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 Book .^_i 
 
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nitcrsitjc Oition 
 
 NATURE, ADDRESSES, AND LECTURES 
 
 BEING VOLUME I. 
 
 OF 
 
 EMERSON'S COMPLETE WORKS 
 
MAR J^^ ^3^' 
 
NATURE, ADDRESSES, AND 
 LECTURES 
 
 liY 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON 
 
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 I3eU ant EcoiBrt CtitfoH 
 
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 "f^. 
 
 <>f^ 
 
 
 '■ \ 
 
 9%^ 
 
 BOSTON 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 Wcii York: 11 Ea'-t Sevenieen+h Street 
 
 Ctw nitierfiiDe 15re00, Camfiri&fle 
 1884 
 
t6 
 
 
 VHH\vrljJht. If^ «"i> lf*TlV 
 l->\ I'Mll.Urs, !5AMrj«v»N A" I'O AN\> UAI.ni WAl.W KMEUSON. 
 
 .4// rights iVv-w^vi/, 
 
 
\'l:\'A'A'l()U.Y NOTE. 
 
 Thk fii'Ht <;ij(}ii v(>]utm;H of Uk; pn;H<;rit rMJition of 
 -''^r. '''n<;rHfUi'H writings contain \t'iH c^Mca.U-A F>h- 
 ivK aH \it'. ](;h ihcrri, (;^ca-,\>\, Hotiic rcvinion of t,fi« 
 '.actuation anri fiio <^)n'<;<;Uon '»f obviouH uiintakfiH. 
 '.*!S<; nintJ) voliirn<; r^iinj)riH<;H tJx; \>m'A;n chtm-u by 
 '*/'. Knic/wni from tli<; " J'ooniH " ami "May-J^ay" 
 > foifii 111", " S<;I<M;f/;<J. Po<;»iH," with tJi<; a<J'Ji- 
 tion of H*;;no [jooniH which were ornitid in tfiat H<> 
 Icf^ion, anri Home that have remaine/l rui[)uhliH}i<;'l. 
 If) many inntarjccH cmendationg which were p<m- 
 ciiled ifj tlie rrjargin by Mr. Kmernrm, but were 
 not ■.nA\i)\AA-A in tfie " Heh}(^5(l Pf>emH," are now In- 
 tro<lu(M5(i, ijjjon tfie j^round tliat, an they H<j<;m in 
 fiave HUi^i^(iHU;<\ themH<;JveH at the time when h'lH 
 j)OwerH were in f,hr;ir fiilleHt vif^or, it may fairly 
 be Hijf>|>oH<;<l tliat he woiilrj, lipon r(;e,onHideration, 
 have jwbnitt^;*] tliem. 'Hie t<;nth an<] eleventli v<>\~ 
 nmcH c.onrtiHt of lecturcH hithert^> uriprint*;d, and of 
 " Oc.eaHional AdrJrcHWjH" and other prow>writing^H 
 wliifih liave appeared Hcparately or in period icalw. 
 Tlie Hclecrtion from Mr. KmerHon'H MSS. haH 
 
iv PNFFATOin' XOTE. 
 
 boon maclo in pnrsuanoo of the autliovity givon in 
 liis will to n»o. as his litonuy exeontov, aoting in 
 co-oj)(U-ation with his chililron, to pnblish or with- 
 hold from jnibllontion any of his un}>ubllsho(l pa- 
 t)ors. 
 
 Tho portrait in the first volimie was etehod by 
 ]\Ir. Sehoff from a photographic copy (kindly fur- 
 nished by INIr. Aloxjuider Ireland, of INlanchester, 
 England) of a daguerreotype taken in 1847 or 
 1848, probably in England. 
 
 J. E. CABOT. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 > 
 
 PAOB 
 
 Nati'RE 13 
 
 TiiK American Scfiolar. An Oration delivered before 
 the Phi Beta Kappa Society, at Cambridge, Aug. 31, 1837 81 
 
 An Addrkh.s delivered before the Senior Class in Divinity 
 College, Cambridge, Jul}- 15, 1838 117 
 
 Literary P^tiiics. An Oration delivered before the Liter- 
 ary Societies of Dartmouth College, July 24, 1838 . . 149 
 
 The Method of Nature. An Oration delivered before 
 the Society of the Adelphi, in Waterville (Jollege, Maine, 
 August 11, 1841 181 
 
 Man the Keformer. A Lecture read before the Mechan- 
 ics' Apprentices' Library Association, Boston, January 25, 
 1841 215 
 
 Lecture on the Times. Read at the Masonic Templo, 
 Boston, December 2, 1841 245 
 
 The Conservative. A Lecture read in the Masonic Tem- 
 ple, Boston, December 9, 1841 277 
 
 The Transcendentalist. A Lecture read in the Masonic 
 Temple, Boston, January, 1842 309 
 
 The Youno Ajierican. A Lecture read before the Mer- 
 cantile Library Association, in Boston, February 7, 1844 . 341 
 
NATURE 
 
 A SUBTLE chain of countless rings 
 The next unto the farthest brings ; 
 The eye reads omens where it goes, 
 And speaks all languages the rose ; 
 And, striving to be man, the worm 
 Mounts through all the spires of form. 
 
RECEIVED, ^"^t. 
 
 INTIKjIK^CTTON. 
 
 OuE aj^fj i'h njtroHpoctivo. It }>uil(lH tli<; Hf;pul- 
 chrcH of the fathoi'H. It wiit<;s hi'j^ntpliioH, liiHto- 
 ri«;H, and criti<;i.sfn. I'ho foro^oing g;(;norationH 
 bc'li<;l(l Ciod and nature fax;c to face ; wo, through 
 tl)(jir eyoH. Why nhould not we alHO enjoy an 
 (original relation U) the universe? Why Hhould 
 not we have a poetry and [>}iiIoHOp}iy of inniglit 
 and not of tnixlition, and a religion by revelation 
 to UH, and not the history of theirs? EnihoHonie<l 
 for a season in natui-e, whose floods of life stream 
 around and through us, and invit<} us by the pow- 
 ers they supply, to action jirojjoi-tionefl to nature, 
 why should we grope among tfie (by bones of the 
 past, or put the living generation intfj masrjuerade 
 out of its faded wardrobe ? 'i'he sun shines to-<iay 
 alsf>. There is more wool anrl flax in the fi<;lds. 
 There are new lands, n(;w men, new thoughts. 
 Let us demand <)\\y own works and laws and wor- 
 ship. 
 
 Undoubt<idly we have no rpiestions to ask which 
 are unanswerable. We must trust the perfection 
 
10 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of the creation so far as to believe that whatever 
 eiu'iosity the order of thmgs has awakened in our 
 minds, the order of things can satisfy. Every 
 man's condition is a sokitiou in hierogljqDhic to 
 those inquiries he would put. lie acts it as life, 
 before he apprehends it as truth. In like manner, 
 nature is already, in its forms and tendencies, de- 
 scribing its own design. Let us interrogate the 
 great apparition that shines so peacefully aroimd 
 us. Let us inquire, to what end is nature ? 
 
 All science has one aim, namely, to find a theory 
 of nature. We have theories of races and of func- 
 tions, but scarcely yet a remote approach to an idea 
 of creation. We are now so far from the road to 
 truth, that religious teachers dispute and hate each 
 other, and speculative men are esteemed imsound 
 and frivolous. But to a soimd judgment, the most 
 abstract truth is the most practical. Whenever a 
 true theory appears, it will be its own evidence. 
 Its test is, that it wall explain all phenomena. Now 
 many are thought not only unexplained but inex- 
 plicable ; as lang-uage, sleep, madness, dreams, beasts, 
 sex. 
 
 Philosophically considered, the imiverse is com- 
 posed of Nature and the Soid. Strictly speaking, 
 therefore, all that is separate from us, all which 
 Pliilosophy distinguishes as the NOT me, that is, 
 both natm'e and art, all other men and my o^vn 
 
INTRODUCTION. H 
 
 body, must be ranked under this name, Nature, 
 In enumerating the values of nature and casting up 
 their sum, I shall use the word in both senses ; — 
 in its common and in its philosojohical import. In 
 inquiries so general as our present one, the inaccu- 
 racy is not material ; no confusion of thought will 
 occur. Nature^ in the common sense, refers to es- 
 sences unchanged bj^ man ; space, the air, the river, 
 the leaf. Art is applied to the mixture of his will 
 with the same things, as in a house, a canal, a statue, 
 a picture. But his operations taken together are 
 so insignificant, a little chipping, baking, patching, 
 and washing, that in an impression so gi'and as that 
 of the world on the human mind, they do not vary 
 the result. 
 
'<bv. 
 
 NATURE 
 
 CIIA11ER 
 
 To go into .solitude, a man needs to retire as 
 much from his chamber as from society. I am not 
 solitary wliilst I read and write, though nobody is 
 with me. ( But if a man would be alone, let him 
 look at the stars. The rays that come from those 
 heavenly worlds will separate between him and what 
 he touches. On(5 might tliink the atmosphere was 
 made transparent with this design, to give man, 
 in the heaveidy bodies, the perpetual presence of 
 the sublime. Seen in the streets of cities, how great 
 they are ! If the stars should appear one night in 
 a thousand years, how would men believe and adore ; 
 and preserve for many generations the remembrance 
 of the city of God which had been shown ! But 
 every night come out these envoys of beauty, and 
 light the universe with their admonishing smile. 
 
 The stars awaken a certain reverence, because 
 though always present, they are inaccessible ; but 
 all natural objects make a kindred impression, when 
 the mind is open to their influence. Nature never 
 
14 NATUJUS. 
 
 woars a mt>au appoanmce. Noithor ilot>s tho wis- 
 est man extort her swi'ot, aiul lose his euriosity by 
 tiiulini;' out all her pertVetiou. Nature never ho- 
 i'anie a toy io a wist^ spirit. The tK)wers, tht> ani- 
 mals, the aiDimtains, retUn'ted the wisileni ol" his best 
 hour, as uuu'h as they havl tlolighteil the simplieity 
 ot" his ehihlhoiul. 
 
 ^^'hen we speak of nature in this nianntu", we have 
 a ilistiuet but niost poetieal sense in the niind. AVe 
 mean tbe inteii'rity of impression made by manifold 
 natural objeets. It is tJiis whieh distinpiishes the 
 stiek of timber of the wcHuWutter, fi-om the ti\H> of 
 the [H>et. The eharuiiuii' landseape whieh 1 saw 
 this morning is indubitably made up of some twenty 
 or thirty farms, sillier owns this field, LiH'ke that, 
 and iSlanniuii' the woodland bevond. But none of 
 them owns the lamlseape. Theiv is a pn>pertv in 
 the horizon whieh ni» nuin has but ho whose eyeean 
 intei^rate all the parts, that is, the poet. This is 
 the best part of tl\ese men's farms, yet to this their 
 warrant v-deeds iiivt^ no title. 
 
 To speak tridy, few adult pei-sons ean see natuiv. 
 Most jKn-sons do not see the sun. At least they 
 ha\ e a vei*y supertleial seeing'. The sun illuminates 
 cnily the eye of the nuin, but sliines into the eye and 
 tlie heart of the ehild. The lover oi nature is he 
 whose inward anil outwanl senses aiv still tndy ad- 
 justeil to eaih i>ther : who has retained the spirit 
 
NA TURJC. 15 
 
 of infancy even into the era of manhood. His in- 
 tercour-se with heaven and earth l^ecomes part of his 
 <laily food. In the presence of nature a wild de- 
 light runs through the man, in spite of real sorrows. 
 Nature says, — he is my creature, and maugre all 
 his impertinent griefs, he shall be glad with me. 
 Not the sun or the summer alone, but every hour 
 and season yields its tribute of delight ; for every 
 hour and change conesponds to and authorizes a 
 different state of the mind, from breathless noon to 
 grimmest midnight. Nature is a setting that fits 
 equally well a comic or a mourning piece. In good 
 health, the air is a cordial of incredible virtue. 
 Crossing a bare common, in snow puddles, at twi- 
 light, under a clouded sky, without having in my 
 tlioughts any o(;currence of special good fortune, I 
 have enjoyed a perfect exhilaration. I am glad to 
 the brink of fear. In the woods, too, a man casts 
 off his years, as the snake his slough, and at what 
 period Hoev<!r of life, is always a chili]. In the 
 woods is perpetual youth. Within these planta^ 
 tions of God, a decorum and sanctity reign, a per- 
 ennial festival is dressed, and the guest sees not 
 how he should tire of them in a thousand years. In 
 the woods, w(i return to reason and faith. There I 
 feel that nothing can b<;fall me in life;, — no dis- 
 grace, no calamity (leaving me my eyes), which 
 nature cannot repair. Standing on the bare ground. 
 
16 NATURJE. 
 
 — my head butlunl by ihe Mitho air, and upllftod 
 into inlinite spaco, — all luoau egotism vauisluvs. I 
 become a traus])aivnt eye-ball ; 1 am uotbini; : I see 
 all ; the eunvnts of tlie Universal Inking eireulato 
 tluoui;l» nie ; 1 am part or pareel of (uul. The 
 name of the nearest friend sonnds then foreign and 
 aoeidental : to be brothers, to be a(.H|naintaiiees, — 
 master or servant, is then a tritle and a disturbance. 
 I am the lover of ntu-ontained and innnortal beanty. 
 In the wilderness, 1 find something more dear and 
 eoimate than in streets or villages. In the trampiil 
 landscape, and especially in the distant line of the 
 liorizon, man InJiolds somewhat as beantiful as his 
 oM'n natnre. 
 
 The greatest delight which the tields and woods 
 minister is the snggestion of an oecidt relation be- 
 tween mail and the vegetable. I am not alone and 
 nnacknowlediied. Thev nod to me, and I to them. 
 The waving of the bonghs in the storm is new to 
 me and old. It takes me by snrprise, and yet is 
 not unknown. Its eifect is like that of a higher 
 thonsiht or a better emotion coming over me, when 
 I deemed I was thinking justly or doing right. 
 
 Yet it is certain that the power to pivduce this 
 delight does not reside in natnre, but in man, or in 
 a harmony of both. It is necessary to use these 
 pleasuivs with great temperance. For nature is 
 not always tricked in holiday attire, but the simie 
 
NATURE. 17 
 
 scene which yeBterday breathed perfume and glit- 
 tered as for the frolic of the nymphs, is overspiea<l 
 with melancholy to-<lay. Nature always wears the 
 colors of the spirit. To a man laboring under ca- 
 lamity, the heat of his own fire hath sadness in it. 
 Then there is a kind of contempt of the landscape 
 felt by him who has just lost by death a dear friend. 
 The sky is less grand as it shuts down over less 
 
 worth in the population. 
 vor>. I. 2 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 COMMODITY. 
 
 Whoever considers the final cause of the worhl 
 will discern a nuiltitude of uses that enter as parts 
 into that result. Thoy all admit of being thrown 
 into one of the following classes : Connnodity ; 
 Beauty ; Language ; and Discipline. 
 
 Under the general name of commodity, I rank 
 all those advantages which our senses owe to na- 
 ture. This, of course, is a benefit whii'li is tempo- 
 rary and nuHliatc, not ultimate, like its service to the 
 soul. Yet although low, it is perfect in its kiiul, 
 and is the only use of nature which all men appre- 
 hend. The misery of man appears lil^e childish 
 petulance, when we explore the steady and prodigal 
 provision that has been made for his support and 
 delight on this green ball which floats him through 
 the heavens. AVhat angels invented these splendid 
 ornaments, these rich conveniences, this ocean of 
 air above, this ocean of water beneath, this firma- 
 ment of earth between ? this zodiac of lights, tliis 
 tent of drop})ing clouds, this striped coat of cli- 
 mates, this fourfold year? Beasts, fire, water, 
 
COMMODITY. 19 
 
 stones, and corn serve him. The field is at once 
 liis floor, his work-yard, his play-ground, his garden, 
 and his bed. 
 
 " More servants wait on man 
 Than he '11 take notice of." 
 
 Nature, in its ministry to man, is not only the 
 material, but is also the process and the result. 
 All the parts incessantly work into each other's 
 hands for the profit of man. The wind sows the 
 seed ; the sun evaporates the sea ; the wind blows 
 the vapor to the field ; the ice, on the other side of 
 the planet, condenses rain on this ; the rain feeds 
 the plant ; the plant feeds the animal ; and thus 
 the endless circulations of the divine charity nour- 
 ish man. 
 
 The useful arts are reproductions or new com- 
 binations by the wit of man, of the same natural 
 benefactors. lie no longer waits for favoring 
 gales, but by means of steam, he realizes the fable 
 of JEolus's bag, and carries the two and thirty 
 winds in the boiler of his boat. To diminish fric- 
 ti<m, he paves the road with iron bars, and, mount- 
 ing a coach with a ship-load of men, animals, and 
 merchandise behind him, he darts through the 
 country, from town to town, lilie an eagle or a 
 swallow through the air. By the aggi-egate of 
 these aids, how is the face of the world changed, 
 from the era of Noah to that of Napoleon ! The 
 
20 COMMODITY. 
 
 private poor man liatli cities, ships, canals, bridges, 
 built for liini. lie goes to the post-office, and the 
 linnian race run on his errands ; to the book-shop, 
 and the human race read and write of all that hap- 
 pens, for him ; to the court-house, and nations re- 
 pair his wrongs. He sets his house upon the road, 
 and the human race go forth every morning, and 
 shovel out the snow, and cut a path for him. 
 
 But there is no need of specifying particulars in 
 this class of uses. The catalogue is endless, and 
 tlie examples so oln-ioiis, that I shall leave them to 
 the reader's reflection, with the general remark, 
 that this mercenary benefit is one which has re- 
 spect to a farther good. A man is fed, not that he 
 may be fed, but that he may work. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 BEAUTY. 
 
 A NOBLER want of man is served by nature, 
 namely, the love of Beauty. 
 
 The ancient Greeks called the world koV//os, 
 beauty. Such is the constitution of all things, or 
 such the plastic power of the human eye, that the 
 primary foraas, as the sky, the mountain, the tree, 
 the animal, give us a delight in and for tJtern- 
 selves ; a pleasure arising from outline, color, mo- 
 tion, and grouping. This seems partly owing to 
 the eye itself. The eye is the best of artists. By 
 the mutual action of its structure and of the-Jaws 
 of light, perspective is produced, which integrates 
 every mass of objects, of what character soever, 
 into a well colored and shaded globe, so that where 
 the particular objects are mean and unaffecting, the 
 landscape which they compose is round and sym- 
 metrical. And as the eye is the best comjjoser, so 
 light is the first of painters. There is no object so 
 fold that intense light will not make beautiful. 
 And the stimulus it affords to the sense, and a 
 sort of infinitude which it hath, like space and 
 
22 BEAUTY. 
 
 time, make all matter gay. Even the corpse lias 
 its own beauty. But besides tliis general grace 
 diffused over nature, almost all the individual 
 forms are agreeable to the eye, as is proved by 
 our endless imitations of some of them, as the 
 acorn, the grape, the pine-cone, the wheat-ear, the 
 egg, the wings and forms of most birds, the lion's 
 claw, the serpent, the butterfly, sea-shells, flames, 
 clouds, buds, leaves, and the forms of many trees, 
 as the palm. 
 
 For better consideration, we may distribute the 
 aspects of Beauty in a threefold manner. 
 
 1. First, the simple perception of natural forms 
 is a delight. The influence of the forms and ac- 
 tions in nature is so needful to man, that, in its 
 lowest functions, it seems to lie on the confines of 
 conunodity and beauty. To the body and mind 
 which have been cramped by noxious work or 
 compau}^, nature is medicinal and restores their 
 tone. The tradesman, the attorney comes out of 
 the din and craft of the street and sees the sky 
 and the woods, and is a man again. In their eter- 
 nal cahu, he finds himself. The health of the eye 
 seems to demand a horizon. We are never tired, 
 so long as we can see far enough. 
 
 But in other hom-s. Nature satisfies by its loveli- 
 ness, and without any mixture of corporeal benefit. 
 I see the spectacle of morning from the hiU-top 
 
BEAUTY. 23 
 
 over against my house, from day-break to sun-rise, 
 with emotions which an angel might share. The 
 long slender bars of cloud float like fishes in the 
 sea of crimson light. From the earth, as a shore, 
 I look out into that silent sea. I seem to partake 
 its rapid transformations ; the active enchantment 
 reaches my dust, and I dilate and conspire with 
 the morning wind. How does Nature deify us 
 with a few and cheap elements ! Give me health 
 and a day, and I will make the j)omp of empe- 
 rors ridiculous. The dawn is my Assyria ; the sun- 
 set and moon-rise my Paphos, and unimaginable 
 realms of faerie ; broad noon shall be my England 
 of the senses and the understanding ; the night 
 shall be my Germany of mystic philosophy and 
 dreams. 
 
 Kot less excellent, except for our less suscep- 
 tibility in the afternoon, was the charm, last even- 
 ing, of a January sunset. The western clouds 
 divided and subdivided themselves into pink flakes 
 modulated with tints of unspeakable softness, and 
 the air had so much life and sweetness that it was 
 a pain to come within doors. What was it that 
 nature would say? Was there no meaning in the 
 live repose of the valley behind the mill, and which 
 Homer or Shakspeare could not re-form for me in 
 words ? The leafless trees become spires of flame 
 in the sunset, with the blue east for their back- 
 
24 BEAUTY. 
 
 gromicl, and tlie stars of the dead calices of flow- 
 ers, and every withered stem and stnbble rimed 
 with frost, contribute something to the mute mu- 
 sic. 
 
 The inhabitants of cities suppose that the coun- 
 try landscape is pleasant only half the year. I 
 please myself with the graces of the winter scen- 
 ery, and believe that we are as much touched by it 
 as by the genial influences of smnmer. To the at- 
 tentive eye, each moment of the year has its own 
 beauty, and in the same field, it beholds, every 
 hour, a picture which was never seen before, and 
 which shall never be seen again. The heavens 
 change every moment, and reflect their glory or 
 gloom on the plains beneath. The state of the 
 crop in the surrounding farms alters the expression 
 of the earth from week to week. The succession 
 of native plants in the pastures and roadsides, 
 which makes the silent clock by which time tells 
 the summer hours, will make even the divisions of 
 the day sensible to a keen observer. The tribes of 
 birds and insects, like the plants punctual to their 
 time, follow each other, and the year has room for 
 all. By watercourses, the variety is greater. In 
 July, the blue pontederia or pickerel-weed blooms 
 in large beds in the shallow parts of our pleasant 
 river, and swarms with yellow butterflies in con- 
 tinual motion. Art cannot rival this pomp of pur- 
 
BEAUTY. 25 
 
 pie and gold. Indeed the river is a perpetual gala, 
 and boasts each month a new ornament. 
 
 But this beauty of Nature which is seen and 
 felt as beauty, is the least part. The shows of day, 
 the dewy morning, the rainbow, mountains, or- 
 chards in blossom, stars, moonlight, shadows in 
 still water, and the like, if too eagerly hunted, be- 
 come shows merely, and mock us with their unreal- 
 ity. Go out of the house to see the moon, and 't is 
 mere tinsel ; it will not please as when its light 
 shines upon your necessary journey. The beauty 
 that shimmers in the yellow afternoons of October, 
 who ever could clutch it ? Go forth to find it, and 
 it is gone ; 't is only a mirage as you look from the 
 windows of diligence. 
 
 2. The presence of a higlier, namely, of the spirit- 
 ual element is essential to its perfection. The high 
 and divine beauty which can be loved without ef- 
 feminacy, is that which is found in combination 
 with the hmnan will. Beauty is the mark God 
 sets upon virtue. Every natural action is graceful. 
 Every heroic act is also decent, and causes the 
 place and the bystanders to shine. We are taught 
 by great actions that the universe is the property 
 of every individual in it. Every rational creature 
 has all nature for his dowry and estate. It is his, 
 if he will. He may divest himself of it ; he may 
 creep into a corner, and abdicate liis kingdom, as 
 
26 /.Firrv. 
 
 most mon do, but lu> is iMititloil to tho worUl by bis 
 oonstitution. li\ |>roiH>rti<»n to llw i>iu>v«;v «>t" bis 
 tbouii'bt aiul wiU, bi> takos up tlu> woiUl bito bin\- 
 solt". '• All tboso tbiuii's u>i- wbli-b uiou plt>uii'b, 
 buiUl, or sail, obov virtue : " saiJ Sallust. " Tbo 
 whuls ami wavos," saitl (Vibbon, "aro always ou 
 tbo sitb> of tbo ablost uavigjvtors." So are tbo sun 
 and moon and all tbo stall's of boavou. Wbon a 
 noblo aot is ilono, — jH^ivhanoo in a soimio of >iioat 
 natural boauty : w bon LiH>nlilas and bis tbree bun- 
 divil inartvrs oonsnnio «>no ilav in ilvinsi", and tbo 
 sun auil moon o^nuo oaob anil look at tboui onoo in 
 tbo stoop doiilo o( Tborniopybo : ubon Arnold 
 AVinkolriod. in tbo bii;b Al[>s, undor tbo sbadow 
 of tbo avalanobo, utitbors in bis side a sboaf of Aus- 
 trian spoars to broak tbo lino for bis I'onirailos : 
 aiv not tboso bonvs ontitloil to add tbo boanty of 
 tbo soono to tbo boauty of tbo dood ? AVhen tbo 
 bark of C^olnn\bns noavs tbo sboiv oi Aiuovioa : — 
 bofoiv it, tbo boaob linod Avitb savasivs, tlooiny; out 
 oi all tboir buts of oano ; tbo sou boblud : ami 
 tbo purplo mountains of tbo Indian Aivbipolaji-o 
 aivund, oan wo sojKirato tbo man fi\>m tbo living' 
 piotuiv ? l\>os not tlio Now World olotbo bis form 
 witb bor pahu-u'WYOs and siivamudis as tit dra- 
 }H>vy? Ever does natural beauty steal in like 
 air, and envelope s;ivat aetions. ^Vben Sir Harry 
 A'atie was draggvd up tbe Tower-bill, sitting ou 
 
BEAUTY. 27 
 
 u Hlf!(l, to HufP(;r i\('Axt\\ an the champion of tho P^ng- 
 UhK lawH, oijf! of tlj<; multitude cried out to him, 
 " You never Hate on ho ^IoHouh a Boat I" Cfiarlen 
 II., to intimidat*} the eitizenH of London, cauHed 
 tlie patriot Loid KusHell to be drawn in an open 
 eo:u;h through th(; principal HtreetH of the city on 
 iiis way to the Hcaffohl, " Jiut," his biographer 
 HayH, "the multitud<; imagined they Haw liber-ty 
 and virtiK! Hitting }>y hiH Hide." In private platen, 
 among sordid obj<;ctH, an arrt; of truth or heroism 
 HeeniH at once U) draw U) itHclf the nky as itn tem- 
 ple, the Hun an itn candle. Nature Htretchen out her 
 aiinH to embrace inaii, oidy let his thoughts be of 
 equal greatncHH. Willingly does she follow his 
 Ht<;pH with the rose and the viol(;t, and bend her 
 lines of grandeur and giaxjc to the decoration of 
 her darling child. Ordy let hin thoughtn be of 
 e<pial scope, and the franu; will suit the picture. 
 A virtuous man is in unison with her works, and 
 makes th(; central figurt; of the visible sphere. 
 Horner, I'indar, Socrates, Phocion, associate them- 
 selves fitly in our memory with the geography and 
 climate of Greece. The visible heavens and earth 
 symijathize with Jesus. And in common life whoso- 
 ever has seen a person of powerful character and 
 happy genius, will have remarked how easily he 
 took all things along with him, — the persons, the 
 ojjinionH, and the day, and nature became ancillary 
 to a man. 
 
28 BEAUTY. 
 
 3. There is still anotlior aspect under which the 
 beauty of the woilcl may be viewed, namely, as it 
 becomes an object of the intellect. Beside the re- 
 lation of things to virtue, they have a relation to 
 thought. The intellect searches out the absolute 
 order of things as they stand in the mind of God, 
 and without the colors of affection. The intellectual 
 and the active powers seem to succeed each other, 
 and the exclusive activity of the one generates the 
 exclusive activity of the other. There is something 
 unfriendly in each to the other, but they are like 
 the alternate periods of feeding- and working* in 
 animals ; each prepares and will be followed by 
 the other. Therefore does beauty, which, in re- 
 lation to actions, as we have seen, comes unsought, 
 and comes because it is unsought, remain for the 
 apprehension and pursuit of the intellect ; and then 
 again, in its turn, of the active power. Nothing- 
 divine dies. All good is eternally reproductive. 
 The beauty of nature re-forms itself in the mind, 
 and not for barren contemplation, but for new cre- 
 ation. 
 
 All men are in some degree impressed by the 
 face of the world ; some men even to delight. This 
 love of beauty is Taste. Others have the same 
 love in such excess, that, not content with admir- 
 ing, they seek to embody it in new forms. The 
 creation of beauty is Art. 
 
BEAUTY. 29 
 
 The production of a work of art throws a light 
 upon the mystery of humanity. A work of art is 
 an abstract or epitome of the world. It is the 
 result or expression of nature, in miniature. For 
 although the works of nature are innumerable and 
 all different, the result or the expression of them 
 all is similar and single. Nature is a sea of forms 
 radically alike and even unique. A leaf, a sun- 
 beam, a landscape, the ocean, make an analogous 
 impression on the mind. What is common to them 
 all, — that perfectness and harmon}^, is beauty. 
 The standard of beauty is the entire circuit of nat- 
 ural forms, — the totality of nature ; whi(!h the 
 Italians expressed by defining beauty "il piu nell' 
 uno." Nothing is quite beautiful alone ; nothing 
 but is beautiful in the whole. A single object is 
 only so far beautiful as it suggests this universal 
 grace. The poet, the painter, the sculj)tor, the 
 musician, the architect, seek each to concentrate 
 this radiance of the world on one point, and each 
 in his several work to satisfy the love of beauty 
 which stimulates him to produce. Thus is Art a 
 nature passed through the alembic of man. Thus 
 in art does Nature work through the will of a man 
 filled with the beauty of her first works. 
 
 The world thus exists to the soul to satisfy the 
 desire of beauty. This element I call an ultimate 
 end. No reason can be asked or given why the 
 
80 BEAUTY. 
 
 soul sooks beauty. IVwuty, in its largost and ])r(>- 
 fountlost acnso, is one expression for the iniiverse. 
 God is the all-fail'. Ti'iilh, and g'oodness, and 
 beauty, are but dilVei-ent faces of the same All. 
 But beauty in nature is not ultimate. It is the 
 herald of inward and eternal beauty, and is u(»t 
 alone a solid and satisfaetory good. It must stand 
 as ft part, and not as yet the last or highest exi)ros- 
 siou of the linal cause of Nature. 
 
CHAPTER rv. 
 
 LANGUAGE. 
 
 Language i,s a tliinl use wliic!li Nature subserves 
 to man. Nature is the vehicle of thouglit, and in 
 a siinjjhj, doulde, and three-fold de^^ree. 
 
 1. Words are signs of natural facts. 
 
 2. Parti<!ular natural facts are synd>ols of par- 
 ti(!ular spiritual facts. 
 
 8. Nature is th(; symhol of spirit. 
 
 1. Words arc signs of natural facts. The use 
 of natural history is to give us aid in supernatural 
 history ; th(} use of the outer creation, to give us 
 language for the beings and changcis of the inward 
 creation. Every word which is used to express 
 a moral or int(!llc(;tu'al fact, if traced to its r<jot, 
 is found to be borrowed from some material ap- 
 pearance. ItifjJd means Htraujld ; vitoikj means 
 twiHted. Spirit primarily means 'wind ; trans- 
 gression, the crossing of a line ; super eilious, the 
 raising of tJie eyehrow. We say the heart to ex- 
 press emotion, the head to denote thought ; and 
 thought and emotion are words bon-owed from 
 sensible things, and now appropriated to spiritual 
 
82 LANGUAGE. 
 
 nature. Most of the process l\v wliii-li tliis trans- 
 formation is nuulo, is liidJen from us in t1u> re- 
 mote tiuie when hiniiuaue was frauunl ; but the 
 same tendenev may be daily observed in ehildnni. 
 Chihiren and savages use only nouns or names of 
 things, whieh they convert into verbs, and apply to 
 analogous mental acts. 
 
 2. Ihit this origin of all words that convey a 
 spiritual import, — so conspicuous a fact in the his- 
 tory of language, — is our least debt to nature. It 
 is not words ouly that are emblematic ; it is thing's 
 which are emblematic. Every natural fact is a 
 symbol of some spiritual fact. Every appearance 
 in nature corresponds to some state of the mind, 
 and that state of the mind can mily be described 
 by presenting tliat natural ai^jHrnrance as its pic- 
 ture. An enraged man is a lion, a cunning man is 
 a fox, a iirm man is a rock, a learned man is a 
 torch. A lamb is innocence ; a snake is subtle 
 spite ; flowei"s express to us the delicate affections. 
 Light and darkness are our familiar expression for 
 knowledge and iguorance ; and heat for love. Visi- 
 ble distance behind and before us, is respectively 
 OWY image of memory and hope. 
 
 AVho looks upon a river in a meditative hour 
 ai\d is not reminded of the flux of all things ? 
 Throw a stone into the stream, aiul the circles that 
 propag-ate themselves are the beautiful type of all 
 
LANGUAGE. 33 
 
 influence. Man is conscious of a universal soul 
 within or behind his individual life, wherein, as in 
 a firmament, the natures of Justice, Truth, Love, 
 Freedom, arise and shine. This universal soul 
 he calls Keason : it is not mine, or thine, or his, 
 but we are its ; we are its property and men. And 
 the blue sky in which the private earth is buried, 
 the sky with its eternal calm, and full of everlast- 
 ing orbs, is the type of Reason. That which intel- 
 lectually considered we call Reason, considered in 
 relation to nature, we call Spirit. Spirit is the 
 Creator. Spirit hath life in itself. And man in 
 all ages and countries embodies it in his language 
 as the Father. 
 
 It is easily seen that there is nothing lucky or 
 capricious in these analogies, \mt that they are 
 constant, and pervade nature. These are not the 
 dreanLs of a few poets, here and there, but man is 
 an analogist, and studies relations in all objects. 
 lie is placed in the centre of beings, and a ray of 
 relation passes from every other being to him. 
 And neither can man be understood without these 
 objects, nor these objects without man. All the 
 facts in natural history taken by themselves, have 
 no value, but are barren, like a single sex. But 
 marry it to human history, and it is full of life. 
 Whole floras, all Linnaius' and Buffon's volumes, 
 are dry catalogues of facts ; but the most trivial of 
 
 VOL. I. 3 
 
34 LANGUAGE. 
 
 these facts, the habit of a plant, the organs, or 
 work, or noise of an insect, applied to the illustra- 
 tion of a fact in intellectual philosophy, or in any- 
 way associated to human nature, affects us in the 
 most lively and agreeable manner. The seed of a 
 plant, — to what affecting analogies in the nature 
 of man is that little fruit made use of, in all dis- 
 course, up to the voice of Paul, who calls the hu- 
 man corpse a seed, — "It is sown a natural body ; 
 it is raised a spiritual body." The motion of the 
 earth round its axis and round the sun, makes the 
 day and the year. These are certain amounts of 
 brute light and heat. But is there no intent of an 
 analogy between man's life and the seasons? And 
 do the seasons gain no grandeur or pathos from 
 that analogy? The instincts of the ant are very 
 unimportant considered as the ant's ; but the mo- 
 ment a ray of relation is seen to extend from it to 
 man, and the little drudge is seen to be a monitor, 
 a little body with a mighty heart, then all its hab- 
 its, even that said to be recently observed, that it 
 never sleeps, become sublime. 
 
 Because of this radical correspondence between 
 visible things and human thoughts, savages, who 
 have only what is necessary, converse in figures. 
 As we go back in history, language becomes more 
 picturesque, until its infancy, when it is all poetry ; 
 or all spiritual facts are represented by natural 
 
LANGUAGE. 35 
 
 symbols. The same symbols are found to make 
 the original elements of all languages. It has 
 moreover been observed, that the idioms of all 
 languages approach each other in passages of the 
 greatest eloquence and power. And as this is the 
 first language, so is it the last. This immediate 
 dependence of language uj)on nature, this conver- 
 sion of an outward phenomenon into a type of 
 somewhat in human life, never loses its power to 
 affect us. It is this which gives that piquancy to 
 the conversation of a strong-natured farmer or 
 backwoodsman, which all men relish. 
 
 A man's power to connect his thought with its 
 proper symbol, and so to utter it, depends on the 
 simplicity of his character, that is, upon his love 
 of truth and his desire to conununicate it without 
 loss. The corruption of man is followed by the cor- 
 ruption of language. When simplicity of character 
 and the sovereignty of ideas is broken up by the 
 prevalence of secondary desires, the desire of riches, 
 of pleasure, of power, and of praise, — and duplic- 
 ity and falsehood take place of simplicity and truth, 
 the power over nature as an interpreter of the will 
 is in a degree lost ; new imagery ceases to be cre- 
 ated, and old words are perverted to stand for things 
 which are not ; a paper currency is employed, when 
 there is no bullion in the vaults. In due time the 
 fraud is manifest, and words lose all power to stim- 
 
36 LANGUAGE. 
 
 iilate the imderstanding or the affections. Hun- 
 ilrecls of writers may be found in every long-civilized 
 nation who for a short time believe and make others 
 believe that they see and utter truths, who do not 
 of themselves clothe one thought in its natural gar- 
 ment, but who feed unconsciously on the langiiage 
 created by the primary wi'iters of the country, those, 
 namely, who hold primarily on nature. 
 
 But wise men pierce this rotten diction and 
 fasten words again to visible things ; so that pictur- 
 esque langiiage is at once a commanding certificate 
 that he who employs it is a man in alliance with 
 truth and God. The moment our discourse rises 
 above the ground line of familiar facts and is in- 
 flamed with passion or exalted by thought, it clothes 
 itself m images. A man conversing in earnest, if 
 he watch his intellectual processes, will find that a 
 material image more or less luminous arises in his 
 mind, contemporaneous with every thought, which 
 f lu-nishes the vestment of the thought. Hence, good 
 WT-iting and brilliant discourse are perpetual alle- 
 gories. This imagery is spontaneous. It is the 
 blending of experience with the present action of 
 the mind. It is proper creation. It is the work- 
 ing of the Origmal Cause through the instrvmients 
 he has already made. 
 
 These facts may suggest the advantage which the 
 country-life possesses, for a powerful mind, over the 
 
LANGUAGE. 37 
 
 artificial and curtailed life of cities. We know 
 more from nature than we can at will communicate. 
 Its light flows into the mind evermore, and we for- 
 get its presence. The poet, the orator, bred in the 
 woods, whose senses have been nourished by their 
 fair and appeasing changes, year after year, with- 
 out design and without heed, — shall not lose their 
 lesson altogether, in the roar of cities or the broil 
 of politics. Long hereafter, amidst agitation and 
 terror in national councils, — in the hour of revolu- 
 tion, — these solemn images shall reappear in their 
 morning lustre, as fit symbols and words of the 
 thoughts which the passing events shall awaken. 
 At the call of a noble sentiment, again the woods 
 wave, the pines murmur, the river rolls and shines, 
 and the cattle low upon the mountains, as he saw 
 and heard them in his infancy. And with these 
 forms, the spells of persuasion, the keys of power 
 are put into his hands. 
 
 3. We are thus assisted by natural objects in the 
 expression of particular meanings. But how great 
 a language to convey such pepper-corn informations ! 
 Did it need such noble races of creatures, this pro- 
 fusion of forms, this host of orbs in heaven, to fur- 
 nish man with the dictionary and grammar of his 
 municipal speech ? Whilst we use this grand cipher 
 to expedite the affairs of our pot and kettle, we feel 
 that we have not yet put it to its use, neither are 
 
38 LANGUAGE. 
 
 able. We are like travellers using the cinders of 
 a volcano to roast their eggs. Whilst we see that 
 it always stands ready to clothe what we would say, 
 we cannot avoid the question whether the charac- 
 ters are not significant of themselves. Have moim- 
 tains, and waves, and skies, no significance but what 
 we consciously give them when we employ them as 
 emblems of our thoughts ? The world is emblem- 
 atic. Parts of speech are metaphors, because the 
 whole of nature is a metaphor of the human mind. 
 The laws of moral nature answer to those of mat- 
 ter as face to face in a glass. " The visible world 
 and the relation of its parts, is the dial plate of the 
 invisible." The axioms of physics translate the 
 laws of ethics. Thus, " the whole is greater than its 
 part \ " " reaction is equal to action ; " " the small- 
 est weight may be made to lift the greatest, the dif- 
 ference of weight being compensated by time ; " and 
 many the like propositions, which have an ethical as 
 well as physical sense. These propositions have a 
 much more extensive and universal sense when ap- 
 plied to human life, than when confined to techni- 
 cal use. 
 
 In like manner, the memorable words of history 
 and the proverbs of nations consist usually of a 
 natural fact, selected as a picture or parable of a 
 moral truth. Thus ; A rolling stone gathers no 
 moss ; A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush ; 
 
LANGUAGE. 39 
 
 A cripple in the right way will beat a racer in the 
 wrong ; Make hay while the sun shines ; 'T is hard 
 to carry a full cup even ; Vinegar is the son of 
 wine ; The last ounce broke the camel's back ; 
 Long-lived trees make roots first ; — and the like. 
 In their primary sense these are trivial facts, but 
 we repeat them for the value of their analogical 
 import. What is true of proverbs, is true of all 
 fables, parables, and allegories. 
 
 This relation between the mind and matter is 
 not fancied by some poet, but stands in the will of 
 God, and so is free to be known by all men. It 
 appears to men, or it does not appear. When in 
 fortunate hours we ponder this miracle, the wise 
 man doubts if at all other tunes he is not blind and 
 deaf : 
 
 " Can these things be, 
 
 And overcome us like a summer's cloud, 
 
 Without our special wonder ? " 
 
 for the universe becomes transparent, and the light 
 of higher laws than its own shines through it. It is 
 the standing problem which has exercised the won- 
 der and the study of every fine genius since the 
 world began ; from the era of the Egyptians and 
 the Brahmins to that of Pythagoras, of Plato, of 
 Bacon, of Leibnitz, of Swedenborg. There sits the 
 Sphinx at the road-side, and from age to age, as 
 each prophet comes by, he tries his fortune at read- 
 
40 LANGUAGE. 
 
 ing- her riddle. There seems to be a necessity in 
 si)irit to manifest itself in material forms ; and day 
 and night, river and storm, beast and bird, acid 
 and alkali, preexist in necessary Ideas in the mind 
 of God, and are what they are by virtue of pre- 
 ceding affections in the world of spirit. A Fact is 
 the end or last issue of spirit. The visible creation 
 is the terminus or the circumference of the invisi- 
 ble world. "Material objects," said a French 
 philosopher, " are necessarily kinds of scorim of 
 the substantial thoughts of the Creator, which must 
 always preserve an exact relation to their first 
 origin ; in other words, visible nature must have a 
 spiritual and moral side." 
 
 This doctrine is abstruse, and though the im- 
 ages of " garment," " scoriie," " mirror," &c., may 
 stimulate the fancy, we must summon the aid of 
 subtler and more vital expositors to make it plain. 
 " Every scripture is to be interpreted by the same 
 spirit which gave it forth," — is the fundamental 
 law of criticism. A life in harmony with Nature, 
 the love of tiuth and of virtue, will purge the eyes 
 to understand her text. By degrees we may come 
 to know the primitive sense of the permanent ob- 
 jects of nature, so that the world shall be to us an 
 open book, and every form significant of its hidden 
 life and final cause. 
 
 A new interest surprises us, whilst, under the 
 
LANGUAGE. 41 
 
 view now suggested, we contemplate the fearful 
 extent and multitude of objects ; since " every ob- 
 ject rightly seen, unlocks a new facidty of the soul." 
 That which was unconscious truth, becomes, when 
 interpreted and defined in an object, a part of the 
 domain of knowledge, — a new weapon in the mag- 
 azine of power. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 DISCIPLINE. 
 
 In view of the si^nifii'ance of nature, we arrive 
 at once at a new fact, that nature is a discipline. 
 This use of the worhl inehidos the preceding uses, 
 as parts of itself. 
 
 Space, time, society, labor, climate, food, locomo- 
 tion, the animals, the mechanical forces, give us 
 sincerest lessons, day by day, whose meaning is un- 
 limited. They educate both the Understanding 
 and the Reason. Every property of matter is a 
 school for the luulerstanding, — its solidity or i*e- 
 sistance, its inertia, its extension, its figure, its di- 
 visibility. The luulerstanding adds, divides, com- 
 bines, measures, and finds nutriment and room for 
 its activity in this worthy scene. Meantime, Rea- 
 son transfers all these lessons into its own world of 
 thought, by perceiving the analogy that marries 
 Matter and Mind. 
 
 1. Nature is a discipline of the understanding in 
 intellectual truths. Our dcaliuo- -with sensible ob- 
 jects is a constant exeivise in the necessary lessons 
 of difference, of likeness, of order, of being and 
 
DISCIPLINE. 43 
 
 seeming, of progressive arrangement ; of ascent 
 from particular to general ; of combination to one 
 end of manifold forces. Proportioned to the impor- 
 tance of the organ to be formed, is the extreme care 
 with which its tuition is provided, — a care preter- 
 mitted in no single case. What tedious training, day 
 after day, year after year, never ending, to form 
 the common sense ; what continual reproduction of 
 annoyances, inconveniences, dilemmas ; what rejoic- 
 ing over us of little men ; what disputing of prices, 
 what reckonings of interest, — and all to form the 
 Hand of the mind ; — to instruct us that " good 
 thoughts are no Ijctter than good dreams, unless 
 they be executed ! " 
 
 The same good office is performed by Property 
 and its filial systems of del)t and credit. Debt, 
 grinding debt, whose iron face the widow, the or- 
 phan, and the sons of genius fear and hate ; — 
 debt, which consumes so much time, which so crip- 
 ples and disheartens a great spirit with cares that 
 seem so base, is a preceptor whose lessons cannot 
 be forgone, and is needed .most by those who suf- 
 fer from it most. Moreover, property, which has 
 been well compared to snow, — " if it fall level to- 
 day, it will be blown into drifts to-morrow," — is 
 the surface action of internal machinery, like the 
 index on the face of a clock. Whilst now it is the 
 gymnastics of the understanding, it is hiving, in 
 
44 DISCIPLINE. 
 
 the foresight of the spirit, experience in profounder 
 laws. 
 
 The whole character and fortune of the individ- 
 ual are affected by the least inequalities in the 
 culture of the understandino- ; for example, in the 
 perception of differences. Therefore is Space, and 
 therefore Time, that man may know that things 
 ai*e not huddled and lum})ed, but sundered and 
 individual. A bell and a plough have each their 
 use, and neither can do the office of the other. 
 Water is good to drink, coal to burn, wool to wear ; 
 but wool cannot be drunk, nor water spun, nor coal 
 eaten. The wise man shows his wisdom in separa- 
 tion, in gradation, and his scale of creatures and of 
 merits is as wide as nature. The foolish have no 
 range in their scale, but suppose every man is as 
 every other man. What is not good they call the 
 worst, and what is not hateful, they call the best. 
 
 In like manner, what good heed Nature forms 
 in us ! She pardons no mistakes. Her yea is yea, 
 and her nay, nay. 
 
 The first steps in Agriculture, Astronomy, Zo- 
 ology (those first steps which the farmer, the 
 hunter, and the sailor take), teach that Nature's 
 dice are always loaded ; that in her heaps and rub- 
 bish are concealed sure and useful results. 
 
 How calmly and genially the mind apprehends 
 one after another the laws of physics ! What 
 
DISCIPLINE. 45 
 
 noble emotions dilate the mortal as he enters into 
 the counsels of the creation, and feels by knowl- 
 edge the privilege to Be ! His insight refines him. 
 The beauty of nature shines in his own breast. 
 Man is greater that he can see this, and the uni- 
 verse less, because Time and Space relations vanish 
 as laws are known. 
 
 Here again we are impressed and even daunted 
 by the immense Universe to be explored. " What 
 we know is a point to what we do not know." 
 Open any recent journal of science, and weigh the 
 problems suggested concerning Light, Heat, Elec- 
 tricity, Magnetism, Physiology, Geology, and judge 
 whether the interest of natural science is likely to 
 be soon exhausted. 
 
 Passing by many particulars of the discipline of 
 nature, we must not omit to specify two. 
 
 The exercise of the Will, or the lesson of power, 
 is taught in every event. From the child's succes- 
 sive possession of his several senses up to the hour 
 when he saith, " Thy will be done ! " he is learn- 
 ing the secret that he can reduce under his will, 
 not only particular events but great classes, nay, 
 the whole series of events, and so conform all facts 
 to his character. Nature is thoroughly mediate. 
 It is made to serve. It receives the dominion of 
 man as meekly as the ass on which the Saviour 
 rode. It offers all its kingdoms to man as the 
 
40 niscirr.iXE. 
 
 raw luatorial which ho may inouUl ii\ti> what is nst^ 
 fill. Man is novor woarv i>t' workiiiii' it up. Wo 
 fivrovs tho subtilo aiul ilolicato air into wiso and 
 niohHlions nyoihIs, ami irivos them wiiiLr as an<;vls of 
 porsnasion and I'onnnand. C^no after aimthor liis 
 viotorii>ns thonu'lil I'oinos n]> with ami roiliu'os all 
 thin^-s, until tho wi>rUl boooinos at last only a real- 
 i/oil will. — tho ilonhlo of tho man. 
 
 il. Sonsiblo ol>joots oont\>rin to tho }>romonitions 
 of Koason ami rotloot tho oouvsoionoo. AU thini;s 
 nro moral: and in thoir lunindloss ohangos have an 
 iinooasiiig" roforonoo to spiritual natnro. Thorofore 
 is iiaturo jilorions with form, oolor, ami motion ; 
 that OYorv ^lobo in tho romotost hoavon, ovory 
 ohomioal ohaniio from tho rudost orvstal up to tho 
 laws of life, ovorv ohanuo of vouotation from tlio 
 first principle of jirowth in tho eye of a loaf, to the 
 tivpieal foivst and antodiluviaii eoal-mino. ovorv 
 animal fimotion fiiMU tho sponjio up to lloronlos, 
 shall hint or thnndor to uuin tho laws of riuht and 
 wrong-, and ooho tho Ton C\nninandinonts. Thoro- 
 fore is Naruvo over tlio ally of Koligion : lends all 
 hor pomp auvl rli'hos to the religious sontimont. 
 Pi\>phot and priest. David, Isaiah, dosus, have 
 drawn ileoply fnnn this souive. This othioal ohar- 
 aetor so pouetrates the bone and marrow of nature, 
 as to seem the end for which it was made. ^^ hat- 
 evor private purpose is aiisworevl by any member 
 
DISCIPLINE. 47 
 
 or part, thiti i« itn public and universal fun<^:tion, 
 and i.H never omitte<l. Nothing in nature in ex- 
 hauHteil in it» first use. When a thing has starved 
 an end to the uttennost, it is wholly new for an 
 ulterior servuMi. In <^/0(l, every end is converted 
 into a new means. Thus the use of c^^jmrnodity, 
 regarded by itself, is mean and squalid. But it 
 is to the mind an education in the doctrine of Lsc, 
 namely, that a thing is gofxl only iV) far as it serves; 
 that a conspiring of parts and efforts \/) the prf>- 
 duetion of an end is essential ijo any being. The 
 first and gross manifestation of this truth is our 
 inrjvitable and hated training in values and wants, 
 in com and meat. 
 
 It has already been illustrated, that every nat- 
 ural process is a version of a moral sent^^nce. The 
 moral law lies at the centre of nature and radiates 
 to the circumference. It is the pith and marrow 
 of every substance, every relation, and every pro- 
 cess. All things with which we deal, prea^^h if) us. 
 What is a farm but a mutfi gospel? TTie chaff 
 and the wheat, weeds and plants, blight, rain, in- 
 sects, sun, — it is a sacred emblem from the first 
 furrow of spring to the last stack which the snow 
 of wint^ir over-takes in the fields. But the sailor, 
 the shepherd, the miner, the merchant, in their 
 several resorts, have each an experience precisely 
 parallel, and leading to the same conclusion : be- 
 
4S nii<cii'i.i\K. 
 
 cnuso all ornnnizations aiv radically allko. Nor 
 v:u\ it hv »U)uhtv»l that this moral sontimont wlilrli 
 tluis scouts tlu> air, j^rows in tho i;rain, ami iiujuvj;- 
 uatos tho waters ol" (ho woi UK is caught by man 
 ami sinks iuti) his soul. Tho moral inthionoo of 
 nature uiH>n oviM-y imliviihial is that amount of 
 truth which it iUustratos to him. \\'ho can osti- 
 UKito this? Who can liucss how much tirmiu'ss 
 tho soa-hoaton rock has taught tho llshorman ? how 
 much tranciuillity has been rcthH'toil io n»au from 
 the a/nri> sky, over whose uuspottotl iloops the 
 wimls t'orovormoro drive th)i"ks of stormy olouils, 
 and leave no wrinkle «>r stain? how nnich indus- 
 try and in-ovi»lenco and atVoi'tion we have i'ani;ht 
 from tho }>antominu' of brutes? \\ hat a soarching" 
 l)roachor of self-command is the varyiny," i)houome- 
 lum of Health! 
 
