{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_71683/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_71683","id":"gutenberg_71683","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/71683","summary":null,"tags":["American essays -- 19th century","Category: American Literature","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Philosophy of nature","Transcendentalism (New England)"],"text":"NATURE,\n                       ADDRESSES, AND LECTURES.\n\n\n\n\n                             MISCELLANIES;\n\n                               EMBRACING\n\n                   NATURE, ADDRESSES, AND LECTURES.\n\n                                  BY\n\n                            R. W. EMERSON.\n\n                                BOSTON:\n                    PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY.\n\n                              M.DCCC.LVI.\n\n\n\n\n      Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by\n     PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY, in the Clerk\u2019s Office of the\n           District Court of the District of Massachusetts.\n\n\n                         RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:\n\n              STEREOTYPED BY H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nNATURE                                                                 5\n\nTHE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. AN ORATION BEFORE\nTHE PHI BETA KAPPA SOCIETY, AT CAMBRIDGE,\nAUGUST 31, 1837                                                       75\n\nAN ADDRESS TO THE SENIOR CLASS IN DIVINITY\nCOLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, JULY 15, 1838                                    113\n\nLITERARY ETHICS. AN ADDRESS TO THE LITERARY\nSOCIETIES IN DARTMOUTH COLLEGE, JULY 24, 1838                        147\n\nTHE METHOD OF NATURE. AN ADDRESS TO THE\nSOCIETY OF THE ADELPHI, IN WATERVILLE COLLEGE,\nMAINE, AUGUST 11, 1841                                               181\n\nMAN THE REFORMER. A LECTURE READ BEFORE\nTHE MECHANICS\u2019 APPRENTICES\u2019 LIBRARY ASSOCIATION,\nBOSTON, JANUARY 25, 1841                                             217\n\nINTRODUCTORY LECTURE ON THE TIMES. READ\nIN THE MASONIC TEMPLE, BOSTON, DEC. 2, 1841                          249\n\nTHE CONSERVATIVE. A LECTURE READ IN THE\nMASONIC TEMPLE, BOSTON, DECEMBER 9, 1841                             283\n\nTHE TRANSCENDENTALIST. A LECTURE READ IN\nTHE MASONIC TEMPLE, BOSTON, JANUARY, 1842                            317\n\nTHE YOUNG AMERICAN. A LECTURE READ TO\nTHE MERCANTILE LIBRARY ASSOCIATION, IN BOSTON,\nFEBRUARY 7, 1844                                                     349\n\n\n\n\nNATURE.\n\n\n    A subtle chain of countless rings\n    The next unto the farthest brings;\n    The eye reads omens where it goes,\n    And speaks all languages the rose;\n    And, striving to be man, the worm\n    Mounts through all the spires of form.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nOur age is retrospective. It builds the sepulchres of the fathers. It\nwrites biographies, histories, and criticism. The foregoing generations\nbeheld God and nature face to face; we, through their eyes. Why should\nnot we also enjoy an original relation to the universe? Why should not\nwe have a poetry and philosophy of insight and not of tradition, and a\nreligion by revelation to us, and not the history of theirs? Embosomed\nfor a season in nature, whose floods of life stream around and through\nus, and invite us by the powers they supply, to action proportioned to\nnature, why should we grope among the dry bones of the past, or put the\nliving generation into masquerade out of its faded wardrobe? The sun\nshines to-day also. There is more wool and flax in the fields. There are\nnew lands, new men, new thoughts. Let us demand our own works and laws\nand worship.\n\nUndoubtedly we have no questions to ask which are unanswerable. We must\ntrust the perfection of the creation so far, as to believe that whatever\ncuriosity the order of things has awakened in our minds, the order of\nthings can satisfy. Every man\u2019s condition is a solution in hieroglyphic\nto those inquiries he would put. He acts it as life, before he\napprehends it as truth. In like manner, nature is already, in its forms\nand tendencies, describing its own design. Let us interrogate the great\napparition, that shines so peacefully around us. Let us inquire, to what\nend is nature?\n\nAll science has one aim, namely, to find a theory of nature. We have\ntheories of races and of functions, but scarcely yet a remote approach\nto an idea of creation. We are now so far from the road to truth, that\nreligious teachers dispute and hate each other, and speculative men are\nesteemed unsound and frivolous. But to a sound judgment, the most\nabstract truth is the most practical. Whenever a true theory appears, it\nwill be its own evidence. Its test is, that it will explain all\nphenomena. Now many are thought not only unexplained but inexplicable;\nas language, sleep, madness, dreams, beasts, sex.\n\nPhilosophically considered, the universe is composed of Nature and the\nSoul. Strictly speaking, therefore, all that is separate from us, all\nwhich Philosophy distinguishes as the NOT ME, that is, both nature and\nart, all other men and my own body, must be ranked under this name,\nNATURE. In enumerating the values of nature and casting up their sum, I\nshall use the word in both senses;--in its common and in its\nphilosophical import. In inquiries so general as our present one, the\ninaccuracy is not material; no confusion of thought will occur.\n_Nature_, in the common sense, refers to essences unchanged by man;\nspace, the air, the river, the leaf. _Art_ is applied to the mixture of\nhis will with the same things, as in a house, a canal, a statue, a\npicture. But his operations taken together are so insignificant, a\nlittle chipping, baking, patching, and washing, that in an impression so\ngrand as that of the world on the human mind, they do not vary the\nresult.\n\n\n\n\nNATURE.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nTo go into solitude, a man needs to retire as much from his chamber as\nfrom society. I am not solitary whilst I read and write, though nobody\nis with me. But if a man would be alone, let him look at the stars. The\nrays that come from those heavenly worlds, will separate between him and\nwhat he touches. One might think the atmosphere was made transparent\nwith this design, to give man, in the heavenly bodies, the perpetual\npresence of the sublime. Seen in the streets of cities, how great they\nare! If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would\nmen believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance\nof the city of God which had been shown! But every night come out these\nenvoys of beauty, and light the universe with their admonishing smile.\n\nThe stars awaken a certain reverence, because though always present,\nthey are inaccessible; but all natural objects make a kindred\nimpression, when the mind is open to their influence. Nature never wears\na mean appearance. Neither does the wisest man extort her secret, and\nlose his curiosity by finding out all her perfection. Nature never\nbecame a toy to a wise spirit. The flowers, the animals, the mountains,\nreflected the wisdom of his best hour, as much as they had delighted the\nsimplicity of his childhood.\n\nWhen we speak of nature in this manner, we have a distinct but most\npoetical sense in the mind. We mean the integrity of impression made by\nmanifold natural objects. It is this which distinguishes the stick of\ntimber of the wood-cutter, from the tree of the poet. The charming\nlandscape which I saw this morning, is indubitably made up of some\ntwenty or thirty farms. Miller owns this field, Locke that, and Manning\nthe woodland beyond. But none of them owns the landscape. There is a\nproperty in the horizon which no man has but he whose eye can integrate\nall the parts, that is, the poet. This is the best part of these men\u2019s\nfarms, yet to this their warranty-deeds give no title.\n\nTo speak truly, few adult persons can see nature. Most persons do not\nsee the sun. At least they have a very superficial seeing. The sun\nilluminates only the eye of the man, but shines into the eye and the\nheart of the child. The lover of nature is he whose inward and outward\nsenses are still truly adjusted to each other; who has retained the\nspirit of infancy even into the era of manhood. His intercourse with\nheaven and earth, becomes part of his daily food. In the presence of\nnature, a wild delight runs through the man, in spite of real sorrows.\nNature says,--he is my creature, and maugre all his impertinent griefs,\nhe shall be glad with me. Not the sun or the summer alone, but every\nhour and season yields its tribute of delight; for every hour and change\ncorresponds to and authorizes a different state of the mind, from\nbreathless noon to grimmest midnight. Nature is a setting that fits\nequally well a comic or a mourning piece. In good health, the air is a\ncordial of incredible virtue. Crossing a bare common, in snow puddles,\nat twilight, under a clouded sky, without having in my thoughts any\noccurrence of special good fortune, I have enjoyed a perfect\nexhilaration. I am glad to the brink of fear. In the woods too, a man\ncasts off his years, as the snake his slough, and at what period soever\nof life, is always a child. In the woods, is perpetual youth. Within\nthese plantations of God, a decorum and sanctity reign, a perennial\nfestival is dressed, and the guest sees not how he should tire of them\nin a thousand years. In the woods, we return to reason and faith. There\nI feel that nothing can befall me in life,--no disgrace, no calamity,\n(leaving me my eyes,) which nature cannot repair. Standing on the bare\nground,--my head bathed by the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite\nspace,--all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eye-ball; I am\nnothing; I see all; the currents of the Universal Being circulate\nthrough me; I am part or parcel of God. The name of the nearest friend\nsounds then foreign and accidental: to be brothers, to be\nacquaintances,--master or servant, is then a trifle and a disturbance. I\nam the lover of uncontained and immortal beauty. In the wilderness, I\nfind something more dear and connate than in streets or villages. In the\ntranquil landscape, and especially in the distant line of the horizon,\nman beholds somewhat as beautiful as his own nature.\n\nThe greatest delight which the fields and woods minister, is the\nsuggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable. I am not\nalone and unacknowledged. They nod to me, and I to them. The waving of\nthe boughs in the storm, is new to me and old. It takes me by surprise,\nand yet is not unknown. Its effect is like that of a higher thought or a\nbetter emotion coming over me, when I deemed I was thinking justly or\ndoing right.\n\nYet it is certain that the power to produce this delight, does not\nreside in nature, but in man, or in a harmony of both. It is necessary\nto use these pleasures with great temperance. For, nature is not always\ntricked in holiday attire, but the same scene which yesterday breathed\nperfume and glittered as for the frolic of the nymphs, is overspread\nwith melancholy to-day. Nature always wears the colors of the spirit. To\na man laboring under calamity, the heat of his own fire hath sadness in\nit. Then, there is a kind of contempt of the landscape felt by him who\nhas just lost by death a dear friend. The sky is less grand as it shuts\ndown over less worth in the population.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nCOMMODITY.\n\n\nWhoever considers the final cause of the world, will discern a multitude\nof uses that enter as parts into that result. They all admit of being\nthrown into one of the following classes: Commodity; Beauty; Language;\nand Discipline.\n\nUnder the general name of commodity, I rank all those advantages which\nour senses owe to nature. This, of course, is a benefit which is\ntemporary and mediate, not ultimate, like its service to the soul. Yet\nalthough low, it is perfect in its kind, and is the only use of nature\nwhich all men apprehend. The misery of man appears like childish\npetulance, when we explore the steady and prodigal provision that has\nbeen made for his support and delight on this green ball which floats\nhim through the heavens. What angels invented these splendid ornaments,\nthese rich conveniences, this ocean of air above, this ocean of water\nbeneath, this firmament of earth between? this zodiac of lights, this\ntent of dropping clouds, this striped coat of climates, this fourfold\nyear? Beasts, fire, water, stones, and corn serve him. The field is at\nonce his floor, his work-yard, his play-ground, his garden, and his bed.\n\n   \u201cMore servants wait on man\n    Than he\u2019ll take notice of.\u201d----\n\nNature, in its ministry to man, is not only the material, but is also\nthe process and the result. All the parts incessantly work into each\nother\u2019s hands for the profit of man. The wind sows the seed; the sun\nevaporates the sea; the wind blows the vapor to the field; the ice, on\nthe other side of the planet, condenses rain on this; the rain feeds the\nplant; the plant feeds the animal; and thus the endless circulations of\nthe divine charity nourish man.\n\nThe useful arts are reproductions or new combinations by the wit of man,\nof the same natural benefactors. He no longer waits for favoring gales,\nbut by means of steam, he realizes the fable of \u00c6olus\u2019s bag, and carries\nthe two and thirty winds in the boiler of his boat. To diminish\nfriction, he paves the road with iron bars, and, mounting a coach with a\nship-load of men, animals, and merchandise behind him, he darts through\nthe country, from town to town, like an eagle or a swallow through the\nair. By the aggregate of these aids, how is the face of the world\nchanged, from the era of Noah to that of Napoleon! The private poor man\nhath cities, ships, canals, bridges, built for him. He goes to the\npost-office, and the human race run on his errands; to the book-shop,\nand the human race read and write of all that happens, for him; to the\ncourt-house, and nations repair his wrongs. He sets his house upon the\nroad, and the human race go forth every morning, and shovel out the\nsnow, and cut a path for him.\n\nBut there is no need of specifying particulars in this class of uses.\nThe catalogue is endless, and the examples so obvious, that I shall\nleave them to the reader\u2019s reflection, with the general remark, that\nthis mercenary benefit is one which has respect to a farther good. A man\nis fed, not that he may be fed, but that he may work.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nBEAUTY.\n\n\nA nobler want of man is served by nature, namely, the love of Beauty.\n\nThe ancient Greeks called the world \u03ba\u03bf\u03c3\u03bc\u03bf\u03c2, beauty. Such is the\nconstitution of all things, or such the plastic power of the human eye,\nthat the primary forms, as the sky, the mountain, the tree, the animal,\ngive us a delight _in and for themselves_; a pleasure arising from\noutline, color, motion, and grouping. This seems partly owing to the eye\nitself. The eye is the best of artists. By the mutual action of its\nstructure and of the laws of light, perspective is produced, which\nintegrates every mass of objects, of what character soever, into a well\ncolored and shaded globe, so that where the particular objects are mean\nand unaffecting, the landscape which they compose, is round and\nsymmetrical. And as the eye is the best composer, so light is the first\nof painters. There is no object so foul that intense light will not make\nbeautiful. And the stimulus it affords to the sense, and a sort of\ninfinitude which it hath, like space and time, make all matter gay. Even\nthe corpse has its own beauty. But besides this general grace diffused\nover nature, almost all the individual forms are agreeable to the eye,\nas is proved by our endless imitations of some of them, as the acorn,\nthe grape, the pine-cone, the wheat-ear, the egg, the wings and forms of\nmost birds, the lion\u2019s claw, the serpent, the butterfly, sea-shells,\nflames, clouds, buds, leaves, and the forms of many trees, as the palm.\n\nFor better consideration, we may distribute the aspects of Beauty in a\nthreefold manner.\n\n1. First, the simple perception of natural forms is a delight. The\ninfluence of the forms and actions in nature, is so needful to man,\nthat, in its lowest functions, it seems to lie on the confines of\ncommodity and beauty. To the body and mind which have been cramped by\nnoxious work or company, nature is medicinal and restores their tone.\nThe tradesman, the attorney comes out of the din and craft of the\nstreet, and sees the sky and the woods, and is a man again. In their\neternal calm, he finds himself. The health of the eye seems to demand a\nhorizon. We are never tired, so long as we can see far enough.\n\nBut in other hours, Nature satisfies by its loveliness, and without any\nmixture of corporeal benefit. I see the spectacle of morning from the\nhill-top over against my house, from day-break to sun-rise, with\nemotions which an angel might share. The long slender bars of cloud\nfloat like fishes in the sea of crimson light. From the earth, as a\nshore, I look out into that silent sea. I seem to partake its rapid\ntransformations: the active enchantment reaches my dust, and I dilate\nand conspire with the morning wind. How does Nature deify us with a few\nand cheap elements! Give me health and a day, and I will make the pomp\nof emperors ridiculous. The dawn is my Assyria; the sun-set and\nmoon-rise my Paphos, and unimaginable realms of faerie; broad noon shall\nbe my England of the senses and the understanding; the night shall be my\nGermany of mystic philosophy and dreams.\n\nNot less excellent, except for our less susceptibility in the afternoon,\nwas the charm, last evening, of a January sunset. The western clouds\ndivided and subdivided themselves into pink flakes modulated with tints\nof unspeakable softness; and the air had so much life and sweetness,\nthat it was a pain to come within doors. What was it that nature would\nsay? Was there no meaning in the live repose of the valley behind the\nmill, and which Homer or Shakspeare could not re-form for me in words?\nThe leafless trees become spires of flame in the sunset, with the blue\neast for their back-ground, and the stars of the dead calices of\nflowers, and every withered stem and stubble rimed with frost,\ncontribute something to the mute music.\n\nThe inhabitants of cities suppose that the country landscape is pleasant\nonly half the year. I please myself with the graces of the winter\nscenery, and believe that we are as much touched by it as by the genial\ninfluences of summer. To the attentive eye, each moment of the year has\nits own beauty, and in the same field, it beholds, every hour, a picture\nwhich was never seen before, and which shall never be seen again. The\nheavens change every moment, and reflect their glory or gloom on the\nplains beneath. The state of the crop in the surrounding farms alters\nthe expression of the earth from week to week. The succession of native\nplants in the pastures and roadsides, which makes the silent clock by\nwhich time tells the summer hours, will make even the divisions of the\nday sensible to a keen observer. The tribes of birds and insects, like\nthe plants punctual to their time, follow each other, and the year has\nroom for all. By water-courses, the variety is greater. In July, the\nblue pontederia or pickerel-weed blooms in large beds in the shallow\nparts of our pleasant river, and swarms with yellow butterflies in\ncontinual motion. Art cannot rival this pomp of purple and gold. Indeed\nthe river is a perpetual gala, and boasts each month a new ornament.\n\nBut this beauty of Nature which is seen and felt as beauty, is the least\npart. The shows of day, the dewy morning, the rainbow, mountains,\norchards in blossom, stars, moonlight, shadows in still water, and the\nlike, if too eagerly hunted, become shows merely, and mock us with their\nunreality. Go out of the house to see the moon, and \u2019tis mere tinsel; it\nwill not please as when its light shines upon your necessary journey.\nThe beauty that shimmers in the yellow afternoons of October, who ever\ncould clutch it? Go forth to find it, and it is gone; \u2019tis only a mirage\nas you look from the windows of diligence.\n\n2. The presence of a higher, namely, of the spiritual element is\nessential to its perfection. The high and divine beauty which can be\nloved without effeminacy, is that which is found in combination with the\nhuman will. Beauty is the mark God sets upon virtue. Every natural\naction is graceful. Every heroic act is also decent, and causes the\nplace and the bystanders to shine. We are taught by great actions that\nthe universe is the property of every individual in it. Every rational\ncreature has all nature for his dowry and estate. It is his, if he will.\nHe may divest himself of it; he may creep into a corner, and abdicate\nhis kingdom, as most men do, but he is entitled to the world by his\nconstitution. In proportion to the energy of his thought and will, he\ntakes up the world into himself. \u201cAll those things for which men plough,\nbuild, or sail, obey virtue;\u201d said Sallust. \u201cThe winds and waves,\u201d said\nGibbon, \u201care always on the side of the ablest navigators.\u201d So are the\nsun and moon and all the stars of heaven. When a noble act is\ndone,--perchance in a scene of great natural beauty; when Leonidas and\nhis three hundred martyrs consume one day in dying, and the sun and moon\ncome each and look at them once in the steep defile of Thermopyl\u00e6; when\nArnold Winkelried, in the high Alps, under the shadow of the avalanche,\ngathers in his side a sheaf of Austrian spears to break the line for his\ncomrades; are not these heroes entitled to add the beauty of the scene\nto the beauty of the deed? When the bark of Columbus nears the shore of\nAmerica;--before it, the beach lined with savages, fleeing out of all\ntheir huts of cane; the sea behind; and the purple mountains of the\nIndian Archipelago around, can we separate the man from the living\npicture? Does not the New World clothe his form with her palm-groves and\nsavannahs as fit drapery? Ever does natural beauty steal in like air,\nand envelope great actions. When Sir Harry Vane was dragged up the\nTower-hill, sitting on a sled, to suffer death, as the champion of the\nEnglish laws, one of the multitude cried out to him, \u201cYou never sate on\nso glorious a seat.\u201d Charles II., to intimidate the citizens of London,\ncaused the patriot Lord Russel to be drawn in an open coach, through the\nprincipal streets of the city, on his way to the scaffold. \u201cBut,\u201d his\nbiographer says, \u201cthe multitude imagined they saw liberty and virtue\nsitting by his side.\u201d In private places, among sordid objects, an act of\ntruth or heroism seems at once to draw to itself the sky as its temple,\nthe sun as its cradle. Nature stretches out her arms to embrace man,\nonly let his thoughts be of equal greatness. Willingly does she follow\nhis steps with the rose and the violet, and bend her lines of grandeur\nand grace to the decoration of her darling child. Only let his thoughts\nbe of equal scope, and the frame will suit the picture. A virtuous man\nis in unison with her works, and makes the central figure of the visible\nsphere. Homer, Pindar, Socrates, Phocion, associate themselves fitly in\nour memory with the geography and climate of Greece. The visible\nheavens and earth sympathize with Jesus. And in common life, whosoever\nhas seen a person of powerful character and happy genius, will have\nremarked how easily he took all things along with him,--the persons, the\nopinions, and the day, and nature became ancillary to a man.\n\n3. There is still another aspect under which the beauty of the world may\nbe viewed, namely, as it becomes an object of the intellect. Beside the\nrelation of things to virtue, they have a relation to thought. The\nintellect searches out the absolute order of things as they stand in the\nmind of God, and without the colors of affection. The intellectual and\nthe active powers seem to succeed each other, and the exclusive activity\nof the one, generates the exclusive activity of the other. There is\nsomething unfriendly in each to the other, but they are like the\nalternate periods of feeding and working in animals; each prepares and\nwill be followed by the other. Therefore does beauty, which, in relation\nto actions, as we have seen, comes unsought, and comes because it is\nunsought, remain for the apprehension and pursuit of the intellect; and\nthen again, in its turn, of the active power. Nothing divine dies. All\ngood is eternally reproductive. The beauty of nature reforms itself in\nthe mind, and not for barren contemplation, but for new creation.\n\nAll men are in some degree impressed by the face of the world; some men\neven to delight. This love of beauty is Taste. Others have the same love\nin such excess, that, not content with admiring, they seek to embody it\nin new forms. The creation of beauty is Art.\n\nThe production of a work of art throws a light upon the mystery of\nhumanity. A work of art is an abstract or epitome of the world. It is\nthe result or expression of nature, in miniature. For, although the\nworks of nature are innumerable and all different, the result or the\nexpression of them all is similar and single. Nature is a sea of forms\nradically alike and even unique. A leaf, a sun-beam, a landscape, the\nocean, make an analogous impression on the mind. What is common to them\nall,--that perfectness and harmony, is beauty. The standard of beauty is\nthe entire circuit of natural forms,--the totality of nature; which the\nItalians expressed by defining beauty \u201cil piu nell\u2019 uno.\u201d Nothing is\nquite beautiful alone: nothing but is beautiful in the whole. A single\nobject is only so far beautiful as it suggests this universal grace. The\npoet, the painter, the sculptor, the musician, the architect, seek each\nto concentrate this radiance of the world on one point, and each in his\nseveral work to satisfy the love of beauty which stimulates him to\nproduce. Thus is Art, a nature passed through the alembic of man. Thus\nin art, does nature work through the will of a man filled with the\nbeauty of her first works.\n\nThe world thus exists to the soul to satisfy the desire of beauty. This\nelement I call an ultimate end. No reason can be asked or given why the\nsoul seeks beauty. Beauty, in its largest and profoundest sense, is one\nexpression for the universe. God is the all-fair. Truth, and goodness,\nand beauty, are but different faces of the same All. But beauty in\nnature is not ultimate. It is the herald of inward and eternal beauty,\nand is not alone a solid and satisfactory good. It must stand as a part,\nand not as yet the last or highest expression of the final cause of\nNature.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nLANGUAGE.\n\n\nLanguage is a third use which Nature subserves to man. Nature is the\nvehicle of thought, and in a simple, double, and threefold degree.\n\n1. Words are signs of natural facts.\n\n2. Particular natural facts are symbols of particular spiritual facts.\n\n3. Nature is the symbol of spirit.\n\n1. Words are signs of natural facts. The use of natural history is to\ngive us aid in supernatural history: the use of the outer creation, to\ngive us language for the beings and changes of the inward creation.\nEvery word which is used to express a moral or intellectual fact, if\ntraced to its root, is found to be borrowed from some material\nappearance. _Right_ means _straight_; _wrong_ means _twisted_. _Spirit_\nprimarily means _wind_; _transgression_, the crossing of a _line_;\n_supercilious_, the _raising of the eyebrow_. We say the _heart_ to\nexpress emotion, the _head_ to denote thought; and _thought_ and\n_emotion_ are words borrowed from sensible things, and now appropriated\nto spiritual nature. Most of the process by which this transformation is\nmade, is hidden from us in the remote time when language was framed; but\nthe same tendency may be daily observed in children. Children and\nsavages use only nouns or names of things, which they convert into\nverbs, and apply to analogous mental acts.\n\n2. But this origin of all words that convey a spiritual import,--so\nconspicuous a fact in the history of language,--is our least debt to\nnature. It is not words only that are emblematic; it is things which are\nemblematic. Every natural fact is a symbol of some spiritual fact. Every\nappearance in nature corresponds to some state of the mind, and that\nstate of the mind can only be described by presenting that natural\nappearance as its picture. An enraged man is a lion, a cunning man is a\nfox, a firm man is a rock, a learned man is a torch. A lamb is\ninnocence; a snake is subtle spite; flowers express to us the delicate\naffections. Light and darkness are our familiar expression for knowledge\nand ignorance; and heat for love. Visible distance behind and before us,\nis respectively our image of memory and hope.\n\nWho looks upon a river in a meditative hour, and is not reminded of the\nflux of all things? Throw a stone into the stream, and the circles that\npropagate themselves are the beautiful type of all influence. Man is\nconscious of a universal soul within or behind his individual life,\nwherein, as in a firmament, the natures of Justice, Truth, Love,\nFreedom, arise and shine. This universal soul, he calls Reason: it is\nnot mine, or thine, or his, but we are its; we are its property and men.\nAnd the blue sky in which the private earth is buried, the sky with its\neternal calm, and full of everlasting orbs, is the type of Reason. That\nwhich, intellectually considered, we call Reason, considered in relation\nto nature, we call Spirit. Spirit is the Creator. Spirit hath life in\nitself. And man in all ages and countries, embodies it in his language,\nas the FATHER.\n\nIt is easily seen that there is nothing lucky or capricious in these\nanalogies, but that they are constant, and pervade nature. These are not\nthe dreams of a few poets, here and there, but man is an analogist, and\nstudies relations in all objects. He is placed in the centre of beings,\nand a ray of relation passes from every other being to him. And neither\ncan man be understood without these objects, nor these objects without\nman. All the facts in natural history taken by themselves, have no\nvalue, but are barren, like a single sex. But marry it to human\nhistory, and it is full of life. Whole Floras, all Linn\u00e6us\u2019 and Buffon\u2019s\nvolumes, are dry catalogues of facts; but the most trivial of these\nfacts, the habit of a plant, the organs, or work, or noise of an insect,\napplied to the illustration of a fact in intellectual philosophy, or, in\nany way associated to human nature, affects us in the most lively and\nagreeable manner. The seed of a plant,--to what affecting analogies in\nthe nature of man, is that little fruit made use of, in all discourse,\nup to the voice of Paul, who calls the human corpse a seed,--\u201cIt is sown\na natural body; it is raised a spiritual body.\u201d The motion of the earth\nround its axis, and round the sun, makes the day, and the year. These\nare certain amounts of brute light and heat. But is there no intent of\nan analogy between man\u2019s life and the seasons? And do the seasons gain\nno grandeur or pathos from that analogy? The instincts of the ant are\nvery unimportant, considered as the ant\u2019s; but the moment a ray of\nrelation is seen to extend from it to man, and the little drudge is seen\nto be a monitor, a little body with a mighty heart, then all its habits,\neven that said to be recently observed, that it never sleeps, become\nsublime.\n\nBecause of this radical correspondence between visible things and human\nthoughts, savages, who have only what is necessary, converse in figures.\nAs we go back in history, language becomes more picturesque, until its\ninfancy, when it is all poetry; or all spiritual facts are represented\nby natural symbols. The same symbols are found to make the original\nelements of all languages. It has moreover been observed, that the\nidioms of all languages approach each other in passages of the greatest\neloquence and power. And as this is the first language, so is it the\nlast. This immediate dependence of language upon nature, this conversion\nof an outward phenomenon into a type of somewhat in human life, never\nloses its power to affect us. It is this which gives that piquancy to\nthe conversation of a strong-natured farmer or back-woodsman, which all\nmen relish.\n\nA man\u2019s power to connect his thought with its proper symbol, and so to\nutter it, depends on the simplicity of his character, that is, upon his\nlove of truth, and his desire to communicate it without loss. The\ncorruption of man is followed by the corruption of language. When\nsimplicity of character and the sovereignty of ideas is broken up by the\nprevalence of secondary desires, the desire of riches, of pleasure, of\npower, and of praise,--and duplicity and falsehood take place of\nsimplicity and truth, the power over nature as an interpreter of the\nwill, is in a degree lost; new imagery ceases to be created, and old\nwords are perverted to stand for things which are not; a paper currency\nis employed, when there is no bullion in the vaults. In due time, the\nfraud is manifest, and words lose all power to stimulate the\nunderstanding or the affections. Hundreds of writers may be found in\nevery long-civilized nation, who for a short time believe, and make\nothers believe, that they see and utter truths, who do not of themselves\nclothe one thought in its natural garment, but who feed unconsciously on\nthe language created by the primary writers of the country, those,\nnamely, who hold primarily on nature.\n\nBut wise men pierce this rotten diction and fasten words again to\nvisible things; so that picturesque language is at once a commanding\ncertificate that he who employs it, is a man in alliance with truth and\nGod. The moment our discourse rises above the ground line of familiar\nfacts, and is inflamed with passion or exalted by thought, it clothes\nitself in images. A man conversing in earnest, if he watch his\nintellectual processes, will find that a material image, more or less\nluminous, arises in his mind, contemporaneous with every thought, which\nfurnishes the vestment of the thought. Hence, good writing and\nbrilliant discourse are perpetual allegories. This imagery is\nspontaneous. It is the blending of experience with the present action of\nthe mind. It is proper creation. It is the working of the Original Cause\nthrough the instruments he has already made.\n\nThese facts may suggest the advantage which the country-life possesses\nfor a powerful mind, over the artificial and curtailed life of cities.\nWe know more from nature than we can at will communicate. Its light\nflows into the mind evermore, and we forget its presence. The poet, the\norator, bred in the woods, whose senses have been nourished by their\nfair and appeasing changes, year after year, without design and without\nheed,--shall not lose their lesson altogether, in the roar of cities or\nthe broil of politics. Long hereafter, amidst agitation and terror in\nnational councils,--in the hour of revolution,--these solemn images\nshall reappear in their morning lustre, as fit symbols and words of the\nthoughts which the passing events shall awaken. At the call of a noble\nsentiment, again the woods wave, the pines murmur, the river rolls and\nshines, and the cattle low upon the mountains, as he saw and heard them\nin his infancy. And with these forms, the spells of persuasion, the\nkeys of power are put into his hands.\n\n3. We are thus assisted by natural objects in the expression of\nparticular meanings. But how great a language to convey such pepper-corn\ninformations! Did it need such noble races of creatures, this profusion\nof forms, this host of orbs in heaven, to furnish man with the\ndictionary and grammar of his municipal speech? Whilst we use this grand\ncipher to expedite the affairs of our pot and kettle, we feel that we\nhave not yet put it to its use, neither are able. We are like travellers\nusing the cinders of a volcano to roast their eggs. Whilst we see that\nit always stands ready to clothe what we would say, we cannot avoid the\nquestion, whether the characters are not significant of themselves. Have\nmountains, and waves, and skies, no significance but what we consciously\ngive them, when we employ them as emblems of our thoughts? The world is\nemblematic. Parts of speech are metaphors, because the whole of nature\nis a metaphor of the human mind. The laws of moral nature answer to\nthose of matter as face to face in a glass. \u201cThe visible world and the\nrelation of its parts, is the dial plate of the invisible.\u201d The axioms\nof physics translate the laws of ethics. Thus, \u201cthe whole is greater\nthan its part;\u201d \u201creaction is equal to action;\u201d \u201cthe smallest weight may\nbe made to lift the greatest, the difference of weight being compensated\nby time;\u201d and many the like propositions, which have an ethical as well\nas physical sense. These propositions have a much more extensive and\nuniversal sense when applied to human life, than when confined to\ntechnical use.\n\nIn like manner, the memorable words of history, and the proverbs of\nnations, consist usually of a natural fact, selected as a picture or\nparable of a moral truth. Thus; A rolling stone gathers no moss; A bird\nin the hand is worth two in the bush; A cripple in the right way, will\nbeat a racer in the wrong; Make hay while the sun shines; \u2019Tis hard to\ncarry a full cup even; Vinegar is the son of wine; The last ounce broke\nthe camel\u2019s back; Long-lived trees make roots first;--and the like. In\ntheir primary sense these are trivial facts, but we repeat them for the\nvalue of their analogical import. What is true of proverbs, is true of\nall fables, parables, and allegories.\n\nThis relation between the mind and matter is not fancied by some poet,\nbut stands in the will of God, and so is free to be known by all men. It\nappears to men, or it does not appear. When in fortunate hours we ponder\nthis miracle, the wise man doubts, if, at all other times, he is not\nblind and deaf;\n\n    ----\u201cCan these things be,\n    And overcome us like a summer\u2019s cloud,\n    Without our special wonder?\u201d\n\nfor the universe becomes transparent, and the light of higher laws than\nits own, shines through it. It is the standing problem which has\nexercised the wonder and the study of every fine genius since the world\nbegan; from the era of the Egyptians and the Brahmins, to that of\nPythagoras, of Plato, of Bacon, of Leibnitz, of Swedenborg. There sits\nthe Sphinx at the road-side, and from age to age, as each prophet comes\nby, he tries his fortune at reading her riddle. There seems to be a\nnecessity in spirit to manifest itself in material forms; and day and\nnight, river and storm, beast and bird, acid and alkali, pre\u00ebxist in\nnecessary Ideas in the mind of God, and are what they are by virtue of\npreceding affections, in the world of spirit. A Fact is the end or last\nissue of spirit. The visible creation is the terminus or the\ncircumference of the invisible world. \u201cMaterial objects,\u201d said a French\nphilosopher, \u201care necessarily kinds of _scori\u00e6_ of the substantial\nthoughts of the Creator, which must always preserve an exact relation\nto their first origin; in other words, visible nature must have a\nspiritual and moral side.\u201d\n\nThis doctrine is abstruse, and though the images of \u201cgarment,\u201d \u201cscori\u00e6,\u201d\n\u201cmirror,\u201d &c., may stimulate the fancy, we must summon the aid of\nsubtler and more vital expositors to make it plain. \u201cEvery scripture is\nto be interpreted by the same spirit which gave it forth,\u201d--is the\nfundamental law of criticism. A life in harmony with nature, the love of\ntruth and of virtue, will purge the eyes to understand her text. By\ndegrees we may come to know the primitive sense of the permanent objects\nof nature, so that the world shall be to us an open book, and every form\nsignificant of its hidden life and final cause.\n\nA new interest surprises us, whilst, under the view now suggested, we\ncontemplate the fearful extent and multitude of objects; since \u201cevery\nobject rightly seen, unlocks a new faculty of the soul.\u201d That which was\nunconscious truth, becomes, when interpreted and defined in an object, a\npart of the domain of knowledge,--a new weapon in the magazine of\npower.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nDISCIPLINE.\n\n\nIn view of the significance of nature, we arrive at once at a new fact,\nthat nature is a discipline. This use of the world includes the\npreceding uses, as parts of itself.\n\nSpace, time, society, labor, climate, food, locomotion, the animals, the\nmechanical forces, give us sincerest lessons, day by day, whose meaning\nis unlimited. They educate both the Understanding and the Reason. Every\nproperty of matter is a school for the understanding,--its solidity or\nresistance, its inertia, its extension, its figure, its divisibility.\nThe understanding adds, divides, combines, measures, and finds nutriment\nand room for its activity in this worthy scene. Meantime, Reason\ntransfers all these lessons into its own world of thought, by perceiving\nthe analogy that marries Matter and Mind.\n\n1. Nature is a discipline of the understanding in intellectual truths.\nOur dealing with sensible objects is a constant exercise in the\nnecessary lessons of difference, of likeness, of order, of being and\nseeming, of progressive arrangement; of assent from particular to\ngeneral; of combination to one end of manifold forces. Proportioned to\nthe importance of the organ to be formed, is the extreme care with which\nits tuition is provided,--a care pretermitted in no single case. What\ntedious training, day after day, year after year, never ending, to form\nthe common sense; what continual reproduction of annoyances,\ninconveniences, dilemmas; what rejoicing over us of little men; what\ndisputing of prices, what reckonings of interest,--and all to form the\nHand of the mind;--to instruct us that \u201cgood thoughts are no better than\ngood dreams, unless they be executed!\u201d\n\nThe same good office is performed by Property and its filial systems of\ndebt and credit. Debt, grinding debt, whose iron face the widow, the\norphan, and the sons of genius fear and hate;--debt, which consumes so\nmuch time, which so cripples and disheartens a great spirit with cares\nthat seem so base, is a preceptor whose lessons cannot be forgone, and\nis needed most by those who suffer from it most. Moreover, property,\nwhich has been well compared to snow,--\u201cif it fall level to-day, it will\nbe blown into drifts to-morrow,\u201d--is the surface action of internal\nmachinery, like the index on the face of a clock. Whilst now it is the\ngymnastics of the understanding, it is having in the foresight of the\nspirit, experience in profounder laws.\n\nThe whole character and fortune of the individual are affected by the\nleast inequalities in the culture of the understanding; for example, in\nthe perception of differences. Therefore is Space, and therefore Time,\nthat man may know that things are not huddled and lumped, but sundered\nand individual. A bell and a plough have each their use, and neither can\ndo the office of the other. Water is good to drink, coal to burn, wool\nto wear; but wool cannot be drunk, nor water spun, nor coal eaten. The\nwise man shows his wisdom in separation, in gradation, and his scale of\ncreatures and of merits is as wide as nature. The foolish have no range\nin their scale, but suppose every man is as every other man. What is not\ngood they call the worst, and what is not hateful, they call the best.\n\nIn like manner, what good heed nature forms in us! She pardons no\nmistakes. Her yea is yea, and her nay, nay.\n\nThe first steps in Agriculture, Astronomy, Zo\u00f6logy, (those first steps\nwhich the farmer, the hunter, and the sailor take,) teach that nature\u2019s\ndice are always loaded; that in her heaps and rubbish are concealed sure\nand useful results.\n\nHow calmly and genially the mind apprehends one after another the laws\nof physics! What noble emotions dilate the mortal as he enters into the\ncounsels of the creation, and feels by knowledge the privilege to BE!\nHis insight refines him. The beauty of nature shines in his own breast.\nMan is greater than he can see this, and the universe less, because Time\nand Space relations vanish as laws are known.\n\nHere again we are impressed and even daunted by the immense Universe to\nbe explored. \u201cWhat we know, is a point to what we do not know.\u201d Open any\nrecent journal of science, and weigh the problems suggested concerning\nLight, Heat, Electricity, Magnetism, Physiology, Geology, and judge\nwhether the interest of natural science is likely to be soon exhausted.\n\nPassing by many particulars of the discipline of nature, we must not\nomit to specify two.\n\nThe exercise of the Will or the lesson of power is taught in every\nevent. From the child\u2019s successive possession of his several senses up\nto the hour when he saith, \u201cThy will be done!\u201d he is learning the\nsecret, that he can reduce under his will, not only particular events,\nbut great classes, nay the whole series of events, and so conform all\nfacts to his character. Nature is thoroughly mediate. It is made to\nserve. It receives the dominion of man as meekly as the ass on which\nthe Saviour rode. It offers all its kingdoms to man as the raw material\nwhich he may mould into what is useful. Man is never weary of working it\nup. He forges the subtile and delicate air into wise and melodious\nwords, and gives them wing as angels of persuasion and command. One\nafter another, his victorious thought comes up with and reduces all\nthings, until the world becomes, at last, only a realized will,--the\ndouble of the man.\n\n2. Sensible objects conform to the premonitions of Reason and reflect\nthe conscience. All things are moral; and in their boundless changes\nhave an unceasing reference to spiritual nature. Therefore is nature\nglorious with form, color, and motion, that every globe in the remotest\nheaven; every chemical change from the rudest crystal up to the laws of\nlife; every change of vegetation from the first principle of growth in\nthe eye of a leaf, to the tropical forest and antediluvian coal-mine;\nevery animal function from the sponge up to Hercules, shall hint or\nthunder to man the laws of right and wrong, and echo the Ten\nCommandments. Therefore is nature ever the ally of Religion: lends all\nher pomp and riches to the religious sentiment. Prophet and priest,\nDavid, Isaiah, Jesus, have drawn deeply from this source. This ethical\ncharacter so penetrates the bone and marrow of nature, as to seem the\nend for which it was made. Whatever private purpose is answered by any\nmember or part, this is its public and universal function, and is never\nomitted. Nothing in nature is exhausted in its first use. When a thing\nhas served an end to the uttermost, it is wholly new for an ulterior\nservice. In God, every end is converted into a new means. Thus the use\nof commodity, regarded by itself, is mean and squalid. But it is to the\nmind an education in the doctrine of Use, namely, that a thing is good\nonly so far as it serves; that a conspiring of parts and efforts to the\nproduction of an end, is essential to any being. The first and gross\nmanifestation of this truth, is our inevitable and hated training in\nvalues and wants, in corn and meat.\n\nIt has already been illustrated, that every natural process is a version\nof a moral sentence. The moral law lies at the centre of nature and\nradiates to the circumference. It is the pith and marrow of every\nsubstance, every relation, and every process. All things with which we\ndeal, preach to us. What is a farm but a mute gospel? The chaff and the\nwheat, weeds and plants, blight, rain, insects, sun,--it is a sacred\nemblem from the first furrow of spring to the last stack which the snow\nof winter overtakes in the fields. But the sailor, the shepherd, the\nminer, the merchant, in their several resorts, have each an experience\nprecisely parallel, and leading to the same conclusion: because all\norganizations are radically alike. Nor can it be doubted that this moral\nsentiment which thus scents the air, grows in the grain, and impregnates\nthe waters of the world, is caught by man and sinks into his soul. The\nmoral influence of nature upon every individual is that amount of truth\nwhich it illustrates to him. Who can estimate this? Who can guess how\nmuch firmness the sea-beaten rock has taught the fisherman? how much\ntranquillity has been reflected to man from the azure sky, over whose\nunspotted deeps the winds forevermore drive flocks of stormy clouds, and\nleave no wrinkle or stain? how much industry and providence and\naffection we have caught from the pantomime of brutes? What a searching\npreacher of self-command is the varying phenomenon of Health!\n\nHerein is especially apprehended the unity of Nature,--the unity in\nvariety,--which meets us everywhere. All the endless variety of things\nmake an identical impression. Xenophanes complained in his old age,\nthat, look where he would, all things hastened back to Unity. He was\nweary of seeing the same entity in the tedious variety of forms. The\nfable of Proteus has a cordial truth. A leaf, a drop, a crystal, a\nmoment of time is related to the whole, and partakes of the perfection\nof the whole. Each particle is a microcosm, and faithfully renders the\nlikeness of the world.\n\nNot only resemblances exist in things whose analogy is obvious, as when\nwe detect the type of the human hand in the flipper of the fossil\nsaurus, but also in objects wherein there is great superficial\nunlikeness. Thus architecture is called \u201cfrozen music,\u201d by De Stael and\nGoethe. Vitruvius thought an architect should be a musician. \u201cA Gothic\nchurch,\u201d said Coleridge, \u201cis a petrified religion.\u201d Michael Angelo\nmaintained, that, to an architect, a knowledge of anatomy is essential.\nIn Hayden\u2019s oratories, the notes present to the imagination not only\nmotions, as, of the snake, the stag, and the elephant, but colors also;\nas the green grass. The law of harmonic sounds reappears in the harmonic\ncolors. The granite is differenced in its laws only by the more or less\nof heat, from the river that wears it away. The river, as it flows,\nresembles the air that flows over it; the air resembles the light which\ntraverses it with more subtile currents; the light resembles the heat\nwhich rides with it through Space. Each creature is only a modification\nof the other; the likeness in them is more than the difference, and\ntheir radical law is one and the same. A rule of one art, or a law of\none organization, holds true throughout nature. So intimate is this\nUnity, that, it is easily seen, it lies under the undermost garment of\nnature, and betrays its source in Universal Spirit. For, it pervades\nThought also. Every universal truth which we express in words, implies\nor supposes every other truth. _Omne verum vero consonat._ It is like a\ngreat circle on a sphere, comprising all possible circles; which,\nhowever, may be drawn, and comprise it, in like manner. Every such truth\nis the absolute Ens seen from one side. But it has innumerable sides.\n\nThe central Unity is still more conspicuous in actions. Words are finite\norgans of the infinite mind. They cannot cover the dimensions of what is\nin truth. They break, chop, and impoverish it. An action is the\nperfection and publication of thought. A right action seems to fill the\neye, and to be related to all nature. \u201cThe wise man, in doing one thing,\ndoes all; or, in the one thing he does rightly, he sees the likeness of\nall which is done rightly.\u201d\n\nWords and actions are not the attributes of brute nature. They\nintroduce us to the human form, of which all other organizations appear\nto be degradations. When this appears among so many that surround it,\nthe spirit prefers it to all others. It says, \u2018From such as this, have I\ndrawn joy and knowledge; in such as this, have I found and beheld\nmyself; I will speak to it; it can speak again; it can yield me thought\nalready formed and alive.\u2019 In fact, the eye,--the mind,--is always\naccompanied by these forms, male and female; and these are incomparably\nthe richest informations of the power and order that lie at the heart of\nthings. Unfortunately, every one of them bears the marks as of some\ninjury; is marred and superficially defective. Nevertheless, far\ndifferent from the deaf and dumb nature around them, these all rest like\nfountain-pipes on the unfathomed sea of thought and virtue whereto they\nalone, of all organizations, are the entrances.\n\nIt were a pleasant inquiry to follow into detail their ministry to our\neducation, but where would it stop? We are associated in adolescent and\nadult life with some friends, who, like skies and waters, are\ncoextensive with our idea; who, answering each to a certain affection of\nthe soul, satisfy our desire on that side; whom we lack power to put at\nsuch focal distance from us, that we can mend or even analyze them. We\ncannot choose but love them. When much intercourse with a friend has\nsupplied us with a standard of excellence, and has increased our respect\nfor the resources of God who thus sends a real person to outgo our\nideal; when he has, moreover, become an object of thought, and, whilst\nhis character retains all its unconscious effect, is converted in the\nmind into solid and sweet wisdom,--it is a sign to us that his office is\nclosing, and he is commonly withdrawn from our sight in a short time.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nIDEALISM.\n\n\nThus is the unspeakable but intelligible and practicable meaning of the\nworld conveyed to man, the immortal pupil, in every object of sense. To\nthis one end of Discipline, all parts of nature conspire.\n\nA noble doubt perpetually suggests itself, whether this end be not the\nFinal Cause of the Universe; and whether nature outwardly exists. It is\na sufficient account of that Appearance we call the World, that God will\nteach a human mind, and so makes it the receiver of a certain number of\ncongruent sensations, which we call sun and moon, man and woman, house\nand trade. In my utter impotence to test the authenticity of the report\nof my senses, to know whether the impressions they make on me correspond\nwith outlying objects, what difference does it make, whether Orion is up\nthere in heaven, or some god paints the image in the firmament of the\nsoul? The relations of parts and the end of the whole remaining the\nsame, what is the difference, whether land and sea interact, and worlds\nrevolve and intermingle without number or end,--deep yawning under deep,\nand galaxy balancing galaxy, throughout absolute space,--or, whether,\nwithout relations of time and space, the same appearances are inscribed\nin the constant faith of man? Whether nature enjoy a substantial\nexistence without, or is only in the apocalypse of the mind, it is alike\nuseful and alike venerable to me. Be it what it may, it is ideal to me,\nso long as I cannot try the accuracy of my senses.\n\nThe frivolous make themselves merry with the Ideal theory, as if its\nconsequences were burlesque; as if it affected the stability of nature.\nIt surely does not. God never jests with us, and will not compromise the\nend of nature, by permitting any inconsequence in its procession. Any\ndistrust of the permanence of laws, would paralyze the faculties of man.