biography of great men. One of his most\npopular books is _Heroes and Hero-Worship_, on a plan similar to that\nof Emerson's _Representative Men_.]\n\n[Footnote 321: Robert Burns. A Scotch lyric poet. Emerson was probably\nthinking of the patriotic song, _Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled_.]\n\n[Footnote 322: Harleian Miscellanies. A collection of manuscripts\npublished in the eighteenth century, and named for Robert Harley, the\nEnglish statesman who collected them.]\n\n[Footnote 323: Lutzen. A small town in Prussia. The battle referred to\nwas fought in 1632 and in it the Swedes under Gustavus Adolphus gained\na great victory over vastly superior numbers. Nearly two hundred years\nlater another battle was fought at Lutzen, in which Napoleon gained a\nvictory over the allied Russians and Prussians.]\n\n[Footnote 324: Simon Ockley. An English scholar of the seventeenth\ncentury whose chief work was a _History of the Saracens_.]\n\n[Footnote 325: Oxford. One of the two great English universities.]\n\n[Footnote 326: Plutarch. (See note 264.)]\n\n[Footnote 327: Brasidas. This hero, described by Plutarch, was a\nSpartan general who lived about four hundred years before Christ.]\n\n[Footnote 328: Dion. A Greek philosopher who ruled the city of\nSyracuse in the fourth century before Christ.]\n\n[Footnote 329: Epaminondas. A Greek general and statesman of the\nfourth century before Christ.]\n\n[Footnote 330: Scipio. (See note 205.)]\n\n[Footnote 331: Stoicism. The stern and severe philosophy taught by the\nGreek philosopher Zeno; he taught that men should always seek virtue\nand be indifferent to pleasure and happiness. This belief, carried to\nthe extreme of severity, exercised a great influence on many noble\nGreeks and Romans.]\n\n[Footnote 332: Heroism is an obedience, etc. In one of his poems\nEmerson says:\n\n   \"So nigh is grandeur to our dust,\n    So near is God to man,\n    When Duty whispers low, 'Thou must,'\n    The youth replies, 'I can.'\"\n\n]\n\n[Footnote 333: Plotinus. An Egyptian philosopher who taught in Rome\nduring the third century. It was said that he so exalted the mind that\nhe was ashamed of his body.]\n\n[Footnote 334: Indeed these humble considerations, etc. The passage,\nlike many which Emerson quotes, is rendered inexactly. The Prince says\nto Poins: \"Indeed these humble considerations make me out of love with\nmy greatness. What a disgrace it is to me to remember thy name! or to\nknow thy face to-morrow! or to take note how many pairs of silk\nstockings thou hast, that is, these and those that were thy\npeach-colored ones! or to bear the inventory of thy shirts, as, one\nfor superfluity and another for use!\" Shakespeare's _Henry IV._, Part\nII. 2, 2.]\n\n[Footnote 335: Ibn Hankal. Ibn Hankul, an Arabian geographer and\ntraveler of the tenth century. He wrote an account of his twenty\nyears' travels in Mohammedan countries; in 1800 this was translated\ninto English by Sir William Jones under the title of _The Oriental\nGeography of Ibn Hankal_. In that volume this anecdote is told in\nslightly different words.]\n\n[Footnote 336: Bokhara. Where is Bokhara? It corresponds to the\nancient Sogdiana.]\n\n[Footnote 337: Bannocks. Thick cakes, made usually of oatmeal. What\ndoes Emerson mean by this sentence? Probably no person ever met his\nvisitors, many of whom were \"exacting and wearisome,\" and must have\nbeen unwelcome, with more perfect courtesy and graciousness than\nEmerson.]\n\n[Footnote 338: John Eliot. Give as full an account as you can of the\nlife and works of this noble Apostle to the Indians of the seventeenth\ncentury.]\n\n[Footnote 339: King David, etc. See First Chronicles, 11, 15-19.]\n\n[Footnote 340: Brutus. Marcus Junius Brutus, a Roman patriot of the\nfirst century before Christ, who took part in the assassination of\nJulius C\u00e6sar.]\n\n[Footnote 341: Philippi. A city of Macedonia near which in the year 42\nB.C. were fought two battles in which the republican army under Brutus\nand Cassius was defeated by Octavius and Antony, friends of C\u00e6sar.]\n\n[Footnote 342: Euripides. A Greek tragic poet of the fifth century\nbefore Christ.]\n\n[Footnote 343: Scipio. (See note 205.) Plutarch in his _Morals_ gives\nanother version of the story: \"When Paetilius and Quintus accused him\nof many crimes before the people; 'on this very day,' he said, 'I\nconquered Hannibal and Carthage. I for my part am going with my crown\non to the Capitol to sacrifice; and let him that pleaseth stay and\npass his vote upon me.' Having thus said, he went his way; and the\npeople followed him, leaving his accusers declaiming to themselves.\"]\n\n[Footnote 344: Socrates. (See note 187.)]\n\n[Footnote 345: Prytaneum. A public hall at Athens.]\n\n[Footnote 346: Sir Thomas More. An English statesman and author who\nwas beheaded in 1535 on a charge of high treason. The incident to\nwhich Emerson refers is one which showed his \"pleasant wit\"\nundisturbed by the prospect of death. As the executioner was about to\nstrike, More moved his head carefully out of reach of the ax. \"Pity\nthat should be cut,\" he said, \"that has never committed treason.\"]\n\n[Footnote 347: Blue Laws. Any rigid Sunday laws or religious\nregulations. The term is usually applied to the early laws of New\nHaven and Connecticut which regulated personal and religious conduct.]\n\n[Footnote 348: Epaminondas. (See note 329.)]\n\n[Footnote 349: Olympus. A mountain of Greece, the summit of which,\naccording to Greek mythology, was the home of the gods.]\n\n[Footnote 350: Jerseys. Consult a history of the United States for a\nfull account of Washington's campaign in New Jersey.]\n\n[Footnote 351: Milton. (See note 151.)]\n\n[Footnote 352: Pericles. A famous Greek statesman of the fifth century\nbefore Christ, in whose age Athens was pre\u00ebminent in naval and\nmilitary affairs and in letters and art.]\n\n[Footnote 353: Xenophon. A Greek historian of the fourth century\nbefore Christ.]\n\n[Footnote 354: Columbus. Give an account of his life.]\n\n[Footnote 355: Bayard. Chevalier de Bayard was a French gentleman of\nthe fifteenth century. He is the French national hero, and is called\n\"The Knight without fear and without reproach.\"]\n\n[Footnote 356: Sidney. Probably Sir Philip Sidney, an English\ngentleman and scholar of the sixteenth century who is the English\nnational hero as Bayard is the French; another brave Englishman was\nAlgernon Sidney, a politician and patriot of the seventeenth century.]\n\n[Footnote 357: Hampden. John Hampden was an English statesman and\npatriot who was killed in the civil war of the seventeenth century.]\n\n[Footnote 358: Colossus. The Colossus of Rhodes was a gigantic\nstatue--over a hundred feet in height--of the Rhodian sun god. It was\none of the seven wonders of the world; it was destroyed by an\nearthquake about two hundred years before Christ.]\n\n[Footnote 359: Sappho. A Greek poet of the seventh century before\nChrist. Her fame remains, though most of her poems have been lost.]\n\n[Footnote 360: Sevign\u00e9. Marquise de Sevign\u00e9 was a French author of the\nseventeenth century.]\n\n[Footnote 361: De Sta\u00ebl. Madame de Sta\u00ebl was a French writer whose\nbooks and political opinions were condemned by Napoleon.]\n\n[Footnote 362: Themis. A Greek goddess. The personification of law,\norder, and justice.]\n\n[Footnote 363: A high counsel, etc. Such was the advice given to the\nEmerson boys by their aunt, Miss. Mary Moody Emerson: \"Scorn trifles,\nlift your aims; do what you are afraid to do; sublimity of character\nmust come from sublimity of motive.\" Upon her monument are inscribed\nEmerson's words about her: \"She gave high counsels. It was the\nprivilege of certain boys to have this immeasurably high standard\nindicated to their childhood, a blessing which nothing else in\neducation could supply.\"]\n\n[Footnote 364: Phocion. A Greek general and statesman of the fourth\ncentury before Christ who advised the Athenians to make peace with\nPhilip of Macedon. He was put to death on a charge of treason.]\n\n[Footnote 365: Lovejoy. Rev. Elijah Lovejoy, a Presbyterian clergyman\nof Maine who published a periodical against slavery. In 1837 an\nIllinois mob demanded his printing press, which he refused to give up.\nThe building containing it was set on fire and when Lovejoy came out\nhe was shot.]\n\n[Footnote 366: Let them rave, etc. These lines are misquoted, being\nevidently given from memory, from Tennyson's _Dirge_. In the poem\noccur these lines:\n\n          \"Let them rave.\n    Thou wilt never raise thine head\n    From the green that folds thy grave--\n          Let them rave.\"\n\n]\n\n\nMANNERS\n\n[Footnote 367: The essay on _Manners_ is from the Second Series of\n_Essays_, published in 1844, three years after the First Series. The\nessays in this volume, like those in the first, were, for the most\npart, made up of Emerson's lectures, rearranged and corrected. The\nlecture on _Manners_ had been delivered in the winter of 1841. He had\ngiven another lecture on the same subject about four years before, and\nseveral years later he treated of the same subject in his essay on\n_Behavior_ in _The Conduct of Life_. You will find it interesting to\nread _Behavior_ in connection with this essay.]