 Herein is os]HHMally upprohondod the unity of 
 Jsaturo, — tho unity in variotv, — which moots ns 
 overvwhoro. All the endless variotv of tlun^s 
 make an identical impression. Xenophanos oom- 
 jdainod in his old aiiO. that, look whore he woidd, 
 all tliluiis hastened back to Unity. Ho was woary 
 of soeiuii" tho same entity in the tedious variety of 
 fi>rms. The fabl(> of Protons has a cordial truth. 
 A leaf, a drop, a crystal, a nuuuont of time, is i-e- 
 latod to tht^ whole, and partakes of tho perfection 
 of tho whole. Kach jKirtiele is a microcosm, and 
 faithfully renders the likeness of the world. 
 
DISCII'/JXE. 49 
 
 Not only reseml>lanccs exist in things whose an- 
 alogy \H obviouH, as when we detect the tyi)e of the 
 human hand in the flipper of the fossil saurus, but 
 also in objects wherein there is great supei-flcial 
 unlikeness. Thus architecture is culled "frozen 
 music," by D(; Staiil and Goethe. Vitruvius 
 thought an a7'chitect should be a musician. "A 
 Gothic chuich," said Coleridge, "is a petrified re- 
 ligion." Michatd Angelo maintained, that, to an 
 architect, a knowledge of anatomy is essential. In 
 Haydn's oratoiios, the notes present to the imagi- 
 nation not only motions, as of the snake, the stag, 
 and the elephant, but colors also ; as the green 
 grass. TIio law of harmonic sounds reappears in 
 the harmonic colors. The granite is differenced in 
 its laws only by the more or less of heat from the 
 river that wears it away. The river, as it flows, 
 resembles the air that flows over it ; the air resem- 
 Ides the light which traverses it with more subtile 
 currents ; the light resembles the heat which rides 
 with it through Space. Each creature is only a 
 modification of the other ; the likeness in them is 
 more than the differen(je, and their radical law is 
 one and the same. A rule of one art, or a law of 
 one organization, holds true throughout nature. 
 So intimate is this Unity, that, it is easily seen, it 
 lies under the undermost garment of nature, and 
 betrays its source in Universal Spirit. For it per- 
 
 VOL. I. 4 
 
50 DISCI ri.i.xF. 
 
 v:ulos ThouLiht nlsi>. Kvorv nnivorsal trutli Avliii'li 
 wo oxpivss in \Yt>rils, iiuplios or snpp(isos ovory 
 other truth. Ofunc rcnon vera rontionat. It is 
 like a groat oiroh> on a s[>horo, I'omprisiiig all pos- 
 sil>h» oirolos : whioh, howovor, may bo ilrawn ami 
 oomprise it in lilco uiannor. Evorv suoh truth is 
 tlie absohito Kus soon from ouo siih\ But it has 
 iuniuuorahlo sidos. 
 
 Tho oontral Unity is still nun*o oousjiiouous in 
 aotious. AVorcls aro iiuilo tu-gans of tho iniinito 
 miml. Thov oannot oovor tho dinionsions of wliat 
 is in truth. Thoy broak, oliop, and inipovorish it. 
 An aotion is tlio })orfootiou ami publii'ation of 
 thought. A right aotion sooms to till tho eye, and 
 to bo rolatod lo all naturo. "Tho wise man, in 
 doiuii' ouo thinn", does all : or, in tho ono thing ho 
 does riglitly, ho soos tho likonoss of all whioh is 
 dono rightly." 
 
 "Words and aotions are not tho attributes of 
 brute naturo. Thov introduoo us to the human 
 form, of whioh all other organizations appear to 
 bo degradations. AVhon this appears among so 
 many that surround it. the spirit pivfors it to all 
 others. It says, " From suoh as this have I drawn 
 joy and knowledge : in suoh as this have 1 found 
 and behold myself : 1 \\ill speak to it : it oan speak 
 auain : it I'an viold me thonsiht alroadv formed and 
 alive." In faot, tho eve, — tho mind, — is alwavs 
 
DISCIPLINE. 51 
 
 accompanied Ly these forrnn, male and female ; and 
 these are incomparably the richest infoi-mation.s of 
 the power and order that lie at the heart of things. 
 Unfortunately every one of them bears the marks 
 as of some injury ; is marred and superficially de- 
 fective. Nevertheless, far different from the deaf 
 and dumb nature around them, these all rest like 
 fountain-pipes on the unfathomed sea of thought 
 and virtue wheret^> they alone, of all organizations, 
 arc the entranc^es. 
 
 It were a pleasant inquiry to follow into detail 
 their ministry to our education, but where would it 
 stoj) ? We are associated in a^lolescent and adult 
 life with some friends, who, like skies and wat^^rs, 
 are coext<;nsive with our idea ; who, answering 
 each to a certain affection of the soul, satisfy our 
 desire on that side ; whom we lack power to put at 
 such focal distance from us., that we can mend or 
 even analyze them. We cannot choose but love 
 them. AV'hcn much intercourse with a friend has 
 supplied us with a standard of excellence, and has 
 increased our respect for the resources of God who 
 thus sends a real person to outgo our ideal ; when 
 he has, moreover, become an object of thought, 
 and, whilst his character retains all its unconscioas 
 effect, is converted in the mind into solid and sweet 
 wisdom, — it is a sign to us that his office is clos- 
 ing, and he is commonly withdrawn from our sight 
 in a short time. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 IDEALISM. 
 
 Thus is tlie unspeakable but intelligible and 
 practicable meaning of the world conveyed to man, 
 the immortal pupil, in every object of sense. To 
 this one end of Discipline, all parts of nature con- 
 spire. 
 
 A noble doubt perpetually suggests itself, — 
 whether this end be not the Final Cause of the 
 Universe ; and whether nature outwardly exists. 
 It is a sufficient account of that Appearance we call 
 the World, that God will teach a human mind, and 
 so makes it the receiver of a certain number of con- 
 gruent sensations, which we call sim and moon, 
 man and woman, house and trade. In my utter 
 impotence to test the authenticity of the report of 
 my senses, to know whether the impressions they 
 make on me correspond with outlying objects, 
 what difference does it make, whether Orion is 
 ujD there in heaven, or some god paints tjie image 
 in the firmament of the soul? The relations of 
 parts and the end of the whole remaining the same, 
 what is the difference, whether land and sea inter- 
 
IDEALISM. 53 
 
 act, and worlds revolve and intermingle without 
 number or end, — deep yawning under deep, 
 and galaxy balancing galaxy, throughout absolute 
 space, — or whether, without relations of time 
 and space, the same appearances are inscribed in 
 the constant faith of man? Whether nature en- 
 joy a substantial existence without, or is only in 
 the apocalypse of the mind, it is alike useful and 
 alike venerable to me. Be it what it may, it is 
 ideal to me so long as I cannot try the accuracy of 
 my senses. 
 
 The frivolous make themselves merry with the 
 Ideal theory, as if its consequences were burlesque ; 
 as if it affected the stability of natui*e. It surely 
 does not. God never jests with us, and will not 
 compromise the end of nature by permitting any 
 inconsequence in its procession. Any distrust of 
 the permanence of laws would paralyze the facul- 
 ties of man. Their permanence is sacredly re- 
 spected, and his faith therein is perfect. The 
 wheels and springs of man are all set to the hy- 
 pothesis of the permanence of nature. We are not 
 built like a ship to be tossed, but like a house to 
 stand. It is a natural consequence of this struc- 
 ture, that so long as the active powers predominate 
 over the reflective, we resist with indignation any 
 hint that nature is more short-lived or mutable 
 than spirit. The broker, the wheelwi'ight, the car- 
 
54 IDEALISM. 
 
 penter, the tollman, are much displeased at the in- 
 timation. 
 
 But whilst we acquiesce entirely in the perma- 
 nence of natural laws, the question of the absolute 
 existence of nature still remains open. It is the 
 uniform effect of culture on the human mind, not 
 to shake our faith in the stability of particular phe- 
 nomena, as of heat, water, azote ; but to lead us to 
 regard nature as phenomenon, not a substance ; to 
 attribute necessary existence to spirit; to esteem 
 nature as an accident and an effect. 
 
 To the senses and the unrenewed understanding, 
 belongs a sort of instinctive belief in the absolute 
 existence of nature. In their view man and nature 
 are indissolubly joined. Things are ultinlates, and 
 they never look beyond their sphere. The pres- 
 ence of Reason mars this faith. The first effort of 
 thought tends to relax this despotism of the senses 
 which binds us to nature as if we were a part of it, 
 and shows us nature aloof, and, as it were, afloat. 
 Until this higher agency intervened, the animal 
 eye sees, with wonderful accuracy, sharp outlines 
 and colored surfaces. When the eye of Reason 
 opens, to outline and surface are at once added 
 grace and expression. These proceed from imagi- 
 nation and affection, and abate somewhat of the 
 angular distinctness of objects. If the Reason be 
 stimulated to more earnest vision, outlines and sur- 
 
IDEALISM. 55 
 
 faces become transparent, and are no longer seen ; 
 causes and spirits are seen through them. The 
 best moments of life are these delicious awakenines 
 of the higher powers, and the reverential withdraw- 
 ing of nature before its God. 
 
 Let us proceed to indicate the effects of culture. 
 1. Our first institution in the Ideal philosophy is a 
 hint from Nature herself. 
 
 Nature is made to conspire with spirit to eman- 
 cipate us. Certain mechanical changes, a small al- 
 teration in our local position, a}?j)rizes us of a dual- 
 ism. We are strangely affected by seeing the shore 
 from a moving ship, from a balloon, or through the 
 tints of an unusual sky. The least change in our 
 point of view gives the whole world a pictorial air. 
 A man who seldom rides, needs only to get into a 
 coach and traverse his own town, to turn the street 
 into a puppet-show. The men, the women, — tally- 
 ing, running, bartermg, fighting, — the earnest me- 
 chanic, the lounger, the beggar, the boys, the dogs, 
 are unrealized at once, or, at least, wholly detached 
 from all relation to the observer, and seen as ap- 
 parent, not substantial beings. What new thoughts 
 are suggested by seeing a face of country quite fa- 
 miliar, in the rapid movement of the railroad car ! 
 Nay, the most wonted objects, (make a very slight 
 change in the point of vision,) please us most. In 
 a camera obscura, the butcher's cart, and the figure 
 
56 IDEALISM. 
 
 of one of our own family amnse us. So a portrait 
 of a well-known face gratifies us. Turn the eyes 
 upside down, by looking at the landscape through 
 your legs, and how agreeable is the picture, though 
 you have seen it any time these twenty years ! 
 
 In these cases, by mechanical means, is suggested 
 the difference between the observer and the specta- 
 cle, — between man and nature. Hence arises a 
 pleasure mixed with awe ; I may say, a low degree 
 of the sublime is felt, from the fact, probably, that 
 man is hereby apprized that whilst the world is a 
 sjoectacle, something in himself is stable. 
 
 2. In a higher manner the poet communicates the 
 same pleasure. By a few strokes he delineates, as 
 on air, the sun, the mountain, the camp, the city, 
 the hero, the maiden, not different from what we 
 know them, but only lifted from the ground and 
 afloat before the eye. He unfixes the land and the 
 sea, makes them revolve around the axis of his pri- 
 mary thought, and disposes them anew. Possessed 
 himself by a heroic passion, he uses matter as sym- 
 bols of it. The sensual man conforms thoughts to 
 things ; the poet conforms things to his thoughts. 
 The one esteems nature as rooted and fast ; the 
 other, as fluid, and impresses his being thereon. 
 To hmi, the refractory world is ductile and flexi- 
 ble ; he invests dust and stones with humanity, and 
 makes them the words of the Reason. The Imagi- 
 
IDEALISM. 57 
 
 nation may be defined to be the use which the Rea- 
 son makes of the material workl. Shakspeare 
 possesses the power of subordinating nature for the 
 l^urposes of expression, beyond all poets. His im- 
 perial muse tosses the creation like a bauble from 
 hand to hand, and uses it to embody any caprice of 
 thought that is upjiermost in his mind. The remo- 
 test spaces of nature are visited, and the farthest 
 siuidered things are brought together, by a sub- 
 tile spiritual connection. We are made aware that 
 magnitude of material things is relative, and all ob- 
 jects shrink and expand to serve the passion of the 
 poet. Thus in his sonnets, the lays of birds, the 
 scents and dyes of flowers he finds to be the shadow 
 of his beloved ; time, which keeps her from him, is 
 his chest ; the suspicion she has awakened, is her 
 ornament; 
 
 The ornament of beauty is Suspect, 
 
 A crow wliich flies in heaven's sweetest air. 
 
 His passion is not the fruit of chance ; it swells, 
 as he sjjeaks, to a city, or a state. 
 
 No, it was buOded far from accident; 
 
 It sufl'ers not in smilmg pomp, nor falls 
 
 Under the brow of thralluig discontent; 
 
 It fears not policy, that heretic. 
 
 That works on leases of short numbered hours, 
 
 But all alone stands hugely politic. 
 
 In the strength of his constancy, the Pyramids 
 
r)S IDKAl.lSM. 
 
 sc(M\i to liim iwont ami transitory. Tlio froshness 
 
 of Youtli ami lovo ila//.los him with its rosembhuu'O 
 
 to laoruing' ; 
 
 Tako tUoso lips jiwnv 
 Wliii'h so swootly woiv foi-sworn; 
 Ami thoso »\vos, — the biviik t>f day, 
 l.ijihts that ilo misloiul tho morn. 
 
 Tho wihl hoautv of this hyporbolo, 1 may say in 
 jnissiuj;-, it wmihl ni>t bo oasy to matoh in litoratnit*. 
 This transtiti"nratii>n whii-h all material objoots 
 \uulorgo thronu'h tho passion of tho poet, — this 
 pi^wor which ho oxorts to ilwarf tho groat, to mag- 
 nify tho small, — niiiiht bo illustratotl bv a thoiisaml 
 oxam}ilos from his Plays. 1 have before me the 
 Tempest, ami will eite only these few linos. 
 
 A JUKI,. Tho strung- Iwsed pnnnoutory 
 
 Have I mado s^liako, and l>y the spin's plucked up 
 The pine mul eedar. 
 
 Pivspen> oalls for mnsie to soothe the frantic 
 Alonzo, ami his oompanions : 
 
 A solemn air. and the best oonit'ortor 
 To an unsettled t'aney. eniv thy Inains 
 Kow useless, boiled within thv skull. 
 
 Aiitiin ; 
 
 The ehavni dissivlves ajvj^oe. 
 And, as the n\orniug steals upon the night, 
 Meltinjj the darkness, so their rising senses 
 
IDEALISM. .09 
 
 Hcpin to fthjiBO the iffnoiaHt fumcH tJiat mantle 
 Tlicir (!l«;arf!r reaKoii, 
 
 'I'licir iindorstandifi;;^ 
 I'tf^Iirj to Kvvftll: ami tfi<; ai)j»roacliiti^ tide 
 Will (iliortly fill tli<; rcaHoiisildo kIioi-ch 
 'lliul, MOW lie, foul and iiiiiddy. 
 
 Th(5 j)crc(;j)tiori of rcul affinities l)etwecn evftntH 
 Ctliat itt to Hay, of *(/««/ affiiiitioH, for thoHO only are 
 icalj, <;na})lcH tlu; poet thus to make fi-oc with tho 
 most irnjjoHin;^- forms and phenom(;na of the world, 
 and to assei-t the j)re(loniinanf;o of the soul. 
 
 ?>. Whilst thus the poet animates nature with his 
 own thoughts, he diffcirs from the philosopher only 
 herein, that the one; pioposes B(;auty as his main 
 cjkI ; the other Trutli. Jiut the philosop]i(!r, not 
 l(iss than the poet, jjostpones the apparent order 
 and relations of things to the (;m])ire of thought. 
 " The proldem of j)hih>sophy," acjcording to i^lato, 
 "is, Utv all that exists eonditionally, to find a 
 groinid un(;on(lition(!d and absolute." It proeeeds 
 on th(i faith that a law determines all plumomena, 
 whieh })eing known, the phenomena ean hepredieted. 
 1'hat law, wh(!n in the mind, is an idea. Its beauty 
 is infinite. The true phi]oso]>her and the time poet 
 ai<; one, and a beauty, whieh is truth, and a 
 truth, whieh is beauty, is the aim of l)oth. Is not 
 tJn! eliarm of one of Plato's or Aristotle's definitions 
 strictly like that of the Antigone of Soplioeles ? It 
 
00 inKAUSM, 
 
 is, in \>oth onsos, that Ji spiritnnl lifo has 1>«hm\ im- 
 \vivtovl (v> U5>t»nv; th:\t {\\o solitl so»*u\lMi;; Mook of 
 \»\;Utov hj>s boon jH^rvmltHl aiul «lissolvo»l l\v n 
 tl\v»U);ht I thut this 1\h^Mo hiunau boiuij has {>o»\ot ratinl 
 tho vast uvjissosof uatmx^ with an iutonuiuii' st»ul, aiul 
 UHH>j;»vijnHl itsolt" in th«Mv hariuonv. that is, soi^tnl 
 tluMi' law, \\\ phvsiv's, whou this is attainoih tho 
 mouioiY vHshuvthons itsolt' »<t" its ouu\hi\n»s oatu- 
 K\iiuos of j>^u*tio»»laiN, anil oarrios ivntmios i^f ohsoi^- 
 vntion in a six^ijlo fonnnh*. 
 
 Thus o\«n in jOivsios, tho tnatorial is doiiTaiUnl 
 IvfvMV tho spiritnal. Tho ast»>M\o»nov, tho iivom- 
 otov. \>^ly on thoiv invfvap\UK^ analysis, aiul ilis- 
 ilai»\ tho wsuhs of i^lvsovvatioti. Tho snhlinio n^ 
 n>avk of Knhn* on his h>w i»f a»\'hos, "This will ho 
 i\>unil vHUitrarv to all ovporiomv, vot is (ruo : " hail 
 ahvailv tiunsfonxnl natmv into tho iniu^l. anil loft, 
 tnattor liko at\ outonst iw^vso. 
 
 t. lutolhvtnal soiomv has Ihvu oKsorvinl to Iviivt 
 itivariahlv a iloivht t>f thooxistonw of »\iattov. Txu^- 
 ^4jv>t sjvivl. *• Wo that has novor iloubttnl tho oxistoiut) 
 tvf iMHttor, ntav Iv assnixnl ho has uv> aptituvlo for 
 nvota^^hvsioal ini^uiri^^" It fastons tho attention 
 n^iMi in\nivvi>tal xuHHvssarv ntioivattnl natnivs, that is, 
 upon KU\»s ; a\ul in thoiv jvixv^oniv wo fiH I that tho 
 ontwawl oiivvnust;uuv is a vlivani anvl a shavlo. 
 AVhilst wo wait in this Olviupns of ^xhIs, wo think 
 of nituiiv t»j4 ju\ aj^jH^mlix tv^ tho s\nil. Wo aj»ivnil 
 
IfjIlA/JHM. (',] 
 
 inf/> \.\ic'\r rc'/ioit, and know fli^tfc tfi<^< ar^j ilia 
 thon'^htM of Ui<; Suj>r<^fri/i IWnt'^. " 'VUctm 'dm 
 iUcy w\nt wm'<i md u|> from cvat'lmdut'f^, from tUa 
 \)('.')j^'iitti'ni'/, or avitr tfi/j i^r-tlj w{;w. Wh/;n ltd \>r(> 
 It'di't'A ihti \fUiU.V('.tm, i\nty wcrt', th';r'<; ; wh<m Im t^n- 
 \:.i.\>\h\nA \.)u; <;UfmiHii\n>V(',, v/Ut'.n ltd HU'Cty^lmtuui tiia 
 foufjfainx of Ui<; <l<'^^p, 'I'iidti ilwy wdt'h J>y him, a» 
 on<; \ir<)H'^)ii lip wiUyhiin, <^>f th<;m tx>^>k h/; r^^ua- 
 
 T\ti-Af \iA\\n:ui'Ai hi \irtf])t,fiAtiUiiUi. An <>)>yMnof 
 mu'MCA', i\\i'.y urn wuwmaWA': \/> f<;v/ un-.n. Ytd all 
 /f»<;n art', caj^ahJij of Jx^inj^ rnt6t'A by pi^^ty or by [^a*- 
 Hiofj, int/> tb/;ir rt'/^'iott. An<l no ntaa i/tuchdn iUcMi 
 'livin<; uatim'M, witfioiit SutfA^uut'^, m norm; dc/^rcji^ 
 \iiiiim:\f <\ivitt(i. \j\\n'. a n<;w H'iul, t,br?y ri^n/iW tb/j 
 bfi/ly. VV<; \Kif/Hft(i \)\iyh'u'.'d\\y u\ui\)\n an/1 li^ljfc- 
 HotiKi ; we. tr<^,u\ on air; Iif«i w no hni'^cr \r\ov>u\f',^ 
 and w<; tbink it will uhwar Im no. \o man ftmrH 
 H'/ii or iii'inforfAnut (tr (Umilt in tl*»?ir ¥Atr<m(t (•j(mi\M.uy^ 
 for b/; m tranH|)oH>'<l out of tb/j di'tri'rt of chau'^a. 
 Wbi)>.t w<; l^^bol/l iinv<;ib'-<l tlwj uaturfj o£ Aimiu'M 
 and Triitb, w(? l<;arn 1.b<5 (Wilt'sawAi hd^wc/m ihtt al>- 
 HoUiUi 'AwA tb<j o/ftKVii'uniii] or r<;Lativ<'.. W'j A]t\>r<i- 
 itcjul ihn altnoUiUi. An it w^;r/;, for th/; firwt tim/i, w/? 
 '^./•/'/r/. W<; \)<'A'/fUHi immj'>fial, for w<j J/jarn tbiit tim<} 
 and Hinu'M'dva rtihitiouu/ftuaiUir; that with a iK;rr;<;i>- 
 1 i';n of Irutb or a viituouH will tbi;y Imva no 'diVmhy, . 
 
 5. Finally, r<;li;^ioti and etbi<;«, wbi/;b may Us 
 
02 IDEALISM. 
 
 fitly called the practice of ideas, or the introduc- 
 tion of ideas into life, have an analogous effect 
 with all lower culture, in degrading nature and 
 suggesting its dependence on spirit. Ethics and 
 religion differ herein ; that the one is the system 
 of human duties commencing from man ; the other, 
 from God. Religion includes the personality of 
 God ; Ethics does not. They are one to our pres- 
 ent design. They both put nature under foot. The 
 first and last lesson of religion is, " The things 
 that are seen, are temporal ; the things that are un- 
 seen, are eternal." It puts an affront upon nature. 
 It does that for the unschooled, which philosophy 
 does for Berkeley and Yiasa. The uniform lan- 
 g-uage that may be heard in the churches of the 
 most ignorant sects is, — "Contemn the unsub- 
 stantial shows of the world ; they are vanities, 
 dreams, shadows, unrealities ; seek the realities of 
 religion."' The devotee flouts nature. Some theo- 
 sophists have arrived at a certain hostility and in- 
 dignation towards matter, as the Manichean and 
 Plotinus. They distrusted m themselves any look- 
 ing back to these flesh-pots of Egyjit. Plotinus 
 was ashamed of his body. In short, they might 
 all say of matter, what Michael Angelo said of ex- 
 ternal beauty, "• It is the frail and weary weed, in 
 which God dresses the soul which he has called 
 into time." 
 
IDEALISM. 63 
 
 It appears that motion, poetry, physical and in- 
 tellectual science, and religion, all tend to affect 
 our convictions of the reality of the external world. 
 But I own there is something ungrateful in ex- 
 panding too curiously the particulars of the gen- 
 eral projDosiiion, that all culture tends to imbue us 
 with idealism. I have no hostility to nature, but a 
 child's love to it. I expand and live in the warm 
 day like corn and melons. Let us speak her fair. 
 I do not wish to fling stones at my beautiful 
 mother, nor soil my gentle nest. I only wish to 
 indicate the true position of nature in regard to 
 man, wherein to establish man all right education 
 tends ; as the ground which to attain is the object 
 of hiunan life, that is, of man's connection with 
 nature. Culture inverts the vulgar views of na- 
 ture, and brings the mind to call that apparent 
 which it uses to call real, and that real which it 
 uses to call visionary. Children, it is true, believe 
 in the external world. The belief that it appears 
 only, is an afterthought, but with culture this faith 
 will as surely arise on the mind as did the first. 
 
 The advantage of the ideal theory over the pop- 
 ular faith is this, that it presents the world in pre- 
 cisely that view which is most desirable to the 
 mind. It is, in fact, the view which Reason, both 
 speculative and practical, that is, philosophy and 
 virtue, take. For seen in the light of thought, the 
 
64 IDEALISM. 
 
 world always is i)lienonicnal ; and virtue siiboi-di- 
 iiates it to the mind. Idealism sees the world in 
 God. It beholds the whole circle of persons and 
 things, of actions and events, of country and re- 
 ligion, not as painfidly accumulated, atom after 
 atom, act after act, in an aged creeping Past, but 
 as one vast picture which God paints on the in- 
 stant eternity for the contemplation of the soid. 
 Therefore the soul holds itself off from a too trivial 
 and nucroscopic study of the universal tablet. It 
 respects the end too much to immerse itself in the 
 means. It sees something more important in Chris- 
 tianity than the scandals of ecclesiastical history 
 or the niceties of criticism ; and, very incurious 
 concerning persons or miracles, and not at all dis- 
 turbed by chasms of historical evidence, it accepts 
 from God the phenomenon, as it iinds it, as the 
 pure and awful form of religion in the world. It 
 is not hot and passionate at the appearance of what 
 it calls its own good or bad fortune, at the union 
 or op})ositIon of other persons. No man is its en- 
 emy. It accepts whatsoever befalls, as part of its 
 lesson. It is a watcher more than a doer, and it is 
 a doer, only that it may the better watch. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 SPIRIT. 
 
 It is essential to a true theory of nature and of 
 man, that it should contain somewhat progressive. 
 Uses that are exhausted or that may be, and facts 
 that end in the statement, cannot be all that is true 
 of this brave lodging wherein man is harbored, and 
 wherein all his faculties find appropriate and end- 
 less exercise. And all the uses of nature admit of 
 being summed in one, which yields the activity of 
 man an infinite scope. Through all its kingdoms, 
 to the suburbs and outskirts of things, it is faithful 
 to the cause whence it had its origin. It always 
 speaks of Spirit. It suggests the absolute. It is 
 a perpetual effect. It is a great shadow pointing 
 always to the sun behind us. 
 
 The aspect of Nature is devout. Like the figure 
 of Jesus, she stands with bended head, and hands 
 folded upon the breast. The happiest man is he 
 who learns from nature the lesson of worship. 
 
 Of that ineffable essence which we call Spirit, 
 he that thinks most, will say least. We can fore- 
 see God in the coarse, and, as it were, distant 
 
 VOL. I. 5 
 
66 SPIRIT. 
 
 phenomena of matter ; but when we try to deine 
 anil describe himself, both language and thought 
 desert . us, and we are as helpless as fools and sav- 
 ages. That essence refuses to be recorded in prop- 
 ositions, but when man has worshipped him in- 
 tellectually, the noblest ministry of nature is to 
 stand as the apparition of God. It is the organ 
 thi'ough which the universal spirit speaks to the 
 individual, and strives to lead back the individual 
 to it. 
 
 When we consider Sjiirit, we see that the views 
 already presented do not include the whole circum- 
 ference of man. We must add some related 
 thoughts. 
 
 Three problems are put by nature to the mind ; 
 What is matter? Whence is it? and Whereto? 
 The first of these questions only, the ideal theory 
 answers. Idealism saith : matter is a phenomenon, 
 not a substance. Idealism acquaints us with the 
 total disparity between the evidence of our own 
 beinjr and the evidence of the world's being. The 
 one is perfect ; the other, incapable of any assur- 
 ance : the mind is a part of the nature of things ; 
 the world is a divine dream, from which we may 
 presently awake to the glories and certainties of 
 day. Idealism is a hypothesis to accoimt for na- 
 ture by other principles than those of carpentry 
 and chemistry. Yet, if it only deny the existence 
 
SPIRIT. 67 
 
 of matter, it does not satisfy the demands of the 
 spirit. It leaves God out of me. It leaves me 
 in the splendid labyrinth of my perceptions, to 
 wander without end. Then the heart resists it, 
 because it balks the affections in denying substan- 
 tive being to men and women. Nature is so j)er- 
 vaded with human life that there is something of 
 humanity in all and in every particular. But this 
 theory makes nature foreign to me, and does not 
 account for that consanguinity which we acknowl- 
 edge to it. 
 
 Let it stand then, in the present state of our 
 knowledge, merely as a usefid introductory hypoth- 
 esis, serving to apprise us of the eternal distinc- 
 tion between the soul and the world. 
 
 But when, following the invisible steps of thought, 
 we come to inquire, Whence is matter? and AVhere- 
 to ? many truths arise to us out of the recesses of 
 consciousness. We learn that the highest is pres- 
 ent to the soul of man ; that the dread universal 
 essence, which is not wisdom, or love, or beauty, or 
 power, but all in one, and each entirely, is that for 
 which all things exist, and that by which they are ; 
 that spirit creates ; that behind nature, throughout 
 nature, spirit is present ; one and not compound it 
 does not act upon us from without, that is, in space 
 and time, but spiritually, or through ourselves : 
 therefore, that spirit, that is, the Supreme Being, 
 
OS srmrr. 
 
 tloos \u\\ ImiUl up UMliuo nrinuul us h\\{ puts it. 
 forth (hwMtLih us. as iho lito of tho tv«>o puts t\>rth 
 now l>r;n\ohos nuil lo;nos thn>Uiil\ tlio po\-os o( tlio 
 »»U1. As a plimt upon tho o:\itli. so a uian Vv>sts 
 \\\\ou iho lH>S(Mn ot' (uxl : ho is uourishod hv uufail- 
 injj fountains, auil ihaws at his wood inr\haustihK» 
 powor. \\ hi> I'au sot houn<ls io tho possi.hilitios of 
 n\a»\? C)noo inhahMho upptM- air, hoiu;'; a*hnittoil 
 to l>(*hi>hl tho ahsohito nattnvs of ju.stioo auil truth, 
 and wo Kwru that uiau lias ai'Ot^ss io tho ('utiro 
 nnn<l o\' tho C^vat^M\ is hiuisolf tho I'roator iu tho 
 tiuitt\ rhis vi»n\. whioh adnioiushos mo whort' tho 
 sinuvos of wisdom i\nd powor lio. ami points to vir- 
 tuo as to 
 
 "VVliioh ojH^s tho |v>l!uv of otornity," 
 
 ojvrrios npoi\ its faoo tho hiu'host oovtitii«ato of truth, 
 Innnuiso it animatos nio to oivato luv <nvn worhl 
 thn>u>;h tho pin-itloativni ot" uiy soid. 
 
 Tho wvMhl pi\H»oods fi\Mu tho sanio spirit as tho 
 body of »\)an. It is a ivniotor auvl inforior incarna- 
 tion vW" liivl. a pi\\jootion of (lod in tho nnoon- 
 soions. Ihit it tlitYors fi»ni tho body in ono inipoi'- 
 tant ivspoot. It is not, liUo that, now snbjootod to 
 tho hnn\an wiU. Its soivno in\Un* is inviohddo by 
 ns. It is, thoivfo'.v. io ns. tho pivsoi\t expositor of 
 tho diviixo luiuib It is a tixotJ point whoivby wo 
 may moasuiv our doparturo. .Vs wo vlogxuiorato. 
 
HI 'I I! 1 1 Cfy 
 
 \\m'. r,<ftdrii.ni })<^.w(;4;u ijh }uu\ our hotm; ih mara *;vj- 
 <\(,ht. VV^; an; HH ifnu.li HUiui^cA'H in tiatum hh wa 
 inc. nUctiH f'/orn O'hI. VV«; do /lot, rjrifl'jrHtfifK) ttu? 
 /iot>;H of binin. 'i Jx; fox JtorJ t,ho (Jo<;r run away 
 from UH ; tiw- \><-/,a- and t,i/^<;r rond iw. W»; do not, 
 know th^. um;n of inoro tjian a fow fjlant^, ;tH r^>rTi 
 and Uio af>f;l«;, tJi<; (>of,at/; and fJio vine. Ih not th<j 
 l;u)dw;a[)<!, every ^Jinip-^; of wiiifih hath a grandeur, 
 a fa'to of })irf) ? Yet t}ii« may .nhow u» what din- 
 <-/n(l in \><^.wfA',u man and nature, fr/r yr/n v/AmuA. 
 fn;ely a^lmiro a noble Jandj^jape if laJx^rerH are 
 dij^g^In;^ In tlie fiehJ hard i;y. 'i iie jx;<;t finfJ.H Horiny- 
 thinf( rirJienJon.H in hin delight until he in out of the 
 Might of ffie/j. 
 
( iiArri K VI 11. 
 
 In inquli'ios ivspootiiiii" ilio laws oi tho wovUl 
 Miiil [\w t'lauio o( thing's, tlio hii;host ivnsiMi is al- 
 ways (ho tniost. That whii'li s»hmhs t'aijitly ^n^s- 
 siiblo, it is so tvtiiuvl. is odou faint auJ dim lu^ 
 oauso it is lUvpost soatinl in (ho luimi amouLi' (ho 
 otorual vovi(ios. F.iupiiii'al soionoo is ap{ (o iloiul 
 tho siii'ht. aiul In (ho vorv knv>\vhHliix^ of fuuo(ious 
 i\iu\ jnxHVSsos (o hovoaxo (ho stiuUMit of (lu^ manly 
 oon(ompla(iou of (ho wholo. \\w savau( booomos 
 uujHvtio. Uut tho host voatl naturalist \vln> lonils 
 an entiiv and dowmt a(tontion (o (iiuh. uill soo 
 that thow ivniains mnoh tv> loam of his ivla(ion 
 to tho Win'hl, auil (ha( i( is uo( (o bo loainod hv 
 any addition or suhtraotio»\ or odior ovunparison 
 of known quamitios. lni( is arvivoil a( hv nn(aniiht 
 sjvUioii i^t" tlio spirit, l\v a oon(innal solf-uvovovv, 
 anvl l\Y oi\tiiv hnmilitv. Ho will jHMvoivo that thoiv 
 atv far n»oiv o\oollon( i|uali(ios i»i (l»o stndont than 
 juwisonoss and infallihilirv : (hat a iiiu\<s is of(on 
 inon> frnitfid than an indispn(ablo at^irnxation. and 
 that a lUvani xnav lot us doojHM' into tho soi*ivt ivf 
 uatuiv than a Inniditnl o\>i\oort<Hl oxjHH'inionts, 
 
J'ltOSI'KfJTH. 71 
 
 For U|(; \)r<t\)\t:U\H \/i \)(t H4}]vcA Ulf; ]>r(;c'lH(;\y i\nM', 
 
 wliifJi Ifx; j;})yHir>Jo;.OHt a/j<J fJi<; naf,ijraIiHt omit f/* 
 Ktat*!. If, in not ho p'tftinf^nt t/) fnari f/) know all 
 tlj<; inrJividiialH of t}i<5 animal king^<Jom, ax it ih t/> 
 know v/\iHucM and wfir;mt^i iw thin tyrannizing unity 
 ill liiw (^>nHtitution, which cvcr'monj mymrntnH an/1 
 claHHifi/;H thin^H, *;nfI<;avonn;( to rcAncM ihtt moHt 
 <livf;rH<? t/> on(; form. VVhcrj I IjcliokJ a rioh laml- 
 Hcajx;, it IH IrjHH t/> rny \mr\K>,Mt \/> vojuUi </)trt'j:t\y 
 tli<; oif|<;r an«l «ijj)f;r|>OHition of tlio strata, than f/> 
 know why all tfioiight of mii]titu<J<; in k/Ht in a 
 tra/i'juij Kcnw; of (jnity. I f;an not greatly honor 
 minnO;nr;HH in (ictaiJ.H, Ko long aH fiujrc ih no 
 liint to <;X}>ki,in the rekition fiotwrji^n thingH and 
 tlioijgfitH ; no ray uj>on the metaph'f/)iks of f^jn- 
 chology, of hotany, of thi; artw, to hIiow tlio rela^ 
 tio/i of tlj<; fornix of flowtjrH, hKoJIw, animalv<, archi- 
 l/icturo, to the minil, and fjuild HCAitiu-Ai upon ideaH. 
 Ill a cafjinet of natural imtovy, wc W^jme scn- 
 nihle of a certain oc^jult rcf;ognition and Hympathy 
 in regard t/> the moht unwieldly anrl ecr^;ntric 
 form;< of licast, fiili, and itiHc/^. IIkj American 
 who h;tH }jc,en (/>nfine<l, in hin own country, to the 
 higlit of huiJdingB dcjHigrif^l aft^jr foreign mrxlelw, i« 
 Hurjirined on entering Vr^rk MinHt*;r or St. Vctar'n 
 at Home, hy the i'citWii'^ tliat thcHe Ktructur<iH are 
 imitatiouH alno, — faint copiew of an invinihle ar- 
 chetyfie. Nor Iihh H<;iencc Ku0icicnt humanity, 60 
 
72 PKOSPECTS. 
 
 long as the naturalist overlooks that wonderful 
 congruity which siibsists between man and the 
 world ; of whieh he is loixl, not because he is the 
 most subtile inhabitant, but because he is its head 
 and heart, and tinds something of himself in every 
 gi'eat and small thing, in every mountain strat\mi, 
 in every new law of color, fact of astronomy, or at- 
 mospheric intluence which observation or analysis 
 lays oj)on. A perception of this mystery inspires 
 the muse of George Herbert, tlie beautiful psahuist 
 of the seventeenth i-enturv. The followino- lines 
 aiv pai't of his lit tie poem on Man. 
 
 " Man is all symmetry, 
 Fxill of pivportious, one limb to another, 
 
 Aud to all the world besides. 
 
 Each part may eall the farthest, bi-other ; 
 For head with t"oi>t hath private amity, • * 
 
 Aud both with moons and tides. 
 
 " Nothing hath ^t so far 
 Bnt man hath caiight and kept it as his prey ; 
 
 His eyes dismount the highest star : 
 
 He is in little all the sphei-e. 
 Herbs gladly cm-e our tlesh, Wcauso that they 
 
 Find theii" aei]uaiutauce there. 
 
 " For us, the winds do blow, 
 The earth doth i-est, heaven move, and fountains flow; 
 Nothing we see, bnt means our gvHxl, 
 As our delight, or Jis oiu* tivasiuv; 
 
PROSPECTS. 73 
 
 The whole is eitJier our cupboard of food, 
 Or cabinet of pleasure. 
 
 " Tlie stars have us to bed: 
 Night draws the curtain; which the sun withdraws. 
 
 Music and light attend our head. 
 
 All things unto our flesh are kind, 
 In their descent and being; to our niind, 
 
 In their ascent and cause. 
 
 " More servants wait on man 
 Than he '11 take notice of. In every path. 
 
 He treads down that which doth befriend him 
 
 When sickness makes him pale and wan. 
 Oh mighty love! Man is one world, and hath 
 
 Another to attend him." 
 
 The perception of this class of truths makes the 
 attraction which draws men to science, but the end 
 is lost sight of in attention to the means. In view 
 of this half-sight of science, we accept the sentence 
 of Plato, that " poetry comes nearer to vital truth 
 than history." Every surmise and vaticination of 
 the mind is entitled to a certain respect, and we 
 learn to prefer imperfect theories, and sentences 
 which contain glimpses of truth, to digested sys- 
 tems which have no one valuable suggestion. A 
 wise writer will feel that the ends of study and com- 
 position are best answered by announcing undis- 
 covered regions of thought, and so communicating, 
 through hope, new activity to the torpid spirit. 
 
74 PROSPECTS. 
 
 I sliall therefoie conclude this essay with some 
 traditions of man and nature, which a certain poet 
 sang" to me ; and which, as they have always been 
 in the world, and perhaps reai)pear to every bard, 
 may be both history jmd prophecy. 
 
 ' The foundations of man are not in matter, but 
 ill spirit. But the element of spirit is eternity. To 
 it, therefore, the longest series of events, the old- 
 est chronologies are young and recent. In the cycle 
 of the universal man, from whom the known indi- 
 viduals proceed, centuries are points, and all history 
 is but the epoch of one degradation. 
 
 ' We distrust aiid deny inwardly our sympathy 
 with nature. We onvii and diso^^'ll our relation to 
 it, by turns. We are like Nebuchadnezzar, de- 
 throned, bereft of reason, and eating grass like an 
 ox. But who can set limits to the remedial force of 
 spirit ? 
 
 ' A man is a god in ruins. When men are inno- 
 cent, life shall be longer, and shall pass into the im- 
 mortal as gently as we awalce from dreams. Now, 
 the world would be insane and rabid, if these dis- 
 organizations should last for hundreds of years. It 
 is kept in check by death and infancy. Infancy is 
 the perpetual Messiah, which comes into the arms 
 of fallen men, and pleads with them to retmii to 
 paradise. 
 
 ' M:ui is the dwaif of himself. Once he was per- 
 
PROSPECTS. 75 
 
 meated and dissolved by spirit. He filled nature 
 with his overflowing currents. Out from him 
 sprang the sun and moon ; from man the sun, 
 from woman the moon. The laws of his mind, the 
 periods of his actions externized themselves into 
 day and night, into the year and the seasons. But, 
 having made for himself this huge shell, his waters 
 retired ; he no longer fills the veins and veinlets ; 
 he is shrunk to a drop. He sees that the structure 
 still fits him, but fits him colossally. Say, rather, 
 once it fitted him, now it corresponds to him from 
 far and on high. He adores timidly his own work. 
 Now is man tlj<i follower of the sun, and woman the 
 follower ^ f the moon. Yet sometimes he starts in 
 his sluiril)er, and wonders at himself and his house, 
 and muses strajigely at the resemblance betwixt him 
 and it. Hf; perceives that if his law is still para- 
 mount, if still he have elemental power, if his word 
 is sterling yet in nature, it is not conscious power, 
 it is not inferior but superior to his will. It is in- 
 stinct.' Thus my Orphic poet sang. 
 
 ^ fc present, man applies to nature but half his 
 force. He works on the world with his understand- 
 ing alone. He lives in it and masters it by a pen- 
 ny-wisdom ; and he that works most in it is but a 
 half-man, and whilst his arms are strong and his 
 digestion good, his mind is iinbruted, and he is a 
 selfish savage. His relation to nature, his power 
 
OYOV \t, is thn>ugh (lu> umlorstanJiuj;', as l>v nia- 
 um\^ ; tlu* ooououiio uso of lijv, wiml, wator, ami 
 (ho marinov's iuuhUo ; stoam, i'v>a], ohtMuioal aii'vioul- 
 tuiv : tho nn>airs ot" tlu> human IhhIv l>v iht^ thM»tist 
 ami tho s\»Vi>\H>u. This is suoh a rosmuptiou ol* 
 jH^Nor as it" a banishoil kiuy; shiMiUl buv his torriti>- 
 rios iivoh h\ iiu'h, instoa^l ot" vnultiuii" ut onoo into his 
 tlux>no. Moantinio, in tho tliiok ihukuoss, thoiv aiv 
 iu>t wantiuij" li'loams o( n lutdn- lii^ht. -— tn'oj' al 
 oxauiplos ivf tl»o action i>l man upon natnro v -,^i 
 ontiiv t\>iw, — with ivason as woll as \um -.o 
 
 in«i'. Sxu'h o\autph\>< avo, tho tnulititms ol nuvaolos 
 iiv tho oarlit^st ai\tiqnit\ of all nations; tho 
 o( ilosus (.Mu'ist : tlio aohioYotnonts ot' a pn 
 as in ivliiiioiis autl politioal ivw^lntious, an< 
 abolition ot" tho slavi^tnulo : ti»o nuvaolos of ; 
 siasnu as thoso ivpovtoJ ot" Swoilonlnn-^j, llolu .i 
 ami tho Shakoi's ; many obsomv ai\il yot iH»nt» ^ i 
 faots, now arrangvil nmlor U»o uauu^ ot" A 
 Mai;notism : pvavor : ohH|uouiv ; solt"-hoalinsi au>l 
 tho wisdom ot" ihiUltvn. Thoso aiv oxani} 
 Koason's inoinoutary ji"«*^^P ^^f tho sooptiv : t r\ 
 ovtuvus i>f a jHnvoi" whii'h oxists not in timo <m 
 but an iustant.antHnis in-^tivauiim;- causing j 
 Tho ilit"lVivnoo Ivtwtvn tlu^ aotnal anil tho itloa' . 
 of man is happily tiguwHl by tho sohoolmon. i s;»y- 
 ing, that tho kninvUnlgv of man is an oYouing)<nv»w'i 
 tnlgw re^jn^t'Hna ViujRitk\ but that of (u^i is u 
 inovning" knowlotlgv, mahttimt ct\<;««Yio. 
 
rUOSPKCTH. 77 
 
 Thft \)vt)\>\(Ui of roMtcmri'^ U> ihfi world original 
 a/i<l i'.U'A-n'di\ locality i« ho1v<j<1 t^y tlui rr}<I<;jnpti.ori of 
 t}j<i HouJ. 'I'lio iiiiri or tlm blank tJiat we wie when 
 \Nit \<>(>k at nature, Ih in our own eye. T\Mi nxia of 
 vihion \h not rj^jineiident with the axi« of things, and 
 HO tfujy apj>ear not tran8[>arent };ut opafjux^ Tim 
 vifd^mm why tlie worhl hu^kn unity, and lie« hroktjn 
 and in IjeapH, i« IxjtjaiiWi nmn ix dijjunit<j<l with 
 It! 1, lie cannot Ui a naturaliHt until lie «ati»- 
 ojil', tiie demandw of tb; Hpirit. I^>ve 'im m miK;h 
 ^ >' nd aH [>en^?ption. Indwid, neitli^r can Ikj 
 
 pert<^'^ V ;th<jut tluj other. In tlui uttermost nw^an- 
 \u'^ th.it wordji, thought iw devout, and devotion 
 ih lliodgJjt. Deep calls unt'^ d<jep. But in ax.'tual 
 life, tl e marriage is not w;hibrat^;<l. Tliere are in- 
 nocent men who worship Gfxl after tlue tradition of 
 tlieir fatijers, Ijut tlwjir mnm of duty has not yet 
 extended to t\ui um of all their fa^julti/iS. And 
 there are patient natui-alists, but tliey frw};^} theii' 
 subj<^;t under the wintry ligiit of the umLerstand- 
 ing. Ih not prayer aho a study of trutli, — a sally 
 of tlue mml mU) tlwj unfound infinite? No man 
 ever prayfi<l Iw^artily witlumt learning something. 
 But wlj/iu a faithful think^jr, resolute to d<ita<;h 
 every oljject from personal rejatiorw and ncM it in 
 the light of thought, sliall, at the same time, kindle 
 HcieiHMi with tlie fire of tlui holiest affections, then 
 will Go<l go forth anew inUj the creation. 
 
78 rnospFCTS. 
 
 It will \\o{ uooil, whiMi tlu> luiml Is jm*|)aroil l\>r 
 stiulv, U> soan'h for obitH'ts. Tho iuv:ivi:il>lo mark 
 of wisdom is io soo \\\o mirai'ult>us iu lhi> iu>minon. 
 AVhat is a day ? \\'ha( is a yoar? What is sum- 
 mor? ^^'llat is woman ? \Vhat is a I'liihl? What 
 is sloop? 1\> onv Miiuhioss, thoso things sootn lui- 
 atVootiiii:". Wo luaUo fablos to hi(K> tho haUhioss 
 of tho faot ami oonform it, as wo say, io tln> hii;hor 
 law of tho miml. Hut whou tho faot is sihmi umlor 
 tho liirht of an iiK>a, tho iraiulv fablo faih^s m\ 
 shrivols. ^Vo bohohl tho roal hi<;hor law. 'l\^ tl\ 
 Aviso, thoroforo, a iiwi is tvuo |H>otrv, and tho most 
 boantiful of fal>li>s. rht>st> wondovs aro broniiht to 
 our own door. ^ on alsi> aro a man. Man and 
 woman and tlunr sooial lifo, povorty, labor, sloop, 
 foar, fortuno, aro kni^wn to yon. Loaru that nono 
 of thoso thing's is suporiioial, but that oaoh phonom- 
 onini has its roots iu tho faoultios and atYootious i>f 
 tho u\iud. AVhilst tho abstniot quostiou oooupios 
 your iutolloot, uatnro brings it iu tho oouoivto to 
 bo solvod bv your hands. It woro a wiso iniiuirv 
 for tho olovsot, to oomparo, pi>int by point, ospt^ 
 I'ially at romarUablo orisos in lifo, our daily history 
 with tho riso and pn^givss oi idoas in tho n\ind. 
 
 So shall wo oomo to look at tho worUl with now 
 evos. It shall auswor tho ondloss iutpiiry of tho 
 iutolloot. — What is truth? and of tho atYootious, 
 — What is sivod? bv violdiug itsolf passivo to tho 
 
I'hOSf'KrjTH. 79 
 
 r;flnf;at/;fl Will. '\'\\(n Hfiail corrif; to pann what my 
 pof.t Haid; ' Xatiirf; Ih not i\\cA but fluid. Spirit 
 aJt<;rH, mould H, mak*!H it. '^TTi^; immobility or brutf> 
 n<HH of nature Is tlie aLwinc^; of spirit; to pure 
 Hpirit it in fluid, it Ih volatile, it \n obe<lient. 
 P^very Hpirit build.s itfM;lf a hou»<j and beyond its 
 liouH^j a world and };eyond it.H world a heaven. 
 Know then that the world existH for you. For you 
 i.H the phenomenon perf^j^.'t. What we anj, tfiat 
 only ean we Hee. All that Adam harl, all that 
 ('yHiHur cjmhl, you have and ean do. Adam called 
 fiJH liouse, heaven and earth ; Caesar called hh 
 liouHC, Itome ; you perhaps call yours, a cobbler's 
 traile ; a hundrf;d axjres of jiloughed land ; or a 
 scholar's garret. Vet line for line and point for 
 point your dominion is as great as theirs, thr/ugh 
 witli^jut fine names. Build therefore your own 
 world. As fast as you oanfonn your life to the 
 pure idea in your mind, that will unfold its great 
 yiroportions. A correspondent revolution in things 
 will attend the influx of the spirit. So fast will 
 disagr(;eable appearances, swine, spiders, snakes, 
 pests, mad-hoaH<js, pris^jns, enemies, vanish; they 
 are t^^mporary and shall he no more Wicn. '^Tlje 
 sordor and filths of nature, thr; sun shall dry up 
 and the wind exliale. As when the sunrimer c^;mes 
 from the south the snow-banks melt and the far;e 
 of the earth becomes green before it, so sliall the 
 
§0 rK(>v^ris'(^rA 
 
 aiui l^J»vn' wJth it tho K\«u»tv it visits {»»il tho sv>usi' 
 whioh ouohjuxts it ; it shiUl limw In^uitifiil t'{u^>s, 
 wanw h<'^ivts» wist^ ilisw\\t'St\ jmwI houMO ju^ts, jn>nu\J 
 its \v»\\ until evil is no nuviv ?»tvn. Tho kii\ji\Uvni 
 ^vf mjwx owv i\atn»\\ whioh vHvnn^th t\ot with o\>soi^- 
 Y»tiow» — » ilon\inion suoh as ni^w is Knon^l his 
 ihw'un of (^vhI. — ho shall ontor without ntoiv won- 
 ilov thjux tho \xli\ul tnivn ftvls who is i;i:ivhuvUv \>>- 
 Sitvmxl tv» ^vvtWt sijiht.* 
 
Tl\y: A.MKKICAN fcCHOLAli. 
 
 A A' OiiA'i/OBf VEUVKhKlj KKkOtiE 'filK I'iil hWtk KAPPA fcOCIBTT, 
 
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 
 
 Mk. President and Gentlemen, 
 
 I GREET you on the recommencement of our lit- 
 erary year. Our anniversary Ls one of hope, and, 
 perhaps, not enough of la}>or. We do not meet 
 for games of strength or skill, for the recitation of 
 histories, tragedies, and odes, like the ancient 
 Greeks ; for parliaments of love and poesy, like 
 the Troubadours ; nor for the advancement of sci- 
 ence, like our contemporaries in the British and 
 European capitals. Thus far, our holiday lias been 
 simply a friendly sign of the survival of the love of 
 letters amongst a people too busy to give U) letters 
 any more. As such it is precious as the sign of an 
 indestructible instinct. Perhaj)s the time is al- 
 leatly come when it ought to be, and will be, some- 
 thing else ; when the sluggard intellect of this con- 
 tinent will look from under its iron lids and fill the 
 postponed expectation of the world with something 
 Ijctter tlian the exertions of mechanical skill. Our 
 day of dependence, our long apprenticeship to the 
 learning of other lands, draws to a close. The mil- 
 
84 THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 
 
 lions tluit anniutl iis ju-e nislnng into life, cannot 
 iilwavs bo IVhI i>u tlie seit^ i-eiuaius of foreign har- 
 A'ests. Events, aoti(ins arise, that must be sung", 
 that will sine- themselves. Who can doubt that 
 poetry will revive anil le:ul iiianew age, as tlie star 
 rn the constellation llarp, whiiOi now tlames in o\ir 
 zenith, astn>m>mers anixounce, sliall one day be tlio 
 ptUt^star for a thousand years ? 
 