\nTheir permanence is sacredly respected, and his faith therein is\nperfect. The wheels and springs of man are all set to the hypothesis of\nthe permanence of nature. We are not built like a ship to be tossed, but\nlike a house to stand. It is a natural consequence of this structure,\nthat, so long as the active powers predominate over the reflective, we\nresist with indignation any hint that nature is more short-lived or\nmutable than spirit. The broker, the wheelwright, the carpenter, the\ntollman, are much displeased at the intimation.\n\nBut whilst we acquiesce entirely in the permanence of natural laws, the\nquestion of the absolute existence of nature still remains open. It is\nthe uniform effect of culture on the human mind, not to shake our faith\nin the stability of particular phenomena, as of heat, water, azote; but\nto lead us to regard nature as phenomenon, not a substance; to attribute\nnecessary existence to spirit; to esteem nature as an accident and an\neffect.\n\nTo the senses and the unrenewed understanding, belongs a sort of\ninstinctive belief in the absolute existence of nature. In their view,\nman and nature are indissolubly joined. Things are ultimates, and they\nnever look beyond their sphere. The presence of Reason mars this faith.\nThe first effort of thought tends to relax this despotism of the senses,\nwhich binds us to nature as if we were a part of it, and shows us nature\naloof, and, as it were, afloat. Until this higher agency intervened, the\nanimal eye sees, with wonderful accuracy, sharp outlines and colored\nsurfaces. When the eye of Reason opens, to outline and surface are at\nonce added, grace and expression. These proceed from imagination and\naffection, and abate somewhat of the angular distinctness of objects. If\nthe Reason be stimulated to more earnest vision, outlines and surfaces\nbecome transparent, and are no longer seen; causes and spirits are seen\nthrough them. The best moments of life are these delicious awakenings of\nthe higher powers, and the reverential withdrawing of nature before its\nGod.\n\nLet us proceed to indicate the effects of culture. 1. Our first\ninstitution in the Ideal philosophy is a hint from nature herself.\n\nNature is made to conspire with spirit to emancipate us. Certain\nmechanical changes, a small alteration in our local position apprizes us\nof a dualism. We are strangely affected by seeing the shore from a\nmoving ship, from a balloon, or through the tints of an unusual sky. The\nlast change in our point of view, gives the whole world a pictorial air.\nA man who seldom rides, needs only to get into a coach and traverse his\nown town, to turn the street into a puppet-show. The men, the\nwomen,--talking, running, bartering, fighting,--the earnest mechanic,\nthe lounger, the beggar, the boys, the dogs, are unrealized at once, or,\nat least, wholly detached from all relation to the observer, and seen as\napparent, not substantial beings. What new thoughts are suggested by\nseeing a face of country quite familiar, in the rapid movement of the\nrailroad car! Nay, the most wonted objects, (make a very slight change\nin the point of vision,) please us most. In a camera obscura, the\nbutcher\u2019s cart, and the figure of one of our own family amuse us. So a\nportrait of a well-known face gratifies us. Turn the eyes upside down,\nby looking at the landscape through your legs, and how agreeable is the\npicture, though you have seen it any time these twenty years!\n\nIn these cases, by mechanical means, is suggested the difference between\nthe observer and the spectacle,--between man and nature. Hence arises a\npleasure mixed with awe; I may say, a low degree of the sublime is felt\nfrom the fact, probably, that man is hereby apprized, that, whilst the\nworld is a spectacle, something in himself is stable.\n\n2. In a higher manner, the poet communicates the same pleasure. By a few\nstrokes he delineates, as on air, the sun, the mountain, the camp, the\ncity, the hero, the maiden, not different from what we know them, but\nonly lifted from the ground and afloat before the eye. He unfixes the\nland and the sea, makes them revolve around the axis of his primary\nthought, and disposes them anew. Possessed himself by a heroic passion,\nhe uses matter as symbols of it. The sensual man conforms thoughts to\nthings; the poet conforms things to his thoughts. The one esteems nature\nas rooted and fast; the other, as fluid, and impresses his being\nthereon. To him, the refractory world is ductile and flexible; he\ninvests dust and stones with humanity, and makes them the words of the\nReason. The Imagination may be defined to be, the use which the Reason\nmakes of the material world. Shakspeare possesses the power of\nsubordinating nature for the purposes of expression, beyond all poets.\nHis imperial muse tosses the creation like a bauble from hand to hand,\nand uses it to embody any caprice of thought that is uppermost in his\nmind. The remotest spaces of nature are visited, and the farthest\nsundered things are brought together, by a subtile spiritual connection.\nWe are made aware that magnitude of material things is relative, and all\nobjects shrink and expand to serve the passion of the poet. Thus, in his\nsonnets, the lays of birds, the scents and dyes of flowers, he finds to\nbe the _shadow_ of his beloved; time, which keeps her from him, is his\n_chest_; the suspicion she has awakened, is her _ornament_;\n\n    The ornament of beauty is Suspect,\n    A crow which flies in heaven\u2019s sweetest air.\n\nHis passion is not the fruit of chance; it swells, as he speaks, to a\ncity, or a state.\n\n    No, it was builded far from accident;\n    It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls\n    Under the brow of thralling discontent;\n    It fears not policy, that heretic,\n    That works on leases of short numbered hours,\n    But all alone stands hugely politic.\n\nIn the strength of his constancy, the Pyramids seem to him recent and\ntransitory. The freshness of youth and love dazzles him with its\nresemblance to morning.\n\n      Take those lips away\n    Which so sweetly were forsworn:\n    And those eyes,--the break of day,\n    Lights that do mislead the morn.\n\nThe wild beauty of this hyperbole, I may say, in passing, it would not\nbe easy to match in literature.\n\nThis transfiguration which all material objects undergo through the\npassion of the poet,--this power which he exerts to dwarf the great, to\nmagnify the small,--might be illustrated by a thousand examples from his\nPlays. I have before me the Tempest, and will cite only these few lines.\n\n    ARIEL. The strong based promontory\n      Have I made shake, and by the spurs plucked up\n      The pine and cedar.\n\nProspero calls for music to soothe the frantic Alonzo, and his\ncompanions;\n\n    A solemn air, and the best comforter\n    To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains\n    Now useless, boiled within thy skull.\n\nAgain;\n\n            The charm dissolves apace,\n    And, as the morning steals upon the night,\n    Melting the darkness, so their rising senses\n    Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle\n    Their clearer reason.\n              Their understanding\n    Begins to swell: and the approaching tide\n    Will shortly fill the reasonable shores\n    That now lie foul and muddy.\n\nThe perception of real affinities between events, (that is to say, of\n_ideal_ affinities, for those only are real,) enables the poet thus to\nmake free with the most imposing forms and phenomena of the world, and\nto assert the predominance of the soul.\n\n3. Whilst thus the poet animates nature with his own thoughts, he\ndiffers from the philosopher only herein, that the one proposes Beauty\nas his main end; the other Truth. But the philosopher, not less than the\npoet, postpones the apparent order and relations of things to the empire\nof thought. \u201cThe problem of philosophy,\u201d according to Plato, \u201cis, for\nall that exists conditionally, to find a ground unconditioned and\nabsolute.\u201d It proceeds on the faith that a law determines all phenomena,\nwhich being known, the phenomena can be predicted. That law, when in the\nmind, is an idea. Its beauty is infinite. The true philosopher and the\ntrue poet are one, and a beauty, which is truth, and a truth, which is\nbeauty, is the aim of both. Is not the charm of one of Plato\u2019s or\nAristotle\u2019s definitions, strictly like that of the Antigone of\nSophocles? It is, in both cases, that a spiritual life has been imparted\nto nature; that the solid seeming block of matter has been pervaded and\ndissolved by a thought; that this feeble human being has penetrated the\nvast masses of nature with an informing soul, and recognised itself in\ntheir harmony, that is, seized their law. In physics, when this is\nattained, the memory disburthens itself of its cumbrous catalogues of\nparticulars, and carries centuries of observation in a single formula.\n\nThus even in physics, the material is degraded before the spiritual. The\nastronomer, the geometer, rely on their irrefragable analysis, and\ndisdain the results of observation. The sublime remark of Euler on his\nlaw of arches, \u201cThis will be found contrary to all experience, yet is\ntrue;\u201d had already transferred nature into the mind, and left matter\nlike an outcast corpse.\n\n4. Intellectual science has been observed to beget invariably a doubt of\nthe existence of matter. Turgot said, \u201cHe that has never doubted the\nexistence of matter, may be assured he has no aptitude for metaphysical\ninquiries.\u201d It fastens the attention upon immortal necessary uncreated\nnatures, that is, upon Ideas; and in their presence, we feel that the\noutward circumstance is a dream and a shade. Whilst we wait in this\nOlympus of gods, we think of nature as an appendix to the soul. We\nascend into their region, and know that these are the thoughts of the\nSupreme Being. \u201cThese are they who were set up from everlasting, from\nthe beginning, or ever the earth was. When he prepared the heavens, they\nwere there; when he established the clouds above, when he strengthened\nthe fountains of the deep. Then they were by him, as one brought up with\nhim. Of them took he counsel.\u201d\n\nTheir influence is proportionate. As objects of science, they are\naccessible to few men. Yet all men are capable of being raised by piety\nor by passion, into their region. And no man touches these divine\nnatures, without becoming, in some degree, himself divine. Like a new\nsoul, they renew the body. We become physically nimble and lightsome; we\ntread on air; life is no longer irksome, and we think it will never be\nso. No man fears age or misfortune or death, in their serene company,\nfor he is transported out of the district of change. Whilst we behold\nunveiled the nature of Justice and Truth, we learn the difference\nbetween the absolute and the conditional or relative. We apprehend the\nabsolute. As it were, for the first time, _we exist_. We become\nimmortal, for we learn that time and space are relations of matter;\nthat, with a perception of truth, or a virtuous will, they have no\naffinity.\n\n5. Finally, religion and ethics, which may be fitly called,--the\npractice of ideas, or the introduction of ideas into life,--have an\nanalogous effect with all lower culture, in degrading nature and\nsuggesting its dependence on spirit. Ethics and religion differ herein;\nthat the one is the system of human duties commencing from man; the\nother, from God. Religion includes the personality of God; Ethics does\nnot. They are one to our present design. They both put nature under\nfoot. The first and last lesson of religion is, \u201cThe things that are\nseen, are temporal; the things that are unseen, are eternal.\u201d It puts an\naffront upon nature. It does that for the unschooled, which philosophy\ndoes for Berkeley and Viasa. The uniform language that may be heard in\nthe churches of the most ignorant sects, is,--\u201cContemn the unsubstantial\nshows of the world; they are vanities, dreams, shadows, unrealities;\nseek the realities of religion.\u201d The devotee flouts nature. Some\ntheosophists have arrived at a certain hostility and indignation towards\nmatter, as the Manichean and Plotinus. They distrusted in themselves any\nlooking back to these flesh-pots of Egypt. Plotinus was ashamed of his\nbody. In short, they might all say of matter, what Michael Angelo said\nof external beauty, \u201cit is the frail and weary weed, in which God\ndresses the soul, which he has called into time.\u201d\n\nIt appears that motion, poetry, physical and intellectual science, and\nreligion, all tend to affect our convictions of the reality of the\nexternal world. But I own there is something ungrateful in expanding too\ncuriously the particulars of the general proposition, that all culture\ntends to imbue us with idealism. I have no hostility to nature, but a\nchild\u2019s love to it. I expand and live in the warm day like corn and\nmelons. Let us speak her fair. I do not wish to fling stones at my\nbeautiful mother, nor soil my gentle nest. I only wish to indicate the\ntrue position of nature in regard to man, wherein to establish man, all\nright education tends; as the ground which to attain is the object of\nhuman life, that is, of man\u2019s connection with nature. Culture inverts\nthe vulgar views of nature, and brings the mind to call that apparent,\nwhich it uses to call real, and that real, which it uses to call\nvisionary. Children, it is true, believe in the external world. The\nbelief that it appears only, is an afterthought, but with culture, this\nfaith will as surely arise on the mind as did the first.\n\nThe advantage of the ideal theory over the popular faith, is this, that\nit presents the world in precisely that view which is most desirable to\nthe mind. It is, in fact, the view which Reason, both speculative and\npractical, that is, philosophy and virtue, take. For, seen in the light\nof thought, the world always is phenomenal; and virtue subordinates it\nto the mind. Idealism sees the world in God. It beholds the whole circle\nof persons and things, of actions and events, of country and religion,\nnot as painfully accumulated, atom after atom, act after act, in an aged\ncreeping Past, but as one vast picture, which God paints on the instant\neternity, for the contemplation of the soul. Therefore the soul holds\nitself off from a too trivial and microscopic study of the universal\ntablet. It respects the end too much, to immerse itself in the means. It\nsees something more important in Christianity, than the scandals of\necclesiastical history, or the niceties of criticism; and, very\nincurious concerning persons or miracles, and not at all disturbed by\nchasms of historical evidence, it accepts from God the phenomenon, as it\nfinds it, as the pure and awful form of religion in the world. It is not\nhot and passionate at the appearance of what it calls its own good or\nbad fortune, at the union or opposition of other persons. No man is its\nenemy. It accepts whatsoever befalls, as part of its lesson. It is a\nwatcher more than a doer, and it is a doer, only that it may the better\nwatch.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nSPIRIT.\n\n\nIt is essential to a true theory of nature and of man, that it should\ncontain somewhat progressive. Uses that are exhausted or that may be,\nand facts that end in the statement, cannot be all that is true of this\nbrave lodging wherein man is harbored, and wherein all his faculties\nfind appropriate and endless exercise. And all the uses of nature admit\nof being summed in one, which yields the activity of man an infinite\nscope. Through all its kingdoms, to the suburbs and outskirts of things,\nit is faithful to the cause whence it had its origin. It always speaks\nof Spirit. It suggests the absolute. It is a perpetual effect. It is a\ngreat shadow pointing always to the sun behind us.\n\nThe aspect of nature is devout. Like the figure of Jesus, she stands\nwith bended head, and hands folded upon the breast. The happiest man is\nhe who learns from nature the lesson of worship.\n\nOf that ineffable essence which we call Spirit, he that thinks most,\nwill say least. We can foresee God in the coarse, and, as it were,\ndistant phenomena of matter; but when we try to define and describe\nhimself, both language and thought desert us, and we are as helpless as\nfools and savages. That essence refuses to be recorded in propositions,\nbut when man has worshipped him intellectually, the noblest ministry of\nnature is to stand as the apparition of God. It is the organ through\nwhich the universal spirit speaks to the individual, and strives to lead\nback the individual to it.\n\nWhen we consider Spirit, we see that the views already presented do not\ninclude the whole circumference of man. We must add some related\nthoughts.\n\nThree problems are put by nature to the mind; What is matter? Whence is\nit? and Whereto? The first of these questions only, the ideal theory\nanswers. Idealism saith: matter is a phenomenon, not a substance.\nIdealism acquaints us with the total disparity between the evidence of\nour own being, and the evidence of the world\u2019s being. The one is\nperfect; the other, incapable of any assurance; the mind is a part of\nthe nature of things; the world is a divine dream, from which we may\npresently awake to the glories and certainties of day. Idealism is a\nhypothesis to account for nature by other principles than those of\ncarpentry and chemistry. Yet, if it only deny the existence of matter,\nit does not satisfy the demands of the spirit. It leaves God out of me.\nIt leaves me in the splendid labyrinth of my perceptions, to wander\nwithout end. Then the heart resists it, because it balks the affections\nin denying substantive being to men and women. Nature is so pervaded\nwith human life, that there is something of humanity in all, and in\nevery particular. But this theory makes nature foreign to me, and does\nnot account for that consanguinity which we acknowledge to it.\n\nLet it stand, then, in the present state of our knowledge, merely as a\nuseful introductory hypothesis, serving to apprize us of the eternal\ndistinction between the soul and the world.\n\nBut when, following the invisible steps of thought, we come to inquire,\nWhence is matter? and Whereto? many truths arise to us out of the\nrecesses of consciousness. We learn that the highest is present to the\nsoul of man, that the dread universal essence, which is not wisdom, or\nlove, or beauty, or power, but all in one, and each entirely, is that\nfor which all things exist, and that by which they are; that spirit\ncreates; that behind nature, throughout nature, spirit is present; one\nand not compound, it does not act upon us from without, that is, in\nspace and time, but spiritually, or through ourselves: therefore, that\nspirit, that is, the Supreme Being, does not build up nature around us,\nbut puts it forth through us, as the life of the tree puts forth new\nbranches and leaves through the pores of the old. As a plant upon the\nearth, so a man rests upon the bosom of God; he is nourished by\nunfailing fountains, and draws, at his need, inexhaustible power. Who\ncan set bounds to the possibilities of man? Once inhale the upper air,\nbeing admitted to behold the absolute natures of justice and truth, and\nwe learn that man has access to the entire mind of the Creator, is\nhimself the creator in the finite. This view, which admonishes me where\nthe sources of wisdom and power lie, and points to virtue as to\n\n                \u201cThe golden key\n    Which opes the palace of eternity,\u201d\n\ncarries upon its face the highest certificate of truth, because it\nanimates me to create my own world through the purification of my soul.\n\nThe world proceeds from the same spirit as the body of man. It is a\nremoter and inferior incarnation of God, a projection of God in the\nunconscious. But it differs from the body in one important respect. It\nis not, like that, now subjected to the human will. Its serene order is\ninviolable by us. It is, therefore, to us, the present expositor of the\ndivine mind. It is a fixed point whereby we may measure our departure.\nAs we degenerate, the contrast between us and our house is more evident.\nWe are as much strangers in nature, as we are aliens from God. We do not\nunderstand the notes of birds. The fox and the deer run away from us;\nthe bear and tiger rend us. We do not know the uses of more than a few\nplants, as corn and the apple, the potato and the vine. Is not the\nlandscape, every glimpse of which hath a grandeur, a face of him? Yet\nthis may show us what discord is between man and nature, for you cannot\nfreely admire a noble landscape, if laborers are digging in the field\nhard by. The poet finds something ridiculous in his delight, until he is\nout of the sight of men.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nPROSPECTS.\n\n\nIn inquiries respecting the laws of the world and the frame of things,\nthe highest reason is always the truest. That which seems faintly\npossible--it is so refined, is often faint and dim because it is deepest\nseated in the mind among the eternal verities. Empirical science is apt\nto cloud the sight, and, by the very knowledge of functions and\nprocesses, to bereave the student of the manly contemplation of the\nwhole. The savant becomes unpoetic. But the best read naturalist who\nlends an entire and devout attention to truth, will see that there\nremains much to learn of his relation to the world, and that it is not\nto be learned by any addition or subtraction or other comparison of\nknown quantities, but is arrived at by untaught sallies of the spirit,\nby a continual self-recovery, and by entire humility. He will perceive\nthat there are far more excellent qualities in the student than\npreciseness and infallibility; that a guess is often more fruitful than\nan indisputable affirmation, and that a dream may let us deeper into\nthe secret of nature than a hundred concerted experiments.\n\nFor, the problems to be solved are precisely those which the\nphysiologist and the naturalist omit to state. It is not so pertinent to\nman to know all the individuals of the animal kingdom, as it is to know\nwhence and whereto is this tyrannizing unity in his constitution, which\nevermore separates and classifies things, endeavoring to reduce the most\ndiverse to one form. When I behold a rich landscape, it is less to my\npurpose to recite correctly the order and superposition of the strata,\nthan to know why all thought of multitude is lost in a tranquil sense of\nunity. I cannot greatly honor minuteness in details, so long as there is\nno hint to explain the relation between things and thoughts; no ray upon\nthe _metaphysics_ of conchology, of botany, of the arts, to show the\nrelation of the forms of flowers, shells, animals, architecture, to the\nmind, and build science upon ideas. In a cabinet of natural history, we\nbecome sensible of a certain occult recognition and sympathy in regard\nto the most unwieldly and eccentric forms of beast, fish, and insect.\nThe American who has been confined, in his own country, to the sight of\nbuildings designed after foreign models, is surprised on entering York\nMinster or St. Peter\u2019s at Rome, by the feeling that these structures\nare imitations also,--faint copies of an invisible archetype. Nor has\nscience sufficient humanity, so long as the naturalist overlooks that\nwonderful congruity which subsists between man and the world; of which\nhe is lord, not because he is the most subtile inhabitant, but because\nhe is its head and heart, and finds something of himself in every great\nand small thing, in every mountain stratum, in every new law of color,\nfact of astronomy, or atmospheric influence which observation or\nanalysis lay open. A perception of this mystery inspires the muse of\nGeorge Herbert, the beautiful psalmist of the seventeenth century. The\nfollowing lines are part of his little poem on Man.\n\n      \u201cMan is all symmetry,\n    Full of proportions, one limb to another,\n      And to all the world besides.\n      Each part may call the farthest, brother;\n    For head with foot hath private amity,\n      And both with moons and tides.\n\n      \u201cNothing hath got so far\n    But man hath caught and kept it as his prey;\n      His eyes dismount the highest star;\n      He is in little all the sphere.\n    Herbs gladly cure our flesh, because that they\n      Find their acquaintance there.\n\n      \u201cFor us, the winds do blow,\n    The earth doth rest, heaven move, and fountains flow;\n      Nothing we see, but means our good,\n      As our delight, or as our treasure;\n    The whole is either our cupboard of food,\n      Or cabinet of pleasure.\n\n      \u201cThe stars have us to bed:\n    Night draws the curtain; which the sun withdraws.\n      Music and light attend our head.\n      All things unto our flesh are kind,\n    In their descent and being; to our mind,\n      In their ascent and cause.\n\n      \u201cMore servants wait on man\n    Than he\u2019ll take notice of. In every path,\n      He treads down that which doth befriend him\n      When sickness makes him pale and wan.\n    Oh mighty love! Man is one world, and hath\n      Another to attend him.\u201d\n\nThe perception of this class of truths makes the attraction which draws\nmen to science, but the end is lost sight of in attention to the means.\nIn view of this half-sight of science, we accept the sentence of Plato,\nthat \u201cpoetry comes nearer to vital truth than history.\u201d Every surmise\nand vaticination of the mind is entitled to a certain respect, and we\nlearn to prefer imperfect theories, and sentences, which contain\nglimpses of truth, to digested systems which have no one valuable\nsuggestion. A wise writer will feel that the ends of study and\ncomposition are best answered by announcing undiscovered regions of\nthought, and so communicating, through hope, new activity to the torpid\nspirit.\n\nI shall therefore conclude this essay with some traditions of man and\nnature, which a certain poet sang to me; and which, as they have always\nbeen in the world, and perhaps reappear to every bard, may be both\nhistory and prophecy.\n\n\u2018The foundations of man are not in matter, but in spirit. But the\nelement of spirit is eternity. To it, therefore, the longest series of\nevents, the oldest chronologies are young and recent. In the cycle of\nthe universal man, from whom the known individuals proceed, centuries\nare points, and all history is but the epoch of one degradation.\n\n\u2018We distrust and deny inwardly our sympathy with nature. We own and\ndisown our relation to it, by turns. We are, like Nebuchadnezzar,\ndethroned, bereft of reason, and eating grass like an ox. But who can\nset limits to the remedial force of spirit?\n\n\u2018A man is a god in ruins. When men are innocent, life shall be longer,\nand shall pass into the immortal, as gently as we awake from dreams.\nNow, the world would be insane and rabid, if these disorganizations\nshould last for hundreds of years. It is kept in check by death and\ninfancy. Infancy is the perpetual Messiah, which comes into the arms of\nfallen men, and pleads with them to return to paradise.\n\n\u2018Man is the dwarf of himself. Once he was permeated and dissolved by\nspirit. He filled nature with his overflowing currents. Out from him\nsprang the sun and moon; from man, the sun; from woman, the moon. The\nlaws of his mind, the periods of his actions externalized themselves\ninto day and night, into the year and the seasons. But, having made for\nhimself this huge shell, his waters retired; he no longer fills the\nveins and veinlets; he is shrunk to a drop. He sees, that the structure\nstill fits him, but fits him colossally. Say, rather, once it fitted\nhim, now it corresponds to him from far and on high. He adores timidly\nhis own work. Now is man the follower of the sun, and woman the follower\nof the moon. Yet sometimes he starts in his slumber, and wonders at\nhimself and his house, and muses strangely at the resemblance betwixt\nhim and it. He perceives that if his law is still paramount, if still he\nhave elemental power, if his word is sterling yet in nature, it is not\nconscious power, it is not inferior but superior to his will. It is\nInstinct.\u2019 Thus my Orphic poet sang.\n\nAt present, man applies to nature but half his force. He works on the\nworld with his understanding alone. He lives in it, and masters it by a\npenny-wisdom; and he that works most in it, is but a half-man, and\nwhilst his arms are strong and his digestion good, his mind is imbruted,\nand he is a selfish savage. His relation to nature, his power over it,\nis through the understanding; as by manure; the economic use of fire,\nwind, water, and the mariner\u2019s needle; steam, coal, chemical\nagriculture; the repairs of the human body by the dentist and the\nsurgeon. This is such a resumption of power, as if a banished king\nshould buy his territories inch by inch, instead of vaulting at once\ninto his throne. Meantime, in the thick darkness, there are not wanting\ngleams of a better light,--occasional examples of the action of man upon\nnature with his entire force,--with reason as well as understanding.\nSuch examples are; the traditions of miracles in the earliest antiquity\nof all nations; the history of Jesus Christ; the achievements of a\nprinciple, as in religious and political revolutions, and in the\nabolition of the Slave-trade; the miracles of enthusiasm, as those\nreported of Swedenborg, Hohenlohe, and the Shakers; many obscure and yet\ncontested facts, now arranged under the name of Animal Magnetism;\nprayer; eloquence; self-healing; and the wisdom of children. These are\nexamples of Reason\u2019s momentary grasp of the sceptre; the exertions of a\npower which exists not in time or space, but an instantaneous\nin-streaming causing power. The difference between the actual and the\nideal force of man is happily figured by the schoolmen, in saying, that\nthe knowledge of man is an evening knowledge, _vespertina cognitio_, but\nthat of God is a morning knowledge, _matutina cognitio_.\n\nThe problem of restoring to the world original and eternal beauty, is\nsolved by the redemption of the soul. The ruin or the blank, that we see\nwhen we look at nature, is in our own eye. The axis of vision is not\ncoincident with the axis of things, and so they appear not transparent\nbut opake. The reason why the world lacks unity, and lies broken and in\nheaps, is, because man is disunited with himself. He cannot be a\nnaturalist, until he satisfies all the demands of the spirit. Love is as\nmuch its demand, as perception. Indeed, neither can be perfect without\nthe other. In the uttermost meaning of the words, thought is devout, and\ndevotion is thought. Deep calls unto deep. But in actual life, the\nmarriage is not celebrated. There are innocent men who worship God after\nthe tradition of their fathers, but their sense of duty has not yet\nextended to the use of all their faculties. And there are patient\nnaturalists, but they freeze their subject under the wintry light of the\nunderstanding. Is not prayer also a study of truth,--a sally of the soul\ninto the unfound infinite? No man ever prayed heartily, without learning\nsomething. But when a faithful thinker, resolute to detach every object\nfrom personal relations, and see it in the light of thought, shall, at\nthe same time, kindle science with the fire of the holiest affections,\nthen will God go forth anew into the creation.\n\nIt will not need, when the mind is prepared for study, to search for\nobjects. The invariable mark of wisdom is to see the miraculous in the\ncommon. What is a day? What is a year? What is summer? What is woman?\nWhat is a child? What is sleep? To our blindness, these things seem\nunaffecting. We make fables to hide the baldness of the fact and conform\nit, as we say, to the higher law of the mind. But when the fact is seen\nunder the light of an idea, the gaudy fable fades and shrivels. We\nbehold the real higher law. To the wise, therefore, a fact is true\npoetry, and the most beautiful of fables. These wonders are brought to\nour own door. You also are a man. Man and woman, and their social life,\npoverty, labor, sleep, fear, fortune, are known to you. Learn that none\nof these things is superficial, but that each phenomenon has its roots\nin the faculties and affections of the mind. Whilst the abstract\nquestion occupies your intellect, nature brings it in the concrete to be\nsolved by your hands. It were a wise inquiry for the closet, to compare,\npoint by point, especially at remarkable crises in life, our daily\nhistory, with the rise and progress of ideas in the mind.\n\nSo shall we come to look at the world with new eyes. It shall answer the\nendless inquiry of the intellect,--What is truth? and of the\naffections,--What is good? by yielding itself passive to the educated\nWill. Then shall come to pass what my poet said; \u2018Nature is not fixed\nbut fluid. Spirit alters, moulds, makes it. The immobility or bruteness\nof nature, is the absence of spirit; to pure spirit, it is fluid, it is\nvolatile, it is obedient. Every spirit builds itself a house; and beyond\nits house a world; and beyond its world, a heaven. Know then, that the\nworld exists for you. For you is the phenomenon perfect. What we are,\nthat only can we see. All that Adam had, all that C\u00e6sar could, you have\nand can do. Adam called his house, heaven and earth; C\u00e6sar called his\nhouse, Rome; you perhaps call yours, a cobbler\u2019s trade; a hundred acres\nof ploughed land; or a scholar\u2019s garret. Yet line for line and point for\npoint, your dominion is as great as theirs, though without fine names.\nBuild, therefore, your own world. As fast as you conform your life to\nthe pure idea in your mind, that will unfold its great proportions. A\ncorrespondent revolution in things will attend the influx of the spirit.\nSo fast will disagreeable appearances, swine, spiders, snakes, pests,\nmadhouses, prisons, enemies, vanish; they are temporary and shall be no\nmore seen. The sordor and filths of nature, the sun shall dry up, and\nthe wind exhale. As when the summer comes from the south; the snow-banks\nmelt, and the face of the earth becomes green before it, so shall the\nadvancing spirit create its ornaments along its path, and carry with it\nthe beauty it visits, and the song which enchants it; it shall draw\nbeautiful faces, warm hearts, wise discourse, and heroic acts, around\nits way, until evil is no more seen. The kingdom of man over nature,\nwhich cometh not with observation,--a dominion such as now is beyond his\ndream of God,--he shall enter without more wonder than the blind man\nfeels who is gradually restored to perfect sight.\u2019\n\n\n\n\nTHE AMERICAN SCHOLAR.\n\nAN ORATION DELIVERED BEFORE THE PHI BETA KAPPA SOCIETY, AT CAMBRIDGE,\nAUGUST 31, 1837.\n\n\n\n\nTHE AMERICAN SCHOLAR.\n\n\nMR. PRESIDENT AND GENTLEMEN,\n\nI greet you on the recommencement of our literary year. Our anniversary\nis one of hope, and, perhaps, not enough of labor. We do not meet for\ngames of strength or skill, for the recitation of histories, tragedies,\nand odes, like the ancient Greeks; for parliaments of love and poesy,\nlike the Troubadours; nor for the advancement of science, like our\ncontemporaries in the British and European capitals. Thus far, our\nholiday has been simply a friendly sign of the survival of the love of\nletters amongst a people too busy to give to letters any more. As such,\nit is precious as the sign of an indestructible instinct. Perhaps the\ntime is already come, when it ought to be, and will be, something else;\nwhen the sluggard intellect of this continent will look from under its\niron lids, and fill the postponed expectation of the world with\nsomething better than the exertions of mechanical skill. Our day of\ndependence, our long apprenticeship to the learning of other lands,\ndraws to a close. The millions, that around us are rushing into life,\ncannot always be fed on the sere remains of foreign harvests. Events,\nactions arise, that must be sung, that will sing themselves. Who can\ndoubt, that poetry will revive and lead in a new age, as the star in the\nconstellation Harp, which now flames in our zenith, astronomers\nannounce, shall one day be the pole-star for a thousand years?\n\nIn this hope, I accept the topic which not only usage, but the nature of\nour association, seem to prescribe to this day,--the AMERICAN SCHOLAR.\nYear by year, we come up hither to read one more chapter of his\nbiography. Let us inquire what light new days and events have thrown on\nhis character, and his 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.\n\nThe old fable covers a doctrine ever new and sublime; that there is One\nMan,--present to all particular men only partially, or through one\nfaculty; and that you must take the whole society to find the whole man.\nMan is not a farmer, or a professor, or an engineer, but he is all. Man\nis priest, and scholar, and statesman, and producer, and soldier. In the\n_divided_ or social state, these functions are parcelled out to\nindividuals, each of whom aims to do his stint of the joint work, whilst\neach other performs his. The fable implies, that the individual, to\npossess himself, must sometimes return from his own labor to embrace all\nthe other laborers. But, unfortunately, this original unit, this\nfountain of power, has been so distributed to multitudes, has been so\nminutely subdivided and peddled out, that it is spilled into drops, and\ncannot be gathered. The state of society is one in which the members\nhave suffered amputation from the trunk, and strut about so many walking\nmonsters,--a good finger, a neck, a stomach, 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 by\nany idea of the true dignity of his ministry. He sees his bushel and his\ncart, and nothing beyond, and sinks into the farmer, instead of Man on\nthe farm. The tradesman scarcely ever gives an ideal worth to his work,\nbut is ridden by the routine of his craft, and the soul is subject to\ndollars. The priest becomes a form; the attorney, a statute-book; the\nmechanic, 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\u2019s thinking.\n\nIn this view of him, as Man Thinking, the theory of his office is\ncontained. Him nature solicits with all her placid, all her monitory\npictures; him the past instructs; him the future invites. Is not,\nindeed, every man a student, and do not all things exist for the\nstudent\u2019s behoof? And, finally, is not the true scholar the only true\nmaster? But the old oracle said, \u2018All things have two handles: beware of\nthe wrong one.\u2019 In life, too often, the scholar errs with mankind and\nforfeits his privilege. Let us see him in his school, and consider him\nin reference to the main influences he receives.\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; and, after sunset,\nnight and her stars. Ever the winds blow; ever the grass grows. Every\nday, men and women, conversing, beholding and beholden. The scholar is\nhe of all men whom this spectacle most engages. He must settle its value\nin his mind. What is nature to him? There is never a beginning, there is\nnever an end, to the inexplicable continuity of this web of God, but\nalways circular power returning into itself. Therein it resembles his\nown spirit, whose beginning, whose ending, he never can find,--so\nentire, so boundless. Far, too, as her splendors shine, system on system\nshooting like rays, upward, downward, without centre, without\ncircumference,--in the mass and in the particle, nature hastens to\nrender account of herself to the mind. Classification begins. To the\nyoung mind, every thing is individual, stands by itself. By and by, it\nfinds 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\nthat these objects are not chaotic, and are not foreign, but have a law\nwhich is also a law of the human mind? The astronomer discovers that\ngeometry, a pure abstraction of the human mind, is the measure of\nplanetary motion. The chemist finds proportions and intelligible method\nthroughout matter; and science is nothing but the finding of analogy,\nidentity, in the most remote parts. The ambitious soul sits down before\neach refractory fact; one after another, reduces all strange\nconstitutions, all new powers, to their class and their law, and goes on\nfor ever to animate the last fibre of organization, the outskirts of\nnature, by insight.\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, stiring 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 gropings\nof its gigantic hand, he shall look forward to an ever expanding\nknowledge as to a becoming creator. He shall see, that nature is the\nopposite of the soul, answering to it part for part. One is seal, and\none is print. Its beauty is the beauty of his own mind. Its laws are the\nlaws of his own mind. Nature then becomes to him the measure of his\nattainments. So much of nature as he is ignorant of, so much of his own\nmind does he not yet possess. And, in fine, the ancient precept, \u201cKnow\nthyself,\u201d and the modern precept, \u201cStudy nature,\u201d become at last one\nmaxim.\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 the\namount of this influence more conveniently,--by considering their value\nalone.\n\nThe theory of books is noble. The scholar of the first age received into\nhim the world around; brooded thereon; gave it the new arrangement of\nhis own mind, and uttered it again. It came into him, life; it went out\nfrom him, truth. It came to him, short-lived actions; it went out from\nhim, immortal thoughts. It came to him, business; it went from him,\npoetry. It was dead fact; now, it is quick thought. It can stand, and\nit can go. It now endures, it now flies, it now inspires. Precisely in\nproportion to the depth of mind from which it issued, so high does it\nsoar, 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 be.\nBut none is quite perfect. As no air-pump can by any means make a\nperfect vacuum, 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 cotemporaries, or rather to the second age. Each\nage, it is found, must write its own books; or rather, each generation\nfor the next succeeding. The books of an older period will not fit this.\n\nYet hence arises a grave mischief. The sacredness which attaches to the\nact of creation,--the act of thought,--is transferred to the record. The\npoet chanting, was felt to be a divine man: henceforth the chant is\ndivine also. The writer was a just and wise spirit: henceforward it is\nsettled, the book is perfect; as love of the hero corrupts into worship\nof his statue. Instantly, the book becomes noxious: the guide is a\ntyrant. The sluggish and perverted mind of the multitude, slow to open\nto the incursions of Reason, having once so opened, having once received\nthis book, stands upon it, and makes an outcry, if it is disparaged.\nColleges are built on it. Books are written on it by thinkers, not by\nMan Thinking; by men of talent, that is, who start wrong, who set out\nfrom accepted dogmas, not from their own sight of principles. Meek young\nmen grow up in libraries, believing it their duty to accept the views,\nwhich Cicero, which Locke, which Bacon, have given; forgetful that\nCicero, Locke, and Bacon were only young men in libraries, when they\nwrote 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 with\nthe world and the soul. Hence, the restorers of readings, the\nemendators, the bibliomaniacs of all degrees.\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. I had better never see a book, than\nto be warped by its attraction clean out of my own orbit, and made a\nsatellite instead of a system. The one thing in the world, of value, is\nthe active soul. This every man is entitled to; this every man contains\nwithin him, although, in almost all men, obstructed, and as yet unborn.\nThe soul active sees absolute truth; and utters truth, or creates. In\nthis action, it is genius; not the privilege of here and there a\nfavorite, but the sound estate of every man. In its essence, it is\nprogressive. The book, the college, the school of art, the institution\nof any kind, stop with some past utterance of genius. This is good, say\nthey,--let us hold by this. They pin me down. They look backward and not\nforward. But genius looks forward: the eyes of man are set in his\nforehead, not in his hindhead: man hopes: genius creates. Whatever\ntalents may be, if the man create not, the pure efflux of the Deity is\nnot his;--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 authority,\nbut springing spontaneous from the mind\u2019s own sense of good and fair.\n\nOn the other part, instead of being its own seer, let it receive from\nanother mind its truth, though it were in torrents of light, without\nperiods of solitude, inquest, and self-recovery, and a fatal disservice\nis done. Genius is always sufficiently the enemy of genius by\nover-influence. The literature of every nation bear me witness. The\nEnglish dramatic poets have Shakspearized now for two hundred years.\n\nUndoubtedly there is a right way of reading, so it be sternly\nsubordinated. Man Thinking must not be subdued by his instruments. Books\nare for the scholar\u2019s idle times. When he can read God directly, the\nhour is too precious to be wasted in other men\u2019s transcripts of their\nreadings. But when the intervals of darkness come, as come they\nmust,--when the sun is hid, and the stars withdraw their shining,--we\nrepair to the lamps which were kindled by their ray, to guide our steps\nto the East again, where the dawn is. We hear, that we may speak. The\nArabian proverb says, \u201cA fig tree, looking on a fig tree, becometh\nfruitful.\u201d\n\nIt is remarkable, the character of the pleasure we derive from the best\nbooks. They impress us with the conviction, that one nature wrote and\nthe same reads. We read the verses of one of the great English poets, of\nChaucer, of Marvell, of Dryden, with the most modern joy,--with a\npleasure, I mean, which is in great part caused by the abstraction of\nall _time_ from their verses. There is some awe mixed with the joy of\nour surprise, when this poet, who lived in some past world, two or three\nhundred years ago, says that which lies close to my own soul, that which\nI also had wellnigh thought and said. But for the evidence thence\nafforded to the philosophical doctrine of the identity of all minds, we\nshould suppose some pre\u00ebstablished harmony, some foresight of souls that\nwere to be, and some preparation of stores for their future wants, like\nthe fact observed in insects, who lay up food before death for the young\ngrub they 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 broth\nof shoes, so the human mind can be fed by any knowledge. And great and\nheroic men have existed, who had almost no other information than by the\nprinted page. I only would say, that it needs a strong head to bear that\ndiet. One must be an inventor to read well. As the proverb says, \u201cHe\nthat would bring home the wealth of the Indies, must carry out the\nwealth of the Indies.\u201d There is then creative reading as well as\ncreative writing. When the mind is braced by labor and invention, the\npage of whatever book we read becomes luminous with manifold allusion.\nEvery sentence is doubly significant, and the sense of our author is as\nbroad as the world. We then see, what is always true, that, as the\nseer\u2019s hour of vision is short and rare among heavy days and months, so\nis its record, perchance, the least part of his volume. The discerning\nwill read, in his Plato or Shakspeare, only that least part,--only the\nauthentic utterances of the oracle;--all the rest he rejects, were it\nnever so many times Plato\u2019s and Shakspeare\u2019s.\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 drill,\nbut to create; when they gather from far every ray of various genius to\ntheir hospitable halls, and, by the concentrated fires, set the hearts\nof their youth on flame. Thought and knowledge are natures in which\napparatus and pretension avail nothing. Gowns, and pecuniary\nfoundations, though of towns of gold, can never countervail the least\nsentence or syllable of wit. Forget this, and our American colleges will\nrecede in their public importance, whilst they grow richer every year.\n\n\nIII. There goes in the world a notion, that the scholar should be a\nrecluse, a valetudinarian,--as unfit for any handiwork or public labor,\nas a penknife for an axe. The so-called \u2018practical men\u2019 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 they\ndo not hear, but only a mincing and diluted speech. They are often\nvirtually disfranchised; and, indeed, there are advocates for their\ncelibacy. As far as this is true of the studious classes, it is not just\nand wise. Action is with the scholar subordinate, but it is essential.\nWithout it, he is not yet man. Without it, thought can never ripen into\ntruth. Whilst the world hangs before the eye as a cloud of beauty, we\ncannot even see its beauty. Inaction is cowardice, but there can be no\nscholar without the heroic mind. The preamble of thought, the transition\nthrough which it passes from the unconscious to the conscious, is\naction. Only so much do I know, as I have lived. Instantly we know whose\nwords 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 run eagerly into this resounding tumult. I\ngrasp 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 abyss\nbe vocal with speech. I pierce its order; I dissipate its fear; I\ndispose of it within the circuit of my expanding life. So much only of\nlife as I know by experience, so much of the wilderness have I\nvanquished and planted, or so far have I extended my being, my dominion.\nI do not see how any man can afford, for the sake of his nerves and his\nnap, to spare any action in which he can partake. It is pearls and\nrubies to his discourse. Drudgery, calamity, exasperation, want, are\ninstructors in eloquence and wisdom. The true scholar grudges every\nopportunity of action past by, as a loss of power.\n\nIt is the raw material out of which the intellect moulds her splendid\nproducts. A strange process too, this, by which experience is converted\ninto thought, as a mulberry leaf is converted into satin. 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 feet,\nor the hand, or the brain of our body. The new deed is yet a part of\nlife,--remains for a time immersed in our unconscious life. In some\ncontemplative hour, it detaches itself from the life like a ripe fruit,\nto become a thought of the mind. Instantly, it is raised, transfigured;\nthe corruptible has put on incorruption. Henceforth it is an object of\nbeauty, however base its origin and neighborhood. Observe, too, the\nimpossibility of antedating this act. In its grub state, it cannot fly,\nit cannot shine, it is a dull grub. But suddenly, without observation,\nthe selfsame thing unfurls beautiful wings, and is an angel of wisdom.\nSo is there no fact, no event, in our private history, which shall not,\nsooner or later, lose its adhesive, inert form, and astonish us by\nsoaring from our body into the empyrean. Cradle and infancy, school and\nplayground, the fear of boys, and dogs, and ferules, the love of little\nmaids and berries, and many another fact that once filled the whole sky,\nare gone already; friend and relative, profession and party, town and\ncountry, nation and world, must also soar and sing.\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 and\npine; nor trust the revenue of some single faculty, and exhaust one vein\nof thought, much like those Savoyards, who, getting their livelihood by\ncarving shepherds, shepherdesses, and smoking Dutchmen, for all Europe,\nwent out one day to the mountain to find stock, and discovered that they\nhad whittled up the last of their pine-trees. Authors we have, in\nnumbers, who have written out their vein, and who, moved by a\ncommendable prudence, sail for Greece or Palestine, follow the trapper\ninto the prairie, or ramble round Algiers, to replenish their\nmerchantable stock.\n\nIf it were only for a vocabulary, the scholar would be covetous of\naction. Life is our dictionary. Years are well spent in country labors;\nin town,--in the insight into trades and manufactures; in frank\nintercourse with many men and women; in science; in art; to the one end\nof mastering in all their facts a language by which to illustrate and\nembody our perceptions. I learn immediately from any speaker how much\nhe has already lived, through the poverty or the splendor of his speech.\nLife 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 grammar.\nColleges and books only copy the language which the field and the\nworkyard 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 \u201cfits of\neasy transmission and reflection,\u201d as Newton called them, are the law of\nnature 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 paints,\nwhen thoughts are no longer apprehended, and books are a weariness,--he\nhas always the resource _to live_. Character is higher than intellect.\nThinking is the function. Living is the functionary. The stream retreats\nto its source. A great soul will be strong to live, as well as strong\nto think. Does he lack organ or medium to impart his truth? He can still\nfall back on this elemental force of living them. This is a total act.\nThinking is a partial act. Let the grandeur of justice shine in his\naffairs. Let the beauty of affection cheer his lowly roof. Those \u2018far\nfrom fame,\u2019 who dwell and act with him, will feel the force of his\nconstitution in the doings and passages of the day better than it can be\nmeasured by any public and designed display. Time shall teach him, that\nthe scholar loses no hour which the man lives. Herein he unfolds the\nsacred germ of his instinct, screened from influence. What is lost in\nseemliness is gained in strength. Not out of those, on whom systems of\neducation have exhausted their culture, comes the helpful giant to\ndestroy the old or to build the new, but out of unhandselled savage\nnature, out of terrible Druids and Berserkirs, come at last Alfred and\nSkakspeare.\n\nI hear therefore with joy whatever is beginning to be said of the\ndignity and necessity of labor to every citizen. There is virtue yet in\nthe hoe and the spade, for learned as well as for unlearned hands. And\nlabor is everywhere welcome; always we are invited to work; only be this\nlimitation observed, that a man shall not for the sake of wider activity\nsacrifice any opinion to the popular 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 and Herschel, in\ntheir glazed observatories, may catalogue the stars with the praise of\nall men, and, the results being splendid and useful, honor is sure. But\nhe, in his private observatory, cataloguing obscure and nebulous stars\nof the human mind, which as yet no man has thought of as such,--watching\ndays and months, sometimes, for a few facts; correcting still his old\nrecords;--must relinquish display and immediate fame. In the long period\nof his preparation, he must betray often an ignorance and shiftlessness\nin popular arts, incurring the disdain of the able who shoulder him\naside. Long he must stammer in his speech; often forego the living for\nthe dead. Worse yet, he must accept,--how often! poverty and solitude.