\n\n[Footnote 368: Feejee islanders. Since this essay was written, the\npeople of the Feejee, or Fiji, Islands have become Christianized, and,\nto a large extent, civilized.]\n\n[Footnote 369: Gournou. This description is found in _A Narrative of\nthe Operations and Recent Discoveries within the Pyramids_, by\nBelzoni, an Italian traveler and explorer.]\n\n[Footnote 370: Borgoo. A province of Africa.]\n\n[Footnote 371: Tibboos, Bornoos. Tribes of Central Africa, mentioned\nin Heeren's _Historical Researches_.]\n\n[Footnote 372: Honors himself with architecture. Architecture was a\nsubject in which Emerson was deeply interested. Read his poem, _The\nProblem_.]\n\n[Footnote 373: Chivalry. Chivalry may be considered \"as embodying the\nMiddle Age conception of the ideal life of ... the Knights\"; the word\nis often used to express \"the ideal qualifications of a knight, as\ncourtesy, generosity, valor, and dexterity in arms.\" Fully to\nunderstand the order of Knighthood and the ideals of chivalry, you\nmust read the history of Europe in the Middle Ages.]\n\n[Footnote 374: Sir Philip Sidney. (See note 356.)]\n\n[Footnote 375: Sir Walter Scott. (1771-1832). His historical novels\ndealing with the Middle Ages have some fine pictures of the chivalrous\ncharacters in which he delighted.]\n\n[Footnote 376: Masonic sign. A sign of secret brotherhood, like the\nsign given by one Mason to another.]\n\n[Footnote 377: Correlative abstract. Corresponding abstract name. Sir\nPhilip Sidney, himself the ideal gentleman, used the word\n\"gentlemanliness.\" He said: \"Gentlemanliness is high-erected thoughts\nseated in a heart of courtesy.\"]\n\n[Footnote 378: Gentilesse. Gentle birth and breeding. Emerson was very\nfond of the passage on \"gentilesse\" in Chaucer's _Wife of Bath's\nTale_.]\n\n[Footnote 379: Feudal Ages. The Middle Ages in Europe during which the\nfeudal system prevailed. According to this, land was held by its\nowners on condition of certain duties, especially military service,\nperformed for a superior lord.]\n\n[Footnote 380: God knows, etc. Why is this particularly true of a\nrepublic such as the United States?]\n\n[Footnote 381: The incomparable advantage of animal spirits. Why does\nEmerson regard this as of such importance? In his journals he\nfrequently comments on his own lack of animal spirits, and says that\nit unfits him for general society and for action.]\n\n[Footnote 382: The sense of power. \"I like people who can do things,\"\nwrote Emerson in his journal.]\n\n[Footnote 383: Lundy's Lane. Give a full account of this battle in the\nWar of 1812.]\n\n[Footnote 384: Men of the right C\u00e6sarian pattern. Men versatile as was\nJulius C\u00e6sar, the Roman, famous as a general, statesman, orator, and\nwriter.]\n\n[Footnote 385: Timid maxim. Why does Emerson term this saying\n\"timid\"?]\n\n[Footnote 386: Lord Falkland. Lucius Cary, Viscount Falkland, was an\nEnglish politician who espoused the royalist side; he was killed in\nbattle in the Civil War.]\n\n[Footnote 387: Saladin. A famous sultan of Egypt and Syria who lived\nin the twelfth century. Scott describes him as possessing an ideal\nknightly character and introduces him, disguised as a physician and\nalso as a wandering soldier in his historical romance, _The\nTalisman_.]\n\n[Footnote 388: Sapor. A Persian monarch of the fourth century who\ndefeated the Romans in battle.]\n\n[Footnote 389: The Cid. See \"Rodrigo,\" in _Heroism_, 313.]\n\n[Footnote 390: Julius C\u00e6sar. See note on \"C\u00e6sarian,\" 384.]\n\n[Footnote 391: Scipio. (See note 205.)]\n\n[Footnote 392: Alexander. Alexander, King of Macedon, surnamed the\nGreat. In the fourth century before Christ he made himself master of\nthe known world.]\n\n[Footnote 393: Pericles. See note on _Heroism_, 352.]\n\n[Footnote 394: Diogenes. (See note 267.)]\n\n[Footnote 395: Socrates. (See note 187.)]\n\n[Footnote 396: Epaminondas. (See note 329.)]\n\n[Footnote 397: My contemporaries. Emerson probably had in mind, among\nothers, his friend, the gentle philosopher, Thoreau.]\n\n[Footnote 398: Fine manners. \"I think there is as much merit in\nbeautiful manners as in hard work,\" said Emerson in his journal.]\n\n[Footnote 399: Napoleon. (See note 273.)]\n\n[Footnote 400: Noblesse. Nobility. Why does Emerson use here the\nFrench word?]\n\n[Footnote 401: Faubourg St. Germain. A once fashionable quarter of\nParis, on the south bank of the Seine; it was long the headquarters of\nthe French royalists.]\n\n[Footnote 402: Cortez. Consult a history of the United States for an\naccount of this Spanish soldier, the conqueror of Mexico.]\n\n[Footnote 403: Nelson. Horatio Nelson, an English admiral, who won\nmany great naval victories and was killed in the battle of Trafalgar\nin 1805.]\n\n[Footnote 404: Mexico. The scene of Cortez's victories.]\n\n[Footnote 405: Marengo. The scene of a battle in Italy in 1800, in\nwhich Napoleon defeated the Austrians with a larger army and made\nhimself master of northern Italy.]\n\n[Footnote 406: Trafalgar. A cape on the southern coast of Spain, the\nscene of Nelson's last great victory, in which the allied French and\nSpanish fleets were defeated.]\n\n[Footnote 407: Mexico, Marengo, and Trafalgar. Is this the order in\nwhich you would expect these words to occur? Why not?]\n\n[Footnote 408: Estates of the realm. Orders or classes of people with\nregard to political rights and powers. In modern times, the nobility,\nthe clergy, and the people are called \"the three estates.\"]\n\n[Footnote 409: Tournure. Figure; turn of dress,--and so of mind.]\n\n[Footnote 410: Coventry. It is said that the people of Coventry, a\ncity in England, at one time so disliked soldiers that to send a\nmilitary man there meant to exclude him from social intercourse; hence\nthe expression \"to send to Coventry\" means to exclude from society.]\n\n[Footnote 411: \"If you could see Vich Ian Vohr with his tail on.\" Vich\nIan Vohr is a Scotch chieftain in Scott's novel, _Waverley_. One of\nhis dependents says to Waverley, the young English officer: \"If you\nSaxon duinh\u00e9-wassal [English gentleman] saw but the Chief with his\ntail on.\" \"With his tail on?\" echoed Edward in some surprise.\n\"Yes--that is, with all his usual followers when he visits those of\nthe same rank.\" See _Waverley_, chapter 16.]\n\n[Footnote 412: Mercuries. The word here means simply messengers.\nAccording to Greek mythology, Mercury was the messenger of the gods.]\n\n[Footnote 413: Herald's office. In England the Herald's College, or\nCollege of Arms, is a royal corporation the chief business of which is\nto grant armorial bearings, or coats of arms, and to trace and\npreserve genealogies. What does Emerson mean by comparing certain\ncircles of society to this corporation?]\n\n[Footnote 414: Amphitryon. Host; it came to have this meaning from an\nincident in the story of Amphitryon, a character in Greek legend. At\none time Jupiter assumed the form of Amphitryon and gave a banquet.\nThe real Amphitryon came in and asserted that he was master of the\nhouse. In the French play, founded on this story, the question is\nsettled by the assertion of the servants and guests that \"he who gives\nthe feast is the host.\"]\n\n[Footnote 415: Tuileries. An old royal residence in Paris which was\nburned in 1871.]\n\n[Footnote 416: Escurial, or escorial. A celebrated royal edifice near\nMadrid in Spain.]\n\n[Footnote 417: Hide ourselves as Adam, etc. See Genesis iii. 8.]\n\n[Footnote 418: Cardinal Caprara. An Italian cardinal, Bishop of Milan,\nwho negotiated the famous concordat of 1801, an agreement between the\nChurch and State regulating the relations between civil and\necclesiastical powers.]\n\n[Footnote 419: The pope. Pope Pius VII.]\n\n[Footnote 420: Madame de Sta\u00ebl. (See note 361.)]\n\n[Footnote 421: Mr. Hazlitt. William Hazlitt, an English writer.]\n\n[Footnote 422: Montaigne. A French essayist of the sixteenth century.]\n\n[Footnote 423: The hint of tranquillity and self-poise. It is\nsuggested that Emerson had here in mind a favorite passage of the\nGerman author, Richter, in which Richter says of the Greek statues:\n\"The repose not of weariness but of perfection looks from their eyes\nand rests upon their lips.\"]\n\n[Footnote 424: A Chinese etiquette. What does Emerson mean by this\nexpression?]\n\n[Footnote 425: Recall. In the first edition, Emerson had here the word\n\"signify.\" Which is the better word and why?]\n\n[Footnote 426: Measure. What meaning has this word here? Is this the\nsense in which we generally use it?]\n\n[Footnote 427: Creole natures. What is a creole? What does Emerson\nmean by \"Creole natures\"?]\n\n[Footnote 428: Mr. Fox. Charles James Fox, an English statesman and\norator of the eighteenth century.]