 In this hope I accept the topic which not only 
 usage but the nature of our association seem to 
 pi'esoribe to this day, — tlie Amiikican Scholak. 
 Yeai' by year we come up hither to read one more 
 chapter of his bii>giaphy. Ijct xis impiire what 
 liiiht new davs and events have thrown on his char- 
 acter and his hopes. 
 
 It is one of those fables which out of an uldvno^^^l 
 antiquity convey an mdoi>ked-for wisdom, that the 
 gods, in the beginning, divided Man into men, that 
 he might be moiv helpful to himself ; just as the 
 hand was divided into liugers, the better to answer 
 its end. 
 
 The old fable eovei's a diK*trine ever new and 
 sublime ; that thei-e is One Man, — pi-esent to all 
 particular men only pivrtially, or through one fac- 
 ulty ; and that you uuist take the whole society to 
 find the whole man. Man is not a farmer, or a 
 pi\>fessor, or an engineer, but he is all. Man is 
 priest, and scholar, and statesman, and pixxlucer. 
 
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 85 
 
 and soldier. In the divided, or social state these 
 functions are parcelled out to individuals, eac-h of 
 whom aims to do his stint of the joint work, whilst 
 each other performs hLs. The fable implies that 
 the individual, to possess himself, must sometimes 
 ♦eturn from his own labor to embrace all the other 
 laborers. But, unfortunately, this original unit, 
 this fountain of power, has been so distributed to 
 multitudes, lias been so minutely subdivided and 
 peddled out, that it is spilled into drops, and can- 
 not be gathered. The state of society is one in 
 which the memljers have suffered amputation from 
 the trunk, and strut a}>out so ipany walking mon- 
 sters, — a good finger, a neck, a stomach, an el- 
 bow, but never a man, 
 
 Man is thus metamor-phosed into a thing, into 
 many things. The planter, who is Man sent out 
 into the field to gather food, is seldom cheered by 
 any idea of the true dig-nity of his ministry. He 
 sees his bushel and his cart, and nothing beyond, 
 and sinks into the farmer, instead of Man on the 
 farm. The tradesman scarcely ever gives an ideal 
 woi-th to his work, but is ridden by the routine of 
 his craft, and the soul is suljject to dollars. The 
 priest becomes a form ; the attorney a statute-book ; 
 the mechanic a machine ; the sailor a rope of the 
 ship. 
 
 In this distribution of functions the scholar is 
 
86 THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 
 
 the delegated intellect. In the right state he ia 
 Man Th'inl'ing. In the degenerate state, when 
 the victim of society, he tends to become a mere 
 thinker, or still worse, the parrot of other men's 
 tliinking. 
 
 In this view of him, as Man Thinking, the th# 
 or}' of his office is contained. Him Nature solicits 
 with all her placid, all her monitory pictures ; him 
 the past instructs ; him the future invites. Is not 
 indeed every man a student, and do not all things 
 exist for the student's behoof? And, finally, is not 
 the true scholar the only true master ? But the 
 old oracle said, " All things have two handles : be- 
 ware of the wrong one." In life, too often, the 
 scholar errs with mankind and forfeits his pri\d- 
 lege. Let us see him in his school, and consider 
 him in reference to the main influences he re- 
 ceives. 
 
 I. The first in time and the first in importance 
 of the influences upon the mind is that of nature. 
 Every day, the sim ; and, after smiset. Night and 
 her stars. Ever the winds blow ; ever the grass 
 grows. Every day, men and women, conversing, 
 beholding and beholden. The scholar is he of all 
 men whom this spectacle most engages. He must 
 settle its value in .his mind. What is natiu*e to 
 him ? There is never a beginning, there is never 
 
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 87 
 
 an end, to the inexplicable continuity of this web 
 of God, but always circular power returning into it- 
 seK. Therein it resembles his own Spirit, whose 
 beginning, whose ending, he never can find, — so 
 entire, so boundless. Far too as her splendors 
 shine, system on system ^hooting like rays, up- 
 ward, downward, without centre, without circum- 
 ference, — in the mass and in the particle. Nature 
 hastens to render account of herself to the mind. 
 Classification begins. To the young mind every 
 thing is individual, stands by itself. By and by, it 
 finds how to join two things and see in them one 
 natiu'e ; then three, then three thousand ; and so, 
 tyrannized over by its own unifying instinct, it goes 
 on tying things together, diminishing anomalies, 
 discovering roots running under ground whereby 
 contrary and remote things cohere and flower out 
 from one stem. It presently learns that since the 
 dawn of history there has been a constant accumu- 
 lation and classifying of facts. But what is classi- 
 fication but the perceiving that these objects are 
 not chaotic, and are not foreign, but have a law 
 which is also a law of the human mind ? The as- 
 tronomer discovers that geometry, a pure abstrac- 
 tion of the human mind, is the measure of plan- 
 etary motion. The chemist finds proportions and 
 intelligible method throughout matter ; and sci- 
 ence is nothing but the finding of analogy, iden- 
 
8v^ THE AMERICAN SCHOT.AU. 
 
 titv, in tlu^ n\i>st romoto parts. The ainbituMis soul 
 sits tU>\\ u bofoit^ i>;u'h rofraotorv faot ; oiio after aii- 
 otlior roiliu'os all stran^'o constitutions, all now pow- 
 ers, to their class anil their law, ami <ii>es on for- 
 ever to animate the last lUne of organ i/atiou, tlio 
 out ski its of natnre, bv insight. 
 
 Tl\ns to hin». io this sehool-l>ov uuJer the beml- 
 iuii" ilome of day, is sni;"i;esteil that he ami it i>ro- 
 ceeil fivm one root : one is leaf aiul one is iUnver ; 
 . ivlation, sympathy, stirring- in every vein. And 
 what is that i\>ot? Is not that the soul of his soul? 
 A thonsiht too bold: a dream too wild. Yet when 
 this spiritual li;;ht shall have revealed the law of 
 more earthly natures, — when he has learned to 
 worship the soul, and to see that the natural phik>- 
 sophy that now is, is only the tu*st gwpiug-s of its 
 o-icantic hand, he sliall look forward to an ever ex- 
 pauding knowledgo as to a becoming- civator. lie 
 shall see that uatniv is the opposite of the soid, 
 auswenug to it p\rt for part. One Is seal and one 
 is print. Its beauty is the beauty of his owii mind. 
 Its laws are the laws of his own mind. Nature 
 then becomes to hin\ the measure of his attain- 
 ments. So nuu h of nature as he is ignorant of, so 
 much of his own mind does he not yet possess. 
 And, in tu\e. the ancient pivcept, " Know th^-self," 
 and the luiHlern pre<.vpt, " Study uatiuv," Ivcome 
 at hist one nuixim. 
 
THE AMERICAN HCIIOEAR. 89 
 
 II. Tho nf;xt ^-cat infli^crico into the Hpiiit of 
 the Hchohir in tlic mind of the i^ant, — in whatever 
 form, whether of literature, of art, of inHtltutions, 
 that mind is iriHeribed. iiooks are the best type of 
 the influ(!nee of the past, and perhaps we Hhall get 
 at tlie truth, — h;arn the amount of thiw influence 
 more conveniently, — \)y c^jnsidering their value 
 alone. 
 
 The theory of hooks is nohle. Tlie H^;holar of 
 the first age received into him the world around ; 
 brooded thereon ; gave it the new arrangement of 
 his own mind, and utt<;refl it again. It came int^> 
 him life; it went out from him tnith. It came 
 to him short-lived a<;tions ; it went out from him 
 immortal thoughts. It came to him business ; it 
 went from him poetry. It was dead fact ; now, it 
 is quick thought. It can stand, and it can go. It 
 now endures, it now flies, it now inspires. Pre- 
 cisely in propoi-tion to the depth of mind from 
 which it issued, so high docs it soar, so long docs 
 it sing. 
 
 Or, I might say, it dejiends on how far the prr>- 
 cess had gone, of transmuting life into tr-uth. In 
 proportion to the f^ompletcness of the distillation, 
 BO will the purity and imperishableness of the pro- 
 duct be. But none is quite pei-fcct. As no air- 
 pump can by any means make a per-fect vacuum, 
 so neither can any artist entirely exclude the con- 
 
1)0 THR AMI' HI CAN SCHOLAR. 
 
 vtMitlonnl, lhi> local, tlui porishablo Inmi his book, 
 (M- wiiti^ a l>ooU of pure thought, that shall ho as 
 otVu'iout, in all ii'spoots, to a ronioto pt)stontY, as to 
 t'otitiMupovavios, or rathor to tho socond a^v. Kach 
 a>;v, it is lountl, imist writo its i>\vn bot>ks ; or 
 rathor, oaoh t;vnoration i"or tho uo\t siu'oooding". 
 Tho hooks of an ohlor porioil will not tit this. 
 
 Yt>t honi'o arises a uravo misi'hiof. Tho sjiored- 
 uoss whii'h attai'hos to tho aot of cn>ation, tho not 
 t>f (houiiht, is transl\»rro(l to tlu> rooord. Tho i)oot 
 chantiuii" was folt to bo a divitio man: houooforth 
 tho ohaut is «livlnt> also. Tho writer was a jnst ami 
 wise spirit : hout'ofovwai'il it is settleil the boi>k is 
 perfect; as love of the hero eovvnpts into worship 
 of his statue. Instantly the book beeonies noxious: 
 the piitle is a tyrant. The v^lnjijiish :nul perverted 
 mind oi the multitude, slow to open to the ineui"- 
 situis of Ke:isi>n, having' ouee so opened, having 
 ouee reeeivetl this hook, stauds up<u\ it. aud makes 
 an vmtery if it is disparagvd. Colleges are built 
 ou it. lvH>ks aiv written ou it by thinkers, uot by 
 ^lau Thiukiug; bv uumi of talent, that is, who start 
 wn>ng, who set out from aoeepted dogmas, iu>t 
 friuu their own sight i>f priueiples. Meek youug* 
 men grow up in lilniiries, believing it their duty to 
 iieeept tl\e views whieh Oieero, which Locke, which 
 -Ricon, have givi^u : forg-otful th:it Cicen>, Locke, 
 and Bacon weiv only young men in libraries wheu 
 they wrote these books. 
 
Till-: AMEinCAN SfJJfOLAH. 91 
 
 IIf;ncc, iriHtea/l r>f Man Thinking, we have the 
 bookworm. UancAi tlie }>ook - learned class, who 
 value hookB, an Hueh ; not as relate^l t^> nature and 
 the human constitution, but as making a sort of 
 Third Estat^j with the world and the soul. Ifence 
 tlie restorers of reaxlings, the emendators, the bib- 
 liomaniax^s of all degn^is. 
 
 l3ookH are the best of things, well ased ; abused, 
 among the worst. What is the right use? What 
 is the one end which all means go to effect ? Tlicy 
 are for nothing ])ut to inspire. I had better never 
 Bee a book than to be waqicd by its attraction 
 clean out of my own orbit, and ma^le a 8at<;;llite in- 
 stead of a system. Tlie one thing in the worlfl, of 
 value, is the active soul. This every man in en- 
 titled to ; tliis every man contains within him, 
 although in almost all men obstructed, and as yet 
 unborn. Tlie aovl active se^iS absfjlute truth and 
 utters truth, or creates. In this 'd/.tion it is genius; 
 not the privilege of here and there a favorite, but 
 the sound estate of every man. In its essence it 
 is progressive. The book, tlie c^^Uege, the school 
 of art, the institution of any kinfl, stf^p with some 
 past utteranw of genius. This is gofxl, say they, 
 — let us hold by this. Tliey pin me down. They 
 look baf:kward and not forward. But genius looks 
 forward : the eyes of man are set in his forehea^l, 
 not in his hindhead : rrran hopes : genius creates. 
 
 ^ 
 
92 THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 
 
 Whatever talents may be, if the man create not, 
 the pure efflux of the Deity is not his ; — cinilers 
 and smoke there may be, but not yet flame. There 
 are creative manners, there are creative actions, 
 and creative words ; manners, actions, words, that 
 is, indicative of no custom or autliority, but spring- 
 ing- spontaneous from the mind's own sense of good 
 and fair. 
 
 On the other part, instead of being its own seer, 
 let it receive from another mind its truth, though 
 it were in torrents of light, without periods of soli- 
 tude, inquest, and self-recovery, and a fatal disser- 
 vice is done. Genius is alwaj's sufficiently the en- 
 emy of genius by over-influence. The literature of 
 every nation bears me \\dtness. The English dra- 
 matic poets have Shakspearized now for two hun- 
 dred years. 
 
 Undoubtedly there is a right way of reading, so 
 it be sternly subordinated. Man Thinking nuist 
 not be subdued by his instruments. Books are for 
 the scholar's idle times. When he can read God 
 directly, the hour is too precious to be wasted in 
 other men's transcripts of their readings. But 
 when the intervals of darkness come, as come they 
 must, — when the sim is hid and the stai'S with- 
 draw their shining, — we repair to the lamps 
 which were kindled by their ray, to giiide our steps 
 to the East ag-ain, where the dawn is. We hear, 
 
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 93 
 
 that we may speak. The Arabian proverb says, " A 
 fig tree, looking on a fig tree, becometh fruitful." 
 
 It is remarkable, the character of the pleasure 
 we derive from the best books. They impress us 
 with the conviction that one nature wrote and the 
 same reads. AVe read the verses of one of the 
 great English poets, of Chaucer, of Marvell, of 
 Dryden, with the most modern joy, — with a pleas- 
 ure, I mean, which is in gi-eat part caused by 
 the abstraction of all time from their verses. There 
 is some awe mixed with the joy of our surj)rise, 
 when this poet, who lived in some past world, two 
 or three hundred years ago, says that which lies 
 close to my own soul, that which I also had well- 
 nigh thought and said. But for the evidence thence 
 afforded to the philosophical doctrine of the iden- 
 tity of all minds, we should suppose some preestab- 
 lished harmony, some foresight of souls that were 
 to be, and some preparation of stores for their fu- 
 ture wants, like the fact observed in insects, who lay 
 up food before death for the young giub they shall 
 never see. 
 
 I would not be hurried by any love of system, by 
 any exaggeration of instincts, to underrate the 
 Book. We all know, that as the human body can 
 be nourished on any food, though it were boiled 
 grass and the broth of shoes, so the human mind 
 can be fed by any knowledge. And great and 
 
iU THE AMF.IUCAN SCHOLAR. 
 
 heroic men have existed who had ahnost no other 
 iufovmatiou than by tlie printed page. I only 
 V ouhl say tliat it needs a strong- head to bear that 
 diet. One ninst be mi inventor to read well. As 
 the proverb says, " He tliat would bring home the 
 N\ ealth of the Indies, nnist carry out the wealth of 
 tlio Indies." There is then creative reading as well 
 as creative writing. When the mind is braced by 
 labor and invention, the page of whatever book 
 we read becomes luminous with manifold allusion. 
 Every sentence is doubly signilicant, and the sense 
 of our author is as broad ais tlie world. We then 
 see, what is alwap true, that as the seer's horn- of 
 vision is short and rare among heavy days and 
 months, so is its record, perchance, the least part 
 of his volume. The discerning will read, in his 
 Plato or Shakspeare, only that least part, — only 
 the authentic utterances of the oracle : — all the 
 rest he rejects, were it i\cvcr so many times Plato's 
 and Shakspeare's. 
 
 Of course theiv is a portion of reading quite indis- 
 pensable to a wise man. History and exact science 
 he must learn bv laborious readino-. Colleges, in like 
 manner, have their iudispens;ible oftice, - — to teach 
 elements. But thev can onlv hiirlilv serve us when 
 they aim not to driU, but to create ; when they 
 Leather from far everv rav of various genius to tlieir 
 hospitable halLs, and by the concentrated fiivs, set 
 
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 95 
 
 the hearts of their youth on flame. Thought and 
 knowledge are natures in which apparatus and pre- 
 tension avail nothing. Gowns and pecuniary foun- 
 dations, though of towns of gold, can never counter- 
 vail the least sentence or syllaljle of wit. Forget this, 
 and our American colleges will recede in their pub- 
 lic importance, whilst they grow richer every year. 
 
 III. There goes in the world a notion that the 
 scholar should be a recluse, a valetudinarian, — as 
 unfit for any handiwork or public labor as a pen- 
 knife for an axe. The so-caUed " practical men " 
 sneer at speculative men, as if, because they specu- 
 late or see, they could do nothing. I have heard it 
 said that the clergy, — who are always, more uni- 
 versally than any other class, the scholars of their 
 day, — are addressed as women ; that the rough, 
 spontaneous conversation of men they do not hear, 
 but only a mincing and diluted speech. They are 
 often virtually disfranchised ; and indeed there are 
 advocates for their celibacy. As far as this is time 
 of the studious classes, it is not just and wise. Ac- 
 tion is with the scholar subordinate, but it is essen- 
 tial. Without it he is not yet man. Without it 
 thought can never ripen into truth. Wliilst the 
 world hangs before the eye as a cloud of beauty, we. 
 cannot even see its beauty. Inaction is cowardice, 
 but there can be no scholar without the heroic 
 
 a 
 
OC) THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 
 
 iiund. The proamble of thought, the transition 
 through whieli it passes from the unconscious to the 
 conscioiis, is action. Only so much do I know, as 
 I have livoil. Instantly we know whose words are 
 loaded with life, and M'hose not. 
 
 The world, — this shadow of the soul, or other me, 
 lies wide aroiind. Its attractions are the keys 
 which unlock my thoughts and make me acquainted 
 with myself. I run eagerly into this resounding 
 tumult. I grasp the hands of those next me, and 
 take my place in the ring to suffer and to work, 
 taught by an instinct that so shall the dumb abyss 
 be vocal with speech. I pierce its order ; I dissi- 
 pate its fear ; I dispose of it within the circuit of 
 my expanding life. So much oidy of life as I know 
 by expeiienee, so much of the wilderness have I 
 vanquished and planted, or so far have I extended 
 my being, my dominion. I do not see how any man 
 can afford, for the sake of his nerves and his nap, 
 to spare any action in which he can partake. It is 
 pearls and rubies to his discourse. Drudgery, ca- 
 lamity, exasperation, want, are instructors in elo- 
 quence and wisdom. The true scholar grudges 
 every opportunity of action past by, as a loss of 
 power. 
 
 It is the raw material out of which the intellect 
 moulds her splendid products. A strange process 
 too, this by which experience is converted into 
 
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR, 97 
 
 thought, as a mulberry leaf is converted into satin. 
 The manufacture goes forward at all hours. 
 
 The actions and events of our childhood and youth 
 are now matters of calmest observation. They lie 
 like fair pictures in the air. Not so with our re- 
 cent actions, — with the business which we now have 
 in hand. On this we are quite unable to speculate. 
 Our affections as yet circulate through it. We no 
 more feel or know it than we feel the feet, or the 
 hand, or the brain of our body. The new deed is 
 yet a part of life, — remains for a time immersed 
 in our unconscious life. In some contemplative 
 hour it detaches itself from the life like a ripe fruit, 
 to become a thought of the mind. Instantly it is 
 raised, transfigxired ; the corruptible has put on in- 
 corruption. Henceforth it Ls an object of beauty, 
 however base its origin and neighborhood. Ob- 
 serve too the impossibility of antedating this act. 
 In its grub state, it cannot fly, it cannot shine, it is 
 a dull grub. But suddenly, without observation, 
 the selfsame thing unfurls beautiful wings, and is 
 an angel of wisdom. So is there no fact, no event, 
 in our private history, which sliall not, sooner or 
 later, lose its adhesive, inert form, and astonish us 
 by soaring from our body into the empyrean. Cra- 
 dle and infancy, school and playground, the fear of 
 boys, and dogs, and ferules, the love of little maids 
 and berries, and many another fact that once filled 
 
 VOL. I. 7 
 
08 THE AMKIUCAS SCHOLAR. 
 
 the whole sky, ai'e goiio alveaily ; friend and rehi- 
 tive, pi'ofession and party, town and eonntiy, nation 
 and wovhl, must also soar and sinsi*. 
 
 Of eourse, ho who has p\it forth his total strength 
 in fit actions has the richest return of wisdom. I 
 will not shut myself out of this globe of action, and 
 transplant an oak into a ilower-pot, there to hunger 
 anil pine ; nor trust the revenue of some single 
 faculty, and exhaust one vein of thought, much 
 like those Savoyards, who, getting their livelihood 
 by ear^^ng shepherds, shepheidesses, and smoking 
 Dutchmen, for all Europe, went out one day to the 
 nxountain to find stock, and discovereil that they 
 had whittled up the last of their pine-trees. Au- 
 thors we have, in mm^bers, who have written out 
 their vein, and who, moved by a commendable pru- 
 dence, sail for Gi'eece or Palestine, follow the trap- 
 per into the prairie, or ramble round Algiers, to 
 replenish their meivhantable stock. 
 
 If it were only for a vocabxdary, the scholar 
 would be covetous of action. Life is our diction- 
 ary. Years ai*e well spent in country label's ; in 
 town : in the insight into trades and manufactures ; 
 in frank intercoui*se with many men ard women ; 
 in science ; in art ; to the one end of masterino- in 
 all their facts a language bv which to illustrate 
 and embody our peiveptions. I learn immediately 
 fivm any speaker how much he has already lived. 
 
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 99 
 
 through the poverty or the splendor of his speech. 
 Life lies behind us as the quarry from whence we 
 get tiles and copestones for the masonry of to-day. 
 This is the way to learn grammar. Colleges and 
 hooks only copy the language which the field and 
 the work-yard made. 
 
 But the final value of action, like that of books, 
 and better than books, is that it is a resource. 
 That great principle of Undulation in nature, that 
 shows itself in the inspiring and expiring of the 
 breath ; in desire and satiety ; in the ebb and flow 
 of the sea; in day and night; in heat and cold; 
 and, as yet more deeply ingi-ained in every atom 
 and every fluid, is known to us under the name of 
 Polarity, — these " fits of easy transmission and 
 reflection," as Newton called them, — are the law 
 of nature because they are the law of spirit. 
 
 The mind now thinks, now acts, and each fit re- 
 produces the other. When the artist has exhausted 
 his materials, when the fancy no longer paints, 
 when thoughts are no longer apprehended and 
 books are a weariness, — he has always the re- 
 source to live. Character is higher than intellect. 
 Thinking is the function. Living is the function- 
 ary. The stream retreats to its source. A gi-eat 
 soul will be strong to live, as well as strong to 
 think. Does he lack organ or medium to impart 
 his truth ? He can still fall back on this elemen- 
 
/ 
 
 100 THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 
 
 tfil force of liviii"' them. This is a total act. 
 Thinking is a partial act. Let the grandeur of 
 justice shine in his affairs. Let the beauty of af- 
 fection cheer his lowly roof. Those " far from 
 fame," who dwell and act with him, will feel the 
 force of his constitution in the doings and passages 
 of the day better than it can be measured by any 
 public and designed display. Time shall teach him 
 that the scholar loses no hour which the man lives. 
 Herein he unfolds the sacred germ of his instinct, 
 screened from influence. What is lost in seemli- 
 ness is gained in strength. Not out of those on 
 whom systems of education have exhausted their 
 culture, comes the helpful giant to destroy the old 
 or to build the new, but out of unhandselled sav- 
 age nature ; out of terrible Druids and Berserkers 
 come at last Alfred and Shakspeare. 
 
 I hear therefore with, joy whatever is beginning 
 to be said of the dignity and necessity of labor to 
 every citizen. There is virtue yet in the hoe and the 
 spade, for learned as well as for unlearned hands. 
 And labor is everywhere welcome ; always we are 
 invited to work ; only be this limitation observed, 
 that a man shall not for the sake of wider activ- 
 ity sacrifice any opinion to the popular judgments 
 and modes of action. 
 
 I have now spoken of the education of the 
 
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 101 
 
 scholar by nature, by books, and by action. It re- 
 mains to say soniewliat of his duties. 
 
 They are such as become Man Thinking. They 
 may all be comprised in self-trust. The office of 
 the scholar is to cheer, to raise, and to guide men ^ 
 by showing them facts amidst appearances. He 
 plies the slow, unhonored, and unpaid task of ob- 
 servation. Flamsteed and Herschel, in their 
 glazed observatories, may catalogue the stars with . 
 the praise of all men, and the results being si^len- 
 did and usefid, honor is sure. But he, in his pri- 
 vate observatory, cataloguing obscure and nebulous 
 stars of the human mind, which as yet no man has 
 thought of as such, — watching days and months 
 sometimes for a few facts ; correcting still his old 
 records ; — must relinquish display and immediate 
 fame. In the long period of his preparation he 
 must betray often an ignorance and shiftlessness in 
 popular arts, incurring the disdain of the able who 
 shoulder him aside. Long'he must stammer in his 
 speech ; often forego the living for the dead. 
 Worse yet, he must accept, — how often ! poverty 
 and solitude.^ For the ease and pleasure of tread- 
 ing the old road, accepting the fashions, the educa- 
 tion, the religion of society, he takes the cross of 
 making his own, and, of course, the self-accusation, 
 the faint heart, the frequent uncertainty and loss 
 of time, which are the nettles and tangling vines in 
 
102 THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 
 
 tlio way of the self-relying and self-directed; and 
 the state of virtnal hostility in which he seems to 
 stand to society, and especially to edncated society. 
 For all this loss and scorn, what offset? lie is to 
 find consolation in exercising the highest functions 
 of hnnian natnre. ITc is one who raises himself 
 from j)rivate considerations and breathes and lives 
 on public and Illustrious thoughts, lie is the 
 world's eye. 1 Ic is the world's heart. lie is to re- 
 sist the vulgar prosperity that reti-ogrades ever to 
 barbarism, by preserving and communicating heroic 
 sentiments, noble biographies, melodious verse, and 
 the conclusions of hlstmy. AVhatsoevcr oracles 
 the human heart, in all emergencies, in all solemn 
 hours, has uttered as its commentary on the world 
 of actions, — these he shall receive and impart. 
 And whatsoever new vei'dict Reason from her in- 
 violable seat pronounces on the passing men and 
 events of to-day, — this he shall hear and promul- 
 gate. 
 
 These being his functions, it becomes him to feel 
 all contidence in himself, and to defer never to the 
 po]»ular ciy. lie and he only knows the world. 
 The world of any moment is the merest appearance. 
 Some great decorum, some fetish of a government, 
 some ephemeral trade, or war, or man, is cried Tip 
 by half mankind and cried down by the other half, 
 as if all depended on this particular up or down. 
 
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. lO^" 
 
 The odds are that the whole question is not worth 
 the poorest thought which the scholar has lost in 
 listening to the controversy. Let him not quit his 
 belief that a popgun is a popgun, though the ancient 
 and honoral)lc of" the earth afifirm it to be the crack 
 of doom. In silence, in steadiness, in severe ab- 
 straction, let him hold by himself ; add observation 
 to observation, patient of neglect, patient of re- 
 proach, and bide his own time, — hajipy enough if 
 he can satisfy himself alone that this day he has 
 seen something truly. Success treads on every right 
 step. For the instinct is sure, that prompts him to 
 tell his brother what he thinks. lie then learns 
 that in going down into the secrets of his own mind 
 he has descended into the secrets of all minds, i le 
 learns that he who has mastered any law in his pri- 
 vate thoughts, is master to that extent of all men 
 whose language he speaks, and of all into whose 
 language his own can be translated. The poet, in 
 utter solitude remembering his spontaneous thoughts 
 and recording them, is found to have recorded that 
 which men in crowded cities find true for them also. 
 The orator distrusts at first the fitness of his frank 
 confessions, his want of knowledge of the persons 
 he addresses, until he finds that he is the comple- 
 ment of his hearers ; — that they drink his words 
 because he fulfils for them their own nature ; the 
 deeper he dives into his privatest, secretest pre- 
 
104 TllK AMi:iilCA.\ SCllOl.AH. 
 
 st»nti»UMit, to his wondrr ho I'lnils (Ins is tho most 
 lUHH^ptaUhN most puhlii', ami univorsally tnu>. Tho 
 pooph^ th^Uii'ht ill it: tho hottor jvirt of every man 
 fools. This is my miisio ; this is mysolf. 
 
 Ill st^lf-tnist all tlu> virtuos aro oompit>lioiuloil. 
 l''rot> shoiiUl {\\o solu>lar bo, — froo aiul bravo. Fitn^ 
 tMoii to tlu> (h^linition t>f fiooilom, " without any 
 hiiulranoo tliat iloos not arise ont of his own oonsti- 
 tiition." lUavo; ft>r foar is a thiiiii' whioh a soholar 
 by his voiv fiiuotion puts lH>liiiul him. Foar always 
 spriiiii's from ijiiioranoo. It is a shame to him if his 
 traiupiillity, ami»l ilaiii^orous times, arise from the 
 pivsnmption that like ohiKlren ami women his is 
 a pri>toetod ohiss ; i>r if ho seek a toiiiporary poaeo 
 by tho ili version i>f his thony,hts from pt>litios or 
 vexoil ipiostions, hiilin<;- his head likt* an ostrioh 
 in tho tloworing' bushes, pooping" into miori>soopos, 
 aiul tiunlni; rhymes, as a bov whistles to keep his 
 i'oma«iV np. 80 is tlio dani;xn" a ihinuor still : si> is 
 tho foar worse. Manlike lot him tnrn ami faoe it. 
 Let him look into its eye ami soareh its natmv, in- 
 speot its ori>;in, — see the wliolpin«i' of this lion, — 
 whioli lies no i:reat wav baok ; he will tJien timl iu 
 himself a porfoet eompivhonsion of its natnit> and 
 extent; ho will have made his hands inoet on the 
 other side, and oan henoeforth defy it and pass on 
 sn^vrior. The world is his who oan see throiiiih its 
 pivtension. ^^'hat deafness, what stone-blinil ens- 
 
THE AMKiaCAN HCIIOLAli. 105 
 
 torn, what overgrown (irror you holiolfl i'h thore only 
 by 8uff(;ranco, — Ijy your KuffV-ranco. See it tf> be a 
 lie, and you hav<j already dealt it itH mortal blow. 
 
 YeH, we are the eowe<l, — we the truHtlesH. It is 
 a miHchievouH notion that we are i'Mxmt hiUt into unr 
 ture ; that the world waw finished a long time ago. 
 Ah the world was pbistie and fluid in the handH of 
 God, 8o it is ever t^> «o mueh of hin attributes as we 
 Vning to it. To ignoranwi and sin, it is flint. They 
 a<lapt themselveH to it as they may; but in propor- 
 tion as a man yms any thing in him divine, the fir- 
 mament flows before him and takes his signet and 
 form. Not he is great who can alter matter, but 
 he who can alter my state of mind. They are the 
 kings of the world who give the eolor of their pres- 
 ent thought t<^> all nature and all art, and persua^le 
 men by the eheerful serenity of their carrying the 
 miitter, tliat this thing which they do is the apple 
 which the ages have desired to pluck, now at last 
 ripe, and inviting nations to the harvest. 'I'he great 
 man makes the great thing. Wherever Ma/;donald 
 sits, there is the head of the table. Linnaeus makes 
 botany the most alluring of studies, and wins it from 
 the farmer and the herb-woman ; Davy, chemistry; 
 and Cuvier, fossils. The day is always his who 
 works in it with serenity and great aims. The un- 
 stable estimat^is of men crowd t^j him whose mind 
 is filled with a tnith, as the heaped waves of the 
 Atlantic follow the moon. 
 
106 THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 
 
 For this self-trust, the reason is deeper than can 
 be fathomed, — darker than can be enlightened. 
 I might not carry with me the feeling of my au- 
 dience in stating my own belief. But I have al- 
 ready shown the ground of my hope, in adverting 
 to the doctrine that man is one. I believe man has 
 been wronged ; he has wronged himself. He has 
 almost lost the light that can lead him back to his 
 prerogatives. Men are become of no account. Men 
 in history, men in the world of to-day, are bugs, are 
 spawTi, and are called " the mass " and " the herd." 
 In a century, in a millennium, one or two men ; 
 that is to say, one or two approximations to the 
 right state of every man. All the rest behold in 
 the hero or the poet their own green and crude 
 being, — ripened ; yes, and are content to be less, 
 so that may attain to its full statm-e. What a testi- 
 mony, full of grandeur, full of pity, is borne to the 
 demands of his own nature, by the poor clansman, 
 the poor partisan, who rejoices in the glory of liis 
 chief. The poor and the low find some amends to 
 their immense moral capacity, for their acquies- 
 cence in a political and social inferiority. They 
 are content to be brushed like flies from the path 
 of a great person, so that justice shall be done by 
 him to that common nature which it is the dearest 
 desire of all to see enlarged and glorified. They 
 sun themselves in the great man's light, and feel it 
 
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 107 
 
 to be their own element. They cast the dignity of 
 man from their downtrod selves upon the shoulders 
 of a hero, and will perish to add one drop of blood 
 to make that great heart beat, those giant sinews 
 combat and conquer. He lives for us, and we live 
 in him. 
 
 Men such as they are, very naturally seek money 
 or power ; and power because it is as good as money, 
 — the " spoils," so called, " of office." And why 
 not? for they aspire to the highest, and this, in 
 their sleep-walking, they dream is highest. Wake 
 them and they shall qidt the false good and leap to 
 the true, and leave governments to clerks and desks. 
 Tliis revolution is to be wrought by the gradual do- 
 mestication of the idea of Culture. The main en- 
 terprise of the world for splendor, for extent, is the 
 upbuilding of a man. Here are the materials 
 strewn along the ground. The private life of one 
 man shall be a more illustrious monarchy, more 
 formidable to its enemy, more sweet and serene in 
 its influence to its friend, than any kingdom in his- 
 tory. For a man, rightly viewed, comprehendeth 
 the particular natures of all men. Each philoso- 
 pher, each bard, each actor has only done for me, 
 as by a delegate, what one day I can do for myself. 
 The books which once we valued more than the 
 apple of the eye, we have quite exliausted. What 
 is that but saying that we have come up with the 
 
108 THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 
 
 point of view which the universal mind took thi-ongh 
 the eyes of one scribe ; we liave been that man, aiul 
 have passed on. First, one, then another, we drain 
 all cisterns, and waxing greater by all these sn^v 
 plies, we oi*ave a better and more abundant food. 
 The man has never lived that can feed us ever. 
 The human mind cannot be enshrined in a person 
 who shall set a barrier on any one side to this un- 
 bounded, unboiuidable empire. It is one central 
 fire, which, tiamiug now out of the lips of Etna, light- 
 ens the capes of Sicily, and now out of the throat 
 of Vesuvius, illuminates the towers and ^dnevards 
 of Naples. It is one light which beams out of a 
 thousand stars. It is one soid which animates 
 all men. 
 
 But I have dwelt perhaps tediously upon this ab- 
 straction of the Scholar. I ought not to delay 
 longer to add what I have to say of nearer i-ef ei-ence 
 to the time and to this country. 
 
 Historically, thei-e is thought to be a diffei-ence 
 in the ideas which pi-edominate over successive 
 epochs, and thei-e ai-e data for marking the genius 
 of the Classic, of the Komantic, and now of the Ke- 
 flective or Philosophical ag"e. With the views I 
 have intunated of the oneness or the identity of the 
 mind through all individuals, I do not much dwell 
 on these dilfeivnces. In fact, I believe each indi- 
 
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 109 
 
 vidual passes through all three. The boy is a Greek ; 
 the youth, romantic ; the adult, reflective. I deny 
 not however that a revolution in the leading idea 
 may be distinctly enough traced. 
 
 Our age is bewailed as the age of Introversion. 
 Must that needs be evil? We, it seems, are crit- 
 ical ; we are embarrassed with second thoughts ; we 
 cannot enjoy any thing for hankering to know 
 wdiereof the pleasure consists ; we are lined wdth 
 eyes ; we see with our feet ; the time is infected 
 with Hamlet's unhappiness, — 
 
 " Sicklied o'er with the pale east of thought." 
 
 It is so bad then ? Sight is the last thing to be 
 pitied. Would we be blind ? Do we fear lest we 
 should outsee nature and God, and drink truth 
 dry? I look upon the discontent of the literary 
 class as a mere announcement of the fact that they 
 find themselves not in the state of mind of their 
 fathers, and regret the coming state as untried ; as 
 a boy dreads the water before he has learned that 
 he can swim. If there is any period one would de- 
 sire to be born in, is it not the age of Revolution ; 
 when the old and the new stand side by side and 
 admit of being compared ; when the energies of all 
 men are searched by fear and by hope ; when the 
 historic glories of the old can be compensated by 
 the rich possibilities of the new era ? This time, 
 
110 Tut: a-ur/.v'(M.v srnoi.Ait. 
 
 lllvo nil timos, is n vtM-y ji'otul o\u\ it" wo but know 
 whni l(< (1*> with it. 
 
 1 I'oail with somo joy of tho imspioious siij,'us of 
 tho (Oiniiii;- iluvs, as tht\v ulinunor aln»:ulv tln'oui^h 
 juu^trv iviul art, thioui^h [ihilosoi)hY :uul simoiu-o, 
 ihrouiih t'luirrh ami stat»\ 
 
 (^lu* oi tlu^so si«i'j>s is tin* f:u'i thai tho snmo 
 iuoviMmM\t whii'h t^tYootoil tho olovation oi what was 
 i*alh'(l i\\c lowi^st class in the stato, assnuunl in lit- 
 lU'aturo a \(M'v ni:>.rUoil anil as luMiii^n an aspoct. 
 Instoatl »»t" tht> snhlinu* aiul hoantifnl, tho noar, tho 
 low, tho oomnion, was t^xploroil anil j>iH>ti/oil. That 
 whioh hail boon nonlis;ontly troihlon inulor foot by 
 thoso who wiMO havnossing' anil provisionini^' thoni- 
 solvos fi>r loi\<;' jinivnoys ii\to far I'ountrios, is sntl- 
 ilonly fonml to bo riohor than all foiviun parts. 
 Tho litoratnrt» o( tho poor, tho fiH>lin<;s of tho I'hilil, 
 (ho philosophy of tho stivot, tho moaning- of honst^ 
 hold lifo, avt> tho topios of tho tinu\ It is a ii'voat 
 strido. It is a si<>'n, — is it not? oi now viii\>r 
 whon tho oxtroniitios aro niailo aotivo, whon oni*- 
 ronts of warm lifo vnn into tho hands ami tho foot. 
 I ask not for tho i;roat, tho rotnoto, tho ri>mantio ; 
 what is doiny," in Italy or Arabia ; what is (uvok 
 art, or rrovoni;al minstivlsy ; 1 ombraoo tho com- 
 mon. 1 oxploro and sit at tho foot of tho familiar, 
 tho low. (uvo mo insight into tiMlay, and you 
 may havo tho antiqno and fntniv worlds. What 
 
THE AMJ:IUC'AN sen OLA IL 111 
 
 woiilrl w<; r«;aJly know tlic nuianiug of ? 'I'fKi rnf;al 
 in tliij firkin ; tfi<; i/iiJk in th<; pan ; th<; l>albi<l in 
 ihii ¥>ivi'Mt ; i\ui newH of tli/j boat ; ttuj gkn/j^; of th<i 
 ey<} ; tlir; forni and ilm gait of tiwj body ; — kIitjw 
 rn<; tlio ultimate reanon of th/jwj maXtam ; 81k>w nitj 
 tlifi Hublinjo i>r(iiHin('Ai of tiie higlient Hpiritual <;aui><i 
 lurking, an alwayK it d^>eK lurk, in tli^jse KuJiurl^s 
 and extremities of nature; Ifjt me aaa avury tniUi 
 bri-stling with tlm polarity tliat ranges it iristantly 
 on an <;t<;rnal kw : and the shop, tlwi ploTigh, and 
 the hi<lger refene<l U> tlwj i'tka nniMih by whu;h light 
 uudulat<is and jK>etH wing ; — and the worhl lies no 
 longer a dull miwjellany anrl lumber-room, but lias 
 form and ord<;r ; tlujre m no tniia, tlicre in no pu;^ 
 zle, but one design unitfjs ami animators the far- 
 thest pinna<:hi and the lowest tmimlu 
 
 This idea lias inspir<}<l tliifj geniuii of Goldsmith, 
 Bums, Cowper, an<l, in a newer time, of Gr>ethe, 
 \\Vjrdsworth, and Carlyhi. 1"hi« uhiH they liave 
 diffVjrently follow<j<l and with various HUfj-Jim. In 
 rx^ntrast with their writing, the styhj of l*o\Hi, (d 
 Johns^jn, of Ciibbon, looks ex>I/l and ixabmt'uu 
 Tbirt writing is bhxxl-warm. Man Is sur^irlsefl to 
 find tliat things near are iu)t htm beautiful and 
 wondrous than things remot<^ The near explains 
 the far. The drop is a small oc^;an. A man in 
 relate^l to all nature. This pjrf^iption of the worth 
 of the vulgar is fruitful in db>fx>veries. Goetli/:;, in 
 
112 THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 
 
 tliis very thing the most modern of the modems, 
 has shown us, as none ever did, the genius of the 
 ancients. 
 
 There is one man of genius who has done much 
 for this philosophy of life, whose literary value has 
 never yet been rightly estimated ; — I mean Eman- 
 uel Swedenborg. The most imaginative of men, 
 yet writing with the precision of a mathematician, 
 he endeavored to engraft a purely philosophical 
 Ethics on the popular Clu'istianity of his time. 
 Such an attempt of course must have difficulty 
 which no genius could surmount. But he saw and 
 showed the connection between nature and the af- 
 fections of the soul. He pierced the emblematic 
 or spiritual character of the visible, audible, tangi- 
 ble world. Especially did his shade-loving muse 
 hover over and interpret the lower parts of nature ; 
 he showed the mysterious bond that allies moral 
 evil to the foul material forms, and has given in 
 epical parables a theory of insanity, of beasts, of 
 unclean and fearful things. 
 
 Another sign of our times, also marked by an 
 analogous political movement, is the new impor- 
 tance given to the single person. Every thing that 
 tends to insulate the individual, — to surround him 
 with barriers of natural respect, so that each man 
 shall feel the world is his, and man shall treat with 
 man as a sovereign state with a sovereign state, 
 
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 113 
 
 — tends to true union as well as greatness, " I 
 learned," said the melancholy Pestalozzi, " that no 
 man in God's wide earth is either willing or able to 
 help any other man." Help must come from the 
 bosom alone. The scholar is that man who must 
 take up into liimself all the ability of the time, all 
 the contributions of the past, all the hopes of the 
 future. He must be an university of knowledges. 
 If there be one lesson more than another which 
 should pierce his ear, it is, The world is nothing, 
 the man is all ; in yourself is the law of all na- 
 ture, and you know not yet how a globule of sap 
 ascends ; in yourself slumbers the whole of Rea- 
 son ; it is for you to know all ; it is for you to dare 
 all. Mr. President and Gentlemen, this confi- 
 dence in the misearched might of man belongs, by 
 all motives, by all prophecy, by all preparation, 
 to the American Scholar. We have listened too 
 long to the courtly muses of Europe. The spirit 
 of the American freeman is already suspected to 
 be timid, imitative, tame. Public and private ava- 
 rice make the air we breathe tliick and fat. The 
 scholar is decent, indolent, complaisant. See al- 
 ready the tragic consequence. The mind of this 
 country, taught to aim at low objects, eats upon it- 
 self. There is no work for any but the decorous 
 and the complaisant. Young men of the fairest 
 promise, who begin life upon our shores, inflated 
 
 VOL. I. 8 
 
114 THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 
 
 l\y the momitain winds, sliinod upon by all the stars 
 of Goil, find the earth below not in iuiist)n with 
 these, bnt are hindered from action by the disgnst 
 whii'h the principles on whii'li bnsiness is man- 
 aged inspire, and turn drmlges, or die of disgust, 
 some of them suicides. \\ hat is the remedy ? 
 They did not yet see, and thousands of young' men 
 as ho|)eful now crowding to the barriers for the 
 career do not yet see, that if the single man plant 
 himself indomitably on his instincts, and there 
 abide, the huge world will come round to him. 
 Patience, — patience ; with the shades of all the 
 good and great for company ; and for solace the 
 perspective of your own infinite life ; and for work 
 the study and the comnumieation of principles, 
 the making those instincts prevalent, the conver- 
 sion of the world. Is it not the chief disgrace 
 in the world, not to be an unit ; — not to be reck- 
 oned one character ; — not to yield that peculiar 
 fruit which each man was created to bear, but to 
 be reckoned in the gross, in the himdi'ed, or the 
 thousand, of the party, the section, to which we be- 
 long ; and our opinion predicted geographically, as 
 the north, or the south ? Not so, brothers and 
 friends, — please God, ours shall not be so. We 
 will walk on oui- own feet ; we will work with our 
 own hands ; wo will speak our own minds. The 
 study of letters shall be no longer a name for pity, 
 
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 115 
 
 for doubt, and for sensual indulgence. The dread 
 of man and the love of man shall be a wall of de- 
 fence and a wreath of joy around aU. A nation of 
 men will for the first time exist, because each be- 
 lieves himself inspired by the Divine Soul which 
 also inspires all men. 
 
AX ADDRESS 
 
 JjELlVEJiED BHFOKK THJJ SKMOU CLASS IK DIVIKITY COLLE/dE, 
 ' CAMJ}K11k;K, SI3JL*a1' EVEKIiO, JULY L5, lii3». 
 
ADDRESS. 
 
 In this refulgent summer, it has been a luxury 
 to draw the breath of life. The grass grows, the 
 buds burst, the meadow is spotted with fire and 
 gold in the tint of flowers. The air is full of birds, 
 and sweet with the breath of the pine, the balm-of- 
 Gilead, and the new hay. Night brings no gloom 
 to the heart with its welcome shade. Throuoh the 
 transparent darkness the stars pour their almost 
 spiritual rays. Man under them seems a young 
 child, and his huge globe a toy. The cool night 
 bathes the world as with a river, and prejjares his 
 eyes again for the crimson dawn. The mystery of 
 nature was never displayed more happily. The 
 corn and the wine have been freely dealt to all 
 creatures, and the never-broken silence with which 
 the old bounty goes forward has not jaelded yet 
 one word of explanation. One is constrained to 
 respect the perfection of this world in wliich oiu' 
 senses converse. How wide ; how rich ; what in\d- 
 tation from every property it gives to every faculty 
 of man ! In its fruitful soils ; in its navigable sea ; 
 
120 ADDRESS. 
 
 in its mountains of metal and stone ; in its forests 
 of all woods ; in its animals ; in its chemical ingre- 
 dients ; in tlie powers and patli of light, heat, at- 
 traction and life, it is well worth the pith and 
 heart of great men to subdue and enjoy it. The 
 planters, the mechanics, the inventors, the astrono- 
 mers, the builders of cities, and the captains, his- 
 tory delights to honor. 
 
 But when the mind opens and reveals the laws 
 which traverse the universe and make things what 
 they are, then shrinks the great world at once into 
 a mere illustration and fable of this mind. What 
 am I ? and What is ? asks the hiunan spirit with a 
 curiosity new-kindled, but never to be quenched. 
 Behold these outrunning laws, which our imperfect 
 apprehension can see tend this way and that, but 
 not come fidl circle. Behold these infinite rela- 
 tions, so like, so unlUce ; many, yet one. I would 
 study, I woidd know, I would admire forever. 
 These works of thought have been the entertain- 
 ments of the hiunan spirit in all ages. 
 
 A more secret, sweet, and overpowering beauty 
 appears to man when his heart and mind open to 
 the sentiment of virtue. Then he is mstructed in 
 what is above him. He learns that his being is 
 without bound ; that to the good, to the perfect, he 
 is born, low as he now lies in evU. and weakness. 
 That which he venerates is still his own, though he 
 
ADDRESS. 121 
 
 has not realized it yet. He ought. He loiows the 
 sense of that grand word, though his analysis fails 
 to render account of it. When in innocency or 
 when by intellectual perception he attains to say, — 
 " I love the Eight ; Truth is beautif id within and 
 without forevermore. Virtue, I am thine ; save 
 me ; use me ; thee will I serve, day and night, in 
 great, in small, that I may be not virtuous, but vir- 
 tue ; " — then is the end of the creation answered, 
 and God is well pleased. 
 
 The sentiment of virtue is a reverence and de- 
 light in the presence of certain di\ane laws. It per- 
 ceives that this homely game of life we play, covers, 
 under what seem foolish details, principles that as- 
 tonish. The child amidst his baubles is learning 
 the action of light, motion, gravity, muscular force ; 
 and in the game of human life, love, fear, justice, 
 appetite, man, and God, interact. These laws re- 
 fuse to be adequately stated. They will not be 
 wi'itten out on paper, or spoken by the tongiie. 
 They elude om^ persevering thought ; yet we read 
 them hourly in each other's faces, in each other's ac- 
 tions, in our own remorse. The moral traits which 
 are all globed into every virtuous act and thought, 
 — in speech we must sever, and describe or suggest 
 by painful enumeration of many particulars. Yet, 
 as this sentiment is the essence of all religion, let 
 me guide your eye to the precise objects of the sen- 
 
122 ADDRESS. 
 
 timent, by an enumeration of some of those classes 
 of facts in whicli this clement is conspicuous. 
 
 The intuition of the moral sentiment is an in- 
 sight of the perfection of the laws of the soul. 
 These laws execute themselves. They are out of 
 time, out of space, and not subject to circumstance. 
 Thus in the soul of man there is a justice whose 
 retributions are instant and entire. He who does 
 a good deed is instantly ennobled. He who does 
 a mean deed is by the action itself contracted. He 
 who puts off impurity, thereby puts on purity. If 
 a man is at heart just, then in so far is he God ; 
 the safety of God, the immortality of God, the 
 majesty of God do enter into that man with justice. 
 If a man dissemble, deceive, he deceives himself, 
 and goes out of acquaintance witli his o^vn being. 
 A man in the view of absolute goodness, adores, 
 with total humility. Every step so downward, is a 
 step upward. The man who renounces himself, 
 comes to himself. 
 
 See how this rapid intrinsic energy worketh 
 everywhere, righting wrongs, correcting appear- 
 ances, and bringing up facts to a harmony with 
 thoughts. Its o})eration in life, though slow to the 
 senses, is at last as sure as in the soul. By it a 
 man is made the Providence to himself, dispensing 
 good to his goodness, and evil to his sin. Character 
 is always known. Thefts never enrich ; alms never 
 
ADDRESS. 123 
 
 inipoverisli ; murder will speak out of stone walls. 
 The least admixture of a lie, — for example, the 
 taint of vanity, any attempt to make a good impres- 
 sion, a favorable appearance, — will instantly vi- 
 tiate the effect. But speak the truth, and all na- 
 ture and all spirits help you with imexpected 
 furtherance. Speak the truth, and all things alive 
 or brute are vouchers, and the very roots of the 
 grass underground there do seem to stir and move 
 to bear you witness. See again the perfection of 
 the Law as it applies itself to the affections, and 
 becomes the law of society. As we are, so we as- 
 sociate. The good, by affinity, seek the good ; the 
 vile, by affinity, the vile. Thus of their own voli- 
 tion, soids proceed into heaven, into hell. 
 
 These facts have always suggested to man the 
 sublime creed that the world is not the product of 
 manifold power, but of one will, of one mind ; and 
 that one mind is everywhere active, in each ray of 
 the star, in each wavelet of the pool ; and what- 
 ever opposes that will is everywhere balked and 
 baffled, because things are made so, and not other- 
 wise. Good is positive. Evil is merely privative, 
 not absolute : it is like cold, which is the privation 
 of heat. All evil is so much death or nonentity. 
 Benevolence is absolute and real. So much bene- 
 volence as a man hath, so much life hath he. For 
 all things proceed out of this same spirit, which is 
 
1-24 ADDRESS. 
 
 differentl}' named lovo, justice, temporanoe, in its 
 different ai)plleations, just as the oeean receives 
 different names on the sevei'al shores whicli it 
 washes. All things proceed out of the same spirit, 
 and all things conspire with it. AA'hilst a man 
 seeks good ends, he is strong by the whole strength 
 of natui'e. In so far as he roves from these ends, 
 he bereaves himself of power, or auxiliaries ; his 
 being shrinks out of all remote channels, he be- 
 comes less and less, a mote, a point, until absolute 
 badness is absolute death. 
 