\nFor the ease and pleasure of treading the old road, accepting the\nfashions, the education, the religion of society, he takes the cross of\nmaking his own, and, of course, the self-accusation, the faint heart,\nthe frequent uncertainty and loss of time, which are the nettles and\ntangling vines in the way of the self-relying and self-directed; and the\nstate of virtual hostility in which he seems to stand to society, and\nespecially to educated society. For all this loss and scorn, what\noffset? He is to find consolation in exercising the highest functions of\nhuman nature. He is one, who raises himself from private considerations,\nand breathes and lives on public and illustrious thoughts. He is the\nworld\u2019s eye. He is the world\u2019s heart. He is to resist the vulgar\nprosperity that retrogrades ever to barbarism, by preserving and\ncommunicating heroic sentiments, noble biographies, melodious verse, and\nthe conclusions of history. Whatsoever oracles the human heart, in all\nemergencies, in all solemn hours, has uttered as its commentary on the\nworld of actions,--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 great\ndecorum, some fetish of a government, some ephemeral trade, or war, or\nman, is cried up by half mankind and cried down by the other half, as if\nall depended on this particular up or down. The odds are that the whole\nquestion is not worth the poorest thought which the scholar has lost in\nlistening to the controversy. Let him not quit his belief that a popgun\nis a popgun, though the ancient and honorable of the earth affirm it to\nbe the crack of doom. In silence, in steadiness, in severe abstraction,\nlet him hold by himself; add observation to observation, patient of\nneglect, patient of reproach; and bide his own time,--happy enough, if\nhe can satisfy himself alone, that this day he has seen something truly.\nSucccess treads on every right step. For the instinct is sure, that\nprompts him to tell his brother what he thinks. He then learns, that in\ngoing down into the secrets of his own mind, he has descended into the\nsecrets of all minds. He learns that he who has mastered any law in his\nprivate thoughts, is master to that extent of all men whose language he\nspeaks, and of all into whose language his own can be translated. The\npoet, in utter solitude remembering his spontaneous thoughts and\nrecording them, is found to have recorded that, which men in crowded\ncities find true for them also. The orator distrusts at first the\nfitness of his frank confessions,--his want of knowledge of the persons\nhe addresses,--until he finds that he is the compliment of his\nhearers;--that they drink his words because he fulfils for them their\nown nature; the deeper he dives into his privatest, secretest\npresentiment, to his wonder he finds, this is the most acceptable, most\npublic, and universally true. The people delight in it; the better part\nof every man feels, This is my music; this is myself.\n\nIn self-trust, all the virtues are comprehended. Free should the scholar\nbe,--free and brave. Free even to the definition of freedom, \u201cwithout\nany hindrance that does not arise out of his own constitution.\u201d Brave;\nfor fear is a thing, which a scholar by his very function puts behind\nhim. Fear always springs from ignorance. It is a shame to him if his\ntranquillity, amid, dangerous times, arise from the presumption, that,\nlike children and women, his is a protected class; or if he seek a\ntemporary peace by the diversion of his thoughts from politics or vexed\nquestions, hiding his head like an ostrich in the flowering bushes,\npeeping into microscopes, and turning rhymes, as a boy whistles to keep\nhis courage up. So is the danger a danger still; so is the fear worse.\nManlike let him turn and face it. Let him look into its eye and search\nits nature, inspect its origin,--see the whelping of this lion,--which\nlies no great way back; he will then find in himself a perfect\ncomprehension of its nature and extent; he will have made his hands meet\non the other side, and can henceforth defy it, and pass on superior. The\nworld is his, who can see through its pretension. What deafness, what\nstone-blind custom, what overgrown error you behold, is there only by\nsufferance,--by your sufferance. See it to be a lie, and you have\nalready 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 it\nis ever to so much of his attributes as we bring to it. To ignorance and\nsin, it is flint. They adapt themselves to it as they may; but in\nproportion as a man has any thing in him divine, the firmament flows\nbefore him and takes his signet and form. Not he is great who can alter\nmatter, but he who can alter my state of mind. They are the kings of the\nworld who give the color of their present thought to all nature and all\nart, and persuade men by the cheerful serenity of their carrying the\nmatter, that this thing which they do, is the apple which the ages have\ndesired to pluck, now at last ripe, and inviting nations to the harvest.\nThe great man makes the great thing. Wherever Macdonald sits, there is\nthe head of the table. Linn\u00e6us makes botany the most alluring of\nstudies, and wins it from the farmer and the herb-woman; Davy,\nchemistry; and Cuvier, fossils. The day is always his, who works in it\nwith serenity 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.\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 spawn,\nand are called \u2018the mass\u2019 and \u2018the herd.\u2019 In a century, in a millennium,\none or two men; that is to say,--one or two approximations to the right\nstate of every man. All the rest behold in the hero or the poet their\nown green and crude being,--ripened; yes, and are content to be less, so\n_that_ may attain to its full stature. What a testimony,--full of\ngrandeur, full of pity, is borne to the demands of his own nature, by\nthe poor clansman, the poor partisan, who rejoices in the glory of his\nchief. The poor and the low find some amends to their immense moral\ncapacity, for their acquiescence in a political and social inferiority.\nThey are content to be brushed like flies from the path of a great\nperson, so that justice shall be done by him to that common nature which\nit is the dearest desire of all to see enlarged and glorified. They sun\nthemselves in the great man\u2019s light, and feel it to be their own\nelement. They cast the dignity of man from their downtrod selves upon\nthe shoulders of a hero, and will perish to add one drop of blood to\nmake that great heart beat, those giant sinews combat and conquer. He\nlives for us, and we live in him.\n\nMen such as they are, very naturally seek money or power; and power\nbecause it is as good as money,--the \u201cspoils,\u201d so called, \u201cof office.\u201d\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 domestication\nof the idea of Culture. The main enterprise of the world for splendor,\nfor extent, is the upbuilding of a man. Here are the materials strown\nalong the ground. The private life of one man shall be a more\nillustrious monarchy,--more formidable to its enemy, more sweet and\nserene in its influence to its friend, than any kingdom in history. For\na man, rightly viewed, comprehendeth the particular natures of all men.\nEach philosopher, each bard, each actor, has only done for me, as by a\ndelegate, what one day I can do for myself. The books which once we\nvalued more than the apple of the eye, we have quite exhausted. What is\nthat but saying, that we have come up with the point of view which the\nuniversal mind took through the eyes of one scribe; we have been that\nman, and have passed on. First, one; then, another; we drain all\ncisterns, and, waxing greater by all these supplies, we crave a better\nand more abundant food. The man has never lived that can feed us ever.\nThe human mind cannot be enshrined in a person, who shall set a barrier\non any one side to this unbounded, unboundable empire. It is one\ncentral fire, which, flaming now out of the lips of Etna, lightens the\ncapes of Sicily; and, now out of the throat of Vesuvius, illuminates the\ntowers and vineyards of Naples. It is one light which beams out of a\nthousand stars. It is one soul which animates all men.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBut I have dwelt perhaps tediously upon this abstraction of the Scholar.\nI ought not to delay longer to add what I have to say, of nearer\nreference 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. With the views I have intimated of the oneness or the\nidentity of the mind through all individuals, I do not much dwell on\nthese differences. In fact, I believe each individual passes through all\nthree. The boy is a Greek; the youth, romantic; the adult, reflective. I\ndeny not, however, that a revolution in the leading idea may be\ndistinctly enough traced.\n\nOur age is bewailed as the age of Introversion. Must that needs be evil?\nWe, it seems, are critical; we are embarrassed with second thoughts; we\ncannot enjoy any thing for hankering to know whereof the pleasure\nconsists; we are lined with eyes; we see with our feet; the time is\ninfected with Hamlet\u2019s unhappiness,--\n\n    \u201cSicklied o\u2019er with the pale cast of thought.\u201d\n\nIt is 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 truth\ndry? 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 boy\ndreads the water before he has learned that he can swim. If there is any\nperiod one would desire to be born in,--is it not the age of Revolution;\nwhen the old and the new stand side by side, and admit of being\ncompared; when the energies of all men are searched by fear and by hope;\nwhen the historic glories of the old, can be compensated by the rich\npossibilities of the new era? This time, like all times, is a very good\none, if we but know what to do with it.\n\nI read with some joy of the auspicious signs of the coming days, as they\nglimmer already through poetry and art, through philosophy and science,\nthrough church and state.\n\nOne of these signs is the fact, that the same movement which effected\nthe elevation of what was called the lowest class in the state, assumed\nin literature a very marked and as benign an aspect. Instead of the\nsublime and beautiful; the near, the low, the common, was explored and\npoetized. That, which had been negligently trodden under foot by those\nwho were harnessing and provisioning themselves for long journeys into\nfar countries, is suddenly found to be richer than all foreign parts.\nThe literature of the poor, the feelings of the child, the philosophy of\nthe street, the meaning of household life, are the topics of the time.\nIt is a great stride. It is a sign,--is it not? of new vigor, when the\nextremities are made active, when currents of warm life run into the\nhands and the feet. I ask not for the great, the remote, the romantic;\nwhat is doing in Italy or Arabia; what is Greek art, or Proven\u00e7al\nminstrelsy; I embrace the common, I explore and sit at the feet of the\nfamiliar, the low. Give me insight into to-day, and you may have the\nantique and future worlds. What would we really know the meaning of? The\nmeal in the firkin; the milk in the pan; the ballad in the street; the\nnews of the boat; the glance of the eye; the form and the gait of the\nbody;--show me the ultimate reason of these matters; show me the\nsublime presence of the highest spiritual cause lurking, as always it\ndoes lurk, in these surburbs and extremities of nature; let me see every\ntrifle bristling with the polarity that ranges it instantly on an\neternal law; and the shop, the plough, and the leger, referred to the\nlike cause by which light undulates and poets sing;--and the world lies\nno longer 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, Burns, Cowper, and, in a\nnewer time, of Goethe, Wordsworth, and Carlyle. This idea they have\ndifferently followed and with various success. In contrast with their\nwriting, the style of Pope, of Johnson, of Gibbon, looks cold and\npedantic. This writing is blood-warm. Man is surprised to find that\nthings near are not less beautiful and wondrous than things remote. The\nnear explains the far. The drop is a small ocean. A man is related to\nall nature. This perception of the worth of the vulgar is fruitful in\ndiscoveries. Goethe, in this very thing the most modern of the moderns,\nhas shown us, 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 mean\nEmanuel Swedenborg. The most imaginative of men, yet writing with the\nprecision of a mathematician, he endeavored to engraft a purely\nphilosophical Ethics on the popular Christianity of his time. Such an\nattempt, of course, must have difficulty, which no genius could\nsurmount. But he saw and showed the connection between nature and the\naffections of the soul. He pierced the emblematic or spiritual character\nof the visible, audible, tangible world. Especially did his shade-loving\nmuse hover over and interpret the lower parts of nature; he showed the\nmysterious bond that allies moral evil to the foul material forms, and\nhas given in epical parables a theory of insanity, of beasts, of unclean\nand fearful things.\n\nAnother sign of our times, also marked by an analogous political\nmovement, is, the new importance given to the single person. Every thing\nthat tends to insulate the individual,--to surround him with barriers of\nnatural respect, so that each man shall feel the world is his, and man\nshall treat with man as a sovereign state with a sovereign state;--tends\nto true union as well as greatness. \u201cI learned,\u201d said the melancholy\nPestalozzi, \u201cthat no man in God\u2019s wide earth is either willing or able\nto help any other man.\u201d Help must come from the bosom alone. The scholar\nis that man who must take up into himself all the ability of the time,\nall the contributions of the past, all the hopes of the future. He must\nbe an university of knowledges. If there be one lesson more than\nanother, which should pierce his ear, it is, The world is nothing, the\nman is all; in yourself is the law of all nature, and you know not yet\nhow a globule of sap ascends; in yourself slumbers the whole of Reason;\nit is for you to know all, it is for you to dare all. Mr. President and\nGentlemen, this confidence in the unsearched might of man belongs, by\nall motives, by all prophecy, by all preparation, to the American\nScholar. We have listened too long to the courtly muses of Europe. The\nspirit of the American freeman is already suspected to be timid,\nimitative, tame. Public and private avarice make the air we breathe\nthick and fat. The scholar is decent, indolent, complaisant. See already\nthe tragic consequence. The mind of this country, taught to aim at low\nobjects, eats upon itself. There is no work for any but the decorous and\nthe complaisant. Young men of the fairest promise, who begin life upon\nour shores, inflated by the mountain winds, shined upon by all the stars\nof God, find the earth below not in unison with these,--but are\nhindered from action by the disgust which the principles on which\nbusiness is managed inspire, and turn drudges, or die of disgust,--some\nof them suicides. What is the remedy? They did not yet see, and\nthousands of young men as hopeful now crowding to the barriers for the\ncareer, do not yet see, that, if the single man plant himself\nindomitably on his instincts, and there abide, the huge world will come\nround to him. Patience,--patience;--with the shades of all the good and\ngreat for company; and for solace, the perspective of your own infinite\nlife; and for work, the study and the communication of principles, the\nmaking those instincts prevalent, the conversation of the world. Is it\nnot the chief disgrace in the world, not to be an unit;--not to be\nreckoned one character;--not to yield that peculiar fruit which each man\nwas created to bear, but to be reckoned in the gross, in the hundred, or\nthe thousand, of the party, the section, to which we belong; and our\nopinion predicted geographically, as the north, or the south? Not so,\nbrothers and friends,--please God, ours shall not be so. We will walk on\nour own feet; we will work with our own hands; we will speak our own\nminds. The study of letters shall be no longer a name for pity, for\ndoubt, and for sensual indulgence. The dread of man and the love of man\nshall be a wall of defence and a wreath of joy around all. A nation of\nmen will for the first time exist, because each believes himself\ninspired by the Divine Soul which also inspires all men.\n\n\n\n\nAN ADDRESS\n\nDELIVERED BEFORE THE SENIOR CLASS IN DIVINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, SUNDAY\nEVENING, JULY 15, 1838.\n\n\n\n\nADDRESS.\n\n\nIn this refulgent summer, it has been a luxury to draw the breath of\nlife. The grass grows, the buds burst, the meadow is spotted with fire\nand gold in the tint of flowers. The air is full of birds, and sweet\nwith the breath of the pine, the balm-of-Gilead, and the new hay. Night\nbrings no gloom to the heart with its welcome shade. Through the\ntransparent darkness the stars pour their almost spiritual rays. Man\nunder them seems a young child, and his huge globe a toy. The cool night\nbathes the world as with a river, and prepares his eyes again for the\ncrimson dawn. The mystery of nature was never displayed more happily.\nThe corn and the wine have been freely dealt to all creatures, and the\nnever-broken silence with which the old bounty goes forward, has not\nyielded yet one word of explanation. One is constrained to respect the\nperfection of this world, in which our senses converse. How wide; how\nrich; what invitation from every property it gives to every faculty of\nman! In its fruitful soils; in its navigable sea; in its mountains of\nmetal and stone; in its forests of all woods; in its animals; in its\nchemical ingredients; in the powers and path of light, heat, attraction,\nand life, it is well worth the pith and heart of great men to subdue and\nenjoy it. The planters, the mechanics, the inventors, the astronomers,\nthe builders of cities, and the captains, history delights to honor.\n\nBut when the mind opens, and reveals the laws which traverse the\nuniverse, and make things what they are, then shrinks the great world at\nonce into a mere illustration and fable of this mind. What am I? and\nWhat is? asks the human spirit with a curiosity new-kindled, but never\nto be quenched. Behold these outrunning laws, which our imperfect\napprehension can see tend this way and that, but not come full circle.\nBehold these infinite relations, so like, so unlike; many, yet one. I\nwould study, I would know, I would admire forever. These works of\nthought have been the entertainments of the human spirit in all ages.\n\nA more secret, sweet, and overpowering beauty appears to man when his\nheart and mind open to the sentiment of virtue. Then he is instructed in\nwhat is above him. He learns that his being is without bound; that, to\nthe good, to the perfect, he is born, low as he now lies in evil and\nweakness. That which he venerates is still his own, though he has not\nrealized it yet. _He ought._ He knows the sense of that grand word,\nthough his analysis fails to render account of it. When in innocency, or\nwhen by intellectual perception, he attains to say,--\u2018I love the Right;\nTruth is beautiful within and without forevermore. Virtue, I am thine:\nsave me: use me: thee will I serve, day and night, in great, in small,\nthat I may be not virtuous, but virtue;\u2019--then is the end of the\ncreation answered, and God is well pleased.\n\nThe sentiment of virtue is a reverence and delight in the presence of\ncertain divine laws. It perceives that this homely game of life we play,\ncovers, under what seem foolish details, principles that astonish. The\nchild amidst his baubles, is learning the action of light, motion,\ngravity, muscular force; and in the game of human life, love, fear,\njustice, appetite, man, and God, interact. These laws refuse to be\nadequately stated. They will not be written out on paper, or spoken by\nthe tongue. They elude our persevering thought; yet we read them hourly\nin each other\u2019s faces, in each other\u2019s actions, in our own remorse. The\nmoral traits which are all globed into every virtuous act and\nthought,--in speech, we must sever, and describe or suggest by painful\nenumeration of many particulars. Yet, as this sentiment is the essence\nof all religion, let me guide your eye to the precise objects of the\nsentiment, by an enumeration of some of those classes of facts in which\nthis element is conspicuous.\n\nThe intuition of the moral sentiment is an insight of the perfection of\nthe laws of the soul. These laws execute themselves. They are out of\ntime, out of space, and not subject to circumstance. Thus; in the soul\nof man there is a justice whose retributions are instant and entire. He\nwho does a good deed, is instantly ennobled. He who does a mean deed, is\nby the action itself contracted. He who puts off impurity, thereby puts\non purity. If a man is at heart just, then in so far is he God; the\nsafety of God, the immortality of God, the majesty of God do enter into\nthat man with justice. If a man dissemble, deceive, he deceives himself,\nand goes out of acquaintance with his own being. A man in the view of\nabsolute goodness, adores, with total humanity. Every step so downward,\nis a step upward. The man who renounces himself, comes to himself.\n\nSee how this rapid intrinsic energy worketh everywhere, righting wrongs,\ncorrecting appearances, and bringing up facts to a harmony with\nthoughts. Its operation in life, though slow to the senses, is, at last,\nas sure as in the soul. By it, a man is made the Providence to himself,\ndispensing good to his goodness, and evil to his sin. Character is\nalways known. Thefts never enrich; alms never impoverish; murder will\nspeak out of stone walls. The least admixture of a lie,--for example,\nthe taint of vanity, any attempt to make a good impression, a favorable\nappearance,--will instantly vitiate the effect. But speak the truth, and\nall nature and all spirits help you with unexpected furtherance. Speak\nthe truth, and all things alive or brute are vouchers, and the very\nroots of the grass underground there, do seem to stir and move to bear\nyou witness. See again the perfection of the Law as it applies itself to\nthe affections, and becomes the law of society. As we are, so we\nassociate. The good, by affinity, seek the good; the vile, by affinity,\nthe vile. Thus of their own volition, souls proceed into heaven, into\nhell.\n\nThese facts have always suggested to man the sublime creed, that the\nworld is not the product of manifold power, but of one will, of one\nmind; and that one mind is everywhere active, in each ray of the star,\nin each wavelet of the pool; and whatever opposes that will, is\neverywhere balked and baffled, because things are made so, and not\notherwise. Good is positive. Evil is merely privative, not absolute: it\nis like cold, which is the privation of heat. All evil is so much death\nor nonentity. Benevolence is absolute and real. So much benevolence as a\nman hath, so much life hath he. For all things proceed out of this same\nspirit, which is differently named love, justice, temperance, in its\ndifferent applications, just as the ocean receives different names on\nthe several shores which it washes. All things proceed out of the same\nspirit, and all things conspire with it. Whilst a man seeks good ends,\nhe is strong by the whole strength of nature. In so far as he roves from\nthese ends, he bereaves himself of power, or auxiliaries; his being\nshrinks out of all remote channels, he becomes less and less, a mote, a\npoint, until absolute badness is absolute death.\n\nThe perception of this law of laws awakens in the mind a sentiment which\nwe call the religious sentiment, and which makes our highest happiness.\nWonderful is its power to charm and to command. It is a mountain air.\nIt is the embalmer of the world. It is myrrh and storax, and chlorine\nand rosemary. It makes the sky and the hills sublime, and the silent\nsong of the stars is it. By it, is the universe made safe and habitable,\nnot by science or power. Thought may work cold and intransitive in\nthings, and find no end or unity; but the dawn of the sentiment of\nvirtue on the heart, gives and is the assurance that Law is sovereign\nover all natures; and the worlds, time, space, eternity, do seem to\nbreak out into joy.\n\nThis sentiment is divine and deifying. It is the beatitude of man. It\nmakes him illimitable. Through it, the soul first knows itself. It\ncorrects the capital mistake of the infant man, who seeks to be great by\nfollowing the great, and hopes to derive advantages _from another_,--by\nshowing the fountain of all good to be in himself, and that he, equally\nwith every man, is an inlet into the deeps of Reason. When he says, \u201cI\nought;\u201d when love warms him; when he chooses, warned from on high, the\ngood and great deed; then, deep melodies wander through his soul from\nSupreme Wisdom.--Then he can worship, and be enlarged by his worship;\nfor he can never go behind this sentiment. In the sublimest flights of\nthe soul, rectitude is never surmounted, love is never outgrown.\n\nThis sentiment lies at the foundation of society, and successively\ncreates all forms of worship. The principle of veneration never dies\nout. Man fallen into superstition, into sensuality, is never quite\nwithout the visions of the moral sentiment. In like manner, all the\nexpressions of this sentiment are sacred and permanent in proportion to\ntheir purity. The expressions of this sentiment affect us more than all\nother compositions. The sentences of the oldest time, which ejaculate\nthis piety, are still fresh and fragrant. This thought dwelled always\ndeepest in the minds of men in the devout and contemplative East; not\nalone in Palestine, where it reached its purest expression, but in\nEgypt, in Persia, in India, in China. Europe has always owed to oriental\ngenius its divine impulses. What these holy bards said, all sane men\nfound agreeable and true. And the unique impression of Jesus upon\nmankind, whose name is not so much written as ploughed into the history\nof this world, is proof of the subtle virtue of this infusion.\n\nMeantime, whilst the doors of the temple stand open, night and day,\nbefore every man, and the oracles of this truth cease never, it is\nguarded by one stern condition; this, namely; it is an intuition. It\ncannot be received at second hand. Truly speaking, it is not\ninstruction, but provocation, that I can receive from another soul. What\nhe announces, I must find true in me, or reject; and on his word, or as\nhis second, be he who he may, I can accept nothing. On the contrary, the\nabsence of this primary faith is the presence of degradation. As is the\nflood so is the ebb. Let this faith depart, and the very words it spake,\nand the things it made, become false and hurtful. Then falls the church,\nthe state, art, letters, life. The doctrine of the divine nature being\nforgotten, a sickness infects and dwarfs the constitution. Once man was\nall; now he is an appendage, a nuisance. And because the indwelling\nSupreme Spirit cannot wholly be got rid of, the doctrine of it suffers\nthis perversion, that the divine nature is attributed to one or two\npersons, and denied to all the rest, and denied with fury. The doctrine\nof inspiration is lost; the base doctrine of the majority of voices,\nusurps the place of the doctrine of the soul. Miracles, prophecy,\npoetry; the ideal life, the holy life, exist as ancient history merely;\nthey are not in the belief, nor in the aspiration of society; but, when\nsuggested, seem ridiculous. Life is comic or pitiful, as soon as the\nhigh ends of being fade out of sight, and man becomes near-sighted, and\ncan only attend to what addresses the senses.\n\nThese general views, which, whilst they are general, none will contest,\nfind abundant illustration in the history of religion, and especially in\nthe history of the Christian church. In that, all of us have had our\nbirth and nurture. The truth contained in that, you, my young friends,\nare now setting forth to teach. As the Cultus, or established worship of\nthe civilized world, it has great historical interest for us. Of its\nblessed words, which have been the consolation of humanity, you need not\nthat I should speak. I shall endeavor to discharge my duty to you, on\nthis occasion, by pointing out two errors in its administration, which\ndaily appear more gross from the point of view we have just now taken.\n\nJesus Christ belonged to the true race of prophets. He saw with open eye\nthe mystery of the soul. Drawn by its severe harmony, ravished with its\nbeauty, he lived in it, and had his being there. Alone in all history,\nhe estimated the greatness of man. One man was true to what is in you\nand me. He saw that God incarnates himself in man, and evermore goes\nforth anew to take possession of his world. He said, in this jubilee of\nsublime emotion, \u2018I am divine. Through me, God acts; through me,\nspeaks. Would you see God, see me; or, see thee, when thou also thinkest\nas I now think.\u2019 But what a distortion did his doctrine and memory\nsuffer in the same, in the next, and the following ages! There is no\ndoctrine of the Reason which will bear to be taught by the\nUnderstanding. The understanding caught this high chant from the poet\u2019s\nlips, and said, in the next age, \u2018This was Jehovah come down out of\nheaven. I will kill you, if you say he was a man.\u2019 The idioms of his\nlanguage, and the figures of his rhetoric, have usurped the place of his\ntruth; and churches are not built on his principles, but on his tropes.\nChristianity became a Mythus, as the poetic teaching of Greece and of\nEgypt, before. He spoke of miracles; for he felt that man\u2019s life was a\nmiracle, and all that man doth, and he knew that this daily miracle\nshines, as the character ascends. But the word Miracle, as pronounced by\nChristian churches, gives a false impression; it is Monster. It is not\none with the blowing clover and the falling rain.\n\nHe felt respect for Moses and the prophets; but no unfit tenderness at\npostponing their initial revelations, to the hour and the man that now\nis; to the eternal revelation in the heart. Thus was he a true man.\nHaving seen that the law in us is commanding, he would not suffer it to\nbe commanded. Boldly, with hand, and heart, and life, he declared it was\nGod. Thus is he, as I think, the only soul in history who has\nappreciated the worth of man.\n\n1. In this point of view we become sensible of the first defect of\nhistorical Christianity. Historical Christianity has fallen into the\nerror that corrupts all attempts to communicate religion. As it appears\nto us, and as it has appeared for ages, it is not the doctrine of the\nsoul, but an exaggeration of the personal, the positive, the ritual. It\nhas dwelt, it dwells, with noxious exaggeration about the _person_ of\nJesus. The soul knows no persons. It invites every man to expand to the\nfull circle of the universe, and will have no preferences but those of\nspontaneous love. But by this eastern monarchy of a Christianity, which\nindolence and fear have built, the friend of man is made the injurer of\nman. The manner in which his name is surrounded with expressions, which\nwere once sallies of admiration and love, but are now petrified into\nofficial titles, kills all generous sympathy and liking. All who hear\nme, feel, that the language that describes Christ to Europe and America,\nis not the style of friendship and enthusiasm to a good and noble\nheart, but is appropriated and formal,--paints a demigod as the\nOrientals or the Greeks would describe Osiris or Apollo. Accept the\ninjurious impositions of our early catechetical instruction, and even\nhonesty and self-denial were but splendid sins, if they did not wear the\nChristian name. One would rather be\n\n    \u2018A pagan, suckled in a creed outworn,\u2019\n\nthan to be defrauded of his manly right in coming into nature, and\nfinding not names and places, not land and professions, but even virtue\nand truth foreclosed and monopolized. You shall not be a man even. You\nshall not own the world; you shall not dare, and live after the infinite\nLaw that is in you, and in company with the infinite Beauty which heaven\nand earth reflect to you in all lovely forms; but you must subordinate\nyour nature to Christ\u2019s nature; you must accept our interpretations; and\ntake his portrait as the vulgar draw it.\n\nThat is always best which gives me to myself. The sublime is excited in\nme by the great stoical doctrine, Obey thyself. That which shows God in\nme, fortifies me. That which shows God out of me, makes me a wart and a\nwen. There is no longer a necessary reason for my being. Already the\nlong shadows of untimely oblivion creep over me, and I shall decease\nforever.\n\nThe divine bards are the friends of my virtue, of my intellect, of my\nstrength. They admonish me, that the gleams which flash across my mind,\nare not mine, but God\u2019s; that they had the like, and were not\ndisobedient to the heavenly vision. So I love them. Noble provocations\ngo out from them, inviting me to resist evil; to subdue the world; and\nto Be. And thus by his holy thoughts, Jesus serves us, and thus only. To\naim to convert a man by miracles, is a profanation of the soul. A true\nconversion, a true Christ, is now, as always, to be made, by the\nreception of beautiful sentiments. It is true that a great and rich\nsoul, like his, falling among the simple, does so preponderate, that, as\nhis did, it names the world. The world seems to them to exist for him,\nand they have not yet drunk so deeply of his sense, as to see that only\nby coming again to themselves, or to God in themselves, can they grow\nforevermore. It is a low benefit to give me something; it is a high\nbenefit to enable me to do somewhat of myself. The time is coming when\nall men will see, that the gift of God to the soul is not a vaunting,\noverpowering, excluding sanctity, but a sweet, natural goodness, a\ngoodness like thine and mine, and that so invites thine and mine to be\nand to grow.\n\nThe injustice of the vulgar tone of preaching is not less flagrant to\nJesus, than to the souls which it profanes. The preachers do not see\nthat they make his gospel not glad, and shear him of the locks of beauty\nand the attributes of heaven. When I see a majestic Epaminondas, or\nWashington; when I see among my contemporaries, a true orator, an\nupright judge, a dear friend; when I vibrate to the melody and fancy of\na poem; I see beauty that is to be desired. And so lovely, and with yet\nmore entire consent of my human being, sounds in my ear the severe music\nof the bards that have sung of the true God in all ages. Now do not\ndegrade the life and dialogues of Christ out of the circle of this\ncharm, by insulation and peculiarity. Let them lie as they befel, alive\nand warm, part of human life, and of the landscape, and of the cheerful\nday.\n\n2. The second defect of the traditionary and limited way of using the\nmind of Christ is a consequence of the first; this, namely; that the\nMoral Nature, that Law of laws, whose revelations introduce\ngreatness,--yea, God himself, into the open soul, is not explored as the\nfountain of the established teaching in society. Men have come to speak\nof the revelation as somewhat long ago given and done, as if God were\ndead. The injury to faith throttles the preacher; and the goodliest of\ninstitutions becomes an uncertain and inarticulate voice.\n\nIt is very certain that it is the effect of conversation with the beauty\nof the soul, to beget a desire and need to impart to others the same\nknowledge and love. If utterance is denied, the thought lies like a\nburden on the man. Always the seer is a sayer. Somehow his dream is\ntold: somehow he publishes it with solemn joy: sometimes with pencil on\ncanvas; sometimes with chisel on stone; sometimes in towers and aisles\nof granite, his soul\u2019s worship is builded; sometimes in anthems of\nindefinite music; but clearest and most permanent, in words.\n\nThe man enamored of this excellency, becomes its priest or poet. The\noffice is coeval with the world. But observe the condition, the\nspiritual limitation of the office. The spirit only can teach. Not any\nprofane man, not any sensual, not any liar, not any slave can teach, but\nonly he can give, who has; he only can create, who is. The man on whom\nthe soul descends, through whom the soul speaks, alone can teach.\nCourage, piety, love, wisdom, can teach; and every man can open his\ndoor to these angels, and they shall bring him the gift of tongues. But\nthe man who aims to speak as books enable, as synods use, as the fashion\nguides, and as interest commands, babbles. Let him hush.\n\nTo this holy office, you propose to devote yourselves. I wish you may\nfeel your call in throbs of desire and hope. The office is the first in\nthe world. It is of that reality, that it cannot suffer the deduction of\nany falsehood. And it is my duty to say to you, that the need was never\ngreater of new revelation than now. From the views I have already\nexpressed, you will infer the sad conviction, which I share, I believe,\nwith numbers, of the universal decay and now almost death of faith in\nsociety. The soul is not preached. The Church seems to totter to its\nfall, almost all life extinct. On this occasion, any complaisance would\nbe criminal, which told you, whose hope and commission it is to preach\nthe faith of Christ, that the faith of Christ is preached.\n\nIt is time that this ill-suppressed murmur of all thoughtful men against\nthe famine of our churches; this moaning of the heart because it is\nbereaved of the consolation, the hope, the grandeur, that come alone out\nof the culture of the moral nature; should be heard through the sleep\nof indolence, and over the din of routine. This great and perpetual\noffice of the preacher is not discharged. Preaching is the expression of\nthe moral sentiment in application to the duties of life. In how many\nchurches, by how many prophets, tell me, is man made sensible that he is\nan infinite Soul; that the earth and heavens are passing into his mind;\nthat he is drinking forever the soul of God? Where now sounds the\npersuasion, that by its very melody imparadises my heart, and so affirms\nits own origin in heaven? Where shall I hear words such as in elder ages\ndrew men to leave all and follow,--father and mother, house and land,\nwife and child? Where shall I hear these august laws of moral being so\npronounced, as to fill my ear, and I feel ennobled by the offer of my\nuttermost action and passion? The test of the true faith, certainly,\nshould be its power to charm and command the soul, as the laws of nature\ncontrol the activity of the hands,--so commanding that we find pleasure\nand honor in obeying. The faith should blend with the light of rising\nand of setting suns, with the flying cloud, the singing bird, and the\nbreath of flowers. But now the priest\u2019s Sabbath has lost the splendor of\nnature; it is unlovely; we are glad when it is done; we can make, we do\nmake, even sitting in our pews, a far better, holier, sweeter, for\nourselves.\n\nWhenever the pulpit is usurped by a formalist, then is the worshipper\ndefrauded and disconsolate. We shrink as soon as the prayers begin,\nwhich do not uplift, but smite and offend us. We are fain to wrap our\ncloaks about us, and secure, as best we can, a solitude that hears not.\nI once heard a preacher who sorely tempted me to say, I would go to\nchurch no more. Men go, thought I, where they are wont to go, else had\nno soul entered the temple in the afternoon. A snow-storm was falling\naround us. The snow-storm was real; the preacher merely spectral; and\nthe eye felt the sad contrast in looking at him, and then out of the\nwindow behind him, into the beautiful meteor of the snow. He had lived\nin vain. He had no one word intimating that he had laughed or wept, was\nmarried or in love, had been commended, or cheated, or chagrined. If he\nhad ever lived and acted, we were none the wiser for it. The capital\nsecret of his profession, namely, to convert life into truth, he had not\nlearned. Not one fact in all his experience, had he yet imported into\nhis doctrine. This man had ploughed, and planted, and talked, and\nbought, and sold; he had read books; he had eaten and drunken; his head\naches; his heart throbs; he smiles and suffers; yet was there not a\nsurmise, a hint, in all the discourse, that he had ever lived at all.\nNot a line did he draw out of real history. The true preacher can be\nknown by this, that he deals out to the people his life,--life passed\nthrough the fire of thought. But of the bad preacher, it could not be\ntold from his sermon, what age of the world he fell in; whether he had a\nfather or a child; whether he was a freeholder or a pauper; whether he\nwas a citizen or a countryman; or any other fact of his biography. It\nseemed strange that the people should come to church. It seemed as if\ntheir houses were very unentertaining, that they should prefer this\nthoughtless clamor. It shows that there is a commanding attraction in\nthe moral sentiment, that can lend a faint tint of light to dulness and\nignorance, coming in its name and place. The good hearer is sure he has\nbeen touched sometimes; is sure there is somewhat to be reached, and\nsome word that can reach it. When he listens to these vain words, he\ncomforts himself by their relation to his remembrance of better hours,\nand so they clatter and echo unchallenged.\n\nI am not ignorant that when we preach unworthily, it is not always quite\nin vain. There is a good ear, in some men, that draws supplies to\nvirtue out of very indifferent nutriment. There is poetic truth\nconcealed in all the common-places of prayer and of sermons, and though\nfoolishly spoken, they may be wisely heard; for, each is some select\nexpression that broke out in a moment of piety from some stricken or\njubilant soul, and its excellency made it remembered. The prayers and\neven the dogmas of our church, are like the zodiac of Denderah, and the\nastronomical monuments of the Hindoos, wholly insulated from anything\nnow extant in the life and business of the people. They mark the height\nto which the waters once rose. But this docility is a check upon the\nmischief from the good and devout. In a large portion of the community,\nthe religious service gives rise to quite other thoughts and emotions.\nWe need not chide the negligent servant. We are struck with pity,\nrather, at the swift retribution of his sloth. Alas for the unhappy man\nthat is called to stand in the pulpit, and _not_ give bread of life.\nEverything that befalls, accuses him. Would he ask contributions for the\nmissions, foreign or domestic? Instantly his face is suffused with\nshame, to propose to his parish, that they should send money a hundred\nor a thousand miles, to furnish such poor fare as they have at home, and\nwould do well to go the hundred or the thousand miles to escape. Would\nhe urge people to a godly way of living;--and can he ask a\nfellow-creature to come to Sabbath meetings, when he and they all know\nwhat is the poor uttermost they can hope for therein? Will he invite\nthem privately to the Lord\u2019s Supper? He dares not. If no heart warm this\nrite, the hollow, dry, creaking formality is too plain, than that he can\nface a man of wit and energy, and put the invitation without terror. In\nthe street, what has he to say to the bold village blasphemer? The\nvillage blasphemer sees fear in the face, form, and gait of the\nminister.\n\nLet me not taint the sincerity of this plea by any oversight of the\nclaims of good men. I know and honor the purity and strict conscience of\nnumbers of the clergy. What life the public worship retains, it owes to\nthe scattered company of pious men, who minister here and there in the\nchurches, and who, sometimes accepting with too great tenderness the\ntenet of the elders, have not accepted from others, but from their own\nheart, the genuine impulses of virtue, and so still command our love and\nawe, to the sanctity of character. Moreover, the exceptions are not so\nmuch to be found in a few eminent preachers, as in the better hours, the\ntruer inspirations of all,--nay, in the sincere moments of every man.\nBut with whatever exception, it is still true, that tradition\ncharacterizes the preaching of this country; that it comes out of the\nmemory, and not out of the soul; that it aims at what is usual, and not\nat what is necessary and eternal; that thus, historical Christianity\ndestroys the power of preaching, by withdrawing it from the exploration\nof the moral nature of man, where the sublime is, where are the\nresources of astonishment and power. What a cruel injustice it is to\nthat Law, the joy of the whole earth, which alone can make thought dear\nand rich; that Law whose fatal sureness the astronomical orbits poorly\nemulate, that it is travestied and depreciated, that it is behooted and\nbehowled, and not a trait, not a word of it articulated. The pulpit in\nlosing sight of this Law, loses its reason, and gropes after it knows\nnot what. And for want of this culture, the soul of the community is\nsick and faithless. It wants nothing so much as a stern, high, stoical,\nChristian discipline, to make it know itself and the divinity that\nspeaks through it. Now man is ashamed of himself; he skulks and sneaks\nthrough the world, to be tolerated, to be pitied, and scarcely in a\nthousand years does any man dare to be wise and good, and so draw after\nhim the tears and blessings of his kind.\n\nCertainly there have been periods when, from the inactivity of the\nintellect on certain truths, a greater faith was possible in names and\npersons. The Puritans in England and America, found in the Christ of the\nCatholic Church, and in the dogmas inherited from Rome, scope for their\naustere piety, and their longings for civil freedom. But their creed is\npassing away, and none arises in its room. I think no man can go with\nhis thoughts about him, into one of our churches, without feeling, that\nwhat hold the public worship had on men is gone, or going. It has lost\nits grasp on the affection of the good, and the fear of the bad. In the\ncountry, neighborhoods, half parishes are _signing off_, to use the\nlocal term. It is already beginning to indicate character and religion\nto withdraw from the religious meetings. I have heard a devout person,\nwho prized the Sabbath, say in bitterness of heart, \u201cOn Sundays, it\nseems wicked to go to church.\u201d And the motive, that holds the best\nthere, is now only a hope and a waiting. What was once a mere\ncircumstance, that the best and the worst men in the parish, the poor\nand the rich, the learned and the ignorant, young and old, should meet\none day as fellows in one house, in sign of an equal right in the soul,\nhas come to be a paramount motive for going thither.\n\nMy friends, in these two errors, I think, I find the causes of a\ndecaying church and a wasting unbelief. And what greater calamity can\nfall upon a nation, than the loss of worship? Then all things go to\ndecay. Genius leaves the temple, to haunt the senate, or the market.\nLiterature becomes frivolous. Science is cold. The eye of youth is not\nlighted by the hope of other worlds, and age is without honor. Society\nlives to trifles, and when men die, we do not mention them.\n\nAnd now, my brothers, you will ask, What in these desponding days can be\ndone by us? The remedy is already declared in the ground of our\ncomplaint of the Church. We have contrasted the Church with the Soul. In\nthe soul, then, let the redemption be sought. Wherever a man comes,\nthere comes revolution. The old is for slaves. When a man comes, all\nbooks are legible, all things transparent, all religions are forms. He\nis religious. Man is the wonderworker. He is seen amid miracles. All men\nbless and curse. He saith yea and nay, only. The stationariness of\nreligion; the assumption that the age of inspiration is past, that the\nBible is closed; the fear of degrading the character of Jesus by\nrepresenting him as a man; indicate with sufficient clearness the\nfalsehood of our theology. It is the office of a true teacher to show\nus that God is, not was; that He speaketh, not spake. The true\nChristianity,--a faith like Christ\u2019s in the infinitude of man,--is lost.\nNone believeth in the soul of man, but only in some man or person old\nand departed. Ah me! no man goeth alone. All men go in flocks to this\nsaint or that poet, avoiding the God who seeth in secret. They cannot\nsee in secret; they love to be blind in public. They think society wiser\nthan their soul, and know not that one soul, and their soul, is wiser\nthan the whole world. See how nations and races flit by on the sea of\ntime, and leave no ripple to tell where they floated or sunk, and one\ngood soul shall make the name of Moses, or of Zeno, or of Zoroaster,\nreverend forever. None assayeth the stern ambition to be the Self of the\nnation, and of nature, but each would be an easy secondary to some\nChristian scheme, or sectarian connection, or some eminent man. Once\nleave your own knowledge of God, your own sentiment, and take secondary\nknowledge, as St. Paul\u2019s, or George Fox\u2019s, or Swedenborg\u2019s, and you get\nwide from God with every year this secondary form lasts, and if, as now,\nfor centuries,--the chasm yawns to that breath, that men can scarcely be\nconvinced there is in them anything divine.\n\nLet me admonish you, first of all, to go alone; to refuse the good\nmodels, even those which are sacred in the imagination of men, and dare\nto love God without mediator or veil. Friends enough you shall find who\nwill hold up to your emulation Wesleys and Oberlins, Saints and\nProphets. Thank God for these good men, but say, \u2018I also am a man.\u2019\nImitation cannot go above its model. The imitator dooms himself to\nhopeless mediocrity. The inventor did it, because it was natural to him,\nand so in him it has a charm. In the imitator, something else is\nnatural, and he bereaves himself of his own beauty, to come short of\nanother man\u2019s.\n\nYourself a newborn bard of the Holy Ghost,--cast behind you all\nconformity, and acquaint men at first hand with Deity. Look to it first\nand only, that fashion, custom, authority, pleasure, and money, are\nnothing to you,--are not bandages over your eyes, that you cannot\nsee,--but live with the privilege of the immeasurable mind. Not too\nanxious to visit periodically all families and each family in your\nparish connection,--when you meet one of these men or women, be to them\na divine man; be to them thought and virtue; let their timid aspirations\nfind in you a friend; let their trampled instincts be genially tempted\nout in your atmosphere; let their doubts know that you have doubted,\nand their wonder feel that you have wondered. By trusting your own\nheart, you shall gain more confidence in other men. For all our\npenny-wisdom, for all our soul-destroying slavery to habit, it is not to\nbe doubted, that all men have sublime thoughts; that all men value the\nfew real hours of life; they love to be heard; they love to be caught up\ninto the vision of principles. We mark with light in the memory the few\ninterviews we have had, in the dreary years of routine and of sin, with\nsouls that made our souls wiser; that spoke what we thought; that told\nus what we knew; that gave us leave to be what we inly were. Discharge\nto men the priestly office, and, present or absent, you shall be\nfollowed with their love as by an angel.\n\nAnd, to this end, let us not aim at common degrees of merit. Can we not\nleave, to such as love it, the virtue that glitters for the commendation\nof society, and ourselves pierce the deep solitudes of absolute ability\nand worth? We easily come up to the standard of goodness in society.\nSociety\u2019s praise can be cheaply secured, and almost all men are content\nwith those easy merits; but the instant effect of conversing with God,\nwill be, to put them away. There are persons who are not actors, not\nspeakers, but influences; persons too great for fame, for display; who\ndisdain eloquence; to whom all we call art and artist, seems too nearly\nallied to show and by-ends, to the exaggeration of the finite and\nselfish, and loss of the universal. The orators, the poets, the\ncommanders encroach on us only as fair women do, by our allowance and\nhomage. Slight them by preoccupation of mind, slight them, as you can\nwell afford to do, by high and universal aims, and they instantly feel\nthat you have right, and that it is in lower places that they must\nshine. They also feel your right; for they with you are open to the\ninflux of the all-knowing Spirit, which annihilates before its broad\nnoon the little shades and gradations of intelligence in the\ncompositions we call wiser and wisest.\n\nIn such high communion, let us study the grand strokes of rectitude: a\nbold benevolence, an independence of friends, so that not the unjust\nwishes of those who love us, shall impair our freedom, but we shall\nresist for truth\u2019s sake the freest flow of kindness, and appeal to\nsympathies far in advance; and,--what is the highest form in which we\nknow this beautiful element,--a certain solidity of merit, that has\nnothing to do with opinion, and which is so essentially and manifestly\nvirtue, that it is taken for granted, that the right, the brave, the\ngenerous step will be taken by it, and nobody thinks of commending it.\nYou would compliment a coxcomb doing a good act, but you would not\npraise an angel. The silence that accepts merit as the most natural\nthing in the world, is the highest applause. Such souls, when they\nappear, are the Imperial Guard of Virtue, the perpetual reserve, the\ndictators of fortune. One needs not praise their courage,--they are the\nheart and soul of nature. O my friends, there are resources in us on\nwhich we have not drawn. There are men who rise refreshed on hearing a\nthreat; men to whom a crisis which intimidates and paralyzes the\nmajority,--demanding not the faculties of prudence and thrift, but\ncomprehension, immovableness, the readiness of sacrifice,--comes\ngraceful and beloved as a bride. Napoleon said to Massena, that he was\nnot himself until the battle began to go against him; then, when the\ndead began to fall in ranks around him, awoke his powers of combination,\nand he put on terror and victory as a robe. So it is in rugged crises,\nin unweariable endurance, and in aims which put sympathy out of\nquestion, that the angel is shown. But these are heights that we can\nscarce remember and look up to, without contrition and shame. Let us\nthank God that such things exist.\n\nAnd now let us do what we can to rekindle the smouldering, nigh quenched\nfire on the altar. The evils of the church that now is are manifest. The\nquestion returns, What shall we do? I confess, all attempts to project\nand establish a Cultus with new rites and forms, seem to me vain. Faith\nmakes us, and not we it, and faith makes its own forms. All attempts to\ncontrive a system are as cold as the new worship introduced by the\nFrench to the goddess of Reason,--to-day, pasteboard and fillagree, and\nending to-morrow in madness and murder. Rather let the breath of new\nlife be breathed by you through the forms already existing. For, if once\nyou are alive, you shall find they shall become plastic and new. The\nremedy to their deformity is, first, soul, and second, soul, and\nevermore, soul. A whole popedom of forms, one pulsation of virtue can\nuplift and vivify. Two inestimable advantages Christianity has given us;\nfirst; the Sabbath, the jubilee of the whole world; whose light dawns\nwelcome alike into the closet of the philosopher, into the garret of\ntoil, and into prison-cells, and everywhere suggests, even to the vile,\nthe dignity of spiritual being. Let us stand forevermore, a temple,\nwhich new love, new faith, new sight shall restore to more than its\nfirst splendor to mankind. And secondly, the institution of\npreaching,--the speech of man to men,--essentially the most flexible of\nall organs, of all forms. What hinders that now, everywhere, in pulpits,\nin lecture-rooms, in houses, in fields, wherever the invitation of men\nor your own occasions lead you, you speak the very truth, as your life\nand conscience teach it, and cheer the waiting, fainting hearts of men\nwith new hope and new revelation?