\n\n[Footnote 429: Burke. Both Fox and Burke opposed the taxation of the\nAmerican colonies and sympathized with their resistance; it was on the\nsubject of the French Revolution that the two friends clashed.]\n\n[Footnote 430: Sheridan. Richard Brinsley Sheridan, an Irish\ndramatist, member of the famous Literary Club to which both Fox and\nBurke belonged.]\n\n[Footnote 431: Circe. According to Greek legend, Circe was a beautiful\nenchantress. Men who partook of the draught she offered, were turned\nto swine.]\n\n[Footnote 432: Captain Symmes. The only real personage of this group.\nHe asserted that there was an opening to the interior of the earth\nwhich was stocked with plants and animals.]\n\n[Footnote 433: Clerisy. What word would we be more apt to use here?]\n\n[Footnote 434: St. Michael's (Square). St. Michael's was an order\ninstituted by Louis XI. of France.]\n\n[Footnote 435: Cologne water. A perfumed water first made at the city\nof Cologne in Germany, from which it took its name.]\n\n[Footnote 436: Poland. This kingdom of Europe was, in the eighteenth\ncentury, taken possession of and divided among its powerful neighbors,\nRussia, Prussia, and Austria.]\n\n[Footnote 437: Philhellene. Friend of Greece.]\n\n[Footnote 438: As Heaven and Earth are fairer far, etc. This passage\nis quoted from Book II. of Keats' _Hyperion_.]\n\n[Footnote 439: Waverley. The Waverley novels, a name applied to all of\nScott's novels from _Waverley_, the title of the first one.]\n\n[Footnote 440: Robin Hood. An English outlaw and popular hero, the\nsubject of many ballads.]\n\n[Footnote 441: Minerva. In Roman mythology, the goddess of wisdom\ncorresponding to the Greek Pallas-Athene.]\n\n[Footnote 442: Juno. In Roman mythology, the wife of the supreme god\nJupiter.]\n\n[Footnote 443: Polymnia. In Greek mythology, one of the nine muses who\npresided over sacred poetry; the name is more usually written\nPolyhymia.]\n\n[Footnote 444: Delphic Sibyl. In ancient mythology, the Sibyls were\ncertain women who possessed the power of prophecy. One of these who\nmade her abode at Delphi in Greece was called the Delphian, or\nDelphic, sibyl.]\n\n[Footnote 445: Hafiz. A Persian poet of the fourteenth century.]\n\n[Footnote 446: Firdousi. A Persian poet of the tenth century.]\n\n[Footnote 447: She was an elemental force, etc. Of this passage Oliver\nWendell Holmes said that Emerson \"speaks of woman in language that\nseems to pant for rhythm and rhyme.\"]\n\n[Footnote 448: Byzantine. An ornate style of architecture developed in\nthe fourth and fifth centuries, marked especially by its use of gold\nand color.]\n\n[Footnote 449: Golden Book. In a book, called \"the Golden Book,\" were\nrecorded the names of all the children of Venetian noblemen.]\n\n[Footnote 450: Schiraz. A province of Persia famous especially for its\nroses, wine, and nightingales, and described by the poets as a place\nof ideal beauty.]\n\n[Footnote 451: Osman. The name given by Emerson in his journal and\nessays to his ideal man, one subject to the same conditions as\nhimself.]\n\n[Footnote 452: Koran. The sacred book of the Mohammedans.]\n\n[Footnote 453: Jove. Jupiter, the supreme god of Roman mythology.]\n\n[Footnote 454: Silenus. In Greek mythology, the leader of the satyrs.\nThis fable, which Emerson credits to tradition, was original.]\n\n[Footnote 455: Her owl. The owl was the bird sacred to Minerva, the\ngoddess of wisdom.]\n\n\nGIFTS\n\n[Footnote 456: This essay was first printed in the periodical called\n_The Dial_.\n\nIt was a part of Emerson's philosophic faith that there is no such\nthing as giving,--everything that belongs to a man or that he ought to\nhave, will come to him. But in the ordinarily accepted sense of the\nword, Emerson was a gracious giver and receiver. In his family the old\nNew England custom of New Year's presents was kept up to his last\ndays. His presents were accompanied with verses to be read before the\ngift was opened.]\n\n[Footnote 457: Into chancery. The phrase \"in chancery,\" means in\nlitigation, as an estate, in a court of equity.]\n\n[Footnote 458: Cocker. Spoil, indulge,--a word now little used.]\n\n[Footnote 459: Fruits are acceptable gifts. Emerson took especial\npleasure in the beauty of fruits and the thought of how they had been\nevolved from useless, insipid seed cases.]\n\n[Footnote 460: To let the petitioner, etc. We can hardly imagine\nEmerson's asking a gift or favor. He often quoted the words of Landor,\nan English writer: \"The highest price you can pay for a thing is to\nask for it.\"]\n\n[Footnote 461: Furies. In Roman mythology, three goddesses who sought\nout and punished evil-doers.]\n\n[Footnote 462: A man's biography, etc. Emerson wrote in his journal:\n\"Long ago I wrote of _gifts_ and neglected a capital example. John\nThoreau, Jr. [who, like his brother Henry, was a lover of nature] one\nday put a bluebird's box on my barn,--fifteen years ago it must\nbe,--and there it still is, with every summer a melodious family in it\nadorning the place and singing its praises. There's a gift for you\nwhich cost the giver no money, but nothing which he bought could have\nbeen as good.\"]\n\n[Footnote 463: Sin offering. Under the Hebrew law, a sacrifice or\noffering for sin. See Leviticus xxiii. 19. Explain what Emerson means\nhere by the word.]\n\n[Footnote 464: Blackmail. What is \"blackmail\"? How may Christmas\ngifts, for instance, become a species of blackmail?]\n\n[Footnote 465: Brother, if Jove, etc. In the Greek legend, Epimetheus\ngives this advice to his brother Prometheus. The lines are taken from\na translation of _Works and Days_, by the Greek poet, Hesiod.]\n\n[Footnote 466: Timons. Here used in the sense of wealthy givers.\nTimon, the hero of Shakespeare's play, _Timon of Athens_, wasted his\nfortune in lavish gifts and entertainments, and in his poverty was\nexposed to the ingratitude of those whom he had served. He became\nmorose and died in miserable retirement.]\n\n[Footnote 467: It is a very onerous business, etc. One of Emerson's\nfavorite passages in the essays of Montaigne, a French writer, was\nthis: \"Oh, how am I obliged to Almighty God, who has been pleased that\nI should immediately receive all I have from his bounty, and\nparticularly reserved all my obligation to himself! How instantly do I\nbeg of his holy compassion that I may never owe a real thanks to\nanyone. O happy liberty in which I have thus far lived! May it\ncontinue with me to the last. I endeavor to have no need of any one.\"\n\nWhen Emerson, in his old age, had his house injured by fire, his\nfriends contributed funds to repair it and to send him to England. The\ngift was proffered graciously and accepted gratefully.]\n\n[Footnote 468: Buddhist. A follower of Buddha, a Hindoo religious\nteacher of the fifth century before Christ.]\n\n\nNATURE\n\n[Footnote 469: Nature. Emerson's first published volume was a little\nbook of essays, entitled _Nature_, which appeared in 1836. In the\nyears which followed, he thought more deeply on the subject and,\naccording to his custom, made notes about it and entries in his\njournals. In the winter of 1843 he delivered a lecture on _Relation to\nNature_, and it is probable that this essay is built up from that. The\nplan of it, however, had been long in his mind: In 1840 he wrote in\nhis journal: \"I think I must do these eyes of mine the justice to\nwrite a new chapter on Nature. This delight we all take in every show\nof night or day or field or forest or sea or city, down to the lowest\nparticulars, is not without sequel, though we be as yet only wishers\nand gazers, not at all knowing what we want. We are predominated here\nas elsewhere by an upper wisdom, and resemble those great discoverers\nwho are haunted for years, sometimes from infancy, with a passion for\nthe fact, or class of facts in which the secret lies which they are\ndestined to unlock, and they let it not go until the blessing is won.\nSo these sunsets and starlights, these swamps and rocks, these bird\nnotes and animal forms off which we cannot get our eyes and ears, but\nhover still, as moths round a lamp, are no doubt a Sanscrit cipher\ncovering the whole religious history of the universe, and presently we\nshall read it off into action and character. The pastures are full of\nghosts for me, the morning woods full of angels.\"]\n\n[Footnote 470: There are days, etc. The passage in Emerson's journal\nis hardly less beautiful. Under date of October 30, 1841, he wrote:\n\"On this wonderful day when heaven and earth seem to glow with\nmagnificence, and all the wealth of all the elements is put under\ncontribution to make the world fine, as if Nature would indulge her\noffspring, it seemed ungrateful to hide in the house. Are there not\ndull days enough in the year for you to write and read in, that you\nshould waste this glittering season when Florida and Cuba seem to have\nleft their glittering seats and come to visit us with all their\nshining hours, and almost we expect to see the jasmine and cactus\nburst from the ground instead of these last gentians and asters which\nhave loitered to attend this latter glory of the year? All insects are\nout, all birds come forth, the very cattle that lie on the ground seem\nto have great thoughts, and Egypt and India look from their eyes.