 The perception of this law of laws awakens in 
 the mind a sentiment which we call the reliiiious 
 sentiment, :uul whu-h makes our highest happiness. 
 Wonderful is its power to charm anil to com- 
 mand. It is a mountain air. It is the embalmer 
 of the world. It is myrrh antl storax, and chlorine 
 and rosemary. It makes the sky and the hills sub- 
 lime, and the silent song of the stars is it. By it 
 is the universe made safe and habitable, not by 
 science or power. Thought may work cold and in- 
 transitive in things, and tind no end or unity ; but 
 the dawn of the sentiment of \nrtue on the heart, 
 gives and is the assurance that Law is sovereign 
 over all natures ; and the worlds, time, space, eter- 
 ; nity, do seem to break out into joy. 
 
 This sentiment is divine and deifvin<r. It is 
 the beatitude of man. It makes him illimitable. 
 
ADDRESS. 125 
 
 Thiongh it, the soul first knows itself. It corrects 
 the capital mistake of the infant man, who seeks to 
 be great by following the great, and hopes to de- 
 rive advantages from another^ — by showing the 
 fountain of aU good to be in himself, and that he, 
 equally with every man, is an inlet into the deeps 
 of Reason. When he says, " I ought ; " when love 
 warms him ; when he chooses, warned from on 
 high, the good and great deed ; then, deep melodies 
 wander through his soul from Supreme Wisdom. 
 — Then he can worship, and be enlarged by his 
 worship ; for he can never go behind this senti- 
 ment. In tlie sublimest flights of the soul, recti- 
 tude is never surmounted, love is never outgrown. 
 
 This sentiment lies at the foundation of society, 
 and successively creates all forms of worship. Tlie 
 principle of veneration never dies out. Man fallen 
 into superstition, into sensuality, is never quite 
 without the visions of the moral sentiment. In like 
 manner, all the expressions of this sentiment are 
 sacred and permanent in proportion to their purity. 
 The expressions of this sentiment affect us more 
 than all other compositions. The sentences of the 
 oldest time, which ejaculate this piety, are still 
 fresh and fragrant. This thought dwelled always 
 deepest in the minds of men in the devout and con- 
 templative East; not alone in Palestine, where it 
 reached its purest expression, but in Egj^t, in 
 
Persia, in liulia, in (Miiua. l^an'ojx* has always 
 o\\{h\ Io oiitMilal y'cjiius its <livini> inipulst's. \\'liafc 
 tlu>st> ln)ly haids said, all saiu' iikmi round a^ivt>al)lo 
 and tint'. And (ln> nni(ini' inn)rt>ssioii ol" dt^sus 
 nju>n inauKind, wliost^ nan\t" is not so mnt'li wiittiMi 
 as |dounlu>d into the hist()rv ol this worKl, is [irool' 
 ol" till' sul»tlt> virtno ol' this inl'usion. 
 
 Mt*antinu>, whilst the doors i>r th(> ttMn|>h> stand 
 o[HM\, nii;ht and day, hi>l"oi'(> t^vcry nian, and tho 
 orat'K'S of tl\is tiiith coast^ n(>vor, it is «;uar(hHl by 
 on»> st Mil condition; this, nanndy ; it is an intui- 
 tion. It cannttt ho rocoivod at^ second hand. 'I'ruly 
 s|H*aUin;4\ it is not inslrni'tion, hut provocation, that 
 1 can receive iVoin another st)nl. W hat he an- 
 nounces, 1 i\uist lint! true in nu>, or r(>jeet; and on 
 his word, or as his second, he he who \\c may, 1 can 
 aeet>pt nothinj;'. ()n the I'ontrary, tlu< ahstMU'(> of 
 this prinuiry faith is the i>resenc(> of (h\«ira«hdion. 
 As is the Wood so is thi» ebb. Li't tins faith ih'part, 
 and the very wonls it spaUt» atid the thinii's it made 
 bei'onie false an<l hurtful. TIumi falls the churi'h, 
 tlu» state, art, letters, life. The tloetrlne oi tlu> 
 divine nature beini;- forpitten, a sickness infects 
 and dwarfs the constitution. ()nc(* nian was all; 
 now he is ;in appendage, a nuisance. And Ix^ 
 cause the indwidliti>i" Supvenie Spirit cannot wholly 
 be s;"ot rid (>f, the doctrim^ of it sutVers this perver- 
 sion, that Uie divine nature is attributed to one or 
 
AlfDIU'lSS. 127 
 
 two p(!rHonH, and (htnicd to all tlio roHt, and di^riicd 
 with liiiy. 'l'l»'; doctriiKs of inH|)iration Ih lost; tlic; 
 }jaH(i doctriru! of the tn.'ijoiily of voi(!OH uHiirj)H tlio 
 plafio of tluj do(;trin(! of the Honl. Mirach^H, proph- 
 oey, poetry, the ich^al lif(j, the lioly lif(!, exint aH an- 
 (jient liiHtory in(;fely ; tlx-y Jiic not in the h(tli(;f, 
 nor in the aHpiration of Ho(M<jty ; hut, when Hn\r,- 
 g(!Hted, Heem ridiculous. I>if«! in (;otnic or' j)itifid 
 as HOOD aw the hij^h <;ndH of hein;; fad(! out of Hi^^Jit, 
 and man heeomeH near-sij^hte^d, and (;an oidy at- 
 tend to what addrewHen the HenH(!B. 
 
 TheHC general viewH, which, whilKt th(!y are gen- 
 eral, non(; will <;onteHt, find abundant illuHtration in 
 the liiHtory of rtiligion, and eHjXieially in tlH; history 
 of the ('hristian (thiireh. In that, all of UH luive 
 ha<l our hiith and nurtnic TIk} truth (tontained 
 in that, you, my young fritjuds, an; now setting 
 forth to t<!;(ch. As th(t CultuH, or estahlished wor- 
 KJiip of th<; (!ivili/ed world, it haH gn^at historieal 
 intercHt for uh. Of it« IdesHed words, whi<rh hav<i 
 been the eonsolation of luMnanity, you need not 
 that I should speak. I .hall (Mideavor to discharge 
 rny duty to you on this o(;easion, hy pointing out 
 two errors in itn a<lniinistration, which dally aj)p(;ar 
 more gross from the [)oint of view we have just 
 now taken. 
 
 Jesus ("hrist Ixilonged to the true raf!C of proph- 
 ets, lie saw with open eye the niystery of the 
 
soul. nr:i\vi\ bv its soveiv hnvmonv, ravisluHl with 
 its boautv, ho livoil in it, and h;ul liis biMu*;' thoro, 
 Ahnio ill all history ho ostimatotl tho iiivatnoss of 
 man. Ouo man was tiuo to what is in y»nj ami 
 mo. Ho saw that (u>il im'arnatos himsolt" in man, 
 and OYonmnv goos t\>rth anow io takt^ possossiim 
 of his W^u'ld. llo said, in this jubiloo oi sulv. 
 limo ouuuion, * I am diviuo. Thivuii'h mo, (uhI 
 ftots; thixmgh mo, spoaks. Would you see God^ 
 soo mo ; or soo tJioo, whon thon also thiukost as I 
 ni>w think.' Hut what a distortion did his doctrine 
 and momorv sntYor in tho samo, in tho next, juul 
 tho tollowinir aiivs ! Thoiv is no dootrino of tho 
 Roas(>n whioh will hoar to ho tauiiht hv tho Undoiv 
 st^vndinsi-. Tho vmdoi'standinir oauiiht this hii;h 
 ohant i'lvm tlio poot's lips, and said, in tho noxt 
 aii'o, * This wus .lohovah oomo dow u out oi hoavon. 
 1 will kill you, it" you say ho was a man.' Tho 
 idioms of his lan^iiaiiv and tho tiiiiuvs of his 
 rhotorio havo nsnrpod tho phioo of his truth : and 
 olmrohos aiv not built on his pi-inoiplos, but on his 
 tix>pos. Christianitv btvamo a My thus, as tho pi>- 
 otio teaching of (nveco ami of Hgypt, bofoiv. llo 
 sjH^ke oi miracles ; for he folt that man's life >Yas a 
 miracle, and all that man doth, and ho knew that 
 this daily miracle sliinos as tho character ascends. 
 But the wonl Miracle, as pronoimcod by Christian 
 chnivhos, gives a false impression ; it is Monster. 
 
AnnriESS. 129 
 
 It ifi not onfi with thw blowing clover and the falling 
 rain. 
 
 iJe felt respect for Moses ami the prophets, but 
 no unfit t^indemess at postponing their initial reve- 
 lations U) the liour and the nuin tliat now is ; to the 
 eteiTial revelation in the heart. Thus was he a tnxe 
 man. Halving haan tliat th<; Liw in us is w>mniand- 
 ing, he would not suffer it \/> he Cf^rnrnanded- 
 iioldly, with liand, and heart, and life, he de^;lared 
 it was God. 'I'lius is he, as I tliink, the only soul 
 ill hist<jry who has appr<iciat<id the worth of man. 
 
 1. In tills point of view we bec^jme sensible of 
 the first defect of hist^^rical Christianity, ilistriri- 
 ical Christianity has fallen into the error tliat 
 wjrrupts all attf^mpts i/t w>mnmnicate religion. As 
 it appears to uis, and as it luas appeared for ages, 
 it is not the doctrine of the soul, Ijut an exag- 
 geration of tlie personal, the positive, the ritual. 
 It lias dwelt, it dwelbi, with noxious exaggera- 
 tion aV>out the perHon of Jesus. The soul knows 
 no persons. It invites every man to expand U) 
 the full circle of the universe, and will liave no 
 preferences Imt those of spontaneous love. But by 
 tliis eastera monarchy of a Christianity, which in- 
 dolence and fear have built, the fiiend of man is 
 made the injurer of man. The manner in which 
 his name is surroundwl with expressions which 
 were once sallies of admiration and love, but are 
 
 VOL. I. 9 
 
130 ADDRESS. 
 
 now potriiitHl into offii'iiil titlos, kills all j>onorou3 
 sympatic ami likiu>;'. All who hoar luo, fool that 
 tho langiiai;o that tloscribes Christ to Enropo ami 
 Amovica is not tho stylo ot" t'riondsliip ami outhusi- 
 asni to a good and ni>l)lo hoart, bnt is ai^propriatotl 
 ami t'onual, — paints a tlomigml, as tho OriontjUs 
 or tho (h'ooks wmihl dosovibo Osiris or Apolli>. 
 Aceopt tho injurions impositions of our early eat- 
 oohotioal instruotion, ami t>\c>n honesty and self- 
 donial wove bnt splontlid sins, if they did not woiu* 
 tho riuistian name. One wtmld rather be 
 
 " A pasjivn, siickUnl in a oitHnl oiitworn," 
 
 than to be defvanded of his manly right in eoming into 
 natnre and tiuding' not names and phu'os, not land 
 and })V(>fossions, bnt oven virtne and truth foreclosed 
 uud tuoni>polii:od. Yon shall not bo a nian even. 
 You shall not own tho world; you shall not dare 
 and live after the intinito Law that is in yuu. and 
 in eonxpany with the intuiito Beauty whioh heaven 
 and earth retloi't to you in all lovely forms ; but 
 you nuist subi)rdinato your nature to C^hrist's na- 
 tun> ; you nuist accept our intorpretiitions, and take 
 his portrait as the \iilgar draNV it. 
 
 That is alwavs best whioh gives me to mvsolf. 
 The sublime is excited in mo by tho great stoical 
 doctrine. Obey thyself. That which shows (lod in 
 me, fortitios mo. That which shows (rod out of me, 
 
ADDRESS. 131 
 
 makes me a wart and a wen. There is no longer a 
 necessary reason for my being. Already the long 
 sliadows of untimely oblivion creep over me, and 1 
 sliall decease forever. 
 
 The divine bards are the friends of my virtue, 
 of my intellect, of my strengtli. They admonish 
 me that the gleams whi(;h flash across my mind are 
 not mine, but God's ; that they liad the like, and 
 were not disobedient to the heavenly visi<jn. So I 
 love them. Noljle provocations go out from them, 
 inviting me to resist evil ; to sulxlue the world ; 
 and to Be. And thus, by his holy thoughts, Jesus 
 serves us, and thus only. To aim to convert a man 
 by miracles, is a profanation of the soul. A true 
 conversion, a true Christ, is now, as always, to be 
 made by the reception of beautiful sentiments. It 
 is true tliat a great and ri(;h soul, like his, falling 
 among the simjde, does so preponderate, that, as 
 his did, it names the world. The world seems to 
 them to exist for liim, and they have not yet drunk 
 so deeply of his sense as to see that only by coming 
 again to themselves, or to God in themselves, can 
 they grow foreverraore. It is a low benefit to give 
 me soraetliing ; it is a high benefit to enable me to 
 do somewhat of myself. The time is coming when 
 all men will see that the gift of God to the soul is 
 not a vaunting, overpowering, excluding sanctity, 
 but a sweet, natural goodness, a goodness like thine 
 
132 ADDRESS. 
 
 aiul mine, and tliat so invites thine and mine to be 
 antl to grow. 
 
 The injustice of tlie vulgar tone of preaching- is 
 not h>ss flagrant to Jesus than to the souls which it 
 profanes. The preachers do not see that they make 
 his gospel not glad, and shear him of the locks of 
 beauty and the attributes of heaven. When I see 
 a majestic Epaminondas, or Washington ; when I 
 see among" my contemporaries a true orator, an up- 
 right judge, a dear friend ; when I vibrate to the 
 melody and fancy of a poem ; I see beauty tliat is 
 to be desired. And so lovely, and with yet more 
 entire consent of my human being, sounds in my 
 ear the severe music of the bards that have sun<r of 
 tlie true God in all ages. Now do not degrade the 
 life and dialogues of Christ out of the circle of this 
 charm, by insulation and pecidiarity. Let them lie 
 as they befel, alive and warm, part of human life 
 and of the landscape and of the cheerful day. 
 
 2. The second defect of the traditionary and 
 limited way of using the mind of Christ, is a conse- 
 quence of the first ; tliis, namely ; tliat the Moral 
 Nature, that Law of laws whose revelations intro- 
 duce greatness, — yea, God himself, — into the 
 open soul, is not explored as the fountain of the es- 
 tablished teaching in society. Men have come to 
 speak of tlie revelation as somewhat long ago given 
 and done, as if God were dead. The injury to 
 
ADDRESS. 133 
 
 faith throttles the preacher ; and the goodliest of 
 institutions becomes an uncertain and inarticu- 
 late voice. 
 
 It is very certain that it is the effect of conversa- 
 tion with the beauty of the soul, to beget a desire 
 and need to impart to others the same knowledge 
 and love. If utterance is denied, the thought lies 
 like a burden on the man. Always the seer is a 
 sayer. Somehow his dream is told ; somehow he 
 puldishes it with solemn joy : sometimes with pen- 
 cil on canvas, sometimes with chisel on stone, some- 
 times in towers and aisles of granite, his soul's 
 worshij) is builded ; sometimes in anthems of in- 
 definite music ; but clearest and most permanent, 
 in words. 
 
 The man enamored of this excellency becomes its 
 priest or poet. The office is coeval with the world. 
 But observe the condition, the spiritual limitation 
 of the office. The spirit only can teach. Not any 
 profane man, not any sensual, not any liar, not any 
 slave can teach, but only he can give, v.ho has ; he 
 only can create, who is. The man on whom the 
 soul descends, through whom the soul speaks, alone 
 can teach. Courage, piety, love, wisdom, can t^ach ; 
 and every man can open his door to these angels, 
 and they shall bring him the gift of tongues. But 
 the man who aims to speak as books enable, as syn- 
 ods use, as the fashion guides, and as interest com- 
 mands, babbles. Let him hush. 
 
[?A APDliESS. 
 
 To this lu>ly offii'o you pvoposo to tlovote your- 
 solvos. 1 \visli you may fiH'l your call iu throbs of 
 desire aud hope. The oUtiee is the first in the 
 worhl. It is of that reality that it eannot suffer 
 tlie ileduetion of any falsehood. And it is my duty 
 ti^ say to you that the need was never greater of 
 new revelation than now. From the views I have 
 already expressed, you will infer the sad convic- 
 tion, whieh I share, 1 believe, with numbers, of the 
 universal decay antl now almost death of faith in 
 society. The soul is not preached. The C^hurch 
 seems to totter to its fall, almost all life extinct. 
 On this occasion, any com]daisancc wxinld be crim- 
 inal whii'h told you, whose hope and commission it 
 is to preach the faith of Christ, that the faith of 
 Christ is preached. 
 
 It is time that this ill-suppressed murnnu- of all 
 thou«;htful men aj^ainst the famine of our churches ; 
 
 — tliis moaning- of the heart because it is bereaved 
 of the consolation, the hope, the grandeur that 
 come alone out of the culture of the moral nature, 
 
 — should be heard through the sleep of indolence, 
 and over the din of routine. This great and per- 
 petual oftii'c of the preacher is not discharged. 
 Preaching is the expression o't the moral sentiment 
 in application to the duties of life. In how many 
 churches, by how many prophets, tell me, is man 
 made sensible that he is an infinite Soul ; that tlie 
 
ADDRESS. 135 
 
 earth and heavens are passinfj into his mind ; that 
 he is drinking forever the soul of God ? Whore 
 now sounds the persuasion, tliat by its very melody 
 imparadises my heart, and so affirms its own origin 
 in h(iaven? Where shall I hear words such as in 
 elder ages drew men to leave all and follow, — 
 fath(;r and mother, house and land, wife and child ? 
 Where shall I hear these august laws of moral liC- 
 ing so pronounced as to fill my ear, and I feel en- 
 nobled by the offer of my uttermost acition and pas- 
 sion ? The test of the true faith, certainly, should 
 be its power to charm and command the soul, as 
 the laws of nature control the a/;tivity of the hands, 
 — HO commanding that we find pleasure and honor 
 in obeying. The faith should blend with the light 
 of rising and of setting suns, with the flying cloud, 
 the singing bird, and the breath of flowers. But 
 now the priest's Sabbath has lost the splendor of 
 nature ; it is unlovely ; we are glad when it is done ; 
 we can make, we do make, even sitting in our 
 pews, a far better, holier, sweeter, for ourselves. 
 
 Whenever the pulpit is usurped by a formalist, 
 then is the worshipper defrauded and disconsolate. 
 We shrink as soon as the prayers begin, which do 
 not uplift, but smite and offend us. We are fain 
 to wrap our cloaks about us, and secure, as best we 
 can, a solitude that hears not. I once heard a 
 preacher who sorely temjjtcd me to say I would go 
 
laO APPIiESS. 
 
 to I'lmri'h no more. Men g"0, tlioii^lit 1, whore 
 they are wont to i;o, else hail no sonl ontorod the 
 temple in the afternoon. A snow-stonn was fall- 
 ing aronnil ns. The snow-storm was real, the 
 preaeher merely speetral, and the eye felt the sad 
 eiuitrast in looking- at him, and then out of the 
 window behind him into the beantilul meteor of 
 the snow^ lie had lived in vain, lie had no one 
 word intimating that he had laughed or wept, 
 was married or in love, had been commended, or 
 cheated, or chagrined. If he had ever lived and 
 acted, we were none the w'iser for it. The capital 
 secret of his profession, namely, to convert life 
 into trnth, he had not learned. Not one fact in 
 all his experience had he yet imported into his doc- 
 trine. This man had plonghed and planted and 
 talkeil and ln>ught and sold ; he had read books ; 
 he had eaten and drunken ; his head aches, his 
 heart throbs ; he smiles and snif ers ; yet was there 
 n(^t a snrmise, a hint, in all the discoiu'se, that he 
 had ever lived at all. Not a line did he draw ont 
 of real history. The true preacher can be known 
 by this, that he deals ont to the people his life, — 
 life passed throngh the fire of thonglit. Bnt of the 
 bad preacher, it eonld not be told from his sermon 
 what age of the wi>rld he fell in ; whether he hail a 
 father or a child ; whether he w'as a freeholder or 
 a pai\})er ; whether he was a citizen or a conntry- 
 
ADlJliJCSS. 137 
 
 man ; or any othf;r fact of his bio^apliy. It 
 seemed strange that the people shouhl come to 
 churcli. It seemed as if their houses were very un- 
 entertaining, that they should prefer this thought- 
 less clamor. It shows that there is a commanding 
 attraction in the moral sentiment, that can lend a 
 faint tint of light to dulness and ij^iiorance coming 
 in its name and place. The good hearer is sure 
 he has been touched sometimes ; is sure there is 
 somewhat to be reached, and some word that can 
 reach it. When he listens to these vain words, he 
 comforts himself by their relation to his remem- 
 brance of better hours, and so they clatter and echo 
 unchallenged. 
 
 I am not ignorant that when we preach unworth- 
 ily, it is not always quite in vain. There is a good 
 ear, in some men, that draws supplies ta virtue out 
 of very indifferent nutriment. There is poetic 
 truth concealed in all the common-places of prayer 
 and of sermons, and though foolishly spoken, they 
 may be wisely heard ; for each is some select ex- 
 pression that broke out in a moment of piety from 
 some stricken or juljilant soul, and its excellency 
 made it remembered. The prayers and even the 
 dogmas of our church are like the zodiac of Den- 
 derah and the astronomical monuments of the Hin- 
 doos, wholly insulated from anything Jiow extant in 
 the life and business of the people. They mark the 
 
138 ADDRESS. 
 
 heisfht to wliicli the waters once rose. But this do- 
 cility is a check upon the mischief from the good 
 and devout. In a large portion of the community, 
 the religious service gives rise to quite other thoughts 
 and emoticms. We need not chide the negligent 
 servant. We are struck with pity, rather, at the 
 swift retribution of his sloth. Alas for the un- 
 hai)py man that is called to stand in the pulpit, and 
 not give bread of life. Ever}i;hing that befalls, ac- 
 cuses him. Would he ask contributions for the 
 missions, foreign or domestic ? Instantly his face 
 is suffused with shame, to propose to his parish that 
 they should send money a hundred or a thousand 
 miles, to furnish such poor fare as they have at 
 home and would do well to go the hundred or the 
 thousand miles to escape. Would he urge people 
 to a godly way of living ; — and can he ask a 
 fellow-creature to come to Sabbath meetinQ:s, when 
 he and they all know what is the poor uttermost 
 they can hope for therein ? Will he invite them 
 privately to the Lord's Supper ? He dares not. If 
 no heart warm this rite, the hollow, dry, creaking 
 formality is too plain than that he can face a man 
 of wit and energy and put the in\atafcion without 
 terror. In the street, what has he to say to the 
 bold village blasphemer ? The village blasphemer 
 sees fear in the face, form, and gait of the min- 
 ister. 
 
ADDRESS. 139 
 
 Let me not taint the sincerity of tliis plea by any 
 oversight of the claims of good men. I know and 
 honor the purity and strict conscience of numbers 
 of the clergy. What life the public worship re- 
 tains, it owes to the scattered company of pious 
 men, who minister here and there in the churches, 
 and who, sometimes accepting with too great ten- 
 derness the tenet of the elders, have not accepted 
 from others, but from their own heart, the genuine 
 impulses of virtue, and so still command our love 
 and awe, to the sanctity of character. Moreover, 
 the exceptions are not so much to be found in a few 
 eminent preachers, as in the better hours, the truer 
 inspirations of all, — nay, in the sincere moments of 
 every man. But, with whatever exception, it is 
 still true that tradition characterizes the preaching 
 of this country ; that it comes out of the memory, 
 and not out of the soul; that it aims at what is 
 usual, and not at what is necessary and eternal ; 
 that thus historical Christianity destroys the power 
 of preaching, by withdrawing it from the explo- 
 ration of the moral nature of man ; where the sub- 
 lime is, where are the resources of astonishment and 
 power. What a cruel injustice it is to that Law, 
 the joy of the whole earth, which alone can make 
 thought dear and rich ; that Law whose fatal sure- 
 ness the astronomical orbits poorly emulate ; — that 
 it is travestied and depreciated, that it is behooted 
 
110 AnniiFss. 
 
 Miul bohowltnl. !U»«l wot a (r:\lt. not a woihI of It av- 
 tioulatoil. 'V\\o piilpil in losiuo- si>;lit o( (liis Law, 
 U>sos its it^isou. and >;ro|u>s attor it kn(>\vs iu>t what. 
 And tt>r want ot this I'nhnit' tho sonl ot th(» i>(>iu- 
 nmnitv is siok and taitlihvss. It wants in>tl»inii" so 
 nnu'h as a stinn, hij^h. stoical, (.'hvistiau disoiplino, 
 to i\iak(> it know its<dt' ixwd tho divinity that sju^aks 
 thnmjih it. Now man is aslianiod o( hinisidl' ; ho 
 sknlks and snoaUs thvi>U};li tho work!. \o W' ti>kM-at(ul, 
 to ho pitioik an»l soaividv in a thousand yoars thu's 
 any n\an «k\n' to hi> wiso and tituuk :nul so draw at- 
 tor hin\ tho toars ami hlossiu>;"s ot" his kintl. 
 
 Cortai>»ly thovo havt- bi>on poviods w1i(M\, trom tho 
 inni'tivity o( tho intolk^'t on oortain tinths, a liivator 
 faith was p(wsihk> in nanu>s and povsons. Tho Puri- 
 tans ill l\Ui;land and Ainorioa foiunl in tlu^ (.Mu'ist 
 of tho (.\ntholio C^huroh anil in tho d»\t;tuas iuhovitoil 
 from Konu\ si'i>pi» fi>r thoir anstoro pioty and their 
 k^ujiiuii-s t\u" I'ivil fnHHlonu But tiioir orood is pass- 
 ing awav, and noni> arisos in its n>om. 1 think no 
 man I'an gt> with his thiMii^hts alH>nt him into t>no 
 oi our i'hni\'hos, withinit fooliui:' that what lu>kl \\w 
 p\il>lio worship had (Mi u\cu is t;\mo, or i;\>ini;\ It 
 has lost its li'ra.sj^ im tho alYootion o( tlio i;ooil anil 
 th(> f(>ar o( tho had. In I hi iHMmtry. ui^ighhorhinnls, 
 halt" parishos aiv {ti(fnhnj oJf\ to uso iho looal torm. 
 It is alivady lu^^inninj;" to indioato t'haraotor and 
 n^li<;iiMt to withdraw froni tho ivlliiious nvivtiu^-s. 
 
AI)hlU<:Hl^. HI 
 
 I liav<; lioat'l a (Ntvouf, [>r:rHOf), who priz'-d llif; Sab- 
 hatli, Hay in fiil,t<rrn<jHH of h<eafl, " On SinidayH, it 
 VA'MAWY, wi<;k<!(J to MO to fJiiji'cJi," AikI tlic /notivo 
 tliat }io1<1h tti(; h<;Ht tfjcif; 'vA now only a liojKj and 
 a waiting. What waw onw a rnrtrr; (;ircunmtari';<;, 
 tliat the h(;Ht an<i tfni wornt rnr-.n in tfi'; pariHh, tho 
 poor ami fJi*; ri'li, tfi(t h-,arfi(;(I and the i;.aiorarit, 
 youn^ an<) ohi, hhoiild ni*;<;t one day aH feJIowH In 
 on<; }»OMHf5, in Hi;.Mi of an ofjual ri^lit in tlie Hoijl,haH 
 come t/> be a paramount motive fr>r I'oint' thitlier. 
 
 My fn<;ndH, in tJiene two errorH, i think, I find the 
 CimHdH of a decay inj; ehureh and a waHtin;^ un[>elief. 
 And wfiijt j:^re,at/;r" calamity ean f;ill iifion a nation 
 than the Iohh r>f wornhip? 'J'Jjerj all thinj^H go Ui d<j- 
 cay. (icniuH IcavcH the t<;mple to hnunt the Htm- 
 aUi or the markr;t. Uf/jrature IxtcjyinnH frivolouH. 
 Science in coM. 'IIk; eye of youtli Ih nf;t WifhUA hy 
 llie }io[K; of otiier worJdn, and age, ]h without honor. 
 Society livcH io triflcH, and v/licn men die we do not 
 mention them. 
 
 And rjow, my }>rothe,rH, you will ank, What in 
 tlicHe, dcHponding dayH can he done hy uh? The 
 rcmf^ly h alreaxiy declared In the ground of oiir 
 C/Omf)laint of the Church. Wc have r^>ntraHt/;d the 
 (Jhurch with the. Soul. In the, houI then h;t the rcy 
 dem[)tion be >w>ught. Wherever a man eomcH, there 
 comcH revolution. "^Ihe old in for Hlij-VCH. When a 
 man c/niHiH, all book« are legible, all things tranB- 
 
1 1 2 ADDRESS. 
 
 parent, all religions are forms. He is religious. 
 Man is the wonderworker. He is seen amid mir- 
 at^les. All men bless and cnrse. lie saith yea and 
 nay, only. The stationariness of religion ; the as- 
 sumptimi that the age of inspiration is past, that 
 the Bible is closed ; the fear of degrading the eliar- 
 aeter of Jesus by representing him as a man ; — in- 
 dieate with sutlieient elearness the falsehood of our 
 theolooy. It is the ofHee of a true teaeher to show 
 us that (lod is, not was ; that He speaketh, not 
 spake. The true Christianity, — a faith like Christ's 
 in the infuiitude of man, — is lost. None believeth 
 in the soul of man, but only in some man or person 
 old and departed. Ah me ! no man goeth alone. 
 All nun go in tloeks to this saint or that poet, 
 avoiding the God who seeth in secret. They can- 
 not see in secret ; they love to b(> blind in public. 
 They think society wiser than their soul, and know 
 not that one so*\l, and their soul, is wiser than the 
 Avliole woild. See how nations and races flit by on 
 the sea of time and leave no i'ij>[>le to tell where 
 the^' floated or sunk, and ime jiood soul shall make 
 the name of Moses, or of Zeno, or of Zoroaster, rev- 
 erend foi-ever. None assayeth the stern ambition 
 to be the Self of the nation and of nature, but each 
 would be an easy secondary to some Christian 
 scheme, or sectarian connection, or some eminent 
 man. Oni'c leave your own knowledge of God, 
 
AIjDHESS. 143 
 
 your own sentiment, and take secondary knowledge, 
 as St. Paul's, or George Fox's, or Swedenborg's, and 
 you get wide from God with every year this sec- 
 ondary form lasts, and if, as now, for centuries, — 
 the chasm yawns to tliat In-eadth, tliat men can 
 scarcely be convinced tliere is in them anything 
 divine. 
 
 Let me admonish you, first of all, to go alone ; 
 to r(;fiise the good models, even those which are 
 safirerl in the imagination of men, and dare to love 
 God without mediator or veil. Friends enough you 
 shall find who v.ill hold up to your emulation Wes- 
 leys and 01)erlins, Saints and Prophets. Thank 
 God for these good men, })ut say, ' I also am a man.' 
 Imitation cannot go above its mod(d. Tlie imitator 
 dooms himself to hopeless mediocrity. The inven- 
 tor did it because it was natural to him, and so in 
 him it has a chai-m. In the imitator something else 
 is natural, and he bereaves himself of his own 
 beauty, to come shoi-t of another man's. 
 
 Yourself a newborn bard of the Holy Ghost, 
 cast behind you all conformity, and acquaint men 
 at first hand with Deity. Look to it first and only, 
 that fashion, custom, authority, pleasure, and money, 
 are nothing to you, — are not bandages over your eyes, 
 that you cannot see, — but live with the privilege 
 of tlie immeasuralde mind. Not too anxious to visit 
 periodically aU fainllies and each family in your 
 
144 ADDRESS. 
 
 parish connection, — when you meet one of these 
 men or wouion, bo to them a divine man ; be to 
 them thoui^ht and virtue ; let their timid aspirations 
 find in you a friend ; k^t tlieir trampled instincts 
 be genially tempted out in yi>ur atmosphere ; let 
 their doi\bts know that you have doubted, and their 
 wonder feel that you have wondered. By trusting 
 your own heart, you shall gain more confidence in 
 other men. For all our penny-wisdom, for all our 
 soul-destroviuii- slavery to habit, it is not to be 
 doiibted that all men have sublime thoughts ; that 
 all men value the few real hours of life ; they love 
 to be heard ; they love to be caught up into the 
 vision of principles. We mark with light in the 
 memory the few interviews we have had, in the 
 dreary years of routine and of sin, with souls that 
 made oiir souls wiser ; that spoke what we thought ; 
 that told us what we knew ; that gave us leave to 
 be what we inly were. Dischartre to men the 
 priestly office, and, present or absent, you shall be 
 followed with their love as by an angel. 
 
 And, to this end, let us not aim at connnon de- 
 grees of merit. Can Ave not leave, to such as love 
 it, the Adi'tue that glitters for the commendation of 
 society, and ourselves pierce the deep solitudes of 
 absolute ability and worth? We easily come up 
 to the standard of goodness in society. Society's 
 praise can be cheaply secxu'ed, and almost all men 
 
ADDRESS. 145 
 
 are content with those easy merits ; but the instant 
 effect of conversing' with God will be to put them 
 away. There are persons who are not actors, not 
 speakers, but influences ; persons too great for fame, 
 for display ; who disdain eloquence ; to whom all 
 we call art and artist, seems too nearly allied to 
 show and by-ends, to the exaggeration of the finite 
 and selfish, and loss of the universal. The orators, 
 the poets, the commanders encroach on us only as 
 fair women do, by our allowance and homage. 
 Slight them by preoccupation of mind, slight them, 
 as you can well afford to do, })y high and universal 
 aims, and they instantly feel that you have right, 
 and that it is in lower places that they must shine. 
 They also feel your right ; for they with you are 
 open to the influx of the all-knowing Spirit, which 
 annihilates before its broad noon the little shades 
 and gradations of intelligence in the compositions 
 we call wiser and wisest. 
 
 In such high communion let us study the grand 
 strokes of rectitude : a bold benevolence, an inde- 
 pendence of friends, so that not the unjust wishes 
 of those who love us shall impair our freedom, but 
 we shall resist for truth's sake the freest flow of 
 kindness, and appeal to sympathies far in ad- 
 vance ; and, — what is the highest form in which 
 we know this V>eautif ul element, — a certain solid- 
 ity of merit, that has nothing to do with opinion, 
 
 VOL. I. 10 
 
niul whioh is sv> ossiM\tiallv i\\u\ innulfostly virtno, 
 t!va( it is taUon tor !^'rju\to»l tlint tho rij;lit. (ho 
 bravo, tho iiXMUMH>us sto}» will bo (aUon bv it. ixnd 
 nobvnlv (hiwUs ot" i>oii\mo\\ibtvi;' it. ^ on wouKl oi>\u- 
 plit\\oj\( a oo\Oi>u\b iloiiiii" a i;\>o(l av't. but v»mi woulil 
 luM praiso an ai\^\^l. V\\o silomv tliat aoi'«»i>t^ 
 luorit as tho »»iost natural thiiiii" \n i\\o wovKl. is 
 tbo hijihost applanso. Snob sonls. wbon {\\c\ aj>- 
 ^Hvir, ajv tbo hnp»M-ial (uianl «>t' \ ivmo. tho piM^ 
 |vt\»al ivsorvo. (ho vbotadu's i>f t\>r(nni\ Ono noovls 
 not praiso tlnMv oimrai^v. — (hov aiv (ho hoait anil 
 sv>nl of iiatnw. (^ niv rrioitds. thoiv aiv ivsomvos 
 in ns o»» whiob wo havo not ilrawn. TbiM'o aro 
 n\on who riso ivtivshovl on boarinii' a throat ; n»on 
 towhonx a oiisis w hii'h intiiniilatos anil paraly/.os 
 tbo majoiitv. — ibMnauibn;;' not tho taonltios of pru- 
 lionoo anil tlnilt. bnt i'on»invhotvsion. inunovabU*- 
 noss, tho tvadinoss of saoritioo, — oonios ji'vaoofnl 
 anil bolovoil as a briilo. Napoloot\ s;uil o( Mas- 
 sona, that ho was not binisolf nntil tho battlo bou"5ii» 
 to ii\> aii'-ainst hin\ ; tbon. wbon tbo iloail boiinm to 
 fall in ranks aronnil bin». awoko bis powors of 
 I'lMnbination. anil bo pnt on torror anil viotorv as 
 a n>bo. So it is in rn>;;<;xHl orisos. in nnwoariablo 
 ouilnranoo, anil iti aints whioh pnt synipatbv i>nt of 
 tpiostiou, that tbo an^vl is shown. Hot thoso a«v 
 hoijihts that wo oan soaiw ronionibor ami look np 
 to withont iH>ntrition ami shanio. Lot ns thank 
 lioil that snob tbinii's oxist. 
 
AhhUEHH. H7 
 
 Am'I WWII \i-X iw <lo vi\i'A\, w<? can t/> r(;U]w]U; iUn 
 Mmou)«i<;ri/ijf, nigh <iui',tn',]tt-A i'trc, on fii'j altar. 'I fi« 
 <5vilH of t,(i<; (Jiiif'li Oaf, now /H ar<{ lunti'tfcM. 'I in-, 
 <j(j/;Hf,ion »'«rtnrnx, What nfialj w<j d/>? I o/tuU',m^ 
 a)j 'AiU;u\\>\M U) prtt'yu^ and ^jHtaMinli a Cultrj>< with 
 ru5W rit/;H an'j forinH, wj<;ni f/> ni<; vain. Faith 
 ntsiUf'M tin, an/i not w<j it, and faitli tnnkt-A \U <>iiu 
 ii>rtuH. All ',iiU;Ui\f\M U) cAftiinvn a HynU',m an? ai4 
 w;hl aM ih<', n';w wornhif* \uU-(A\U'A'a\ hy tfic Vv('m<;\i 
 i/} ihh ^(nidf'MH of \U;'AiM>u, — t^MJay, \f^U;\)4/,i.r<\ and 
 fili^n-^;, and cruVuiy^ t^>-rn/;fTow Irj iiih/lrKim and 
 rnijrd<;r. Ii.ath';r h;t th«; \>r'Ml\i of n<;W lif<; h<; 
 \)V(:'.i.\.\uA \iy you throii^^h th<; i<>nnH alr<;;i/Jy ♦jxinf^ 
 in^. For if onr'^5 you ar<; aJiv^j, you nhall finrj th^ry 
 whall \n-AA)tii't [dantic and n<;w. 'I*lj/; ictinuiy U> 
 th'jir (U'Aonn'tiy \h firnt, h<;uJ, an/l m-j'/nul, n(m\^ and 
 #;v<!rfn//n;, H'mjL A wh/;h; \x>])(A(fUi of forrn.H on^, 
 puliation of virt,uf; f;an uplift and vivify. 7* wo in- 
 (',niiuiii\>\h a^Jvantaj^^jH Christianity haw jfiv<;n ux; 
 firnt th<; Sahf>ath, th'j yxMAf-Ai of the wljoh; worlds 
 whtym; \'t'^\it dawuH w<:]c/)nt<', alike int^^ the cUrntd (4 
 the [>hiloH'>(>her, inf/< the ^arr^dt. </f t/^il, and intf> 
 \)v'iiyt)it-<'A'MH, an/1 everywhere Hu^^<^t», ev^m t>; tli/; 
 vile, tlw? dig^nity of Hpiritu/tl U;ing. J>;t it Htand 
 foreverrnore, a t>;rn[>le, whir;h new 1/^ve, new faith, 
 m;w night nhall rt^MAn-h U> more tlian it« fir«t splen- 
 dor t/; mankind. Ami ¥A-A-A)ud\y,iUh tnniitntufn of 
 pr<;a/'Jiirtg, — the h])<-a-a-}i of man t/> men, — e-^nen- 
 
148 ADDIiESS. 
 
 tially the most floxiblt^ of all organs, of all forms. 
 What hiiulors that now, overywhero, in pnlpits, iu 
 leetnre-rooms, in honsos, in liohls, \vhoroYor the 
 invitation of men or yonr o^^^l oeeasious lead yon, 
 you speak the very truth, as yonr life and t'on- 
 seienee teach it, and cheer tJie waiting, fainting 
 hearts of men with new hope and new revelation ? 
 I look for the hour when that supreme Beauty 
 whit'h ravished the souls of those eastern men, and 
 chiefly of those Hebrews, and through their lips 
 spoke oracles to all time, shall speak in the AVest 
 also. The Hebrew and Greek Scriptures contain 
 immortal sentences, that have been bread of life to 
 millions. But they have no epical integrity ; are 
 fragmentary ; are not shown in their order to the 
 intellect. 1 look for the new Teacher that shall 
 follow so far those shining laws that he shall see 
 them come full circle ; sh:\ll see their rounding 
 complete grace ; shall see the woild to be the mir- 
 ror of tlie sold ; shall see the identity of the law of 
 gravitation with purity of heart; and shall show 
 that the Ought, that Duty, is one thing with Sci- 
 ence, with Beauty, and with Joy. 
 
LITERARY ETHICS. 
 
 AN ORATION DELIVERED BEFORE THE LITERARY SOCIETIES OF 
 DAET310UTII COLLEGE, JULY 24, 1838. 
 
OJlA'ilOX. 
 
 Tli/i invitation to iubitt^H you thix^iay, with wKi/;h 
 
 you l<av<j Si'fhOVi'A ant, wjw Ji call )y> w<il/^;m<; tlmt 1 
 
 rr;i/l/'- Ijii^tx? fc') oUr;y it. A mitnmfmh U> ^'^^IcJ/r'Jtte 
 
 with ht'XnAar^i a JiU^mry fi^>»tivaj, i« «<> 'AUmw^ i/t um 
 
 tm U> ovt'j'i'/nim t^m ih/ii\/U I inip^ht w<ilJ niiUniii'm of 
 
 my ahiJity tr> hrin^ you any i\i/fii'^\ii vvoiihy of your 
 
 atU^ntJon. I fjiiv<} ratUiiuA ilm muUiUi a{^<'. of iniuj ; 
 
 y<it I lx'Ji<?v<i I atn n//t h^J^w j^Wl or hun'^uitui at tfwf 
 
 ttuitdmij; of m^nfAata^ iimtt wh/?n, a U;y, I ftrsiit sa-^r 
 
 tii<i '^t'H/hviUth of tity own 0>II/'/g<{ asiimuAtUA at thi?ir 
 
 H.umsHr>-,iivy. N<?ith/;i' y<r«ii'» nz/f f>^>ok« hiiv*} y«it 
 
 avaih'/i tr> axi'ti'imUt a \>rH\iu[\f'Ai tJj/m rtfttUiA in m«, 
 
 that a mlutlar i« tii/^. favorit-c. of linavt^n art/j imrtli^ 
 
 i.\i<i i',%i'A'\\nui'.y of Um i'/mutry, tlm hn]f\ni^6i of taan, 
 
 I I'm tiuiU'H h^J him (Wna-iiy into tiw. J</>ly ^roun/i 
 
 wiuifii <ft\nit' uu'm\ a«|;iration« only j><;int. lliHn*U'^ 
 
 (imainH ura tHW/d^i'ionn of iUh imt'OHt yty Ut all rn/^m 
 
 Ky<(*K i« lixj t'> tlwi hliwl ; f/i*:rt i« Ij/j t^> th/^ lanMJ. JfiiJ 
 
 fa'dtmtH, if h<i i» worthy, am inl/ft>» t/> hij^lj/if a<1van- 
 
 taj^';«. Arul lnumtmi t\ut mlKAar }/y cvi'j-y thought 
 
 }j<5 fJiinkh (ixU'Juh \m dotuht'ion int/> thii g<;n/;ral 
 
152 LITERARY ETHICS. 
 
 mind of men, he is not one, but many. The few- 
 scholars in each country, whose genius I know, 
 seem to me not individuals, but societies ; and when 
 events occur of great import, I count over these rep- 
 resentatives of opinion, whom they will affect, as 
 if I were counting nations. And even if his results 
 were incommunicable ; if they abode in his own 
 spirit ; the intellect hath somewhat so sacred in its 
 possessions that the fact of his existence and pur- 
 suits would be a happy omen. 
 
 Meantime I know that a very different estimate 
 of the scholar's profession prevails in this country, 
 and the importunity, with which society presses its 
 claim upon young men, tends to pervert the views 
 of the youth in respect to the culture of the intel- 
 lect. Hence the historical failure, on which Europe 
 and America have so freely commented. This 
 country has not fulfilled what seemed the reason- 
 able expectation of mankind. Men looked, when 
 all feudal straps and bandages were snapped asun- 
 der, that nature, too long the mother of dwarfs, 
 should reimburse itself by a brood of Titans, who 
 should laugh and leap in the continent, and run up 
 the moimtains of the West with the errand of ge- 
 nius and of love. But the mark of American merit 
 in painting, in sculpture, in poetry, in fiction, in 
 eloquence, seems to be a certain grace without 
 grandeur, and itself not new but derivative, a vase 
 
LITERARY ETHICS. 153 
 
 of fair outline, but empty, — which whoso sees 
 may fill with what wit and character is in him, but 
 which does not, like the charged cloud, overflow 
 with terrible beauty, and emit lightnings on all 
 beholders. 
 
 I will not lose myself in the desultory questions, 
 what are the limitations, and what the causes of 
 the fact. It suffices me to say, in general, that the 
 diffidence of mankind in the soul has crept over the 
 American mind ; that men here, as elsewhere, are 
 indisposed to innovation, and prefer any antiquity, 
 any usage, any livery productive of ease or profit, 
 to the unproductive service of thought. 
 
 Yet in every sane hour the service of thought ap- 
 pears reasonable, the despotism of the senses insane. 
 The scholar may lose himself in schools, in words, 
 and become a pedant ; but when he comprehends 
 his duties he above all men is a realist, and con- 
 verses with things. For the scholar is the student 
 of tlie world ; and of what worth the world is, and 
 with what emj^hasis it accosts the soul of man, such 
 is the worth, such the call of the scholar. 
 
 The want of the times and the propriety of this 
 anniversary concur to draw attention to the doc- 
 trine of Literary Ethics. What I have to say on 
 that doctrine distributes itself under the topics of 
 the resources, the subject, and the discipline of the 
 scholar. 
 
154 LITERARY ETHICS. 
 
 I. The resources of the scholar are proportioned 
 to his confidence in the attributes of the Intellect. 
 The resources of the scholar are co-extensive with 
 nature and truth, yet can never be his unless claimed 
 by him with an equal greatness of mind. He can- 
 not know them until he has beheld with awe the in- 
 finitude and impersonality of the intellectual power. 
 When he has seen that it is not his, nor any man's, 
 but that it is the soul which made the world, and 
 that it is all accessible to him, he will know that he, 
 as its minister, may rightfully hold all things sub- 
 ordinate and answerable to it. A divine pilgrim 
 in nature, all things attend his steps. Over him 
 stream the flying constellations ; over him streams 
 Time, as they, scarcely divided into months and 
 years. He inhales the year as a vapor : its fragrant 
 mid-summer breath, its si3arkling January heaven. 
 And so pass into his mind, in bright transfigura- 
 tion, the grand events of history, to take a new 
 order and scale from him. He is the world ; and 
 the epochs and heroes of chronology are pictorial 
 images, in which his thoughts are told. There is 
 no event but sprung somewhere from the soul of 
 man ; and therefore there is none but the soul of 
 man can interpret. Every presentiment of the 
 mind is executed somewhere in a gigantic fact. 
 What else is Greece, Rome, England, France, St. 
 Helena ? What else are churches, literatures, and 
 
LITERARY ETHICS. 155 
 
 • 
 
 empires ? The new man must feel tliat he Is new, 
 and has not come into the world mortgaged to the 
 opinions and usages of Europe, and Asia, and Egypt. 
 The sense of spiritual independence is like the lovely 
 varnish of the dew, whereby the old, hard, peaked 
 earth and its old self-same productions are made 
 new every morning, and shining ^\dth the last touch 
 of the artist's hand. A false humility, a complais- 
 ance to reigning schools or to the wisdom of antiq- 
 uity, must not defraud me of supreme possession 
 of this hour. If any person have less love of liberty 
 and less jealousy to guard his integrity, shall he 
 therefore dictate to you and me ? Say to such doc- 
 tors. We are thankf id to you, as we are to history, 
 to the pyramids, and the authors ; but now our day 
 is come ; we have been born out of the eternal 
 silence ; and now will we live, — live for ourselves, 
 — and not as the pall-bearers of a funeral, but as 
 the upholders and creators of our age ; and neither 
 Greece nor Rome, nor the three Unities of Aristotle, 
 nor the three Kings of Cologne, nor the College of 
 the Sorbonne, nor the Edinburgh Review is to com- 
 mand any longer. Now that we are here we will 
 put our own interpretation on things, and our own 
 things for interpretation. Please himself with com- 
 plaisance who will, — for me, tilings must take my 
 scale, not I theirs. I will say mth the warlike 
 king, " God gave me this crowTi, and the whole 
 world shall not take it away." 
 
 
156 LITEEAIiY ETHICS. 
 
 • 
 
 The wliolo value of history, of bioorapliy, is to 
 increase my self-trust, by denioustratiug" Nvhat nuiu 
 can be and ilo. This is the moral of the l*lu- 
 tarc'hs, the CuilNvorths, the Tt^nnoinanns, who j^ive 
 us the story ot" men ov of opinions. Any history 
 of philoso]>hy fortiiies my faith, by showing' me 
 that what high Joginas I had su]>posed were the 
 rare and late fruit of a emnulative oulture, and 
 only now possible to some reeent Kant or Fiehte, 
 • — were the prompt improvisations of the earliest 
 inquirers; of Parmeuides, Ileraelitus, and Xen*)- 
 phanes. In view of these stiidents, the send seems 
 to whisper, 'There is a better way than this indo- 
 lent learning- of another. Leave me alone ; do not 
 teach me out of Leibnitz or Schelling, and I slaall 
 find it all out myself.' 
 
 Still moi'o do w'e owe to biography the fortiticiv 
 tion of our hoj)e. If you would know the power 
 of character, see how nnii'h you would impoverish 
 the w orld if you could take clean out of histiu'y the 
 lives of ^Milton, Shakspeare, and Plato, — these 
 three, and i-ause them not to be. See you not how 
 much less the power of man would be ? I I'onsole 
 myself in the poverty of my thoughts, in the pau- 
 city of great men, in the malignity and diduess of 
 tlie nations, by falling back on these sublime recol- 
 lections, and seeing what the prolific soid could 
 beget on actual nature ; — seeing that Plato was, 
 
LITERARY ETHICS. 157 
 
 and Sliakspeare, and Milton, — three irrefragable 
 facts. Then I dare ; I also will essay to be. The 
 humblest, the most hopeless, in view of these radi- 
 ant facts, may now theoiize and hope. In spite of 
 all the rueful abortions that squeak and gibber in 
 the street, in spite of slumber and guilt, in spite of 
 the army, the bai*-room, and the jail, have been 
 these glorious manifestations of the mind ; and I 
 will thank my great brothers so truly for the ad- 
 monition of their being, as to endeavor also to be 
 just and brave, to aspire and to speak. Plotinus 
 too, and Spinoza, and the immortal bards of philos- 
 ophy, — that which they have written out with pa- 
 tient courage, makes me bold. No more will I dis- 
 miss, with haste, the visions which flash and sj^ar- 
 kle across my sky ; but observe them, approach 
 them, domesticate them, brood on them, and draw 
 out of the past, genuine life for the present hour. 
 To feel the full value of these lives, as occasions 
 of hope and provocation, you must come to loiow 
 that each admirable genius is but a successful 
 diver in that sea whose floor of pearls is all your 
 own. The impoverishing philosophy of ages has 
 laid stress on the distinctions of the individual, and 
 not on the universal attributes of man. The youth, 
 intoxicated \vith his admiration of a hero, fails to 
 see that it is only a projection of his own soul 
 which he admires. In solitude, in a remote vil- 
 
158 LITERARY ETHICS. 
 
 laii-e, the ardent \in\ih loitei-s and nunirns. With 
 inflamed eye, in this sU>e}>ing" wihUn-ness, lie lias 
 i-ead the stovy of the Enipewv Charles the Fifth, 
 until his faney has broiiglu hoiiu^ to the suntmnd- 
 inji" woods, the faint mar of eannonades in the 
 Milanese, and uiaivhes in Germany. He is euri- 
 ons eoneerninir that man's dav. AVliat tilled it? 
 the crowded onlers, the stern decisions, the for- 
 eign despatches, the Castilian etiquette ? The sonl 
 answers — Bt^holil his day heiv ! In the sighing of 
 these wooils, in the qniet of these gray fields, in 
 the cool breeze that sings i>nt of these northern 
 monntains ; in the workmen, the boys, the maid- 
 ens yon meet, — in the hopes of the morning, the 
 ennni of noon, and sauntering of the afternoon •, in 
 the disquieting comparisons ; in the ivgrets at want 
 of vigor; in the givat idea and the pnny execn- 
 tion ; — behold Charles the Fifth's day ; another, 
 yet the same ; behold Chatham's, Ilanipden's, Bay- 
 aixl's, Alfi-etl's, Scipio's, Pericles's day, — day of 
 all that are born of women. Tlie difference of cir- 
 cnmstance is mei'ely eostnme. I am tasting the 
 self-same life, — its sweetness, its gi-eatness, its 
 pain, which I so admire in other men. Do not 
 foolishly ask of the inscrntable, obliterated past, 
 what it cannot tell, — the details of that natui-e, of 
 that day, called Bynm, or Biirke : — bnt ask it of 
 the enveloping Now ; the more quaintly yon in- 
 
LTTERAllY ETHICS. 159 
 
 spect its evanescent beauties, its wonderful details, 
 its spiritual causes, its astounding whole, — so 
 much the more you master the biography of this 
 hero, and that, and every hero. Be lord of a day, 
 through wisdom and justice, and you can put up 
 your history books. 
 