\n\nI look for the hour when that supreme Beauty, which ravished the souls\nof those eastern men, and chiefly of those Hebrews, and through their\nlips spoke oracles to all time, shall speak in the West also. The Hebrew\nand Greek Scriptures contain immortal sentences, that have been bread of\nlife to millions. But they have no epical integrity; are fragmentary;\nare not shown in their order to the intellect. I look for the new\nTeacher, that shall follow so far those shining laws, that he shall see\nthem come full circle; shall see their rounding complete grace; shall\nsee the world to be the mirror of the soul; shall see the identity of\nthe law of gravitation with purity of heart; and shall show that the\nOught, that Duty, is one thing with Science, with Beauty, and with Joy.\n\n\n\n\nLITERARY ETHICS.\n\nAN ORATION DELIVERED BEFORE THE LITERARY SOCIETIES OF DARTMOUTH COLLEGE,\nJULY 24, 1838.\n\n\n\n\nORATION.\n\n\nGENTLEMEN,\n\nThe invitation to address you this day, with which you have honored me,\nwas a call so welcome, that I made haste to obey it. A summons to\ncelebrate with scholars a literary festival, is so alluring to me, as to\novercome the doubts I might well entertain of my ability to bring you\nany thought worthy of your attention. I have reached the middle age of\nman; yet I believe I am not less glad or sanguine at the meeting of\nscholars, than when, a boy, I first saw the graduates of my own College\nassembled at their anniversary. Neither years nor books have yet availed\nto extirpate a prejudice then rooted in me, that a scholar is the\nfavorite of Heaven and earth, the excellency of his country, the\nhappiest of men. His duties lead him directly into the holy ground\nwhere other men\u2019s aspirations only point. His successes are occasions of\nthe purest joy to all men. Eyes is he to the blind; feet is he to the\nlame. His failures, if he is worthy, are inlets to higher advantages.\nAnd because the scholar, by every thought he thinks, extends his\ndominion into the general mind of men, he is not one, but many. The few\nscholars in each country, whose genius I know, seem to me not\nindividuals, but societies; and, when events occur of great import, I\ncount over these representatives of opinion, whom they will affect, as\nif I were counting nations. And, even if his results were\nincommunicable; if they abode in his own spirit; the intellect hath\nsomewhat so sacred in its possessions, that the fact of his existence\nand pursuits would be a happy omen.\n\nMeantime I know that a very different estimate of the scholar\u2019s\nprofession prevails in this country, and the importunity, with which\nsociety presses its claim upon young men, tends to pervert the views of\nthe youth in respect to the culture of the intellect. Hence the\nhistorical failure, on which Europe and America have so freely\ncommented. This country has not fulfilled what seemed the reasonable\nexpectation of mankind. Men looked, when all feudal straps and bandages\nwere snapped asunder, that nature, too long the mother of dwarfs,\nshould reimburse itself by a brood of Titans, who should laugh and leap\nin the continent, and run up the mountains of the West with the errand\nof genius and of love. But the mark of American merit in painting, in\nsculpture, in poetry, in fiction, in eloquence, seems to be a certain\ngrace without grandeur, and itself not new but derivative; a vase of\nfair outline, but empty,--which whoso sees, may fill with what wit and\ncharacter is in him, but which does not, like the charged cloud,\noverflow with terrible beauty, and emit lightnings on all beholders.\n\nI will not lose myself in the desultory questions, what are the\nlimitations, and what the causes of the fact. It suffices me to say, in\ngeneral, that the diffidence of mankind in the soul has crept over the\nAmerican mind; that men here, as elsewhere, are indisposed to\ninnovation, and prefer any antiquity, any usage, any livery productive\nof ease or profit, to the unproductive service of thought.\n\nYet, in every sane hour, the service of thought appears reasonable, the\ndespotism of the senses insane. The scholar may lose himself in schools,\nin words, and become a pedant; but when he comprehends his duties, he\nabove all men is a realist, and converses with things. For, the scholar\nis the student of the world, and of what worth the world is, and with\nwhat emphasis it accosts the soul of man, such is the worth, such the\ncall of the scholar.\n\nThe want of the times, and the propriety of this anniversary, concur to\ndraw attention to the doctrine of Literary Ethics. What I have to say on\nthat doctrine distributes itself under the topics of the resources, the\nsubject, and the discipline of the scholar.\n\n\nI. The resources of the scholar are proportioned to his confidence in\nthe attributes of the Intellect. The resources of the scholar are\ncoextensive with nature and truth, yet can never be his, unless claimed\nby him with an equal greatness of mind. He cannot know them until he has\nbeheld with awe the infinitude and impersonality of the intellectual\npower. When he has seen, that it is not his, nor any man\u2019s, but that it\nis the soul which made the world, and that it is all accessible to him,\nhe will know that he, as its minister, may rightfully hold all things\nsubordinate and answerable to it. A divine pilgrim in nature, all things\nattend his steps. Over him stream the flying constellations; over him\nstreams Time, as they, scarcely divided into months and years. He\ninhales the year as a vapor: its fragrant midsummer breath, its\nsparkling January heaven. And so pass into his mind, in bright\ntransfiguration, the grand events of history, to take a new order and\nscale from him. He is the world; and the epochs and heroes of chronology\nare pictorial images, in which his thoughts are told. There is no event\nbut sprung somewhere from the soul of man; and therefore there is none\nbut the soul of man can interpret. Every presentiment of the mind is\nexecuted somewhere in a gigantic fact. What else is Greece, Rome,\nEngland, France, St. Helena? What else are churches, literatures, and\nempires? The new man must feel that he is new, and has not come into the\nworld mortgaged to the opinions and usages of Europe, and Asia, and\nEgypt. The sense of spiritual independence is like the lovely varnish of\nthe dew, whereby the old, hard, peaked earth, and its old self-same\nproductions, are made new every morning, and shining with the last touch\nof the artist\u2019s hand. A false humility, a complaisance to reigning\nschools, or to the wisdom of antiquity, must not defraud me of supreme\npossession of this hour. If any person have less love of liberty, and\nless jealousy to guard his integrity, shall he therefore dictate to you\nand me? Say to such doctors, We are thankful to you, as we are to\nhistory, to the pyramids, and the authors; but now our day is come; we\nhave been born out of the eternal silence; and now will we live,--live\nfor ourselves,--and not as the pall-bearers of a funeral, but as the\nupholders and creators of our age; and neither Greece nor Rome, nor the\nthree Unities of Aristotle, nor the three Kings of Cologne, nor the\nCollege of the Sorbonne, nor the Edinburgh Review, is to command any\nlonger. Now that we are here, we will put our own interpretation on\nthings, and our own things for interpretation. Please himself with\ncomplaisance who will,--for me, things must take my scale, not I theirs.\nI will say with the warlike king, \u201cGod gave me this crown, and the whole\nworld shall not take it away.\u201d\n\nThe whole value of history, of biography, is to increase my self-trust,\nby demonstrating what man can be and do. This is the moral of the\nPlutarchs, the Cudworths, the Tennemanns, who give us the story of men\nor of opinions. Any history of philosophy fortifies my faith, by showing\nme, that what high dogmas I had supposed were the rare and late fruit of\na cumulative culture, and only now possible to some recent Kant or\nFichte,--were the prompt improvisations of the earliest inquirers; of\nParmenides, Heraclitus, and Xenophanes. In view of these students, the\nsoul seems to whisper, \u2018There is a better way than this indolent\nlearning of another. Leave me alone; do not teach me out of Leibnitz or\nSchelling, and I shall find it all out myself.\u2019\n\nStill more do we owe to biography the fortification of our hope. If you\nwould know the power of character, see how much you would impoverish the\nworld, if you could take clean out of history the lives of Milton,\nShakspeare, and Plato,--these three, and cause them not to be. See you\nnot, how much less the power of man would be? I console myself in the\npoverty of my thoughts; in the paucity of great men, in the malignity\nand dulness of the nations, by falling back on these sublime\nrecollections, and seeing what the prolific soul could beget on actual\nnature;--seeing that Plato was, and Shakspeare, and Milton,--three\nirrefragable facts. Then I dare; I also will essay to be. The humblest,\nthe most hopeless, in view of these radiant facts, may now theorize and\nhope. In spite of all the rueful abortions that squeak and gibber in the\nstreet, in spite of slumber and guilt, in spite of the army, the\nbar-room, and the jail, _have been_ these glorious manifestations of the\nmind; and I will thank my great brothers so truly for the admonition of\ntheir being, as to endeavor also to be just and brave, to aspire and to\nspeak. Plotinus too, and Spinoza, and the immortal bards of\nphilosophy,--that which they have written out with patient courage,\nmakes me bold. No more will I dismiss, with haste, the visions which\nflash and sparkle across my sky; but observe them, approach them,\ndomesticate them, brood on them, and draw out of the past, genuine life\nfor the present hour.\n\nTo feel the full value of these lives, as occasions of hope and\nprovocation, you must come to know, that each admirable genius is but a\nsuccessful diver in that sea whose floor of pearls is all your own. The\nimpoverishing philosophy of ages has laid stress on the distinctions of\nthe individual, and not on the universal attributes of man. The youth,\nintoxicated with his admiration of a hero, fails to see, that it is only\na projection of his own soul, which he admires. In solitude, in a remote\nvillage, the ardent youth loiters and mourns. With inflamed eye, in this\nsleeping wilderness, he has read the story of the Emperor Charles the\nFifth, until his fancy has brought home to the surrounding woods, the\nfaint roar of cannonades in the Milanese, and marches in Germany. He is\ncurious concerning that man\u2019s day. What filled it? the crowded orders,\nthe stern decisions, the foreign despatches, the Castilian etiquette?\nThe soul answers--Behold his day here! In the sighing of these woods, in\nthe quiet of these gray fields, in the cool breeze that sings out of\nthese northern mountains; in the workmen, the boys, the maidens, you\nmeet,--in the hopes of the morning, the ennui of noon, and sauntering of\nthe afternoon; in the disquieting comparisons; in the regrets at want of\nvigor; in the great idea, and the puny execution;--behold Charles the\nFifth\u2019s day; another, yet the same; behold Chatham\u2019s, Hampden\u2019s,\nBayard\u2019s, Alfred\u2019s, Scipio\u2019s, Pericles\u2019s day,--day of all that are born\nof women. The difference of circumstance is merely costume. I am tasting\nthe self-same life,--its sweetness, its greatness, its pain, which I so\nadmire in other men. Do not foolishly ask of the inscrutable,\nobliterated past, what it cannot tell,--the details of that nature, of\nthat day, called Byron, or Burke;--but ask it of the enveloping Now; the\nmore quaintly you inspect its evanescent beauties, its wonderful\ndetails, its spiritual causes, its astounding whole,--so much the more\nyou master the biography of this hero, and that, and every hero. Be lord\nof a day, through wisdom and justice, and you can put up your history\nbooks.\n\nAn intimation of these broad rights is familiar in the sense of injury\nwhich men feel in the assumption of any man to limit their possible\nprogress. We resent all criticism, which denies us any thing that lies\nin our line of advance. Say to the man of letters, that he cannot paint\na Transfiguration, or build a steamboat, or be a grand-marshal,--and he\nwill not seem to himself depreciated. But deny to him any quality of\nliterary or metaphysical power, and he is piqued. Concede to him genius,\nwhich is a sort of Stoical _plenum_ annulling the comparative, and he is\ncontent; but concede him talents never so rare, denying him genius, and\nhe is aggrieved. What does this mean? Why simply, that the soul has\nassurance, by instincts and presentiments, of _all_ power in the\ndirection of its ray, as well as of the special skills it has already\nacquired.\n\nIn order to a knowledge of the resources of the scholar, we must not\nrest in the use of slender accomplishments,--of faculties to do this and\nthat other feat with words; but we must pay our vows to the highest\npower, and pass, if it be possible, by assiduous love and watching, into\nthe visions of absolute truth. The growth of the intellect is strictly\nanalogous in all individuals. It is larger reception. Able men, in\ngeneral, have good dispositions, and a respect for justice; because an\nable man is nothing else than a good, free, vascular organization,\nwhereinto the universal spirit freely flows; so that his fund of justice\nis not only vast, but infinite. All men, in the abstract, are just and\ngood; what hinders them, in the particular, is, the momentary\npredominance of the finite and individual over the general truth. The\ncondition of our incarnation in a private self, seems to be, a perpetual\ntendency to prefer the private law, to obey the private impulse, to the\nexclusion of the law of universal being. The hero is great by means of\nthe predominance of the universal nature; he has only to open his mouth,\nand it speaks; he has only to be forced to act, and it acts. All men\ncatch the word, or embrace the deed, with the heart, for it is verily\ntheirs as much as his; but in them this disease of an excess of\norganization cheats them of equal issues. Nothing is more simple than\ngreatness; indeed, to be simple is to be great. The vision of genius\ncomes by renouncing the too officious activity of the understanding, and\ngiving leave and amplest privilege to the spontaneous sentiment. Out of\nthis must all that is alive and genial in thought go. Men grind and\ngrind in the mill of a truism, and nothing comes out but what was put\nin. But the moment they desert the tradition for a spontaneous thought,\nthen poetry, wit, hope, virtue, learning, anecdote, all flock to their\naid. Observe the phenomenon of extempore debate. A man of cultivated\nmind, but reserved habits, sitting silent, admires the miracle of free,\nimpassioned, picturesque speech, in the man addressing an assembly;--a\nstate of being and power, how unlike his own! Presently his own emotion\nrises to his lips, and overflows in speech. He must also rise and say\nsomewhat. Once embarked, once having overcome the novelty of the\nsituation, he finds it just as easy and natural to speak,--to speak with\nthoughts, with pictures, with rhythmical balance of sentences,--as it\nwas to sit silent; for, it needs not to do, but to suffer; he only\nadjusts himself to the free spirit which gladly utters itself through\nhim; and motion is as easy as rest.\n\n\nII. I pass now to consider the task offered to the intellect of this\ncountry. The view I have taken of the resources of the scholar,\npresupposes a subject as broad. We do not seem to have imagined its\nriches. We have not heeded the invitation it holds out. To be as good a\nscholar as Englishmen are; to have as much learning as our\ncontemporaries; to have written a book that is read; satisfies us. We\nassume, that all thought is already long ago adequately set down in\nbooks,--all imaginations in poems; and what we say, we only throw in as\nconfirmatory of this supposed complete body of literature. A very\nshallow assumption. Say rather, all literature is yet to be written.\nPoetry has scarce chanted its first song. The perpetual admonition of\nnature to us, is, \u2018The world is new, untried. Do not believe the past. I\ngive you the universe a virgin to-day.\u2019\n\nBy Latin and English poetry, we were born and bred in an oratorio of\npraises of nature,--flowers, birds, mountains, sun, and moon;--yet the\nnaturalist of this hour finds that he knows nothing, by all their poems,\nof any of these fine things; that he has conversed with the mere surface\nand show of them all; and of their essence, or of their history, knowing\nnothing. Further inquiry will discover that nobody,--that not these\nchanting poets themselves, knew any thing sincere of these handsome\nnatures they so commended; that they contented themselves with the\npassing chirp of a bird, that they saw one or two mornings, and\nlistlessly looked at sunsets, and repeated idly these few glimpses in\ntheir song. But go into the forest, you shall find all new and\nundescribed. The hawking of the wild geese flying by night; the thin\nnote of the companionable titmouse, in the winter day; the fall of\nswarms of flies, in autumn, from combats high in the air, pattering down\non the leaves like rain; the angry hiss of the woodbirds; the pine\nthrowing out its pollen for the benefit of the next century; the\nturpentine exuding from the tree;--and, indeed, any vegetation; any\nanimation; any and all, are alike unattempted. The man who stands on the\nseashore, or who rambles in the woods, seems to be the first man that\never stood on the shore, or entered a grove, his sensations and his\nworld are so novel and strange. Whilst I read the poets, I think that\nnothing new can be said about morning and evening. But when I see the\ndaybreak, I am not reminded of these Homeric, or Shakspearian, or\nMiltonic, or Chaucerian pictures. No; but I feel perhaps the pain of an\nalien world; a world not yet subdued by the thought; or, I am cheered by\nthe moist, warm, glittering, budding, melodious hour, that takes down\nthe narrow walls of my soul, and extends its life and pulsation to the\nvery horizon. _That_ is morning, to cease for a bright hour to be a\nprisoner of this sickly body, and to become as large as nature.\n\nThe noonday darkness of the American forest, the deep, echoing,\naboriginal woods, where the living columns of the oak and fir tower up\nfrom the ruins of the trees of the last millennium; where, from year to\nyear, the eagle and the crow see no intruder; the pines, bearded with\nsavage moss, yet touched with grace by the violets at their feet; the\nbroad, cold lowland, which forms its coat of vapor with the stillness of\nsubterranean crystallization; and where the traveller, amid the\nrepulsive plants that are native in the swamp, thinks with pleasing\nterror of the distant town; this beauty,--haggard and desert beauty,\nwhich the sun and the moon, the snow and the rain, repaint and vary, has\nnever been recorded by art, yet is not indifferent to any passenger. All\nmen are poets at heart. They serve nature for bread, but her loveliness\novercomes them sometimes. What mean these journeys to Niagara; these\npilgrims to the White Hills? Men believe in the adaptations of utility,\nalways: in the mountains, they may believe in the adaptations of the\neye. Undoubtedly, the changes of geology have a relation to the\nprosperous sprouting of the corn and peas in my kitchen garden; but not\nless is there a relation of beauty between my soul and the dim crags of\nAgiocochook up there in the clouds. Every man, when this is told,\nhearkens with joy, and yet his own conversation with nature is still\nunsung.\n\nIs it otherwise with civil history? Is it not the lesson of our\nexperience that every man, were life long enough, would write history\nfor himself? What else do these volumes of extracts and manuscript\ncommentaries, that every scholar writes, indicate? Greek history is one\nthing to me; another to you. Since the birth of Niebuhr and Wolf, Roman\nand Greek History have been written anew. Since Carlyle wrote French\nHistory, we see that no history, that we have, is safe, but a new\nclassifier shall give it new and more philosophical arrangement.\nThucydides, Livy, have only provided materials. The moment a man of\ngenius pronounces the name of the Pelasgi, of Athens, of the Etrurian,\nof the Roman people, we see their state under a new aspect. As in poetry\nand history, so in the other departments. There are few masters or none.\nReligion is yet to be settled on its fast foundations in the breast of\nman; and politics, and philosophy, and letters, and art. As yet we have\nnothing but tendency and indication.\n\nThis starting, this warping of the best literary works from the adamant\nof nature, is especially observable in philosophy. Let it take what tone\nof pretension it will, to this complexion must it come, at last. Take,\nfor example, the French Eclecticism, which Cousin esteems so\nconclusive; there is an optical illusion in it. It avows great\npretensions. It looks as if they had all truth, in taking all the\nsystems, and had nothing to do, but to sift and wash and strain, and the\ngold and diamonds would remain in the last colander. But, Truth is such\na flyaway, such a slyboots, so untransportable and unbarrelable a\ncommodity, that it is as bad to catch as light. Shut the shutters never\nso quick, to keep all the light in, it is all in vain; it is gone before\nyou can cry, Hold. And so it happens with our philosophy. Translate,\ncollate, distil all the systems, it steads you nothing; for truth will\nnot be compelled, in any mechanical manner. But the first observation\nyou make, in the sincere act of your nature, though on the veriest\ntrifle, may open a new view of nature and of man, that, like a\nmenstruum, shall dissolve all theories in it; shall take up Greece,\nRome, Stoicism, Eclecticism, and what not, as mere data and food for\nanalysis, and dispose of your world-containing system, as a very little\nunit. A profound thought, anywhere, classifies all things: a profound\nthought will lift Olympus. The book of philosophy is only a fact, and no\nmore inspiring fact than another, and no less; but a wise man will never\nesteem it anything final and transcending. Go and talk with a man of\ngenius, and the first word he utters, sets all your so-called knowledge\nafloat and at large. Then Plato, Bacon, Kant, and the Eclectic Cousin,\ncondescend instantly to be men and mere facts.\n\nI by no means aim, in these remarks, to disparage the merit of these or\nof any existing compositions; I only say that any particular portraiture\ndoes not in any manner exclude or forestall a new attempt, but, when\nconsidered by the soul, warps and shrinks away. The inundation of the\nspirit sweeps away before it all our little architecture of wit and\nmemory, as straws and straw-huts before the torrent. Works of the\nintellect are great only by comparison with each other; Ivanhoe and\nWaverley compared with Castle Radcliffe and the Porter novels; but\nnothing is great,--not mighty Homer and Milton,--beside the infinite\nReason. It carries them away as a flood. They are as a sleep.\n\nThus is justice done to each generation and individual,--wisdom teaching\nman that he shall not hate, or fear, or mimic his ancestors; that he\nshall not bewail himself, as if the world was old, and thought was\nspent, and he was born into the dotage of things; for, by virtue of the\nDeity, thought renews itself inexhaustibly every day, and the thing\nwhereon it shines, though it were dust and sand, is a new subject with\ncountless relations.\n\n\nIII. Having thus spoken of the resources and the subject of the scholar,\nout of the same faith proceeds also the rule of his ambition and life.\nLet him know that the world is his, but he must possess it by putting\nhimself into harmony with the constitution of things. He must be a\nsolitary, laborious, modest, and charitable soul.\n\nHe must embrace solitude as a bride. He must have his glees and his\nglooms alone. His own estimate must be measure enough, his own praise\nreward enough for him. And why must the student be solitary and silent?\nThat he may become acquainted with his thoughts. If he pines in a lonely\nplace, hankering for the crowd, for display, he is not in the lonely\nplace; his heart is in the market; he does not see; he does not hear; he\ndoes not think. But go cherish your soul; expel companions; set your\nhabits to a life of solitude; then, will the faculties rise fair and\nfull within, like forest trees and field flowers; you will have results,\nwhich, when you meet your fellow-men, you can communicate, and they will\ngladly receive. Do not go into solitude only that you may presently come\ninto public. Such solitude denies itself; is public and stale. The\npublic can get public experience, but they wish the scholar to replace\nto them those private, sincere, divine experiences, of which they have\nbeen defrauded by dwelling in the street. It is the noble, manlike, just\nthought, which is the superiority demanded of you, and not crowds but\nsolitude confers this elevation. Not insulation of place, but\nindependence of spirit is essential, and it is only as the garden, the\ncottage, the forest, and the rock, are a sort of mechanical aids to\nthis, that they are of value. Think alone, and all places are friendly\nand sacred. The poets who have lived in cities have been hermits still.\nInspiration makes solitude anywhere. Pindar, Raphael, Angelo, Dryden, De\nSta\u00ebl, dwell in crowds, it may be, but the instant thought comes, the\ncrowd grows dim to their eye; their eye fixes on the horizon,--on vacant\nspace; they forget the bystanders; they spurn personal relations; they\ndeal with abstractions, with verities, with ideas. They are alone with\nthe mind.\n\nOf course, I would not have any superstition about solitude. Let the\nyouth study the uses of solitude and of society. Let him use both, not\nserve either. The reason why an ingenious soul shuns society, is to the\nend of finding society. It repudiates the false, out of love of the\ntrue. You can very soon learn all that society can teach you for one\nwhile. Its foolish routine, an indefinite multiplication of balls,\nconcerts, rides, theatres, can teach you no more than a few can. Then\naccept the hint of shame, of spiritual emptiness and waste, which true\nnature gives you, and retire, and hide; lock the door; shut the\nshutters; then welcome falls the imprisoning rain,--dear hermitage of\nnature. Re-collect the spirits. Have solitary prayer and praise. Digest\nand correct the past experience; and blend it with the new and divine\nlife.\n\nYou will pardon me, Gentlemen, if I say, I think that we have need of a\nmore rigorous scholastic rule; such an asceticism, I mean, as only the\nhardihood and devotion of the scholar himself can enforce. We live in\nthe sun and on the surface,--a thin, plausible, superficial existence,\nand talk of muse and prophet, of art and creation. But out of our\nshallow and frivolous way of life, how can greatness ever grow? Come\nnow, let us go and be dumb. Let us sit with our hands on our mouths, a\nlong, austere, Pythagorean lustrum. Let us live in corners, and do\nchores, and suffer, and weep, and drudge, with eyes and hearts that love\nthe Lord. Silence, seclusion, austerity, may pierce deep into the\ngrandeur and secret of our being, and so diving, bring up out of secular\ndarkness, the sublimities of the moral constitution. How mean to go\nblazing, a gaudy butterfly, in fashionable or political saloons, the\nfool of society, the fool of notoriety, a topic for newspapers, a piece\nof the street, and forfeiting the real prerogative of the russet coat,\nthe privacy, and the true and warm heart of the citizen!\n\nFatal to the man of letters, fatal to man, is the lust of display, the\nseeming that unmakes our being. A mistake of the main end to which they\nlabor, is incident to literary men, who, dealing with the organ of\nlanguage,--the subtlest, strongest, and longest-lived of man\u2019s\ncreations, and only fitly used as the weapon of thought and of\njustice,--learn to enjoy the pride of playing with this splendid engine,\nbut rob it of its almightiness by failing to work with it. Extricating\nthemselves from the tasks of the world, the world revenges itself by\nexposing, at every turn, the folly of these incomplete, pedantic,\nuseless, ghostly creatures. The scholar will feel, that the richest\nromance,--the noblest fiction that was ever woven,--the heart and soul\nof beauty,--lies enclosed in human life. Itself of surpassing value, it\nis also the richest material for his creations. How shall he know its\nsecrets of tenderness, of terror, of will, and of fate? How can he catch\nand keep the strain of upper music that peals from it? Its laws are\nconcealed under the details of daily action. All action is an experiment\nupon them. He must bear his share of the common load. He must work with\nmen in houses, and not with their names in books. His needs, appetites,\ntalents, affections, accomplishments, are keys that open to him the\nbeautiful museum of human life. Why should he read it as an Arabian\ntale, and not know, in his own beating bosom, its sweet and smart? Out\nof love and hatred, out of earnings, and borrowings, and lendings, and\nlosses; out of sickness and pain; out of wooing and worshipping; out of\ntravelling, and voting, and watching, and caring; out of disgrace and\ncontempt, comes our tuition in the serene and beautiful laws. Let him\nnot slur his lesson; let him learn it by heart. Let him endeavor\nexactly, bravely, and cheerfully, to solve the problem of that life\nwhich is set before _him_. And this, by punctual action, and not by\npromises or dreams. Believing, as in God, in the presence and favor of\nthe grandest influences, let him deserve that favor, and learn how to\nreceive and use it, by fidelity also to the lower observances.\n\nThis lesson is taught with emphasis in the life of the great actor of\nthis age, and affords the explanation of his success. Bonaparte\nrepresents truly a great recent revolution, which we in this country,\nplease God, shall carry to its farthest consummation. Not the least\ninstructive passage in modern history, seems to me a trait of Napoleon,\nexhibited to the English when he became their prisoner. On coming on\nboard the Bellerophon, a file of English soldiers drawn up on deck, gave\nhim a military salute. Napoleon observed, that their manner of handling\ntheir arms differed from the French exercise, and, putting aside the\nguns of those nearest him, walked up to a soldier, took his gun, and\nhimself went through the motion in the French mode. The English officers\nand men looked on with astonishment, and inquired if such familiarity\nwas usual with the Emperor.\n\nIn this instance, as always, that man, with whatever defects or vices,\nrepresented performance in lieu of pretension. Feudalism and Orientalism\nhad long enough thought it majestic to do nothing; the modern majesty\nconsists in work. He belonged to a class fast growing in the world, who\nthink, that what a man can do is his greatest ornament, and that he\nalways consults his dignity by doing it. He was not a believer in luck;\nhe had a faith, like sight, in the application of means to ends. Means\nto ends, is the motto of all his behavior. He believed that the great\ncaptains of antiquity performed their exploits only by correct\ncombinations, and by justly comparing the relation between means and\nconsequences; efforts and obstacles. The vulgar call good fortune that\nwhich really is produced by the calculations of genius. But Napoleon,\nthus faithful to facts, had also this crowning merit; that, whilst he\nbelieved in number and weight, and omitted no part of prudence, he\nbelieved also in the freedom and quite incalculable force of the soul. A\nman of infinite caution, he neglected never the least particular of\npreparation, of patient adaptation; yet nevertheless he had a sublime\nconfidence, as in his all, in the sallies of the courage, and the faith\nin his destiny, which, at the right moment, repaired all losses, and\ndemolished cavalry, infantry, king, and kaisar, as with irresistible\nthunderbolts. As they say the bough of the tree has the character of the\nleaf, and the whole tree of the bough, so, it is curious to remark,\nBonaparte\u2019s army partook of this double strength of the captain; for,\nwhilst strictly supplied in all its appointments, and everything\nexpected from the valor and discipline of every platoon, in flank and\ncentre, yet always remained his total trust in the prodigious\nrevolutions of fortune, which his reserved Imperial Guard were capable\nof working, if, in all else, the day was lost. Here he was sublime. He\nno longer calculated the chance of the cannon ball. He was faithful to\ntactics to the uttermost,--and when all tactics had come to an end,\nthen, he dilated, and availed himself of the mighty saltations of the\nmost formidable soldiers in nature.\n\nLet the scholar appreciate this combination of gifts, which, applied to\nbetter purpose, make true wisdom. He is a revealer of things. Let him\nfirst learn the things. Let him not, too eager to grasp some badge of\nreward, omit the work to be done. Let him know, that, though the success\nof the market is in the reward, true success is the doing; that, in the\nprivate obedience to his mind; in the sedulous inquiry, day after day,\nyear after year, to know how the thing stands; in the use of all means,\nand most in the reverence of the humble commerce and humble needs of\nlife,--to hearken what _they_ say, and so, by mutual reaction of thought\nand life, to make thought solid, and life wise; and in a contempt for\nthe gabble of to-day\u2019s opinions, the secret of the world is to be\nlearned, and the skill truly to unfold it is acquired. Or, rather, is it\nnot, that, by this discipline, the usurpation of the senses is\novercome, and the lower faculties of man are subdued to docility;\nthrough which, as an unobstructed channel, the soul now easily and\ngladly flows?\n\nThe good scholar will not refuse to bear the yoke in his youth; to know,\nif he can, the uttermost secret of toil and endurance; to make his own\nhands acquainted with the soil by which he is fed, and the sweat that\ngoes before comfort and luxury. Let him pay his tithe, and serve the\nworld as a true and noble man; never forgetting to worship the immortal\ndivinities, who whisper to the poet, and make him the utterer of\nmelodies that pierce the ear of eternal time. If he have this twofold\ngoodness,--the drill and the inspiration,--then he has health; then he\nis a whole, and not a fragment; and the perfection of his endowment will\nappear in his compositions. Indeed, this twofold merit characterizes\never the productions of great masters. The man of genius should occupy\nthe whole space between God or pure mind, and the multitude of\nuneducated men. He must draw from the infinite Reason, on one side; and\nhe must penetrate into the heart and sense of the crowd, on the other.\nFrom one, he must draw his strength; to the other he must owe his aim.\nThe one yokes him to the real; the other, to the apparent. At one pole,\nis Reason; at the other, Common Sense. If he be defective at either\nextreme of the scale, his philosophy will seem low and utilitarian; or\nit will appear too vague and indefinite for the uses of life.\n\nThe student, as we all along insist, is great only by being passive to\nthe superincumbent spirit. Let this faith, then, dictate all his action.\nSnares and bribes abound to mislead him; let him be true nevertheless.\nHis success has its perils too. There is somewhat inconvenient and\ninjurious in his position. They whom his thoughts have entertained or\ninflamed, seek him before yet they have learned the hard conditions of\nthought. They seek him, that he may turn his lamp on the dark riddles\nwhose solution they think is inscribed on the walls of their being. They\nfind that he is a poor, ignorant man, in a white-seamed, rusty coat,\nlike themselves, no wise emitting a continuous stream of light, but now\nand then a jet of luminous thought, followed by total darkness;\nmoreover, that he cannot make of his infrequent illumination a portable\ntaper to carry whither he would, and explain now this dark riddle, now\nthat. Sorrow ensues. The scholar regrets to damp the hope of ingenuous\nboys; and the youth has lost a star out of his new flaming firmament.\nHence the temptation to the scholar to mystify; to hear the question;\nto sit upon it; to make an answer of words, in lack of the oracle of\nthings. Not the less let him be cold and true, and wait in patience,\nknowing that truth can make even silence eloquent and memorable. Truth\nshall be policy enough for him. Let him open his breast to all honest\ninquiry, and be an artist superior to tricks of art. Show frankly as a\nsaint would do, your experience, methods, tools, and means. Welcome all\ncomers to the freest use of the same. And out of this superior frankness\nand charity, you shall learn higher secrets of your nature, which gods\nwill bend and aid you to communicate.\n\nIf, with a high trust, he can thus submit himself, he will find that\nample returns are poured into his bosom, out of what seemed hours of\nobstruction and loss. Let him not grieve too much on account of unfit\nassociates. When he sees how much thought he owes to the disagreeable\nantagonism of various persons who pass and cross him, he can easily\nthink that in a society of perfect sympathy, no word, no act, no record,\nwould be. He will learn, that it is not much matter what he reads, what\nhe does. Be a scholar, and he shall have the scholar\u2019s part of every\nthing. As, in the counting-room, the merchant cares little whether the\ncargo be hides or barilla; the transaction, a letter of credit or a\ntransfer of stocks; be it what it may, his commission comes gently out\nof it; so you shall get your lesson out of the hour, and the object,\nwhether it be a concentrated or a wasteful employment, even in reading a\ndull book, or working off a stint of mechanical day labor, which your\nnecessities or the necessities of others impose.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nGentlemen, I have ventured to offer you these considerations upon the\nscholar\u2019s place, and hope, because I thought, that, standing, as many of\nyou now do, on the threshold of this College, girt and ready to go and\nassume tasks, public and private, in your country, you would not be\nsorry to be admonished of those primary duties of the intellect, whereof\nyou will seldom hear from the lips of your new companions. You will hear\nevery day the maxims of a low prudence. You will hear, that the first\nduty is to get land and money, place and name. \u2018What is this Truth you\nseek? what is this Beauty?\u2019 men will ask, with derision. If,\nnevertheless, God have called any of you to explore truth and beauty, be\nbold, be firm, be true. When you shall say, \u2018As others do, so will I: I\nrenounce, I am sorry for it, my early visions; I must eat the good of\nthe land, and let learning and romantic expectations go, until a more\nconvenient season;\u2019--then dies the man in you; then once more perish the\nbuds of art, and poetry, and science, as they have died already in a\nthousand thousand men. The hour of that choice is the crisis of your\nhistory; and see that you hold yourself fast by the intellect. It is\nthis domineering temper of the sensual world, that creates the extreme\nneed of the priests of science; and it is the office and right of the\nintellect to make and not take its estimate. Bend to the persuasion\nwhich is flowing to you from every object in nature, to be its tongue to\nthe heart of man, and to show the besotted world how passing fair is\nwisdom. Forewarned that the vice of the times and the country is an\nexcessive pretension, let us seek the shade, and find wisdom in neglect.\nBe content with a little light, so it be your own. Explore, and explore.\nBe neither chided nor flattered out of your position of perpetual\ninquiry. Neither dogmatize, nor accept another\u2019s dogmatism. Why should\nyou renounce your right to traverse the star-lit deserts of truth, for\nthe premature comforts of an acre, house, and barn? Truth also has its\nroof, and bed, and board. Make yourself necessary to the world, and\nmankind will give you bread, and if not store of it, yet such as shall\nnot take away your property in all men\u2019s possessions, in all men\u2019s\naffections, in art, in nature, and in hope.\n\nYou will not fear, that I am enjoining too stern an asceticism. Ask not,\nOf what use is a scholarship that systematically retreats? or, Who is\nthe better for the philosopher who conceals his accomplishments, and\nhides his thoughts from the waiting world? Hides his thoughts! Hide the\nsun and moon. Thought is all light, and publishes itself to the\nuniverse. It will speak, though you were dumb, by its own miraculous\norgan. It will flow out of your actions, your manners, and your face. It\nwill bring you friendships. It will impledge you to truth by the love\nand expectation of generous minds. By virtue of the laws of that Nature,\nwhich is one and perfect, it shall yield every sincere good that is in\nthe soul, to the scholar beloved of earth and heaven.\n\n\n\n\nTHE METHOD OF NATURE.\n\nAN ORATION DELIVERED BEFORE THE SOCIETY OF THE ADELPHI, IN WATERVILLE\nCOLLEGE, MAINE, AUGUST 11, 1841.\n\n\n\n\nTHE METHOD OF NATURE.\n\n\nGENTLEMEN,\n\nLet us exchange congratulations on the enjoyments and the promises of\nthis literary anniversary. The land we live in has no interest so dear,\nif it knew its want, as the fit consecration of days of reason and\nthought. Where there is no vision, the people perish. The scholars are\nthe priests of that thought which establishes the foundations of the\nearth. No matter what is their special work or profession, they stand\nfor the spiritual interest of the world, and it is a common calamity if\nthey neglect their post in a country where the material interest is so\npredominant as it is in America. We hear something too much of the\nresults of machinery, commerce, and the useful arts. We are a puny and a\nfickle folk. Avarice, hesitation, and following, are our diseases. The\nrapid wealth which hundreds in the community acquire in trade, or by the\nincessant expansions of our population and arts, enchants the eyes of\nall the rest; the luck of one is the hope of thousands, and the bribe\nacts like the neighborhood of a gold mine to impoverish the farm, the\nschool, the church, the house, and the very body and feature of man.\n\nI do not wish to look with sour aspect at the industrious manufacturing\nvillage, or the mart of commerce. I love the music of the water-wheel; I\nvalue the railway; I feel the pride which the sight of a ship inspires;\nI look on trade and every mechanical craft as education also. But let me\ndiscriminate what is precious herein. There is in each of these works an\nact of invention, an intellectual step, or short series of steps taken;\nthat act or step is the spiritual act; all the rest is mere repetition\nof the same a thousand times. And I will not be deceived into admiring\nthe routine of handicrafts and mechanics, how splendid soever the\nresult, any more than I admire the routine of the scholars or clerical\nclass. That splendid results ensue from the labors of stupid men, is the\nfruit of higher laws than their will, and the routine is not to be\npraised for it. I would not have the laborer sacrificed to the\nresult,--I would not have the laborer sacrificed to my convenience and\npride, nor to that of a great class of such as me. Let there be worse\ncotton and better men. The weaver should not be bereaved of his\nsuperiority to his work, and his knowledge that the product or the skill\nis of no value, except so far as it embodies his spiritual prerogatives.\nIf I see nothing to admire in the unit, shall I admire a million units?\nMen stand in awe of the city, but do not honor any individual citizen;\nand are continually yielding to this dazzling result of numbers, that\nwhich they would never yield to the solitary example of any one.\n\nWhilst the multitude of men degrade each other, and give currency to\ndesponding doctrines, the scholar must be a bringer of hope, and must\nreinforce man against himself. I sometimes believe that our literary\nanniversaries will presently assume a greater importance, as the eyes of\nmen open to their capabilities. Here, a new set of distinctions, a new\norder of ideas, prevail. Here, we set a bound to the respectability of\nwealth, and a bound to the pretensions of the law and the church. The\nbigot must cease to be a bigot to-day. Into our charmed circle, power\ncannot enter; and the sturdiest defender of existing institutions feels\nthe terrific inflammability of this air which condenses heat in every\ncorner that may restore to the elements the fabrics of ages. Nothing\nsolid is secure; every thing tilts and rocks. Even the scholar is not\nsafe; he too is searched and revised. Is his learning dead? Is he living\nin his memory? The power of mind is not mortification, but life. But\ncome forth, thou curious child! hither, thou loving, all-hoping poet!\nhither, thou tender, doubting heart, who has not yet found any place in\nthe world\u2019s market fit for thee; any wares which thou couldst buy or\nsell,--so large is thy love and ambition,--thine and not theirs is the\nhour. Smooth thy brow, and hope and love on, for the kind heaven\njustifies thee, and the whole world feels that thou art in the right.\n\nWe ought to celebrate this hour by expressions of manly joy. Not thanks,\nnot prayer seem quite the highest or truest name for our communication\nwith the infinite,--but glad and conspiring reception,--reception that\nbecomes giving in its turn, as the receiver is only the All-Giver in\npart and in infancy. I cannot,--nor can any man,--speak precisely of\nthings so sublime, but it seems to me, the wit of man, his strength, his\ngrace, his tendency, his art, is the grace and the presence of God. It\nis beyond explanation. When all is said and done, the rapt saint is\nfound the only logician. Not exhortation, not argument becomes our\nlips, but p\u00e6ans of joy and praise. But not of adulation; we are too\nnearly related in the deep of the mind to that we honor. It is God in us\nwhich checks the language of petition by a grander thought. In the\nbottom of the heart, it is said; \u2018I am, and by me, O child! this fair\nbody and world of thine stands and grows. I am; all things are mine: and\nall mine are thine.\u2019\n\nThe festival of the intellect, and the return to its source, cast a\nstrong light on the always interesting topics of Man and Nature. We are\nforcibly reminded of the old want. There is no man; there hath never\nbeen. The Intellect still asks that a man may be born. The flame of life\nflickers feebly in human breasts. We demand of men a richness and\nuniversality we do not find. Great men do not content us. It is their\nsolitude, not their force, that makes them conspicuous. There is\nsomewhat indigent and tedious about them. They are poorly tied to one\nthought. If they are prophets, they are egotists; if polite and various,\nthey are shallow. How tardily men arrive at any result! how tardily they\npass from it to another! The crystal sphere of thought is as\nconcentrical as the geological structure of the globe. As our soils and\nrocks lie in strata, concentric strata, so do all men\u2019s thinkings run\nlaterally, never vertically. Here comes by a great inquisitor with auger\nand plumb-line, and will bore an Artesian well through our conventions\nand theories, and pierce to the core of things. But as soon as he probes\nthe crust, behold gimlet, plumb-line, and philosopher take a lateral\ndirection, in spite of all resistance, as if some strong wind took\neverything off its feet, and if you come month after month to see what\nprogress our reformer has made,--not an inch has he pierced,--you still\nfind him with new words in the old place, floating about in new parts of\nthe same old vein or crust. The new book says, \u2018I will give you the key\nto nature,\u2019 and we expect to go like a thunderbolt to the centre. But\nthe thunder is a surface phenomenon, makes a skin-deep cut, and so does\nthe sage. The wedge turns out to be a rocket. Thus a man lasts but a\nvery little while, for his monomania becomes insupportably tedious in a\nfew months. It is so with every book and person: and yet--and yet--we do\nnot take up a new book, or meet a new man, without a pulse-beat of\nexpectation. And this invincible hope of a more adequate interpreter is\nthe sure prediction of his advent.\n\nIn the absence of man, we turn to nature, which stands next. In the\ndivine order, intellect is primary; nature, secondary; it is the memory\nof the mind. That which once existed in intellect as pure law, has now\ntaken body as Nature. It existed already in the mind in solution; now,\nit has been precipitated, and the bright sediment is the world. We can\nnever be quite strangers or inferiors in nature. It is flesh of our\nflesh, and bone of our bone. But we no longer hold it by the hand; we\nhave lost our miraculous power; our arm is no more as strong as the\nfrost; nor our will equivalent to gravity and the elective attractions.\nYet we can use nature as a convenient standard, and the meter of our\nrise and fall. It has this advantage as a witness, it cannot be\ndebauched. When man curses, nature still testifies to truth and love. We\nmay, therefore, safely study the mind in nature, because we cannot\nsteadily gaze on it in mind; as we explore the face of the sun in a\npool, when our eyes cannot brook his direct splendors.\n\nIt seems to me, therefore, that it were some suitable p\u00e6an, if we should\npiously celebrate this hour by exploring the _method of nature_. Let us\nsee _that_, as nearly as we can, and try how far it is transferable to\nthe literary life. Every earnest glance we give to the realities around\nus, with intent to learn, proceeds from a holy impulse, and is really\nsongs of praise. What difference can it make whether it take the shape\nof exhortation, or of passionate exclamation, or of scientific\nstatement? These are forms merely. Through them we express, at last, the\nfact, that God has done thus or thus.\n\nIn treating a subject so large, in which we must necessarily appeal to\nthe intuition, and aim much more to suggest, then to describe, I know it\nis not easy to speak with the precision attainable on topics of less\nscope. I do not wish in attempting to paint a man, to describe an\nair-fed, unimpassioned, impossible ghost. My eyes and ears are revolted\nby any neglect of the physical facts, the limitations of man. And yet\none who conceives the true order of nature, and beholds the visible as\nproceeding from the invisible, cannot state his thought, without seeming\nto those who study the physical laws, to do them some injustice. There\nis an intrinsic defect in the organ. Language overstates. Statements of\nthe infinite, are usually felt to be unjust to the finite, and\nblasphemous. Empedocles undoubtedly spoke a truth of thought, when he\nsaid, \u201cI am God;\u201d but the moment it was out of his mouth, it became a\nlie to the ear; and the world revenged itself for the seeming arrogance,\nby the good story about his shoe. How can I hope for better hap in my\nattempts to enunciate spiritual facts? Yet let us hope, that as far as\nwe receive the truth, so far shall we be felt by every true person to\nsay what is just.\n\nThe method of nature: who could ever analyze it? That rushing stream\nwill not stop to be observed. We can never surprise nature in a corner;\nnever find the end of a thread; never tell where to set the first stone.\nThe bird hastens to lay her egg: the egg hastens to be a bird. The\nwholeness we admire in the order of the world, is the result of infinite\ndistribution. Its smoothness is the smoothness of the pitch of the\ncataract. Its permanence is a perpetual inchoation. Every natural fact\nis an emanation, and that from which it emanates is an emanation also,\nand from every emanation is a new emanation. If anything could stand\nstill, it would be crushed and dissipated by the torrent it resisted,\nand if it were a mind, would be crazed; as insane persons are those who\nhold fast to one thought, and do not flow with the course of nature. Not\nthe cause, but an ever novel effect, nature descends always from above.\nIt is unbroken obedience. The beauty of these fair objects is imported\ninto them from a metaphysical and eternal spring. In all animal and\nvegetable forms, the physiologist concedes that no chemistry, no\nmechanics, can account for the facts, but a mysterious principle of life\nmust be assumed, which not only inhabits the organ, but makes the organ.\n\nHow silent, how spacious, what room for all, yet without place to insert\nan atom,--in graceful succession, in equal fulness, in balanced beauty,\nthe dance of the hours goes forward still. Like an odor of incense, like\na strain of music, like a sleep, it is inexact and boundless. It will\nnot be dissected, nor unravelled, nor shown. Away profane philosopher!\nseekest thou in nature the cause? This refers to that, and that to the\nnext, and the next to the third, and everything refers. Thou must ask in\nanother mood, thou must feel it and love it, thou must behold it in a\nspirit as grand as that by which it exists, ere thou canst know the law.\nKnown it will not be, but gladly beloved and enjoyed.\n\nThe simultaneous life throughout the whole body, the equal serving of\ninnumerable ends without the least emphasis or preference to any, but\nthe steady degradation of each to the success of all, allows the\nunderstanding no place to work. Nature can only be conceived as existing\nto a universal and not to a particular end, to a universe of ends, and\nnot to one,--a work of _ecstasy_, to be represented by a circular\nmovement, as intention might be signified by a straight line of definite\nlength. Each effect strengthens every other. There is no revolt in all\nthe kingdoms from the commonweal: no detachment of an individual. Hence\nthe catholic character which makes every leaf an exponent of the world.\nWhen we behold the landscape in a poetic spirit, we do not reckon\nindividuals. Nature knows neither palm nor oak, but only vegetable life,\nwhich sprouts into forests, and festoons the globe with a garland of\ngrasses and vines.\n\nThat no single end may be selected, and nature judged thereby, appears\nfrom this, that if man himself be considered as the end, and it be\nassumed that the final cause of the world is to make holy or wise or\nbeautiful men, we see that it has not succeeded. Read alternately in\nnatural and in civil history, a treatise of astronomy, for example, with\na volume of French _Memoires pour servir_. When we have spent our wonder\nin computing this wasteful hospitality with which boon nature turns off\nnew firmaments without end into her wide common, as fast as the\nmadrepores make coral,--suns and planets hospitable to souls,--and then\nshorten the sight to look into this court of Louis Quatorze, and see\nthe game that is played there,--duke and marshal, abb\u00e9 and madame,--a\ngambling table where each is laying traps for the other, where the end\nis ever by some lie or fetch to outwit your rival and ruin him with this\nsolemn fop in wig and stars,--the king; one can hardly help asking if\nthis planet is a fair specimen of the so generous astronomy, and if so,\nwhether the experiment have not failed, and whether it be quite worth\nwhile to make more, and glut the innocent space with so poor an article.\n\nI think we feel not much otherwise if, instead of beholding foolish\nnations, we take the great and wise men, the eminent souls, and narrowly\ninspect their biography. None of them seen by himself--and his\nperformance compared with his promise or idea, will justify the cost of\nthat enormous apparatus of means by which this spotted and defective\nperson was at last procured.