\"]\n\n[Footnote 471: Halcyons. Halcyon days, ones of peace and tranquillity;\nanciently, days of calm weather in mid-winter, when the halcyon, or\nkingfisher, was supposed to brood. It was fabled that this bird laid\nits eggs in a nest that floated on the sea, and that it charmed the\nwinds and waves to make them calm while it brooded.]\n\n[Footnote 472: Indian Summer. Calm, dry, hazy weather which comes in\nthe autumn in America. The Century Dictionary says it was called\nIndian Summer because the season was most marked in the sections of\nthe upper eastern Mississippi valley inhabited by Indians about the\ntime the term became current.]\n\n[Footnote 473: Gabriel. One of the seven archangels. The Hebrew name\nmeans \"God is my strong one.\"]\n\n[Footnote 474: Uriel. Another of the seven archangels; the name means\n\"Light of God.\"]\n\n[Footnote 475: Converts all trees to wind-harps. Compare with this\npassage the lines in Emerson's poem, _Woodnotes_:\n\n   \"And the countless leaves of the pines are strings\n    Tuned to the lay the wood-god sings.\"\n\n]\n\n[Footnote 476: The village. Concord, Massachusetts. Emerson's home the\ngreater part of the time from 1832 till his death.]\n\n[Footnote 477: I go with my friend, etc. With Henry Thoreau, the lover\nof Nature.]\n\n[Footnote 478: Our little river. The Concord river.]\n\n[Footnote 479: Novitiate and probation. Explain the meaning of these\nwords, in the Roman Catholic Church. What does Emerson mean by them\nhere?]\n\n[Footnote 480: Villegiatura. The Italian name for a season spent in\ncountry pleasures.]\n\n[Footnote 481: Hanging gardens. The hanging gardens of Babylon were\none of the seven wonders of the world.]\n\n[Footnote 482: Versailles. A royal residence near Paris, with\nbeautiful formal gardens.]\n\n[Footnote 483: Paphos. A beautiful city on the island of Cyprus, where\nwas situated a temple of Astarte, or Venus.]\n\n[Footnote 484: Ctesiphon. One of the chief cities of ancient Persia,\nthe site of a magnificent royal palace.]\n\n[Footnote 485: Notch Mountains. Probably the White Mountains near\nCrawford Notch, a deep, narrow valley which is often called \"The\nNotch.\"]\n\n[Footnote 486: \u00c6olian harp. A stringed instrument from which sound is\ndrawn by the passing of the wind over its strings. It was named for\n\u00c6olus, the god of the winds, in Greek mythology.]\n\n[Footnote 487: Dorian. Dorus was one of the four divisions of Greece:\nthe word is here used in a general sense for Grecian.]\n\n[Footnote 488: Apollo. In Greek and Roman mythology, the sun god, who\npresided over music, poetry, and healing.]\n\n[Footnote 489: Diana. In Roman mythology, the goddess of the moon\ndevoted to the chase.]\n\n[Footnote 490: Edens. Beautiful, sinless places,--like the garden of\nEden.]\n\n[Footnote 491: Tempes. Places like the lovely valley of Tempe in\nThessaly, Greece.]\n\n[Footnote 492: Como Lake. A lake of northern Italy, celebrated for its\nbeauty.]\n\n[Footnote 493: Madeira Islands. Where are these islands, famous for\npicturesque beauty and balmy atmosphere?]\n\n[Footnote 494: Common. What is a common?]\n\n[Footnote 495: Campagna. The plain near Rome.]\n\n[Footnote 496: Dilettantism. Define this word and explain its use\nhere.]\n\n[Footnote 497: \"Wreaths\" and \"Flora's Chaplets.\" About the time that\nEmerson was writing his essays, volumes of formal, artificial verses\nwere very fashionable, more as parlor ornaments than as literature.\nTwo such volumes were _A Wreath of Wild Flowers from New England_ and\n_The Floral Offering_ by Mrs. Frances Osgood, a New England writer.]\n\n[Footnote 498: Pan. In Greek mythology, the god of woods, fields,\nflocks, and shepherds.]\n\n[Footnote 499: The multitude of false cherubs, etc. Explain the\nmeaning of this sentence. If true money were valueless, would people\nmake false money?]\n\n[Footnote 500: Proteus. In Greek mythology, a sea god who had the\npower of assuming different shapes. If caught and held fast, however,\nhe was forced to assume his own shape and answer the questions put to\nhim.]\n\n[Footnote 501: Mosaic ... Schemes. The conception of the world as\ngiven in Genesis on which the law of Moses, the great Hebrew lawgiver,\nwas founded.]\n\n[Footnote 502: Ptolemaic schemes. The system of geography and\nastronomy taught in the second century by Ptolemy of Alexandria; it\nwas accepted till the sixteenth century, when the Copernican system\nwas established. Ptolemy believed that the sun, planets, and stars\nrevolve around the earth; Copernicus taught that the planets revolve\naround the sun.]\n\n[Footnote 503: Flora. In Roman mythology, the goddess of the spring\nand of flowers.]\n\n[Footnote 504: Fauna. In Roman mythology, the goddess of fields and\nshepherds; she represents the fruitfulness of the earth.]\n\n[Footnote 505: Ceres. The Roman goddess of grain and harvest,\ncorresponding to the Greek goddess, Demeter.]\n\n[Footnote 506: Pomona. The Roman goddess of fruit trees and gardens.]\n\n[Footnote 507: All duly arrive. Emerson deducts from nature the\ndoctrine of evolution. What is its teaching?]\n\n[Footnote 508: Plato. (See note 36.)]\n\n[Footnote 509: Himalaya Mountain chains. (See note 193.)]\n\n[Footnote 510: Franklin. Give an account of Benjamin Franklin, the\nfamous American scientist and patriot. What did he prove about\nlightening?]\n\n[Footnote 511: Dalton. John Dalton was an English chemist who, about\nthe beginning of the nineteenth century, perfected the atomic theory,\nthat is, the theory that all chemical combinations take place in\ncertain ways between the atoms, or ultimate particles, of bodies.]\n\n[Footnote 512: Davy. (See note 69.)]\n\n[Footnote 513: Black. Joseph Black, a Scotch chemist who made valuable\ndiscoveries about latent heat and carbon dioxide, or carbonic acid\ngas.]\n\n[Footnote 514: The astronomers said, etc. Beginning with this passage,\nseveral pages of this essay was published in 1844, under the title of\n_Tantalus_, in the next to the last number of _The Dial_, which\nEmerson edited.]\n\n[Footnote 515: Centrifugal, centripetal. Define these words.]\n\n[Footnote 516: Stoics. See \"Stoicism,\" 331.]\n\n[Footnote 517: Luther. (See note 188.)]\n\n[Footnote 518: Jacob Behmen. A German mystic of the sixteenth century;\nhis name is usually written Boehme.]\n\n[Footnote 519: George Fox. (See note 202.)]\n\n[Footnote 520: James Naylor. An English religious enthusiast of the\nseventeenth century; he was first a Puritan and later a Quaker.]\n\n[Footnote 521: Operose. Laborious.]\n\n[Footnote 522: Outskirt and far-off reflection, etc. Compare with this\npassage Emerson's poem, _The Forerunners_.]\n\n[Footnote 523: Oedipus. In Greek mythology, the King of Thebes who\nsolved the riddle of the Sphinx, a fabled monster.]\n\n[Footnote 524: Prunella. A widely scattered plant, called self-heal,\nbecause a decoction of its leaves and stems was, and to some extent\nis, valued as an application to wounds. An editor comments on the fact\nthat during the last years of Emerson's life \"the little blue\nself-heal crept into the grass before his study window.\"]\n\n\nSHAKESPEARE; OR, THE POET\n\n[Footnote 525: Shakespeare; or the Poet is one of seven essays on\ngreat men in various walks of life, published in 1850 under the title\nof _Representative Men_. These essays were first delivered as lectures\nin Boston in the winter of 1845, and were repeated two years later\nbefore English audiences. They must have been especially interesting\nto those Englishmen who had, seven years before, heard Emerson's\nfriend, Carlyle, deliver his six lectures on great men whom he\nselected as representative ones. These lectures were published under\nthe title of _Heroes and Hero-Worship_. You should read the latter\npart of Carlyle's lecture on _The Hero as Poet_ and compare what he\nsays about Shakespeare with Emerson's words. Both Emerson and Carlyle\nreverenced the great English poet as \"the master of mankind.\" Even in\nserious New England, the plays of Shakespeare were found upon the\nbookshelf beside religious tracts and doctrinal treatises. There the\nboy Emerson found them and learned to love them, and the man Emerson\nloved them but the more. It was as a record of personal experiences\nthat he wrote in his journal: \"Shakespeare fills us with wonder the\nfirst time we approach him. We go away, and work and think, for years,\nand come again,--he astonishes us anew. Then, having drank deeply and\nsaturated us with his genius, we lose sight of him for another period\nof years. By and by we return, and there he stands immeasurable as at\nfirst. We have grown wiser, but only that we should see him wiser than\never. He resembles a high mountain which the traveler sees in the\nmorning and thinks he shall quickly near it and pass it and leave it\nbehind. But he journeys all day till noon, till night. There still is\nthe dim mountain close by him, having scarce altered its bearings\nsince the morning light.