 An intimation of these broad rights is familiar 
 in the sense of injury which men feel in the as- 
 sumption of any miin to limit their possible pro- 
 gress. We resent all criticism which denies us any- 
 thing tliat lies in our line of a^lvance. Say to the 
 man of letters that he cannot paint a Transfigura- 
 tion, or build a steamboat, or be a grand-marshal, — 
 and he will not seem to himself depreciattid. But 
 deny to him any quality of literary or metaphysical 
 power, and he is piqued. Concede to him geniu>>, 
 which is a soi-t of Stoical plenum, annulling the 
 comparative, and he is c^jntent ; but concede him 
 talents never so rare, denying him genius, and he 
 is aggrieved. What does this mean ? AVhy sim- 
 ply that the soul has assurance, by instincts and 
 presentiments, of all power in the direction of its 
 i-ay, as well as of the special skills it has already 
 acquired. 
 
 In order to a knowledge of the resources of the 
 scholar, we must not rest in the use of slender ac- 
 complishments, — of faculties to do this and that 
 other feat with words ; but we must pay our vows 
 
to tho highost powor, :uul i>ass, it" it ho possible, by 
 assiiliunis lovo auA watching-, into tho visions of al>- 
 soluto truth. Tho linnvth of tlio iutoUoot is striotly 
 ni\alo«i'ous in all imliviiluals. It is hivgw ivi'opti»>M. 
 Al4o luon, in jivnoiul, havo ^lunl dispositions, ami 
 a ivspoot fov jnstioo ; luH'auso an ablo nian is noth- 
 inji" olso than a good, fivo, vasonlar ovpinization, 
 NvhtMinnto tho nniversnl spirit fivolv flows ; so tJiat 
 his fui\il oi justioo is nv>t only vast, hut iulinito. 
 All niou, in tho abstvaot, aro just ami i;o(h1 ; what 
 hinilors thoni in tlu> pavtioular is tJio momontary 
 piV(h>tniuanoo of tho iinito ami liulivitlual ovor tlio 
 iivnoral truth. Tho oiuiilitit>n oi owv inoarnation 
 in a privato solf soonis to 1h> a ptni>otual touilonoy 
 to pvofov tho pvivato hiw, to t>hoy tho privato iin- 
 pulso, ti> tho oxohision of tho law o( uuivorsal bt>- 
 mg". Tho horo is »i"ivat bv uioaus of tho proilouii- 
 nanoo of tho uuivorsal natuiv ; ho has only to opon 
 his mouth, and it si>oaks ; ho has only to bo t'ovood 
 to aot, and it aots. All mon oatoh tho word, or 
 ombraoo tho dood, with tho hoart, for it is vorily 
 thoirs as ninoh as his ; but in thoui this disoaso of 
 an oxiH^ss of oi*pvnii!ation ohoats thoui of oqual is- 
 snos. Ni»thin*f is nion> simplo Hum groatiioss ; in- 
 dootl, to bo simplo is to bo pvat. Tho vision of jit^ 
 uius oomos hv I'enounoini.r tho too otltioious aotivitv 
 of tho undorstanding', and givinsi' louvo and aniplost 
 pvivilogo to tho spontauoous sontinieut. Out of this 
 
LITEHAIIY ETIIKJH. ICl 
 
 muHt all tliiit is alive and gonial in tliouj^lit j^o. 
 M(!n j^rind and grind in the mill of a truiKin, and 
 notiiing <;on»eH out Ijut what wan put Jji. lint the 
 nionient th<jy dener-t the tra/lition for a spontaneous 
 thougiit, then j>oetry, wit, hope, virtue, learning, an- 
 ecdote;, all flock to their aid. Observe the pluniom- 
 eiion of extempore debate;. A man of eultivate<l 
 mind but reserved liabits, sitting silent, admires the 
 miraeli; of free, impassioned, picturesque speef;h, 
 in the man addressing an assembly; — a state of 
 l>eing and power how unlike his own I J^resently 
 his own emotion rises to his lips, and over-flows 
 in speech. He must also rise and say f^omewhat. 
 Onee embarked, om;e having overcom<; the novelty 
 ol' Ui<5 situation, he lindjs it just as easy arrd 
 natural te> speak, — to speak with thoughts, with 
 pictures, with rhythmical balance of sentences, — 
 as it was to sit silent ; for it nee<ls not to do, but 
 to suffer ; he only adjusts himself \m the free 
 spirit which gladly utters itself through hirn ; and 
 motion is as easy as rest. 
 
 11. 1 pass now to consider the task offered to 
 th<; int<dlect of this country. The view I have 
 taken of the rtisources of the scholar, presupposes a 
 subject as broaxl. We do not seem \jn have imag- 
 ined its riches. We have not heeded the invitation 
 it holds out. To be as good a scholar as English- 
 
 VOL, I. u 
 
162 LITERARY ETHICS. 
 
 men are, to have as much learnmg as our contem- 
 poraries, to have written a book that is read, sat- 
 isfies us. We assume that all thought is already 
 long ago adequately set down in books, — all imag- 
 inations in poems ; and what we say we only throw 
 in as confirmatory of this supposed complete body 
 of literature. A very shallow assumption. Say 
 rather all literature is yet to be written. Poetry 
 has scarce chanted its first song. The jjerpetual 
 admonition of nature to us, is, ' The world is new, 
 untried. Do not believe the past. I give you the 
 universe a virgin to-day.' 
 
 By Latin and English poetry we were born and 
 bred in an oratorio of praises of nature, — flowers, 
 birds, mountains, sun, and moon; — yet the natur- 
 alist of this hour find that he knows nothing, by all 
 their poems, of any of these fine things ; that he has 
 conversed with the mere surface and show of them 
 all ; and of their essence, or of their history, know- 
 ing nothing. Further inquiry will discover that 
 nobody, — that not these chanting poets themselves, 
 knew any thing sincere of these handsome natures 
 they so commended ; that they contented themselves 
 with the passing chirp of a bird, that they saw one 
 or two mornings, and listlessly looked at sunsets, 
 and repeated idly these few glimpses in their song. 
 But go into the forest, you shall find all new and 
 undescribed. The honking of the wild geese fly- 
 
LITERARY ETHICS. 163 
 
 ing by night ; tlie thin note of the companionable 
 titmouse in the winter day ; the fall of swarms of 
 flies, in autumn, from combats high in the air, pat- 
 tering clown on the leaves like rain ; the angry hiss 
 of the wood-birds ; the pine throwing out its pollen 
 for the benefit of the next century ; the turpentine 
 exuding from the tree ; — and indeed any vegeta- 
 tion, any animation, any and all, are alike unat- 
 tempted. The man who stands on the seashore, or 
 who rambles in the woods, seems to be the first man 
 that ever stood on the shore, or entered a grove, his 
 sensations and his world are so novel and strange. 
 Whilst I read the poets, I think that nothing new 
 can be said about morning and evening. But when 
 I see the daybreak I am not reminded of these 
 Homeric, or Shakspearian, or Miltonic, or Chauce- 
 rian pictures. No, but I feel perhaps the pain of 
 an alien world ; a world not yet subdued by the 
 thought ; or I am cheered by the moist, warm, glit- 
 tering, budding, melodious hour, that takes down 
 the narrow walls of my soul, and extends its life 
 and pulsation to the very horizon. That is morn- 
 ing, to cease for a bright hour to be a prisoner of 
 this sickly body, and to become as large as nature. 
 The noonday darkness of the American forest, 
 the deep, echoing, aboriginal woods, where the liv- 
 ing columns of the oak and fir tower up from the 
 ruins of the trees of the last millennium; where, 
 
164 UrERARY KTUICS. 
 
 from >oHv to vour, the eaiilo anil tho m'ow soo no 
 iiitnulov ; the piuos, boanltnl with suvagt) moss, yet 
 touelied with nmee by the violets at tht>ii" feet ; tlie 
 bnnul, void li>wlauil wlnoh tonus its eoat of vapor 
 witJi the stilhiess of subterranean erystallizatiou ; 
 and when> the tvaveUer, amid the repulsive plants 
 that an> native in the swamp, thinks with pleasiui;" 
 tentu- of the distant town; this beauty, — haguard 
 and desert beauty, which the sim and the uu>i>n, the 
 snow and the rain, vopaiut and vary, has never 
 betni iveonUd by art, yet is not indiffeivnt to any 
 passenger. All nuvu are poets at heart. llu^y 
 serve luitniv for bivad, but her loveliness ovewH)Jues 
 them sometimes, AVhat nu>an these ji>urneYs to 
 Niaiitvra; these pilgrims to the White Hills? ^lou 
 believe in the adaptations of utility, always: in the 
 mountains, they may believe in the ailaptations of 
 the eve. Undimbtetllv the ehaniivs oi ctH)loirv have 
 a ivlation to the pivspeivus spixnitiug of the eorn 
 and peas iu uiy kiti'lu>u g-<u\leu ; but not less is 
 theiv a ivlation of beauty betwtn'n my soul and the 
 dim crag's of Agioeoehook up then> iu the i'h>utls. 
 Every man, when this is told, hearkens with joy, 
 and yet his own eimversation with natuiv is still un- 
 sung. 
 
 Is it otherwise with eivll history ? Is it not the 
 lesson of our experience that every man, wew life 
 long enough, would write history for himself^ 
 
LIT ERA UY ETHICS. 165 
 
 Wliat else do these volumes of extracts and mauu- 
 scri]>t (;<^i«Mientaries, tliat every scliolar writfis, in- 
 dicate ? Greek liistory is one tliinj^' U) me ; another 
 U) you. Bince the birth of Niebuhr and Vs^iAi, ]^>- 
 man and Gre<ik liistory have been written anew. 
 Since Carlyle wrote French I Iist<ny, we see tliat no 
 history tliat we liave is safe, but a new classifier 
 sliall give it new anxl more philos^jphical arrange- 
 ment. Thucydides, Livy, liave only provided ma- 
 ttirialo. The moment a man of g<inius pronounces 
 the name of the P<dasgi, of Atlu;ns, of the Etrurian, 
 of the Roman people, we see their stat<i under a 
 imvf aspect. As in poetry anxl hist^jry, so in the 
 other depai*tm<ints. There are few masters or none. 
 Religion is yet to be settled on its fast foundations 
 in the Ijreast of man ; and politics, and philosophy, 
 and letters, and art. As yet we have nothing but 
 t<ind<incy and indication. 
 
 This starting, this waiping of the best literary 
 works from tlie adamant of nature, is especially ol>- 
 servaljle in j^hilosojihy. Let it take wliat t<jne of 
 pret<insion it will, to this c/>mplexion must it come, 
 at last. Take for example the French Eclwjticism, 
 wlii(rJi Cousin esteems so conclusive ; there is an oj>- 
 ti<;al illusion in it. It avows great pretensions. It 
 looks as if they ha<l all trutli, in taking all the sys- 
 tems, and ha<l nothing U) do but to sift and wash 
 and strain, and the gold and diamonds would re- 
 
1G6 LITERARY ETHICS. 
 
 main in the last eolaudor. But, Truth is such a fly- 
 away, sut'li a slyboots, so untraus})ortable {uiil un- 
 barrelable a i'ouuuodity, that it is as bail to catch as 
 li«;ht. Shut the shutters never so quick to keej) 
 all the light in, it is all in vain ; it is gone before 
 you can cry, llolil. And so it ha})pcns with oui- 
 jihilosophy. Translate, collate, distil all the sys- 
 tems, it steads you nothing- ; for truth will not be 
 conq)clled in any mechanical manner. Ihit the first 
 observation you make, in the sincere act of your 
 nature, though on the veriest triile, may oi)en a new 
 view of nature and of man, that, like a menstruum, 
 shall dissolve all theories in it ; shall take up Greece, 
 Rome, Stoicism, Eclecticism, and what not, as mere 
 data and food for analysis, and dispose of your 
 world-containing- system as a very little luiit. A 
 profoiuul thought, anywhere, classifies all things : 
 a profound thought will lift Olympus. The book 
 of philosophy is only a fact, and no more inspiring 
 fai't than aiu)ther, and no less ; but a wise man will 
 never esteem it anything final and transcending. 
 Go and talk with a man of genius, and tlie first 
 word he litters, sets all your so-called knowledge 
 afloat and at large. Then l^lato. Bacon, Kant, and 
 the Eclectic Cousin condescend instantly to be men 
 and mere facts. 
 
 1 by no means aim in these i-emarks to disparage 
 the merit of these or of any existing compositions ; 
 
LITERARY ETITICS. 167 
 
 I only say that any particular portraiture does not 
 in any manner exclude or forestall a new attempt, 
 but, when considered hy the soul, warps and 
 shrinks away. The inundation of the spirit sweeps 
 away before it all our little architecture of wit and 
 memory, as straws and straw-huts before the tor- 
 rent. Works of the int(;llect are great only by 
 comparison with each other ; Ivanhoe and Waver- 
 ley compared with Castle Kadcliffe and the Por- 
 ter novels ; but nothing is great, — not mighty 
 Homer and Milton, — beside the infinite Reason. 
 It carries them away as a flood. They are as a 
 sleep. 
 
 Thus is justice done to each generation and in- 
 dividual, — wisdom teaching man that he shall not 
 hate, or fear, or mimic his ancestors; that he shall 
 not bewail himself, as if the world was old, and 
 thought was spent, and he was bom into the dotage 
 of things ; for, by virtue of the Deity, thought re- 
 news itself inexhaustibly every day, and the thing 
 whereon it shines, though it were dust and sand, Ls 
 a new suljject with countless relations. 
 
 III. Having thus spoken of the resources and 
 the subject of the scholar, out of the same faith 
 proceeds also the rule of his ambition and life. 
 Let him know that the world is his, but he must 
 possess it by putting himself into harmony with the 
 
Uo u\«?tt o\«lvrA\^» vV\vUtuvlo «H j» bruU\ llo must 
 Uc»vo Uvs «,Uhv^ auvl Uvs ^jUh^ws alono, UU v>\vn tvntw 
 uxHtv^ lunst Ih^ «u\'I-muv ou\mgh, his \nN n jmjuso it^ 
 wjvwl o«vm^i;~<\ t\vi> him, Auvl >vhv twust tho st\uhM»t 
 Iv xwUtnvv HMvl jiUout"^ ThiU ho nvav Ihhwuu^ ju*- 
 \\uaiuttsl with his thvm^ihts. If ho jvi»u\s iu a U^uolv 
 jvh»vx\ lK>«Koi>i\»^i;' i\vr tho ounwh fv>r ^lis{vl;»Y. ho is 
 wot u\ tho KvuoK jvhiw J his hoart is i« tht^ uuukot j 
 ho ^Uh^ »u^t stv ; ho ^hH^s »\ot h<w i ho vUhvs uv^t 
 thiuk, Uut jix^ ohovish vouv S\n»l ; oxjvl w»ujvn»- 
 urns ; >vt vvHU' h,'>Uits tv» u litV of solit\uU'> ; thou will 
 tho f»o\>Uii\s nso fair ju»d full within, liko fxMtvst 
 t\>H\s juui tioUi tUnNoi"^: v\n> NviU hj^vo »\\s\iUs, 
 >\hiv'h» whou vvM\ u\tvt v\n>v tVlh^xv^uoUx \ou oh« 
 ivu\um«iv\Htx\ H»ul thoY will jihuUv wnvivo. l\> Uv»t 
 ji\x iutv* solituvh^ \M>lv that vvn» luav i^wsoutlv vhvu^o 
 iutv» jMxUlio. Suoh swlitmU" ihmi*^ it^vlf ; us jmhlio 
 m\<l sttU«\ Tho )n»Ur>o x\>« ^«;vt jn\Ulio o\|Hn>iouiH\ 
 bat thov wish tho svrh\vU»v tv» iv^Ujuv t\» tho»u th^vso 
 ^vvivHtOx siwvvxw vliviuo o\|HMno»uH^ wf whiv'h thov 
 hj>vo Uvu <h^t\\uuh\l hv ^IwoUii^ii^ i« tho st»\vt, U 
 is tho UvAxU\ »uH«liko, just thvm^^ht, whioh is tho 
 swjvriovitY i\ou\uuiUHl of w^u, uuvi not o^vwvls hut 
 5»oUtudo \vutVt>4 this olovHtivM\. N\»t itxsubtiou v»f 
 ^vlu^\ but iuvU^^vuvhM\vv of sjvivit is tvs^vutiah nu\i 
 it is vvul>» j^ tho jiUi\\ou. tho vx^tti^w tho t\u\^t» auvl 
 
i.ni.itAhv i'iiiit;!i, \i'/.i 
 
 i\n', nti'k., H.n', H, ni/tti. of uwA'h'AHU'/A aUh i/f iUU, iimX 
 iUiry ara of valiut, 'I h'lhU ai/rtw,,, atui hIS \t\'^'Ai^ ar** 
 fru'tuWy n.ttA iV4/m'A. 'lUt', i^^hM w}<// Unv*t IhfA m 
 i'Ku^ imvH Stt'A'h St^mit'iiM ni\\\, ltt)^irtt"4iUm maSa^ 
 MtUUuU', anywy^rti, l^nt/Ut^ liftfAnit'A^ Su%t',Uf,, 
 \>ryt\hu, iM Ht«i?i, dwi'M Ut (',r«f¥^tU it t$iiiy St*',,, \mi 
 iStt', nmtjiiti fJ<//«ijfl<t cAmn'M ihi c^r^/wd ^rowa diKt U* 
 iUt'Jr ttyc^'f i\tt'4t' icyn i'tz*^ ou ih', it^ffrz/m^ ou vi^ 
 i'mti *nr4ii'M ; iUtr/ for^/-^ U</< StyMm^ttU'^r^ ; tinty ^ntrti 
 Ift'^riii^ flint mlat)//«i* ; iiu-y tU-fAi whU 'oSn^UiwiAnuii^ 
 *m\\.U v*',rhU^f with J/1/5<)W. 'iltf^y itrti at/ffU', 'w'tiU tittt 
 tnUtd. 
 
 Of f'^mrm I wouJ/J i»//t Un'/ii Hfty mji*tfnthton 
 H.\t*ttii wtViiwU',. I>ri iUh youlrit ^*Ay iit*f a^^ *A 
 wt\\Uu\h 'AA%A of ^ti^uAy. \M, Urn trnt U/tli, rM 
 mjrvh t^hU'^r, TUc rt^A'niOii why htt <n^<r«<//«w ^'/ol 
 *Uuu'4 nt>*''tt'iy, in i/t i\m t^tui of iUuim% i^M'Miiy. 
 ft rtiifiuitnUTH iUt', fnUttt, <mi (4 Utvf, 44 tiut irmt* 
 Yon t'mt ntry t^tftm Uitirti nit yttaX n/fMiiy t^sm Um^'h 
 you ftff oui', wtt'tti',. liM V^ftrntt roHiitih, art ituUiH' 
 ttiUi fuuti'i\*t'n'/Ai\nfi of \tn\ta., o/nwA',!^, r'uUt^, tti^^^it*^^ 
 (VAU UffU'ti you no utt/rt', ittnu a few <mi, TWi a^v 
 «'>i?j/t tl^j ttUit of nltmfU',, (4 m/iriUiSil i^n\^'iutrA^ ntA 
 W4M)U', t^Wu'h irmt imUirh giv^?* you^ aiui rt^irh ntui 
 \tu\h 'f hff'k ttt^i (tt,t,r \ >}tui it^i, nttttiUin, \ ttum wt^S^ 
 ('AtUiH fntlA itui Uft\fri>/fmu'/[, raUt, <Urnr It/irmiin^/i 
 i4 uHiurc. li^'^'/Att'/i, itu', h\fmiM, Wavti mlitury 
 
170 LITERARY ETHICS. 
 
 experience ; and blend it with the new and divine 
 life. 
 
 You will pardon ine, Gentlemen, if I say I think 
 that we have need of a more rigorous scholastic 
 rule ; such an asceticism, I mean, as only the har- 
 dihood and devotion of the scholar himself can en- 
 force. We live in the sun and on the surface, — 
 a thin, plausible, superficial existence, and talk of 
 muse and prophet, of art and creation. But out of 
 our shallow and frivolous way of life, how can 
 greatness ever grow ? Come now, let us go and be 
 dumb. Let us sit with ovir hands on our mouths, 
 a long, austere, Pythagorean lustrum. Let us live 
 in corners, and do chores, and suffer, and weep, 
 and di'udge, with eyes and hearts that love the 
 Lord. Silence, seclusion, austerity, may pierce 
 deep into the grandeur and secret of our being, 
 and so diving, bring up out of secular darkness 
 the sublimities of the moral constitution. Plow 
 mean to go blazing, a gaudy butterfly, in fashion- 
 able or political saloons, the fool of society, the 
 fool of notoriety, a topic for newspapers, a j^iece of 
 the street, and forfeiting the real jjrerogative of 
 the russet coat, the privacy, and the true and warm 
 heart of the citizen ! 
 
 Fatal to the man of letters, fatal to man, is the 
 lust of display, the seeming that unmakes our 
 being. A mistake of the main end to which they 
 
LITERARY ETHICS. 171 
 
 labor is Incident to literary men, who, dealing with 
 the organ of language, — the subtlest, strongest, 
 and longest-lived of man's creations, and only fitly 
 used as the weapon of thought and of justice, — 
 learn to enjoy the pride of playing with this splen- 
 did engine, but rob it of its abnightiness by failing 
 to work with it. Extricating themselves from the 
 tasks of the world, the world revenges itself by 
 exposing, at every turn, the folly of these incom- 
 plete, pedantic, useless, ghostly creatures. The 
 scholar will feel that the richest romance, the 
 noblest fiction that was ever woven, the heart and 
 soul of beauty, lies enclosed in human life. It- 
 self of surpassing value, it is also the richest ma- 
 terial for his creations. How shall he know its se- 
 crets of tenderness, of terror, of will, and of fate? 
 How can he catch and keep the strain of upper 
 music that peals from it? Its laws are concealed 
 under the details of daily action. All action is an 
 experiment upon them. He must bear his share 
 of the common load. He must work with men in 
 houses, and not with their names in books. His 
 needs, appetites, talents, affections, accomplish- 
 ments, are keys that open to him the beautiful 
 museum of human life. Why should he read it as 
 an Arabian tale, and not know, in his own beating 
 bosom, its sweet and smart? Out of love and 
 hatred, out of earnings, and borrowings, and lend- 
 
172 LITERARY ETHICS. 
 
 iiigs, and losses ; out of sickness and pain ; out of 
 wooing- and woi-sliii)ping ; out of travelling', and 
 voting, and watching, and caring ; out of disgrace 
 and contem^^t, comes our tuition in the serene and 
 beautiful laws. Let him not slur his lesson ; let 
 him learn it by heart. Let him endeavor exactly, 
 bravely, and cheerfully, to solve the problem of 
 that life which is set before liim. And this by 
 punctual action, and not by promises or dreams. 
 Believing, as in God, in the presence and favor 
 of the grandest influences, let him deserve that 
 favor, and learn how to receive and use it, by fidel- 
 ity also to the lower observances. 
 
 This lesson is taught with emphasis in the life of 
 the great actor of this age, and affoi-ds the expla- 
 nation of his success. Bonaparte represents ti-uly 
 a great recent revolution, which we in this country, 
 please God, shall carry to its farthest consumma- 
 tion. Not the least instructive passage in modern 
 history seems to me a trait of Napoleon exhibited 
 to the English when he became their prisoner. 
 On coming on board the Bellerophon, a file of 
 English soldiers drawn up on deck gave him 
 a military salute. Napoleon observed that their 
 maimer of handling their arms differed from the 
 French exercise, and, putting aside the guns of 
 those nearest him, walked up to a soldier, took his 
 gim, and himself went tln*ough the motion in 
 
LITERARY ETHICS. 173 
 
 the French mode. The English officers and men 
 looked on with astonishment, and inquired if such 
 familiarity was usual with the Emperor. 
 
 In this instance, as always, that man, with what- 
 ever defects or vices, represented performance in 
 lieu of pretension. Feudalism and Orientalism 
 had long enough thought it majestic to do nothing ; 
 the modem majesty consists in work. He be- 
 longed to a class fast growing in the world, who 
 think that what a man can do is his gi-eatest orna- 
 ment, and that he always consults his dignity by 
 doing it. He was not a believer in luck ; he had 
 a faith, like sight, in the application of means to 
 ends. Means to ends, is the motto of all his be- 
 havior. He believed that the great captains of 
 antiquity performed their exploits only by correct 
 combinations, and by justly comparing the relation 
 between means and consequences, efforts and ob- 
 stacles. The vulgar call good fortune that which 
 really is produced by the calculations of genius. 
 But Napoleon, thus faithful to facts, had also this 
 crowning merit, that whilst he believed in number 
 and weight, and omitted no part of prudence, he 
 believed also in the freedom and quite incalculable 
 force of the soul. A man of infinite caution, he 
 neglected never the least particular of preparation, 
 of patient adaptation ; yet nevertheless he had a 
 sublime confidence, as in his all, in the sallies of 
 
174 /.//Y.VM/.'V FT/ncs. 
 
 tho conrngv, niul llu> fajth in liis di^sfiny, whii'li, :it 
 tlio ri^ht motncnl, rt>i>;\iri>il all losses, ami tloinol- 
 ishinl I'avalry, iufantrv, kiui;", and kaisar, as with 
 iiTcsisiiblo Ihundorholts. As tlu^v say ilu> bou^h 
 of tlio \\vc has the ohai'ai'ttM- of tlio loaf, and the 
 whole troo of tho bongh, so, it is cui'ious to riMnai'k, 
 lv)iia|)aTto's army })ai'took of tliis double stren<>t,h 
 of tho oai)tain : for, whilst striotly siij^jdiiul in all 
 its appointmonts, and ovorythini*- oxi)ootcd from 
 tho valor and ilisoij>!int> «>f ovory j>latoon, in Hank 
 and ooiitro, yot always romainod his total trust in 
 tho prodii;i(>us rovolutit)us of fortune whieh his 
 resorvoil lni|)0)"ial (Juard wtMV eaj^ablo of working', 
 if, in all else, the day was lost. Here ho was sub- 
 lime, lie no l()uj;in" I'ah'ulated tho ehani'o t)f tho 
 eannon ball, lie was faithful to taeties to the 
 uttermost, — ami when all taeties had eome to an 
 iMul then he dilated ami availed hinisi>lf of the 
 mighty saltations of the most formidable sohliers 
 in nature. 
 
 Let the seliolar appreeiate tliis I'ombinatiou of 
 gifts, whieh, a]>i)liod to better purpose, make true 
 wisdom. 11(^ is a ri>vealer of tluns^'s, Let him first 
 learn the things. Lot him not, too ea!>or to grasp 
 some badge of rew^ard, omit tho work to bo done. 
 Let liim know that though the suoeess of the 
 market is in tho reward, true success is the doing ; 
 that, in tho private obodlouee to his mind ; in tlio 
 
IJTFJtAHY F/rilKJS. 175 
 
 H(;fliilf)ns IfKjiiiry, day after day, year after year, to 
 kru>\v liovv the thiii;^ Htands ; in the use of all 
 means, and most in the revcrenee of the hunihlo 
 coniTner-e(; and humble needs of life, — to hearken 
 what they say, and so, }>y mutual reaction of thou;^ht 
 and life, to make thought solid, and lifr; wise; ami 
 in a eont<;mj>t for the ^ahhle of to-<lay'H opinions 
 the secret of tlnj world is to he hjamed, and the 
 skill tndy to unfold it is acfjuired. Or, rather, is 
 it not, that, hy this discipline, the usuq)ation of the 
 senses is overcome, and th(; lower faculties of man 
 are suhdued to docility ; throu;(h which as an un- 
 obstructed channel the soul now easily and gladly 
 flows ? 
 
 '^riie good sfdifilar will not refuse to Vjear the yoke 
 in his youth ; to know, if he can, the utte.nnost se- 
 cret of toil and endurance ; to make his own hands 
 a/:fjuainted with the soil hy which he is fed, and 
 flu; sweat that goes before comfort and luxury. 
 Let him pay his tithe and serve the world as a true 
 and noble man ; never forgetting to worship the im- 
 mortal divinities who whisper to the poet and make 
 him the utterer of melodies that pierce the ear of 
 eternal time. If he have this twofold goodness, — 
 the drill and the inspiration, — then he has health ; 
 th(;n he is a whole, and not a fragment ; and the 
 perfection of his endov/ment will appear in his com- 
 positions. Indeed, this twofold merit character- 
 
170 LITERARY ETIUCS. 
 
 izes over the pvodiK'tioiK^i of groat nuistora. Tlio 
 mun of genius slunilil t>oi'in)y tho whole spaee Ih>- 
 tweea (lotl or pure inind anil tlie nmltitiule (»t" ihn 
 eiluoateil men. lie must iliaw fioiu the iiiihute 
 Keason, on i>Ui> side : anil lu> must peuetrato into 
 tlie heart ami sensi> ot" the erowil, on the other. 
 From one, he must tlraw his strength ; to th(» t>ther, 
 he nmst owe his aim. Tiu> oiu> yokes hiju to the 
 real ; the t>ther, to the apparent. At one \hAc is 
 Keason; at the other, Common Sense. It" \\c ho 
 ilofeotive at either extreme of the seale, his philos- 
 ojihy will seeui low auil utilitarian, or it will ap}>ear 
 too vague auil iudefinite tor the uses of life. 
 
 The student, as wo all almig insist, is great o\\\\ 
 by being passive to the s\iperini'uuibent sjnrit. Let 
 this faitli then dietate all liis aetion. Sn.ares auil 
 bribes abound to mislead hiui ; let him 1h> trui^ 
 nevertheless. His sueeess has its }H>rils too. Then^ 
 is somewhat ineonvenient auil injurious in his posi- 
 tion. They whom his thoughts have entertained ov 
 iutiamed, seek him befoi'e yet they have learnt>d 
 the hard I'onditiojis of tlunight. They stH>k him, 
 that he may turn his lamp on the dark ridilh>s 
 whose sobition they think is inseribed on the walls 
 of their being. They tiud that he is a poor, igiu>- 
 rant man, iu a white-seamed, rusty coat, like them- 
 selves, nowise emitting a eimtiniuins strean\ of 
 light, but now and then a jet of luminous thought 
 
IJTKRARY ETHICS. Ill 
 
 followed by total darkness ; moreover, that he can- 
 not make of his infrequent illumination a portable 
 taper to carry whitlu^r he would, and explain now 
 tliis dark riddle, now that. Sorrow ensues. The 
 scholar regrets to damp the hope of ingenuous 
 boys ; and the youth has lost a star out of hLs new 
 flaming firmament. Hence the temptation to the 
 scholar U) mystify, to hear the question, to sit ujxrn 
 it, to make an answer of words in hick of the oracle 
 of things. Not the less let him be cold and true, 
 and wait in patience, knowing that truth can make 
 even silence eloquent and memorable. Truth sliall 
 be policy enough for liim. Let him open his 
 breast to all honest inquiry, and be an artist supe- 
 rior to tricks of art. Show frankly as a saint would 
 do, your experience, methods, t(x>ls, and means. 
 Welcome all comers to the fi-eest use of the same. 
 And out of this superior frankness and charity 
 you sliall learn higher secrets of your nature, 
 wliich gods will bend and aid you to communicate. 
 If, with a high trust, he can thus submit himself, 
 he will find that ample returns are poured into his 
 bosom out of what seemed hours of obstruction 
 and loss. Let him not grieve too much on axjcount 
 of unfit associates. When he sees how much 
 thought he owes to the disagreeable antagonism 
 of various persons who pass and cross him, he can 
 easily think that in a society of perfect sympathy, 
 
 VOL, L 12 
 
178 LITERARY ETHICS. 
 
 no wovil, no aot, no i-eeoril, would bo. Ilo will 
 loaru that it is not much matter what ho ivails, 
 what ho iloos. l>o a scholar, ami ho sliall havo tlio 
 scholar's part of evorvthing. As in tho oomiting- 
 i\>om tho moix^haiit caivs little whether the eai'sx> 
 bo ludes or barilla ; tho transaction, a letter of 
 credit or a transfer of stocks ; bo it what it mav, 
 his commission inmies gt>ntly tnit of it ; so you sluiU 
 g"ot your lesson i>ut of the hour, and tho objoot, 
 whether it be a coneentrattHl v>i- a wasteful employ- 
 ment, even in reading a lUill book, or working off 
 a stint of mechanical dav-labor which your neeessi- 
 ties or the necessities of othoi-s impose. 
 
 Gentlemen, I havo ventured to offer you those 
 considerations upon tho scholar's place and hope, 
 because I thought that standing, as many of you 
 now do, on the thresliold of this Collegv, girt and 
 ready to g\) and assume tasks, public ami private, 
 in yo\ir couiitry, you would not be sorry to be ad- 
 monished of those primary duties of tho intellwt 
 wheivof you will sehlom hear fi\>m the lips of your 
 new companions. You will hear e\'ery day tho 
 maxims of a low prudence. You will hear that 
 tho first duty is to get land and money, place and 
 name. 'What is this Tnith vou seek? what is 
 this Btniutv?' men will ask, with derision. If 
 nevertheless GvhI have called any of you to exploi'O 
 
LITERARY ETHICS. 179 
 
 truth and beauty, be bold, be firm, be true. When 
 you shall say, ' As others do, so will I : I renounce, 
 I am sorry for it, my early visions ; I must eat the 
 good of the land and let learning and romantic ex- 
 pectations go, until a more convenient season ; ' — 
 then dies the man in you ; then once more perish 
 the buds of art, and poetry, and science, as they 
 have died already in a thousand thousand men. 
 The hour of that choice is the crisis of your his- 
 tory, and see tliat you hold yourself fast by the in- 
 tellect. It is this domineering temper of the sen- 
 sual world tliat creates the extreme need of the 
 l)riests of science ; and it is the office and right of 
 the intellect to make and not take its estimate. 
 Bend to the persuasion which is flowing to you 
 from every object in nature, to be its tongue to 
 the heart of man, and to show the besotted world 
 how passing fair is wisdom. Forewarned tliat the 
 vice of the times and the country is an excessive 
 pretension, let us seek the shade, and find wisdom 
 in neglect. Be content with a little light, so it be 
 your own. Explore, and explore. Be neither 
 chided nor flattered out of your position of per- 
 petual inquiry. Neither dogmatize, nor accept an- 
 other's dogmatism. Why should you renounce 
 your light to traverse the star-lit desei-ts of truth, 
 for the premature comfoi-ts of an acre, house, and 
 barn? Truth also has its roof, and bed, and board. 
 
180 LITERARY ETHICS. 
 
 Make yourself necessary to tlie world, and nuuikiml 
 will give you bread, and il" not store of it, vet sm-h 
 as sliidl not take awa} youv property in all men's 
 possessions, in all men's atieetions, in ai(, in na- 
 ture, and in lu»pe. 
 
 You will not fear tliat I am enjoin ins;- tt)o stern 
 an asceticism. Ask not. Of what \ise is a scliolar- 
 sliip that systematically reti\>ats ? or, AV ho is the 
 better for the philost)pher who conceals his accom- 
 plishments, aiul hides his thoun'hts from the wait- 
 iuii' world? Hides his th»>ni2htsl Hide the sun 
 and moon. Thought is all light, and j>ublislies it- 
 self to the universe. It will speak, thoiigli vou 
 were duud), by its own miraculous organ. It M'ill 
 flt)w out of your actions, your manners, and your 
 face. It will bring you friendships. It will im- 
 })hHlge you to truth by the love and expectation of 
 generous minds. By virtue of the laws of that Na- 
 ture which is one and i>erfect, it shall yield every 
 sinoei'e good that is in tiio soul to the scholar be- 
 loved of earth and heaven. 
 
A» OUATIOW ItyAJVKHKh HK^OliK TIIK Y/fi'-lK'tY <)tf THE KWAA'ill, 
 
THE METHOD OF NATURE. 
 
 Gentlemen, 
 
 Let us exchange congratulations on the enjoy- 
 ments and the promises of this literary anniver- 
 sary. The land we live in has no interest so dear, 
 if it knew its want, as the fit consecration of days 
 of reason and thought. Where there is no vision, 
 the people perish. The scholars are the priests of 
 that thought which establishes the foundations of 
 the earth. No matter what is their special work 
 or profession, they stand for the spiritual interest 
 of the world, and it is a common calamity if they 
 neglect their post in a coimtry where the material 
 interest is so predominant as it is in America. We 
 hear something too much of the residts of machin- 
 ery, commerce, and the useful arts. We are a 
 puny and a fickle folk. Avarice, hesitation, and 
 following, are our diseases. The rapid wealth 
 which hundreds in the community acquire in trade, 
 or by the incessant expansions of our population 
 and arts, enchants the eyes of all the rest ; the luck 
 of one is the hope of thousands, and the bribe acts 
 
184 THE METHOD OF NATURE. 
 
 like the neighborhood of a gold mine to impoverish 
 the farm, the sehool, the ehnrch, the house, ami the 
 very body and feature of man. 
 
 I do not wish to look with sour aspect at the in- 
 dustrious manufacturing village, or the mart of 
 eonniieree. 1 love the music of the watei"-wheel ; 
 1 value the railway ; I feel the pride which the 
 sight of a ship inspires ; I look on trade and every 
 mechanical craft as education also. Rut let me dis- 
 criminate what is precious herein. There is in each 
 of these works an act of invention, an intellectual 
 step, or short series of steps, taken : that act or step 
 is the spiritual act ; all the rest is mere repetition 
 of the same a thousand times. And I will not be 
 deceived into admiring the routine of handicrafts 
 and mechanics, how splendid soever the result, any 
 more than I admire the routine of the scholars or 
 clerical class. That splendid results ensue from the 
 labors of stupid men, is the fruit of higher laws than 
 their will, and the routine is not to be praised for 
 it. I would not have the laborer sacrificed to the 
 result, — 1 would not have the laborer sacrificed to 
 my convenience and pride, nor to that of a great 
 class of such as me. Let there be worse cotton and 
 better men. The weaver should not be bereaved of 
 his superiority to his work, and his knowledge that 
 the product or the skill is of no value, except so far 
 as it embodies his spiritual prerogatives. If I see 
 
TBE METHOD OF NATURE. 185 
 
 nothing to admire in the unit, shall I admire a mil- 
 lion units ? Men stand in awe of the city, but do 
 not lionor any individual citizen ; and are contin- 
 ually yielding to this dazzling result of numbers, 
 that which they would never yield to the solitary 
 example of any one. 
 
 Whilst the multitude of men degrade each other, 
 and give currency to desi>onding doctrines, the 
 scholar must be a bringer of hope, and must rein- 
 force man against himself. I sometimes believe 
 that our literary anniversaries will presently assume 
 a greater importance, as the eyes of men open to 
 their capabilities. Here, a new set of distinctions, 
 a new order of ideas, prevail. Here, we set a bound 
 to the respectability of wealth, and a bound to the 
 pretensions of the law and the church. The biirot 
 must cease to be a bigot to-day. Into our charmed 
 circle, power cannot enter ; and the sturdiest de- 
 fender of existing institutions feels the terrific in- 
 flammability of this air which condenses heat in 
 every corner that may restore to the elements the 
 fabrics of ages. Nothing solid is secure ; every 
 thing tilts and rocks. Even the scholar is not safe ; 
 he too is searched and revised. Is his learning 
 dead ? Is he living in his memory ? The power 
 of mind is not mortification, but life. But come 
 foilh, thou curious child ! hither, thou loving, all- 
 hoping poet : hither, thou tender, doubting heart, 
 
1S6 THE METHOD OF NATCRE, 
 
 Avhicl\ hast i\ot vot fomul aiiv plaoo in tlte wovliVs 
 markot tit for tht>€> ; anv waivs whioh thmi inniliist 
 bwY ov sell, — so lai-ire is thv Im o ami aiulntii>M, — ■ 
 thino ami not t.heii's is the houv. Snux^th thv bnnv, 
 luul ho}x> ami lovo oil, for tho kind lloavou justities 
 thee, ami the whole world fet>ls that thou art in the 
 right. 
 
 AVe ought to ivlehnite this hour by expivssious 
 of miuilv joy. Not thanks, not prayer setnu quite 
 the highest or truest name for i>ur eonununieation 
 with the intinite, — but ghul ami eouspiring i'e>oej>- 
 tion, — nveption that Invoiues giving in its turn, 
 as the i^X'eiver is only the All-(iiver in part ami in 
 iufaney. I cannot, — nor can any man, — speak pit>- 
 eiselv of thing's so sublime, but it setnns to me the 
 wit of man, his sti-ength, his graee, his temleney, 
 his art, is the gi'at.v tiud the jxiesenee of (uhI. It is 
 beyond explanation, ^^'hen all is Si\id and di>ne, 
 the I'jipt Sixint is found the only logieian. Not 
 exhortation, nt>t alignment Invomes our lips, but 
 pivans of joy i^nd praise. But not of adulatii>n : 
 we aiv ixK* nearly ivlated in the dt^>p of the mind 
 to that we honor. It is God inns which eheeks the 
 language? of petition by a gninder thought. In the 
 lx>ttom of the heart it is sivid ; • 1 am, and by me, 
 O child ! this fair boily and world of thine stands 
 and givw-s. I aui ; all things ai-e mine : and all 
 mine ai-e thine.' 
 
^ 
 
 THE METHOD OF NATUliE. 187 
 
 Jtival of the xnU^Mim-X and the return to its 
 a strong light on the always intc^resting 
 in and Nature. We are forcil>ly re- 
 ..ixled of th*^ Vi want. There is no ntan ; there 
 hath never been. Tlie Inttdlw.'t still asks tliat a 
 nian may Ixi Ixjrn. Tlie fiauie of life flickei-s feebly 
 in human Ijreasts. We (l<imand of men a richness 
 and universality we do not fin<L Great men do not 
 cfjntent us. It is their solitude, not their for^je, 
 that makes them c<mspicuous. There is s^jmewhat 
 imligent and tedious al>out tliem. They are jxx^rly 
 tied U) one th<jught. If they are prophets they are 
 egotists ; if iK>lite and various they are shallow. 
 How tardily men arrive at any result! how tardily 
 they pass from it tfj another ! The crystal sphere 
 of thought is as concentrical as the ge^jlogical struc- 
 ture of the globe. As our w^ils and rocks lie in 
 strata, (j^juwrntric strata, so do all men's thinkings 
 run lat(irally, never vei-tically. Here wjmes by a 
 great in^iuisitor with auger and plum}>-line, and 
 will bore an Artesian well through our conventions 
 and theories, and pierce to the core of things. But 
 as scx»n as he probes the crust, Ixihold gimlet, 
 pluml>-line, and philosoj^her take a latf^ral direc- 
 tion, in spite of all resistance, as if mnrn strong 
 wind twk everj'thing off its fe^t, and if you wme 
 month after month to see what progress our re- 
 former has made, — not an inch lias he pierced, — 
 
u 
 
 188 THE METHOD OF NATCTRE. 
 
 you still find him with new words in the c 
 floating- about in new parts of the same o* 
 crust. The new book says, ' I will gi 
 kej^ to nature,' and we expect to go ]'' e a thunder- 
 bolt to the centre. But the thuncv-^r is a surface 
 phenomenon, makes a skin-deep cut, and so does 
 the sage. The wedge turns out to be a rocket. 
 Thus a man lasts but a very little while, for his 
 monomania becomes insiipportably tedious in a few 
 months. It is so with every book and person : and 
 5'et — and yet — we do not take up a new book or 
 meet a new man without a pulse-beat of expecta- 
 tion. And this invincible hope of a more adequate 
 interpreter is the sure prediction of his advent. 
 
 In tlie absence of man, we turn to nature, which 
 stands next. In the di\'ine order, intellect is pri- 
 mary ; nature, secondary : it is the memory of the 
 mind. That which once existed in intellect as pure 
 law, has now taken body as Nature. It existed al- 
 ready in the mind in solution ; now, it has been 
 precipitated, and the bright sediment is the world. 
 We can never be quite strangers or inferiors in na- 
 ture. It is flesh of our flesh, and bone of our bone. 
 But we no lonsfer hold it by the hand ; we have 
 lost our miraculous power ; our arm is no more 
 as strong as the frost, nor our will equivalent to 
 gra%aty and the elective attractions. Yet we can 
 use nature as a convenient staudai-d, and the 
 
THE METHOD OF NATURE. 189 
 
 meter of our rise and fall. It has this advan- 
 r tage s a witness, it cannot be debauched. When 
 ■^ man jurses, nature still testifies to truth and love. 
 WQmay therefore safely study the mind in na- 
 tur. because we cannot steadily gaze on it in 
 mill ; as we exj^lore the face of the sun in a 
 '"?, when our eyes cannot brook his direct splen- 
 
 ut seems to me therefore that it were some suit- 
 
 le pjean if we shouhl piously celebrate this hour 
 
 exploring the method of nature. Let us see 
 
 ^ ^^, as nearly as we can, and try how far it is 
 
 / •Sil'sferable to the literaiy life. Every earnest 
 
 lance we give to the realities around us, with in^ 
 
 'art_tojfiani, j)roceeds from a holy impulse, and 
 
 really songs of praise. What difference can it 
 
 lake whether it take the shape of exhortation, or 
 
 A passionate exclamation, or of scientific state- 
 
 pient ? These are forms merely. Through them 
 
 e express, at last, the fact that God has done 
 
 'iu8 or thus. 
 
 In treating a subject so large, in which we must 
 ^' acessarily appeal to the intuition, and aim much 
 -^ lore to suggest than to describe, I know it is not 
 easy to speak with the precision attainable on top- 
 ics of less scope. I do not wish in attempting to 
 paint a man, to describe an air-fed, unimpassioned, 
 j 'mpossible ghost. My eyes and ears are revolted 
 
L 
 
 190 THE METHOD OF NATURE. 
 
 by any neglect of the physical facts, the lImit|ations 
 of man. And yet one who conceives the true 
 order of nature, and beholds the visible as prij need- 
 ing- from the invisible, cannot state his tlu^tight 
 Avithout seeming to those who study the phy^'ical 
 laws to do them some injustice. There is aiPtin- 
 trinsic defect in the organ. Language oversti^t. . 
 Statements of the infinite are usually felt to be us 
 just to the finite, and blasphemous. Empedoi^V" 
 undoubtedly spoke a truth of thought, when -I 
 said, " I am God ; " but the moment it was ou<^r 
 his mouth it became a lie to the ear ; and the v^^^- 
 revenged itself for the seeming arrogance by ^tJi 
 good story about his shoe. How can I hope io\ 
 better hap in my attempts to enunciate spiritua 
 facts ? Yet let us hope that as far as we receive 
 the truth, so far shall we be felt by every true per 
 son to say what is just. 
 
 The method of nature : who could ever analyz( 
 it? That rushing stream will not stop to be ob 
 served. We can never surprise nature in a corner! 
 never find the end of a thread ; never tell where to 
 set the first stone. The bird hastens to lay her egg \ 
 the egg hastens to be a bird. The wholeness wi 
 
 admire in the order of the world is the result of in- 
 finite distribution. Its smoothness is the smooth 
 ness of the pitch of the cataract. Its permanency 
 is a perpetual inchoation. Every natural fact is a' 
 
 V- 
 
THE METHOD OF NATURE. 191 
 
 emanation, and that from which it emanates is an 
 emanation alsc, and from every emanation is a new 
 emanation. If anything coukl stand still, it would 
 he crushed and dissipated by the torrent it resisted, 
 and if it were a mind, would be crazed ; as insane 
 persons are those who hold fast to one thought and 
 do not flow with the course of nature. Not the 
 cause, but an ever novel effect, nature descends al- 
 ways from above. It is unbroken obedience. The 
 beauty of these fair objects is imported into them 
 from a metaphysical and eternal spring. In all 
 animal and vegetable forms, the physiologist con- 
 cedes that no chemistry, no mechanics, can account 
 for the facts, but a mysterious principle of life must 
 be assumed, which not only inhabits the organ but 
 makes the organ. 
 
 How silent, how spacious, what room for all, yet 
 without place to insert an atom ; — in graceful 
 succession, in equal fulness, in balanced beauty, the 
 dance of the hours goes forward still. Like an 
 odor of incense, like a strain of music, like a sleep, 
 it is inexact and boundless. It will not be dissected, 
 nor unravelled, nor shown. Away profane phil- 
 oso2)her ! seekest thou in nature the cause ? This 
 refers to that, and that to the next, and the next to 
 the third, and everything refers. Thou must ask 
 in another mood, thou must feel it and love it, thou 
 must behold it in a spirit as grand as that by which 
 
 (0 
 
v.vj THK AfKriion or XArrun, 
 
 it <^\ists. oro tlunv ^^uist know (lu^ l;n\ . Known it, 
 will not Ih\ Unt s;l:\illy lu^lovtHl nml o.ijovoil. 
 
 'V\\o sinnilt;moons l\l\> thvonuhont \\\o wholo hinly. 
 tho oqnnl sowing oi innnn\tM';iblo «>n*ls withv)nt (i»o 
 loast onij^huv^is or jn'ot'tM-ono^^ io ;in\, Init tho sto:uly 
 «logv;ul;ilion ol onoh to tho snootv^s of nil. allows (ho 
 nnilorstantliiig no |>lnoo to wi>rU. Natnro oan only 
 ho oinuvivi^l ns oxisting to a nniv»M'sal ami not io a 
 ]>artioular onil : to a nnivorso «>f onils. ami n*>t ((> 
 ono. — a wo\U of ('vsfaaij, io ho ro|nvsontiHl hv a 
 oiirnlar tnovomont. as intontion nxight ho signitioil 
 hv a straiirlit lino o( Uotinito loniith. Kaoh otVoot 
 stixMigthons ovovY othov. Thon^ is no rovolt in all 
 tho kii\s;xlon\s front thi' oonnnonwi\il : no Jotaoh- 
 inont oi an indiviihial. llonoo tho oatholio I'harao- 
 tor whioh niaUos ovovv loaf an oxponont o{ l\\o 
 world. \VluM\ wo hi^hoKl thi> lanilsoapo in a pootio 
 Sjurit^ \\o Ao not rooUiM\ individnals. Natnro knows 
 noithor pahn nor oak. hut only vou'otahlo lifo. whii'h 
 spronts into foivsts. auil fovstoons tho gloho with a 
 garland of grassos and \ inos. 
 
 That no siniilo ond mav ho soloi'ttnl and naturo 
 jntlgod (horohy. appoars fnun this, that if man hini- 
 solf ho oonsidovod as tlu> ond. and it h»^ assnniod 
 that tho tinal oanso o( tho world is (o niako holy or 
 wiso or hoantifnl n>on. wo ,><oo that it has ni>t sno- 
 iH>odovl. Koad altornatolv in natnral and in v'v'^ 
 history, a troatiso of astivuoniy, for cxaniplo. witli 1^ 
 
77//'; METIIHI) OF N ATI/ II I':. ]WPt 
 
 It voliiMic oC Vrc.nrh Mhfi,(yi/rt'M pour Hcrrir. Wfif-n 
 w<! h;i.v»; h]M'\\\. our won(l<:r in conifxiiiiif.^ \\m v/',mU'^ 
 im lir»M|»it,;i,li(,y wifli wliiffi hoon iNuium irirriH off 
 fK'Vv (innaifK'iitH wiUionf, <'.ii<l info \\(;v wi(l<! r-oriirnon, 
 HH ffiHf, fiH t,li<', friJulr<;jiorr!H rfiul«; coral, - HuriH and 
 j»lun<'.fH }»oH))if.!il>K; U> koijIh, — anJ ih<rn HlioH>;n ih« 
 HJf^hf io lo<»l< inf,o iJiiH r;onri of lioulx (^u;i,f/»rw;, un<l 
 H«!<; ih<! ^arri<5 that, ih play«;rl ilHin',, — 'lnl<<; and rnar- 
 Hhal, al)l/ and fn;wlarn(;, — a ^anif>lin;; f,al»l<; wh<'.r<5 
 ofM'h in laying' t,ra|)H for tlic r>Ui<tr, wh<;nr flic <fi'l U 
 ever f)y HoriK; lie, ur f<:f,<'li f,o ouf.wit, yofjr riv;il ;in'l 
 rnifi liini wif.li ihin Holcrnn fop in wi^ and Htarw, — 
 llif; kin^ ; — onf; can liardly hdf) aH^in^ if iliin 
 ()l;inct, Ih a fair Hpcfiifrx fi ot f h«? ho f^i-AwvowH aMtrmi- 
 <»rriy, and if ho, whether the, ex}»enrneni fiave not 
 f,'i,ih-,d, ;ind wlielJier- i>, he rjnif,e, woflli while f,o rruiko 
 more, and ghif tJu; innocjent h\)'.U'M with ho poor an 
 art,i(de. 
 