\n\nTo questions of this sort, nature replies, \u2018I grow.\u2019 All is nascent,\ninfant. When we are dizzied with the arithmetic of the savant toiling to\ncompute the length of her line, the return of her curve, we are steadied\nby the perception that a great deal is doing; that all seems just begun;\nremote aims are in active accomplishment. We can point nowhere to\nanything final; but tendency appears on all hands: planet, system,\nconstellation, total nature is growing like a field of maize in July; is\nbecoming somewhat else; is in rapid metamorphosis. The embryo does not\nmore strive to be man, than yonder burr of light we call a nebula tends\nto be a ring, a comet, a globe, and parent of new stars. Why should not\nthen these messieurs of Versailles strut and plot for tabourets and\nribbons, for a season, without prejudice to their faculty to run on\nbetter errands by and by.\n\nBut nature seems further to reply, \u2018I have ventured so great a stake as\nmy success, in no single creature. I have not yet arrived at any end.\nThe gardener aims to produce a fine peach or pear, but my aim is the\nhealth of the whole tree,--root, stem, leaf, flower, and seed,--and by\nno means the pampering of a monstrous pericarp at the expense of all the\nother functions.\u2019\n\nIn short, the spirit and peculiarity of that impression nature makes on\nus, is this, that it does not exist to any one or to any number of\nparticular ends, but to numberless and endless benefit; that there is in\nit no private will, no rebel leaf or limb, but the whole is oppressed by\none superincumbent tendency, obeys that redundancy or excess of life\nwhich in conscious beings we call _ecstasy_.\n\nWith this conception of the genius or method of nature, let us go back\nto man. It is true, he pretends to give account of himself to himself,\nbut, at last, what has he to recite but the fact that there is a Life\nnot to be described or known otherwise than by possession? What account\ncan he give of his essence more than _so it was to be_? The _royal_\nreason, the Grace of God seems the only description of our multiform but\never identical fact. There is virtue, there is genius, there is success,\nor there is not. There is the incoming or the receding of God: that is\nall we can affirm; and we can show neither how nor why. Self-accusation,\nremorse, and the didactic morals of self-denial and strife with sin, is\na view we are constrained by our constitution to take of the fact seen\nfrom the platform of action; but seen from the platform of intellection,\nthere is nothing for us but praise and wonder.\n\nThe termination of the world in a man, appears to be the last victory of\nintelligence. The universal does not attract us until housed in an\nindividual. Who heeds the waste abyss of possibility? The ocean is\neverywhere the same, but it has no character until seen with the shore\nor the ship. Who would value any number of miles of Atlantic brine\nbounded by lines of latitude and longitude? Confine it by granite\nrocks, let it wash a shore where wise men dwell, and it is filled with\nexpression; and the point of greatest interest is where the land and\nwater meet. So must we admire in man, the form of the formless, the\nconcentration of the vast, the house of reason, the cave of memory. See\nthe play of thoughts! what nimble gigantic creatures are these! what\nsaurians, what palaiotheria shall be named with these agile movers? The\ngreat Pan of old, who was clothed in a leopard skin to signify the\nbeautiful variety of things and the firmament, his coat of stars,--was\nbut the representative of thee, O rich and various Man! thou palace of\nsight and sound, carrying in thy senses the morning and the night and\nthe unfathomable galaxy; in thy brain, the geometry of the City of God;\nin thy heart, the bower of love and the realms of right and wrong. An\nindividual man is a fruit which it cost all the foregoing ages to form\nand ripen. The history of the genesis or the old mythology repeats\nitself in the experience of every child. He too is a demon or god thrown\ninto a particular chaos, where he strives ever to lead things from\ndisorder into order. Each individual soul is such, in virtue of its\nbeing a power to translate the world into some particular language of\nits own; if not into a picture, a statue, or a dance,--why, then, into a\ntrade, an art, a science, a mode of living, a conversation, a character,\nan influence. You admire pictures, but it is as impossible for you to\npaint a right picture, as for grass to bear apples. But when the genius\ncomes, it makes fingers: it is pliancy, and the power of transferring\nthe affair in the street into oils and colors. Raphael must be born, and\nSalvator must be born.\n\nThere is no attractiveness like that of a new man. The sleepy nations\nare occupied with their political routine. England, France and America\nread Parliamentary Debates, which no high genius now enlivens; and\nnobody will read them who trusts his own eye: only they who are deceived\nby the popular repetition of distinguished names. But when Napoleon\nunrolls his map, the eye is commanded by original power. When Chatham\nleads the debate, men may well listen, because they must listen. A man,\na personal ascendency is the only great phenomenon. When nature has work\nto be done, she creates a genius to do it. Follow the great man, and you\nshall see what the world has at heart in these ages. There is no omen\nlike that.\n\nBut what strikes us in the fine genius is that which belongs of right to\nevery one. A man should know himself for a necessary actor. A link was\nwanting between two craving parts of nature, and he was hurled into\nbeing as the bridge over that yawning need, the mediator betwixt two\nelse unmarriageable facts. His two parents held each of one of the\nwants, and the union of foreign constitutions in him enables him to do\ngladly and gracefully what the assembled human race could not have\nsufficed to do. He knows his materials; he applies himself to his work;\nhe cannot read, or think, or look, but he unites the hitherto separated\nstrands into a perfect cord. The thoughts he delights to utter are the\nreason of his incarnation? Is it for him to account himself cheap and\nsuperfluous, or to linger by the wayside for opportunities? Did he not\ncome into being because something must be done which he and no other is\nand does? If only he _sees_, the world will be visible enough. He need\nnot study where to stand, nor to put things in favorable lights; in him\nis the light, from him all things are illuminated to their centre. What\npatron shall he ask for employment and reward? Hereto was he born, to\ndeliver the thought of his heart from the universe to the universe, to\ndo an office which nature could not forego, nor he be discharged from\nrendering, and then immerge again into the holy silence and eternity\nout of which as a man he arose. God is rich, and many more men than one\nhe harbors in his bosom, biding their time and the needs and the beauty\nof all. Is not this the theory of every man\u2019s genius or faculty? Why\nthen goest thou as some Boswell or listening worshipper to this saint or\nto that? That is the only lese-majesty. Here art thou with whom so long\nthe universe travailed in labor; darest thou think meanly of thyself\nwhom the stalwart Fate brought forth to unite his ragged sides, to shoot\nthe gulf, to reconcile the irreconcilable?\n\nWhilst a necessity so great caused the man to exist, his health and\nerectness consist in the fidelity with which he transmits influences\nfrom the vast and universal to the point on which his genius can act.\nThe ends are momentary: they are vents for the current of inward life\nwhich increases as it is spent. A man\u2019s wisdom is to know that all ends\nare momentary, that the best end must be superseded by a better. But\nthere is a mischievous tendency in him to transfer his thought from the\nlife to the ends, to quit his agency and rest in his acts: the tools run\naway with the workman, the human with the divine. I conceive a man as\nalways spoken to from behind, and unable to turn his head and see the\nspeaker. In all the millions who have heard the voice, none ever saw the\nface. As children in their play run behind each other, and seize one by\nthe ears and make him walk before them, so is the spirit our unseen\npilot. That well-known voice speaks in all languages, governs all men,\nand none ever caught a glimpse of its form. If the man will exactly obey\nit, it will adopt him, so that he shall not any longer separate it from\nhimself in his thought, he shall seem to be it, he shall be it. If he\nlisten with insatiable ears, richer and greater wisdom is taught him,\nthe sound swells to a ravishing music, he is borne away as with a flood,\nhe becomes careless of his food and of his house, he is the fool of\nideas, and leads a heavenly life. But if his eye is set on the things to\nbe done, and not on the truth that is still taught, and for the sake of\nwhich the things are to be done, then the voice grows faint, and at last\nis but a humming in his ears. His health and greatness consist in his\nbeing the channel through which heaven flows to earth, in short, in the\nfulness in which an ecstatical state takes place in him. It is pitiful\nto be an artist, when, by forbearing to be artists, we might be vessels\nfilled with the divine overflowings, enriched by the circulations of\nomniscience and omnipresence. Are there not moments in the history of\nheaven when the human race was not counted by individuals, but was only\nthe Influenced, was God in distribution, God rushing into multiform\nbenefit? It is sublime to receive, sublime to love, but this lust of\nimparting as from _us_, this desire to be loved, the wish to be\nrecognized as individuals,--is finite, comes of a lower strain.\n\nShall I say, then, that, as far as we can trace the natural history of\nthe soul, its health consists in the fulness of its reception,--call it\npiety, call it veneration--in the fact, that enthusiasm is organized\ntherein. What is best in any work of art, but that part which the work\nitself seems to require and do; that which the man cannot do again, that\nwhich flows from the hour and the occasion, like the eloquence of men in\na tumultuous debate? It was always the theory of literature, that the\nword of a poet was authoritative and final. He was supposed to be the\nmouth of a divine wisdom. We rather envied his circumstance than his\ntalent. We too could have gladly prophesied standing in that place. We\nso quote our Scriptures; and the Greeks so quoted Homer, Theognis,\nPindar, and the rest. If the theory has receded out of modern criticism,\nit is because we have not had poets. Whenever they appear, they will\nredeem their own credit.\n\nThis ecstatical state seems to direct a regard to the whole and not to\nthe parts; to the cause and not to the ends; to the tendency, and not to\nthe act. It respects genius and not talent; hope, and not possession:\nthe anticipation of all things by the intellect, and not the history\nitself; art, and not works of art; poetry, and not experiment; virtue,\nand not duties.\n\nThere is no office or function of man but is rightly discharged by this\ndivine method, and nothing that is not noxious to him if detached from\nits universal relations. Is it his work in the world to study nature, or\nthe laws of the world? Let him beware of proposing to himself any end.\nIs it for use? nature is debased, as if one looking at the ocean can\nremember only the price of fish. Or is it for pleasure? he is mocked:\nthere is a certain infatuating air in woods and mountains which draws on\nthe idler to want and misery. There is something social and intrusive in\nthe nature of all things; they seek to penetrate and overpower, each the\nnature of every other creature, and itself alone in all modes and\nthroughout space and spirit to prevail and possess. Every star in heaven\nis discontented and insatiable. Gravitation and chemistry cannot content\nthem. Ever they woo and court the eye of every beholder. Every man who\ncomes into the world they seek to fascinate and possess, to pass into\nhis mind, for they desire to republish themselves in a more delicate\nworld than that they occupy. It is not enough that they are Jove, Mars,\nOrion, and the North Star, in the gravitating firmament: they would have\nsuch poets as Newton, Herschel and Laplace, that they may re-exist and\nre-appear in the finer world of rational souls, and fill that realm with\ntheir fame. So is it with all immaterial objects. These beautiful\nbasilisks set their brute, glorious eyes on the eye of every child, and,\nif they can, cause their nature to pass through his wondering eyes into\nhim, and so all things are mixed.\n\nTherefore man must be on his guard against this cup of enchantments, and\nmust look at nature with a supernatural eye. By piety alone, by\nconversing with the cause of nature, is he safe and commands it. And\nbecause all knowledge is assimilation to the object of knowledge, as the\npower or genius of nature is ecstatic, so must its science or the\ndescription of it be. The poet must be a rhapsodist: his inspiration a\nsort of bright casualty: his will in it only the surrender of will to\nthe Universal Power, which will not be seen face to face, but must be\nreceived and sympathetically known. It is remarkable that we have out of\nthe deeps of antiquity in the oracles ascribed to the half fabulous\nZoroaster, a statement of this fact, which every lover and seeker of\ntruth will recognize. \u201cIt is not proper,\u201d said Zoroaster, \u201cto understand\nthe Intelligible with vehemence, but if you incline your mind, you will\napprehend it: not too earnestly, but bringing a pure and inquiring eye.\nYou will not understand it as when understanding some particular thing,\nbut with the flower of the mind. Things divine are not attainable by\nmortals who understand sensual things, but only the light-armed arrive\nat the summit.\u201d\n\nAnd because ecstasy is the law and cause of nature, therefore you cannot\ninterpret it in too high and deep a sense. Nature represents the best\nmeaning of the wisest man. Does the sunset landscape seem to you the\nplace of Friendship,--those purple skies and lovely waters the\namphitheatre dressed and garnished only for the exchange of thought and\nlove of the purest souls? It is that. All other meanings which base men\nhave put on it are conjectural and false. You cannot bathe twice in the\nsame river, said Heraclitus; and I add, a man never sees the same object\ntwice: with his own enlargement the object acquires new aspects.\n\nDoes not the same law hold for virtue? It is vitiated by too much will.\nHe who aims at progress, should aim at an infinite, not at a special\nbenefit. The reforms whose fame now fills the land with Temperance,\nAnti-Slavery, Non-Resistance, No Government, Equal Labor, fair and\ngenerous as each appears, are poor bitter things when prosecuted for\nthemselves as an end. To every reform, in proportion to its energy,\nearly disgusts are incident, so that the disciple is surprised at the\nvery hour of his first triumphs, with chagrins, and sickness, and a\ngeneral distrust: so that he shuns his associates, hates the enterprise\nwhich lately seemed so fair, and meditates to cast himself into the arms\nof that society and manner of life which he had newly abandoned with so\nmuch pride and hope. Is it that he attached the value of virtue to some\nparticular practices, as, the denial of certain appetites in certain\nspecified indulgences, and, afterward, found himself still as wicked and\nas far from happiness in that abstinence, as he had been in the abuse?\nBut the soul can be appeased not by a deed but by a tendency. It is in a\nhope that she feels her wings. You shall love rectitude and not the\ndisuse of money or the avoidance of trade: an unimpeded mind, and not a\nmonkish diet; sympathy and usefulness, and not hoeing or coopering. Tell\nme not how great your project is, the civil liberation of the world,\nits conversion into a Christian church, the establishment of public\neducation, cleaner diet, a new division of labor and of land, laws of\nlove for laws of property;--I say to you plainly there is no end to\nwhich your practical faculty can aim, so sacred or so large, that, if\npursued for itself, will not at last become carrion and an offence to\nthe nostril. The imaginative faculty of the soul must be fed with\nobjects immense and eternal. Your end should be one inapprehensible to\nthe senses; then will it be a god always approached,--never touched;\nalways giving health. A man adorns himself with prayer and love, as an\naim adorns an action. What is strong but goodness, and what is energetic\nbut the presence of a brave man? The doctrine in vegetable physiology of\nthe _presence_, or the general influence of any substance over and above\nits chemical influence, as of an alkali or a living plant, is more\npredicable of man. You need not speak to me, I need not go where you\nare, that you should exert magnetism on me. Be you only whole and\nsufficient, and I shall feel you in every part of my life and fortune,\nand I can as easily dodge the gravitation of the globe as escape your\ninfluence.\n\nBut there are other examples of this total and supreme influence,\nbesides Nature and the conscience. \u201cFrom the poisonous tree, the\nworld,\u201d say the Brahmins, \u201ctwo species of fruit are produced, sweet as\nthe waters of life, Love or the society of beautiful souls, and Poetry,\nwhose taste is like the immortal juice of Vishnu.\u201d What is Love, and why\nis it the chief good, but because it is an overpowering enthusiasm?\nNever self-possessed or prudent, it is all abandonment. Is it not a\ncertain admirable wisdom, preferable to all other advantages, and\nwhereof all others are only secondaries and indemnities, because this is\nthat in which the individual is no longer his own foolish master, but\ninhales an odorous and celestial air, is wrapped round with awe of the\nobject, blending for the time that object with the real and only good,\nand consults every omen in nature with tremulous interest. When we speak\ntruly,--is not he only unhappy who is not in love? his fancied freedom\nand self-rule--is it not so much death? He who is in love is wise and is\nbecoming wiser, sees newly every time he looks at the object beloved,\ndrawing from it with his eyes and his mind those virtues which it\npossesses. Therefore if the object be not itself a living and expanding\nsoul, he presently exhausts it. But the love remains in his mind, and\nthe wisdom it brought him; and it craves a new and higher object. And\nthe reason why all men honor love, is because it looks up and not down;\naspires and not despairs.\n\nAnd what is Genius but finer love, a love impersonal, a love of the\nflower and perfection of things, and a desire to draw a new picture or\ncopy of the same? It looks to the cause and life: it proceeds from\nwithin outward, whilst Talent goes from without inward. Talent finds its\nmodels, methods, and ends, in society, exists for exhibition, and goes\nto the soul only for power to work. Genius is its own end, and draws its\nmeans and the style of its architecture from within, going abroad only\nfor audience, and spectator, as we adapt our voice and phrase to the\ndistance and character of the ear we speak to. All your learning of all\nliteratures would never enable you to anticipate one of its thoughts or\nexpressions, and yet each is natural and familiar as household words.\nHere about us coils forever the ancient enigma, so old and so\nunutterable. Behold! there is the sun, and the rain, and the rocks: the\nold sun, the old stones. How easy were it to describe all this fitly;\nyet no word can pass. Nature is a mute, and man, her articulate speaking\nbrother, lo! he also is a mute. Yet when Genius arrives, its speech is\nlike a river; it has no straining to describe, more than there is\nstraining in nature to exist. When thought is best, there is most of\nit. Genius sheds wisdom like perfume, and advertises us that it flows\nout of a deeper source than the foregoing silence, that it knows so\ndeeply and speaks so musically, because it is itself a mutation of the\nthing it describes. It is sun and moon and wave and fire in music, as\nastronomy is thought and harmony in masses of matter.\n\nWhat is all history but the work of ideas, a record of the incomputable\nenergy which his infinite aspirations infuse into man? Has any thing\ngrand and lasting been done? Who did it? Plainly not any man, but all\nmen: it was the prevalence and inundation of an idea. What brought the\npilgrims here? One man says, civil liberty; another, the desire of\nfounding a church; and a third, discovers that the motive force was\nplantation and trade. But if the Puritans could rise from the dust, they\ncould not answer. It is to be seen in what they were, and not in what\nthey designed; it was the growth and expansion of the human race, and\nresembled herein the sequent Revolution, which was not begun in Concord,\nor Lexington, or Virginia, but was the overflowing of the sense of\nnatural right in every clear and active spirit of the period. Is a man\nboastful and knowing, and his own master?--we turn from him without\nhope: but let him be filled with awe and dread before the Vast and the\nDivine, which uses him glad to be used, and our eye is riveted to the\nchain of events. What a debt is ours to that old religion which, in the\nchildhood of most of us, still dwelt like a sabbath morning in the\ncountry of New England, teaching privation, self-denial and sorrow! A\nman was born not for prosperity, but to suffer for the benefit of\nothers, like the noble rock-maple which all around our villages bleeds\nfor the service of man. Not praise, not men\u2019s acceptance of our doing,\nbut the spirit\u2019s holy errand through us absorbed the thought. How\ndignified was this! How all that is called talents and success, in our\nnoisy capitals, becomes buzz and din before this man-worthiness! How our\nfriendships and the complaisances we use, shame us now! Shall we not\nquit our companions, as if they were thieves and pot-companions, and\nbetake ourselves to some desert cliff of mount Katahdin, some unvisited\nrecess in Moosehead Lake, to bewail our innocency and to recover it, and\nwith it the power to communicate again with these sharers of a more\nsacred idea?\n\nAnd what is to replace for us the piety of that race? We cannot have\ntheirs: it glides away from us day by day, but we also can bask in the\ngreat morning which rises forever out of the eastern sea, and be\nourselves the children of the light. I stand here to say, Let us worship\nthe mighty and transcendent Soul. It is the office, I doubt not, of this\nage to annul that adulterous divorce which the superstition of many ages\nhas effected between the intellect and holiness. The lovers of goodness\nhave been one class, the students of wisdom another, as if either could\nexist in any purity without the other. Truth is always holy, holiness\nalways wise. I will that we keep terms with sin, and a sinful literature\nand society, no longer, but live a life of discovery and performance.\nAccept the intellect, and it will accept us. Be the lowly ministers of\nthat pure omniscience, and deny it not before men. It will burn up all\nprofane literature, all base current opinions, all the false powers of\nthe world, as in a moment of time. I draw from nature the lesson of an\nintimate divinity. Our health and reason as men needs our respect to\nthis fact, against the heedlessness and against the contradiction of\nsociety. The sanity of man needs the poise of this immanent force. His\nnobility needs the assurance of this inexhaustible reserved power. How\ngreat soever have been its bounties, they are a drop to the sea whence\nthey flow. If you say, \u2018the acceptance of the vision is also the act of\nGod:\u2019--I shall not seek to penetrate the mystery, I admit the force of\nwhat you say. If you ask, \u2018How can any rules be given for the attainment\nof gifts so sublime?\u2019 I shall only remark that the solicitations of this\nspirit, as long as there is life, are never forborne. Tenderly,\ntenderly, they woo and court us from every object in nature, from every\nfact in life, from every thought in the mind. The one condition coupled\nwith the gift of truth is its use. That man shall be learned who\nreduceth his learning to practice. Emanuel Swedenborg affirmed that it\nwas opened to him, \u201cthat the spirits who knew truth in this life, but\ndid it not, at death shall lose their knowledge.\u201d \u201cIf knowledge,\u201d said\nAli the Caliph, \u201ccalleth unto practice, well; if not, it goeth away.\u201d\nThe only way into nature is to enact our best insight. Instantly we are\nhigher poets, and can speak a deeper law. Do what you know, and\nperception is converted into character, as islands and continents were\nbuilt by invisible infusories, or, as these forest leaves absorb light,\nelectricity, and volatile gases, and the gnarled oak to live a thousand\nyears is the arrest and fixation of the most volatile and ethereal\ncurrents. The doctrine of this Supreme Presence is a cry of joy and\nexultation. Who shall dare think he has come late into nature, or has\nmissed anything excellent in the past, who seeth the admirable stars of\npossibility, and the yet untouched continent of hope glittering with all\nits mountains in the vast West? I praise with wonder this great reality,\nwhich seems to drown all things in the deluge of its light. What man\nseeing this, can lose it from his thoughts, or entertain a meaner\nsubject? The entrance of this into his mind seems to be the birth of\nman. We cannot describe the natural history of the soul, but we know\nthat it is divine. I cannot tell if these wonderful qualities which\nhouse to-day in this mortal frame, shall ever re-assemble in equal\nactivity in a similar frame, or whether they have before had a natural\nhistory like that of this body you see before you; but this one thing I\nknow, that these qualities did not now begin to exist, cannot be sick\nwith my sickness, nor buried in any grave; but that they circulate\nthrough the Universe: before the world was, they were. Nothing can bar\nthem out, or shut them in, but they penetrate the ocean and land, space\nand time, form and essence, and hold the key to universal nature. I draw\nfrom this faith courage and hope. All things are known to the soul. It\nis not to be surprised by any communication. Nothing can be greater than\nit. Let those fear and those fawn who will. The soul is in her native\nrealm, and it is wider than space, older than time, wide as hope, rich\nas love. Pusillanimity and fear she refuses with a beautiful scorn; they\nare not for her who putteth on her coronation robes, and goes out\nthrough universal love to universal power.\n\n\n\n\nMAN THE REFORMER.\n\nA LECTURE READ BEFORE THE MECHANICS\u2019 APPRENTICES\u2019 LIBRARY ASSOCIATION,\nBOSTON, JANUARY 25, 1841.\n\n\n\n\nMAN THE REFORMER.\n\n\nMR. PRESIDENT, AND GENTLEMEN,\n\nI wish to offer to your consideration some thoughts on the particular\nand general relations of man as a reformer. I shall assume that the aim\nof each young man in this association is the very highest that belongs\nto a rational mind. Let it be granted, that our life, as we lead it, is\ncommon and mean; that some of those offices and functions for which we\nwere mainly created are grown so rare in society, that the memory of\nthem is only kept alive in old books and in dim traditions; that\nprophets and poets, that beautiful and perfect men, we are not now, no,\nnor have even seen such; that some sources of human instruction are\nalmost unnamed and unknown among us; that the community in which we live\nwill hardly bear to be told that every man should be open to ecstasy or\na divine illumination, and his daily walk elevated by intercourse with\nthe spiritual world. Grant all this, as we must, yet I suppose none of\nmy auditors will deny that we ought to seek to establish ourselves in\nsuch disciplines and courses as will deserve that guidance and clearer\ncommunication with the spiritual nature. And further, I will not\ndissemble my hope, that each person whom I address has felt his own call\nto cast aside all evil customs, timidities, and limitations, and to be\nin his place a free and helpful man, a reformer, a benefactor, not\ncontent to slip along through the world like a footman or a spy,\nescaping by his nimbleness and apologies as many knocks as he can, but a\nbrave and upright man, who must find or cut a straight road to\neverything excellent in the earth, and not only go honorably himself,\nbut make it easier for all who follow him, to go in honor and with\nbenefit.\n\nIn the history of the world the doctrine of Reform had never such scope\nas at the present hour. Lutherans, Hernhutters, Jesuits, Monks, Quakers,\nKnox, Wesley, Swedenborg, Bentham, in their accusations of society, all\nrespected something,--church or state, literature or history, domestic\nusages, the market town, the dinner table, coined money. But now all\nthese and all things else hear the trumpet, and must rush to\njudgment,--Christianity, the laws, commerce, schools, the farm, the\nlaboratory; and not a kingdom, town, statute, rite, calling, man, or\nwoman, but is threatened by the new spirit.\n\nWhat if some of the objections whereby our institutions are assailed are\nextreme and speculative, and the reformers tend to idealism; that only\nshows the extravagance of the abuses which have driven the mind into the\nopposite extreme. It is when your facts and persons grow unreal and\nfantastic by too much falsehood, that the scholar flies for refuge to\nthe world of ideas, and aims to recruit and replenish nature from that\nsource. Let ideas establish their legitimate sway again in society, let\nlife be fair and poetic, and the scholars will gladly be lovers,\ncitizens, and philanthropists.\n\nIt will afford no security from the new ideas, that the old nations, the\nlaws of centuries, the property and institutions of a hundred cities,\nare built on other foundations. The demon of reform has a secret door\ninto the heart of every lawmaker, of every inhabitant of every city. The\nfact, that a new thought and hope have dawned in your breasts, should\napprize you that in the same hour a new light broke in upon a thousand\nprivate hearts. That secret which you would fain keep,--as soon as you\ngo abroad, lo! there is one standing on the doorstep, to tell you the\nsame. There is not the most bronzed and sharpened money-catcher, who\ndoes not, to your consternation, almost, quail and shake the moment he\nhears a question prompted by the new ideas. We thought he had some\nsemblance of ground to stand upon, that such as he at least would die\nhard; but he trembles and flees. Then the scholar says, \u2018Cities and\ncoaches shall never impose on me again; for, behold every solitary dream\nof mine is rushing to fulfilment. That fancy I had, and hesitated to\nutter because you would laugh,--the broker, the attorney, the market-man\nare saying the same thing. Had I waited a day longer to speak, I had\nbeen too late. Behold, State Street thinks, and Wall Street doubts, and\nbegins to prophecy!\u2019\n\nIt cannot be wondered at, that this general inquest into abuses should\narise in the bosom of society, when one considers the practical\nimpediments that stand in the way of virtuous young men. The young man,\non entering life, finds the way to lucrative employments blocked with\nabuses. The ways of trade are grown selfish to the borders of theft, and\nsupple to the borders (if not beyond the borders) of fraud. The\nemployments of commerce are not intrinsically unfit for a man, or less\ngenial to his faculties, but these are now in their general course so\nvitiated by derelictions and abuses at which all connive, that it\nrequires more vigor and resources than can be expected of every young\nman, to right himself in them; he is lost in them; he cannot move hand\nor foot in them. Has he genius and virtue? the less does he find them\nfit for him to grow in, and if he would thrive in them, he must\nsacrifice all the brilliant dreams of boyhood and youth as dreams; he\nmust forget the prayers of his childhood; and must take on him the\nharness of routine and obsequiousness. If not so minded, nothing is left\nhim but to begin the world anew, as he does who puts the spade into the\nground for food. We are all implicated, of course, in this charge; it is\nonly necessary to ask a few questions as to the progress of the articles\nof commerce from the fields where they grew, to our houses, to become\naware that we eat and drink and wear perjury and fraud in a hundred\ncommodities. How many articles of daily consumption are furnished us\nfrom the West Indies; yet it is said, that, in the Spanish islands, the\nvenality of the officers of the government has passed into usage, and\nthat no article passes into our ships which has not been fraudulently\ncheapened. In the Spanish islands, every agent or factor of the\nAmericans, unless he be a consul, has taken oath that he is a Catholic,\nor has caused a priest to make that declaration for him. The\nabolitionist has shown us our dreadful debt to the southern negro. In\nthe island of Cuba, in addition to the ordinary abominations of slavery,\nit appears, only men are bought for the plantations, and one dies in ten\nevery year, of these miserable bachelors, to yield us sugar. I leave for\nthose who have the knowledge the part of sifting the oaths of our\ncustom-houses; I will not inquire into the oppression of the sailors; I\nwill not pry into the usages of our retail trade. I content myself with\nthe fact, that the general system of our trade, (apart from the blacker\ntraits, which, I hope, are exceptions denounced and unshared by all\nreputable men,) is a system of selfishness; is not dictated by the high\nsentiments of human nature; is not measured by the exact law of\nreciprocity; much less by the sentiments of love and heroism, but is a\nsystem of distrust, of concealment, of superior keenness, not of giving\nbut of taking advantage. It is not that which a man delights to unlock\nto a noble friend; which he meditates on with joy and self-approval in\nhis hour of love and aspiration; but rather what he then puts out of\nsight, only showing the brilliant result, and atoning for the manner of\nacquiring, by the manner of expending it. I do not charge the merchant\nor the manufacturer. The sins of our trade belong to no class, to no\nindividual. One plucks, one distributes, one eats. Every body partakes,\nevery body confesses,--with cap and knee volunteers his confession, yet\nnone feels himself accountable. He did not create the abuse; he cannot\nalter it. What is he? an obscure private person who must get his bread.\nThat is the vice,--that no one feels himself called to act for man, but\nonly as a fraction of man. It happens therefore that all such ingenuous\nsouls as feel within themselves the irrepressible strivings of a noble\naim, who by the law of their nature must act simply, find these ways of\ntrade unfit for them, and they come forth from it. Such cases are\nbecoming more numerous every year.\n\nBut by coming out of trade you have not cleared yourself. The trail of\nthe serpent reaches into all the lucrative professions and practices of\nman. Each has it own wrongs. Each finds a tender and very intelligent\nconscience a disqualification for success. Each requires of the\npractitioner a certain shutting of the eyes, a certain dapperness and\ncompliance, an acceptance of customs, a sequestration from the\nsentiments of generosity and love, a compromise of private opinion and\nlofty integrity. Nay, the evil custom reaches into the whole institution\nof property, until our laws which establish and protect it, seem not to\nbe the issue of love and reason, but of selfishness. Suppose a man is so\nunhappy as to be born a saint, with keen perceptions, but with the\nconscience and love of an angel, and he is to get his living in the\nworld; he finds himself excluded from all lucrative works; he has no\nfarm, and he cannot get one; for, to earn money enough to buy one,\nrequires a sort of concentration toward money, which is the selling\nhimself for a number of years, and to him the present hour is as sacred\nand inviolable as any future hour. Of course, whilst another man has no\nland, my title to mine, your title to yours, is at once vitiated.\nInextricable seem to be the twinings and tendrils of this evil, and we\nall involve ourselves in it the deeper by forming connections, by wives\nand children, by benefits and debts.\n\nConsiderations of this kind have turned the attention of many\nphilanthropic and intelligent persons to the claims of manual labor, as\na part of the education of every young man. If the accumulated wealth of\nthe past generation is thus tainted,--no matter how much of it is\noffered to us,--we must begin to consider if it were not the nobler part\nto renounce it, and to put ourselves into primary relations with the\nsoil and nature, and abstaining from whatever is dishonest and unclean,\nto take each of us bravely his part, with his own hands, in the manual\nlabor of the world.\n\nBut it is said, \u2018What! will you give up the immense advantages reaped\nfrom the division of labor, and set every man to make his own shoes,\nbureau, knife, wagon, sails, and needle? This would be to put men back\ninto barbarism by their own act.\u2019 I see no instant prospect of a\nvirtuous revolution; yet I confess, I should not be pained at a change\nwhich threatened a loss of some of the luxuries or conveniences of\nsociety, if it proceeded from a preference of the agricultural life out\nof the belief, that our primary duties as men could be better discharged\nin that calling. Who could regret to see a high conscience and a purer\ntaste exercising a sensible effect on young men in their choice of\noccupation, and thinning the ranks of competition in the labors of\ncommerce, of law, and of state? It is easy to see that the inconvenience\nwould last but a short time. This would be great action, which always\nopens the eyes of men. When many persons shall have done this, when the\nmajority shall admit the necessity of reform in all these institutions,\ntheir abuses will be redressed, and the way will be open again to the\nadvantages which arise from the division of labor, and a man may select\nthe fittest employment for his peculiar talent again, without\ncompromise.\n\nBut quite apart from the emphasis which the times give to the doctrine,\nthat the manual labor of society ought to be shared among all the\nmembers, there are reasons proper to every individual, why he should not\nbe deprived of it. The use of manual labor is one which never grows\nobsolete, and which is inapplicable to no person. A man should have a\nfarm or a mechanical craft for his culture. We must have a basis for our\nhigher accomplishments, our delicate entertainments of poetry and\nphilosophy, in the work of our hands. We must have an antagonism in the\ntough world for all the variety of our spiritual faculties, or they will\nnot be born. Manual labor is the study of the external world. The\nadvantage of riches remains with him who procured them, not with the\nheir. When I go into my garden with a spade, and dig a bed, I feel such\nan exhileration and health, that I discover that I have been defrauding\nmyself all this time in letting others do for me what I should have\ndone with my own hands. But not only health, but education is in the\nwork. Is it possible that I who get indefinite quantities of sugar,\nhominy, cotton, buckets, crockery ware, and letter paper, by simply\nsigning my name once in three months to a cheque in favor of John Smith\nand Co. traders, get the fair share of exercise to my faculties by that\nact, which nature intended for me in making all these farfetched matters\nimportant to my comfort? It is Smith himself, and his carriers, and\ndealers, and manufacturers; it is the sailor, the hidedrogher, the\nbutcher, the negro, the hunter, and the planter, who have intercepted\nthe sugar of the sugar, and the cotton of the cotton. They have got the\neducation, I only the commodity. This were all very well if I were\nnecessarily absent, being detained by work of my own, like theirs, work\nof the same faculties; then should I be sure of my hands and feet, but\nnow I feel some shame before my wood-chopper, my ploughman, and my cook,\nfor they have some sort of self-sufficiency, they can contrive without\nmy aid to bring the day and year round, but I depend on them, and have\nnot earned by use a right to my arms and feet.\n\nConsider further the difference between the first and second owner of\nproperty. Every species of property is preyed on by its own enemies, as\niron by rust; timber by rot; cloth by moths; provisions by mould,\nputridity, or vermin; money by thieves; an orchard by insects; a planted\nfield by weeds and the inroad of cattle; a stock of cattle by hunger; a\nroad by rain and frost; a bridge by freshets. And whoever takes any of\nthese things into his possession, takes the charge of defending them\nfrom this troop of enemies, or of keeping them in repair. A man who\nsupplies his own want, who builds a raft or a boat to go a fishing,\nfinds it easy to caulk it, or put in a thole-pin, or mend the rudder.\nWhat he gets only as fast as he wants for his own ends, does not\nembarrass him, or take away his sleep with looking after. But when he\ncomes to give all the goods he has year after year collected, in one\nestate to his son, house, orchard, ploughed land, cattle, bridges,\nhardware, wooden-ware, carpets, cloths, provisions, books, money, and\ncannot give him the skill and experience which made or collected these,\nand the method and place they have in his own life, the son finds his\nhands full,--not to use these things,--but to look after them and defend\nthem from their natural enemies. To him they are not means, but masters.\nTheir enemies will not remit; rust, mould, vermin, rain, sun, freshet,\nfire, all seize their own, fill him with vexation, and he is converted\nfrom the owner into a watchman or a watch-dog to this magazine of old\nand new chattels. What a change! Instead of the masterly good humor, and\nsense of power, and fertility of resource in himself; instead of those\nstrong and learned hands, those piercing and learned eyes, that supple\nbody, and that mighty and prevailing heart, which the father had, whom\nnature loved and feared, whom snow and rain, water and land, beast and\nfish seemed all to know and to serve, we have now a puny, protected\nperson, guarded by walls and curtains, stoves and down beds, coaches,\nand men servants and women-servants from the earth and the sky, and who,\nbred to depend on all these, is made anxious by all that endangers those\npossessions, and is forced to spend so much time in guarding them, that\nhe has quite lost sight of their original use, namely, to help him to\nhis ends,--to the prosecution of his love; to the helping of his friend,\nto the worship of his God, to the enlargement of his knowledge, to the\nserving of his country, to the indulgence of his sentiment, and he is\nnow what is called a rich man,--the menial and runner of his riches.\n\nHence it happens that the whole interest of history lies in the fortunes\nof the poor. Knowledge, Virtue, Power are the victories of man over his\nnecessities, his march to the dominion of the world. Every man ought to\nhave this opportunity to conquer the world for himself. Only such\npersons interest us, Spartans, Romans, Saracens, English, Americans, who\nhave stood in the jaws of need, and have by their own wit and might\nextricated themselves, and made man victorious.\n\nI do not wish to overstate this doctrine of labor, or insist that every\nman should be a farmer, any more than that every man should be a\nlexicographer. In general, one may say, that the husbandman\u2019s is the\noldest, and most universal profession, and that where a man does not yet\ndiscover in himself any fitness for one work more than another, this may\nbe preferred. But the doctrine of the Farm is merely this, that every\nman ought to stand in primary relations with the work of the world,\nought to do it himself, and not to suffer the accident of his having a\npurse in his pocket, or his having been bred to some dishonorable and\ninjurious craft, to sever him from those duties; and for this reason,\nthat labor is God\u2019s education; that he only is a sincere learner, he\nonly can become a master, who learns the secrets of labor, and who by\nreal cunning extorts from nature its sceptre.\n\nNeither would I shut my ears to the plea of the learned professions, of\nthe poet, the priest, the lawgiver, and men of study generally; namely,\nthat in the experience of all men of that class, the amount of manual\nlabor which is necessary to the maintenance of a family, indisposes and\ndisqualifies for intellectual exertion. I know, it often, perhaps\nusually, happens, that where there is a fine organization apt for poetry\nand philosophy, that individual finds himself compelled to wait on his\nthoughts, to waste several days that he may enhance and glorify one; and\nis better taught by a moderate and dainty exercise, such as rambling in\nthe fields, rowing, skating, hunting, than by the downright drudgery of\nthe farmer and the smith. I would not quite forget the venerable counsel\nof the Egyptian mysteries, which declared that \u201cthere were two pairs of\neyes in man, and it is requisite that the pair which are beneath should\nbe closed, when the pair that are above them perceive, and that when the\npair above are closed, those which are beneath should be opened.\u201d Yet I\nwill suggest that no separation from labor can be without some loss of\npower and of truth to the seer himself; that, I doubt not, the faults\nand vices of our literature and philosophy, their too great fineness,\neffeminacy, and melancholy, are attributable to the enervated and sickly\nhabits of the literary class. Better that the book should not be quite\nso good, and the bookmaker abler and better, and not himself often a\nludicrous contrast to all that he has written.\n\nBut granting that for ends so sacred and dear, some relaxation must be\nhad, I think, that if a man find in himself any strong bias to poetry,\nto art, to the contemplative life, drawing him to these things with a\ndevotion incompatible with good husbandry, that man ought to reckon\nearly with himself, and, respecting the compensations of the Universe,\nought to ransom himself from the duties of economy, by a certain rigor\nand privation in his habits. For privileges so rare and grand, let him\nnot stint to pay a great tax. Let him be a c\u00e6nobite, a pauper, and if\nneed be, celibate also. Let him learn to eat his meals standing, and to\nrelish the taste of fair water and black bread. He may leave to others\nthe costly conveniences of housekeeping, and large hospitality, and the\npossession of works of art. Let him feel that genius is a hospitality,\nand that he who can create works of art needs not collect them. He must\nlive in a chamber, and postpone his self-indulgence, forewarned and\nforearmed against that frequent misfortune of men of genius,--the taste\nfor luxury. This is the tragedy of genius,--attempting to drive along\nthe ecliptic with one horse of the heavens and one horse of the earth,\nthere is only discord and ruin and downfall to chariot and charioteer.\n\nThe duty that every man should assume his own vows, should call the\ninstitutions of society to account, and examine their fitness to him,\ngains in emphasis, if we look at our modes of living. Is our\nhousekeeping sacred and honorable? Does it raise and inspire us, or does\nit cripple us instead? I ought to be armed by every part and function of\nmy household, by all my social function, by my economy, by my feasting,\nby my voting, by my traffic. Yet I am almost no party to any of these\nthings. Custom does it for me, gives me no power therefrom, and runs me\nin debt to boot. We spend our incomes for paint and paper, for a hundred\ntrifles, I know not what, and not for the things of a man. Our expense\nis almost all for conformity. It is for cake that we run in debt; \u2019tis\nnot the intellect, not the heart, not beauty, not worship, that costs so\nmuch. Why needs any man be rich? Why must he have horses, fine\ngarments, handsome apartments, access to public houses and places of\namusement? Only for want of thought. Give his mind a new image, and he\nflees into a solitary garden or garret to enjoy it, and is richer with\nthat dream, than the fee of a county could make him. But we are first\nthoughtless, and then find that we are moneyless. We are first sensual,\nand then must be rich. We dare not trust our wit for making our house\npleasant to our friend, and so we buy ice-creams. He is accustomed to\ncarpets, and we have not sufficient character to put floor cloths out of\nhis mind whilst he stays in the house, and so we pile the floor with\ncarpets. Let the house rather be a temple of the Furies of Laced\u00e6mon,\nformidable and holy to all, which none but a Spartan may enter or so\nmuch as behold. As soon as there is faith, as soon as there is society,\ncomfits and cushions will be left to slaves. Expense will be inventive\nand heroic. We shall eat hard and lie hard, we shall dwell like the\nancient Romans in narrow tenements, whilst our public edifices, like\ntheirs, will be worthy for their proportion of the landscape in which we\nset them, for conversation, for art, for music, for worship. We shall be\nrich to great purposes; poor only for selfish ones.\n\nNow what help for these evils? How can the man who has learned but one\nart, procure all the conveniences of life honestly? Shall we say all we\nthink?--Perhaps with his own hands. Suppose he collects or makes them\nill;--yet he has learned their lesson. If he cannot do that.--Then\nperhaps he can go without. Immense wisdom and riches are in that. It is\nbetter to go without, than to have them at too great a cost. Let us\nlearn the meaning of economy. Economy is a high, humane office, a\nsacrament, when its aim is grand; when it is the prudence of simple\ntastes, when it practised for freedom, or love, or devotion. Much of the\neconomy which we see in houses, is of a base origin, and is best kept\nout of sight. Parched corn eaten to-day that I may have roast fowl to my\ndinner on Sunday, is a baseness; but parched corn and a house with one\napartment, that I may be free of all perturbations, that I may be serene\nand docile to what the mind shall speak, and girt and roadready for the\nlowest mission of knowledge or goodwill, is frugality for gods and\nheroes.\n\nCan we not learn the lesson of self-help? Society is full of infirm\npeople, who incessantly summon others to serve them. They contrive\neverywhere to exhaust for their single comfort the entire means and\nappliances of that luxury to which our invention has yet attained.\nSofas, ottomans, stoves, wine, game-fowl, spices, perfumes, rides, the\ntheatre, entertainments,--all these they want, they need, and whatever\ncan be suggested more than these, they crave also, as if it was the\nbread which should keep them from starving; and if they miss any one,\nthey represent themselves as the most wronged and most wretched persons\non earth. One must have been born and bred with them to know how to\nprepare a meal for their learned stomach. Meantime, they never bestir\nthemselves to serve another person; not they! they have a great deal\nmore to do for themselves than they can possibly perform, nor do they\nonce perceive the cruel joke of their lives, but the more odious they\ngrow, the sharper is the tone of their complaining and craving. Can\nanything be so elegant as to have few wants and to serve them one\u2019s\nself, so as to have somewhat left to give, instead of being always\nprompt to grab? It is more elegant to answer one\u2019s own needs, than to be\nrichly served; inelegant perhaps it may look to-day, and to a few, but\nit is an elegance forever and to all.\n\nI do not wish to be absurd and pedantic in reform. I do not wish to push\nmy criticism on the state of things around me to that extravagant mark,\nthat shall compel me to suicide, or to an absolute isolation from the\nadvantages of civil society. If we suddenly plant our foot, and say,--I\nwill neither eat nor drink nor wear nor touch any food or fabric which I\ndo not know to be innocent, or deal with any person whose whole manner\nof life is not clear and rational, we shall stand still. Whose is so?\nNot mine; not thine; not his. But I think we must clear ourselves each\none by the interrogation, whether we have earned our bread to-day by the\nhearty contribution of our energies to the common benefit? and we must\nnot cease to _tend_ to the correction of these flagrant wrongs, by\nlaying one stone aright every day.\n\nBut the idea which now begins to agitate society has a wider scope than\nour daily employments, our households, and the institutions of property.\nWe are to revise the whole of our social structure, the state, the\nschool, religion, marriage, trade, science, and explore their\nfoundations in our own nature; we are to see that the world not only\nfitted the former men, but fits us, and to clear ourselves of every\nusage which has not its roots in our own mind. What is a man born for\nbut to be a Reformer, a Re-maker of what man has made; a renouncer of\nlies; a restorer of truth and good, imitating that great Nature which\nembosoms us all, and which sleeps no moment on an old past, but every\nhour repairs herself, yielding us every morning a new day, and with\nevery pulsation a new life? Let him renounce everything which is not\ntrue to him, and put all his practices back on their first thoughts, and\ndo nothing for which he has not the whole world for his reason. If there\nare inconveniences, and what is called ruin in the way, because we have\nso enervated and maimed ourselves, yet it would be like dying of\nperfumes to sink in the effort to reattach the deeds of every day to the\nholy and mysterious recesses of life.\n\nThe power, which is at once spring and regulator in all efforts of\nreform, is the conviction that there is an infinite worthiness in man\nwhich will appear at the call of worth, and that all particular reforms\nare the removing of some impediment. Is it not the highest duty that man\nshould be honored in us? I ought not to allow any man, because he has\nbroad lands, to feel that he is rich in my presence. I ought to make him\nfeel that I can do without his riches, that I cannot be bought,--neither\nby comfort, neither by pride,--and though I be utterly penniless, and\nreceiving bread from him, that he is the poor man beside me. And if, at\nthe same time, a woman or a child discovers a sentiment of piety, or a\njuster way of thinking than mine, I ought to confess it by my respect\nand obedience, though it go to alter my whole way of life.\n\nThe Americans have many virtues, but they have not Faith and Hope. I\nknow no two words whose meaning is more lost sight of. We use these\nwords as if they were as obsolete as Selah and Amen. And yet they have\nthe broadest meaning, and the most cogent application to Boston in 1841.