\"]\n\n[Footnote 526: Genius. Here instead of speaking as in _Friendship_,\nsee note 286, of the genius or spirit supposed to preside over each\nman's life, Emerson mentions the guardian spirit of human kind.]\n\n[Footnote 527: Shakespeare's youth, etc. It is impossible to\nappreciate or enjoy this essay without having some clear general\ninformation about the condition of the English people and English\nliterature in the glorious Elizabethan age in which Shakespeare lived.\nConsult, for this information, some brief history of England and a\ncomprehensive English literature.]\n\n[Footnote 528: Puritans. Strict Protestants who became so powerful in\nEngland that in the time of the Commonwealth they controlled the\npolitical and religious affairs of the country.]\n\n[Footnote 529: Anglican Church. The Established Church of England; the\nEpiscopal church.]\n\n[Footnote 530: Punch. The chief character in a puppet show, hence the\npuppet show itself.]\n\n[Footnote 531: Kyd, Marlowe, Greene, etc. For an account of these\ndramatists consult a text book on English literature. The English\ndrama seems to have begun in the Middle Ages with what were called\nMiracle plays, which were scenes from Bible history; about the same\ntime were performed the Mystery plays, which dramatized the lives of\nsaints. These were followed by the Moralities, plays in which were\npersonified abstract virtues and vices. The first step in the creation\nof the regular drama was taken by Heywood, who composed some farcical\nplays called Interludes. The people of the sixteenth century were fond\nof pageants, shows in which classical personages were introduced, and\nMasques, which gradually developed from pageants into dramas\naccompanied with music. About the middle of the sixteenth century,\nrose the English drama,--comedy, tragedy, and historical plays. The\nchief among the group of dramatists who attained fame before\nShakespeare began to write were Kyd, Marlowe, Greene, and Peele. Ben\nJonson and Beaumont and Fletcher rank next to Shakespeare among his\ncontemporaries, and among the other dramatists of the period were\nChapman, Dekker, Webster, Heywood, Middleton, Ford, and Massinger.]\n\n[Footnote 532: At the time when, etc. Probably about 1585.]\n\n[Footnote 533: Tale of Troy. Drama founded on the Trojan war. The\nsubject of famous poems by Latin and Greek poets.]\n\n[Footnote 534: Death of Julius C\u00e6sar. An account of the plots which\nended in the assassination of the great Roman general.]\n\n[Footnote 535: Plutarch. See note on _Heroism_(264). Shakespeare, like\nthe earlier dramatists, drew freely on Plutarch's _Lives_ for\nmaterial.]\n\n[Footnote 536: Brut. A poetical version of the legendary history of\nBritain, by Layamon. Its hero is Brutus, a mythical King of Britain.]\n\n[Footnote 537: Arthur. A British King of the sixth century, around\nwhose life and deeds so many legends have grown up that some\nhistorians say he, too, was a myth. He is the center of the great\ncycle of romances told in prose in Mallory's _Morte d'Arthur_ and in\npoetry in Tennyson's _Idylls of the King_.]\n\n[Footnote 538: The royal Henries. Among the dramas popular in\nShakespeare's day which he retouched or rewrote are the historical\nplays. Henry IV., First and Second Parts; Henry V; Henry VI., First,\nSecond, and Third Parts; and Henry VIII.]\n\n[Footnote 539: Italian tales. Italian literature was very popular in\nShakespeare's day, and authors drew freely from it for material,\nespecially from the _Decameron_, a famous collection of a hundred\ntales, by Boccaccio, a poet of the fourteenth century.]\n\n[Footnote 540: Spanish voyages. In the sixteenth century, Spain was\nstill a power upon the high seas, and the tales of her conquests and\ntreasures in the New World were like tales of romance.]\n\n[Footnote 541: Prestige. Can you give an English equivalent for this\nFrench word?]\n\n[Footnote 542: Which no single genius, etc. In the same way, some\ncritics assure us, the poems credited to the Greek poet, Homer, were\nbuilt up by a number of poets.]\n\n[Footnote 543: Malone. An Irish critic and scholar of the eighteenth\ncentury, best known by his edition of Shakespeare's plays.]\n\n[Footnote 544: Wolsey's Soliloquy. See Shakespeare's _Henry VIII._\nIII, 2. Cardinal Wolsey was prime minister of England in the reign of\nHenry VIII.]\n\n[Footnote 545: Scene with Cromwell. See _Henry VIII._ III, 2. Thomas\nCromwell was the son of an English blacksmith; he rose to be lord high\nchamberlain of England in the reign of Henry VIII., but, incurring the\nKing's displeasure, was executed on a charge of treason.]\n\n[Footnote 546: Account of the coronation. See _Henry VIII._ IV, 1.]\n\n[Footnote 547: Compliment to Queen Elizabeth. See _Henry VIII._ V, 5.]\n\n[Footnote 548: Bad rhythm. Too much importance must not be attached to\nthese matters in deciding authorship, as critics disagree about them.]\n\n[Footnote 549: Value his memory, etc. The Greeks, in appreciation of\nthe value of memory to the poet, represented the Muses as the\ndaughters of Mnemosyne, the goddess of memory.]\n\n[Footnote 550: Homer. A Greek poet to whom is assigned the authorship\nof the two greatest Greek poems, the _Iliad_ and the _Odyssey_; he is\nsaid to have lived about a thousand years before Christ.]\n\n[Footnote 551: Chaucer. (See note 33.)]\n\n[Footnote 552: Saadi. A Persian poet, supposed to have lived in the\nthirteenth century. His best known poems are his odes.]\n\n[Footnote 553: Presenting Thebes, etc. This quotation is from Milton's\npoem, _Il Penseroso_. Milton here names the three most popular\nsubjects of Greek tragedy,--the story of Oedipus, the ill-fated King\nof Thebes who slew his father; the tale of the descendants of Pelops,\nKing of Pisa, who seemed born to woe--Agamemnon was one of his\ngrandsons; the third subject was the tale of Troy and the heroes of\nthe Trojan war,--called \"divine\" because the Greeks represented even\nthe gods as taking part in the contest.]\n\n[Footnote 554: Pope. (See note 88.)]\n\n[Footnote 555: Dryden. (See note 35.)]\n\n[Footnote 556: Chaucer is a huge borrower. Taine, the French critic,\nsays on this subject: \"Chaucer was capable of seeking out in the old\ncommon forest of the Middle Ages, stories and legends, to replant them\nin his own soil and make them send out new shoots.... He has the right\nand power of copying and translating because by dint of retouching he\nimpresses ... his original work. He recreates what he imitates.\"]\n\n[Footnote 557: Lydgate. John Lydgate was an English poet who lived a\ngeneration later than Chaucer; in his _Troy Book_ and other poems he\nprobably borrowed from the sources used by Chaucer; he called himself\n\"Chaucer's disciple.\"]\n\n[Footnote 558: Caxton. William Caxton, the English author, more famous\nas the first English printer, was not born until after Chaucer's\ndeath. The work from which Emerson supposes the poet to have borrowed\nCaxton's translation of _Recueil des Histoires de Troye_, the first\nprinted English book, appeared about 1474.]\n\n[Footnote 559: Guido di Colonna. A Sicilian poet and historian of the\nthirteenth century. Chaucer in his _House of Fame_ placed in his\nvision \"on a pillar higher than the rest, Homer and Livy, Dares the\nPhrygian, Guido Colonna, Geoffrey of Monmouth, and the other\nhistorians of the war of Troy.\"]\n\n[Footnote 560: Dares Phrygius. A Latin account of the fall of Troy,\nwritten about the fifth century, which pretends to be a translation of\na lost work on the fall of Troy by Dares, a Trojan priest mentioned in\nHomer's _Iliad_.]\n\n[Footnote 561: Ovid. A Roman poet who lived about the time of Christ,\nwhose best-known work is the _Metamorphoses_, founded on classical\nlegends.]\n\n[Footnote 562: Statius. A Roman poet of the first century after\nChrist.]\n\n[Footnote 563: Petrarch. An Italian poet of the fourteenth century.]\n\n[Footnote 564: Boccaccio. An Italian novelist and poet of the\nfourteenth century. See note on \"Italian tales,\" 539. It is supposed\nthat the plan of the _Decameron_ suggested the similar but far\nsuperior plan of Chaucer's _Canterbury Tales_.]\n\n[Footnote 565: Proven\u00e7al poets. The poets of Proven\u00e7e, a province of\nthe southeastern part of France. In the Middle Ages it was celebrated\nfor its lyric poets, called troubadours.]\n\n[Footnote 566: Romaunt of the Rose, etc. Chaucer's _Romaunt of the\nRose_, written during the period of French influence, is an incomplete\nand abbreviated translation of a French poem of the thirteenth\ncentury, _Roman de la Rose_, the first part of which was written by\nWilliam of Loris and the latter by John of Meung, or Jean de Meung.]