 I ihird< we fr-cl not, rnneJi ofherw/Hf; if, iriHtead of 
 heholdin^i; foolinh TiationH, we take tfie, ^reat and 
 wiHe uu-u, f,}ie, rrrninent koijIh, and narrowly inniieefc 
 iheir l)ioj.a-a|>hy. Nrtne of thern Her^n Ijy himnejf, 
 and liiH fierformanee compared with hin promise, ov 
 idea, will jnHiify the eoHt r»f tli;i,t r',normr»nH apparatuH 
 of Micann by wliieh thin Hjjotted and defective per- 
 Hon wan at lant proeiired. 
 
 'Vi> (jiicHtionH of tliiH w>rt, Nature replieH, " I ^-ow." 
 All in naxeimt, infant. When we arc A\7//'m\ with 
 
 vo(,. r. I'! 
 
1*^4 TiiF MFriion or XArrRE. 
 
 tho arithmotio of the savnut toiUuy; to I'oniputo tho 
 lonirth of hor lino, tho ivtuvu of liov imivvo, wo aro 
 stoailioil l\v tho povooption that a git^at tloal is thniiii'; 
 that all sooins just boi;\in : ivnioto aiir.s aro m ai't- 
 ivo aooomplishinont. A\ o lan point nowhoiv to 
 anvthi"^«si' tinal : but toiulonov av>iv:u*s on all haiuls: 
 planot, systonu constollation, total uaturo is gnnv- 
 insr like a tiohl of inai/.o in elulv : is booonnnii- sonic- 
 what olso ; is in lapitl niotanioiphosis. Tho oujbrvo 
 does not nuMV stvivo to bo man, than youtlor burr 
 of liiiht wo oall a nolnila tomls to bo a rinu', a I'oni- 
 ot, a «ilobo, aiul paivnt of now stars, ^^'hy shonlil 
 nt>t thou thoso niossionrs of Voisaillos strut and 
 plot for tabonivts ami ribbons, for a soason, with- 
 out pivjmlioo to thoir faoulty to nui on bottor 
 orranils by auil bv ? 
 
 But Natuiv soonis furthor to roply, * 1 havo von- 
 tuivd so iivoat a stako as ujv snoooss, in no sin<ilo 
 oroatutv. 1 havo not yot arrivotl at any outk Tho 
 o-anlonor aims to proiluoo a thio poaoh or poar, but 
 my aim is tho hoalth of tho wholo troo, — n>ot, 
 stom. leaf, tlowor. ami sooil, — anil by no moans 
 tho pampering" of a moustixnis periearp at tho ex- 
 pense of all tho other fnuetions.' 
 
 In short, the spirit ami peeuliarity of that im- 
 pression nature makes on us is this, that it dix^sS 
 not exist to any one or to any nmnber of partionlai* 
 ends, but to uumberless aiMl eiulless bonetit ; tliat 
 
THE MF/ni()!> OF S'A'KJItE. V.)^i 
 
 thoro is in it no piivat/; wilJ, no rebel Itjaf or Jirnb, 
 but tlie whole iH opprcHHod by one Huperincunibent 
 tendency, obeyw that redundaney or exfjcHH of life 
 whieh in (5oriHciouH b(;in^B we call (icMany. 
 
 With thiH concAiptlttii oi ilia j^eniuH or method of 
 nature, let uh go baek to man. It in tnie he pn> 
 tenflH to give iuicoutit of himhelf t/> himwilf, but, at 
 liiHt, wlmt huH he to recite but tlie fa/;t that there h 
 a Life not t/> )>e dew;ribed or known olliei-wiKc than 
 l)y poHHCHHion ? Wliat accx^unt can he give of hw 
 CHHence more than ao it vmn to hcJ The rc/ijol raar- 
 8on, tlie (fXiu-a of Ciod, wtcmn the only deHcriptlon 
 of our multiform but ever identical faf;t. 7'herr; h 
 virtue, there in geniuK, there in Hwx-JiHH, or there i» 
 not. There iw the incoming or the receding of 
 God : that in all we can aff i rm ; and we can Hho w 
 neither how nor why. Self-accusation, remorse, 
 and the didiu^tic morals of H<;lf-flenial and wtnfe 
 with sin, in a view we are constrainti^l by our eon- 
 Htitution t() take of the fact w;en from the platform 
 of action ; but seen from the ]>latforTn of intellef> 
 tion there is nothing for us ]>ut praise and wonder. 
 
 1'lie termination of the world in a man a]»pears 
 U) be th<j last victory of int<;]ligence. TIte uiiiver- 
 sal does not attra/;t us until hoxiHcA in an individ- 
 ual. Who heeds the waste abyss of [iossibility ? 
 The ocean is everywhere the same, but it has no 
 cliaracter until seen with the nhore or the ship. 
 
liH> TUt: METllon OF NArrKK. 
 
 Who \\o\\\{\ v:iliu> :»uv mimlu>r of luUos of Atlantio 
 briuo \>omuUHl l>v linos of latitiulo ami loui^itiulo? 
 Cwitino it h\ irranito iiH'ks, lot it wash a shoiH> 
 whoiv wiso nuMi thvoll, aiul it is tilUnl uith oxpit^s- 
 8ii>n ; aiul tlu^ point of j»it>att^st intoivst is w hort^ the 
 lanil anil water moot. So nuist wo aihnin> iu man 
 tlvo fi)rm of tiio formless, the oonoentiatiou of the 
 vast, tl\e house oi reasoji, the eave t>f memovv. See 
 the play of thoujihts I what nimble iiipi>»tio eiva- 
 turos an> these ! what sanvians, what palaiotheria 
 shall be uamoil with these a«»ile movers? The 
 j»"rt>at Pan of i>Ul, who was clothed iu a leoi>anl 
 »kiu to siii'nify the beautiful variety of things anil 
 the firuuiment, his eoat of stars, — was but the ivp- 
 ivsentative of thee, () rieh ami various Man! thou 
 palaee of sight anil soiuul, earrying iu thy senses 
 tht^ uuvvuiuii; anil the niiiht anil the unfathoutable 
 ualivxv ; iu thv biaiu, the iivometrv of the C^ity 
 of (loil ; iu thy heart, the bower of love anil the 
 realms of riirht anil wiivuii". An imliviibuil man is 
 a fruit whieh it eost all the fint>g\ung agvs to form 
 auil ripen. The history of the gvnesis or the oKl 
 mythology ivpeats itself in the experienee of every 
 ehiUl. lie too is a ileuu>u or wil tlux^wti into a 
 particular ehaos, where he strives ever to leail 
 thiuiTS fxou\ ilisouler into oi\ler. Each iniliviibuU 
 soul is such iu virtue of its being a power to trans- 
 late the worlil into some pirtieular languagv of its 
 
fj^ 
 
 -i 
 
 riJE METHOD OF NATHRE. VM 
 
 own ; if not into a picture, a statue, or a <lan(ie, — 
 wljy, then, into a trarle, an art, a scienw, a njod<i of 
 living-, a <;onversation, a diaraoter, an influem^. 
 You admire pictures, but it \v> as ini]>o8iSiljlc for 
 you to paint a rig:ht jiicture an for grass U) bear 
 ap])les. liut when the genius cxnaan, it inakcis fin- 
 gers : it is pliancy, and the pov/er of transferring 
 the affair in the street into oils and c(^lors. Ra- 
 pha<d must l>e }>orn, and Halvator must be bom. 
 
 There is no attra(;tiveness like tliat of a new 
 man. The sleepy nations are occupi<jd with their 
 political routine, England, France and America 
 jca<J Parliamentary Deljat<iS, which no high genius 
 now enlivens; and nolxxly will read th(;in v/ho 
 trusts his own eye : only they who are d(ic<jive<i by 
 the ])opuliir repetition of distinguished names, iiut 
 wlien Naj>oleon unrolls his m-ap, the eye is c^)m- 
 manded by original power. When Cluitliam leads 
 the debaUi, men may well list<in, b<K;ause they must 
 listfjn. A man, a personal ascendency, is the only 
 great phenomenon. When Nature lias work t^> }>e 
 done, she creates a genius to do it. J^ollow the 
 great man, and you shall see wliat the v/orld lias at 
 heart in tluise ages. There is no omen like that^ 
 
 But wliat strikes us in the fine genius is tliat 
 which belongs of right tf> every one. A man 
 sliould know himself for a newissaiy ac;tor. A link 
 was wanting between two craving parts of nature, 
 
198 TlIK METHOD OF NATURE. 
 
 ami he was IuuUhI into boin<;' as tho brlcli;^ over 
 tJuit yawniuii' nooil, iJie imHliator botwixt two olso 
 uumavviaiivablo favts. His two i>arouts hold oai'h 
 of Olio of thi> wants, and tho union ol" foroii;n oon- 
 stitntions In him onabh^s him to iU> ghully ami 
 graot^fully what tlio assomblod human raoo couhl 
 not havo snf^ood to ih». lb' knows his niatoiials ; 
 ho ap[>lios himst'it" to his work ; ho oannot roail, or 
 think, or loi>lv, but ho uuitos tho hitlu>rto soparatotl 
 strands inti^ a porfoot oord. Tho tlujughts ho d^:- 
 li^hts to uttor aio tho roason ivt" his inojirnati.on. 
 Is it for him to aooonnt himsolf ohoap and supor- 
 ilmms, or io liui;or by tlu> waysido tor opportuni- 
 ties? Hid hi> iu>t o(>mo into boint;' booanso somo- 
 thin^' uuist bo ilono whioli ho and no othiu- is and 
 does? It" only ho .^irc.s', tho worlil will bo visible 
 ononiih. \\c mnnl m>t stnilv whon> to stauil, nor 
 to put thiuii's in tavorablo lii^hts ; in him is tho 
 lisiht, fn>m him all ihiui's aro illuminatod to thoir 
 oontro. What patron shall ho ask for omploymout 
 and reward? Ibnvto was ho born, to deliver tho 
 thon^iht of his heart from tho nni verso to tho uni- 
 verse ; to i\o an oilioe whioh nature eonld not fonv 
 g'o, nor he be disohargvd from renderin»i\ and then 
 innuoroxi atitiin into tho lu>lv silenoe and eternity 
 oxit of whioh as a man he arose. CuhI is rioh, and 
 many more nu n than i>no ho liarbors in his bosom, 
 biilin>;' their time and tho needs and tho beaut v of 
 
THE' METHOD OF NATURE. 190 
 
 all. Th not this the theory of every man's genius 
 oi- fa^^nilty? Why then goest thou an s^une lios- 
 W(;]l or listening worshipper to tliis saint or tf> tliat? 
 That is the only lese-majesty. Here ai*t thou with 
 whom so long the universe travailed in labor; dar- 
 est thou think meanly of thyself whom the stalwart 
 Fate Ijrought forth U) unitti his ragged side;;, to 
 shoot tlie gulf, to reconcile the irreconcilahhi ? 
 
 Whilst a necessity so great caused tlie man 
 to exist, his health and ereetness consist in the 
 fidelity with wliicli he transmits influences from 
 the vast and universal tx> the point on which his 
 genius can act. The ends are momentary ; they 
 are vents for the current of inward life which in- 
 creases as it i« spent. A man's wisdom is to know 
 that all ends are momentaiy, that the best end 
 mu«t be superseded by a better. But tliere is a 
 mischievous tendency in him U) transfer his thought 
 from the life to the ends, to quit his agency and 
 rest in his acts : the t^jols run away witli the 
 workman, the human with the divine. I conceive 
 a man as always spoken to from behind, and un- 
 a})le to turn his head and see the speaker, \\\ all 
 the millions who have heard the voice, none ever 
 saw the face. As children in their pLiy i*un be- 
 hind each other, and seize one by the ears and 
 make him walk l>efore them, so is the spirit our 
 unseen pilot. That well-known voice speaks in all 
 
198 THE METHOD OF NATURE. 
 
 and lie was hurled into being" as the bridge over 
 that yawning need, the mediator betwixt two else 
 unmarriageable facts. His two parents held each 
 of one of the wants, and the union of foreign con- 
 stitutions in him enables him to do gladly and 
 gracefully what the assembled human race could 
 not have sufficed to do. He knows his materials ; 
 he applies himself to his work ; he cannot read, or 
 think, or look, but he unites the hitherto separated 
 strands into a perfect cord. The^ thouglits he jdg- 
 lights to utter a,re the jrea^n^ of . his jincarnatipn. 
 Is it for him to account himself cheap and super- 
 fluous, or to linger by the wayside for opportuni- 
 ties ? Did he not come into being because some- 
 thing must be done which he and no other is and 
 does ? If only he sees, the world will be visible 
 enough. He need not study where to stand, nor 
 to put things in favorable lights ; in him is the 
 light, from him all things are illuminated to their 
 centre. What patron shall he ask for employment 
 and reward? Hereto was he born, to deliver the 
 thought of his heart from the universe to the uni- 
 verse ; to do an office which nature could not fore- 
 go, nor he be discharged from rendering, and then 
 immerge again into the holy silence and eternity 
 out of which as a man he arose. God is rich, and 
 many more men than one he harbors in his bosom, 
 biding their time and the needs and the beauty of 
 
\ THE METHOD OF NATURE. 199 
 
 all. Is not this the theory of every man's genius 
 or faculty? Why then goest thou as some Bos- 
 well or listening worshipper to this saint or to that? 
 That is the only lese-majesty. Here art thou with 
 whom so long the universe travailed in labor ; dar- 
 est thou think meanly of thyself whom the stalwart 
 Fate brought forth to unite his ragged sides, to 
 shoot the gulf, to reconcile the irreconcilable ? 
 
 Whilst a necessity so great caused the man 
 to exist, his health and erectness consist in the 
 fidelity with which he transmits influences from 
 the vast and universal to the point on which his 
 genius can act. The ends are momentary ; they 
 are vents for the current of inward life which in- 
 creases as it is spent. A man's wisdom is to know 
 that all ends are momentary, that the best end 
 must be sujoerseded by a better. But there is a 
 mischievous tendency in him to transfer his thought 
 from the life to the ends, to quit his agency and 
 rest in his acts : the tools run away with the 
 workman, the human with the divine. I conceive 
 a man as always spoken to from behind, and un- 
 able to turn his head and see the speaker. In all 
 the millions who have heard the voice, none ever 
 saw the face. As children in their play run be- 
 hind each other, and seize one by the ears and 
 make him walk before them, so is the sj)irit our 
 vmseen pilot. That well-known voice speaks in all 
 
>l 
 
 200 THE METHOD OF NATURE. 
 
 langiiages, governs all men, and none ever caugln 
 a glimpse of its form. If the man will exactly 
 obey it, it will adopt him, so that he shall not any 
 longer separate it from himself in his thought ; he 
 shall seem to be it, he shall be it. If he listen 
 with insatiable ears, richer and greater wisdom is 
 tanght him ; the sound swells to a ravishing music, 
 he is borne away as with a flood, he becomes care- 
 less of his food and of his house, he is the fool of 
 ideas, and leads a heavenly life. But if his eye is 
 set on the things to be done, and not on the truth 
 that is still taught, and for the sake of which the 
 things are to be done, then the voice grows faint, 
 and at last is but a humming in his ears. His 
 health and greatness consist in his being the channel 
 through which heaven flows to earth, in short, in the 
 fulness in ^^■hieh an ecstatical state takes place in 
 him. It is pitiful to be an artist, when by forbear- 
 ing to be artists we might be vessels filled with the 
 divine overflo\\^ngs, enriched by the circulations of 
 omniscience and omnipresence. Are there not mo- 
 ments in the history of heaven when the human 
 race was not counted by individuals, but was only 
 the Influenced, was God in distribution, God rush- 
 ing into multiform benefit ? It is sublime to re- 
 ceive, sublime to love, but this lust of imparting as 
 from -MS, this desire to be loved, the wish to be 
 recognized as individuals, — is finite, comes of a 
 lower strain. 
 
THE METHOD OF NATURE. 201 
 
 Shall I say then that as far as we can trace the 
 natural history of the soul, its health consists in 
 the fulness of its reception ? — call it piety, call it 
 veneration, — in the fact that enthusiasm is organ- 
 ized therein. What is best in any work of art but 
 that part which the work itself seems to require 
 and do ; that which the man cannot do again ; that 
 which flows from the hour and the occasion, like 
 the eloquence of men in a tumultuous debate ? It 
 was always the theory of literature that the word 
 of a poet was authoritative and final. He was 
 supposed to be the mouth of a divine wisdom. 
 We rather envied his circumstance than his talent. 
 We too could have gladly prophesied standing in 
 that place. We so quote our Scriptures ; and the 
 Greeks so quoted Homer, Theognis, Pindar, and 
 the rest. If the theory has receded out of modern 
 criticism, it is because/we have not had poets. 
 Whenever they appear, they will redeem their own 
 credit. 
 
 This ecstatical state seems to direct a regard to 
 the whole and not to the parts ; to the cause and 
 not to the ends ; to the tendency and not to the act. 
 It respects genius and not talent ; hope, and not 
 possession ; the anticipation of all things by the 
 intellect, and not the history itself ; art, and not 
 works of art ; poetry, and not experiment ; virtue, 
 and not duties. 
 
i:Ow Tfn: MFinoi^ or yAVi ,h'K, 
 
 Thoiv is Ui* olVu'i* or fimotivMi o( m;\n h\\{ is 
 rijilith ilisohai-iiXHl by this ilivino mo(hv)il. ;uul notU- 
 iuii' that is not noxiows to him if dotuohvul fnmi its 
 uuiYoi\s;U ivhitious. Is it his wimU in (ho wovhl to 
 stiulv uatuiv, i>r tho hiws o( tho woiM .' Lit him 
 howaiv of pivposiuji" io himsolf any cud. Is it for 
 uso ? uatuvo is ih>hasoil, as if ono K>okiu\i- at tho 
 o<vai\ van ivnunnlnn" only tho [>rioo of lish. Ov is 
 it for vUoasmv? ho is uunkoil ; thtMo is a oortaiu iu- 
 fatiiatiuiT air in woods and mouiitaitis Nvhioh thaws 
 on tho iiUor \o want ami misory. Thoit^ is sonn>- 
 thinji" sooial and intnisiyo xn thi^ naturo v>f all 
 thiniis : thoy sooU to ponotrato and oyorjuuvor oa<'h 
 tho uatiiiv of oyory othor oivatiuv, and itself ulono 
 in all moilos and tluvn^hont spaoo and spirit to 
 pivyail and posvsoss. Eyory star in hoayiMi is dis- 
 t*vmtontod and insiitiablo. lu'ayitatii>»i and ohom- 
 istry I'annot oontont thoni. Kyor thoy woi> and 
 oonrt tho oyo of oyory bolu^hlor. Eyory man wlu> 
 oonios into tho win-ld thoy sook to fasoinato aiul 
 possoss. to pass into his niinil, for thoy tlosiiv to n^ 
 pnblish thonisohos in a niv>ro dolioato worhl than 
 that thoy ooonin. It is not oiuniiih that thoy arc 
 doYO, Mars, Chion, and tho North Star, in tl»o liray- 
 itatinji' tinnaniont : thoy windil hayo snoh poots a.s 
 Isowton, llorsohol, and Laplaoo, that thoy may i\^ 
 exist and n^n^poar in the liner world of rational 
 souls, and till that ivalm with their fame. So is it 
 
THE MJ/I nofj <)F NATdlU'l. 20.'5 
 
 with Jill ifnffi;if>;njii <>\>'yu'XH. '1'}i<;h<; U;aiitjful l>aHi- 
 liHkM H<;t tJ»<'Jr fu'uu; j:;^)o;'ioiiH cycH on f.li<5 aya of 
 <)V<;ry cfjijrl, ari'l, if f,})<;y can, cauw; th<'jr nature Ut 
 paHH tfirou^^h liin \/Ofj(J(;rin^ cycK into hirn, and w> 
 all tliln^^H arc niix<5<J. 
 
 'I'licrcforc man njrjnt l>", on hin ^naiA a^ainHt thin 
 'Up of <;nf;f)antfncntH, and muHt look at induia with 
 a HnpcrnaturaJ <;y«;. liy piety alone, hy (uniVt-rHtu^ 
 with the eauHe of nature, in he Kaf<; and o/nuumwln 
 it. And f;e.eauH<; alJ kru}w\cA<^<t ih aKnimilation to 
 tlie ot>jerrt of knowh^Jg^e, aH the povvej- or '^cinnH of 
 nature iH <M;Htatie, w> niuHt itH »f;ienee or the deH^rnp- 
 tion of it b«5. Tli'; j>oet inuKt he a rhapHO<JiMt; hin 
 inHfjiration a hoH of hi'ight eaniiaJty ; hix will in it 
 only the HMrrend<;r of will U> the f/'ni vernal Power, 
 whieh will not \»: wjen fa^re t<> f;ix;e, hut nuint he ra- 
 ceived an<i Hyrnpathetieally known. It )» reniark- 
 afde that we have out of tfie fleefjH of antiquity in 
 the OYwli'M anerihed to tlie half fahulouH YjoroimiMr^ 
 a Htatenient of tfii.H fa/.'t whieh c.wcA-y Jover and 
 Wjeker of truth will t'<iC/)^i'r/Ai. " It in not j)ro{>er," 
 Haid ZoroaHt<;r, " to unde,rHtand the Inf>;llij^ihJe 
 with veheniene^;, iMjt if you ineline, your mind, you 
 will apprehend it : not t'jo earnently, };ut bringing 
 a pure and inquiring eye. You will not underHtand 
 it aH when und<;rHtanding w>me j>aH,ieuliir thing, 
 but with the flower of the mind. ThingH divine 
 are not attainable by moi-talH w)jo understand nan- 
 
204 THE METHOD OF NATURE. 
 
 sual things, but only the light-ai-med arrive at the 
 summit.'' 
 
 And because ecstasy is the law and cause of nar 
 ture, therefore you cannot interj.ret it in too high 
 and deep a sense. Nature represents the best 
 meanins: of the wisest man. Does the simset land- 
 scape seem to you the place of Friendship, — those 
 purple skies and lovely waters the amphitheatre 
 dressed and garnished only for the exchange of 
 thought and love of the purest souls ? It is that. 
 All other meanings which base men have put on it 
 are conjectural and false. You cannot bathe twice 
 in the same river, said Ileraclitus ; and I add, a 
 man never sees the same object twice : with his 
 owni enlargement the object acquires new aspects. 
 
 Does not the same law hold for virtue ? It is 
 vitiated by too much will. He who aims at prog- 
 ress should aim at an infinite, not at a special ben- 
 efit. The reforms whose fame now fills the land 
 with Temperance, Anti-Slavery, Non-Resistance, 
 No Government, Equal Labor, fair and generous 
 as each appears, are poor bitter things when prose- 
 cuted for themselves as an end. To every reform, 
 in proportion to its energy, early disgusts are inci- 
 dent, so that the disciple is surprised at the very 
 hour of his first triumphs with chagrins, and sick- 
 ness, and a general distrust ; so that he shuns his 
 associates, hates the enterprise which lately seemed 
 
THE METnOD OF NATURE. 205 
 
 80 fair, and meditates to cast himself into the arms 
 of that society and manner of life which he had 
 newly abandoned with so much pride and hope. 
 Is it that he attached the value of virtue to some 
 particular practices, as the denial of certain appe- 
 tites in certain specified indulgences, and afterward 
 found himself still as wicked and as far from hap- 
 piness in that abstinence as he had been in the 
 abuse ? But the soul can be aj)peased not by a 
 deed but by a tendency. It is in a hope that slie 
 feels her wings. You shall love rectitude, and not 
 the disuse of money or the avoidance of trade ; an 
 unimpeded mind, and not a monkish diet ; sympa- 
 thy and usefulness, and not hoeing or coopering. 
 Tell me not how great your project is, the civil lib- 
 eration of the world, its conversion into a Christian 
 church, the establishment of public education, 
 cleaner diet, a new division of labor and of land, 
 laws of love for laws of property ; — I say to you 
 plainly there is no end to which your practical fac- 
 ulty can aim, so sacred or so large, that, if pursued 
 for itself, will not at last become carrion and an of- 
 fence to the nostril. The imaginative faculty of 
 the soul must be fed with objects immense and 
 eternal. Your end should be one inapprehensible 
 to the senses ; then will it be a god always ap- 
 proached, never touched ; always giving health. A 
 man adorns himself with prayer and love, as an 
 
206 TiiK MFTiion OF NArmK. 
 
 juni lulovus an action. \N hat is sti\»nj;' l»nt «;x>otl- 
 wosji, anil wliat is onors;vtio bnt tlio pivsonoo of u 
 Imno n>;ui ■' TluMlootriiio in vi\s;vtablo pliysii^loijy 
 of tho /J/Y^Y«(r, in' tho gtMun'al inthuvni'o of tu»y 
 snbstantv ovor iwxd alH>vo its oUonuoal intluouoo, as 
 of an alkali tu- a livin;;' plant, is >n»Mt^ jntnlioaMo of 
 num. You uco^l not sjH^ak to n>o, I j»t>»\l not nt> 
 whoi'o von aro, that vmi sluniUl o\oit n»a^notisin on 
 n\i>. Iv von only wholo and sntVioiont, ami I shall 
 t\>ol vou in ovovv part of my life anil fi>vtuno, ami 
 1 oan as oasilv ihuliiv tho gravitation o( tUc ^lobo 
 as esoapo yonr inthionoo. 
 
 Init thoit^ ai-\> i>thov oxamplos i>f this total aiul 
 snpivnio ii\thionoo, hosiilos Nat\Jiv aiul tho oou- 
 soionoo. " From tho pinsoutms titv, tho worUl," 
 sivy tho Inalnnins, " jwo s^hhmos of frnit aro pri»- 
 (Inivd, swoot as tho waters of life; Ia^iw^ ov tho so- 
 oiotv of boantifnl sonls, ami l\>otrv, whoso taste is 
 liko tho immortal jniot> of N'ishnu.'* ^^ hat is Lin'O, 
 anil why is it tl»o ohiof gxHul, bnt booanso it is aa 
 overpowering' enthnslasm? Never self -iH>ssossetl ov 
 prmlent, it is all abamlonnient. Is it not a eertain 
 ailmirable wisilom, pii^ferable to all other ailvan- 
 taiivs, and whewof all otliei"s aiv only sei«oiulavies 
 ami inilemnities, Invause this is that in wliiih the in- 
 dividnal is no lim^i'er his own foolish n\astiM-, bnt in- 
 hales an tHloi\nis and eelestial air, is wrappeil n>nnd 
 with awe of the objeet, blemlini;' for the time tJiat 
 
ohj«'-/d, wifii i\ti'. nta] aii/1 tntly %'kh\, ari/1 c^nmnUM 
 (',v(ri'y htut'Ai \ti tmittrti witii U'cjitnUmh ittUinini? 
 Wh^tt v/<j )i|x-,;tk truly, — w nM fii? only nu\iA\f\>y 
 who !)♦ n//f/ jri l/;v<? ? Iiij* inw'u^i frcMoin auA mSU 
 I'uUi — hi h rufi mt iinu'}t d/^th ? JI<; who w iii iovtt 
 ht wiw. an/1 w \n'ji'A>ut\u'^ mmr^ ¥4'A% n/;wly f;v<?ry 
 Samu: itit UnfiiH at th'; (At'yjd U;lov<'/l, tirawiui^ irom 
 h with hw «y<^ an/i hj>^ mjn/j th//^j virtju^ whi/;h it 
 j)<rm(im*iH. 'VSn'.ntUtrti if tfa? o\/yi*d }h; n//t /t«/;lf 2i 
 i'ly'tti'/ and cxiniwiiu'^ «//tj|, h/; \irt'.mui\y hxhmmin it, 
 I'tiii J,h<; l/;v«j tmumun in hin niind, an/J th/? w'tadoni 
 it l;roijj(ht him ; an/J it mtivt^ a n/^w an/J Ui'/)t*'.r 
 o)t'y'i^.. An/J t,h/j t'cujt/rtt why all nj/jj hottor l/;v/; m 
 ]h'A'/a\U¥', it iiMtUa lip an/J n//t /J/;wn ; a«f/i/'<^ an/J n'/t 
 d'j«|>{iii'«. 
 
 A/i/J whiit i« (icttiun but f'jn/;r l//v/{, a Joy/; inif//fr- 
 >*//nal, a 1/;'//; //f IIj/j ttifwar an/1 ifi^rfcMitm tff thing*, 
 an/J a (U^ira t/> /J raw a n/;w (n/;trir/5 or /5/>[>y of tJi/j 
 Hani/;? It l/;/>l<)» f/> th/; r^aiiw; an/1 lif/; ; it \tr<H'Ai*'A\n 
 ii'itii v/itJji/i outwar/J, wfiiJ><t 'J'al/;nt j(/x;» fr/>ni witl*- 
 ont inwar/J. 'I'ah^nt fjn/J» it« twAch, nudUtftU^ nut\ 
 (mi\n, in )«/>/;i/?f.y, t',%iaiM for <;x}jlt/iti//n, an/J g/><;« t/> 
 til/; )^;(jl only f//r j//>w<;r t/> worlf. Cfcjiiun h lin own 
 <;n/J, and tliawti itn UKtatm uttd iUa niy\h of itn ar/hi- 
 U'A^MVc, ft(}tfi wItJjin, i^oiu}i; n.\)t'(fA(\ ou\y for awMani-Ai 
 an/J n]nnriMUff\ an w/; Ht\'A]A, our voicA ami j/hraw^; 
 f/> th/; tiihi^tuji an/J cUnnu^/ir tff tJu; /;ar w<; »|x;ak 
 to. All y//ur lifArinw^ of all WUiVAUxntu^ woul/i «i/y/;r 
 
208 THE MEiiion Oh s.wruE. 
 
 v\\x\h\v von to ant'u'lpaU^ ono ol" its thon^liiH or ox- 
 pvossit»ns, ami y*^t oavh is natural ami t'amiliar 
 as houst^lioltl wcuhIs. n«>ri> about us coils forovor 
 tlu> auciiMil (Miiniua, so old auil so uiuitt(M'al)lt>. Ho- 
 liold ! tluM»> is (he sun, aud tho laiu, aud tlii' rocks; 
 {\w old sun, (lu> t)ld st(»ut>s. lloNV i>asy woro it to 
 ilosoribo all this litly : yot no word can pasH. Njv 
 tui\« is a uuitt\ mill man, Ium- artimilato, s[)(>a]iinj>' 
 hrotlun-, lo ! ho also is a iuut(>. ^ 1 1 wlun (Jonins 
 arrivt>s, its s|u>»H'h is liK(> a riviM- ; it. has no straiu- 
 inn' to (losorilus more than tluio is straininj;" in na- 
 tur(> to exist. \\ luMi thought is best, tluMi' is most 
 t>f it. Clouius shods wisilom likt> [)tMt'unu\ and atl- 
 vt>rtisos us that it Hows out of a deeper sonroo than 
 tin' l"ort\!;oin<4; sileuet>, that it knows so di*oply ami 
 s|)i\iks so nnisieally, because it is itself a uuitation 
 oi the thiui;' it describes. It is siui ami mot)u and 
 w.i\t' and tiri> in nuisii', as astronomy is thought 
 aud haiiuouy in masses of matter, 
 
 What is all history but (he Wi>ik «>f Itleas, a roi^ 
 ord of the iueomputible energy whieh his inlinito 
 aspirations infuse into man? Has auythiuj;' i;rand 
 and lastinj;- been Mono? Who did it? Plainly not 
 any u»au, but all ukmi : it was (lie provalcnco ami 
 . inunilatiou of an idea, ^^'hat brought the pilgrims 
 here? One utau says, civil liberty; another, (ho 
 desire of l\>uudiug- a church ; and a third discovcva 
 (hat (he motive forei> was ]>lantatiou antl trado. 
 
THE METHOD OF NATURE. 209 
 
 But if the Puritans could rise from the dust they 
 could not answer. It is to be seen in wliat tlic^y 
 were, and not in what they designed; it was the 
 growth and expansion of the human race, and re- 
 sembled herein the sequent Revolution, which was 
 not begun in Concord, or Lexington, or Virginia, 
 but was the ovei-flowing of the sense of natural 
 right in every clear and active spirit of the period. 
 Is a man boastful and knowing, and his own mas- 
 ter? — we turn from him without hope : but let 
 him be filled with awe and dread before the Vast 
 and the Divine, whicli uses him glad to be used, 
 and our eye is riveted to the f;hain of events. What 
 a doljt is ours to that old i(;ligion wliich, in tlie 
 childhood of most of us, still dw(,'lt like a sabbath 
 morning in the country of New England, teaching 
 privation, self-denial and sorrow ! A man was born 
 not for prosperity, but to suffer for the benefit of 
 others, like the noble rock-maple which all around 
 our villages bleeds for the service of man. Not 
 praise, not men's acceptance of our doing, but the 
 spirit's holy errand through us absorl^ed the thought. 
 How dig-nified was this ! How all that is called tal- 
 ents and success, in our noisy capitals, becomes 
 buzz and din }>efore this man-worthiness ! How 
 our friendships and the complaisances we use, shame 
 us now I Sliall we not quit our companions, as if 
 they were thieves and pot-companions, and betake 
 
 VOL. I. 14 
 
210 THF MKrtlOD OF NATrHE. 
 
 ouvsolvos to soiuo desert clit^' of Mount Katnhdin, 
 some unvisitoil »\hvss in Mot^sohoail Lnko, to \»o\vail 
 our uuuH\MU\v ami to ivinn'or it, niul with it tho 
 pt>woi' to cH>nuumnoato apiiu with those shanu's ot" 
 a more siuntnl iiU^a? 
 
 Ami what is to ivjrhiee t\>r us the pietv of that 
 i*a(H> ? AVe eniuiot have tlieirs ; it siliiles awav 
 fi\>ui us ilav bv Jav : but we also i^aii bask in the 
 irivat iui>vuinii- whieh vises fi>iwev out o( the eastern 
 sea, aiul bo oiu-selves tht^ ehiUh\Mi o(- the lii;l»t. I 
 stajul hei\^ to siiv. Let us wovshii> tlie uiiiihtv ami 
 t»*anseeuileut 8o\il. It is the oftlee, I (U>ubt not, of 
 this asiv to amiul that avbiUeivus ilivou'e whieh the 
 suptM*stitiou of many agvs has etYeeteil betwet^i the 
 inteUeet ami ht>liness. The lovers of gt^nlness have 
 btHMi one elass, the stmleiits of w'is<lom another ; as 
 if either eoulil exist in any puritv without the t>thtn-. 
 Truth is always luJy, holiness alwtiys wise. 1 will 
 that we kkvp terms with sin ami a sinful literatui'e 
 ai\<l SiH'ietv no loniivr, but live a life of tliseovery 
 ami pert"ormai\ee. Aeeept the iutelU>et, ami it will 
 awept us. IV the lowly ministers of that puit^ om- 
 nisoienee, ami ilenv it not btvfoiv men. It w ill burn 
 up all pnvfane literature, all base eurivnt opinioi\s» 
 all the false powei^s of the w orhl, as in a n\oment oi 
 time. 1 ilraw f nvm natniv the lesson of an intimato 
 divinity. t)ur health ami ivason as men need i>ur 
 lvspe«.*t to this faet, agjiinst the hooillessness ami 
 
THE METHOD OF NATURR. 211 
 
 against the contradiction of society. The sanity of 
 riiJin nee<ls the poise of this imrnan<;nt forw. His 
 nohih'ty needs the assurance of tiiis in(ixhaustible 
 reserved power. How great soever have been its 
 bounties, they are a drop to the sea whence they 
 flow. If you say, ' The acceptance of the vision is 
 alsf> the act of Ood : ' — I shall not seek to pene- 
 trate the mystery, I a^lrnit the force of what you 
 say. If you ask, ' How can any rules be given for 
 the attaintnent of gifts so sulAitne ? ' I shall only 
 remark that the solicitations of this spirit, as long 
 as there is life, are never forborne. Tenderly, ten- 
 derly, they woo and court us from every object in 
 natur<i, from every fax;t in lif(i, from every thought 
 in the mind. The one condition coupled with the 
 gift of truth is its use. That man shall be learned 
 who reduceth his learning to practice. Emanuel 
 Sw(;denborg affirmed that it was opened to him 
 " that the spirits who knew truth in this life, but 
 did it not, at death sliall lose their knowledge." 
 " If knowledge," said Ali the Caliph, " calleth unto 
 practice, well; if not, it goeth away." The only 
 way into nature is tr> enact our best insigiit. In- 
 stantly we are higher poets, and can speak a deeper 
 law. Do what you know, and perception is con- 
 verted into character, as islands and continents were 
 built by invisilde infusories, or as these forest leaves 
 absorb light, electricity, and volatile gases, and the 
 
212 TIIK METHOD OF NATURE. 
 
 gnarlod oak to live a tliousaml yoars is the arrest 
 and tixation of the most vohvtilo and ethereal cur- 
 rents. The doctrine of this Sni)renie Presence is a 
 cry of joy and exultation. AVho shall daie think 
 he has come late into natiu-e, or has missed any- 
 thin<j excellent in the past, who seeth the admirable 
 stars of possibility, and the yet untouched continent 
 of hope glittering' with all its mountains in the vast 
 West ? I praise with wonder this great reality, 
 which seems to drown all things in the deluge of its 
 light. AVliat man seeing this, can lose it from his 
 thoughts, or entertain a meaner subject? The en- 
 trance of this into his mind seems to bo the birth 
 of man. We eaunot describe the natural history 
 of the smd, but we know that it is divine. I can- 
 not tell if these wonderful cpialities which house to- 
 day in this mortal frame shall ever re-assemblo in 
 equal activity in a similar frame, or whether they 
 have before had a natural history like that of this 
 body you see before you ; but this one thing I know, 
 that these cpialities did not now begin to exist, can- 
 not be sick with my sickness, nor buried in any 
 grave; but that they circulate through the Universe: 
 before the woild was, they were. Nothing can bar 
 them out, or shut them in, but they penetrate tlie 
 ocean and land, space and time, foini an essence, 
 and hold the key to universal nature. I draw from 
 this faith, courage and hope. All things ai'e luiowu 
 
THE METHOD OF NATURE. 213 
 
 to the soul. It is not to be suq^rised by any com- 
 munication. Nothing can be greater than it. Let 
 those fear and those fawn who will. The soul is in 
 her native realm, and it is wider than space, older 
 than time, wide as hope, rich as love. Pusillanim- 
 ity and fear she refuses with a beautiful scorn ; 
 they are not for her who puts on her coronation 
 robes, and goes out through universal love to uni- 
 versal power. 
 
MAN THE REFORMER. 
 
 A LECTURE READ BEFORE THE MECHANICS' APPRENTICES' 
 LIBRARY ASSOCIATION, BOSTON, JANUARY 25, 1841. 
 
MAX THE REFORMER. 
 
 Me. President, and Gentlemen, 
 
 I WISH to offer to your consideration some 
 thoughts on the particuLir and general relations of 
 man as a reformer. I sliall assume that the aim 
 of each young man in this association is the very 
 highest that belongs to a rational mind. Let it be 
 granted tliat our life, as we lea<l it, is common and 
 mean ; that some of those offices and functions for 
 which we were mainly created are grown so rare in 
 society that the memory of them is only kept alive 
 in old books and in dim traditions ; that prophets 
 and poets, that beautiful and perfect men we are 
 not now, no, nor have even seen such ; that some 
 sources of human instruction are almost unnamed 
 and unknown among us ; that the community in 
 which we live will hardly bear to be tfdd that 
 every man should be open to ecstasy or a divine 
 illumination, and his daily walk elevated by inter- 
 course with the spiritual world. Grant all this, 
 as we must, yet I suppose none of my auditors will 
 deny that we ought to seek to establish ourselves 
 
218 MAN THE REFORMER. 
 
 in sucli disciplines aiul (.'ourses as will deserve that 
 o-uidance and cleaver communication with the spir- 
 itual nature. And further, I will not dissend)le 
 my hope that each person whom I address has felt 
 his own call to cast aside all evil customs, timidi- 
 ties, and limitations, and to be in his place a free 
 and helpful man, a reformer, a benefactor, not con- 
 tent to slip along through the world like a footman 
 or a spy, escaping by his nimbleness and apologies 
 as many knocks as he can, but a brave and upright 
 man, who must find or cut a straight road to 
 everything excellent in the earth, and not only go 
 honorably himself, but make it easier for all who 
 follow him to go in honor mid with benefit. 
 
 In the history of the world the doctrine of Re- 
 form had never such scope as at the present hour. 
 Lutherans, llernhutters, eTesuits, Monks, Quakers, 
 Knox, Wesley, Swedenborg, Bentham, in their 
 accusations of society, all respected something, 
 — church or state, literature or history, domestic 
 usages, the market town, the dinner table, coined 
 money. But now all these and all things else hear 
 the trumpet, and must rush to judgment, — Chris- 
 tianity, tlie laws, commerce, schools, the farm, the 
 laboratory ; and not a kingdom, town, statute, rite, 
 calling, man, or woman, but is threatened by the 
 new spirit. 
 
 What if some of the objections whereby our in- 
 
MAN THE REFORMER. 219 
 
 stitutions are assailed are extreme and speculative, 
 and the reformers tend to idealism ? Tliat only 
 shows the extravagance of the abuses which have 
 driven the mind into the opposite extreme. It is 
 vk'hen your facts and persons grow unreal and fan- 
 tastic by too much falsehood, that the scholar flies 
 for refuge to the world of ideas, and aims to re- 
 cruit and replenish nature from that source. Let 
 ideas estal)lish their legitimate sway again in \so- 
 ciety, let life be fair and poetic, and the scholars 
 will gladly Ixi lovers, citizens, and philanthropists. 
 It will afford no security from the new ideas, 
 that the old nations, the laws of centuries, the 
 property and institutions of a hundred cities, are 
 Ijuilt on other foundations. The demon of reform 
 has a secret door into the heart of evei-y lawmaker, 
 of every inhabitant of every city. The fact that 
 a new thought and hope have dawned in your 
 breast, should apprise you that in the same hour a 
 new light broke in upon a thousand private hearts. 
 That secret which you would fain keep, — as soon 
 as you go abroad, lo ! there is one standing on the 
 doorstep to tell you the same. There is not the 
 most bronzed and shar-pened money-catcher who 
 does not, to your consternation almost, quail and 
 shake the moment he hears a question prompted 
 by the new ideas. We thought he had some sem- 
 blance of ground to stand upon, that such as lie at 
 
220 MAN THE HFFOILVER. 
 
 least woiiltl ilio Imid ; Init he ti-embles ai\d flees. 
 Then the sehohir says, ' Cities and eoaelies shall 
 never impose on me again ; for behold every soli- 
 tary dream of mine is rnshing to fnlfihuent. That 
 fancy T had, and hesitated to ntter because you 
 would laugh, — the bi-oker, the attorney, the mar- 
 ket-man are saying" the same thing. Had I waited 
 a day longtu' to speak, 1 had been too late. Bo- 
 hold, State Street thinks, and AVall Street doubts, 
 and begins to prophesy ! ' 
 
 It cannot bo wondered at that this general in- 
 quest into abuses should arise in the bosom of 
 society, when one considers the practical impedi- 
 ments that stand in the way of \'ii'tuous young 
 men. The young man, on entering life, finds tho 
 way to lucrative employments blocked with abuses. 
 The wavs of trade are o■ro^^^^ selfish to the bordei-s 
 of theft, and supple to the borders (if not beyond 
 the borders) of frautl. The employments of com- 
 mence are not intrinsicallv unfit for a man, or less 
 genial to his faculties ; but these are now in their 
 general course st> vitiated by derelictions and 
 abuses at which all connive, that it requires more 
 vigor and resoiirces than can be expected of every 
 young man, to right himself in them ; he is lost in 
 them ; he cannot move hand or foot in them. Has 
 he genius and virtue? the less does he find them 
 fit for hiui to grow in, and if he would thrive in 
 
MAN THE REFORMER. 221 
 
 them, he must sacrifice all the brilliant dreara3 of 
 boyhood and 3'outh as dreams ; he must forj^et the 
 prayers of his childhood and must take on him the 
 harness of routine and obsequiousness. If not so 
 minded, nothing is left Idm but to begin the world 
 anew, as he does who puts the spade into the 
 ground for food. We are all implicated of course 
 in this charge; it is only necessary to ask a few 
 questions as to the progress of the articles of com- 
 merce from the fields where they grew, to our 
 houses, to become aware that we eat and drink and 
 wear perjury and fraud in a hundred commodities. 
 How many articles of diily consumption are fur- 
 nished us from the West Indies ; yet it is said that 
 in the Spanish islands the venality of the officers 
 of the government lias passed into usage, and that 
 no article passes into our ships which has not l^een 
 fraudulently cheapened. In the Spanish islands, 
 every agent or factor of the Americans, unless he 
 be a consul, has taken oath that he is a Catliolic, 
 or has caused a priest to make tliat declaration for 
 him. The abolitionist has shown us our dreadful 
 de}>t to the southern negro. In the island of 
 Cuba, in addition to the ordinary abominations of 
 slavery, it appeal's only men are bought for the 
 plantations, and one dies in ten every year, of 
 these miserable bachelors, to yield us sugar. I 
 leave for those who liave the knowledge the part 
 
222 MAN THE REFORMER. 
 
 of sifting the oaths of oar custom-houses ; I will 
 not inquire into the oppression of the sailors ; I 
 will not pry into the usages of our retail trade. I 
 content myself with the fact that the general sys- 
 tem of our trade (apart from the blacker traits, 
 which, I hope, are exceptions denounced and un- 
 shared by all reputable men), is a system of seK- 
 ishness ; is not dictated by the high sentiments of 
 human nature ; is not measured by the exact law 
 of reciprocity, much less by the sentiments of love 
 and heroism, but is a system of distrust, of con- 
 cealment, of superior keenness, not of giving but 
 of takino- advantage. It is not that which a man 
 delights to unlock to a noble friend ; which he 
 meditates on with joy and self-approval in his hoiu* 
 of love and aspiration ; but rather what he then 
 puts out of sight, only showing the brilliant result, 
 and atoning for the manner of acquiring, by the 
 manner of expending it. I do not charge the mer- 
 chant or the manufacturer. The sins of our trade 
 belong to no class, to no indi\'idual. One j^lueks, 
 one distributes, one eats. Every body partakes, 
 every body confesses, — with cap and knee volun- 
 teers Ills confession, yet none feels himself account- 
 able. He did not create the abuse ; he cannot 
 alter it. What is he ? an obscure private person 
 who must get his bread. That is the vice, — that 
 no one feels himself called to act for man, but only 
 
MAN THE REFORMER. 223 
 
 as a fraction of man. It happens therefore that 
 all such mgenuous souls as feel within themselves 
 the irrepressible strivings of a noble aim, who by 
 the law of their nature must act simply, find these 
 ways of trade unfit for them, and they come forth 
 from it. Such cases are becoming more numerous 
 every year. 
 
 But by coming out of trade you have not cleared 
 yourself. The trail of the serpent reaches into all 
 the lucrative professions and practices of man. 
 Each has its own wrongs. Each finds a tender 
 and very intelligent conscience a disqualification 
 for success. Each requires of the practitioner a 
 certain shutting of the eyes, a certain dapperness 
 and compliance, an acceptance of customs, a seques- 
 tration from the sentiments of generosity and love, 
 a compromise of private opinion and lofty integ- 
 rity. Nay, the evU custom reaches into the whole 
 institution of property, until our laws which estab- 
 lish and protect it seem not to be the issue of love 
 and reason, but of selfishness. Suppose a man is 
 so unhappy as to be born a saint, with keen per- 
 ceptions but with the conscience and love of an an- 
 gel, and he is to get his living in the world ; he 
 finds himself excluded from all lucrative works ; 
 he has no farm, and he cannot get one ; for to earn 
 money enough to buy one requires a sort of concen- 
 tration toward money, which is the selling himself 
 
224 MAN THE REFORMER. 
 
 for a number of years, and to him tlie present hour 
 is as sacred and inviolable as any future hour. 
 Of course, whilst another man has no land, my 
 title to mine, your title to yours, is at once vitiated. 
 Inextricable seem to be the twinings and tendrils 
 of this evU, and we all involve ourselves in it the 
 deeper by forming connections, by wives and chil- 
 dren, by benefits and debts. 
 
 Considerations of this kind have turned the at- 
 tention of many philanthrojiic and intelligent per- 
 sons to the claims of manual labor, as a part of 
 the education of every young man. If the accumu- 
 lated wealth of the past generation is thus tainted, 
 — no matter how much of it is offered to us, — we 
 must begin to consider if it were not the nobler 
 part to renounce it, and to put ourselves into j)ri- 
 mary relations with the soil and nature, and ab- 
 staining from whatever is dishonest and unclean, 
 to take each of us bravely his part, with his own 
 hands, in the manual labor of the world. 
 
 But it is said, ' What ! will you give up the im- 
 mense advantages reaped from the division of la- 
 bor, and set every man to make his own shoes, bu- 
 reau, knife, wagon, sails, and needle ? This would 
 be to put men back into barbarism by their own 
 act.' I see no instant prospect of a virtuous revo- 
 lution ; yet I confess I should not be pained at a 
 change which threatened a loss of some of the lux- 
 
MAN THE REFORMER. 225 
 
 uries or conveniences of society, if it proceeded 
 from a preference of the agricultural life out of tlie 
 belief that our primary duties as men coidd be bet- 
 ter discharged in that calling. Who could regret 
 to see a high conscience and a purer taste exercis- 
 ing a sensible effect on young men in theii- choice 
 of occupation, and thinning the ranks of competi- 
 tion in the labors of commerce, of law, and of 
 state? It is easy to see that the inconvenience 
 would last but a short time. This would be great 
 action, which always opens the eyes of men. When 
 many persons shaU have done this, when the major- 
 ity shall admit the necessity of reform in all these 
 institutions, their abuses will be redressed, and the 
 way will be open again to the advantages which 
 arise from the division of labor, and a man may se- 
 lect the fittest employment for his pecidiar talent 
 again, vdthout compromise. 
 
 But quite apart from ihe emphasis which the 
 times give to the doctrine that the manual labor of 
 society ought to be shared among all the members, 
 there are reasons proper to every individual why he 
 should not be deprived of it. The use of manual ' 
 labor is one which never grows obsolete, and which 
 is inapplicable to no person. A man should have 
 a farm or a mechanical craft for his culture. We 
 must have a basis for our higher accomplishments, 
 our delicate entertainments of poetry and philoso- 
 
226 MAN THE REFORMER. 
 
 pliy, In the work of our hands. We must have an 
 antagonism in the tough world for all the variety 
 of our spiritual facilities, or they will not be born. 
 JNIanual labor is the study of the external world. 
 The advantage of riches remains with him who pro- 
 cured them, not with the heir. When I gb into 
 my garden with a spade, and dig a bed, I feel such 
 an exhilaration and health that I discover that I 
 have been defrauding myself all this time in letting 
 others do for me what I should have done with my 
 o^^^l hands. But not only health, but education is 
 in the work. Is it possible that I, who get indefi- 
 nite quantities of sugar, hominy, cotton, buckets, 
 crockery ware, and letter-paper, by simply signing 
 my name once in three months to a cheque in favor 
 of John Smith & Co. traders, get the fair share of 
 exercise to my faculties by that act which nature 
 intended for me in making all these far-fetched 
 matters important to my comfort ? It is Smith 
 liimself , and his carriers, and dealers, and manufac- 
 turers ; it is the sailor, the hidedrogher, the butcher, 
 the negro, the hunter, and the planter, who have 
 intercepted the sugar of the sugar, and the cotton 
 of the cotton. They have got the education, I only 
 the commodity. This were all very well if I were 
 necessarily^ absent, being detained by work of my 
 ovn\, like theirs, work of the same faculties ; then 
 should I be sure of my hands and feet ; but now 
 
MAN THE REFORMER. 227 
 
 I feel some shame before my wood - chopper, my 
 ploughman, and my cook, for they have some sort 
 of self-sufficiency, they can contrive without my 
 aid to bring the day and year round, but I depend 
 on them, and have not earned by use a right to my 
 arms and feet. 
 