\nThe Americans have no faith. They rely on the power of a dollar; they\nare deaf to a sentiment. They think you may talk the north wind down as\neasily as raise society; and no class more faithless than the scholars\nor intellectual men. Now if I talk with a sincere wise man, and my\nfriend, with a poet, with a conscientious youth who is still under the\ndominion of his own wild thoughts, and not yet harnessed in the team of\nsociety to drag with us all in the ruts of custom, I see at once how\npaltry is all this generation of unbelievers, and what a house of cards\ntheir institutions are, and I see what one brave man, what one great\nthought executed might effect. I see that the reason of the distrust of\nthe practical man in all theory, is his inability to perceive the means\nwhereby we work. Look, he says, at the tools with which this world of\nyours is to be built. As we cannot make a planet, with atmosphere,\nrivers, and forests, by means of the best carpenters\u2019 or engineers\u2019\ntools, with chemist\u2019s laboratory and smith\u2019s forge to boot,--so neither\ncan we ever construct that heavenly society you prate of, out of\nfoolish, sick, selfish men and women, such as we know them to be. But\nthe believer not only beholds his heaven to be possible, but already to\nbegin to exist,--not by the men or materials the statesman uses, but by\nmen transfigured and raised above themselves by the power of principles.\nTo principles something else is possible that transcends all the power\nof expedients.\n\nEvery great and commanding moment in the annals of the world is the\ntriumph of some enthusiasm. The victories of the Arabs after Mahomet,\nwho, in a few years, from a small and mean beginning, established a\nlarger empire than that of Rome, is an example. They did they knew not\nwhat. The naked Derar, horsed on an idea, was found an overmatch for a\ntroop of Roman cavalry. The women fought like men, and conquered the\nRoman men. They were miserably equipped, miserably fed. They were\nTemperance troops. There was neither brandy nor flesh needed to feed\nthem. They conquered Asia, and Africa, and Spain, on barley. The Caliph\nOmar\u2019s walking-stick struck more terror into those who saw it, than\nanother man\u2019s sword. His diet was barley bread; his sauce was salt; and\noftentimes by way of abstinence he ate his bread without salt. His drink\nwas water. His palace was built of mud; and when he left Medina to go to\nthe conquest of Jerusalem, he rode on a red camel, with a wooden platter\nhanging at his saddle, with a bottle of water and two sacks, one holding\nbarley, and the other dried fruits.\n\nBut there will dawn ere long on our politics, on our modes of living, a\nnobler morning than that Arabian faith, in the sentiment of love. This\nis the one remedy for all ills, the panacea of nature. We must be\nlovers, and at once the impossible becomes possible. Our age and\nhistory, for these thousand years, has not been the history of kindness,\nbut of selfishness. Our distrust is very expensive. The money we spend\nfor courts and prisons is very ill laid out. We make, by distrust, the\nthief, and burglar, and incendiary, and by our court and jail we keep\nhim so. An acceptance of the sentiment of love throughout Christendom\nfor a season, would bring the felon and the outcast to our side in\ntears, with the devotion of his faculties to our service. See this wide\nsociety of laboring men and women. We allow ourselves to be served by\nthem, we live apart from them, and meet them without a salute in the\nstreets. We do not greet their talents, nor rejoice in their good\nfortune, nor foster their hopes, nor in the assembly of the people vote\nfor what is dear to them. Thus we enact the part of the selfish noble\nand king from the foundation of the world. See, this tree always bears\none fruit. In every household, the peace of a pair is poisoned by the\nmalice, slyness, indolence, and alienation of domestics. Let any two\nmatrons meet, and observe how soon their conversation turns on the\ntroubles from their \u201c_help_,\u201d as our phrase is. In every knot of\nlaborers, the rich man does not feel himself among his friends,--and at\nthe polls he finds them arrayed in a mass in distinct opposition to him.\nWe complain that the politics of masses of the people are controlled by\ndesigning men, and led in opposition to manifest justice and the common\nweal, and to their own interest. But the people do not wish to be\nrepresented or ruled by the ignorant and base. They only vote for these,\nbecause they were asked with the voice and semblance of kindness. They\nwill not vote for them long. They inevitably prefer wit and probity. To\nuse an Egyptian metaphor, it is not their will for any long time \u201cto\nraise the nails of wild beasts, and to depress the heads of the sacred\nbirds.\u201d Let our affection flow out to our fellows; it would operate in a\nday the greatest of all revolutions. It is better to work on\ninstitutions by the sun than by the wind. The state must consider the\npoor man, and all voices must speak for him. Every child that is born\nmust have a just chance for his bread. Let the amelioration in our laws\nof property proceed from the concession of the rich, not from the\ngrasping of the poor. Let us begin by habitual imparting. Let us\nunderstand that the equitable rule is, that no one should take more than\nhis share, let him be ever so rich. Let me feel that I am to be a lover.\nI am to see to it that the world is the better for me, and to find my\nreward in the act. Love would put a new face on this weary old world in\nwhich we dwell as pagans and enemies too long, and it would warm the\nheart to see how fast the vain diplomacy of statesmen, the impotence of\narmies, and navies, and lines of defence, would be superseded by this\nunarmed child. Love will creep where it cannot go, will accomplish that\nby imperceptible methods,--being its own lever, fulcrum, and\npower,--which force could never achieve. Have you not seen in the woods,\nin a late autumn morning, a poor fungus or mushroom,--a plant without\nany solidity, nay, that seemed nothing but a soft mush or jelly,--by its\nconstant, total, and inconceivably gentle pushing, manage to break its\nway up through the frosty ground, and actually to lift a hard crust on\nits head? It is the symbol of the power of kindness. The virtue of this\nprinciple in human society in application to great interests is obsolete\nand forgotten. Once or twice in history it has been tried in illustrious\ninstances, with signal success. This great, overgrown, dead Christendom\nof ours still keeps alive at least the name of a lover of mankind. But\none day all men will be lovers; and every calamity will be dissolved in\nthe universal sunshine.\n\nWill you suffer me to add one trait more to this portrait of man the\nreformer? The mediator between the spiritual and the actual world should\nhave a great prospective prudence. An Arabian poet describes his hero by\nsaying,\n\n   \u201cSunshine was he\n    In the winter day;\n    And in the midsummer\n    Coolness and shade.\u201d\n\nHe who would help himself and others, should not be a subject of\nirregular and interrupted impulses of virtue, but a continent,\npersisting, immovable person,--such as we have seen a few scattered up\nand down in time for the blessing of the world; men who have in the\ngravity of their nature a quality which answers to the fly-wheel in a\nmill, which distributes the motion equably over all the wheels, and\nhinders it from falling unequally and suddenly in destructive shocks. It\nis better that joy should be spread over all the day in the form of\nstrength, than that it should be concentrated into ecstasies, full of\ndanger and followed by reactions. There is a sublime prudence, which is\nthe very highest that we know of man, which, believing in a vast\nfuture,--sure of more to come than is yet seen,--postpones always the\npresent hour to the whole life; postpones talent to genius, and special\nresults to character. As the merchant gladly takes money from his income\nto add to his capital, so is the great man very willing to lose\nparticular powers and talents, so that he gain in the elevation of his\nlife. The opening of the spiritual senses disposes men ever to greater\nsacrifices, to leave their signal talents, their best means and skill of\nprocuring a present success their power and their fame,--to cast all\nthings behind, in the insatiable thirst for divine communications. A\npurer fame, a greater power rewards the sacrifice. It is the conversion\nof our harvest into seed. As the farmer casts into the ground the\nfinest ears of his grain, the time will come when we too shall hold\nnothing back, but shall eagerly convert more than we now possess into\nmeans and powers, when we shall be willing to sow the sun and the moon\nfor seeds.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE ON THE TIMES.\n\nREAD AT THE MASONIC TEMPLE, BOSTON, DECEMBER 2, 1841.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE ON THE TIMES.\n\n\nThe Times, as we say--or the present aspects of our social state, the\nLaws, Divinity, Natural Science, Agriculture, Art, Trade, Letters, have\ntheir root in an invisible spiritual reality. To appear in these\naspects, they must first exist, or have some necessary foundation.\nBeside all the small reasons we assign, there is a great reason for the\nexistence of every extant fact; a reason which lies grand and immovable,\noften unsuspected behind it in silence. The Times are the masquerade of\nthe eternities; trivial to the dull, tokens of noble and majestic agents\nto the wise; the receptacle in which the Past leaves its history; the\nquarry out of which the genius of to-day is building up the Future. The\nTimes--the nations, manners, institutions, opinions, votes, are to be\nstudied as omens, as sacred leaves, whereon a weighty sense is\ninscribed, if we have the wit and the love to search it out. Nature\nitself seems to propound to us this topic, and to invite us to explore\nthe meaning of the conspicuous facts of the day. Everything that is\npopular, it has been said, deserves the attention of the philosopher:\nand this for the obvious reason, that although it may not be of any\nworth in itself, yet it characterizes the people.\n\nHere is very good matter to be handled, if we are skilful; an abundance\nof important practical questions which it behoves us to understand. Let\nus examine the pretensions of the attacking and defending parties. Here\nis this great fact of Conservatism, entrenched in its immense redoubts,\nwith Himmaleh for its front, and Atlas for its flank, and Andes for its\nrear, and the Atlantic and Pacific seas for its ditches and trenches,\nwhich has planted its crosses, and crescents, and stars and stripes, and\nvarious signs and badges of possession, over every rood of the planet,\nand says, \u2018I will hold fast; and to whom I will, will I give; and whom I\nwill, will I exclude and starve:\u2019 so says Conservatism; and all the\nchildren of men attack the colossus in their youth, and all, or all but\na few, bow before it when they are old. A necessity not yet commanded, a\nnegative imposed on the will of man by his condition, a deficiency in\nhis force, is the foundation on which it rests. Let this side be fairly\nstated. Meantime, on the other part, arises Reform, and offers the\nsentiment of Love as an overmatch to this material might. I wish to\nconsider well this affirmative side, which has a loftier port and reason\nthan heretofore, which encroaches on the other every day, puts it out of\ncountenance, out of reason, and out of temper, and leaves it nothing but\nsilence and possession.\n\nThe fact of aristocracy, with its two weapons of wealth and manners, is\nas commanding a feature of the nineteenth century, and the American\nrepublic, as of old Rome, or modern England. The reason and influence of\nwealth, the aspect of philosophy and religion, and the tendencies which\nhave acquired the name of Transcendentalism in Old and New England; the\naspect of poetry, as the exponent and interpretation of these things;\nthe fuller development and the freer play of Character as a social and\npolitical agent;--these and other related topics will in turn come to be\nconsidered.\n\nBut the subject of the Times is not an abstract question. We talk of the\nworld, but we mean a few men and women. If you speak of the age, you\nmean your own platoon of people, as Milton and Dante painted in colossal\ntheir platoons, and called them Heaven and Hell. In our idea of\nprogress, we do not go out of this personal picture. We do not think the\nsky will be bluer, or honey sweeter, or our climate more temperate, but\nonly that our relation to our fellows will be simpler and happier. What\nis the reason to be given for this extreme attraction which _persons_\nhave for us, but that they are the Age? they are the results of the\nPast; they are the heralds of the Future. They indicate,--these witty,\nsuffering, blushing, intimidating figures of the only race in which\nthere are individuals or changes, how far on the Fate has gone, and what\nit drives at. As trees make scenery, and constitute the hospitality of\nthe landscape, so persons are the world to persons. A cunning mystery by\nwhich the Great Desart of thoughts and of planets takes this engaging\nform, to bring, as it would seem, its meanings nearer to the mind.\nThoughts walk and speak, and look with eyes at me, and transport me into\nnew and magnificent scenes. These are the pungent instructors who thrill\nthe heart of each of us, and make all other teaching formal and cold.\nHow I follow them with aching heart, with pining desire! I count myself\nnothing before them. I would die for them with joy. They can do what\nthey will with me. How they lash us with those tongues! How they make\nthe tears start, make us blush and turn pale, and lap us in Elysium to\nsoothing dreams, and castles in the air! By tones of triumph; of dear\nlove; by threats; by pride that freezes; these have the skill to make\nthe world look bleak and inhospitable, or seem the nest of tenderness\nand joy. I do not wonder at the miracles which poetry attributes to the\nmusic of Orpheus, when I remember what I have experienced from the\nvaried notes of the human voice. They are an incalculable energy which\ncountervails all other forces in nature, because they are the channel of\nsupernatural powers. There is no interest or institution so poor and\nwithered, but if a new strong man could be born into it, he would\nimmediately redeem and replace it. A personal ascendency,--that is the\nonly fact much worth considering. I remember, some years ago, somebody\nshocked a circle of friends of order here in Boston, who supposed that\nour people were identified with their religious denominations, by\ndeclaring that an eloquent man,--let him be of what sect soever,--would\nbe ordained at once in one of our metropolitan churches. To be sure he\nwould; and not only in ours, but in any church, mosque, or temple, on\nthe planet; but he must be eloquent, able to supplant our method and\nclassification, by the superior beauty of his own. Every fact we have\nwas brought here by some person; and there is none that will not change\nand pass away before a person, whose nature is broader than the person\nwhich the fact in question represents. And so I find the Age walking\nabout in happy and hopeful natures, in strong eyes, and pleasant\nthoughts, and think I read it nearer and truer so, than in the\nstatute-book, or in the investments of capital, which rather celebrate\nwith mournful music the obsequies of the last age. In the brain of a\nfanatic; in the wild hope of a mountain boy, called by city boys very\nignorant, because they do not know what his hope has certainly apprised\nhim shall be; in the love-glance of a girl; in the hair-splitting\nconscientiousness of some eccentric person, who has found some new\nscruple to embarrass himself and his neighbors withal; is to be found\nthat which shall constitute the times to come, more than in the now\norganized and accredited oracles. For, whatever is affirmative and now\nadvancing, contains it. I think that only is real, which men love and\nrejoice in; not what they tolerate, but what they choose; what they\nembrace and avow, and not the things which chill, benumb, and terrify\nthem.\n\nAnd so why not draw for these times a portrait gallery? Let us paint\nthe painters. Whilst the Daguerreotypist, with camera-obscura and silver\nplate, begins now to traverse the land, let us set up our Camera also,\nand let the sun paint the people. Let us paint the agitator, and\nthe man of the old school, and the member of Congress, and the\ncollege-professor, the formidable editor, the priest, and reformer, the\ncontemplative girl, and the fair aspirant for fashion and opportunities,\nthe woman of the world who has tried and knows;--let us examine how well\nshe knows. Could we indicate the indicators, indicate those who most\naccurately represent every good and evil tendency of the general mind,\nin the just order which they take on this canvass of Time; so that all\nwitnesses should recognise a spiritual law, as each well known form\nflitted for a moment across the wall, we should have a series of\nsketches which would report to the next ages the color and quality of\nours.\n\nCertainly, I think, if this were done, there would be much to admire as\nwell as to condemn; souls of as lofty a port, as any in Greek or Roman\nfame, might appear; men of great heart, of strong hand, and of\npersuasive speech; subtle thinkers, and men of wide sympathy, and an\napprehension which looks over all history, and everywhere recognises its\nown. To be sure, there will be fragments and hints of men, more than\nenough: bloated promises, which end in nothing or little. And then truly\ngreat men, but with some defect in their composition, which neutralizes\ntheir whole force. Here is a Damascus blade, such as you may search\nthrough nature in vain to parallel, laid up on the shelf in some village\nto rust and ruin. And how many seem not quite available for that idea\nwhich they represent? Now and then comes a bolder spirit, I should\nrather say, a more surrendered soul, more informed and led by God, which\nis much in advance of the rest, quite beyond their sympathy, but\npredicts what shall soon be the general fulness; as when we stand by the\nseashore, whilst the tide is coming in, a wave comes up the beach far\nhigher than any foregoing one, and recedes; and for a long while none\ncomes up to that mark; but after some time the whole sea is there and\nbeyond it.\n\nBut we are not permitted to stand as spectators of the pageant which the\ntimes exhibit; we are parties also, and have a responsibility which is\nnot to be declined. A little while this interval of wonder and\ncomparison is permitted us, but to the end that we shall play a manly\npart. As the solar system moves forward in the heavens, certain stars\nopen before us, and certain stars close up behind us; so is man\u2019s life.\nThe reputations that were great and inaccessible change and tarnish. How\ngreat were once Lord Bacon\u2019s dimensions! he is now reduced almost to the\nmiddle height; and many another star has turned out to be a planet or an\nasteroid: only a few are the fixed stars which have no parallax, or none\nfor us. The change and decline of old reputations are the gracious marks\nof our own growth. Slowly, like light of morning, it steals on us, the\nnew fact, that we, who were pupils or aspirants, are now society: do\ncompose a portion of that head and heart we are wont to think worthy of\nall reverence and heed. We are the representatives of religion and\nintellect, and stand in the light of Ideas, whose rays stream through us\nto those younger and more in the dark. What further relations we\nsustain, what new lodges we are entering, is now unknown. To-day is a\nking in disguise. To-day always looks mean to the thoughtless, in the\nface of an uniform experience, that all good and great and happy actions\nare made up precisely of these blank to-days. Let us not be so deceived.\nLet us unmask the king as he passes. Let us not inhabit times of\nwonderful and various promise without divining their tendency. Let us\nnot see the foundations of nations, and of a new and better order of\nthings laid, with roving eyes, and an attention preoccupied with\ntrifles.\n\nThe two omnipresent parties of History, the party of the Past and the\nparty of the Future, divide society to-day as of old. Here is the\ninnumerable multitude of those who accept the state and the church from\nthe last generation, and stand on no argument but possession. They have\nreason also, and, as I think, better reason than is commonly stated. No\nBurke, no Metternich has yet done full justice to the side of\nconservatism. But this class, however large, relying not on the\nintellect but on the instinct, blends itself with the brute forces of\nnature, is respectable only as nature is, but the individuals have no\nattraction for us. It is the dissenter, the theorist, the aspirant, who\nis quitting this ancient domain to embark on seas of adventure, who\nengages our interest. Omitting then for the present all notice of the\nstationary class, we shall find that the movement party divides itself\ninto two classes, the actors, and the students.\n\nThe actors constitute that great army of martyrs who, at least in\nAmerica, by their conscience and philanthropy, occupy the ground which\nCalvinism occupied in the last age, and compose the visible church of\nthe existing generation. The present age will be marked by its harvest\nof projects for the reform of domestic, civil, literary, and\necclesiastical institutions. The leaders of the crusades against War,\nNegro slavery, Intemperance, Government based on force, Usages of trade,\nCourt and Custom-house Oaths, and so on to the agitators on the system\nof Education and the laws of Property, are the right successors of\nLuther, Knox, Robinson, Fox, Penn, Wesley, and Whitfield. They have the\nsame virtues and vices; the same noble impulse, and the same bigotry.\nThese movements are on all accounts important; they not only check the\nspecial abuses, but they educate the conscience and the intellect of the\npeople. How can such a question as the Slave-trade be agitated for forty\nyears by all the Christian nations, without throwing great light on\nethics into the general mind? The fury, with which the slave-trader\ndefends every inch of his bloody deck, and his howling auction-platform,\nis a trumpet to alarm the ear of mankind, to wake the dull, and drive\nall neutrals to take sides, and to listen to the argument and the\nverdict. The Temperance-question, which rides the conversation of ten\nthousand circles, and is tacitly recalled at every public and at every\nprivate table, drawing with it all the curious ethics of the Pledge, of\nthe Wine-question, of the equity of the manufacture and the trade, is a\ngymnastic training to the casuistry and conscience of the time.\nAntimasonry had a deep right and wrong, which gradually emerged to sight\nout of the turbid controversy. The political questions touching the\nBanks; the Tariff; the limits of the executive power; the right of the\nconstituent to instruct the representative; the treatment of the\nIndians; the Boundary wars; the Congress of nations; are all pregnant\nwith ethical conclusions; and it is well if government and our social\norder can extricate themselves from these alembics, and find themselves\nstill government and social order. The student of history will hereafter\ncompute the singular value of our endless discussion of questions, to\nthe mind of the period.\n\nWhilst each of these aspirations and attempts of the people for the\nBetter is magnified by the natural exaggeration of its advocates, until\nit excludes the others from sight, and repels discreet persons by the\nunfairness of the plea, the movements are in reality all parts of one\nmovement. There is a perfect chain,--see it, or see it not,--of reforms\nemerging from the surrounding darkness, each cherishing some part of the\ngeneral idea, and all must be seen, in order to do justice to any one.\nSeen in this their natural connection, they are sublime. The conscience\nof the Age demonstrates itself in this effort to raise the life of man\nby putting it in harmony with his idea of the Beautiful and the Just.\nThe history of reform is always identical; it is the comparison of the\nidea with the fact. Our modes of living are not agreeable to our\nimagination. We suspect they are unworthy. We arraign our daily\nemployments. They appear to us unfit, unworthy of the faculties we spend\non them. In conversation with a wise man, we find ourselves apologizing\nfor our employments; we speak of them with shame. Nature, literature,\nscience, childhood, appear to us beautiful; but not our own daily work;\nnot the ripe fruit and considered labors of man. This beauty which the\nfancy finds in everything else, certainly accuses the manner of life we\nlead. Why should it be hateful? Why should it contrast thus with all\nnatural beauty? Why should it not be poetic, and invite and raise us? Is\nthere a necessity that the works of man should be sordid? Perhaps\nnot.--Out of this fair Idea in the mind springs the effort at the\nPerfect. It is the interior testimony to a fairer possibility of life\nand manners, which agitates society every day with the offer of some new\namendment. If we would make more strict inquiry concerning its origin,\nwe find ourselves rapidly approaching the inner boundaries of thought,\nthat term where speech becomes silence, and science conscience. For the\norigin of all reform is in that mysterious fountain of the moral\nsentiment in man, which, amidst the natural, ever contains the\nsupernatural for men. That is new and creative. That is alive. That\nalone can make a man other than he is. Here or nowhere resides unbounded\nenergy, unbounded power.\n\nThe new voices in the wilderness crying \u201cRepent,\u201d have revived a hope,\nwhich had wellnigh perished out of the world, that the thoughts of the\nmind may yet, in some distant age, in some happy hour, be executed by\nthe hands. That is the hope, of which all other hopes are parts. For\nsome ages, these ideas have been consigned to the poet and musical\ncomposer, to the prayers and the sermons of churches; but the thought,\nthat they can ever have any footing in real life, seems long since to\nhave been exploded by all judicious persons. Milton, in his best tract,\ndescribes a relation between religion and the daily occupations, which\nis true until this time.\n\n\u201cA wealthy man, addicted to his pleasure and to his profits, finds\nreligion to be a traffic so entangled, and of so many piddling accounts,\nthat of all mysteries he cannot skill to keep a stock going upon that\ntrade. What should he do? Fain he would have the name to be religious;\nfain he would bear up with his neighbors in that. What does he,\ntherefore, but resolve to give over toiling, and to find himself out\nsome factor, to whose care and credit he may commit the whole managing\nof his religious affairs; some divine of note and estimation that must\nbe. To him he adheres, resigns the whole warehouse of his religion, with\nall the locks and keys, into his custody; and indeed makes the very\nperson of that man his religion; esteems his associating with him a\nsufficient evidence and commendatory of his own piety. So that a man may\nsay, his religion is now no more within himself, but is become a\ndividual moveable, and goes and comes near him, according as that good\nman frequents the house. He entertains him, gives him gifts, feasts him,\nlodges him; his religion comes home at night, prays, is liberally\nsupped, and sumptuously laid to sleep, rises, is saluted, and after the\nmalmsey, or some well spiced beverage, and better breakfasted than he\nwhose morning appetite would have gladly fed on green figs between\nBethany and Jerusalem, his religion walks abroad at eight, and leaves\nhis kind entertainer in the shop, trading all day without his\nreligion.\u201d\n\nThis picture would serve for our times. Religion was not invited to eat\nor drink or sleep with us, or to make or divide an estate, but was a\nholiday guest. Such omissions judge the church; as the compromise made\nwith the slaveholder, not much noticed at first, every day appears more\nflagrant mischief to the American constitution. But now the purists are\nlooking into all these matters. The more intelligent are growing uneasy\non the subject of Marriage. They wish to see the character represented\nalso in that covenant. There shall be nothing brutal in it, but it shall\nhonor the man and the woman, as much as the most diffusive and universal\naction. Grimly the same spirit looks into the law of Property, and\naccuses men of driving a trade in the great boundless providence which\nhad given the air, the water, and the land to men, to use and not to\nfence in and monopolize. It casts its eye on Trade, and Day Labor, and\nso it goes up and down, paving the earth with eyes, destroying privacy\nand making thorough-lights. Is all this for nothing? Do you suppose that\nthe reformers, which are preparing, will be as superficial as those we\nknow?\n\nBy the books it reads and translates, judge what books it will presently\nprint. A great deal of the profoundest thinking of antiquity, which had\nbecome as good as obsolete for us, is now re-appearing in extracts and\nallusions, and in twenty years will get all printed anew. See how daring\nis the reading, the speculation, the experimenting of the time. If now\nsome genius shall arise who could unite these scattered rays! And always\nsuch a genius does embody the ideas of each time. Here is great variety\nand richness of mysticism, each part of which now only disgusts, whilst\nit forms the sole thought of some poor Perfectionist or \u201cComer out,\u201d\nyet, when it shall be taken up as the garniture of some profound and\nall-reconciling thinker, will appear the rich and appropriate decoration\nof his robes.\n\nThese reforms are our contemporaries; they are ourselves; our own light,\nand sight, and conscience; they only name the relation which subsists\nbetween us and the vicious institutions which they go to rectify. They\nare the simplest statements of man in these matters; the plain right and\nwrong. I cannot choose but allow and honor them. The impulse is good,\nand the theory; the practice is less beautiful. The Reformers affirm the\ninward life, but they do not trust it, but use outward and vulgar means.\nThey do not rely on precisely that strength which wins me to their\ncause; not on love, not on a principle, but on men, on multitudes, on\ncircumstances, on money, on party; that is, on fear, on wrath, and\npride. The love which lifted men to the sight of these better ends, was\nthe true and best distinction of this time, the disposition to trust a\nprinciple more than a material force. I think _that_ the soul of reform;\nthe conviction, that not sensualism, not slavery, not war, not\nimprisonment, not even government, are needed,--but in lieu of them all,\nreliance on the sentiment of man, which will work best the more it is\ntrusted; not reliance on numbers, but, contrariwise, distrust of\nnumbers, and the feeling that then are we strongest, when most private\nand alone. The young men, who have been vexing society for these last\nyears with regenerative methods, seem to have made this mistake; they\nall exaggerated some special means, and all failed to see that the\nReform of Reforms must be accomplished without means.\n\nThe Reforms have their high origin in an ideal justice, but they do not\nretain the purity of an idea. They are quickly organized in some low,\ninadequate form, and present no more poetic image to the mind, than the\nevil tradition which they reprobated. They mix the fire of the moral\nsentiment with personal and party heats, with measureless exaggerations,\nand the blindness that prefers some darling measure to justice and\ntruth. Those, who are urging with most ardor what are called the\ngreatest benefits of mankind, are narrow, self-pleasing, conceited men,\nand affect us as the insane do. They bite us, and we run mad also. I\nthink the work of the reformer as innocent as other work that is done\naround him; but when I have seen it near, I do not like it better. It is\ndone in the same way, it is done profanely, not piously; by management,\nby tactics, and clamor. It is a buzz in the ear. I cannot feel any\npleasure in sacrifices which display to me such partiality of character.\nWe do not want actions, but men; not a chemical drop of water, but rain;\nthe spirit that sheds and showers actions, countless, endless actions.\nYou have on some occasion played a bold part. You have set your heart\nand face against society, when you thought it wrong, and returned it\nfrown for frown. Excellent: now can you afford to forget it, reckoning\nall your action no more than the passing of your hand through the air,\nor a little breath of your mouth? The world leaves no track in space,\nand the greatest action of man no mark in the vast idea. To the youth\ndiffident of his ability, and full of compunction at his unprofitable\nexistence, the temptation is always great to lend himself to public\nmovements, and as one of a party accomplish what he cannot hope to\neffect alone. But he must resist the degradation of a man to a measure.\nI must act with truth, though I should never come to act, as you call\nit, with effect. I must consent to inaction. A patience which is grand;\na brave and cold neglect of the offices which prudence exacts, so it be\ndone in a deep upper piety; a consent to solitude and inaction, which\nproceeds out of an unwillingness to violate character, is the century\nwhich makes the gem. Whilst therefore I desire to express the respect\nand joy I feel before this sublime connection of reforms, now in their\ninfancy around us, I urge the more earnestly the paramount duties of\nself-reliance. I cannot find language of sufficient energy to convey my\nsense of the sacredness of private integrity. All men, all things, the\nstate, the church, yea the friends of the heart are phantasms and unreal\nbeside the sanctuary of the heart. With so much awe, with so much fear,\nlet it be respected.\n\nThe great majority of men, unable to judge of any principle until its\nlight falls on a fact, are not aware of the evil that is around them,\nuntil they see it in some gross form, as in a class of intemperate men,\nor slaveholders, or soldiers, or fraudulent persons. Then they are\ngreatly moved; and magnifying the importance of that wrong, they fancy\nthat if that abuse were redressed, all would go well, and they fill the\nland with clamor to correct it. Hence the missionary and other religious\nefforts. If every island and every house had a Bible, if every child was\nbrought into the Sunday School, would the wounds of the world heal, and\nman be upright?\n\nBut the man of ideas, accounting the circumstance nothing, judges of the\ncommonwealth from the state of his own mind. \u2018If,\u2019 he says, \u2018I am\nselfish, then is there slavery, or the effort to establish it, wherever\nI go. But if I am just, then is there no slavery, let the laws say what\nthey will. For if I treat all men as gods, how to me can there be any\nsuch thing as a slave?\u2019 But how frivolous is your war against\ncircumstances. This denouncing philanthropist is himself a slaveholder\nin every word and look. Does he free me? Does he cheer me? He is the\nstate of Georgia, or Alabama, with their sanguinary slave-laws, walking\nhere on our northeastern shores. We are all thankful he has no more\npolitical power, as we are fond of liberty ourselves. I am afraid our\nvirtue is a little geographical. I am not mortified by our vice; that is\nobduracy; it colors and palters, it curses and swears, and I can see to\nthe end of it; but, I own, our virtue makes me ashamed; so sour and\nnarrow, so thin and blind, virtue so vice-like. Then again, how trivial\nseem the contests of the abolitionist, whilst he aims merely at the\ncircumstance of the slave. Give the slave the least elevation of\nreligious sentiment, and he is no slave: you are the slave: he not only\nin his humility feels his superiority, feels that much deplored\ncondition of his to be a fading trifle, but he makes you feel it too. He\nis the master. The exaggeration, which our young people make of his\nwrongs, characterizes themselves. What are no trifles to them, they\nnaturally think are no trifles to Pompey.\n\nWe say, then, that the reforming movement is sacred in its origin; in\nits management and details timid and profane. These benefactors hope to\nraise man by improving his circumstances: by combination of that which\nis dead, they hope to make something alive. In vain. By new infusions\nalone of the spirit by which he is made and directed, can he be re-made\nand reinforced. The sad Pestalozzi, who shared with all ardent spirits\nthe hope of Europe on the outbreak of the French Revolution, after\nwitnessing its sequel, recorded his conviction, that \u201cthe amelioration\nof outward circumstances will be the effect, but can never be the means\nof mental and moral improvement.\u201d Quitting now the class of actors, let\nus turn to see how it stands with the other class of which we spoke,\nnamely, the students.\n\nA new disease has fallen on the life of man. Every Age, like every human\nbody, has its own distemper. Other times have had war, or famine, or a\nbarbarism domestic or bordering, as their antagonism. Our forefathers\nwalked in the world and went to their graves, tormented with the fear of\nSin, and the terror of the Day of Judgment. These terrors have lost\ntheir force, and our torment is Unbelief, the Uncertainty as to what we\nought to do; the distrust of the value of what we do, and the distrust\nthat the Necessity (which we all at last believe in) is fair and\nbeneficent. Our Religion assumes the negative form of rejection. Out of\nlove of the true, we repudiate the false: and the Religion is an\nabolishing criticism. A great perplexity hangs like a cloud on the brow\nof all cultivated persons, a certain imbecility in the best spirits,\nwhich distinguishes the period. We do not find the same trait in the\nArabian, in the Hebrew, in Greek, Roman, Norman, English periods; no,\nbut in other men a natural firmness. The men did not see beyond the need\nof the hour. They planted their foot strong, and doubted nothing. We\nmistrust every step we take. We find it the worst thing about time, that\nwe know not what to do with it. We are so sharp-sighted that we can\nneither work nor think, neither read Plato nor not read him.\n\nThen there is what is called a too intellectual tendency. Can there be\ntoo much intellect? We have never met with any such excess. But the\ncriticism, which is levelled at the laws and manners, ends in thought,\nwithout causing a new method of life. The genius of the day does not\nincline to a deed, but to a beholding. It is not that men do not wish to\nact; they pine to be employed, but are paralyzed by the uncertainty what\nthey should do. The inadequacy of the work to the faculties, is the\npainful perception which keeps them still. This happens to the best.\nThen, talents bring their usual temptations, and the current literature\nand poetry with perverse ingenuity draw us away from life to solitude\nand meditation. This could well be borne, if it were great and\ninvoluntary; if the men were ravished by their thought, and hurried into\nascetic extravagances. Society could then manage to release their\nshoulder from its wheel, and grant them for a time this privilege of\nsabbath. But they are not so. Thinking, which was a rage, is become an\nart. The thinker gives me results, and never invites me to be present\nwith him at his invocation of truth, and to enjoy with him its\nproceeding into his mind.\n\nSo little action amidst such audacious and yet sincere profession, that\nwe begin to doubt if that great revolution in the art of war, which has\nmade it a game of posts instead of a game of battles, has not operated\non Reform; whether this be not also a war of posts, a paper blockade, in\nwhich each party is to display the utmost resources of his spirit and\nbelief, and no conflict occur; but the world shall take that course\nwhich the demonstration of the truth shall indicate.\n\nBut we must pay for being too intellectual, as they call it. People are\nnot as light-hearted for it. I think men never loved life less. I\nquestion if care and doubt ever wrote their names so legibly on the\nfaces of any population. This _Ennui_, for which we Saxons had no name,\nthis word of France has got a terrific significance. It shortens life,\nand bereaves the day of its light. Old age begins in the nursery, and\nbefore the young American is put into jacket and trowsers, he says, \u2018I\nwant something which I never saw before;\u2019 and \u2018I wish I was not I.\u2019 I\nhave seen the same gloom on the brow even of those adventurers from the\nintellectual class, who had dived deepest and with most success into\nactive life. I have seen the authentic sign of anxiety and perplexity on\nthe greatest forehead of the state. The canker worms have crawled to the\ntopmost bough of the wild elm, and swing down from that. Is there less\noxygen in the atmosphere? What has checked in this age the animal\nspirits which gave to our forefathers their bounding pulse?\n\nBut have a little patience with this melancholy humor. Their unbelief\narises out of a greater Belief; their inaction out of a scorn of\ninadequate action. By the side of these men, the hot agitators have a\ncertain cheap and ridiculous air; they even look smaller than the\nothers. Of the two, I own, I like the speculators best. They have some\npiety which looks with faith to a fair Future, unprofaned by rash and\nunequal attempts to realize it. And truly we shall find much to console\nus, when we consider the cause of their uneasiness. It is the love of\ngreatness, it is the need of harmony, the contrast of the dwarfish\nActual with the exorbitant Idea. No man can compare the ideas and\naspirations of the innovators of the present day, with those of former\nperiods, without feeling how great and high this criticism is. The\nrevolutions that impend over society are not now from ambition and\nrapacity, from impatience of one or another form of government, but from\nnew modes of thinking, which shall recompose society after a new order,\nwhich shall animate labor by love and science, which shall destroy the\nvalue of many kinds of property, and replace all property within the\ndominion of reason and equity. There was never so great a thought\nlaboring in the breasts of men, as now. It almost seems as if what was\naforetime spoken fabulously and hieroglyphically, was now spoken\nplainly, the doctrine, namely, of the indwelling of the Creator in man.\nThe spiritualist wishes this only, that the spiritual principle should\nbe suffered to demonstrate itself to the end, in all possible\napplications to the state of man, without the admission of anything\nunspiritual, that is, anything positive, dogmatic, or personal. The\nexcellence of this class consists in this, that they have believed;\nthat, affirming the need of new and higher modes of living and action,\nthey have abstained from the recommendation of low methods. Their fault\nis that they have stopped at the intellectual perception; that their\nwill is not yet inspired from the Fountain of Love. But whose fault is\nthis? and what a fault, and to what inquiry does it lead! We have come\nto that which is the spring of all power, of beauty and virtue, of art\nand poetry; and who shall tell us according to what law its inspirations\nand its informations are given or withholden?\n\nI do not wish to be guilty of the narrowness and pedantry of inferring\nthe tendency and genius of the Age from a few and insufficient facts or\npersons. Every age has a thousand sides and signs and tendencies; and it\nis only when surveyed from inferior points of view, that great varieties\nof character appear. Our time too is full of activity and performance.\nIs there not something comprehensive in the grasp of a society which to\ngreat mechanical invention, and the best institutions of property, adds\nthe most daring theories; which explores the subtlest and most universal\nproblems? At the manifest risk of repeating what every other Age has\nthought of itself, we might say, we think the Genius of this Age more\nphilosophical than any other has been, righter in its aims, truer, with\nless fear, less fable, less mixture of any sort.\n\nBut turn it how we will, as we ponder this meaning of the times, every\nnew thought drives us to the deep fact, that the Time is the child of\nthe Eternity. The main interest which any aspects of the Times can have\nfor us, is the great spirit which gazes through them, the light which\nthey can shed on the wonderful questions, What we are? and Whither we\ntend? We do not wish to be deceived. Here we drift, like white sail\nacross the wild ocean, now bright on the wave, now darkling in the\ntrough of the sea;--but from what port did we sail? Who knows? Or to\nwhat port are we bound? Who knows? There is no one to tell us but such\npoor weather-tossed mariners as ourselves, whom we speak as we pass, or\nwho have hoisted some signal, or floated to us some letter in a bottle\nfrom far. But what know they more than we? They also found themselves on\nthis wondrous sea. No; from the older sailors, nothing. Over all their\nspeaking-trumpets, the gray sea and the loud winds answer, Not in us;\nnot in Time. Where then but in Ourselves, where but in that Thought\nthrough which we communicate with absolute nature, and are made aware\nthat, whilst we shed the dust of which we are built, grain by grain,\ntill it is all gone, the law which clothes us with humanity remains\nanew? where, but in the intuitions which are vouchsafed us from within,\nshall we learn the Truth? Faithless, faithless, we fancy that with the\ndust we depart and are not; and do not know that the law and the\nperception of the law are at last one; that only as much as the law\nenters us, becomes us, we are living men,--immortal with the immortality\nof this law. Underneath all these appearances, lies that which is, that\nwhich lives, that which causes. This ever renewing generation of\nappearances rests on a reality, and a reality that is alive.\n\nTo a true scholar the attraction of the aspects of nature, the\ndepartments of life, and the passages of his experience, is simply the\ninformation they yield him of this supreme nature which lurks within\nall. That reality, that causing force is moral. The Moral Sentiment is\nbut its other name. It makes by its presence or absence right and wrong,\nbeauty and ugliness, genius or depravation. As the granite comes to the\nsurface, and towers into the highest mountains, and, if we dig down, we\nfind it below the superficial strata, so in all the details of our\ndomestic or civil life, is hidden the elemental reality, which ever and\nanon comes to the surface, and forms the grand men, who are the leaders\nand examples, rather than the companions of the race. The granite is\ncuriously concealed under a thousand formations and surfaces, under\nfertile soils, and grasses, and flowers, under well-manured, arable\nfields, and large towns and cities, but it makes the foundation of\nthese, and is always indicating its presence by slight but sure signs.\nSo is it with the Life of our life; so close does that also hide. I read\nit in glad and in weeping eyes: I read it in the pride and in the\nhumility of people: it is recognized in every bargain and in every\ncomplaisance, in every criticism, and in all praise: it is voted for at\nelections; it wins the cause with juries; it rides the stormy eloquence\nof the senate, sole victor; histories are written of it, holidays\ndecreed to it; statues, tombs, churches, built to its honor; yet men\nseem to fear and to shun it, when it comes barely to view in our\nimmediate neighborhood.\n\nFor that reality let us stand: that let us serve: and for that speak.\nOnly as far as _that_ shines through them, are these times or any times\nworth consideration. I wish to speak of the politics, education,\nbusiness, and religion around us, without ceremony or false deference.\nYou will absolve me from the charge of flippancy, or malignity, or the\ndesire to say smart things at the expense of whomsoever, when you see\nthat reality is all we prize, and that we are bound on our entrance into\nnature to speak for that. Let it not be recorded in our own memories,\nthat in this moment of the Eternity, when we who were named by our\nnames, flitted across the light, we were afraid of any fact, or\ndisgraced the fair Day by a pusillanimous preference of our bread to our\nfreedom. What is the scholar, what is the man _for_, but for hospitality\nto every new thought of his time? Have you leisure, power, property,\nfriends? you shall be the asylum and patron of every new thought, every\nunproven opinion, every untried project, which proceeds out of good will\nand honest seeking. All the newspapers, all the tongues of to-day will\nof course at first defame what is noble; but you who hold not of to-day,\nnot of the times, but of the Everlasting, are to stand for it: and the\nhighest compliment man ever receives from heaven, is the sending to him\nits disguised and discredited angels.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CONSERVATIVE.\n\nA LECTURE DELIVERED AT THE MASONIC TEMPLE, BOSTON, DECEMBER 9, 1841.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CONSERVATIVE.\n\n\nThe two parties which divide the state, the party of Conservatism and\nthat of Innovation, are very old, and have disputed the possession of\nthe world ever since it was made. This quarrel is the subject of civil\nhistory. The conservative party established the reverend hierarchies and\nmonarchies of the most ancient world. The battle of patrician and\nplebeian, of parent state and colony, of old usage and accommodation to\nnew facts, of the rich and the poor, reappears in all countries and\ntimes. The war rages not only in battle-fields, in national councils,\nand ecclesiastical synods, but agitates every man\u2019s bosom with opposing\nadvantages every hour. On rolls the old world meantime, and now one, now\nthe other gets the day, and still the fight renews itself as if for the\nfirst time, under new names and hot personalities.\n\nSuch an irreconcilable antagonism, of course, must have a correspondent\ndepth of seat in the human constitution. It is the opposition of Past\nand Future, of Memory and Hope, of the Understanding and the Reason. It\nis the primal antagonism, the appearance in trifles of the two poles of\nnature.\n\nThere is a fragment of old fable which seems somehow to have been\ndropped from the current mythologies, which may deserve attention, as it\nappears to relate to this subject.\n\nSaturn grew weary of sitting alone, or with none but the great Uranus or\nHeaven beholding him, and he created an oyster. Then he would act again,\nbut he made nothing more, but went on creating the race of oysters. Then\nUranus cried, \u2018a new work, O Saturn! the old is not good again.\u2019\n\nSaturn replied, \u2018I fear. There is not only the alternative of making and\nnot making, but also of unmaking. Seest thou the great sea, how it ebbs\nand flows? so is it with me; my power ebbs; and if I put forth my hands,\nI shall not do, but undo. Therefore I do what I have done; I hold what I\nhave got; and so I resist Night and Chaos.\u2019\n\n\u2018O Saturn,\u2019 replied Uranus, \u2018thou canst not hold thine own, but by\nmaking more. Thy oysters are barnacles and cockles, and with the next\nflowing of the tide, they will be pebbles and sea-foam.\u2019\n\n\u2018I see,\u2019 rejoins Saturn, \u2018thou art in league with Night, thou art become\nan evil eye; thou spakest from love; now thy words smite me with hatred.\nI appeal to Fate, must there not be rest?\u2019--\u2018I appeal to Fate also,\u2019\nsaid Uranus, \u2018must there not be motion?\u2019--But Saturn was silent, and\nwent on making oysters for a thousand years.\n\nAfter that, the word of Uranus came into his mind like a ray of the sun,\nand he made Jupiter; and then he feared again; and nature froze, the\nthings that were made went backward, and, to save the world, Jupiter\nslew his father Saturn.\n\nThis may stand for the earliest account of a conversation on politics\nbetween a Conservative and a Radical, which has come down to us. It is\never thus. It is the counteraction of the centripetal and the\ncentrifugal forces. Innovation is the salient energy; Conservatism the\npause on the last movement. \u2018That which is was made by God,\u2019 saith\nConservatism. \u2018He is leaving that, he is entering this other;\u2019 rejoins\nInnovation.\n\nThere is always a certain meanness in the argument of conservatism,\njoined with a certain superiority in its fact. It affirms because it\nholds. Its fingers clutch the fact, and it will not open its eyes to see\na better fact. The castle, which conservatism is set to defend, is the\nactual state of things, good and bad. The project of innovation is the\nbest possible state of things. Of course, conservatism always has the\nworst of the argument, is always apologizing, pleading a necessity,\npleading that to change would be to deteriorate; it must saddle itself\nwith the mountainous load of the violence and vice of society, must deny\nthe possibility of good, deny ideas, and suspect and stone the prophet;\nwhilst innovation is always in the right, triumphant, attacking, and\nsure of final success. Conservatism stands on man\u2019s confessed\nlimitations; reform on his indisputable infinitude; conservatism on\ncircumstance; liberalism on power; one goes to make an adroit member of\nthe social frame; the other to postpone all things to the man himself;\nconservatism is debonnair and social; reform is individual and\nimperious. We are reformers in spring and summer; in autumn and winter,\nwe stand by the old; reformers in the morning, conservers at night.\nReform is affirmative, conservatism negative; conservatism goes for\ncomfort, reform for truth. Conservatism is more candid to behold\nanother\u2019s worth; reform more disposed to maintain and increase its own.\nConservatism makes no poetry, breathes no prayer, has no invention; it\nis all memory. Reform has no gratitude, no prudence, no husbandry. It\nmakes a great difference to your figure and to your thought, whether\nyour foot is advancing or receding. Conservatism never puts the foot\nforward; in the hour when it does that, it is not establishment, but\nreform. Conservatism tends to universal seeming and treachery, believes\nin a negative fate; believes that men\u2019s temper governs them; that for\nme, it avails not to trust in principles; they will fail me; I must bend\na little; it distrusts nature; it thinks there is a general law without\na particular application,--law for all that does not include any one.\nReform in its antagonism inclines to asinine resistance, to kick with\nhoofs; it runs to egotism and bloated self-conceit; it runs to a\nbodiless pretension, to unnatural refining and elevation, which ends in\nhypocrisy and sensual reaction.\n\nAnd so whilst we do not go beyond general statements, it may be safely\naffirmed of these two metaphysical antagonists, that each is a good\nhalf, but an impossible whole. Each exposes the abuses of the other, but\nin a true society, in a true man, both must combine. Nature does not\ngive the crown of its approbation, namely, beauty, to any action or\nemblem or actor, but to one which combines both these elements; not to\nthe rock which resists the waves from age to age, nor to the wave which\nlashes incessantly the rock, but the superior beauty is with the oak\nwhich stands with its hundred arms against the storms of a century, and\ngrows every year like a sapling; or the river which ever flowing, yet is\nfound in the same bed from age to age; or, greatest of all, the man who\nhas subsisted for years amid the changes of nature, yet has distanced\nhimself, so that when you remember what he was, and see what he is, you\nsay, what strides! what a disparity is here!\n\nThroughout nature the past combines in every creature with the present.\nEach of the convolutions of the sea-shell, each node and spine marks one\nyear of the fish\u2019s life, what was the mouth of the shell for one season,\nwith the addition of new matter by the growth of the animal, becoming an\nornamental node. The leaves and a shell of soft wood are all that the\nvegetation of this summer has made, but the solid columnar stem, which\nlifts that bank of foliage into the air to draw the eye and to cool us\nwith its shade, is the gift and legacy of dead and buried years.