\n\n[Footnote 567: Troilus and Creseide, etc. Chaucer ascribes the Italian\npoem which he followed in his _Troilus and Creseide_ to an unknown\n\"Lollius of Urbino\"; the source of the poem, however, is _Il\nFilostrato_, by Boccaccio, the Italian poet already mentioned.\nChaucer's poem is far more than a translation; more than half is\nentirely original, and it is a powerful poem, showing profound\nknowledge of the Italian poets, whose influence with him superseded\nthe French poets.]\n\n[Footnote 568: The Cock and the Fox. _The Nun's Priest's Tale_ in the\n_Canterbury Tales_ was an original treatment of the _Roman de Renart_,\nof Marie of France, a French poet of the twelfth century.]\n\n[Footnote 569: House of Fame, etc. The plan of the _House of Fame_,\nwritten during the period of Chaucer's Italian influence, shows the\ninfluence of Dante; the general idea of the poem is from Ovid, the\nRoman poet.]\n\n[Footnote 570: Gower. John Gower was an English poet, Chaucer's\ncontemporary and friend; the two poets went to the same sources for\npoetic materials, but Chaucer made no such use of Gower's works as we\nwould infer from this passage. Emerson relied on his memory for facts,\nand hence made mistakes, as here in the instances of Lydgate, Caxton,\nand Gower.]\n\n[Footnote 571: Westminster, Washington. What legislative body\nassembles at Westminster Palace, London? What at Washington?]\n\n[Footnote 572: Sir Robert Peel. An English statesman who died in 1850,\nnot long after _Representative Men_ was published.]\n\n[Footnote 573: Webster. Daniel Webster, an American statesman and\norator who was living when this essay was written.]\n\n[Footnote 574: Locke. John Locke. (See note 18.)]\n\n[Footnote 575: Rousseau. Jean Jacques Rousseau, a French philosopher\nof the eighteenth century.]\n\n[Footnote 576: Homer. (See note 550.)]\n\n[Footnote 577: Menn. Menn, or Mann, was in Sanscrit one of fourteen\nlegendary beings; the one referred to by Emerson, Mann Vaivasvata was\nsupposed to be the author of the laws of Mann, a collection made about\nthe second century.]\n\n[Footnote 578: Saadi or Sadi. (See note 552.)]\n\n[Footnote 579: Milton. Of this great English poet and prose writer of\nthe seventeenth century, Emerson says: \"No man can be named whose mind\nstill acts on the cultivated intellect of England and America with an\nenergy comparable to that of Milton. As a poet Shakespeare undoubtedly\ntranscends and far surpasses him in his popularity with foreign\nnations: but Shakespeare is a voice merely: who and what he was that\nsang, that sings, we know not.\"]\n\n[Footnote 580: Delphi. Here, source of prophecy. Delphi was a city in\nGreece, where was the oracle of Apollo, the most famous of the oracles\nof antiquity.]\n\n[Footnote 581: Our English Bible. The version made in the reign of\nKing James I. by forty-seven learned divines is a monument of noble\nEnglish.]\n\n[Footnote 582: Liturgy. An appointed form of worship used in a\nChristian church,--here, specifically, the service of the Episcopal\nchurch. Emerson's mother had been brought up in that church, and\nthough she attended her husband's church, she always loved and read\nher Episcopal prayer book.]\n\n[Footnote 583: Grotius. Hugo Grotius was a Dutch jurist, statesman,\ntheologian, and poet of the seventeenth century.]\n\n[Footnote 584: Rabbinical forms. The forms used by the rabbis, Jewish\ndoctors or expounders of the law.]\n\n[Footnote 585: Common law. In a general sense, the system of law\nderived from England, in general use among English-speaking people.]\n\n[Footnote 586: Vedas. The sacred books of the Brahmins.]\n\n[Footnote 587: \u00c6sop's Fables. Fables ascribed to \u00c6sop, a Greek slave\nwho lived in the sixth century before Christ.]\n\n[Footnote 588: Pilpay, or Bidpai. Indian sage to whom were ascribed\nsome fables. From an Arabic translation, these passed into European\nlanguages and were used by La Fontaine, the French fabulist.]\n\n[Footnote 589: Arabian Nights. _The Arabian Nights' Entertainment or A\nThousand and One Nights_ is a collection of Oriental tales, the plan\nand name of which are very ancient.]\n\n[Footnote 590: Cid. _The Romances of the Cid_, the story of the\nSpanish national hero, mentioned in note on _Heroism_139:5, was\nwritten about the thirteenth century by an unknown author; it supplied\nmuch of the material for two Spanish chronicles and Spanish and French\ntragedies written later on the same subject.]\n\n[Footnote 591: Iliad. The poem in which the Greek, poet, Homer,\ndescribes the siege and fall of Troy. Emerson here expresses the view\nadopted by many scholars that it was the work, not of one, but of many\nmen.]\n\n[Footnote 592: Robin Hood. The ballads about Robin Hood, an English\noutlaw and popular hero of the twelfth century.]\n\n[Footnote 593: Scottish Minstrelsy. _The Minstrelsy of the Scottish\nBorder_, a collection of original and collected poems, published by\nSir Walter Scott in 1802.]\n\n[Footnote 594: Shakespeare Society. The Shakespeare Society, founded\nin 1841, was dissolved in 1853. In 1874 The New Shakespeare Society\nwas founded.]\n\n[Footnote 595: Mysteries. See \"Kyd, Marlowe, etc.\" 531.]\n\n[Footnote 596: Ferrex and Porrex, or Gorboduc. The first regular\nEnglish tragedy, by Thomas Norton and Thomas Sackville, printed in\n1565.]\n\n[Footnote 597: Gammer Gurtor's Needle. One of the first English\ncomedies, written by Bishop Still and printed in 1575.]\n\n[Footnote 598: Whether the boy Shakespeare poached, etc. For a fuller\naccount of the facts of Shakespeare's life, of which some traditions\nand facts are mentioned here, consult some good biography of the\npoet.]\n\n[Footnote 599: Queen Elizabeth. Dining her reign, 1558-1603, the\nEnglish drama rose and attained its height, and there was produced a\nprose literature hardly inferior to the poetic.]\n\n[Footnote 600: King James. King James VI. of Scotland and I. of\nEngland who was Elizabeth's kinsman and successor; he reigned in\nEngland from 1603 to 1625.]\n\n[Footnote 601: Essexes. Walter Devereux was a brave English gentleman\nwhom Elizabeth made Earl of Essex in 1572. His son Robert, the second\nEarl of Essex, was a favorite of Queen Elizabeth's.]\n\n[Footnote 602: Leicester. The Earl of Leicester, famous in\nShakespeare's time, was Robert Dudley, an English courtier,\npolitician, and general, the favorite of Queen Elizabeth.]\n\n[Footnote 603: Burleighs or Burghleys: William Cecil, baron of\nBurghley, was an English statesman, who, for forty years, was\nElizabeth's chief minister.]\n\n[Footnote 604: Buckinghams. George Villiers, the first duke of\nBuckingham, was an English courtier and politician, a favorite of\nJames I. and Charles I.]\n\n[Footnote 605: Tudor dynasty. The English dynasty of sovereigns\ndescended on the male side from Owen Tudor. It began with Henry VII.\nand ended with Elizabeth.]\n\n[Footnote 606: Bacon. Consult English literature and history for an\naccount of the great statesman and author, Francis Bacon, \"the wisest,\nbrightest, meanest of mankind.\"]\n\n[Footnote 607: Ben Jonson, etc. In his _Timber or Discoveries_, Ben\nJonson, a famous classical dramatist contemporary with Shakespeare,\nsays: \"I loved the man and do honor his memory on this side idolatry\nas much as any. He was indeed honest and of an open and free nature:\nhad an excellent fancy; brave notions and gentle expressions: wherein\nhe flowed with that facility that sometimes it was necessary he should\nbe stopped.... His wit was in his own power; would the rule of it had\nbeen so, too. Many times he fell into those things could not escape\nlaughter.... But he redeemed his vices with his virtues. There was\never more in him to be praised than to be pardoned.\"]\n\n[Footnote 608: Sir Henry Wotton. An English diplomatist and author of\nwide culture.]\n\n[Footnote 609: The following persons, etc. The persons enumerated were\nall people of note of the seventeenth century. Sir Philip Sidney, Earl\nof Essex, Lord Bacon, Sir Walter Raleigh, John Milton, Sir Henry Vane,\nIsaac Walton, Dr. John Donne, Abraham Cowley, Charles Cotton, John\nPym, and John Hales were Englishmen, scholars, statesmen, and authors.\nTheodore Beza was a French theologian; Isaac Casaubon was a\nFrench-Swiss scholar; Roberto Berlarmine was an Italian cardinal;\nJohann Kepler was a German astronomer; Francis Vieta was a French\nmathematician; Albericus Gentilis was an Italian jurist; Paul Sarpi\nwas an Italian historian; Arminius was a Dutch theologian.]\n\n[Footnote 610: Many others whom doubtless, etc. Emerson here\nenumerates some famous English authors of the same period, not\nmentioned in the preceeding list.]\n\n[Footnote 611: Pericles. See note on _Heroism_, 352.]\n\n[Footnote 612: Lessing. Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, a German critic and\npoet of the eighteenth century.]\n\n[Footnote 613: Wieland. Christopher Martin Wieland was a German\ncontemporary of Lessing's, who made a prose translation into German of\nShakespeare's plays.]