 Consider further the difference between the first 
 and second owner of property. Every species of 
 property is preyed on by its own enemies, as iron 
 by rust ; timber by rot ; cloth by moths ; provis- 
 ions by mould, putridity, or vermin ; money by 
 thieves ; an orchard by insects ; a planted field by 
 weeds and the inroad of cattle ; a stock of cattle 
 by hunger ; a road by rain and frost ; a bridge by 
 freshets. And whoever takes any of these things 
 into his possession, takes the charge of defending 
 them from this troop of enemies, or of keeping 
 them in repair. A man who supplies his own want, 
 who builds a raft or a boat to go a-fishing, finds it 
 easy to caulk it, or put in a thole-pin, or mend the 
 rudder. What he gets only as fast as he wants for 
 his own ends, does not embarrass him, or take away 
 his sleep with looking after. But when he comes 
 to give all the goods he has year after year collected, 
 in one estate to his son, — house, orchard, ploughed 
 land, cattle, bridges, hardware, wooden-ware, car- 
 pets, cloths, provisions, books, money, — and can- 
 not give him. the skill and experience which made 
 
228 MAS rut: HFron\tKR. 
 
 Imvo ill his own litV, tho son tiiuls his hnnils t'nll, 
 — not to iiso tht\so thiiiiis, but (o U>ok nttor thoiii 
 mul lUvtVml thoni t"i\nn thoii* natnnil onomios. To 
 liiin thoY jviv m»t monns, but jnasto»*s, Thoiv oiuv- 
 uiit'^ will not iviiiit ; rust-, niouKl, vonuin, rain, snn, 
 tVt'»sliot, tiiv, all soi»o thoii' v^mi, till him with voxa- 
 tion, {Vn<l lu^ is ivnvovttHi t'lwni tho i>wnor into a 
 watohman m- n w:itoh-iU\i; to this niH^iwino t>t' oM 
 and now ohattols, NNhnt a ohniiii^^ ! Instoail of th«> 
 iwastovlv iivinl humor :nul souso ot' |H>\\or aiul tVvtil- 
 itv of iwsounv in hinisolf : instoad ot" thoso stixMiii^ 
 aiul U\'U*\uhI hands, tlioso pioiviiiii' aiul loariuHl oyos, 
 that sup|>lo KhIv, auvl that miiihtv and pivvailiuij 
 hoart whioh tho tathor had, whom natinv Kntnl and 
 foiviwl, whom snow aiul itiiu, wator and laiul, boast 
 aiul ti?ih stviutxl all to know and to sorvo, — wo havo 
 lunv a puiiv, pivttvt od ^Hn-son, pianloil b\ walU 
 and curtains, stovos aiul down KhIs, iH\*»ohos, and 
 nion - sorvants and womoii-stvrvants t'nvm tho t^uth 
 .and tho skv, and who, bivd to do{HMul on all tlioso, 
 is inailo anxious bv all that tuulan^ivi's tJuvso }h»s- 
 st^ssiiuis, aiul is i\»n\Hl to s|Hvnd so iiuuvh tinu> in 
 jiuanliuii thorn, that ho has tjuito livst siulit of thoir 
 original uso, namolv, to holp him to his oiuls, — to 
 tho }n\>stH'utiou t>t his lovo : to tho holpiuii' <*f his 
 finond, to tho wtu-ship of his (.uhI, to tho onlaiiix^ 
 mont of his knowlodiiw to tho sorving of his o\»un- 
 
MAN 'JUL lU.I'jliMEU. 220 
 
 try, to thxi indul'^t^iwAi ui lii« mntiiiKmt ; and h*; is» 
 now wtmt iH c/AUA a rich MJitri, — tluc iunmai arwl 
 rijijrj<;r of Ijw rlf'}t*iH. 
 
 llatuitt it hiipiXiftH timt th/i wlu)hi mUimhi, of Iji)»- 
 toiy lUiH in tfj/i foi-innah of tli«; jk>'>/-. KnowWJj^e, 
 VirtiWi, VovniV ai'<t thxj wii-^Utrutu of ruiiij ov<ir hi« ni> 
 CiiHuhUtH, hi« march tr> tluj timniuljii of th/; worhl. 
 Every nian ouj^ht to Jiavc tfiitj op[>^ji'turjJty to ^/>n- 
 qiwjr t}i<? wor]/i for himmAf. ()h]y hu/Jj jxjrftonH in- 
 terest ii», Spaj-tauH, llouiiiim, Barae<iri8, i^n;^ ji^h, 
 Ami'j''u'M.nii, who }iave ^Vxx] in thft jaw« of n<:>fi'l, and 
 have }iy titfi'iv own wit and r/jight extrlt^atfjd thent- 
 «elv<^, an/1 nia/Je nian VuiUiVunxm. 
 
 I <h> mit wi>»h tf> over«taUj thi^j fhx't/ine of [aSytfr^ 
 or iruiiiit tfiat every nian KhouW fxi a futismr, any 
 more tliiin tliat every man should Ix; a hixift/rt'^rdr 
 ItlifiV. In general on* niay «ty tiiat the hiju»l/and- 
 man'H iw tij/j ohhi«t awl most univerwal profeKKJon, 
 and that where a man d^xjH not yet dLt»f^>ver in him- 
 self any fitm^K for one work more tljan an/^ther, 
 thi« may Ixi preferr<^l, liut tlie tlixdnna of thxj 
 Farm in merely thiis, tliat eveiy nxan ouj^lit tf> stand 
 in prinxary relatione with thxi work of the worW; 
 ouj^ht t<) do it himh<ilf, and not i/) sufTer the a/'/;i- 
 ilent of hin liavinji; a purj»e in his [xx^-ket, or hij* hav- 
 ing Win lire/1 U) a/nufi dishonorable and injuriouij 
 ci-aft, U) hdvar him from thos<i duties ; and for thi» 
 tiiimjii, that labor is G^xl's (Aacath jti ; tliat he only 
 
280 MAN 77/ A' lih'yoUMKH. 
 
 IB a 8Uu»oro U^arnor, lu^ only caii Iuh'ouu^ a nuiHttM", 
 \yI\(> loarns llu^ stMnvts oi lalun", autl who, hy real 
 i'nimluL«' extorts t'nmi natiuo its si't*{>trt^ 
 
 Noitlu'r wDiiKl 1 shut my oars to tlio ploa of tlio 
 loaruoil professions, ot" tho poet, the ()riost, the huv- 
 j^ivcr, aiul uumi ol" study t;t'm'raUy ; uauu^y, that in 
 tho oxjHU'itMUH^ ot" all uumi of that ohiss, thti amount 
 o( manual hiU»>r whii-h is uooossary to tho maintt"*- 
 muut> *)r a family, iu»lis[)oso8 ami tlis(|ualili»>s for 
 iutolloi'tual oxortitm. 1 Know, it oftim, pi'rhapa 
 usually Imppous that whort^ thoro is a iiiu- (»ri;au- 
 iisation, a}>t for pootry ami phili»so|>hy, that imlivid- 
 ual limls hims(>l(' i'om|u>lUHl to wait i>n his thoughts; 
 to waste several days that lu> u»ay ouhauee and glo- 
 rify one ; and is ht^tter taught by a nuHlt>rate and 
 dainty exomiso, sneh as ranihling in the titvlds, row- 
 ing, skating, hunting, tlum by tl\i> downright drudg- 
 ery of the fanner and the smith. 1 W(>ulil not quite 
 forget the venorabh^ eonnsid ot" the Egyptian mys- 
 teries, whii'li diH-lanul that *' tht>re wt're tw\> paira 
 of eyes in man, and it is retinisito that the pair 
 whieh are bi>neath shouKl hv elosed, when the pair 
 that an> above them ptM-etMve, and that yvln>n the 
 pair abm'o are i'lost»d, those whieh are beneath 
 should be opened." Yet I will suggest that uo 
 separation from labor ean be without si)me loss of 
 power and ol" truth to the seer himself; that, I 
 ih>nbt not, the faults aiul viees of oxu' literature and 
 
MAN THE UErOUMER. 231 
 
 philoftop}iy, tliftir too great ihniaxiHH, eff<;tiiiiiacy, and 
 rjt<ilan<rlioly, aro attriliiitahl*; tf> thxj eiujrvate'l ami 
 sifckly liabits of the liUiiary class. VyttUtv that the 
 bwk should aot be quite so goo<l, and thfi bo^>k- 
 rrtaker airier and Ixitter, ami not hinis<;lf often a lu- 
 dicrous conti-ast to all that he luas v/n'tten. 
 
 But granting tliat for ends so saxjred and df>ar 
 some relaxation must l>e had, I think tliitt if a man 
 find in hims<df any strong bias t/> jxxitry, to art, to 
 the (x»ntempLati ve life, di-awiw^ him tx> these things 
 with a devotion imx;rnpatibl<i with goorl husl>amiry, 
 tliat man ought to ref^kon early with hims<^iif, and, 
 respecting the cj<jmj)en>jations of the Univer-se, ought 
 tf> rans^jm himi>^df from tiie duties of e^^>nomy by 
 a certain rigor and privation in his halAts. For 
 privileges sf> r-are £nd gr-ami, let him not stint t'i 
 pay a great tax. Let him \jti a c-mifMiUi, a j>auper, 
 and if nee<l Ixi, celibate also. Let him h^arn to eat 
 his meals standing, and t^j relish the tast^i of fair 
 water ami bla/;k breaxL He may h:Kave tf> other; 
 the costly conveniences of housekeeping, and large 
 hospitality, and the possession of works of art. L(^ 
 him feel that genius is a hospitality, and that he 
 who f^n creatfj works of art needs not colhi^rt them. 
 He must live in a chamb<ir, and postpone his self- 
 imlulgenoe, forewarned and forearmed against that 
 f refluent misfortune of men of genius, — the taste for 
 luxury. Thiji Ls the ti'agedy of genius : — attempt- 
 
V 
 
 ing to (Ivivo aloixii: tho odlptlo wUli ouk-* hovso uf the 
 lionvtuis juul ivuo luu'so oi tl»o oav[li, tlunt^ is ouly 
 lUsooixl aiul niln ami ilowtvt'all tvu-havlot ami flmi^ 
 iototn'. 
 
 Tht^ iluty that ovevv man iihoiilil assiuuo }iis own 
 vows, sUiouKl oiUl tho instil lit uuis ot" stHvioty to ai*- 
 ovniut, and oxaniino thoiv t'ltnosji to hiiu, j^ains in 
 oni^Ums^is it' wo UH»k at mir nunlos i>f living'. Is our 
 honsokooping' saivnnl ami lumorablo? IXhvs it vaiso 
 and inspiiv us, or does it oripplo us iustoad? I 
 ouulit to bo aruunl l>v ovorv part and t'luu'tion of 
 niY hi>iisohoUl, l>v all mv social t'um*tiivn, by mv 
 tHHvnouiv, by my toasting', by my voting, by n\y tvat' 
 tio. Yot I aui alnu>st no jvuty to any ot'-thoso 
 thing's. l\istoiu iloos it for nu\ givos mo no ^owtvr 
 thowf unu, ami rnns mo in dobt tolH>ot. ^^o sjhuuI 
 our inoonios t\vr paint anil papor, for a hnmluHl 
 tritlos, I know iu>t what, ami not t\>r tho thing's vxf 
 a man. i.)ur o\iH>nso is almost all tor oonformitv. 
 It is t\vr oako that wo run in dobt ; it is not tho in- 
 tolhvt, not tho hoait, not K^anty, not wmship, that 
 l^vsts so nmoh. W hv ntHxls miv man Ih> rioli ? 
 A\ hy must ho havo horsos, tino giirmonts, lumdsomo 
 ajvirtnuvuts, aiwss to pnblio hi>usos and plaoos v»f 
 aniusomont? C^nly fvu- want of thought, (nvo his 
 miud a now in\agv, and he tloos into a s«.ilitarY gni">- 
 don or g^invt to onjoy it, and is riohor with that 
 divani than tho too ot" a iountv ovuikl mako him. 
 
MAN rmc hi: FORM EH. 233 
 
 But wfi are first thouj^htl(i«H, aiul tlicii fijid tliat we 
 are iiioueyleKS. We are first f>ensual, and then 
 mu>it lie licli. We dare not trust our wit for 
 Wiaking our house pleasant to our friend^ and so we 
 buy mt-iiia2ivm. He is accustoine<l to carpets, and 
 we lia,ve not sufficient (ilmviUiUii' to put floor elijtlis 
 out of his rnind whilst he stays in the liouse, and so 
 we pile tlui flooj- with carp<its. Let tlie house ratlier 
 lie a t<iiji]>le of the Furies of La(;edaimon, fornji<la- 
 hle arid holy t^i all, wlileh none but a Spartan may 
 ent^ir or so much as behold. As S'Xin as there is 
 faith, as soon as there is soci/;ty, c^^mfits and cush- 
 iong wil) be left t^i slaves. Exp<;nse will be inven- 
 tive arrd heroic. We shall eat luird and lie hard, 
 we sliall dwell likiC' tluB ancient Hoiwina in narrow 
 tenements, wliilst our public cAiiU'Ma, like theirs, will 
 lie worthy for their proportion of the land>>f;ape in 
 which we set tliem, for Win versation, for art, for 
 muiiic, for worshiji. We sliall be rich tfi great jiur- 
 poses ; poor only for selfish oucis. 
 
 ^ow wliat help for these evils ? How can tlie 
 man who lias learned liut one art, procure all tlie 
 convenienwis of life hoiiestly ? Sliall we say all 
 we think ? — Perliaps with his own han<L*. Suj[>- 
 jK>8e hit oxAleatH or niakfjs tliem ill ; — yet he Imn 
 learne<l their lesson. If he cannot do that ? — - 
 Tlum [Kirhaps he can go without. Immense wis- 
 dom and iiches are in tliat. It is better t^i go v/ith- 
 
234 MAN THE REFORMER. 
 
 out, than to have tlioin at too great a cost. Let us 
 \c:\vn the meaning' of eeononiy. Eeononiy is a 
 liigh, hnniane office, a sacrament, when its aim is 
 grant! ; when it is the prutlenee of simple tastes, 
 when it is practised for freedom, or love, or devo- 
 tion. INIueh of tlie economy which we see in honses 
 is of a base origin, and is best kept ont of sight. 
 Parched corn eaten to-day, that I may have roast 
 fowl to my dinner on Sunday, is a baseness ; but 
 parched corn and a house with one apartment, that 
 1 may be free of all perturbations, that I may be 
 serene and docile to what the mind shall si)eak, 
 and girt and road-ready for the lowest mission of 
 knowledge or goodwill, is frugality for gods and 
 heroes. 
 
 Can we not learn the lesson of self-help ? So- 
 ciety is fnll of hifirni people, who incessantly sum- 
 nuni othei's to serve them. They contrive every- 
 where to exhaust for their single comfort the entire 
 means and appliances of that luxury to which our 
 invention has yet attained. Sofas, ottomans, stoves, 
 wine, game-fowl, spices, perfumes, rides, the the- 
 ati-e, entertainments, — all these they want, they 
 need, and whatever can be sncsiested more than 
 these they crave also, as if it was the bread which 
 should keep them from starving ; and if they miss 
 any one, they represent themselves as the most 
 wi'onged and most wret(.'licd persons on eartL 
 
MAN TEE REFORMER. 235 
 
 One must have been born and bred with them to 
 know how to prepare a meal for their learned 
 stomach. Meantime they never bestir themselves 
 to serve another person ; not they ! they have a 
 great deal more to do for themselves than they can 
 possibly perform, nor do they once perceive the 
 cruel joke of their lives, but the more odious they 
 grow, the sharper is the tone of their complaining 
 and craving. Can anything be so elegant as to 
 have few wants and to serve them one's self, so as 
 to have somewhat left to give, instead of being al- 
 ways prompt to grab? It is more elegant to an- 
 swer one's own needs than to be richly served ; in- 
 elegant perhaps it may look to-day, and to a few, 
 but it is an elegance forever and to all. 
 
 I do not wish to be absurd and pedantic in re- 
 form. I do not wish to push my criticism on the 
 state of things around me to that extravagant 
 mark that shall compel me to suicide, or to an ab- 
 solute isolation from the advantages of civil so- 
 ciety. If we suddenly plant our foot and say, — I 
 will neither eat nor drink nor wear nor touch any 
 food or fabric v/hich I do not know to be innocent, 
 or deal with any person whose whole manner of 
 life is not clear and rational, we shall stand still. 
 Whose is so ? Not mine ; not thine ; not his. But 
 I think we must clear ourselves each one by the in- 
 terrogation, whether we have earned our bread to- 
 
236 ^fAN TIIR TiE FORMER. 
 
 day by tlie hearty contribution of onr cnorjijies to 
 the eonnnon bonolit ; and we must not ccaso to 
 tend to the correction of flagrant wrongs, by lay- 
 ing one stone aright every day. 
 
 But the i(U>a which now begins to agitate society 
 has a wider scope than our daily employments, our 
 households, and the institutions of property. Wo 
 are to revise the whole of our social structure, the 
 State, the school, religion, marriage, trade, science, 
 and exi)lore their foundations in our own nature ; 
 we are to see that the world not only fitted the 
 former men, but fits us, and to clear ourselves of 
 every usage which has not its roots in t)ur own 
 mind. What is a man born for but to be a Re- 
 former, a Ke-nuiker of what man has made ; a re- 
 iiouncer of lies ; a restorer of truth and good, imi- 
 tating that great Nature which end)osoms iis all, 
 and which sleeps no moment on an old past, but 
 every hour repairs herself, yielding us every morn- 
 ing a new day, and with every pulsation a new 
 life? Let him renounce everything which is not 
 true to him, and put all his practices back on their 
 first thoughts, and do nothing for which he has not 
 the whole world for his reason. If there are in- 
 conveniences and what is called ruin in the way, 
 because we have so enervated and maimed oui*- 
 selves, yet it would be like dying of perfumes to 
 sink in the effort to re-attach the deeds of every 
 day to the lioly and mysterious recesses of life. 
 
MAN THE REFORMER. 
 
 237 
 
 The power which is at once spring and re^lator 
 in all efforts of reforai is the conviction that there 
 is an infinite worthiness in man, which will appear 
 at the call of worth, and that all particular reforms 
 are the removing of some impediment. Is it not 
 the highest duty that man should be honored in us? 
 I ought not to allow any man, because he has broa<l 
 lands, to feel that he is rich in my presence. I 
 ought to make him feel that I can do without his 
 riches, that I cannot be bought, — neither })y vM\n- 
 fort, neither by pride, — and though 1 Ijc utterly 
 penniless, and receiving bread from him, that he is 
 the poor man beside me. And if, at the same time, 
 a woman or a child discovers a sentiment of piety, 
 or a juster way of thinking than mine, I ought to 
 confess it by my respect and obedience, though it 
 go to alter my whole way of life. 
 
 The Americans have many virtues, but they 
 have not Faith and Hope. I know no two words 
 whose meaning is more lost sight of. We use 
 these words as if they were as obsohjte as Selah 
 and Amen. And yet they have the broadest mean- 
 ing, and the most cogent application to Boston in 
 this year. The Americans have little faith. They 
 rely on the power of a dollar ; they are deaf to a 
 sentiment. They think you may talk the north 
 wind down as easily as raise society ; and no class 
 more faithless than the scholars or intellectual men. 
 
 I i 
 
28vS MAN niK HEFOHMKR. 
 
 Now if 1 talk ^^^th u sinooiv wise luim, luiil tnv 
 fru'iul, Nvith a poot, with a ivusi-irntious youth 
 who 154 still nuilov tho lUuuiniou oi his own wiKl 
 thouii'hts, ami not yot haruosstvl in tho toain o( ^o- 
 oioty tv> tlnig with us all in tl»t> nits of oustom, 1 
 soo at oiUH» how paltry i^i^ all this ji-onoration of un- 
 Miovovs, aiul what a houso of oaitls thoiv iustitu- 
 tious aiv, ami I soo what one bravo man, what ouo 
 gwat thouuht oxtH'utod miuht olYoot. I soo that 
 tho ivasou i>f tho distrust of tho pvaotit.'al man in 
 all theory, is his inahility to poivoivo tho nutans 
 \vhotvbY wo work. Look, ho siivs, at tho toi>ls with 
 Avhioh this worlil of yours is to bo built. As wo 
 oaiH\ot Tuako a planot, with atuiosphoiv, rivei*s, and 
 foivsts, by uu\^ius of tho best oarpoutoi"s' or ougi- 
 lUHU's' tiH^ls, with t'homist's lalH^ratorv aud smith's 
 foi'jiv to lHH>t, — SO luuthor oan wo ovor oiMistniot 
 that hoavouly swioty you prato of out of fiH^lislx, 
 siok, soltish mou aud womou, suoh as wo know 
 thout to bo. Init tho bollovor not ouly beholds his 
 hoavou to bo possible, but already to begin ti> ex- 
 ist, — not by tho nuxu or materials tho statosu\au 
 uses, but by men tnvustiguivd aud mised aluno 
 theiuselves by the pinver of priuiviples. 1\> piiuvu- 
 j>les soiuetluug" else is jx^ssiblo that trausoeuds all 
 tho jxnver of exjH\lieuts, 
 
 Kverv iri^ej^t aud eommaudiug uiomeut iu the an- 
 nals of the world is the triiuuph of souie enthusiasm. 
 
MAN THE REFORMER. 239 
 
 ' i e victories of tlic A-rubs after Mulioniet, wlio, in a 
 1' v' years, from a siriall and mean beginning, estab- 
 wid a larger empire tlian that of Jtome, is an ex- 
 j)l(i. They did they knew not wliat. The naked 
 i>' rar, liorsed on an idea, was found an overmiitf;li 
 lor a troop of Roinan cavahy. Tlie wonwiii f ought 
 1;1 <j men, and conquered the Rorjian men. Tliey 
 were miserably equip]>ed, mis(irably fed. Tliey were 
 Ti rnjKirance troops. TJiere was neitlier brandy nor 
 i i sh need(}d to feed them. They c<jnquered Asia, 
 11 d Africa, and Spain, on barley. The Calipli 
 (J.iar'B walking-stick struck more terror into thos<; 
 wijp saw it than another maii's sword. His diet 
 ; barley Ijread; his sauce was salt; and of ten- 
 Li. es by way of a}>stinence he ate his brea<l with- 
 out salt. His drink was water. His pahu;e was 
 built of mud ; and when he hift Medina to go to 
 the conquest of Jeruwalem, he rode on a red camel, 
 witli a wooden platter lianging at his sa^ldle, with a 
 bottle of water and two sacks, one holding barley, 
 and the other dried fruits. 
 
 But there will dawn ere long on our politics, on 
 our modes of living, a nobler morning than that Ara- 
 bian faitli, in the sentinKmt of love. This is tlie 
 one remedy for all ills, the panaxjea of nature. We 
 must be lov(;rs, and at once the impossible becomes 
 possible. Our age and history, for these tliousand 
 years, lias not been the history of kindne.is, but 
 
240 MAN THE RFFOliMKR, 
 
 of selfishness. Our distrust is veiy expensive. Tl o 
 nionov wo s])imu1 for eourts and prisons is very ill 
 laid out. Wo make, by distrust, the thief, an J 
 l)ui'i;lar, and ini't>ndiarv, and by our court and ja I 
 >vo keep him st>. An aoooptanoe of the sentinlep^ 
 of love throughout Christoudoni for a season woul.^ 
 brinsr the felon mid tJie outoast tt> our side in teaiv , 
 with the devotion of his fai'ulties to our servior. 
 See this wide soeioty of laboring" men and women. 
 Wo alli>w ourselves to be served by them, we liv 
 apart from thom, and meet them witlumt a salul. 
 in tlie streets. AVe do not greet their talents, no 
 rejoice in their good fortune, nor foster their hopef- 
 nor in the assembly of the people vote for what i- 
 dear to thom. Thus w^e enact the }>art of the self- 
 ish noble and king from the foundation of tli^' 
 world. See, this tree always bears one fruit. In 
 every household, tlie peace of a pair is poisoned by 
 the malice, slyness, indolence, and alienation of do- 
 mestics. Let any two matrons meet, and observe 
 how soon their conversation turns on tJie troubles 
 from their " /ulp" as our phrase is. In every 
 knot of laborers the rich man iloos not fool himself 
 among his friends, — and at the polls he finds them 
 arrayed in a mass in distinot opposition to him. 
 AVe complain that the politics of masses of the 
 people are controlled by designing men, and h>d in 
 opposition to manifest justice and tJio conunon 
 
MAN THE liEl'OUMELL 241 
 
 weal, and to their own interest. But the peoplti 
 do not winh to be represented or ruled by the igno- 
 rant and base. Th(iy only vote for these, because 
 they were asked with the voice and semblance of 
 kindness. They will not vote for them long. They 
 inevitaldy prefer wit and proljity. To use an Egyp- 
 tian metaphor, it is not their will for any long time 
 " to raise the nails of wild beasts, and to depress 
 the heads of the saxjred Inrds." Let our affection 
 flow out to our fellows ; it would operate in a day 
 the greatest of all revolutions. It is better to work 
 on institutions by the sun tlian by the wind. The 
 State miist consider the poor man, and all voices 
 must speak for him. Every child that is bora 
 must have a just chance for his Ijread. Let the 
 amelioration in our laws of })rop<;i'ty proceed from 
 the concession of the rich, n(jt from the grasping of 
 the poor. Let us begin by halntual impai-ting. 
 Let us understand tliat the equitalde rule is, tliat 
 no one should take more tlian his sliare, let him 
 be ever so rich. Let me feel that I am to be 
 a lover. I am to see to it that the world is 
 the better for me, and to find my reward in the 
 act. Love would put a new fa<ie on this weaiy old 
 world in which we dwell as pagans and enemies too 
 long, and it would warm the heart t^j see how fast 
 the vain diplomacy of statesmen, the impotence of 
 armies, and navies, and lines of defence, would be 
 
 VOL. I. 16 
 
242 MAN THE BEFORyjER. 
 
 sniHTseiled by this unarnieil child. Love will creep 
 where it cannot go, will accomplish that by imper- 
 ceptible methods, — being its own lever, fulcrum, 
 and power, — which force could never achieve. 
 Have you not seen in the woods, in a late autumn 
 morning, a poor fungus or mushrooni, — a plant 
 without any solidity, nay, that seemed nothing but 
 a soft mush or jelly, — by its constant, total, and 
 inconceivably gentle pushing, manage to break its 
 way up through the frosty ground, and actually to 
 lift a hard crust on its head ? It is the symbol of 
 the power of kindness. The virtue of this principle 
 in human society in application to great interests is 
 obsolete and forgotten. Once or twice in history 
 it has been tried in illustrious instances, with sig- 
 nal success. This great, overgrown, dead Chris- 
 tendom of ours still keeps alive at least the name 
 of a lover of mankind. But one day all men will be 
 lovers ; and every calamity wall be dissolved in the 
 universal sunshine. 
 
 Will yon suffer me to add one trait more to this 
 portrait of man the reformer ? The mediator be- 
 tween the spiritual and the actual world should 
 have a great prospective prudence. An Arabian 
 poet describes his hero by saying, 
 
 " Sunshine was he. 
 In the winter day ; 
 And in the midsummer 
 Coolness and shade." 
 
MAN THE REFORMER. 243 
 
 He who would help himself and others should not 
 be a subject of irregular and interrupted impulses 
 of virtue, but a continent, persisting, immovable 
 person, — such as we have seen a few scattered up 
 and down in time for the blessing of the world ; 
 men who have in the gravity of their nature a qual- 
 ity which answers to the fly-wheel in a mill, which 
 distributes the motion equably over all the wheels 
 and hinders it from falling unequally and suddenly 
 in destructive shocks. It is better that joy should 
 be spread over all the day in the form of strength, 
 than that it should be concentrated into ecstasies, 
 full of danger and followed by reactions. There is 
 a sublime prudence which is the very highest that 
 we know of man, which, believing in a vast future, 
 — sure of more to come than is yet seen, — post- 
 pones always the present hour to the whole life ; 
 post]3ones talent to genius, and sjiecial results to 
 character. As the merchant gladly takes money 
 from his income to add to his capital, so is the great 
 man very willing to lose particular powers and tal- 
 ents, so that he gain in the elevation of his life. 
 The opening of the spiritual senses disposes men 
 ever to gi-eater sacrifices, to leave their signal tal- 
 ents, their best means and skill of procuring a pres- 
 ent success, their power and their fame, — to cast 
 all things behind, in the insatiable thirst for divine 
 communications. A purer fame, a greater power 
 
244 MAN Till': REF0R3JER. 
 
 rewards the sacrifiee. It is the conversion of our 
 harvest into seed. As the farmer easts into the 
 groiuid the finest ears of his grain, the time will 
 come when we too shall hold nothing hack, bnt 
 shall eagerly convert more thixn we now possess 
 into means and powers, when we shall be willing to 
 sow the sun and the moon for seeds. 
 
LECTURE ON TTTE TIMES. 
 
 BEAD AT TILE MASONIC TEMPLE, BOSTON, DECEMBER 2, 1841. 
 
LECTURE OX THE TIMES. 
 
 TifE Timer, as we say — or the present aspects 
 of our social state, the Laws, Divinity, Natural Sci- 
 ence, Ag-iiculture, Art, Trade, Letters, liave their 
 root in an invisible spiritual reality. To appear 
 in these aspects, they must first exist, or have some 
 necessary foundation. Beside all the small reasons 
 we assign, there Ls a great reason for the existence 
 of every extant fact ; a reason which lies grand and 
 immovable, often unsus])ected, behind it in silence. 
 The Times are the masquerade of the Eternities ; 
 trivial to the dull, tokens of noble and majestic 
 agents to the wise ; the receptaxde in which the 
 Past leaves its history ; the quarry out of which 
 the genius of to-day is building up the Future. 
 The Times — the nations, manners, institutions, 
 oi)inions, votes, are to be studied as omens, as sar- 
 cred leaves, whereon a weighty sense is inscribed, 
 if we have the wit and the love to search it out. 
 Nature itself seems to propound to us tliis t<Ji>ic, 
 and tn invite us to explore the meaning of the con- 
 spicuous facts of the day. Everything that is poj>- 
 
248 LECTURE ON THE TIMES. 
 
 vilar, it has beeu said, deserves the attention of the 
 philosopher : and this for the obvious reason, that 
 although it may not be of any worth in itself, yet 
 it characterizes the people. 
 
 Here is very good matter to be handled, if we 
 are skilful; an abundance of important practical 
 questions which it behooves us to understand. 
 Let us examine the pretensions of the attacking 
 and defending- parties. Here is this great fact of 
 Conservatism, entrenched in its immense redoubts, 
 with Hinmialeh for its front, and Atlas for its 
 flank, and Andes for its rear, and the Atlantic and 
 Pacific seas for its ditches and trenches ; which has 
 planted its crosses, and crescents, and stars and 
 stripes, and various signs and badges of possession, 
 over every rood of the planet, and says, ' I will 
 hold fast ; and to whom I will, will I give ; and 
 whom I will, will I exclude and starve : ' so says 
 Conservatism ; and all the children of men attack 
 the colossus in their youth, and all, or all but a 
 few, bow before it when they are old. A necessity 
 not yet commanded, a negative imposed on the 
 will of man by his condition, a deficiency in his 
 force, is the foundation on which it rests. Let 
 this side be fairly stated. Meantime, on the other 
 part, arises Reform, and offers the sentiment of 
 Love as an overmatch to this material might. I 
 wish to consider well this affirmative side, which 
 
LECTURE ON THE TIMES. 249 
 
 has a loftier port and reason than heretofore, whi(rh 
 encroaches on the other every day, puts it out of 
 countenance, out of reason, and out of temper, and 
 leaves it nothing but silence and possession. 
 
 The fact of aristocracy, with its two weapons of 
 wealth and manners, is as commanding a feature of 
 the nineteenth century and the American republic 
 as of old Kome, or modern England. The reason 
 and influence of wealth, the aspect of philosoi)hy 
 and religion, and the tendencies which have ac- 
 quired the name of Transcendentalism in Old and 
 New England ; the aspect of poetry, as the expo- 
 nent and interpretation of these things ; the fuller 
 development and the freer play of Character as a 
 social and political agent ; — these and other related 
 topics will in turn come to be considered. 
 
 But the subject of the Times is not an abstract 
 question. We talk of the world, but we mean a 
 few men and women. If you speak of the age, you 
 mean your own platoon of people, as Dante and 
 Milton painted in colossal their platoons, and called 
 them Heaven and Hell. In our idea of progress, 
 we do not go out of this personal picture. We do 
 not think the sky will lie bluer, or honey sweeter, 
 or our climate more temperate, but only that our 
 relation to our fellows will be simpler and happier. 
 What is the reason to be given for this extreme at- 
 traction which persons have for us, but that they 
 
250 LECrUEE ON TIIF. TIMES. 
 
 nro ilio Ai^c ? (hoy are the results of the l\ist ; 
 they ate the heralds of the Futuri>. They iiulieate, 
 — these witty, sutYerinji', blushing, intimidating' iig- 
 ures of the only rai'o in which there art> individuals 
 or ehanges, how far o\\ the Fate has gon(\ and what 
 it ilrives at. As trees make sirenery, and eonsti- 
 tute the hospitality of the landsea])e, so persons are 
 the world to i)ersons, A ennning mystery by whieh 
 the (Jreat Desert of thoughts and of planets takes 
 this engaging form, to bring, as it would seem, its 
 meanings nearer to the mind. Thoughts walk aiul 
 speak, ajul look with eyes at me, and transjwrt mo 
 into utnv and magnitieent seenes. These are tho 
 pungent instruetors who thrill the heart of each of 
 us, and make all other teaehing fornud and eold. 
 How 1 folhnv them With aehing heart, with pining 
 desire! 1 t'ount myself nothing before them. T 
 would die for them with joy. They ean do what 
 they will with nu>. How they lash us with those 
 tongues! How they make the tears start, make us 
 blush ami turn pale, anil lap us in Elysium to sooth- 
 ing dreams and easth^s in the air ! By tones of 
 triuniph, of dear love, by threats, by j^ride that 
 freezes, these liave the skill to luake the world look 
 bleak and inhospitabli>, or seem the nest of tender- 
 iu»ss and joy. I do not wonder at the miraeles 
 Avhieh poetry attributes io the nmsie of Orpheus, 
 when 1 remember what 1 have experienced from 
 
LECTURE ON THE TIMES. 251 
 
 tlic VMri(!(l notes <ji" tJic liu)iian voi<;<;. "^ ^K'y arc an 
 incalculable energy which countervailH all other 
 forc(;s in nature, because they are the (jhannel of 
 Hupjirnatural powers. There is no interest or insti- 
 tution so poor and withered, but if a new stron}^ 
 man could be born into it, he would imnjcdiately 
 r(ideeni and r(;plac<; it. A j)(;rKonal ascendency, — 
 that is the only fact much woi-th (jonsidering. I re- 
 mendjer, some years aj^o, somebody shocked a circle 
 of friends of order here in Jioston, who supposed 
 that our peoi>le were identified with their relij^ious 
 denominations, by declaring that an eloquent man, 
 — let him be of wliat sect soever, — would be or- 
 dained at once in one of our metropolitan churches. 
 To 1j(; sure he would ; and not only in ours but in 
 any church, moscpie, or temple, on the planet ; but 
 he must be eloquent, able to supplant our method 
 and classification by the superior V^eauty of his own. 
 lilvery fact we have was brought here by some per- 
 son ; and there is none that will not change and 
 pass away before a person whose nature is broader 
 ihon the person wliif^li the fact in question repre- 
 sents. And so I find the Age walking about in 
 happy and hopeful natures, in strong eyes and pleas- 
 ant thoughts, and think I read it nearer and truer 
 so, than in the statutobook, or in the investments 
 of capital, which rather celebrate with mournful 
 music the obsequies of the last age. In the brain of a 
 
252 LECTUIiE ON THE TIMES. 
 
 f;uiatio ; in the wild hope of a mountain l)oy, oallcd 
 by city boys very ipiorant, beeanse they do not 
 know what his hope has eertainly appiised him sliall 
 be ; in the h)ve-»;lance of a j;iil; in the hair-splitting- 
 eonseientionsness of some eeeentrie person who has 
 found some new scruple to embarrass liimself and 
 his neighbors withal is to be found that which shall 
 constitute the times to come, more than in the now 
 organized and accreilited oraides. For whatever is 
 aflirmative and now advancing, contains it. I think 
 that only is real wliich men love and rejoice in ; 
 not what they tolerate, but what they choose ; what 
 they end)race and avow, and not the things which 
 chill, benumb, and terrify them. 
 
 And so why not draw for these times a portrait 
 gallery? Let us paint the painters. Whilst the 
 Dnguerreotypist, with cainera-obscura and silver 
 plate, begins now to traverse the land, let us set up 
 our Caniera also, and let the sun paint the jieople. 
 Let us paint the agitator, and the man of the c^ld 
 school, and the member of Congress, and the col- 
 lege-professor, the formidable editor, the priest anu 
 reformer, the contemi)lative girl, and the fair as- 
 pirant for fashion and opportunities, the wonum of 
 the world who has tried and knows ; — let us ex- 
 amine how well she knows. Could we indicate the 
 indicators, indicate those who most accurately rep- 
 resent every good and evil tendency of the general 
 
LECTURE ON THE TIMES. 2.>3 
 
 mind, in the just order whieh they take on this ean- 
 vas of Time, so that all witnesses should recog- 
 nize a spiritual law as each well known form flitted 
 for a moment across the wall, we should have a 
 series of sketches which would report to the next 
 ages the color and quality of ours. 
 
 Certainly I think if this were done there would 
 be much to admire as well as to condemn ; soids 
 of as lofty a port as any in Greek or Roman fame 
 might appear ; men of great heart, of strong hand, 
 and of persuasive speech ; subtle thinkers, and men 
 of wide sympathy, and an appreliension which looks 
 over all history and everywhere recognizes its own. 
 To be sure, there will be fragments and hints of 
 men, more than enough : bloated promises, which 
 end in notliing or little. And then truly great 
 men, but with some defect in their composition 
 which neutralizes their whole force. Here is a 
 DamafK'us blade, such as you may search through 
 nature in vain to parallel, laid up on the shelf in 
 some village to rust and ruin. And how many 
 seem not quite available for that idea which they 
 represent ? Now and then comes a bolder spirit, I 
 should rather say, a more sunendered soul, more 
 informed and led by God, which is much in ad- 
 vance of the rest, quite beyond their sj^npathy, but 
 predicts what shall soon be the general fulness ; as 
 when we stand by the seashore, wliilst the tide is 
 
254 LECTURE Oy THE TnfEi>. 
 
 cowuwj; ill, ;i \v;ivo t'omos up tho bo;u'h far liii;hor 
 than any I'luvgoing one, aiul roi'cilos : and for a 
 loni;' whilo none conuvs np to that nuirk ; Imt aik'i' 
 soino (inio (ho wholo soa is thoro and Ivvond it. 
 
 Rut Nvo arc not j>onnittod to stand as spectators 
 oi I ho pam^ant which the times exhibit : we aro 
 parties also, and have a responsibility whieh is not 
 to be declined. A litthMvhile this interval of wou- 
 (h>r ami I'oniparison is permitted us. but to the eiul 
 that we shall })la_v a manly part. As the solar s^'S- 
 tem moves forwanl in the heavens, certain stairs 
 open before us. and certain stars t'lose up behind us ; 
 so is man's life. The reputations that were ij,reat 
 and iuaccessible change and tarnish, llow great 
 were once Lord Bacon's dimensions I he is now 
 ivduced ahnost to the middle height : and many 
 another star has turned out to be a planet or an as- 
 teroid : only a few are the tixeil stars which havo 
 no parallax, or none for us. The change and do- 
 I'line of old reputations are the gracious marks of 
 our own growth. Slowly, like light of uvorning, it 
 steals on us, the new fact, that we who were pupils 
 or aspirants are now society : do compose a portion 
 of that head and heart wi> are wont to think worthy 
 of all reverence and heed. ^^ e are the ivpix^sen- 
 tatives of religion and intellect, and stand in the 
 lii^ht of Ideas, wlu>se rays stivam tlirou<;h us to 
 those youuger aiul more iu tlie dark. AVliat further 
 
LhUJl'IIIU'l ON I'llE riMEH. 255 
 
 rolatloriH wc HiiHiiiiii, wli;ii ii(!W IojI^ch wo arc ont(!r- 
 inj^, Ih mow miUiiovvn. 'lo-day i'h a kinj^' in <lisf;iiiHO. 
 To-day ulwayH Jookw iiioaii to ilio ilioiij^litlcHH, in tho 
 fac<! of :iii uniforrii <rx|)<!riciico iliat all ^oo<l and 
 gr(3at and Iia|>|)y actionn aic; iiiado up |ti(!c,iH(!ly of 
 thoHO hlanU to-day.H. L(;t ns not, h(; ko dcc.ciivod. 
 L(!t iiH unniaHk tlic! kin;; aw Ikj paHWjH. Lot uh not 
 inluihit lini(!H of wondorful iind variouH pronuHe 
 witlioiib divinin;; ilioir tendency. Lot iih not hoo 
 tlio foundations of n;itionH, and of a now ;uid hottor 
 ordor of thin^H laid, with vovin;; <'yoH, and an at- 
 tontion j)r<',oo(Mij)i<!d with triHoH. 
 
 "i'ln; two onnii|)roHont parti<'-H of friHtory, tho 
 party of th(! Past and th<; p;irty of f ho l''ntiir(^, di- 
 vide Hooioty to-day 'j^v, of old. Iloro in tlio innurn(!r- 
 al)lo nndtitiido of tiioso wlio ao(!<!j)t tlio stato and 
 tlio ohiiich from the, last ^(jmjration, and Htand on 
 no ar^ujuont hut j)OHH0HHion. I h<y havo roaHon 
 also, and, as I think, hotter iciison th;in is ooin- 
 TMonly Htatod. No liurko, no Mott(;rnioli liaH yot 
 douo full juHtJoo to tin; Hide; of oonHorvatiHrn. I>ut 
 thiH clasH, liow(!vor largo, rolying not f>n tlu; intol- 
 leot l)ut on the instinct, ld(jndH itself with tlio Innto 
 foro(!H of nature, Ih reHp«!(;tal)l(j only as nature; is ; hut 
 tho individuals havo no attnwition for ns. Tt ia tho 
 dissont<a-, tho thoorist, tho aspirant, wlio is (juittiji;; 
 this ancient domain to omhark on HoaH of axlvon- 
 iuro, who ongagos om- intci-ost. Omitting thou for 
 
250 luicrrtit^ ox thk rntKS, 
 
 i\\o |m\*4tM\t all notioo oi i\w m,ui*m»;u'v oIhss, wo 
 nhall liuil tl\;>t i\\o \\u'>\ou\c\\i \k\v[\ ilividrs Itsolf 
 i>it»> two olussovs, (ho !U'(ors, juul tho stiultMits. 
 
 riio uoto»^ o\vi\stit\itt^ tUut ii~»vat n\u\v of mavtv »•« 
 ^^lu^ at losHst u\ Amorioa, \>y thoiv o\>usoio\uv aiul 
 \\lulautlu\>)\\, iHvupv (ho iii\>ut\il whith (.^ilvinism 
 tHVuj»ioil in tho last a^x\ a»ul ^^>mpos^^ (ho visihU* 
 ohmvh ol" tho «^\is(ing iivuoratiou. Tlu^ juvvsont 
 aj;v will ho niavkisl hy itji harYo?<( v>l" p\\>itH'ts>< tor 
 tho »vt\vvm ot vU>uu\«itio. oivil. Utoravv, iwiil oinvlosi- 
 JUstioiU i«stit(itUM»s. Tho loa^Uis i>t' tho t'rusailos 
 n^uuxst War, ^>0};'l^^ sslavorv, luttnupovauoo, lu>voru- 
 mout Kastnl oit fvu^v. rvSj>i;x^s of travlo, Oourt aiul 
 i\»stom hoiiso Oaths, avvvl t^o o» io (ho aiiitatot*s on 
 ilio svstoiu of l'\h»oatuv« auvl tht* laws v>f ri\n>«M*tv, 
 aiv tho riiiht suihvssim's i^f Ln(hor, Kuo\, Uohiii- 
 so«, Kv^\, IVnu, Woslov, aiul WhittuvUl. Thov 
 havo tho sjuuo virtuos a.\»ilvi<vs; tho s^viuo nohlo 
 iuipulso, ami tho siuuo lnii\>tvv. Thoso nunomonts 
 aiv iv(» all aiHHnmts uujnntjmt ; tJ\OY not oiUy ohiH'k 
 tho sjHvial abustvs. but thov tniuoato tho v\»usoiotuv 
 aiul tho JtvtolUvt i>f tho |HH>txlo. I Knv oaii suoh a 
 qxuvstiou as tho Slav^'^ti'julo Iv aj^itattnl for fv>vtY 
 Yx^H.i's hv iUl tlio (.'hvistiau uatiiviis, withmit thi\>w- 
 »»\5i" 5iTt\at Hiiht o« othios \\Uo tho iivnonU luhui? 
 Tho fuv\ with whioh tho slav^v-tnulor vlofoiuls ovorv 
 hu'h txf his KKhhIy iUvk and his liowliui*' aiiotion- 
 jilait\>vtu, is a trum^vt to alarui tho t\sv of niaukiinl, 
 
/.uri iJiU'. <)!i nil. iiMEH. 2r>7 
 
 \Ai waJ«r \\\i', <JuJI, :\.ui\ ilinvt', a) J iH',uU'nhi i/t i^kh 
 nuU'M '.uA i/> W^U'Ai U> iUc, }ti"^u!ii(',hi utA f.h/; v<;r<jj/?fc, 
 
 Hni'nitt of U'.n iUifimttui citcJirw, an/l 'm twJil y ttt/culU'A 
 at «;v<?i'y pubJi'; an/1 at <;v<fry pr'tvaUt taHtUi, drawing 
 witfi it all f,fj/; cutUnia atU'wH of iiic \'U'A'/h, of i\u'. 
 Wimxjiiij'ftti/^n, of tfii; ('Acuity of tli/^ utn-itafiutinrh 
 aii'i til/; it'iulh, in a 'iiyuiuiMiu; UalttUi')^ t/f iht ca*- 
 uiairy a/i/j c4>uiiA'M'AU'A', of i\tt; titin% Aitii-uumfury 
 \iiu\ a 'J<->;p rij^fit an/J wroti'/, wUit-h j^ra/jiially 
 I'Aiti'AmA U> M'^}ii out of t.fj/5 uMt'ui t'/mirovHi'ny. 
 The \>o\\Ut;'4\ i\i\iffA'u>U'A Ui\U',U\u'ii^ th/; f iank^ ; tli/j 
 Tariff; tf</; Jirnitii of th/j cxt'/^tit'tvi} \HfM/t',r', tiiw. r'i'^Ut 
 of i\ui ('AnuiiAUit'jit tr; Ittiiinu't iUh r*',\>rtiM*'Jitniivi} ; 
 th/; it(inimt'jit of t}i/j ItuVmuA ; tli/; I't^futuinty warn; 
 til/5 (Utu'^nim of uniufui^ ; ar/j all im-z/unftt with 
 idU'n'/A ('AfticAnahfUh ; aii/1 it i<* w/Jl if gov/;n<rrt/;fit 
 an/1 our >4/x;iai '/r/l/;r /jan (■■,xiv\cM.U- i}nitnn*'Av(^ from 
 tW^; n\('jui)'u'M and fJn/J iin'Aitmdvdn «till '/ovHrrtutcnt 
 an/1 «/^;ial oriU'.r. Th/j aUuUiUt of luM/fry v/il\ liuitd' 
 afU'.r <'/>nn>nUi tli/; MU'/nlixr valiw? //f oiir cwihtm 
 iVm'Aim'ton //f qturniUmn i/t tli/; r/iin/l //f tli/j \)*'yuA* 
 
 VV'hikt /rftrjh //f tli/;)j/; '^p\rH.iion)i ami aiU'An\fiii <4 
 i\n'. \)*'/f\>\ii for i\ii', \*i*^.U',r hi n«aj>Tjifj/-^l 1/y tli/; nat- 
 ural i',xn.'^'^('.raX'uni of it» a/lv/x^t^;^, until It cxchuUtn 
 tlj/; tA}it',ty> from «ight, an/1 r<;f>/;b< iVmcrtvi^ itarwum 
 by tlifc nnfHintt^A <A tlw; pl/^ tli/; ni/>v<;rft/;nt» ar/> 
 in r/rftlity all {^artM of on/; «i/^v<r«i/;nt. Tfi/;r/; i>i a 
 
258 Lh:crrnr o\ rnr riMi-s. 
 
 porfov't I'liMui. st>iMl. or siH< it not, — o( rofonns 
 oiuoroiui;' fi\>\ii (ho surnntuilinn' ilnrUuoss, o;\oh 
 ohovishiuji" st>n»o \k\yI o( {\\o jivnorul iiloju ami all 
 i\mst bo soon in oi»lov io do justioo io any »n»o. 
 Soo)» in tliis (hoir natural oiMuioitiou. I hoy an» sul>- 
 linio. Tho oi>nsoioni*o of (ho Ajiv ilonionstratos it- 
 t^oltiiKhis otYort io raiso (ho lito y-<( man In pn((inj;' 
 it in harmony \vi(h his i<loa oi ihc Hoantiful auil 
 (ho .lust. Tho histiny o( rot\>rm is always iilontU 
 oal. it is tho oo(\»iiarison oi tho iiloa with (ho t'aot. 
 C)ur \uotlos of livinii' a»v not au'ivoablo to ^nir imaii- 
 inatiiMi. Wo suspoot thoy aiv unworthy. Wo ar- 
 mvigu our ilaily o»n|^loy(uou(s. Thoy a|>poav to us 
 \mli(. m»wvu-thy of (ho faouhios wo spouJ on (horn. 
 In I'ouYorsjition with a wiso man. wo liuvl v^ursolvos 
 apolos;i/.in>;" for our onuUinMuonts : wo spoak of 
 thom with shauu\ N.atuiv, litoratuiv, soionoo, 
 ohihlluHHl. ap^var (o us boautiful: but not our tnvn 
 ilaily work. not (ho ripo fruit auvl oonsiiloivd laboi-s 
 of man. This boauty whioh tho fanoy tinds in 
 OYorythiuii- olso, otntainly aoonsos tho uiannor of 
 li t'o wo loavl. Why should it bo hatoful ? Why 
 shoulvl it oontrast thus with all natural boautv ? 
 Why shoulvl it i\o( bo i>ootio. ami invito and raise 
 tis .' Is thoiv a mvossity that tho woi'ks of man 
 shonUl Iv so^^lid? IVrhaps not. — Out of this fair 
 Idoa in tho mind sprinii^ tho otYort at tho IVrfoet. 
 It is tho interior testimony to a fairtu* jKVi^ibllity of 
 
I.ECTdhl: ON rill': TIM EH. 2.0*^ 
 
 lif(j ari'l iri;irin<rH which ji^ituU^M wicicty <;v<;r'y Hay 
 with th<'. offVj- of Ho/rx; n(!W arnorKJniont. If w<; 
 would jii;i,l<«; rnon? Htri(;t ifi'jriiry (;orj<;<;rning itH ori- 
 gin, wc find ourH(;lv<;H raj>id]y a[)j»f'o;t<;hin;( tlnj in- 
 n(;r hourMhirioH of lliouj^lif,, that t<;nn whcro HjH5<;ch 
 )>«;f;oiri<!H HiJoiftr;, and Hc'lctWAi c.0UH<;h:JU'Ai. For iho 
 ori^^in of ;ill reform in In tliat rnyHt/^riouH fountain 
 of the moral H<;ntim<!iit in ni;in, which, amidnt tho 
 natnral, <!vcr containn tlio H\i]><;ni',d\iin\ for men. 
 'I'hat in now and or«;ativ<;. TJiat in alive, 'ihat 
 alone, ean make a ifian r>ther than ho in. Here or 
 nowh(!n; renidrjH unhounded energy, u/ihounded 
 j)ow(jr. 
 
 The new vou-j-m in tlie wiMer-neHH cryinj^ " Ko 
 pent," have revived a hf;[)e, whieh \nu\ wejj-ni^li 
 perinhed <>n\, of the world, tliat the thou^litH of the 
 mind may yet, in Home dintant age, in Home hap[>y 
 lio(n-, ho exeeijt<;d hy the handn. That in the ho[)e, 
 of whi(;l» all rather hopoH are partH. For Hr>nie agen, 
 thewc idean have heen f;r>nHign(5d t^> the poet and 
 muHieal eompoHer, to the prayern and tli'; HerrnonH 
 ofchiin;heH; but the thought that they ean ever 
 liave any footing in real life, H*;emH long ninee t/> 
 have, he«;n exploded by all judif;iouH pernonn. Mil- 
 t^>n, in hin beHt tra^.-t, dcwjribeH a rekttir^n between 
 religion and th(j daily ocenpationn, whieh in t/aie 
 until thin time. 
 
 "A wealthy man, addicted to hin pleaHure and 
 
260 LECTUnE ON THE TIMES. 
 
 to his profits, llnils religion ti> bo a traffic so en- 
 taiiiiloil, and of so many piiUllinu^ ai'counts, that 
 of all mysteries he cannot skill to keep a stock go- 
 ing- njion that trade. What should he do? Fain 
 he ^Y0uld have the name to be religious ; fain ho 
 would bear up with his iu>ighbors in that. ^Mlat 
 does he therefore, but resolve to give over toiling, 
 and to find himself out some factor, to whose care 
 and credit he may commit the whole managing of 
 his religious affairs ; some divine of note and estima- 
 tion that must be. To him he adheres, resigns the 
 whole warehouse of his religion, with all the locks 
 and keys, into his custt)dy ; and indeed makes the 
 very person of that man his religion ; esteems his 
 associating with him a sufficient evidence and com- 
 inendatory of his owii piety. So that a man may 
 sav his religion is now no more within himself, but 
 is become a dividual moveable, and goes and comes 
 near him, according as that good man frequents 
 the house, lie entertains him, gives him gifts, 
 feasts him, lodges him ; his religion comes home at 
 night, prays, is liberally supped, and sum})tuously 
 laid to sleep ; rises, is saluted, and after the malm- 
 sey, or some well spiced bruage, and better break- 
 fasted than he whose morning appetite would have 
 gladly fed on green figs between Bethany and Je- 
 rusalem, his religion walks abroad at eight, and 
 leaves his kind entertainer in the shop, trading all 
 day without his relii^ion." 
 