\n\nIn nature, each of these elements being always present, each theory has\na natural support. As we take our stand on Necessity, or on Ethics,\nshall we go for the conservative, or for the reformer. If we read the\nworld historically, we shall say, Of all the ages, the present hour and\ncircumstance is the cumulative result; this is the best throw of the\ndice of nature that has yet been, or that is yet possible. If we see it\nfrom the side of Will, or the Moral Sentiment, we shall accuse the Past\nand the Present, and require the impossible of the Future.\n\nBut although this bifold fact lies thus united in real nature, and so\nunited that no man can continue to exist in whom both these elements do\nnot work, yet men are not philosophers, but are rather very foolish\nchildren, who, by reason of their partiality, see everything in the most\nabsurd manner, and are the victims at all times of the nearest object.\nThere is even no philosopher who is a philosopher at all times. Our\nexperience, our perception is conditioned by the need to acquire in\nparts and in succession, that is, with every truth a certain falsehood.\nAs this is the invariable method of our training, we must give it\nallowance, and suffer men to learn as they have done for six\nmillenniums, a word at a time, to pair off into insane parties, and\nlearn the amount of truth each knows, by the denial of an equal amount\nof truth. For the present, then, to come at what sum is attainable to\nus, we must even hear the parties plead as parties.\n\nThat which is best about conservatism, that which, though it cannot be\nexpressed in detail, inspires reverence in all, is the Inevitable. There\nis the question not only, what the conservative says for himself? but,\nwhy must he say it? What insurmountable fact binds him to that side?\nHere is the fact which men call Fate, and fate in dread degrees, fate\nbehind fate, not to be disposed of by the consideration that the\nConscience commands this or that, but necessitating the question,\nwhether the faculties of man will play him true in resisting the facts\nof universal experience? For although the commands of the Conscience are\n_essentially_ absolute, they are _historically_ limitary. Wisdom does\nnot seek a literal rectitude, but an useful, that is, a conditioned one,\nsuch a one as the faculties of man and the constitution of things will\nwarrant. The reformer, the partisan loses himself in driving to the\nutmost some specialty of right conduct, until his own nature and all\nnature resist him; but Wisdom attempts nothing enormous and\ndisproportioned to its powers, nothing which it cannot perform or\nnearly perform. We have all a certain intellection or presentiment of\nreform existing in the mind, which does not yet descend into the\ncharacter, and those who throw themselves blindly on this lose\nthemselves. Whatever they attempt in that direction, fails, and reacts\nsuicidally on the actor himself. This is the penalty of having\ntranscended nature. For the existing world is not a dream, and cannot\nwith impunity be treated as a dream; neither is it a disease; but it is\nthe ground on which you stand, it is the mother of whom you were born.\nReform converses with possibilities, perchance with impossibilities; but\nhere is sacred fact. This also was true, or it could not be: it had life\nin it, or it could not have existed; it has life in it, or it could not\ncontinue. Your schemes may be feasible, or may not be, but this has the\nendorsement of nature and a long friendship and cohabitation with the\npowers of nature. This will stand until a better cast of the dice is\nmade. The contest between the Future and the Past is one between\nDivinity entering, and Divinity departing. You are welcome to try your\nexperiments, and, if you can, to displace the actual order by that ideal\nrepublic you announce, for nothing but God will expel God. But plainly\nthe burden of proof must lie with the projector. We hold to this, until\nyou can demonstrate something better.\n\nThe system of property and law goes back for its origin to barbarous and\nsacred times; it is the fruit of the same mysterious cause as the\nmineral or animal world. There is a natural sentiment and prepossession\nin favor of age, of ancestors, of barbarous and aboriginal usages, which\nis a homage to the element of necessity and divinity which is in them.\nThe respect for the old names of places, of mountains, and streams, is\nuniversal. The Indian and barbarous name can never be supplanted without\nloss. The ancients tell us that the gods loved the Ethiopians for their\nstable customs; and the Egyptians and Chaldeans, whose origin could not\nbe explored, passed among the junior tribes of Greece and Italy for\nsacred nations.\n\nMoreover, so deep is the foundation of the existing social system, that\nit leaves no one out of it. We may be partial, but Fate is not. All men\nhave their root in it. You who quarrel with the arrangements of society,\nand are willing to embroil all, and risk the indisputable good that\nexists, for the chance of better, live, move, and have your being in\nthis, and your deeds contradict your words every day. For as you cannot\njump from the ground without using the resistance of the ground, nor\nput out the boat to sea, without shoving from the shore, nor attain\nliberty without rejecting obligation, so you are under the necessity of\nusing the Actual order of things, in order to disuse it; to live by it,\nwhilst you wish to take away its life. The past has baked your loaf, and\nin the strength of its bread you would break up the oven. But you are\nbetrayed by your own nature. You also are conservatives. However men\nplease to style themselves, I see no other than a conservative party.\nYou are not only identical with us in your needs, but also in your\nmethods and aims. You quarrel with my conservatism, but it is to build\nup one of your own; it will have a new beginning, but the same course\nand end, the same trials, the same passions; among the lovers of the new\nI observe that there is a jealousy of the newest, and that the seceder\nfrom the seceder is as damnable as the pope himself.\n\nOn these and the like grounds of general statement, conservatism plants\nitself without danger of being displaced. Especially before this\n_personal_ appeal, the innovator must confess his weakness, must confess\nthat no man is to be found good enough to be entitled to stand champion\nfor the principle. But when this great tendency comes to practical\nencounters, and is challenged by young men, to whom it is no\nabstraction, but a fact of hunger, distress, and exclusion from\nopportunities, it must needs seem injurious. The youth, of course, is an\ninnovator by the fact of his birth. There he stands, newly born on the\nplanet, a universal beggar, with all the reason of things, one would\nsay, on his side. In his first consideration how to feed, clothe, and\nwarm himself, he is met by warnings on every hand, that this thing and\nthat thing have owners, and he must go elsewhere. Then he says; If I am\nborn in the earth, where is my part? have the goodness, gentlemen of\nthis world, to show me my wood-lot, where I may fell my wood, my field\nwhere to plant my corn, my pleasant ground where to build my cabin.\n\n\u2018Touch any wood, or field, or house-lot, on your peril,\u2019 cry all the\ngentlemen of this world; \u2018but you may come and work in ours, for us, and\nwe will give you a piece of bread.\u2019\n\nAnd what is that peril?\n\nKnives and muskets, if we meet you in the act; imprisonment, if we find\nyou afterward.\n\nAnd by what authority, kind gentlemen?\n\nBy our law.\n\nAnd your law,--is it just?\n\nAs just for you as it was for us. We wrought for others under this law,\nand got our lands so.\n\nI repeat the question, Is your law just?\n\nNot quite just, but necessary. Moreover, it is juster now than it was\nwhen we were born; we have made it milder and more equal.\n\nI will none of your law, returns the youth; it encumbers me. I cannot\nunderstand, or so much as spare time to read that needless library of\nyour laws. Nature has sufficiently provided me with rewards and sharp\npenalties, to bind me not to transgress. Like the Persian noble of old,\nI ask \u201cthat I may neither command nor obey.\u201d I do not wish to enter into\nyour complex social system. I shall serve those whom I can, and they who\ncan will serve me. I shall seek those whom I love, and shun those whom I\nlove not, and what more can all your laws render me?\n\nWith equal earnestness and good faith, replies to this plaintiff an\nupholder of the establishment, a man of many virtues:\n\nYour opposition is feather-brained and over-fine. Young man, I have no\nskill to talk with you, but look at me; I have risen early and sat late,\nand toiled honestly, and painfully for very many years. I never dreamed\nabout methods; I laid my bones to, and drudged for the good I possess;\nit was not got by fraud, nor by luck, but by work, and you must show me\na warrant like these stubborn facts in your own fidelity and labor,\nbefore I suffer you, on the faith of a few fine words, to ride into my\nestate, and claim to scatter it as your own.\n\nNow you touch the heart of the matter, replies the reformer. To that\nfidelity and labor, I pay homage. I am unworthy to arraign your manner\nof living, until I too have been tried. But I should be more unworthy,\nif I did not tell you why I cannot walk in your steps. I find this vast\nnetwork, which you call property, extended over the whole planet. I\ncannot occupy the bleakest crag of the White Hills or the Alleghany\nRange, but some man or corporation steps up to me to show me that it is\nhis. Now, though I am very peaceable, and on my private account could\nwell enough die, since it appears there was some mistake in my creation,\nand that I have been _mis_sent to this earth, where all the seats were\nalready taken,--yet I feel called upon in behalf of rational nature,\nwhich I represent, to declare to you my opinion, that, if the Earth is\nyours, so also is it mine. All your aggregate existences are less to me\na fact than is my own; as I am born to the earth, so the Earth is given\nto me, what I want of it to till and to plant; nor could I, without\npusillanimity, omit to claim so much. I must not only have a name to\nlive, I must live. My genius leads me to build a different manner of\nlife from any of yours. I cannot then spare you the whole world. I love\nyou better. I must tell you the truth practically; and take that which\nyou call yours. It is God\u2019s world and mine; yours as much as you want,\nmine as much as I want. Besides, I know your ways; I know the symptoms\nof the disease. To the end of your power, you will serve this lie which\ncheats you. Your want is a gulf which the possession of the broad earth\nwould not fill. Yonder sun in heaven you would pluck down from shining\non the universe, and make him a property and privacy, if you could; and\nthe moon and the north star you would quickly have occasion for in your\ncloset and bed-chamber. What you do not want for use, you crave for\nornament, and what your convenience could spare, your pride cannot.\n\nOn the other hand, precisely the defence which was set up for the\nBritish Constitution, namely, that with all its admitted defects, rotten\nboroughs and monopolies, it worked well, and substantial justice was\nsomehow done; the wisdom and the worth did get into parliament, and\nevery interest did by right, or might, or sleight, get represented;--the\nsame defence is set up for the existing institutions. They are not the\nbest; they are not just; and in respect to you, personally, O brave\nyoung man! they cannot be justified. They have, it is most true, left\nyou no acre for your own, and no law but our law, to the ordaining of\nwhich you were no party. But they do answer the end, they are really\nfriendly to the good; unfriendly to the bad; they second the\nindustrious, and the kind; they foster genius. They really have so much\nflexibility as to afford your talent and character, on the whole, the\nsame chance of demonstration and success which they might have, if there\nwas no law and no property.\n\nIt is trivial and merely superstitious to say that nothing is given you,\nno outfit, no exhibition; for in this institution of _credit_, which is\nas universal as honesty and promise in the human countenance, always\nsome neighbor stands ready to be bread and land and tools and stock to\nthe young adventurer. And if in any one respect they have come short,\nsee what ample retribution of good they have made. They have lost no\ntime and spared no expense to collect libraries, museums, galleries,\ncolleges, palaces, hospitals, observatories, cities. The ages have not\nbeen idle, nor kings slack, nor the rich niggardly. Have we not atoned\nfor this small offence (which we could not help) of leaving you no\nright in the soil, by this splendid indemnity of ancestral and national\nwealth? Would you have been born like a gipsy in a hedge, and preferred\nyour freedom on a heath, and the range of a planet which had no shed or\nboscage to cover you from sun and wind,--to this towered and citied\nworld? to this world of Rome, and Memphis, and Constantinople, and\nVienna, and Paris, and London, and New York? For thee Naples, Florence,\nand Venice, for thee the fair Mediterranean, the sunny Adriatic; for\nthee both Indies smile; for thee the hospitable North opens its heated\npalaces under the polar circle; for thee roads have been cut in every\ndirection across the land, and fleets of floating palaces with every\nsecurity for strength, and provision for luxury, swim by sail and by\nsteam through all the waters of this world. Every island for thee has a\ntown; every town a hotel. Though thou wast born landless, yet to thy\nindustry and thrift and small condescension to the established\nusage,--scores of servants are swarming in every strange place with cap\nand knee to thy command, scores, nay hundreds and thousands, for thy\nwardrobe, thy table, thy chamber, thy library, thy leisure; and every\nwhim is anticipated and served by the best ability of the whole\npopulation of each country. The king on the throne governs for thee,\nand the judge judges; the barrister pleads; the farmer tills, the joiner\nhammers, the postman rides. Is it not exaggerating a trifle to insist on\na formal acknowledgment of your claims, when these substantial\nadvantages have been secured to you? Now can your children be educated,\nyour labor turned to their advantage, and its fruits secured to them\nafter your death. It is frivolous to say, you have no acre, because you\nhave not a mathematically measured piece of land. Providence takes care\nthat you shall have a place, that you are waited for, and come\naccredited; and, as soon as you put your gift to use, you shall have\nacre or acre\u2019s worth according to your exhibition of desert,--acre, if\nyou need land;--acre\u2019s worth, if you prefer to draw, or carve, or make\nshoes, or wheels, to the tilling of the soil.\n\nBesides, it might temper your indignation at the supposed wrong which\nsociety has done you, to keep the question before you, how society got\ninto this predicament? Who put things on this false basis? No single\nman, but all men. No man voluntarily and knowingly; but it is the result\nof that degree of culture there is in the planet. The order of things is\nas good as the character of the population permits. Consider it as the\nwork of a great and beneficent and progressive necessity, which, from\nthe first pulsation of the first animal life, up to the present high\nculture of the best nations, has advanced thus far. Thank the rude\nfostermother though she has taught you a better wisdom than her own, and\nhas set hopes in your heart which shall be history in the next ages. You\nare yourself the result of this manner of living, this foul compromise,\nthis vituperated Sodom. It nourished you with care and love on its\nbreast, as it had nourished many a lover of the right, and many a poet,\nand prophet, and teacher of men. Is it so irremediably bad? Then again,\nif the mitigations are considered, do not all the mischiefs virtually\nvanish? The form is bad, but see you not how every personal character\nreacts on the form, and makes it new? A strong person makes the law and\ncustom null before his own will. Then the principle of love and truth\nreappears in the strictest courts of fashion and property. Under the\nrichest robes, in the darlings of the selectest circles of European or\nAmerican aristocracy, the strong heart will beat with love of mankind,\nwith impatience of accidental distinctions, with the desire to achieve\nits own fate, and make every ornament it wears authentic and real.\n\nMoreover, as we have already shown that there is no pure reformer, so\nit is to be considered that there is no pure conservative, no man who\nfrom the beginning to the end of his life maintains the defective\ninstitutions; but he who sets his face like a flint against every\nnovelty, when approached in the confidence of conversation, in the\npresence of friendly and generous persons, has also his gracious and\nrelenting motions, and espouses for the time the cause of man; and even\nif this be a shortlived emotion, yet the remembrance of it in private\nhours mitigates his selfishness and compliance with custom.\n\nThe Friar Bernard lamented in his cell on Mount Cenis the crimes of\nmankind, and rising one morning before day from his bed of moss and dry\nleaves, he gnawed his roots and berries, drank of the spring, and set\nforth to go to Rome to reform the corruption of mankind. On his way he\nencountered many travellers who greeted him courteously; and the cabins\nof the peasants and the castles of the lords supplied his few wants.\nWhen he came at last to Rome, his piety and good will easily introduced\nhim to many families of the rich, and on the first day he saw and talked\nwith gentle mothers with their babes at their breasts, who told him how\nmuch love they bore their children, and how they were perplexed in their\ndaily walk lest they should fail in their duty to them. \u2018What!\u2019 he\nsaid, \u2018and this on rich embroidered carpets, on marble floors, with\ncunning sculpture, and carved wood, and rich pictures, and piles of\nbooks about you?\u2019--\u2018Look at our pictures and books, they said, and we\nwill tell you, good Father, how we spent the last evening. These are\nstories of godly children and holy families and romantic sacrifices made\nin old or in recent times by great and not mean persons; and last\nevening, our family was collected, and our husbands and brothers\ndiscoursed sadly on what we could save and give in the hard times.\u2019 Then\ncame in the men, and they said, \u2018What cheer, brother? Does thy convent\nwant gifts?\u2019 Then the friar Bernard went home swiftly with other\nthoughts than he brought, saying, \u2018This way of life is wrong, yet these\nRomans, whom I prayed God to destroy, are lovers, they are lovers; what\ncan I do?\u2019\n\nThe reformer concedes that these mitigations exist, and that, if he\nproposed comfort, he should take sides with the establishment. Your\nwords are excellent, but they do not tell the whole. Conservatism is\naffluent and openhanded, but there is a cunning juggle in riches. I\nobserve that they take somewhat for everything they give. I look bigger,\nbut am less; I have more clothes, but am not so warm; more armor, but\nless courage; more books, but less wit. What you say of your planted,\nbuilded and decorated world, is true enough, and I gladly avail myself\nof its convenience; yet I have remarked that what holds in particular,\nholds in general, that the plant Man does not require for his most\nglorious flowering this pomp of preparation and convenience, but the\nthoughts of some beggarly Homer who strolled, God knows when, in the\ninfancy and barbarism of the old world; the gravity and sense of some\nslave Moses who leads away his fellow slaves from their masters; the\ncontemplation of some Scythian Anacharsis; the erect, formidable valor\nof some Dorian townsmen in the town of Sparta; the vigor of Clovis the\nFrank, and Alfred the Saxon, and Alaric the Goth, and Mahomet, Ali, and\nOmar the Arabians, Saladin the Curd, and Othman the Turk, sufficed, to\nbuild what you call society, on the spot and in the instant when the\nsound mind in a sound body appeared. Rich and fine is your dress, O\nconservatism! your horses are of the best blood; your roads are well cut\nand well paved; your pantry is full of meats and your cellar of wines,\nand a very good state and condition are you for gentlemen and ladies to\nlive under; but every one of these goods steals away a drop of my\nblood. I want the necessity of supplying my own wants. All this costly\nculture of yours is not necessary. Greatness does not need it. Yonder\npeasant, who sits neglected there in a corner, carries a whole\nrevolution of man and nature in his head, which shall be a sacred\nhistory to some future ages. For man is the end of nature; nothing so\neasily organizes itself in every part of the universe as he; no moss, no\nlichen is so easily born; and he takes along with him and puts out from\nhimself the whole apparatus of society and condition _extempore_, as an\narmy encamps in a desert, and where all was just now blowing sand,\ncreates a white city in an hour, a government, a market, a place for\nfeasting, for conversation, and for love.\n\nThese considerations, urged by those whose characters and whose fortunes\nare yet to be formed, must needs command the sympathy of all reasonable\npersons. But beside that charity which should make all adult persons\ninterested for the youth, and engage them to see that he has a free\nfield and fair play on his entrance into life, we are bound to see that\nthe society, of which we compose a part, does not permit the formation\nor continuance of views and practices injurious to the honor and welfare\nof mankind. The objection to conservatism, when embodied in a party,\nis, that in its love of acts, it hates principles; it lives in the\nsenses, not in truth; it sacrifices to despair; it goes for\navailableness in its candidate, not for worth; and for expediency in its\nmeasures, and not for the right. Under pretence of allowing for\nfriction, it makes so many additions and supplements to the machine of\nsociety, that it will play smoothly and softly, but will no longer grind\nany grist.\n\nThe conservative party in the universe concedes that the radical would\ntalk sufficiently to the purpose, if we were still in the garden of\nEden; he legislates for man as he ought to be; his theory is right, but\nhe makes no allowance for friction; and this omission makes his whole\ndoctrine false. The idealist retorts, that the conservative falls into a\nfar more noxious error in the other extreme. The conservative assumes\nsickness as a necessity, and his social frame is a hospital, his total\nlegislation is for the present distress, a universe in slippers and\nflannels, with bib and papspoon, swallowing pills and herb-tea. Sickness\ngets organized as well as health, the vice as well as the virtue. Now\nthat a vicious system of trade has existed so long, it has stereotyped\nitself in the human generation, and misers are born. And now that\nsickness has got such a foothold, leprosy has grown cunning, has got\ninto the ballot-box; the lepers outvote the clean; society has resolved\nitself into a Hospital Committee, and all its laws are quarantine. If\nany man resist, and set up a foolish hope he has entertained as good\nagainst the general despair, society frowns on him, shuts him out of her\nopportunities, her granaries, her refectories, her water and bread, and\nwill serve him a sexton\u2019s turn. Conservatism takes as low a view of\nevery part of human action and passion. Its religion is just as bad; a\nlozenge for the sick; a dolorous tune to beguile the distemper;\nmitigations of pain by pillows and anodynes; always mitigations, never\nremedies; pardons for sin, funeral honors,--never self-help, renovation,\nand virtue. Its social and political action has no better aim; to keep\nout wind and weather, to bring the day and year about, and make the\nworld last our day; not to sit on the world and steer it; not to sink\nthe memory of the past in the glory of a new and more excellent\ncreation; a timid cobbler and patcher, it degrades whatever it touches.\nThe cause of education is urged in this country with the utmost\nearnestness,--on what ground? why on this, that the people have the\npower, and if they are not instructed to sympathize with the\nintelligent, reading, trading, and governing class, inspired with a\ntaste for the same competitions and prizes, they will upset the fair\npageant of Judicature, and perhaps lay a hand on the sacred muniments of\nwealth itself, and new distribute the land. Religion is taught in the\nsame spirit. The contractors who were building a road out of Baltimore,\nsome years ago, found the Irish laborers quarrelsome and refractory, to\na degree that embarrassed the agents, and seriously interrupted the\nprogress of the work. The corporation were advised to call off the\npolice, and build a Catholic chapel; which they did; the priest\npresently restored order, and the work went on prosperously. Such hints,\nbe sure, are too valuable to be lost. If you do not value the Sabbath,\nor other religious institutions, give yourself no concern about\nmaintaining them. They have already acquired a market value as\nconservators of property; and if priest and church-member should fail,\nthe chambers of commerce and the presidents of the Banks, the very\ninnholders and landlords of the county would muster with fury to their\nsupport.\n\nOf course, religion in such hands loses its essence. Instead of that\nreliance, which the soul suggests on the eternity of truth and duty, men\nare misled into a reliance on institutions, which, the moment they cease\nto be the instantaneous creations of the devout sentiment, are\nworthless. Religion among the low becomes low. As it loses its truth, it\nloses credit with the sagacious. They detect the falsehood of the\npreaching, but when they say so, all good citizens cry, Hush; do not\nweaken the state, do not take off the strait jacket from dangerous\npersons. Every honest fellow must keep up the hoax the best he can; must\npatronize providence and piety, and wherever he sees anything that will\nkeep men amused, schools or churches or poetry, or picture-galleries or\nmusic, or what not, he must cry \u201cHist-a-boy,\u201d and urge the game on. What\na compliment we pay to the good Spirit with our superserviceable zeal!\n\nBut not to balance reasons for and against the establishment any longer,\nand if it still be asked in this necessity of partial organization,\nwhich party on the whole has the highest claims on our sympathy? I bring\nit home to the private heart, where all such questions must have their\nfinal arbitrement. How, will every strong and generous mind choose its\nground,--with the defenders of the old? or with the seekers of the new?\nWhich is that state which promises to edify a great, brave, and\nbeneficent man; to throw him on his resources, and tax the strength of\nhis character? On which part will each of us find himself in the hour\nof health and of aspiration?\n\nI understand well the respect of mankind for war, because that breaks up\nthe Chinese stagnation of society, and demonstrates the personal merits\nof all men. A state of war or anarchy, in which law has little force, is\nso far valuable, that it puts every man on trial. The man of principle\nis known as such, and even in the fury of faction is respected. In the\ncivil wars of France, Montaigne alone, among all the French gentry, kept\nhis castle gates unbarred, and made his personal integrity as good at\nleast as a regiment. The man of courage and resources is shown, and the\neffeminate and base person. Those who rise above war, and those who fall\nbelow it, it easily discriminates, as well as those, who, accepting its\nrude conditions, keep their own head by their own sword.\n\nBut in peace and a commercial state we depend, not as we ought, on our\nknowledge and all men\u2019s knowledge that we are honest men, but we\ncowardly lean on the virtue of others. For it is always at last the\nvirtue of some men in the society, which keeps the law in any reverence\nand power. Is there not something shameful that I should owe my peaceful\noccupancy of my house and field, not to the knowledge of my countrymen\nthat I am useful, but to their respect for sundry other reputable\npersons, I know not whom, whose joint virtue still keep the law in good\nodor?\n\nIt will never make any difference to a hero what the laws are. His\ngreatness will shine and accomplish itself unto the end, whether they\nsecond him or not. If he have earned his bread by drudgery, and in the\nnarrow and crooked ways which were all an evil law had left him, he will\nmake it at least honorable by his expenditure. Of the past he will take\nno heed; for its wrongs he will not hold himself responsible: he will\nsay, all the meanness of my progenitors shall not bereave me of the\npower to make this hour and company fair and fortunate. Whatsoever\nstreams of power and commodity flow to me, shall of me acquire healing\nvirtue, and become fountains of safety. Cannot I too descend a Redeemer\ninto nature? Whosoever hereafter shall name my name, shall not record a\nmalefactor, but a benefactor in the earth. If there be power in good\nintention, in fidelity, and in toil, the north wind shall be purer, the\nstars in heaven shall glow with a kindlier beam, that I have lived. I am\nprimarily engaged to myself to be a public servant of all the gods, to\ndemonstrate to all men that there is intelligence and good will at the\nheart of things, and ever higher and yet higher leadings. These are my\nengagements; how can your law further or hinder me in what I shall do to\nmen? On the other hand, these dispositions establish their relations to\nme. Wherever there is worth, I shall be greeted. Wherever there are men,\nare the objects of my study and love. Sooner or later all men will be my\nfriends, and will testify in all methods the energy of their regard. I\ncannot thank your law for my protection. I protect it. It is not in its\npower to protect me. It is my business to make myself revered. I depend\non my honor, my labor, and my dispositions, for my place in the\naffections of mankind, and not on any conventions or parchments of\nyours.\n\nBut if I allow myself in derelictions, and become idle and dissolute, I\nquickly come to love the protection of a strong law, because I feel no\ntitle in myself to my advantages. To the intemperate and covetous person\nno love flows; to him mankind would pay no rent, no dividend, if force\nwere once relaxed; nay, if they could give their verdict, they would\nsay, that his self-indulgence and his oppression deserved punishment\nfrom society, and not that rich board and lodging he now enjoys. The law\nacts then as a screen of his unworthiness, and makes him worse the\nlonger it protects him.\n\nIn conclusion, to return from this alternation of partial views, to the\nhigh platform of universal and necessary history, it is a happiness for\nmankind that innovation has got on so far, and has so free a field\nbefore it. The boldness of the hope men entertain transcends all former\nexperience. It calms and cheers them with the picture of a simple and\nequal life of truth and piety. And this hope flowered on what tree? It\nwas not imported from the stock of some celestial plant, but grew here\non the wild crab of conservatism. It is much that this old and\nvituperated system of things has borne so fair a child. It predicts that\namidst a planet peopled with conservatives, one Reformer may yet be\nborn.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TRANSCENDENTALIST.\n\nA LECTURE READ AT THE MASONIC TEMPLE, BOSTON, JANUARY, 1842.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TRANSCENDENTALIST.\n\n\nThe first thing we have to say respecting what are called _new views_\nhere in New England, at the present time, is, that they are not new, but\nthe very oldest of thoughts cast into the mould of these new times. The\nlight is always identical in its composition, but it falls on a great\nvariety of objects, and by so falling is first revealed to us, not in\nits own form, for it is formless, but in theirs; in like manner, thought\nonly appears in the objects it classifies. What is popularly called\nTranscendentalism among us, is Idealism; Idealism as it appears in 1842.\nAs thinkers, mankind have ever divided into two sects, Materialists and\nIdealists; the first class founding on experience, the second on\nconsciousness; the first class beginning to think from the data of the\nsenses, the second class perceive that the senses are not final, and\nsay, the senses give us representations of things, but what are the\nthings themselves, they cannot tell. The materialist insists on facts,\non history, on the force of circumstances, and the animal wants of man;\nthe idealist on the power of Thought and of Will, on inspiration, on\nmiracle, on individual culture. These two modes of thinking are both\nnatural, but the idealist contends that his way of thinking is in higher\nnature. He concedes all that the other affirms, admits the impressions\nof sense, admits their coherency, their use and beauty, and then asks\nthe materialist for his grounds of assurance that things are as his\nsenses represent them. But I, he says, affirm facts not affected by the\nillusions of sense, facts which are of the same nature as the faculty\nwhich reports them, and not liable to doubt; facts which in their first\nappearance to us assume a native superiority to material facts,\ndegrading these into a language by which the first are to be spoken;\nfacts which it only needs a retirement from the senses to discern. Every\nmaterialist will be an idealist; but an idealist can never go backward\nto be a materialist.\n\nThe idealist, in speaking of events, sees them as spirits. He does not\ndeny the sensuous fact: by no means; but he will not see that alone. He\ndoes not deny the presence of this table, this chair, and the walls of\nthis room, but he looks at these things as the reverse side of the\ntapestry, as the _other end_, each being a sequel or completion of a\nspiritual fact which nearly concerns him. This manner of looking at\nthings, transfers every object in nature from an independent and\nanomalous position without there, into the consciousness. Even the\nmaterialist Condillac, perhaps the most logical expounder of\nmaterialism, was constrained to say, \u201cThough we should soar into the\nheavens, though we should sink into the abyss, we never go out of\nourselves; it is always our own thought that we perceive.\u201d What more\ncould an idealist say?\n\nThe materialist, secure in the certainty of sensation, mocks at\nfine-spun theories, at star-gazers and dreamers, and believes that his\nlife is solid, that he at least takes nothing for granted, but knows\nwhere he stands, and what he does. Yet how easy it is to show him, that\nhe also is a phantom walking and working amid phantoms, and that he need\nonly ask a question or two beyond his daily questions, to find his solid\nuniverse growing dim and impalpable before his sense. The sturdy\ncapitalist, no matter how deep and square on blocks of Quincy granite he\nlays the foundations of his banking-house, or Exchange, must set it, at\nlast, not on a cube corresponding to the angles of his structure, but\non a mass of unknown materials and solidity, red-hot or white-hot,\nperhaps at the core, which rounds off to an almost perfect sphericity,\nand lies floating in soft air, and goes spinning away, dragging bank and\nbanker with it at a rate of thousands of miles the hour, he knows not\nwhither,--a bit of bullet, now glimmering, now darkling through a small\ncubic space on the edge of an unimaginable pit of emptiness. And this\nwild balloon, in which his whole venture is embarked, is a just symbol\nof his whole state and faculty. One thing, at least, he says is certain,\nand does not give me the headache, that figures do not lie; the\nmultiplication table has been hitherto found unimpeachable truth; and,\nmoreover, if I put a gold eagle in my safe, I find it again\nto-morrow;--but for these thoughts, I know not whence they are. They\nchange and pass away. But ask him why he believes that an uniform\nexperience will continue uniform, or on what grounds he founds his faith\nin his figures, and he will perceive that his mental fabric is built up\non just as strange and quaking foundations as his proud edifice of\nstone.\n\nIn the order of thought, the materialist takes his departure from the\nexternal world, and esteems a man as one product of that. The idealist\ntakes his departure from his consciousness, and reckons the world an\nappearance. The materialist respects sensible masses, Society,\nGovernment, social art, and luxury, every establishment, every mass,\nwhether majority of numbers, or extent of space, or amount of objects,\nevery social action. The idealist has another measure, which is\nmetaphysical, namely, the _rank_ which things themselves take in his\nconsciousness; not at all, the size or appearance. Mind is the only\nreality, of which men and all other natures are better or worse\nreflectors. Nature, literature, history, are only subjective phenomena.\nAlthough in his action overpowered by the laws of action, and so, warmly\nco\u00f6perating with men, even preferring them to himself, yet when he\nspeaks scientifically, or after the order of thought, he is constrained\nto degrade persons into representatives of truths. He does not respect\nlabor, or the products of labor, namely, property, otherwise than as a\nmanifold symbol, illustrating with wonderful fidelity of details the\nlaws of being; he does not respect government, except as far as it\nreiterates the law of his mind; nor the church; nor charities; nor arts,\nfor themselves; but hears, as at a vast distance, what they say, as if\nhis consciousness would speak to him through a pantomimic scene. His\nthought,--that is the Universe. His experience inclines him to behold\nthe procession of facts you call the world, as flowing perpetually\noutward from an invisible, unsounded centre in himself, centre alike of\nhim and of them, and necessitating him to regard all things as having a\nsubjective or relative existence, relative to that aforesaid Unknown\nCentre of him.\n\nFrom this transfer of the world into the consciousness, this beholding\nof all things in the mind, follow easily his whole ethics. It is simpler\nto be self-dependent. The height, the deity of man is, to be\nself-sustained, to need no gift, no foreign force. Society is good when\nit does not violate me; but best when it is likest to solitude.\nEverything real is self-existent. Everything divine shares the\nself-existence of Deity. All that you call the world is the shadow of\nthat substance which you are, the perpetual creation of the powers of\nthought, of those that are dependent and of those that are independent\nof your will. Do not cumber yourself with fruitless pains to mend and\nremedy remote effects; let the soul be erect, and all things will go\nwell. You think me the child of my circumstances: I make my\ncircumstance. Let any thought or motive of mine be different from that\nthey are, the difference will transform my condition and economy.\nI--this thought which is called I,--is the mould into which the world is\npoured like melted wax. The mould is invisible, but the world betrays\nthe shape of the mould. You call it the power of circumstance, but it is\nthe power of me. Am I in harmony with myself? my position will seem to\nyou just and commanding. Am I vicious and insane? my fortunes will seem\nto you obscure and descending. As I am, so shall I associate, and, so\nshall I act; C\u00e6sar\u2019s history will paint out C\u00e6sar. Jesus acted so,\nbecause he thought so. I do not wish to overlook or to gainsay any\nreality; I say, I make my circumstance: but if you ask me, Whence am I?\nI feel like other men my relation to that Fact which cannot be spoken,\nor defined, nor even thought, but which exists, and will exist.\n\nThe Transcendentalist adopts the whole connection of spiritual doctrine.\nHe believes in miracle, in the perpetual openness of the human mind to\nnew influx of light and power; he believes in inspiration, and in\necstasy. He wishes that the spiritual principle should be suffered to\ndemonstrate itself to the end, in all possible applications to the state\nof man, without the admission of anything unspiritual; that is, anything\npositive, dogmatic, personal. Thus, the spiritual measure of\ninspiration is the depth of the thought, and never, who said it? And so\nhe resists all attempts to palm other rules and measures on the spirit\nthan its own.\n\nIn action, he easily incurs the charge of antinomianism by his avowal\nthat he, who has the Lawgiver, may with safety not only neglect, but\neven contravene every written commandment. In the play of Othello, the\nexpiring Desdemona absolves her husband of the murder, to her attendant\nEmilia. Afterwards, when Emilia charges him with the crime, Othello\nexclaims,\n\n    \u201cYou heard her say herself it was not I.\u201d\n\nEmilia replies,\n\n    \u201cThe more angel she, and thou the blacker devil.\u201d\n\nOf this fine incident, Jacobi, the Transcendental moralist, makes use,\nwith other parallel instances, in his reply to Fichte. Jacobi, refusing\nall measure of right and wrong except the determinations of the private\nspirit, remarks that there is no crime but has sometimes been a virtue.\n\u201cI,\u201d he says, \u201cam that atheist, that godless person who, in opposition\nto an imaginary doctrine of calculation, would lie as the dying\nDesdemona lied; would lie and deceive, as Pylades when he personated\nOrestes; would assassinate like Timoleon; would perjure myself like\nEpaminondas, and John de Witt; I would resolve on suicide like Cato; I\nwould commit sacrilege with David; yea, and pluck ears of corn on the\nSabbath, for no other reason than that I was fainting for lack of food.\nFor, I have assurance in myself, that, in pardoning these faults\naccording to the letter, man exerts the sovereign right which the\nmajesty of his being confers on him; he sets the seal of his divine\nnature to the grace he accords.\u201d[A]\n\n[A] Coleridge\u2019s Translation.\n\nIn like manner, if there is anything grand and daring in human thought\nor virtue, any reliance on the vast, the unknown; any presentiment; any\nextravagance of faith, the spiritualist adopts it as most in nature. The\noriental mind has always tended to this largeness. Buddhism is an\nexpression of it. The Buddhist who thanks no man, who says, \u201cdo not\nflatter your benefactors,\u201d but who, in his conviction that every good\ndeed can by no possibility escape its reward, will not deceive the\nbenefactor by pretending that he has done more than he should, is a\nTranscendentalist.\n\nYou will see by this sketch that there is no such thing as a\nTranscendental _party_; that there is no pure Transcendentalist; that\nwe know of none but prophets and heralds of such a philosophy; that all\nwho by strong bias of nature have leaned to the spiritual side in\ndoctrine, have stopped short of their goal. We have had many harbingers\nand forerunners; but of a purely spiritual life, history has afforded no\nexample. I mean, we have yet no man who has leaned entirely on his\ncharacter, and eaten angels\u2019 food; who, trusting to his sentiments,\nfound life made of miracles; who, working for universal aims, found\nhimself fed, he knew not how; clothed, sheltered, and weaponed, he knew\nnot how, and yet it was done by his own hands. Only in the instinct of\nthe lower animals, we find the suggestion of the methods of it, and\nsomething higher than our understanding. The squirrel hoards nuts, and\nthe bee gathers honey, without knowing what they do, and they are thus\nprovided for without selfishness or disgrace.\n\nShall we say, then, that Transcendentalism is the Saturnalia or excess\nof Faith; the presentiment of a faith proper to man in his integrity,\nexcessive only when his imperfect obedience hinders the satisfaction of\nhis wish. Nature is transcendental, exists primarily, necessarily, ever\nworks and advances, yet takes no thought for the morrow. Man owns the\ndignity of the life which throbs around him in chemistry, and tree, and\nanimal, and in the involuntary functions of his own body; yet he is\nbalked when he tries to fling himself into this enchanted circle, where\nall is done without degradation. Yet genius and virtue predict in man\nthe same absence of private ends, and of condescension to circumstances,\nunited with every trait and talent of beauty and power.\n\nThis way of thinking, falling on Roman times, made Stoic philosophers;\nfalling on despotic times, made patriot Catos and Brutuses; falling on\nsuperstitious times, made prophets and apostles; on popish times, made\nprotestants and ascetic monks, preachers of Faith against the preachers\nof Works; on prelatical times, made Puritans and Quakers; and falling on\nUnitarian and commercial times, makes the peculiar shades of Idealism\nwhich we know.\n\nIt is well known to most of my audience, that the Idealism of the\npresent day acquired the name of Transcendental, from the use of that\nterm by Immanuel Kant, of Konigsberg, who replied to the skeptical\nphilosophy of Locke, which insisted that there was nothing in the\nintellect which was not previously in the experience of the senses, by\nshowing that there was a very important class of ideas, or imperative\nforms, which did not come by experience, but through which experience\nwas acquired; that these were intuitions of the mind itself; and he\ndenominated them _Transcendental_ forms. The extraordinary profoundness\nand precision of that man\u2019s thinking have given vogue to his\nnomenclature, in Europe and America, to that extent, that whatever\nbelongs to the class of intuitive thought, is popularly called at the\npresent day _Transcendental_.\n\nAlthough, as we have said, there is no pure Transcendentalist, yet the\ntendency to respect the intuitions, and to give them, at least in our\ncreed, all authority over our experience, has deeply colored the\nconversation and poetry of the present day; and the history of genius\nand of religion in these times, though impure, and as yet not incarnated\nin any powerful individual, will be the history of this tendency.\n\nIt is a sign of our times, conspicuous to the coarsest observer, that\nmany intelligent and religious persons withdraw themselves from the\ncommon labors and competitions of the market and the caucus, and betake\nthemselves to a certain solitary and critical way of living, from which\nno solid fruit has yet appeared to justify their separation. They hold\nthemselves aloof: they feel the disproportion between their faculties\nand the work offered them, and they prefer to ramble in the country and\nperish of ennui, to the degradation of such charities and such ambitions\nas the city can propose to them. They are striking work, and crying out\nfor somewhat worthy to do! What they do, is done only because they are\noverpowered by the humanities that speak on all sides; and they consent\nto such labor as is open to them, though to their lofty dream the\nwriting of Iliads or Hamlets, or the building of cities or empires seems\ndrudgery.\n\nNow every one must do after his kind, be he asp or angel, and these\nmust. The question, which a wise man and a student of modern history\nwill ask, is, what that kind is? And truly, as in ecclesiastical history\nwe take so much pains to know what the Gnostics, what the Essenes, what\nthe Manichees, and what the Reformers believed, it would not misbecome\nus to inquire nearer home, what these companions and contemporaries of\nours think and do, at least so far as these thoughts and actions appear\nto be not accidental and personal, but common to many, and the\ninevitable flower of the Tree of Time. Our American literature and\nspiritual history are, we confess, in the optative mood; but whoso knows\nthese seething brains, these admirable radicals, these unsocial\nworshippers, these talkers who talk the sun and moon away, will believe\nthat this heresy cannot pass away without leaving its mark.\n\nThey are lonely; the spirit of their writing and conversation is lonely;\nthey repel influences; they shun general society; they incline to shut\nthemselves in their chamber in the house, to live in the country rather\nthan in the town, and to find their tasks and amusements in solitude.\nSociety, to be sure, does not like this very well; it saith, Whoso goes\nto walk alone, accuses the whole world; he declareth all to be unfit to\nbe his companions; it is very uncivil, nay, insulting; Society will\nretaliate. Meantime, this retirement does not proceed from any whim on\nthe part of these separators; but if any one will take pains to talk\nwith them, he will find that this part is chosen both from temperament\nand from principle; with some unwillingness, too, and as a choice of the\nless of two evils; for these persons are not by nature melancholy, sour,\nand unsocial,--they are not stockish or brute,--but joyous; susceptible,\naffectionate; they have even more than others a great wish to be loved.\nLike the young Mozart, they are rather ready to cry ten times a day,\n\u201cBut are you sure you love me?\u201d Nay, if they tell you their whole\nthought, they will own that love seems to them the last and highest\ngift of nature; that there are persons whom in their hearts they daily\nthank for existing,--persons whose faces are perhaps unknown to them,\nbut whose fame and spirit have penetrated their solitude,--and for whose\nsake they wish to exist. To behold the beauty of another character,\nwhich inspires a new interest in our own; to behold the beauty lodged in\na human being, with such vivacity of apprehension, that I am instantly\nforced home to inquire if I am not deformity itself: to behold in\nanother the expression of a love so high that it assures\nitself,--assures itself also to me against every possible casualty\nexcept my unworthiness;--these are degrees on the scale of human\nhappiness, to which they have ascended; and it is a fidelity to this\nsentiment which has made common association distasteful to them. They\nwish a just and even fellowship, or none. They cannot gossip with you,\nand they do not wish, as they are sincere and religious, to gratify any\nmere curiosity which you may entertain. Like fairies, they do not wish\nto be spoken of. Love me, they say, but do not ask who is my cousin and\nmy uncle. If you do not need to hear my thought, because you can read it\nin my face and behavior, then I will tell it you from sunrise to sunset.\nIf you cannot divine it, you would not understand what I say. I will\nnot molest myself for you. I do not wish to be profaned.\n\nAnd yet, it seems as if this loneliness, and not this love, would\nprevail in their circumstances, because of the extravagant demand they\nmake on human nature. That, indeed, constitutes a new feature in their\nportrait, that they are the most exacting and extortionate critics.\nTheir quarrel with every man they meet, is not with his kind, but with\nhis degree. There is not enough of him,--that is the only fault. They\nprolong their privilege of childhood in this wise, of doing\nnothing,--but making immense demands on all the gladiators in the lists\nof action and fame. They make us feel the strange disappointment which\novercasts every human youth. So many promising youths, and never a\nfinished man! The profound nature will have a savage rudeness; the\ndelicate one will be shallow, or the victim of sensibility; the richly\naccomplished will have some capital absurdity; and so every piece has a\ncrack. \u2019Tis strange, but this masterpiece is the result of such an\nextreme delicacy, that the most unobserved flaw in the boy will\nneutralize the most aspiring genius, and spoil the work. Talk with a\nseaman of the hazards to life in his profession, and he will ask you,\n\u201cWhere are the old sailors? do you not see that all are young men?\u201d And\nwe, on this sea of human thought, in like manner inquire, Where are the\nold idealists? where are they who represented to the last generation\nthat extravagant hope, which a few happy aspirants suggest to ours? In\nlooking at the class of counsel, and power, and wealth, and at the\nmatronage of the land, amidst all the prudence and all the triviality,\none asks, Where are they who represented genius, virtue, the invisible\nand heavenly world, to these? Are they dead,--taken in early ripeness to\nthe gods,--as ancient wisdom foretold their fate? Or did the high idea\ndie out of them, and leave their unperfumed body as its tomb and tablet,\nannouncing to all that the celestial inhabitant, who once gave them\nbeauty, had departed? Will it be better with the new generation? We\neasily predict a fair future to each new candidate who enters the lists,\nbut we are frivolous and volatile, and by low aims and ill example do\nwhat we can to defeat this hope. Then these youths bring us a rough but\neffectual aid. By their unconcealed dissatisfaction, they expose our\npoverty, and the insignificance of man to man. A man is a poor limitary\nbenefactor. He ought to be a shower of benefits--a great influence,\nwhich should never let his brother go, but should refresh old merits\ncontinually with new ones; so that, though absent, he should never be\nout of my mind, his name never far from my lips; but if the earth should\nopen at my side, or my last hour were come, his name should be the\nprayer I should utter to the Universe. But in our experience, man is\ncheap, and friendship wants its deep sense. We affect to dwell with our\nfriends in their absence, but we do not; when deed, word, or letter\ncomes not, they let us go. These exacting children advertise us of our\nwants. There is no compliment, no smooth speech with them; they pay you\nonly this one compliment, of insatiable expectation; they aspire, they\nseverely exact, and if they only stand fast in this watch-tower, and\npersist in demanding unto the end, and without end, then are they\nterrible friends, whereof poet and priest cannot choose but stand in\nawe; and what if they eat clouds, and drink wind, they have not been\nwithout service to the race of man.\n\nWith this passion for what is great and extraordinary, it cannot be\nwondered at, that they are repelled by vulgarity and frivolity in\npeople. They say to themselves, It is better to be alone than in bad\ncompany. And it is really a wish to be met,--the wish to find society\nfor their hope and religion,--which prompts them to shun what is called\nsociety. They feel that they are never so fit for friendship, as when\nthey have quitted mankind, and taken themselves to friend. A picture, a\nbook, a favorite spot in the hills or the woods, which they can people\nwith the fair and worthy creation of the fancy, can give them often\nforms so vivid, that these for the time shall seem real, and society the\nillusion.\n\nBut their solitary and fastidious manners not only withdraw them from\nthe conversation, but from the labors of the world; they are not good\ncitizens, not good members of society; unwillingly they bear their part\nof the public and private burdens; they do not willingly share in the\npublic charities, in the public religious rites, in the enterprises of\neducation, of missions foreign and domestic, in the abolition of the\nslave-trade, or in the temperance society. They do not even like to\nvote. The philanthropists inquire whether Transcendentalism does not\nmean sloth: they had as lief hear that their friend is dead, as that he\nis a Transcendentalist; for then is he paralyzed, and can never do\nanything for humanity. What right, cries the good world, has the man of\ngenius to retreat from work, and indulge himself? The popular literary\ncreed seems to be, \u2018I am a sublime genius; I ought not therefore to\nlabor.