\n\n[Footnote 614: Schlegel. August Wilhelm von Schlegel, a German critic\nand poet, who about the first of the nineteenth century translated\nsome of Shakespeare's plays into classical German.]\n\n[Footnote 615: Hamlet. The hero of Shakespeare's play of the same\nname.]\n\n[Footnote 616: Coleridge. Samuel Taylor Coleridge, an English poet,\nauthor of critical lectures and notes on Shakespeare.]\n\n[Footnote 617: Goethe. (See note 85.)]\n\n[Footnote 618: Blackfriar's Theater. A famous London theater in which\nnearly all the great dramas of the Elizabethan age were performed.]\n\n[Footnote 619: Stratford. Stratford-on-Avon, a little town in\nWarwickshire, England, where Shakespeare was born and where he spent\nhis last years.]\n\n[Footnote 620: Macbeth. One of Shakespeare's greatest tragedies,\nwritten about 1606.]\n\n[Footnote 621: Malone, Warburton, Dyce, and Collier. English scholars\nof the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries who edited the works of\nShakespeare.]\n\n[Footnote 622: Covent Garden, Drury Lane, the Park, and Tremont: The\nleading London theaters in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.]\n\n[Footnote 623: Betterton, Garrick, Kemble, Kean, and Macready, famous\nBritish actors of the Shakespearian parts.]\n\n[Footnote 624: The Hamlet of a famed performer, etc. Macready. Emerson\nsaid to a friend: \"I see you are one of the happy mortals who are\ncapable of being carried away by an actor of Shakespeare. Now,\nwhenever I visit the theater to witness the performance of one of his\ndramas, I am carried away by the poet.\"]\n\n[Footnote 625: What may this mean, etc. _Hamlet_, I. 4.]\n\n[Footnote 626: Midsummer Night's Dream. One of Shakespeare's plays.]\n\n[Footnote 627: The forest of Arden. In which is laid, the scene of\nShakespeare's play, _As You Like It_.]\n\n[Footnote 628: The nimble air of Scone Castle. It was of the air of\nInverness, not of Scone, that \"the air nimbly and sweetly recommends\nitself unto our gentle senses.\"--_Macbeth_, I. 6.]\n\n[Footnote 629: Portia's villa. See the moonlight scene, _Merchant of\nVenice_, V. 1.]\n\n[Footnote 630: The antres vost, etc. See _Othello_, I. 3. \"Antres\" is\nan old word, meaning caves, caverns.]\n\n[Footnote 631: Cyclopean architecture. In Greek mythology, the Cyclops\nwere a race of giants. The term 'Cyclopean' is applied here to the\narchitecture of Egypt and India, because of the majestic size of the\nbuildings, and the immense size of the stones used, as if it would\nrequire giants to perform such works.]\n\n[Footnote 632: Phidian sculpture. Phidias was a famous Greek sculptor\nwho lived in the age of Pericles and beautified Athens with his\nworks.]\n\n[Footnote 633: Gothic minsters. Churches or cathedrals, built in the\nGothic, or pointed, style of architecture which prevailed during the\nMiddle Ages; it owed nothing to the Goths, and this term was\noriginally used in reproach, in the sense of \"barbarous.\"]\n\n[Footnote 634: The Italian painting. In Italy during the fifteenth and\nsixteenth centuries pictorial art was carried to a degree of\nperfection unknown in any other time or country.]\n\n[Footnote 635: Ballads of Spain and Scotland. The old ballads of these\ncountries are noted for beauty and spirit.]\n\n[Footnote 636: Tripod. Define this word, and explain its\nappropriateness here.]\n\n[Footnote 637: Aubrey. John Aubrey, an English antiquarian of the\nseventeenth century.]\n\n[Footnote 638: Rowe. Nicholas Rowe, an English author of the\nseventeenth century, who wrote a biography of Shakespeare.]\n\n[Footnote 639: Timon. See note on _Gifts_, 466.]\n\n[Footnote 640: Warwick. An English politician and commander of the\nfifteenth century, called \"the King Maker.\" He appears in\nShakespeare's plays, _Henry IV._, _V._, and _VI._]\n\n[Footnote 641: Antonio. The Venetian Merchant in Shakespeare's play,\n_The Merchant of Venice_.]\n\n[Footnote 642: Talma. Fran\u00e7ois Joseph Talma was a French tragic actor,\nto whom Napoleon showed favor.]\n\n[Footnote 643: An omnipresent humanity, etc. See what Carlyle has to\nsay on this subject in his _Hero as Poet_.]\n\n[Footnote 644: Daguerre. Louis Jacques Daguerre, a French painter, one\nof the inventors of the daguerreotype process, by means of which an\nimage is fixed on a metal plate by the chemical action of light.]\n\n[Footnote 645: Euphuism. The word here has rather the force of\neuphemism, an entirely different word. Euphuism was an affected ornate\nstyle of expression, so called from _Euphues_, by John Lyly, a\nsixteenth century master of that style.]\n\n[Footnote 646: Epicurus. A Greek philosopher of the third century\nbefore Christ. He was the founder of the Epicurean school of\nphilosophy which taught that pleasure should be man's chief aim and\nthat the highest pleasure is freedom.]\n\n[Footnote 647: Dante. (See note 258.)]\n\n[Footnote 648: Master of the revels, etc. Emerson always expressed\nthankfulness for \"the spirit of joy which Shakespeare had shed over\nthe universe.\" See what Carlyle says in _The Hero as Poet_, about\nShakespeare's \"mirthfulness and love of laughter.\"]\n\n[Footnote 649: Koran. The Sacred book of the Mohammedans.]\n\n[Footnote 650: Twelfth Night, etc. The names of three bright, merry,\nor serene plays by Shakespeare.]\n\n[Footnote 651: Egyptian verdict. Emerson used Egyptian probably in the\nsense of \"gipsy.\" He compares such opinions to the fortunes told by\nthe gipsies.]\n\n[Footnote 652: Tasso. An Italian poet of the sixteenth century.]\n\n[Footnote 653: Cervantes. A Spanish poet and romancer of the sixteenth\ncentury, the author of _Don Quixote_.]\n\n[Footnote 654: Israelite. Such Hebrew prophets as Isaiah and\nJeremiah.]\n\n[Footnote 655: German. Such as Luther.]\n\n[Footnote 656: Swede. Such as Swedenborg, the mystic philosopher of\nthe eighteenth century of whom Emerson had already written in\n_Representative Men_.]\n\n[Footnote 657: A pilgrim's progress. As described by John Bunyan, the\nEnglish writer, in his famous _Pilgrim's Progress_.]\n\n[Footnote 658: Doleful histories of Adam's fall, etc. The subject of\n_Paradise Lost,_ the great poem by John Milton.]\n\n[Footnote 659: With doomsdays and purgatorial, etc. As described by\nDante in his _Divine Commedia_, an epic about hell, purgatory, and\nparadise.]\n\n\nPRUDENCE\n\n[Footnote 660: The essay on _Prudence_ was given as a lecture in\nthe course on _Human Culture_, in the winter of 1837-8. It was\npublished in the first series of _Essays_, which appeared in 1841.]\n\n[Footnote 661: Lubricity. The word means literally the state or\nquality of being slippery; Emerson uses it several times, in its\nderived sense of \"instability.\"]\n\n[Footnote 662: Love and Friendship. The subjects of the two essays\npreceding _Prudence_, in the volume of 1841.]\n\n[Footnote 663: The world is filled with the proverbs, etc. Compare\nwith this passage Emerson's words in _Compensation_ on \"the flights of\nproverbs, whose teaching is as true and as omnipresent as that of\nbirds and flies.\"]\n\n[Footnote 664: A good wheel or pin. That is, a part of a machine.]\n\n[Footnote 665: The law of polarity. Having two opposite poles, the\nproperties of the one of which are the opposite of the other.]\n\n[Footnote 666: Summer will have its flies. Emerson discoursed\nwith philosophic calm about the impediments and disagreeableness which\nbeset every path; he also accepted them with serenity when he\nencountered them in his daily life.]\n\n[Footnote 667: The inhabitants of the climates, etc. As a\nnortherner, Emerson naturally felt that the advantage and superiority\nwere with his own section. He expressed in his poems _Voluntaries_ and\n_Mayday_ views similar to those declared here.]\n\n[Footnote 668: Peninsular campaign. Emerson here refers to\nthe military operations carried on from 1808 to 1814 in Portugal,\nSpain, and southern France against the French, by the British,\nSpanish, and Portuguese forces commanded by Wellington. What was the\n\"Peninsular campaign\" in American history?]\n\n[Footnote 669: Dr. Johnson is reported to have said, etc. Dr.\nSamuel Johnson was an eminent English scholar of the eighteenth\ncentury. In this, as in many other instances, Emerson quotes from his\nmemory instead of from the book. The words of Dr. Johnson, as reported\nby his biographer Boswell, are: \"Accustom your children constantly to\nthis; if a thing happened at one window, and they, when relating it,\nsay it happened at another, do not let it pass, but instantly check\nthem; you do not know where deviation from truth will end.\"]\n\n[Footnote 670: Rifle. A local name in England and New England\nfor an instrument, on the order of a whetstone, used for sharpening\nscythes; it is made of wood, covered with fine sand or emery.]\n\n[Footnote 671: Last grand duke of Weimar. Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach is a\ngrand duchy of Germany. The grand duke referred to was Charles\nAugustus, who died in 1828. He was the friend and patron of the great\nGerman authors, Goethe, Schiller, Herder, and Wieland.]