\u2019 But genius is the power to labor better and more availably.\nDeserve thy genius: exalt it. The good, the illuminated, set apart from\nthe rest, censuring their dulness and vices, as if they thought that, by\nsitting very grand in their chairs, the very brokers, attorneys, and\ncongressmen would see the error of their ways, and flock to them. But\nthe good and wise must learn to act, and carry salvation to the\ncombatants and demagogues in the dusty arena below.\n\nOn the part of these children, it is replied, that life and their\nfaculty seem to them gifts too rich to be squandered on such trifles as\nyou propose to them. What you call your fundamental institutions, your\ngreat and holy causes, seem to them great abuses, and, when nearly seen,\npaltry matters. Each \u2018Cause,\u2019 as it is called,--say Abolition,\nTemperance, say Calvinism, or Unitarianism,--becomes speedily a little\nshop, where the article, let it have been at first never so subtle and\nethereal, is now made up into portable and convenient cakes, and\nretailed in small quantities to suit purchasers. You make very free use\nof these words \u2018great\u2019 and \u2018holy,\u2019 but few things appear to them such.\nFew persons have any magnificence of nature to inspire enthusiasm, and\nthe philanthropies and charities have a certain air of quackery. As to\nthe general course of living, and the daily employments of men, they\ncannot see much virtue in these, since they are parts of this vicious\ncircle; and, as no great ends are answered by the men, there is nothing\nnoble in the arts by which they are maintained. Nay, they have made the\nexperiment, and found that, from the liberal professions to the coarsest\nmanual labor, and from the courtesies of the academy and the college to\nthe conventions of the cotillon-room and the morning call, there is a\nspirit of cowardly compromise and seeming, which intimates a frightful\nskepticism, a life without love, and an activity without an aim.\n\nUnless the action is necessary, unless it is adequate, I do not wish to\nperform it. I do not wish to do one thing but once. I do not love\nroutine. Once possessed of the principle, it is equally easy to make\nfour forty thousand applications of it. A great man will be content to\nhave indicated in any the slightest manner his perception of the\nreigning Idea of his time, and will leave to those who like it the\nmultiplication of examples. When he has hit the white, the rest may\nshatter the target. Every thing admonishes us how needlessly long life\nis. Every moment of a hero so raises and cheers us, that a twelvemonth\nis an age. All that the brave Xanthus brings home from his wars, is the\nrecollection that, at the storming of Samos, \u201cin the heat of the battle,\nPericles smiled on me, and passed on to another detachment.\u201d It is the\nquality of the moment, not the number of days, of events, or of actors,\nthat imports.\n\nNew, we confess, and by no means happy, is our condition: if you want\nthe aid of our labor, we ourselves stand in greater want of the labor.\nWe are miserable with inaction. We perish of rest and rust: but we do\nnot like your work.\n\n\u2018Then,\u2019 says the world, \u2018show me your own.\u2019\n\n\u2018We have none.\u2019\n\n\u2018What will you do, then?\u2019 cries the world.\n\n\u2018We will wait.\u2019\n\n\u2018How long?\u2019\n\n\u2018Until the Universe rises up and calls us to work.\u2019\n\n\u2018But whilst you wait, you grow old and useless.\u2019\n\n\u2018Be it so: I can sit in a corner and _perish_, (as you call it,) but I\nwill not move until I have the highest command. If no call should come\nfor years, for centuries, then I know that the want of the Universe is\nthe attestation of faith by my abstinence. Your virtuous projects, so\ncalled, do not cheer me. I know that which shall come will cheer me. If\nI cannot work, at least I need not lie. All that is clearly due to-day\nis not to lie. In other places, other men have encountered sharp trials,\nand have behaved themselves well. The martyrs were sawn asunder, or hung\nalive on meat-hooks. Cannot we screw our courage to patience and truth,\nand without complaint, or even with good-humor, await our turn of action\nin the Infinite Counsels?\u2019\n\nBut, to come a little closer to the secret of these persons, we must\nsay, that to them it seems a very easy matter to answer the objections\nof the man of the world, but not so easy to dispose of the doubts and\nobjections that occur to themselves. They are exercised in their own\nspirit with queries, which acquaint them with all adversity, and with\nthe trials of the bravest heroes. When I asked them concerning their\nprivate experience, they answered somewhat in this wise: It is not to be\ndenied that there must be some wide difference between my faith and\nother faith; and mine is a certain brief experience, which surprised me\nin the highway or in the market, in some place, at some time,--whether\nin the body or out of the body, God knoweth,--and made me aware that I\nhad played the fool with fools all this time, but that law existed for\nme and for all; that to me belonged trust, a child\u2019s trust and\nobedience, and the worship of ideas, and I should never be fool more.\nWell, in the space of an hour, probably, I was let down from this\nheight; I was at my old tricks, the selfish member of a selfish society.\nMy life is superficial, takes no root in the deep world; I ask, When\nshall I die, and be relieved of the responsibility of seeing an Universe\nwhich I do not use? I wish to exchange this flash-of-lightning faith for\ncontinuous daylight, this fever-glow for a benign climate.\n\nThese two states of thought diverge every moment, and stand in wild\ncontrast. To him who looks at his life from these moments of\nillumination, it will seem that he skulks and plays a mean, shiftless,\nand subaltern part in the world. That is to be done which he has not\nskill to do, or to be said which others can say better, and he lies by,\nor occupies his hands with some plaything, until his hour comes again.\nMuch of our reading, much of our labor, seems mere waiting: it was not\nthat we were born for. Any other could do it as well, or better. So\nlittle skill enters into these works, so little do they mix with the\ndivine life, that it really signifies little what we do, whether we turn\na grindstone, or ride, or run, or make fortunes, or govern the state.\nThe worst feature of this double consciousness is, that the two lives,\nof the understanding and of the soul, which we lead, really show very\nlittle relation to each other, never meet and measure each other: one\nprevails now, all buzz and din; and the other prevails then, all\ninfinitude and paradise; and, with the progress of life, the two\ndiscover no greater disposition to reconcile themselves. Yet, what is my\nfaith? What am I? What but a thought of serenity and independence, an\nabode in the deep blue sky? Presently the clouds shut down again; yet we\nretain the belief that this petty web we weave will at last be overshot\nand reticulated with veins of the blue, and that the moments will\ncharacterize the days. Patience, then, is for us, is it not? Patience,\nand still patience. When we pass, as presently we shall, into some new\ninfinitude, out of this Iceland of negations, it will please us to\nreflect that, though we had few virtues or consolations, we bore with\nour indigence, nor once strove to repair it with hypocrisy or false heat\nof any kind.\n\nBut this class are not sufficiently characterized, if we omit to add\nthat they are lovers and worshippers of Beauty. In the eternal trinity\nof Truth, Goodness, and Beauty, each in its perfection including the\nthree, they prefer to make Beauty the sign and head. Something of the\nsame taste is observable in all the moral movements of the time, in the\nreligious and benevolent enterprises. They have a liberal, even an\n\u00e6sthetic spirit. A reference to Beauty in action sounds, to be sure, a\nlittle hollow and ridiculous in the ears of the old church. In politics,\nit has often sufficed, when they treated of justice, if they kept the\nbounds of selfish calculation. If they granted restitution, it was\nprudence which granted it. But the justice which is now claimed for the\nblack, and the pauper, and the drunkard is for Beauty,--is for a\nnecessity to the soul of the agent, not of the beneficiary. I say, this\nis the tendency, not yet the realization. Our virtue totters and trips,\ndoes not yet walk firmly. Its representatives are austere; they preach\nand denounce; their rectitude is not yet a grace. They are still liable\nto that slight taint of burlesque which, in our strange world, attaches\nto the zealot. A saint should be as dear as the apple of the eye. Yet we\nare tempted to smile, and we flee from the working to the speculative\nreformer, to escape that same slight ridicule. Alas for these days of\nderision and criticism! We call the Beautiful the highest, because it\nappears to us the golden mean, escaping the dowdiness of the good, and\nthe heartlessness of the true.--They are lovers of nature also, and\nfind an indemnity in the inviolable order of the world for the violated\norder and grace of man.\n\nThere is, no doubt, a great deal of well-founded objection to be spoken\nor felt against the sayings and doings of this class, some of whose\ntraits we have selected; no doubt, they will lay themselves open to\ncriticism and to lampoons, and as ridiculous stories will be to be told\nof them as of any. There will be cant and pretension; there will be\nsubtilty and moonshine. These persons are of unequal strength, and do\nnot all prosper. They complain that everything around them must be\ndenied; and if feeble, it takes all their strength to deny, before they\ncan begin to lead their own life. Grave seniors insist on their respect\nto this institution, and that usage; to an obsolete history; to some\nvocation, or college, or etiquette, or beneficiary, or charity, or\nmorning or evening call, which they resist, as what does not concern\nthem. But it costs such sleepless nights, alienations and\nmisgivings,--they have so many moods about it;--these old guardians\nnever change _their_ minds; they have but one mood on the subject,\nnamely, that Antony is very perverse,--that it is quite as much as\nAntony can do, to assert his rights, abstain from what he thinks\nfoolish, and keep his temper. He cannot help the reaction of this\ninjustice in his own mind. He is braced-up and stilted; all freedom and\nflowing genius, all sallies of wit and frolic nature are quite out of\nthe question; it is well if he can keep from lying, injustice, and\nsuicide. This is no time for gaiety and grace. His strength and spirits\nare wasted in rejection. But the strong spirits overpower those around\nthem without effort. Their thought and emotion comes in like a flood,\nquite withdraws them from all notice of these carping critics; they\nsurrender themselves with glad heart to the heavenly guide, and only by\nimplication reject the clamorous nonsense of the hour. Grave seniors\ntalk to the deaf,--church and old book mumble and ritualize to an\nunheeding, pre\u00f6ccupied and advancing mind, and thus they by happiness of\ngreater momentum lose no time, but take the right road at first.\n\nBut all these of whom I speak are not proficients; they are novices;\nthey only show the road in which man should travel, when the soul has\ngreater health and prowess. Yet let them feel the dignity of their\ncharge, and deserve a larger power. Their heart is the ark in which the\nfire is concealed, which shall burn in a broader and universal flame.\nLet them obey the Genius then most when his impulse is wildest; then\nmost when he seems to lead to uninhabitable desarts of thought and\nlife; for the path which the hero travels alone is the highway of health\nand benefit to mankind. What is the privilege and nobility of our\nnature, but its persistency, through its power to attach itself to what\nis permanent?\n\nSociety also has its duties in reference to this class, and must behold\nthem with what charity it can. Possibly some benefit may yet accrue from\nthem to the state. In our Mechanics\u2019 Fair, there must be not only\nbridges, ploughs, carpenters\u2019 planes, and baking troughs, but also some\nfew finer instruments,--rain gauges, thermometers, and telescopes; and\nin society, besides farmers, sailors, and weavers, there must be a few\npersons of purer fire kept specially as gauges and meters of character;\npersons of a fine, detecting instinct, who betray the smallest\naccumulations of wit and feeling in the bystander. Perhaps too there\nmight be room for the exciters and monitors; collectors of the heavenly\nspark with power to convey the electricity to others. Or, as the\nstorm-tossed vessel at sea speaks the frigate or \u2018line packet\u2019 to learn\nits longitude, so it may not be without its advantage that we should now\nand then encounter rare and gifted men, to compare the points of our\nspiritual compass, and verify our bearings from superior chronometers.\n\nAmidst the downward tendency and proneness of things, when every voice\nis raised for a new road or another statute, or a subscription of stock,\nfor an improvement in dress, or in dentistry, for a new house or a\nlarger business, for a political party, or the division of an\nestate,--will you not tolerate one or two solitary voices in the land,\nspeaking for thoughts and principles not marketable or perishable? Soon\nthese improvements and mechanical inventions will be superseded; these\nmodes of living lost out of memory; these cities rotted, ruined by war,\nby new inventions, by new seats of trade, or the geologic changes:--all\ngone, like the shells which sprinkle the seabeach with a white colony\nto-day, forever renewed to be forever destroyed. But the thoughts which\nthese few hermits strove to proclaim by silence, as well as by speech,\nnot only by what they did, but by what they forbore to do, shall abide\nin beauty and strength, to reorganize themselves in nature, to invest\nthemselves anew in other, perhaps higher endowed and happier mixed clay\nthan ours, in fuller union with the surrounding system.\n\n\n\n\nTHE YOUNG AMERICAN.\n\nA LECTURE READ BEFORE THE MERCANTILE LIBRARY ASSOCIATION, BOSTON,\nFEBRUARY 7, 1844.\n\n\n\n\nTHE YOUNG AMERICAN.\n\n\nGENTLEMEN:\n\nIt is remarkable, that our people have their intellectual culture from\none country, and their duties from another. This false state of things\nis newly in a way to be corrected. America is beginning to assert itself\nto the senses and to the imagination of her children, and Europe is\nreceding in the same degree. This their reaction on education gives a\nnew importance to the internal improvements and to the politics of the\ncountry. Who has not been stimulated to reflection by the facilities now\nin progress of construction for travel and the transportation of goods\nin the United States?\n\nThis rage for road building is beneficent for America, where vast\ndistance is so main a consideration in our domestic politics and trade,\ninasmuch as the great political promise of the invention is to hold the\nUnion staunch, whose days seemed already numbered by the mere\ninconvenience of transporting representatives, judges, and officers\nacross such tedious distances of land and water. Not only is distance\nannihilated, but when, as now, the locomotive and the steamboat, like\nenormous shuttles, shoot every day across the thousand various threads\nof national descent and employment, and bind them fast in one web, an\nhourly assimilation goes forward, and there is no danger that local\npeculiarities and hostilities should be preserved.\n\n1. But I hasten to speak of the utility of these improvements in\ncreating an American sentiment. An unlooked for consequence of the\nrailroad, is the increased acquaintance it has given the American people\nwith the boundless resources of their own soil. If this invention has\nreduced England to a third of its size, by bringing people so much\nnearer, in this country it has given a new celerity to _time_, or\nanticipated by fifty years the planting of tracts of land, the choice of\nwater privileges, the working of mines, and other natural advantages.\nRailroad iron is a magician\u2019s rod, in its power to evoke the sleeping\nenergies of land and water.\n\nThe railroad is but one arrow in our quiver, though it has great value\nas a sort of yard-stick, and surveyor\u2019s line. The bountiful continent\nis ours, state on state, and territory on territory, to the waves of the\nPacific sea;\n\n   \u201cOur garden is the immeasurable earth,\n    The heaven\u2019s blue pillars are Medea\u2019s house.\u201d\n\nThe task of surveying, planting, and building upon this immense tract,\nrequires an education and a sentiment commensurate thereto. A\nconsciousness of this fact, is beginning to take the place of the purely\ntrading spirit and education which sprang up whilst all the population\nlived on the fringe of sea-coast. And even on the coast, prudent men\nhave begun to see that every American should be educated with a view to\nthe values of land. The arts of engineering and of architecture are\nstudied; scientific agriculture is an object of growing attention; the\nmineral riches are explored; limestone, coal, slate, and iron; and the\nvalue of timber-lands is enhanced.\n\nColumbus alleged as a reason for seeking a continent in the West, that\nthe harmony of nature required a great tract of land in the western\nhemisphere, to balance the known extent of land in the eastern; and it\nnow appears that we must estimate the native values of this broad region\nto redress the balance of our own judgments, and appreciate the\nadvantages opened to the human race in this country, which is our\nfortunate home. The land is the appointed remedy for whatever is false\nand fantastic in our culture. The continent we inhabit is to be physic\nand food for our mind, as well as our body. The land, with its\ntranquilizing, sanative influences, is to repair the errors of a\nscholastic and traditional education, and bring us into just relations\nwith men and things.\n\nThe habit of living in the presence of these invitations of natural\nwealth is not inoperative; and this habit, combined with the moral\nsentiment which, in the recent years, has interrogated every\ninstitution, usage, and law, has, naturally, given a strong direction to\nthe wishes and aims of active young men to withdraw from cities, and\ncultivate the soil. This inclination has appeared in the most unlooked\nfor quarters, in men supposed to be absorbed in business, and in those\nconnected with the liberal professions. And, since the walks of trade\nwere crowded, whilst that of agriculture cannot easily be, inasmuch as\nthe farmer who is not wanted by others can yet grow his own bread,\nwhilst the manufacturer or the trader, who is not wanted, cannot,--this\nseemed a happy tendency. For, beside all the moral benefit which we may\nexpect from the farmer\u2019s profession, when a man enters it\nconsiderately, this promised the conquering of the soil, plenty, and\nbeyond this, the adorning of the country with every advantage and\nornament which labor, ingenuity, and affection for a man\u2019s home, could\nsuggest.\n\nMeantime, with cheap land, and the pacific disposition of the people,\nevery thing invites to the arts of agriculture, of gardening, and\ndomestic architecture. Public gardens, on the scale of such plantations\nin Europe and Asia, are now unknown to us. There is no feature of the\nold countries that strikes an American with more agreeable surprise than\nthe beautiful gardens of Europe; such as the Boboli in Florence, the\nVilla Borghese in Rome, the Villa d\u2019Este in Tivoli, the gardens at\nMunich, and at Frankfort on the Maine: works easily imitated here, and\nwhich might well make the land dear to the citizen, and inflame\npatriotism. It is the fine art which is left for us, now that sculpture,\npainting, and religious and civil architecture have become effete, and\nhave passed into second childhood. We have twenty degrees of latitude\nwherein to choose a seat, and the new modes of travelling enlarge the\nopportunity of selection, by making it easy to cultivate very distant\ntracts, and yet remain in strict intercourse with the centres of trade\nand population. And the whole force of all the arts goes to facilitate\nthe decoration of lands and dwellings. A garden has this advantage, that\nit makes it indifferent where you live. A well-laid garden makes the\nface of the country of no account; let that be low or high, grand or\nmean, you have made a beautiful abode worthy of man. If the landscape is\npleasing, the garden shows it,--if tame, it excludes it. A little grove,\nwhich any farmer can find, or cause to grow near his house, will, in a\nfew years, make cataracts and chains of mountains quite unnecessary to\nhis scenery; and he is so contented with his alleys, woodlands, orchards\nand river, that Niagara, and the Notch of the White Hills, and Nantasket\nBeach, are superfluities. And yet the selection of a fit houselot has\nthe same advantage over an indifferent one, as the selection to a given\nemployment of a man who has a genius for that work. In the last case,\nthe culture of years will never make the most painstaking apprentice his\nequal: no more will gardening give the advantage of a happy site to a\nhouse in a hole or on a pinnacle. In America, we have hitherto little to\nboast in this kind. The cities drain the country of the best part of its\npopulation: the flower of the youth, of both sexes, goes into the towns,\nand the country is cultivated by a so much inferior class. The\nland,--travel a whole day together,--looks poverty-stricken, and the\nbuildings plain and poor. In Europe, where society has an aristocratic\nstructure, the land is full of men of the best stock, and the best\nculture, whose interest and pride it is to remain half the year on their\nestates, and to fill them with every convenience and ornament. Of\ncourse, these make model farms, and model architecture, and are a\nconstant education to the eye of the surrounding population. Whatever\nevents in progress shall go to disgust men with cities, and infuse into\nthem the passion for country life, and country pleasures, will render a\nservice to the whole face of this continent, and will further the most\npoetic of all the occupations of real life, the bringing out by art the\nnative but hidden graces of the landscape.\n\nI look on such improvements, also, as directly tending to endear the\nland to the inhabitant. Any relation to the land, the habit of tilling\nit, or mining it, or even hunting on it, generates the feeling of\npatriotism. He who keeps shop on it, or he who merely uses it as a\nsupport to his desk and ledger, or to his manufactory, values it less.\nThe vast majority of the people of this country live by the land, and\ncarry its quality in their manners and opinions. We in the Atlantic\nstates, by position, have been commercial, and have, as I said, imbibed\neasily an European culture. Luckily for us, now that steam has narrowed\nthe Atlantic to a strait, the nervous, rocky West is intruding a new and\ncontinental element into the national mind, and we shall yet have an\nAmerican genius. How much better when the whole land is a garden, and\nthe people have grown up in the bowers of a paradise. Without looking,\nthen, to those extraordinary social influences which are now acting in\nprecisely this direction, but only at what is inevitably doing around\nus, I think we must regard the _land_ as a commanding and increasing\npower on the citizen, the sanative and Americanizing influence, which\npromises to disclose new virtues for ages to come.\n\n2. In the second place, the uprise and culmination of the new and\nanti-feudal power of Commerce, is the political fact of most\nsignificance to the American at this hour.\n\nWe cannot look on the freedom of this country, in connexion with its\nyouth, without a presentiment that here shall laws and institutions\nexist on some scale of proportion to the majesty of nature. To men\nlegislating for the area betwixt the two oceans, betwixt the snows and\nthe tropics, somewhat of the gravity of nature will infuse itself into\nthe code. A heterogeneous population crowding on all ships from all\ncorners of the world to the great gates of North America, namely,\nBoston, New York, and New Orleans, and thence proceeding inward to the\nprairie and the mountains, and quickly contributing their private\nthought to the public opinion, their toll to the treasury, and their\nvote to the election, it cannot be doubted that the legislation of this\ncountry should become more catholic and cosmopolitan than that of any\nother. It seems so easy for America to inspire and express the most\nexpansive and humane spirit; new-born, free, healthful, strong, the land\nof the laborer, of the democrat, of the philanthropist, of the believer,\nof the saint, she should speak for the human race. It is the country of\nthe Future. From Washington, proverbially \u2018the city of magnificent\ndistances,\u2019 through all its cities, states, and territories, it is a\ncountry of beginnings, of projects, of designs, of expectations.\n\nGentlemen, there is a sublime and friendly Destiny by which the human\nrace is guided,--the race never dying, the individual never spared,--to\nresults affecting masses and ages. Men are narrow and selfish, but the\nGenius or Destiny is not narrow, but beneficent. It is not discovered in\ntheir calculated and voluntary activity, but in what befalls, with or\nwithout their design. Only what is inevitable interests us, and it turns\nout that love and good are inevitable, and in the course of things. That\nGenius has infused itself into nature. It indicates itself by a small\nexcess of good, a small balance in brute facts always favorable to the\nside of reason. All the facts in any part of nature shall be tabulated,\nand the results shall indicate the same security and benefit; so slight\nas to be hardly observable, and yet it is there. The sphere is flattened\nat the poles, and swelled at the equator; a form flowing necessarily\nfrom the fluid state, yet _the_ form, the mathematician assures us,\nrequired to prevent the protuberances of the continent, or even of\nlesser mountains cast up at any time by earthquakes, from continually\nderanging the axis of the earth. The census of the population is found\nto keep an invariable equality in the sexes, with a trifling\npredominance in favor of the male, as if to counterbalance the\nnecessarily increased exposure of male life in war, navigation, and\nother accidents. Remark the unceasing effort throughout nature at\nsomewhat better than the actual creatures: _amelioration in nature_,\nwhich alone permits and authorizes amelioration in mankind. The\npopulation of the world is a conditional population; these are not the\nbest, but the best that could live in the existing state of soils,\ngases, animals, and morals: the best that could _yet_ live; there shall\nbe a better, please God. This Genius, or Destiny, is of the sternest\nadministration, though rumors exist of its secret tenderness. It may be\nstyled a cruel kindness, serving the whole even to the ruin of the\nmember; a terrible communist, reserving all profits to the community,\nwithout dividend to individuals. Its law is, you shall have everything\nas a member, nothing to yourself. For Nature is the noblest engineer,\nyet uses a grinding economy, working up all that is wasted to-day into\nto-morrow\u2019s creation;--not a superfluous grain of sand, for all the\nostentation she makes of expense and public works. It is because Nature\nthus saves and uses, laboring for the general, that we poor particulars\nare so crushed and straitened, and find it so hard to live. She flung us\nout in her plenty, but we cannot shed a hair, or a paring of a nail, but\ninstantly she snatches at the shred, and appropriates it to the general\nstock. Our condition is like that of the poor wolves: if one of the\nflock wound himself, or so much as limp, the rest eat him up\nincontinently.\n\nThat serene Power interposes the check upon the caprices and\nofficiousness of our wills. Its charity is not our charity. One of its\nagents is our will, but that which expresses itself in our will, is\nstronger than our will. We are very forward to help it, but it will not\nbe accelerated. It resists our meddling, eleemosynary contrivances. We\ndevise sumptuary and relief laws, but the principle of population is\nalways reducing wages to the lowest pittance on which human life can be\nsustained. We legislate against forestalling and monopoly; we would have\na common granary for the poor; but the selfishness which hoards the corn\nfor high prices, is the preventive of famine; and the law of\nself-preservation is surer policy than any legislation can be. We\nconcoct eleemosynary systems, and it turns out that our charity\nincreases pauperism. We inflate our paper currency, we repair commerce\nwith unlimited credit, and are presently visited with unlimited\nbankruptcy.\n\nIt is easy to see that the existing generation are conspiring with a\nbeneficence, which, in its working for coming generations, sacrifices\nthe passing one, which infatuates the most selfish men to act against\ntheir private interest for the public welfare. We build railroads, we\nknow not for what or for whom; but one thing is certain, that we who\nbuild will receive the very smallest share of benefit. Benefit will\naccrue; they are essential to the country, but that will be felt not\nuntil we are no longer countrymen. We do the like in all matters:--\n\n   \u201cMan\u2019s heart the Almighty to the Future set\n    By secret and inviolable springs.\u201d\n\nWe plant trees, we build stone houses, we redeem the waste, we make\nprospective laws, we found colleges and hospitals, for remote\ngenerations. We should be mortified to learn that the little benefit we\nchanced in our own persons to receive was the utmost they would yield.\n\nThe history of commerce, is the record of this beneficent tendency. The\npatriarchal form of government readily becomes despotic, as each person\nmay see in his own family. Fathers wish to be the fathers of the minds\nof their children, and behold with impatience a new character and way of\nthinking presuming to show itself in their own son or daughter. This\nfeeling, which all their love and pride in the powers of their children\ncannot subdue, becomes petulance and tyranny when the head of the clan,\nthe emperor of an empire, deals with the same difference of opinion in\nhis subjects. Difference of opinion is the one crime which kings never\nforgive. An empire is an immense egotism. \u201cI am the State,\u201d said the\nFrench Louis. When a French ambassador mentioned to Paul of Russia, that\na man of consequence in St. Petersburg was interesting himself in some\nmatter, the Czar interrupted him,--\u201cThere is no man of consequence in\nthis empire, but he with whom I am actually speaking; and so long only\nas I am speaking to him, is he of any consequence.\u201d And Nicholas, the\npresent emperor, is reported to have said to his council, \u201cThe age is\nembarrassed with new opinions; rely on me, gentlemen, I shall oppose an\niron will to the progress of liberal opinions.\u201d\n\nIt is easy to see that this patriarchal or family management gets to be\nrather troublesome to all but the papa; the sceptre comes to be a\ncrowbar. And this unpleasant egotism, Feudalism opposes, and finally\ndestroys. The king is compelled to call in the aid of his brothers and\ncousins, and remote relations, to help him keep his overgrown house in\norder; and this club of noblemen always come at last to have a will of\ntheir own; they combine to brave the sovereign, and call in the aid of\nthe people. Each chief attaches as many followers as he can, by\nkindness, maintenance, and gifts; and as long as war lasts, the nobles,\nwho must be soldiers, rule very well. But when peace comes, the nobles\nprove very whimsical and uncomfortable masters; their frolics turn out\nto be insulting and degrading to the commoner. Feudalism grew to be a\nbandit and brigand.\n\nMeantime Trade had begun to appear: Trade, a plant which grows wherever\nthere is peace, as soon as there is peace, and as long as there is\npeace. The luxury and necessity of the noble fostered it. And as quickly\nas men go to foreign parts, in ships or caravans, a new order of things\nsprings up; new command takes place, new servants and new masters. Their\ninformation, their wealth, their correspondence, have made them quite\nother men than left their native shore. _They_ are nobles now, and by\nanother patent than the king\u2019s. Feudalism had been good, had broken the\npower of the kings, and had some good traits of its own; but it had\ngrown mischievous, it was time for it to die, and, as they say of dying\npeople, all its faults came out. Trade was the strong man that broke it\ndown, and raised a new and unknown power in its place. It is a new\nagent in the world, and one of great function; it is a very intellectual\nforce. This displaces physical strength, and instals computation,\ncombination, information, science, in its room. It calls out all force\nof a certain kind that slumbered in the former dynasties. It is now in\nthe midst of its career. Feudalism is not ended yet. Our governments\nstill partake largely of that element. Trade goes to make the\ngovernments insignificant, and to bring every kind of faculty of every\nindividual that can in any manner serve any person, _on sale_. Instead\nof a huge Army and Navy, and Executive Departments, it converts\nGovernment into an Intelligence-Office, where every man may find what he\nwishes to buy, and expose what he has to sell, not only produce and\nmanufactures, but art, skill, and intellectual and moral values. This is\nthe good and this the evil of trade, that it would put everything into\nmarket, talent, beauty, virtue, and man himself.\n\nBy this means, however, it has done its work. It has its faults, and\nwill come to an end, as the others do. The philosopher and lover of man\nhave much harm to say of trade; but the historian will see that trade\nwas the principle of Liberty; that trade planted America and destroyed\nFeudalism; that it makes peace and keeps peace, and it will abolish\nslavery. We complain of its oppression of the poor, and of its building\nup a new aristocracy on the ruins of the aristocracy it destroyed. But\nthe aristocracy of trade has no permanence, is not entailed, was the\nresult of toil and talent, the result of merit of some kind, and is\ncontinually falling, like the waves of the sea, before new claims of the\nsame sort. Trade is an instrument in the hands of that friendly Power\nwhich works for us in our own despite. We design it thus and thus; it\nturns out otherwise and far better. This beneficent tendency, omnipotent\nwithout violence, exists and works. Every line of history inspires a\nconfidence that we shall not go far wrong; that things mend. That is the\nmoral of all we learn, that it warrants Hope, the prolific mother of\nreforms. Our part is plainly not to throw ourselves across the track, to\nblock improvement, and sit till we are stone, but to watch the uprise of\nsuccessive mornings, and to conspire with the new works of new days.\nGovernment has been a fossil; it should be a plant. I conceive that the\noffice of statute law should be to express, and not to impede the mind\nof mankind. New thoughts, new things. Trade was one instrument, but\nTrade is also but for a time, and must give way to somewhat broader and\nbetter, whose signs are already dawning in the sky.\n\n3. I pass to speak of the signs of that which is the sequel of trade.\n\nIn consequence of the revolution in the state of society wrought by\ntrade, Government in our times is beginning to wear a clumsy and\ncumbrous appearance. We have already seen our way to shorter methods.\nThe time is full of good signs. Some of them shall ripen to fruit. All\nthis beneficent socialism is a friendly omen, and the swelling cry of\nvoices for the education of the people, indicates that Government has\nother offices than those of banker and executioner. Witness the new\nmovements in the civilized world, the Communism of France, Germany, and\nSwitzerland; the Trades\u2019 Unions; the English League against the Corn\nLaws; and the whole _Industrial Statistics_, so called. In Paris, the\nblouse, the badge of the operative, has begun to make its appearance in\nthe saloons. Witness, too, the spectacle of three Communities which have\nwithin a very short time sprung up within this Commonwealth, besides\nseveral others undertaken by citizens of Massachusetts within the\nterritory of other States. These proceeded from a variety of motives,\nfrom an impatience of many usages in common life, from a wish for\ngreater freedom than the manners and opinions of society permitted, but\nin great part from a feeling that the true offices of the State, the\nState had let fall to the ground; that in the scramble of parties for\nthe public purse, the main duties of government were omitted,--the duty\nto instruct the ignorant, to supply the poor with work and with good\nguidance. These communists preferred the agricultural life as the most\nfavorable condition for human culture; but they thought that the farm,\nas we manage it, did not satisfy the right ambition of man. The farmer,\nafter sacrificing pleasure, taste, freedom, thought, love, to his work,\nturns out often a bankrupt, like the merchant. This result might well\nseem astounding. All this drudgery, from cockcrowing to starlight, for\nall these years, to end in mortgages and the auctioneer\u2019s flag, and\nremoving from bad to worse. It is time to have the thing looked into,\nand with a sifting criticism ascertained who is the fool. It seemed a\ngreat deal worse, because the farmer is living in the same town with men\nwho pretend to know exactly what he wants. On one side, is agricultural\nchemistry, coolly exposing the nonsense of our spendthrift agriculture\nand ruinous expense of manures, and offering, by means of a teaspoonful\nof artificial guano, to turn a sandbank into corn; and, on the other,\nthe farmer, not only eager for the information, but with bad crops and\nin debt and bankruptcy, for want of it. Here are Etzlers and mechanical\nprojectors, who, with the Fourierists, undoubtingly affirm that the\nsmallest union would make every man rich;--and, on the other side, a\nmultitude of poor men and women seeking work, and who cannot find enough\nto pay their board. The science is confident, and surely the poverty is\nreal. If any means could be found to bring these two together!\n\nThis was one design of the projectors of the Associations which are now\nmaking their first feeble experiments. They were founded in love, and in\nlabor. They proposed, as you know, that all men should take a part in\nthe manual toil, and proposed to amend the condition of men, by\nsubstituting harmonious for hostile industry. It was a noble thought of\nFourier, which gives a favorable idea of his system, to distinguish in\nhis Phalanx a class as the Sacred Band, by whom whatever duties were\ndisagreeable, and likely to be omitted, were to be assumed.\n\nAt least, an economical success seemed certain for the enterprise, and\nthat agricultural association must, sooner or later, fix the price of\nbread, and drive single farmers into association, in selfdefence; as\nthe great commercial and manufacturing companies had already done. The\nCommunity is only the continuation of the same movement which made the\njoint-stock companies for manufactures, mining, insurance, banking, and\nso forth. It has turned out cheaper to make calico by companies; and it\nis proposed to plant corn, and to bake bread by companies.\n\nUndoubtedly, abundant mistakes will be made by these first adventurers,\nwhich will draw ridicule on their schemes. I think, for example, that\nthey exaggerate the importance of a favorite project of theirs, that of\npaying talent and labor at one rate, paying all sorts of service at one\nrate, say ten cents the hour. They have paid it so; but not an instant\nwould a dime remain a dime. In one hand it became an eagle as it fell,\nand in another hand a copper cent. For the whole value of the dime is in\nknowing what to do with it. One man buys with it a land-title of an\nIndian, and makes his posterity princes; or buys corn enough to feed the\nworld; or pen, ink, and paper, or a painter\u2019s brush, by which he can\ncommunicate himself to the human race as if he were fire; and the other\nbuys barley candy. Money is of no value; it cannot spend itself. All\ndepends on the skill of the spender. Whether, too, the objection almost\nuniversally felt by such women in the community as were mothers, to an\nassociate life, to a common table, and a common nursery, &c., setting a\nhigher value on the private family with poverty, than on an association\nwith wealth, will not prove insuperable, remains to be determined.\n\nBut the Communities aimed at a higher success in securing to all their\nmembers an equal and thorough education. And on the whole, one may say,\nthat aims so generous, and so forced on them by the times, will not be\nrelinquished, even if these attempts fail, but will be prosecuted until\nthey succeed.\n\nThis is the value of the Communities; not what they have done, but the\nrevolution which they indicate as on the way. Yes, Government must\neducate the poor man. Look across the country from any hill-side around\nus, and the landscape seems to crave Government. The actual differences\nof men must be acknowledged, and met with love and wisdom. These rising\ngrounds which command the champaign below, seem to ask for lords, true\nlords, _land_-lords, who understand the land and its uses, and the\napplicabilities of men, and whose government would be what it should,\nnamely, mediation between want and supply. How gladly would each\ncitizen pay a commission for the support and continuation of good\nguidance. None should be a governor who has not a talent for governing.\nNow many people have a native skill for carving out business for many\nhands; a genius for the disposition of affairs; and are never happier\nthan when difficult practical questions, which embarrass other men, are\nto be solved. All lies in light before them; they are in their element.\nCould any means be contrived to appoint only these! There really seems a\nprogress towards such a state of things, in which this work shall be\ndone by these natural workmen; and this, not certainly through any\nincreased discretion shown by the citizens at elections, but by the\ngradual contempt into which official government falls, and the\nincreasing disposition of private adventurers to assume its fallen\nfunctions. Thus the costly Post Office is likely to go into disuse\nbefore the private transportation-shop of Harnden and his competitors.\nThe currency threatens to fall entirely into private hands. Justice is\ncontinually administered more and more by private reference, and not by\nlitigation. We have feudal governments in a commercial age. It would be\nbut an easy extension of our commercial system, to pay a private\nemperor a fee for services, as we pay an architect, an engineer, or a\nlawyer. If any man has a talent for righting wrong, for administering\ndifficult affairs, for counselling poor farmers how to turn their\nestates to good husbandry, for combining a hundred private enterprises\nto a general benefit, let him in the county-town, or in Court-street,\nput up his sign-board, Mr. Smith, _Governor_, Mr. Johnson, _Working\nking_.\n\nHow can our young men complain of the poverty of things in New England,\nand not feel that poverty as a demand on their charity to make New\nEngland rich? Where is he who seeing a thousand men useless and unhappy,\nand making the whole region forlorn by their inaction, and conscious\nhimself of possessing the faculty they want, does not hear his call to\ngo and be their king?\n\nWe must have kings, and we must have nobles. Nature provides such in\nevery society,--only let us have the real instead of the titular. Let us\nhave our leading and our inspiration from the best. In every society\nsome men are born to rule, and some to advise. Let the powers be well\ndirected, directed by love, and they would everywhere be greeted with\njoy and honor. The chief is the chief all the world over, only not his\ncap and his plume. It is only their dislike of the pretender, which\nmakes men sometimes unjust to the accomplished man. If society were\ntransparent, the noble would everywhere be gladly received and\naccredited, and would not be asked for his day\u2019s work, but would be felt\nas benefit, inasmuch as he was noble. That were his duty and stint,--to\nkeep himself pure and purifying, the leaven of his nation. I think I see\nplace and duties for a nobleman in every society; but it is not to drink\nwine and ride in a fine coach, but to guide and adorn life for the\nmultitude by forethought, by elegant studies, by perseverance,\nself-devotion, and the remembrance of the humble old friend, by making\nhis life secretly beautiful.\n\nI call upon you, young men, to obey your heart, and be the nobility of\nthis land. In every age of the world, there has been a leading nation,\none of a more generous sentiment, whose eminent citizens were willing to\nstand for the interests of general justice and humanity, at the risk of\nbeing called, by the men of the moment, chimerical and fantastic. Which\nshould be that nation but these States? Which should lead that movement,\nif not New England? Who should lead the leaders, but the Young American?\nThe people, and the world, is now suffering from the want of religion\nand honor in its public mind. In America, out of doors all seems a\nmarket; in doors, an air-tight stove of conventionalism. Every body who\ncomes into our houses savors of these habits; the men, of the market;\nthe women, of the custom. I find no expression in our state papers or\nlegislative debate, in our lyceums or churches, specially in our\nnewspapers, of a high national feeling, no lofty counsels, that\nrightfully stir the blood. I speak of those organs which can be presumed\nto speak a popular sense. They recommend conventional virtues, whatever\nwill earn and preserve property; always the capitalist; the college, the\nchurch, the hospital, the theatre, the hotel, the road, the ship, of the\ncapitalist,--whatever goes to secure, adorn, enlarge these, is good;\nwhat jeopardizes any of these, is damnable. The \u2018opposition\u2019 papers, so\ncalled, are on the same side. They attack the great capitalist, but with\nthe aim to make a capitalist of the poor man. The opposition is against\nthose who have money, from those who wish to have money. But who\nannounces to us in journal, or in pulpit, or in the street, the secret\nof heroism,\n\n   \u201cMan alone\n    Can perform the impossible?\u201d\n\nI shall not need to go into an enumeration of our national defects and\nvices which require this Order of Censors in the state. I might not set\ndown our most proclaimed offences as the worst. It is not often the\nworst trait that occasions the loudest outcry. Men complain of their\nsuffering, and not of the crime. I fear little from the bad effect of\nRepudiation; I do not fear that it will spread. Stealing is a suicidal\nbusiness; you cannot repudiate but once. But the bold face and tardy\nrepentance permitted to this local mischief, reveal a public mind so\npreoccupied with the love of gain, that the common sentiment of\nindignation at fraud does not act with its natural force. The more need\nof a withdrawal from the crowd, and a resort to the fountain of right,\nby the brave. The timidity of our public opinion, is our disease, or,\nshall I say, the publicness of opinion, the absence of private opinion.\nGood-nature is plentiful, but we want justice, with heart of steel, to\nfight down the proud. The private mind has the access to the totality of\ngoodness and truth, that it may be a balance to a corrupt society; and\nto stand for the private verdict against popular clamor, is the office\nof the noble. If a humane measure is propounded in behalf of the slave,\nor of the Irishman, or the Catholic, or for the succor of the poor, that\nsentiment, that project, will have the homage of the hero. That is his\nnobility, his oath of knighthood, to succor the helpless and oppressed;\nalways to throw himself on the side of weakness, of youth, of hope, on\nthe liberal, on the expansive side, never on the defensive, the\nconserving, the timorous, the lock and bolt system. More than our\ngood-will we may not be able to give. We have our own affairs, our own\ngenius, which chains us to our proper work. We cannot give our life to\nthe cause of the debtor, of the slave, or the pauper, as another is\ndoing; but to one thing we are bound, not to blaspheme the sentiment and\nthe work of that man, not to throw stumbling-blocks in the way of the\nabolitionist, the philanthropist, as the organs of influence and opinion\nare swift to do. It is for us to confide in the beneficent Supreme\nPower, and not to rely on our money, and on the state because it is the\nguard of money. At this moment, the terror of old people and of vicious\npeople, is lest the Union of these States be destroyed: as if the Union\nhad any other real basis than the good pleasure of a majority of the\ncitizens to be united. But the wise and just man will always feel that\nhe stands on his own feet; that he imparts strength to the state, not\nreceives security from it; and that if all went down, he and such as he\nwould quite easily combine in a new and better constitution. Every\ngreat and memorable community has consisted of formidable individuals,\nwho, like the Roman or the Spartan, lent his own spirit to the state and\nmade it great. Yet only by the supernatural is a man strong; nothing is\nso weak as an egotist. Nothing is mightier than we, when we are vehicles\nof a truth before which the state and the individual are alike\nephemeral.\n\nGentlemen, the development of our American internal resources, the\nextension to the utmost of the commercial system, and the appearance of\nnew moral causes which are to modify the state, are giving an aspect of\ngreatness to the Future, which the imagination fears to open. One thing\nis plain for all men of common sense and common conscience, that here,\nhere in America, is the home of man. After all the deductions which are\nto be made for our pitiful politics, which stake every gravest national\nquestion on the silly die, whether James or whether Jonathan shall sit\nin the chair and hold the purse; after all the deduction is made for our\nfrivolities and insanities, there still remains an organic simplicity\nand liberty, which, when it loses its balance, redresses itself\npresently, which offers opportunity to the human mind not known in any\nother region.\n\nIt is true, the public mind wants self-respect. We are full of vanity,\nof which the most signal proof is our sensitiveness to foreign and\nespecially English censure. One cause of this is our immense reading,\nand that reading chiefly confined to the productions of the English\npress. It is also true, that, to imaginative persons in this country,\nthere is somewhat bare and bald in our short history, and unsettled\nwilderness. They ask, who would live in a new country, that can live in\nan old? and it is not strange that our youths and maidens should burn to\nsee the picturesque extremes of an antiquated country. But it is one\nthing to visit the pyramids, and another to wish to live there. Would\nthey like tithes to the clergy, and sevenths to the government, and\nhorse-guards, and licensed press, and grief when a child is born, and\nthreatening, starved weavers, and a pauperism now constituting\none-thirteenth of the population? Instead of the open future expanding\nhere before the eye of every boy to vastness, would they like the\nclosing in of the future to a narrow slit of sky, and that fast\ncontracting to be no future? One thing, for instance, the beauties of\naristocracy, we commend to the study of the travelling American. The\nEnglish, the most conservative people this side of India, are not\nsensible of the restraint, but an American would seriously resent it.\nThe aristocracy, incorporated by law and education, degrades life for\nthe unprivileged classes. It is a questionable compensation to the\nembittered feeling of a proud commoner, the reflection that a fop, who,\nby the magic of title, paralyzes his arm, and plucks from him half the\ngraces and rights of a man, is himself also an aspirant excluded with\nthe same ruthlessness from higher circles, since there is no end to the\nwheels within wheels of this spiral heaven. Something may be pardoned to\nthe spirit of loyalty when it becomes fantastic; and something to the\nimagination, for the baldest life is symbolic. Philip II. of Spain rated\nhis ambassador for neglecting serious affairs in Italy, whilst he\ndebated some point of honor with the French ambassador; \u201cYou have left a\nbusiness of importance for a ceremony.\u201d The ambassador replied, \u201cYour\nmajesty\u2019s self is but a ceremony.\u201d In the East, where the religious\nsentiment comes in to the support of the aristocracy, and in the Romish\nchurch also, there is a grain of sweetness in the tyranny; but in\nEngland, the fact seems to me intolerable, what is commonly affirmed,\nthat such is the transcendent honor accorded to wealth and birth, that\nno man of letters, be his eminence what it may, is received into the\nbest society, except as a lion and a show. The English have many\nvirtues, many advantages, and the proudest history of the world; but\nthey need all, and more than all the resources of the past to indemnify\na heroic gentleman in that country for the mortifications prepared for\nhim by the system of society, and which seem to impose the alternative\nto resist or to avoid it. That there are mitigations and practical\nalleviations to this rigor, is not an excuse for the rule. Commanding\nworth, and personal power, must sit crowned in all companies, nor will\nextraordinary persons be slighted or affronted in any company of\ncivilized men. But the system is an invasion of the sentiment of justice\nand the native rights of men, which, however decorated, must lessen the\nvalue of English citizenship. It is for Englishmen to consider, not for\nus; we only say, let us live in America, too thankful for our want of\nfeudal institutions. Our houses and towns are like mosses and lichens,\nso slight and new; but youth is a fault of which we shall daily mend.\nThis land, too, is as old as the Flood, and wants no ornament or\nprivilege which nature could bestow. Here stars, here woods, here hills,\nhere animals, here men abound, and the vast tendencies concur of a new\norder. If only the men are employed in conspiring with the designs of\nthe Spirit who led us hither, and is leading us still, we shall quickly\nenough advance out of all hearing of other\u2019s censures, out of all\nregrets of our own, into a new and more excellent social state than\nhistory has recorded.\n\nTypographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:\n\nthe most trival=> the most trivial {pg 26}\n\nactions externized=> actions externalized {pg 69}\n\nSuscess treads=> Success treads {pg 98}\n\nbelow not in unsion=> below not in unison {pg 110}\n\nmay rightlfully hold=> may rightfully hold {pg 152}\n\nits sparking January heaven=> its sparkling January heaven {pg 153}\n\nand exponent of the world=> an exponent of the world {pg 193}\n\ntools runs away=> tools run away {pg 200}\n\nWhosover hereafter=> Whosoever hereafter {pg 313}","title":"Miscellanies : $b embracing Nature, addresses, and lectures","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":79768}