\n\n[Footnote 672: The Raphael in the Dresden gallery. The Sistine\nMadonna, the most famous picture of the great Italian artist,\nRaphael.]\n\n[Footnote 673: Call a spade a spade. Plutarch, the Greek historian,\nsaid, \"These Macedonians ... call a spade a spade.\"]\n\n[Footnote 674: Parts. A favorite eighteenth century term for\nabilities, talents.]\n\n[Footnote 675: We have found out, etc. Emerson always insisted that\nmorals and intellect should be united. He urged that power and\ninsight are lessened by shortcomings in morals.]\n\n[Footnote 676: Goethe's Tasso. A play by the German poet\nGoethe, founded on the belief that the imprisonment of Tasso was due\nto his aspiration to the hand of Leonora d'Este, sister of the duke of\nFerrara. Tasso was a famous Italian poet of the seventeenth century.]\n\n[Footnote 677: Richard III. An English king, the last of the\nPlantagenet line, the hero--or villain--of Shakespeare's historical\nplay, Richard III.]\n\n[Footnote 678: Bifold. Give a simpler word that means the same.]\n\n[Footnote 679: C\u00e6sar. Why is C\u00e6sar the great Roman ruler, given as a\ntype of greatness?]\n\n[Footnote 680: Job. Why is Job, the hero of the Old Testament book of\nthe same name, given as a type of misery?]\n\n[Footnote 681: Poor Richard. _Poor Richard's Almanac_,\npublished (1732-1757) by Benjamin Franklin was a collection of maxims\ninculcating prudence and thrift. These were given as the sayings of\n\"Poor Richard.\"]\n\n[Footnote 682: State Street. A street in Boston, Massachusetts, noted\nas a financial center.]\n\n[Footnote 683: Stick in a tree between whiles, etc. \"Jock, when ye hae\nnaething else to do, ye may be aye sticking in a tree; it will be\ngrowing, Jock, when ye're sleeping.\"--Scott's _Heart of Midlothian_.\nIt is said that these were the words of a dying Scotchman to his son.]\n\n[Footnote 684: Minor virtues. Emerson suggests that punctuality and\nregard for a promise are two of these. Can you name others?]\n\n[Footnote 685: The Latin proverb says, etc. This is quoted from\nTacitus, the famous Roman historian.]\n\n[Footnote 686: If he set out to contend, etc. In contention,\nEmerson holds, the best men would lose their characteristic virtues,\n--the fearless apostle Paul, his devotion to truth; the gentle\ndisciple John, his loving charity.]\n\n[Footnote 687: Though your views are in straight antagonism, &c. This\nwas Emerson's own method, and by it he won a courteous hearing from\nthose to whom his views were most objectionable.]\n\n[Footnote 688: Consuetudes. Give a simpler word that has the same\nmeaning.]\n\n[Footnote 689: Begin where we will, etc. Explain what Emerson means by\nthis expression.]\n\n\nCIRCLES\n\n[Footnote 690: This essay first appeared in the first series of\n_Essays_, published in 1841. Unlike most of the other essays in the\nvolume, no earlier form of it exists, and it was probably not\ndelivered first as a lecture.\n\nDr. Richard Garnett says in his _Life of Emerson_: \"The object of this\nfine essay quaintly entitled _Circles_ is to reconcile this rigidity\nof unalterable law with the fact of human progress. Compensation\nillustrates one property of a circle, which always returns to the\npoint where it began, but it is no less true that around every circle\nanother can be drawn.... Emerson followed his own counsel; he always\nkeeps a reserve of power. His theory of _Circles_ reappears without\nthe least verbal indebtedness to himself in the splendid essay on\n_Love_.\"]\n\n[Footnote 691: St. Augustine. A celebrated father of the\nLatin church, who flourished in the fourth century. His most famous\nwork is his _Confessions_, an autobiographical volume of religious\nmeditations.]\n\n[Footnote 692: Another dawn risen on mid-noon. \"Another morn has risen\non mid-noon.\" Milton, _Paradise Lost_, Book V.]\n\n[Footnote 693: Greek sculpture. The greatest development of\nthe art of sculpture that the world has ever known was that which took\nplace in Greece, with Athens as the center, in the fifth century\nbefore Christ. The masterpieces which remain are the models on which\nmodern art formed itself.]\n\n[Footnote 694: Greek letters. In literature--in drama, philosophy and\nhistory--Greece attained an excellence as signal as in art. Emerson as\na scholar, felt that the literature of Greece was more permanent than\nits art. Would an artist be apt to take this view?]\n\n[Footnote 695: New arts destroy the old, etc. Tell the ways in which\nthe improvements and inventions mentioned by Emerson have been\nsuperseded by others; give the reasons. Mention other similar cases of\nmore recent date.]\n\n[Footnote 696: The life of man is a self-evolving circle, etc. \"Throw a\nstone into the stream, and the circles that propagate themselves are the\nbeautiful type of all influence.\"--EMERSON, in _Nature_.]\n\n[Footnote 697: The heart refuses to be imprisoned. It is a\nsuperstition current in many countries that an evil spirit cannot\nescape from a circle drawn round it.]\n\n[Footnote 698: Crass. Gross; coarse.]\n\n[Footnote 699: The continual effort to raise himself above\nhimself, etc.\n\n    \"Unless above himself he can\n    Erect himself, how poor a thing is man!\"\n                                 SAMUEL DANIEL.\n\n]\n\n[Footnote 700: If he were high enough, etc.\n\n    Have I a lover\n    Who is noble and free?--\n    I would he were nobler\n    Than to love me.--EMERSON, _The Sphinx._\n\n]\n\n[Footnote 701: Aristotle and Plato. Plato was a famous Greek\nphilosopher who flourished in the fourth century before Christ. He was\nthe disciple of Socrates, the teacher of Aristotle, and the founder of\nthe academic school of philosophy. His exposition of idealism was\nfounded on the teachings of Socrates. Aristotle, another famous Greek\nphilosopher, was for twenty years the pupil of Plato. He founded the\nperipatetic school of philosophy, and his writing dealt with all the\nthen known branches of science.]\n\n[Footnote 702: Berkeley. George Berkeley was a British clergyman of\nthe eighteenth century. He was the author of works on philosophy which\nare marked by extreme subjective idealism.]\n\n[Footnote 703: Termini. Boundaries or marks to indicate boundaries. In\nRoman mythology, Terminus was the god who presided over boundaries or\nlandmarks. He is represented with a human head, but without feet or\narms,--to indicate that he never moved from his place.]\n\n[Footnote 704: Pentecost. One of three great Jewish festivals. On the\nday of Pentecost, the Holy Spirit descended upon the infant Christian\nchurch, with the gift of tongues. See Acts ii. 1-20.]\n\n[Footnote 705: Hodiernal. Belonging to our present day.]\n\n[Footnote 706: Punic. Of Carthage, a famous ancient city, and\nstate of northern Africa. Carthage was the rival of Rome, but was,\nafter long warfare, overcome in the second century before Christ.]\n\n[Footnote 707: In like manner, etc. Emerson always urged that in order\nto get the best from all, one must pass from affairs to thought,\nsociety to solitude, books to nature.\n\n    \"See thou bring not to field or stone\n       The fancies found in books;\n     Leave authors' eyes, and fetch your own,\n       To brave the landscape's look.\"--EMERSON,\n                                        _Waldeinsamkeit_.\n\n]\n\n[Footnote 708: Petrarch. (See note 563.)]\n\n[Footnote 709: Ariosto. A famous Italian author of the sixteenth\ncentury, who wrote comedies, satires, and a metrical romance, _Orlando\nFurioso_.]\n\n[Footnote 710: \"Then shall also the Son\", etc. See 1 Corinthians xv.\n28: Does Emerson quote the passage verbatim?]\n\n[Footnote 711: These manifold tenacious qualities, etc. It is\nremarked of Emerson that the idea of the symbolism of nature which he\nreceived from Plato, was the source of much of his pleasure in\nSwedenborg, the Swedish mystic philosopher. Emerson says in his volume\non _Nature_: \"The noblest ministry of nature is to stand as an\napparition of God.\"]\n\n[Footnote 712: \"Forgive his crimes,\" etc. This is quoted from _Night\nThoughts_ by the English didactic poet, Edward Young.]\n\n[Footnote 713: Pyrrhonism. A doctrine held by a follower of Pyrrho, a\nGreek philosopher of the third century before Christ, who founded the\nsceptical school. He taught that it is impossible to attain truth, and\nthat men should be indifferent to all external circumstances.]\n\n[Footnote 714: I own I am gladdened, etc. Emerson always held fast to\nthe consoling thought that there was no evil without good, none out of\nwhich Good did not or could not come.]\n\n[Footnote 715: Sempiternal. Everlasting; eternal.]\n\n[Footnote 716: Oliver Cromwell. An Englishman of the middle classes\nwho became the military and civil leader of the English Revolution of\nthe seventeenth century. He refused the title of king; but as Lord\nProtector of the English commonwealth, he exercised royal power.]","title":"Essays by Ralph Waldo Emerson","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":92766}