LECTURE ON THE TIMES. 261 
 
 This pictuHi wr>ukl serve for our times. Relig- 
 ion was not invited to eat or drink or sleep with us, 
 or to make or divide an estate, but was a holiday 
 guest. Such omissions judge the church ; as the 
 compiomise made with the slaveholder, not much 
 noticed at first, every day appears more flagiant 
 mischief to the American constitution. But now 
 the purists are looking into all these matters. The 
 more intelligent are growing uneasy on the suljject 
 of Marriage. They wish to see the character re- 
 presented also in that covenant. There shall be 
 nothing bmtal in it, but it shall honor the man and 
 the woman, as much as the most diffusive and uiu- 
 versal action. Grimly the same spirit looks into 
 the law of Property, and accuses men of driving a 
 trade in the gi-eat boundless providence which had 
 given the air, the water, and the land to men, to 
 use and not to fence in and monopolize. It casts 
 its eye on Trade, and Day Labor, and so it goes up 
 and down, paving the ear-th with eyes, destroying 
 privacy and making thorough-lights. Is all this for 
 nothing ? Do you suppose that the reforms which 
 are preparing will be as superficial as those we 
 know ? 
 
 By the books it reads and translates, judge what 
 books it will presently print. A great deal of the 
 jnofoundost thinking of antiquity, which had be- 
 come as good as obsolete for us, is now re-appear- 
 
262 LKCTriiF oy rm: times. 
 
 uxiX in oxtrai'ts aiul allusions, and in twontv yonva 
 will o-ot all printvil anmv. iSoo how darini;' is tho 
 ivadinji', tho s|HHnilutit>n, tho oxpoviniontini;' of tho 
 tin\o. It" now sonio i^vnius shall ariso who ooulil 
 nnito tJioso soattoroil niys ! Ami always siu'h a 
 uoviius dtuvs oniboily tho iiloas of oaoh tinio. lloro 
 is uroat vai'ioty and riohnoss of mystioisni, oaoh 
 part oi whii'h now (>nly disi^nsts whilst it forms 
 tJio solo thoni;ht of somo |U)oi' IVrfootioni.st or 
 " Conior ont,' yot whon it shall bo takon up as tho 
 giunitnro t>f somo profound and all-rooonoilins^' 
 thinkor, will appoav tho rich and appro}>viato doeoi'- 
 atiiMi i>f his vobos. 
 
 Thoso roforn\s aro mir oontomporarios ; thoy aro 
 oursolvos ; our own li^ht, and si«;ht, and oonsi'iouoo ; 
 thoy only namo tho rolation which subsists botwoon 
 US anil tho vioious institutions whioh thoy 120 to ivo- 
 tify. riioy aro tho sim]>lost statomouts of man in 
 thoso mattors : tho plain right anil wrong. I i-an- 
 not I'hooso but allow and honor thorn. Tho impulse 
 is good, and tho theory : tho praotioo is loss bi^anti- 
 fvd. Tho Koformors atllrm tho inward lifo, but 
 thov do ni>t trust it, but use outwanl and vulii'ju* 
 moans. Thov do not roly on inooisoly that stronirth 
 whioh wins mo to thoir oausi> : not on lovo, not on 
 a [>rini'i[>lo, but i>n uumi, on uudtitudos, t>n oiroum- 
 stanoos, on money, on party ; that is, on foar, on 
 vvrath, and jn-ido. Tho lovo which liftod n»on to 
 
LECriJItE ON THE TIMES. 203 
 
 th(! Hl^lit of tli(!K(! I)(!it(!r cikIh w.'ah t!i(! truo and b(!Ht 
 (liHtiii(;iIon of iliin tiiMC, the dlHjioHition io inisi :i 
 ])n'iici|)l(; iiioi-r; ilian ;i iriut(;rial for(M5. I iliirik that 
 tlx; HON I of If roiiii ; the eoiiviction that not WiriHiial- 
 iHrri, not Hluviii-y, not war, not Inijirisonmcnt, not 
 even j(ov(!i'nrn(!nt, an; needed, — hut in lieu of them 
 all, r('li;u)ce on the; H<!ntini(!nt of ni;in, whieh will 
 woi-k JMJKt (he more it in tniHte,d ; nor, relian(;e on 
 nundier.s, hut, eontrariwiw;, diHtruHt of numhcrH and 
 the leelin;^' that tlien are we Htronj^est when most 
 private and alone. The youn^ Jiien who have h<;(;n 
 vexinf^ Hociiety for these lant y(;arH with rej^enerative 
 niethodn wjem to have nia<Je thiH miKtake ; thciy all 
 exa^^ei'atfid hoiik; HjKMual meanH, and all failed to 
 8<!e that tin; Reform <jf Refoiins muHt h(; aettom- 
 j)liHhed without mcjanH. 
 
 The J{<;fonnH have their liij^li orif^In in an ideal 
 justice, hut they do not retain the purity of an idea. 
 They ar(} quiekly or}^ani/.<;d in Borne low, ina<le(juat(; 
 form, and j)reHent no more poetic; image to tin; 
 mind than the (;vll tradition whi(;l» th<;y r(;prohated. 
 They mix the lire of the moral Hentim<;nt with per- 
 8onal and party heatH, with m<;aHur<;leHH exagf^era- 
 tions, and the hlindn(;HH tluit j>referH Home darlin;^- 
 measure to juHtl(!e and truth. '^I'Iiomc; who an; \\v\^- 
 'u\\r with most ardor what are called the great(;Ht 
 benefitH of matdtind, are narrow, H<;lf-[)leaHing, con- 
 ceited men, and affect uh as the insane do. They 
 
^4 iKcrt'HK oy thk riMhs, 
 
 bito us, ju\vl wvMUU u\;»vl also. I think tl\o \v\>vU v»f 
 tho \vt\>n\»or as u\t\tHVi\t ;\s otUoi\vv>vk that is th>no 
 »u\»m\vl him; but whot* I havo s»vn it »u>ar. I vK» 
 not liko it K^ttot. It is \K»no in tl\o sann^ wav. it 
 Js vUmio |>»>>fanol\. nv>t pionslv ; l»v »na»>ai;\vn\tMit. l\v 
 t^U'tios aiul olanu>r. It is a hnAA \\\ tho oar. 1 
 oatinot t\vl atw pK^asniv in saovitloos whioh displ;»y 
 tv» »\>o snoh iKUtialitv t»f oharaotor. Wo ilo »\ot. 
 >vav\t aotions, hnt n»on ; n»>t a oh«Mnioal il>\>p of wa- 
 tor, hnt vain : tho spirit that shtnls anil showors a*^ 
 t ions, tHMu\t loss, onilloss aotions. \\>n ha\<> o»\ sv>n\i> 
 invasion plavod ;» Ih>KI jKU't. ^ on ha\o sot \vmr 
 his*vvt anvl fa\v a^^ainst sivioty whon umi thv>ns;ht it 
 >v»\M>^V,, 5»'»*l tvtnrnovl it t"i\n\n tor t"i\n\\u IXv'ol- 
 lotit : now oa»v yv>n atYonl to l\>ri;\>t it, »\H"kvM\inii" all 
 YO»»r notiiM\ »io »\un-\^ than tho i>assin^ii" ot" \vMir hauvl 
 tlnvnjih tho air. or a littlo Invath of Nonr month? 
 Tho wkmKI U\i\-\\s no traok in spaoo, ami tho givjit- 
 t^t aotioii i>f n\at\ no inark in tho \ast iJoa. To 
 tho NvMvth ilitViilont ot his ability ainl tnll of ootn- 
 p\n\otio»» at his nnpu>tital>lo oxistomv, tho tonti»ta- 
 tion is al\v;>ys v;»vat to lond himsolf ti» i>nl>lio tmn»»- 
 inoutH, ai\vl as i>no of a {vu'ty aiHt>nti<lish what ho 
 oannot hoiu^ to otYoot aUnto. Trnt ho nmst jvsist 
 tho iloiiTailatio»\ v>f a mati to a tnoasnw. I tnnst 
 jivt with truth, thvui^h I slu>ttUl ttovor ihmuo to aot, 
 as vou oall it, with otYoot. I \nnst v»\msoi\t t\> inav*- 
 tion. A ^utiouoo whioh is graiul; a bruvo aiul oolil 
 
hEirrtiiii.: <,n '///a; i imi:h. 2^5.0 
 
 \n; <\'nn', lit ;t. i\i'A',\> u\i\H',r ]t'Hfi^ \ tn'/ttint'jii ij, >/,\'t 
 tii/l<5 ao'J tn:u'X'i<)ii v/U'i'}i iinH'A'A'An oni of ',m uowilJ 
 Untjutnyi Vt violuiA', t',hitrwiA',i'<f U ilm i'Atuiiny wUh'h 
 uiiiUt'4 i.\n', g<;m. Wl(il;-,t i,Ut',rt',fin't', I tU'Mtm f/; t',x^ 
 ini'Hn ihi', it',niK'H an'J joy I fcA^ in4oi'ti iU\n m\)\\tfii', 
 (unint'A'X'toti of tcfonnn itow nt iUtur infa»i/;y iuomt'l 
 M>i, I \iiyi', i\n; niot'ti cm'tH'Mly th<? initurnoufii t\ui'u^ 
 of 'Ai;\f ic.l'iiuii'A.. I citttnot i'lml \:tii'/nii//H of i'.niVt' 
 ffUfui *',tU',iyy Up cAftivfy my m:itm of lh<; HWJ'tuliuf'^M 
 of in'iviiU; ittU'i^rhy. A)) m/^D, aJJ ilihi'/n, ihf, Ma</?, 
 ihn cliui^'Jj, yi;H. tli<; f$h.tii\n of U«; ln'Mh, ar<; pJi;tJ»- 
 Umhih iiini iiiii'I'mI \h-'miU'. i\n', Hutudunry of iUc Ik^uH. 
 With )v> iiiw.U ',i.wt',^ Willi wt liuu'Si UfAV^ U'i it l/<; r'<v 
 
 TIk; i^ihid uiii'yu-iiy of iiihu^ »jna};l<? f/> ju'Jjj'j of 
 a/iy \H''iu<'4\>U: until it;-, Jij.^lit falj;< on a f;v^i, ar<; n'/t 
 uwiiic of i\tt', t'Vil that JH aroun'I t)i<?»n nntil tfi/?y 
 w/? it in fAittiH j^i'ifHA fonti, ;w in a <!Jii«;< of 'iiiU'Au\>*',r- 
 iiU', iiit'Ji^ Of alavchoUit^rn^ or AtMinm^ or fr an/Juhmt 
 \>t',i%<iuA. 'VSu'U iSit'.y ar<j j^r<;atly iiiovcA ; nw\ hih^' 
 ti'ifyht'/ tfx; injporianr^; of t}i;iit wronj^, th<;y fanny 
 that if that ahiiwj w«5r<j riAvt;y,At-A\ all wouj'l j^o w<'jj, 
 an'l th';y fill th<5 land with cJanior f>; o/fric/^, 'ti. 
 \\iu<'A; \,\u; tu'im\ou'.iry, mul oth<;r icVi'^ionA ciJoriM. 
 if <;v<;ry inland an'l <jv<5i'y ho(r-*<; h^i/l a lVi\>U'-, if 
 <jv<;i'y <;hihJ wax \iton'/Ui iiiUt the, Sun'Jay Sch'^/l, 
 v/ouM th<5 woun'ln of th<; worl/J fi'rJil, an I rnan Ixj 
 Mpn^;ht ? 
 
266 LECTURE ON TUE I'lMES. 
 
 But the uuui of ideas, aceountiui;' the eiu'um- 
 stanee nothing;", judges of the eouunouwealtli fvoui 
 the state of liis owu niiiul. • It",' lie says, • 1 am 
 selfish, then is there slavery, ov the etfiu't tt> estab- 
 lish it, Nvherever I go. But it' T :uu just, then is 
 there no slavery, let the laws siiy ^^■hat they will. 
 For it" 1 treat all uiou as gods, how to uie eau there 
 be any sueh thing as a slave 'i ' But how frivolous 
 is your war airaiust eireuuistanees. This denoune- 
 ing philunthri>pist is himself a slaveholder in every 
 word and look. Does he free me "? Does he eheer 
 me'.'' He is the state of Georgia, or Alabauui, with 
 their sanguinary slave-laws, walking here ou our 
 northeastern shores. We are all thankful he has 
 no more politieal }x>wer, as we are fond of liberty 
 ourselves. 1 am afraid oiu* virtue is a little geo- 
 graphieal. I am not mortitied by our viee ; that is 
 obduraey ; it eolors and palters, it eurses and 
 swears, and I can see to the eiul of it ; but 1 own 
 our virtue makes me ashamed ; so sour and narrow, 
 so thin and bliiul, virtue so viee-like. Then again, 
 how trivial seem the contests of the abolitionist, 
 whilst he aims mei*ely at the eiivumstanco of the 
 slave. Give the slave the least elevation of relig- 
 ions sentiment, and he is no slave ; you are the 
 slave ; he not only in his humility feels his superior- 
 ity, feels that much deploivd condition of his to be 
 a fadini2' trifle, but he makes you feel it too. He is 
 
LECTURE ON THE TIMES. 267 
 
 the master. The exaggeration which our young 
 people make of his wrongs, characterizes them- 
 selves. Wliat are no trifles to them, they naturally 
 think are no trifles to Pompey. 
 
 We say then that the reforming movement is 
 sacred in its origin ; in its management and details, 
 timid and profane. These benefactors hope to 
 raise man by improving his circuiastances : by com- 
 bination of that which is dead they hope to make 
 something alive. In vain. By new infusions alone 
 of the spirit by which he is made and directed, can 
 he be re-made and reinforced. Tlie sad Pestalozzi, 
 who shared with all ardent spirits the hope of E)u- 
 rope on the outbreak of the French Revolution, af- 
 ter witnessing its sequel, recorded his conviction 
 that " the amelioration of outward circumstances 
 will be the effect but can never be the means of 
 mental and moral improvement." Quitting now 
 the class of actors, let us turn to see how it stands 
 with the other class of which we spoke, namely, the 
 students. 
 
 A new disease has fallen on the life of man. 
 Every Age, like every human body, has its own 
 distemper. Other times liave had war, or famine, 
 or a barbarism, domestic or bordering, as their an- 
 tagonism. Our forefathers walked in the world 
 and went to their gTaves tormented with the fear 
 of Sin and the terror of the Day of Judgment. 
 
•>»JC 
 
 Thoso tonvrs h;ivo lost (hoir Kmv'o. :uul our (oi^ 
 luont is luboliot". l\xo \ \wc\tiuni\ as to \\h;>( wo 
 Oliiiht toilo; l\w distrust of tho v;iUio ot" what wo 
 tlo. juvvl tho ilistrust that \\w Nooossity t^whiv<h w»> 
 all ut last holiovo iu^ is taiv an»l luMu^lu'iMit. Chir 
 Koliiiiou assmuos {\\c uopitivo t'onu ot" rojot'tiou. 
 Out i>t" lovo i>t" tho truo. wo ropuJiato tlu^ talso : 
 auil tho Kolii^iou is an aln^ishiuLi" I'l'itioism. A 
 gnvat }Vi'{>loxit\ h;uiii"s liko a iloiul on i\\c brow oi 
 all oiiltivatovl jHM^sons, a oortaiu iiuhooility in tho 
 Ivst spirits, whii'h ilistiuii'uishos tlu^ jnMiinl. \N\< 
 tlo lun t'uul tho saiuo trait in tho Arabian, in tho 
 llolnvw. in (irook, Konian, Nornian. I'.nuli^h p<>ri- 
 ihIs ; no, but in othor ini^n a natural tirnmoss. 
 Tho uioji iliil not soo boNouil [\w wood oi tho 
 hour. Thov planti\l thoir (oot stnuisi". auil ihuibtoil 
 nothing'. \\ tuistrust ovorv stop wt> taUo. ^^ (^ 
 ixwd it tho worst thin^ alnnit tinio that wo Kmnv 
 not what to di> with it. ^^ t' aro so sh:iriKsii;h(oil 
 that wo oan uoithor work uiu- think, uoithor roaJ 
 Plato nor not roail him. 
 
 Thou thoro is what is oalhnl a too intolloi-tnal 
 toiulouoy. Can thoiv bo t(H> uiui'h intolloot ".' Wo 
 havo novor mot with any sui'h oxooss. Hut tho 
 oritioism whioh is lovolloil at tho laws and mau- 
 nors, omls in thought, without t>ausin>i' a now 
 luothod o( lit'o. Tho iivuius of tho ilay iKh>s not 
 iuoliuo to a ilood, but to a bohoUlin-;-. It is not 
 
LKfrriJiU'i OS Tin: timkh. 'im 
 
 \\\;\.\. \u<\\ 'lo not vviMfi Ui a/rf; t}i<;y pirw; t/> \i(t am- 
 ployr-^J, hijf, ;ir<} ]nird\y7A'A\ by tfu? ntU'Mrtniuty wtiiit- 
 fh/;y h1iouJ<I <]<>. '1 })<; \uiuU't\\yAJi',y of th<; work t/> 
 f.fuj i'iU'.tili'n-.H m th<; painful \n:r('At\)iutu whi/;h [if'M\m 
 \.\\<;m Hfjlj. 'riiJH }iHfj|X5n« t/i tJi<; b<;Ht. Th/jii, tal- 
 <:ntH bi'inj^ fJu'j'r ijHu;tl l/;fnj>lationH, an<J tfii; <'Hir(mt 
 lif^;iatijr<} and po<;try vvitfi ifctvcrna iw/fjiu'dy tlrnw 
 MM away from lif<; t/> nrjitijrjf; a/i'J rm^Jitation. 'i filn 
 foui'i v/<:l) h'-. horn'-, if it w<;r<; gT<;at and involun- 
 tary ; if t}j<; ni<;n w(;r<; raviHh<',d \ty tln-'tr thouj^fit, 
 and fiurri<;d int/> a-^i'itic hxU'iivn'^iiiU'Ain. ii<HU(dy 
 coiil/J t)i<;n timuH'^o, U> r(i]f/d.HH tUh'iv hfiould<;r fro;/i 
 itH wlict-A anrj ^rant th';rn for a tini<f thin privi- 
 !<•;'<; of HafjbatI). liijt t}»<iy an? not iv>. Tliinkinj^, 
 wliifdi waH a rn'/j'-, in \h-jahuh an ar-t. ']})<; tliink<;r 
 j^ivcH rn<; r<'-HuItH, and ticvfj- invit^jH um i'> \i<: pr<;»- 
 <;nt witJi fiirn at Win invoi;ation of truth, and to en- 
 joy witli }iitn itH \)r(X'A'A'A\\u'^ mUt hin mind. 
 
 So iitt]<; 'At^Aou anjidnt HUfdi auda/;ioij« and ytit 
 HiucA'.v*'. [nofrjHHion, that wn h<;g-in to doiiht if tijat 
 ;.a'<;at rovohitiofj in th/; ar-t of war, whir;h han unuUi 
 it a ^iiiiKt of ixmtH iimtAtiui of a j^atiic. of \)HiihiH, han 
 not <>\HiViiU'Ai on Ii<;forrn : wh<;t}i<ir thin U; not aWi 
 a war of pontM, a paj><;r bJockiuJ*;, in which <;af;h 
 [jai-ty ]h XAf dlH}>lay th<', litrnoHt rcHourwjH of \m 
 Hjiirit and hcJicf, au'l no cAiuWict <><'Amr, but the 
 world hIiuII t;tk<; that oahxi-tA'. which the dcrnonrttra^ 
 tir^n of the tnith hhall indicate;. 
 
270 LECTURE ON THE TIMES. 
 
 But we must pay for being too intellectual, as 
 they call it. People are not as light-hearted for it. 
 I think men never loved life less. I question if 
 care and doubt ever wrote their names so legibly 
 on the faces of any population. This Ennui, for 
 which we Saxons had no name, this word of France 
 has got a terrific significance. It shortens life, 
 and bereaves the day of its light. Old age begins 
 in the nursery, and before the young American is 
 put into jacket and trowsers, he says, ' I want 
 sometliing which I never saw before ; ' and ' I 
 wish I was not I.' I have seen the same gloom on 
 the brow even of those adventurers from the intel- 
 lectual class who had dived deepest and with most 
 success into active life. I have seen the authentic 
 sign of anxiety and perplexity on the greatest 
 forehead of the State. The canker worms have 
 crawled to the topmost bough of the wild elm, and 
 swing dowai from that. Is there less oxygen in 
 the atmosphere? What has checked in this age 
 the animal spirits which gave to our forefathers 
 their bounding pulse ? 
 
 But have a little patience \\dth this melancholy 
 himior. Their unbelief arises out of a greater 
 Belief ; their inaction out of a scorn of inadequate 
 action. By the side of these men, the hot agita- 
 tors have a certain cheap and ridicvdous air ; they 
 even look smaller than the others. Of the two, I 
 
LECTURE ON THE TIMES. 271 
 
 own I like the speculators best. They have some 
 piety which looks with faith to a fair Future, un- 
 profaned by rash and unequal attempts to realize 
 it. And truly we shall find much to console us, 
 when we consider the cause of their uneasiness. It 
 is the love of greatness, it is the need of harmony, 
 the contrast of the dwarfish Actual with the exor- 
 bitant Idea. No man can compare the ideas and 
 aspirations of the innovators of the present day 
 with those of former periods, without feeling how 
 great and high this criticism is. The revolutions 
 that impend over society are not now from ambi- 
 tion and rapacity, from impatience of one or an- 
 other form of government, but from new modes of 
 thinking, which shall recorapose society after a 
 new order, which shall animate labor by love and 
 science, which shall destroy the value of many kinds 
 of property and replace all property within the 
 dominion of reason and equity. There was never 
 so great a thought laboring in the breasts of men 
 as now. It almost seems as if what was aforetime 
 spoken fabidously and hieroglyj^hically, was now 
 spoken plainly, the doctrine, namely, of the indwell- 
 ing of the Creator in man. The spiritualist wishes 
 this only, that the spiritual principle should be suf- 
 fered to demonstrate itself to the end, in all possi- 
 ble applications to the state of man, Avithout the 
 admission of anything unspiritual, that is, anything 
 
272 LECTURE ON THE TIMES. 
 
 positive, dogmatic, or personal. The excellence of 
 this class consists in this, that they have believed ; 
 that, affirming- the need of new and higher modes 
 of living and action, they have abstained from the 
 recommendation of low methods. Their fault is 
 that they have stopped at the intellectual percep- 
 tion ; that their will is not yet inspired from the 
 Fountain of Love. But whose fault is this? and 
 what a fault, and to what inquiry does it lead ! 
 We have come to that which is the spring of all 
 power, of beauty and vii-tue, of art and poetry ; 
 and who shall tell us according to what law its in- 
 spirations and its informations are given or with- 
 holden ? 
 
 I do not wdsh to be gnilty of the narrowness and 
 pedantry of inferring the tendency and genius of 
 the Age from a few and insufficient facts or per- 
 sons. Every age has a thousand sides and signs 
 and tendencies, and it is only when surveyed from 
 inferior points of view that great varieties of char- 
 acter appear. Our time too is full of activity and 
 performance. Is there not something comprehen- 
 sive in the grasp of a society which to great mechan- 
 ical invention and the best institutions of property 
 adds the most daring theories ; which explores the 
 subtlest and most universal problems ? At the 
 manifest risk of repeating what every other Age 
 has thought of itself, we might say we think the 
 
LECTURE ON THE TIMES. 273 
 
 Genius of this Age more pliilosophical than any 
 other has been, righter in its aims, truer, with less 
 fear, less fable, less mixture of any sort. 
 
 But turn it how we will, as we ponder this mean- 
 ing of the times, every new thought drives us to 
 the deep fact that the Time is the child of the Eter- 
 nity. The main interest which any aspects of the 
 Times can have for us, is the great spirit which 
 gazes through them, the light which they can shed 
 on the wonderful questions, What we are? and 
 Whither we tend? We do not wish to be deceived. 
 Here we drift, like white sail across the wild ocean, 
 now bright on the wave, now darlding in the trough 
 of the sea ; — but from what port did we sail ? 
 Who knows ? Or to what port are we bound ? 
 Who knows ? There is no one to tell us but such 
 poor weather-tossed mariners as ourselves, whom 
 we speak as we pass, or who have hoisted some sig- 
 nal, or floated to us some letter in a bottle from far. 
 But what know they more than we? They also 
 found themselves on this wondrous sea. No ; from 
 the older sailors, nothing. Over all their speaking- 
 trumpets, the gray sea and the loud winds answer. 
 Not in us ; not in Time. Where then but in Our- 
 selves, where but in that Thought through which we 
 communicate with absolute nature, and are made 
 aware that whilst we shed the dust of which we are 
 built, grain by grain, till it is all gone, the law 
 
 VOL, I. 18 
 
274 Lj:cTi'RK ox nil-: times. 
 
 which c'h>thes lis with humanity remains anew ? 
 where but in the intuitions whieh are vouehsafed 
 lis from within, shall we learn the Truth ? Faith- 
 less, faithless, we faney that with the tlust we de- 
 part and are not, and do not know that the law and 
 the i>ereeption of the law are at last one ; that only 
 as nuieh as the law enters us, becomes us, we are 
 liviui^- men, — immortal with tlie immortality of 
 this hnv. Underneath all these appearances lies 
 that wliich is, tlmt whieh lives, that which causes. 
 This ever renewing- generation of appearances rests 
 on a reality, and a reality that is ixlive. 
 
 To a true scholar tlie attraction of the aspects of 
 nature, the departments of life, and the passages of 
 his exiierience, is simply the information they yield 
 him of this supreme nature which hirks within all. 
 That reality, that causing" force is moral. The 
 ]Moral Sentiment is but its other name. It makes 
 by its presence or absence right and ^^^•ong•, beauty 
 and ugliness, genius or depravation. As the gran- 
 ite comes to the surface and towers into the hisihest 
 mountains, and, if we dig do\\'u, we find it below the 
 superlicial strata, so in all the details of our domes- 
 tic or civil life is hidden the elemental reality, whieh 
 ever and anon comes to the surface, and forms the 
 grand men, who aiv the leaders and examples, 
 rather than the companions of the race. The gran- 
 ite is curiouslv concealed under a thousand forma- 
 
LECTURE ON THE TIMES. 275 
 
 tions and surfaces, under fertile soils, and ^S,sses, 
 and flowers, under well-manured, arable fields, and 
 large towns and cities, but it makes the foundation 
 of these, and is always indicating its presence by- 
 slight but sure signs. So is it with the Life of our 
 life ; so close does that also hide. I read it in glad 
 and in weeping eyes ; I read it in the pride and in 
 the humility of peojde ; it is recognized in every 
 bargain and in every complaisance, in every criti- 
 cism, and in all praise ; it is voted for at elections ; 
 it wins the cause with juries ; it rides the stormy 
 eloquence of the senate, sole victor; histories are 
 written of it, holidays decreed to it ; statues, tornbs, 
 churches, built to its honor ; yet men seem to fear 
 and to shim it when it comes barely to view in our 
 immediate neighborhood. 
 
 For that reality let us stand ; that let us serve, 
 and for that speak. Only as far as tltat shines 
 through them are these times or any times worth 
 consideration. I wish to speak of the politics, ed- 
 ucation, business, and religion around us without 
 ceremony or false deference. You will absolve me 
 from the charge of flippancy, or malignity, or the 
 desire to say smart things at the expense of whom- 
 soever, when you see that reality is all we prize, 
 and that we are bound on our entrance into nature 
 to speak for that. Let it not be recorded in our 
 own memories that in this moment of the Eternity, 
 
27G LECTURE ON THE THfES. 
 
 when Nve who were iituuod by our iiniuos llittocl 
 across tlie light, we were afraid of any fact, or dis- 
 graced the fair Day by a pusilhiniinoiis preference 
 of our bread to our freedom. "What is the schohir, 
 what is the man /o;', but for hos}>itality to every 
 new thought of his time? Have you k'isure, j^ower, 
 property, friends ? You shall be the asylum and 
 patron of every new thought, every unproven opin- 
 ion, every untried project which pi'oeeeds out of 
 good will and honest seeking. All the newspapers, 
 all the tongues of to-day will of course at first de- 
 fame what is noble ; but you who hold not of to-day, 
 not of the times, but of the Everlasting, are to stand 
 for it: and the highest compliment man ever re- 
 ceives from heaven is the sending to him its dis- 
 guised and discredited angels. 
 
THE CONSERVATIVE. 
 
 A LECTURE DELIVEUKU AT TlfE MASONIC TEMPLE, BOSTON, 
 DECEMUEI'v 9, 1841 
 
I 
 
THE CONSERVATIVE. 
 
 TriE two parties which divide the Htate, the party 
 of Conservatism and that of Innovation, are very 
 old, and have disputed the possession of the worhl 
 ever since it was made. This ({uarrel is the sub- 
 ject of civil history. The conservative pai-ty estal>- 
 lished the reverend hierarchies and monarchies of 
 the most ancient woild. Tlie Lattle of patri(;ian 
 and pleheian, of parent state and colony, of old us- 
 age and accommodation to new facts, of th(; rich 
 and the poor, reappears in all countries and times. 
 The war rages not only in })attle-fields. in national 
 councils and ecclesiastical synods, Ijut agitates 
 every man's bosom with opposing advantages every 
 hour. On rolls the old world meantime, and now 
 one, now the other gets the day, and still the fight 
 renews itself as if for the first time, under new 
 names and hot personalities. 
 
 Su(^h an irreconcilable antagonism of course 
 must have a correspondent depth of seat in the hu- 
 man constitution. It is the opi)osition of Past and 
 Future, of Memory and Hope, of the Understand- 
 
2v^0 111 t: ( 'o.VNf; A' i '. i // 1 >:. 
 
 inu' ami tlio lunison. Tt is ihc [uimal antaiivniisiu, 
 tho a}>pt\inuu't.> in tritlo?; ot" tho twi) poles of mi- 
 tiitv. 
 
 Thovo is a tra^•MUMlt ot old tablo wlui'h seiMus 
 somohow to liavo Ihhmi tlroppoil i'rom tho I'limuit 
 mvthologios, which may ch>sevvo attoiition, as it np- 
 poavs to vohito to this suhjtH't. 
 
 Saturn iiivw woai'v ot" sittins:' aU>m>, or Nvitli uouo 
 Init tho siToat l^vaiwis ov lloaviMi hohohliuti" him, 
 ami ho oivatoil an i>ystor. Phon ho wcnihl ai't; 
 ftiialn, but ho uuulo iiothiuii' movo, but wont on 
 oroating- tho nu'o o( oystovs. Thou Irauus oriotl, 
 * A now work, (.) Saturn ! tho ohl is not gooil 
 Uiitiin.' 
 
 Saturn ropliod, ' 1 l\>ar. Thoro is not only tho 
 altorurttivo ot" makiui;- ami not makiuii', but also of 
 iiuuiakin^'. Soost thou tho li'voat soa, how it ebbs 
 ami tlows? so is it with mo; ujy powor obbs; ami if 
 1 put forth my hands, 1 shall not ilo. but undo. 
 Thoroforo I do what I havo douo ; 1 hoUl what I 
 liavo iiot ; and so 1 rosist Niirht and Chaos.' 
 
 'O Saturn,' ropliod Uranus, 'thou oanst not hold 
 thine own but bv makiui;' more. riiv ovstors are 
 bavnaoles ami ooi'klos, and with the next flowing of 
 the tide they will bo pebbles and sea-foaiu.' 
 
 'I see,' rejoins Saturn, 'thou art in league with 
 Night, thou art beeonie an evil oyo : tlu>u spakest 
 fi-oni love ; now tliy words smite me with hatred. 
 
77//'; (JONSFJiVATIVK. 281 
 
 T appeal to P^ate, must there not he rest?' — 'I 
 appfial to Fat(i also,' Haid UranuH, ' muHt there not 
 he motion?' — I5ut Saturn was sihrnt, and went 
 on making oysters for a thousand years. 
 
 After that, the word of Uranus came into liis 
 mind like a ray of the sun, and he made Jupiter ; 
 an«l then he feared again ; and nature froze, the 
 things that were nuule went }>ackward, and to save 
 tlie world, Jujiiter shiw his father Saturn. 
 
 This may stand for tluj earliest acjeount of a con- 
 versation on polities hetween a Conservative and a 
 Kaxlieal which lias conui down to us. It is ever 
 thfis. It is the count<;i-a<;tion of the centripetal 
 and th<! centiifugal forces. Innovation is the sa- 
 lient energy ; Conservatism the pause on the last 
 movem(;nt. 'That which is was made hy God,' 
 saith Conservatism. ' He is leaving that, he is en- 
 tering this other,' rejoins Innovation. 
 
 There is always a certain meanness in the argu- 
 ment of conservatism, joined with a eeilain superi- 
 oiity In its fact. It affirms because it holds. Its 
 fingers clutch the fact, and it will not open its eyes 
 to see a better fact. TIk; castle which conservatism 
 is set to defend is the a(;tual state of things, good 
 and ba<l. The project of innovation is the Ijest 
 ])ossi]de state of things. Of course conservatism 
 always has the worst of the argument, is always 
 a]>ologizing, plea/ling a necessity, ph;ading tliat to 
 
282 Tiir coysmvAnvh:, 
 
 ol»:uii;t* woulJ W io ilotoviorato : it must sjuldlo it- 
 !»olt" with tho nu>imtait»oiis lojul of tho violomv niul 
 viiV oi siH'iotv, uuist iKmiv tho VH>sHibilitY of iiXHuU 
 ilouY iiloas, ami suspoot and stouo i\\o juHvphot ; 
 whibt inmnatioii is ahvavs in tho rii;ht, triinnph- 
 aut, attaokinii', ami suiv oi tinal smHH^ss. (.\>nstM^ 
 \ntis»u stnmls imi man's oont\»sso<l lintitations, ii>- 
 iovwx o\\ his imlispntahl<» intinitmlo; iHuisovvatisni 
 on oiivnmstamH\ liboialisni t>n powtM' : ono s»xh>s to 
 inako an ailn>it lutMuhtM- of tho svH'ial fraint\ tho 
 othov {o postpono all things to tho inan hiinsolf ; 
 cHMisorvatisiu is ilohonair and so<'ial, ivforn* is iu- 
 dividnal ami iniporions. Wo art* ivl\>i'jnors in 
 spvinji* and suntnuM*. in antnnin and Nvintor wo 
 stand hv tlu> old ; n»t\>vniors in tho morning, oon- 
 sorvovs at night. Uoform is atlirmativo, oonsorvsi- 
 tism noii^jitivo : oonsovvatism lixu^s for I'omfort, it>- 
 form for trntli. (^onsorvatism is »n(>iv oandiil to 
 Ivhold anothor's worth: voform moro tlispi^stnl {o 
 maintain and inoivaso its ^nvn. (.'onsorvatisni 
 makos no pootrv, bivathos no pravor, has no inviMi- 
 tion ; it is all n»omi>rv. Koforni has no gratitndo, 
 m> prndonoo, no hnshandrv. It inakos a givat dif- 
 foronoo to vouv tiu'nrt* aiid to vmir thtniuht whotluM- 
 vonr foot is advanoing or rvH'Oiling. dnisorvatism 
 novor puts tho foot forwaixl : in tho lunir wlu^n it 
 dtHvs thiit, it is not ostahlishmont, hut ivfiu-m. C'on- 
 St>rvatisu\ totids io univtn-siil soomiuii' ami tivaohorv. 
 
////, ''(fNHKItVATlVF.. 283 
 
 ])i']'u:\oH i»i ;i, »i(tj.';al,iv« fut<i ; hclicvcH that mkim'h 
 U;inj)(;j' ^ovrtruH tlic/n ; fJjat for kk; It avails not, l.o 
 IjuhI, i/i j)j'in<;i[J(!H, tli<;y will fail ni<!, I imxht |j<;/id 
 a liulc ; i(, (liHtnihtH natui'<i ; it. Uiin!'. •, flier*; in a 
 j^<;ji«;ral law without a particular ajyj/li<;ation, — 
 law foi- all tliitt <lo(jH not iitcliKlc, any ono. INforiJi 
 ill it;i anta^oniHin i)H'lin<;;-i to ai-jinino r<jKi«tan<;«;, \a> 
 lii<;|{ with IiooI'h ; it rwn,-, to «;g^otiHni an'l l»loat<-<l 
 H<'lf-<ton<!i;it ; il/ rijji;^ to a IxjdiloHH ))r<;t<;nKion, Ut un- 
 natiiral rcfinin;^ an4 <;l<!vatioji whi';h (tnd;-; in liyjjoo 
 ii;-,y and hcniiiial rc5i<;tion. 
 
 Ami HO, whil«t w<5 rlo /lot j^o hityond g(;u<;ral ntaU)- 
 nicjitH, it may h<; Haf<;ly affirnx^d of th<;H<; two fnciar 
 phyhical anta^<jiiiHtH, that ww;h in a goo<J half, hut 
 an irnpoHHihIo whohe. Ka4',h expowtH th<; almwiH of 
 th<; other, hut in a ixw. HO<;i';ty, in a tru<! man, hotli 
 niUHt (;ornhin<;. Natiir*; do<iH not \(\wi; th<; <;rown of 
 itH af))>rohatiou, nanioly bcaiity, to any }ix;tion oi- 
 «tiiihl<;iii i)V iu:U>v hut to ofi<! whi'-h cofuhirujH hoth 
 tlu-.Ho (dcuKjntH ; not to th<; io(l< whicJi rcMixtM tlic 
 wav(;H from aj^o to a;^*;, nor to tho wav<i which laHlicH 
 inwiHMantly the ro'',k, hut tho Huperior heauty Ih with 
 th<! oak which Ktandu with itn }iun<lrcd arniH aj^aiuHt 
 the Ktormw of a century, and ^rowH <iVOAy year lik<} 
 a Ha|)lin;^ ; or the riv<;r which ev<;r fiowing, yet in 
 found in the Hanie })ed from aj^e to a^e; or, gnjatent 
 <jf all, tin; man who luiH HuhniHted for yearn ann'd 
 the f;hang(;s of lutturc, yet IiaH diHtanf;<;d him-self, no 
 
284 THE COXSFBVATTJTi. 
 
 that when you vouiomlier what he was, and seo 
 what he is, yon say, What strides ! what a disparity 
 is here I 
 
 Throughout nature the past combines iii every 
 creature with the present. Each of the convohi- 
 tions of the sea-shell, each node and spine marks 
 one year of the tish's life ; what was the mouth of 
 the shell for one season, with the addition of now 
 matter by the gro^^'th of the animal, becoming- an 
 ornamental node. The leaves and a shell of soft 
 wood ai'e all that the vegetation of this summer has 
 made : but the solid columnar stem, which lifts that 
 bank of foliage into the air, to draw the eve and to 
 cool us with its shade, is the gift and legacy of dead 
 and buried j'cars. 
 
 In nature, each of these elements being always 
 present, each theory has a natural support. As we 
 take our stand on Necessity, or on Etliics, shall we 
 go for the conservative, or for the reformer. If we 
 read the world historically, we shall say. Of all the 
 ages, the present hour and circumstance is the cu- 
 mulative result : this is the best throw of the dice 
 of nature tluit has yet been, or that is yet possible. 
 If we see it from the side of Will, or the ^Moral 
 Sentiment, we shall accuse the Past and the Pres- 
 ent, and require the impossible of tlie Future. 
 
 But although this bifold fact lies thus united in 
 real nature, and so united that no man can con- 
 
THE CONSERVATIVE. 285 
 
 fcinue to exist in wliora both these ehiments do not 
 work, yet men arc not philosophers, l)ut are rather 
 very foolish children, who, by reason of their par- 
 tiality, sec everything in the most absurd manner, 
 and are the victims at all times of the nearest ob- 
 ject. There is even no philosopher who is a phi- 
 losopher at all times. Our experience, our percep- 
 tion is conditioned by the need to acquire in parts 
 and in succession, tliat is, with every truth a cer- 
 tain falsehood. As this is the invariable method of 
 our training, we must give it allowance, and suffer 
 men to learn as they have done for six millenni- 
 ums, a word at a time; to pair off into insane \yax- 
 ties, and learn the amount of truth each knows 
 by the denial of an equal amount of truth. For 
 the present, then, to come at what sum is attainar 
 ble to us, we must even hear the parties plead as 
 parties. 
 
 That which is best about conservatism, that 
 which, though it cannot be expressed in detail, in- 
 spires reverence in all, is the Inevitable. There ia 
 the question not only what the conservative says ■ 
 for himself, but, why must he say it ? What insur- 
 mountable fact binds him to that side ? Here is 
 the fact which men call Fate, and fate in dread de- 
 grees, fate behind fate, not to be disposed of by the 
 consideration that the Conscience commands this or 
 that, but necessitating the question whether the fac- 
 
2S6 riiF covsmvATnT. 
 
 \iltios i>f m;ut will plav lilm tiiio in losistliii;;,' tho 
 fuot-s ol uuiviMsal rxjHMUMU'o ? For althouuh tho 
 oomnuuuls o( tho Consoionoo aro c^ificntia/h/ ahso- 
 lutt\ tln>v aiv hiatorivalh/ limitaiv. WlsJoni tUu^s 
 not sook a litoial ivotitiulo. hut an ust>t"nl, that is 
 a ooiulitionoil inu\ surh a ono as tlu> t'ai'uhios of 
 man anJ tho i'i>nstitutu>n of thinii's will warrant. 
 Tho rotvunior, tho partisan, losos hiuisolt" in ihiving- 
 to {\\c utujost sonto spooialtv o( riiiht oouihu-t, until 
 his own iiatuiv and all natuiv ivsist him: but Wis- 
 vliuu attoiujUs ni>thiui;' onornunis ami dispivpoi^ 
 tiomnl to its iH>wors, nothiuii' whioh it oannot |hm- 
 fovju vu- noarlv porfonn. Wo havo all a oortain in- 
 tellootion or pivsontimont i>t" ivt\n-m oxistinji" in tho 
 min^l, whioh lUvs m>t vot ilosooml into tlio oharjto- 
 tor, {U\il thoso who tlu\>w thomsolvos hlimllv on this 
 loso tliomsolvos, ^^ hatovor thoy attoiupt in that 
 ilii\H*tio»\, fails, anil ivaots snioidally on tho aotor 
 hiu\solf. This is tho jvnalty t>f huving tnvnjkvniUnl 
 ixatmv. For tlio existing- woi-Ul is not u droam, and 
 oaitnot w ith impunitv Ih> tivnttnl as a divain ; noi- 
 thor is it a disoaso : bnt it is tho u'lvund on whioh 
 YOU stanil, it is tho tuothor of whom \ on woiv horn. 
 Ixofoi'in vxniYoi*sos with jHvssibilitios, jvivhanoo with 
 imjHv^s^ibilitios ; but hoiv is siionnl faot. This also 
 was true, or it ivuld liot W : it had life iu it, or it 
 cvnild i\ot h»YO oxistOil ; it has life in it, or it oi^uld 
 not ivi)tii\ue. Your sohomos mav In? feasible, or 
 
y ///; coxsEii va ri vrc. 287 
 
 may n^/t Ix;, };ut \}m iian the aiKh itat'jf ntnt of natum 
 and a lonj( fri<;n'lH}iip and cohabibif.jon with th'; 
 jK^WfjrH of natur«;. Thiw will «tan'J until a \ni\.UtT 
 cant of th<; du^j Ih tiiiuhi. Th<', o/utUmi \>(:tw<'Mn tlui 
 J'uturo and th<j j^ant ih one ImtwcA'Ji i>ivjnity cnijur- 
 in^ and i>>ivinity depaxlin;^. Vou ura waU'/rtin-, t/> 
 try your <xf>ennientH, and, if you can, t/j (Vinphi/cji 
 thii arrtual order hy tijat id<rtt) repu hjic y^/n an- 
 nouTK'Ji, for Ti()t\nT>!^ but G^xJ wjj] exfK;! 0^><1. liut 
 j>lainly tlie burden of pr'Kjf niii«t lie with the ]>r(>- 
 j(^^>r. We liold tf> tl:ii», until you ean df;njonhtrat<j 
 nonndhhi'^ \x;tU',r. 
 
 T\ni nynUixn of projK^rty and law gfX;B ba/;k for 
 its orij^in t/j barharouH and Harmed tirneH ; it i» th/i 
 fruit of th/j Harne rnyHt/;riou« c/MVUi an the rninei-al 
 or aninial world. There in a natur-al wmtiment 
 and ])tti]>(>HW,mwn in favor of aj^e, of ancjiHtorn, of 
 barbarouH and al>original u«a{^e«, which in a horn- 
 ag^e t^j the elenujnt of mucjimhy arul divinity which 
 Ih in them. The reHjK^d; for the old uhuidH of 
 l>hu'MH, of mountains and Htn^dniH, in univerHaL 
 llie Indian and barbaroan name can never Vkj kuj)- 
 jAanti'A without Iokh. Tljifj ancients t<dl iih that the 
 gfxl« lovfifl the Kthiopiarui for their Htabl/; (mHUmm ; 
 and tlie Kj^/tians and Chal/leani*, vrYKfHa onfpn 
 c^^uM nfjt be explor^j^l, jfaanhd arnon;^ th/i juni/^r 
 triU;H of Tirfjec^i and It-aly for HUf^cjl nation*. 
 
 Moreover, »o deep j« the foundation of the ex- 
 
288 THE CONSERVATIVE. 
 
 isting' social systoiu, that it leaves no one out of it. 
 We may be partial, but Fate is not. All men 
 have their root in it. You who quarrel with the 
 arrangements of society, and are willing to embroil 
 all, and risk the indisputable good that exists, for 
 the chance of better, live, move, and have your 
 being in this, and your deeds contradict . 
 words every day. For as you cannot jump . oiu 
 the ground without using the resistance of the 
 ground, nor put out the boat to sea without sh^n'- 
 ing from the shore, nor attain liberty Avithout r- 
 jecting obligation, so you are under the necessit}' 
 of using the Actual oi'der of things, in order to 
 disiise it ; to live by it, whilst you wish to take 
 away its life. The past has baked your loaf, and 
 in the strength of its bread you would break up the 
 oven. But you are betrayed by your o^^^l nature. 
 You also are conservatives. However men please to 
 style themselves, I see no other than a conservative 
 party. You are not only identical Wv\\\ us in your 
 needs, but also in your methods and aims. You 
 quarrel with my conservatism, but it is to build up 
 one of your own ; it will have a new beginning, 
 but the same course and end, the same trials, the 
 same passions ; among the lovers of the new I ob- 
 serve that there is a jealousy of the newest, and I 
 that the seceder from the seeeder is as damnable f 
 as the pope himself. 
 
THE CONSERVATIVE. 289 
 
 On these and the like grounds of general state- 
 ment, conservatism plants itself without danger of 
 being displaced. Especially before this personal 
 appeal, the innovator must confess his weakness, 
 must confess that no man is to be found good 
 enough to be entitled to stand champion for the 
 principle. But when this great tendency comes to 
 practical encounters, and is challenged by young 
 men, to whom it is no abstraction, but a fact of 
 hunger, distress, and exclusion from opportunities, 
 it must needs seem injurious. The youth, of course, 
 is an innovator by the fact of his birth. There he 
 stands, newly born on the planet, a universal beg- 
 gar, with all the reason of things, one would say, 
 on his side. In his first consideration how to feed, 
 clothe, and warm himself, he is met by warnings on 
 every hand that this thing and that thing have 
 owners, and he must go elsewhere. Then he says, 
 ' If I am born in the earth, where is my part ? have 
 the goodness, gentlemen of tliis world, to show me 
 my wood-lot, where I may fell my wood, my field 
 where to plant my corn, my pleasant ground where 
 to build my cabin.' 
 
 ' Touch any wood, or field, or house-lot, on your 
 peril,' cry all the gentlemen of this world ; ' but 
 you may come and work in ours, for us, and we 
 will give you a piece of bread.' 
 
 ' And what is that peril ? ' 
 
 VOL. I. 19 
 
290 THE CONSERVATIVE. 
 
 ' Knives and muskets, if we meet you in the act ; 
 imprisonment, if we find you afterward.' 
 ' And by what authority, kind gentlemen ? ' 
 
 * By our law.' 
 
 ' And your law, — is it just ? ' 
 ' As just for you as it was for us. We wrought 
 for others under this law, and got our lauds so.' 
 ' I repeat the question, Is your law just ? ' 
 
 * Not quite just, but necessary. Moreover, it is 
 juster now than it was when we were born ; wo 
 have made it milder and more equal.' 
 
 ' I will none of your law,' returns the youH? ; 
 'it encumbers me. I cannot imderstand, or so 
 much as spare time to read that needless library 
 of your laws. Nature has sufficiently provided me 
 with rewards and sharp penalties, to bind me not 
 to transgress. Like the Persian noble of old, I 
 ask *' that I may neither command nor obey." I 
 do not Avish to enter into youi* complex social sys- 
 tem. I shall serve those whom I can, and they 
 who can will serve me. I shall seek those whom I 
 love, and shun those whom I love not, and what 
 more can all your laws render me ? ' 
 
 With equal earnestness and good faith, replies 
 to this plaintiff an upholder of the establishment, 
 a man of many virtues : 
 
 'Your opposition is feather-brained and over- 
 fine. Young man, I have no skill to tallc with 
 
THE CONSERVATIVE. 291 
 
 you, but look at me ; I have risen early and sat 
 late, and toiled honestly and painfully for very 
 many years. I never dreamed about methods ; I 
 laid my bones to, and drudged for the good I pos- 
 sess ; it was not got by fraud, nor by luck, but by 
 work, and you must show me a warrant like these 
 stubborn facts in your own fidelity and labor, be- 
 fore I suffer you, on the faith of a few fine words, 
 to ride into my estate, and claim to scatter it as 
 your own.' 
 
 ' Now you touch the heart of the matter,' re- 
 plies the reformer. ' To that fidelity and labor I 
 pay homage. I am unworthy to arraign your man- 
 ner of living, until I too have been tried. But I 
 should be more unworthy if I did not tell you why 
 I cannot walk in your steps. I find this vast net- 
 work, wliich you call property, extended over the 
 whole planet. I cannot occupy the bleakest crag 
 of the White Hills or the Alleghany Range, but 
 some man or corporation steps up to me to show 
 me that it is his. Now, though I am very peace- 
 able, and on my private account coidd well enough 
 die, since it appears there was some mistake in my 
 creation, and that I have been missent to this earth, 
 where all the seats were already taken, — yet I feel 
 called upon in behalf of rational nature, which I 
 represent, to declare to you my opinion that if the 
 Earth is yours so also is it mine. All your aggre- 
 
% 
 202 THE VOy^KIi 1.1/71 7v'. 
 
 ptto existoni'os an^ loss to me a faot than is my 
 own ; as I am born (d the I'^arth, so the Eavth is 
 given ti> me, what I wiint of it to till and to plant ; 
 nor eoiiKl I, w itlunit pusillairimity, omit to claim so 
 mueh. I must iu>t only have a name to live, I 
 must live. My vivnius leads mo to buihl a ilift'ei'*- 
 eut manuev oi life fnuu tiny of youi's. I emniot 
 then syKHiv von the whole \\i>iUl. I love you bet- 
 ter. 1 nmst tell vou the tiuih unu'tieallv ; am? 
 take that whieh vou eall yours. It is (JoiVs ^v ' 
 auil uiiue : yam's as niueh as you want, ine us 
 mueh as I want. Ivsides, 1 know your ^^ vs ; I 
 know the sympton\s of the tlisease. To the eiui of 
 yi>ur iH>wer yon w ill serve this lie w hieh ivheats von. 
 Your uaut is a g'ult' whieh the possession ot" tb - 
 luwid earth wouUl not till. Wnider sm\ in heaven 
 you would pluek down fnnn shiniuii on the uni- 
 vei'se, ami make him a pii^perty and px'ivaey, it" 
 von eonld ; and the moon and the muth star vou 
 would uniekly have invasion for in vour eloset and 
 btHl-ehandHn-. \\ hat you ilo not want for use, you 
 ei-ave for ornament, anil what vour eouvenienee 
 eonld spai\>, your pride cannot.' 
 
 On the other hand, prtvisely the defence which 
 was set up for the British Constitution, namely 
 that with all its admitted defects, i\)tten bounighs 
 and monopolic^s, it worked well, and substantial 
 justice was somehow done ihu wiv,' 
 
THE CONSERVATIVE. 293 
 
 worth did get intfj jmrliament, and every interest 
 did by right, or miglit, or sleight, get represented ; 
 — the same defence is set up for the existing insti- 
 tutions. They are not the best ; they are not just ; 
 and in respect to you, [>ersonally, O brave young 
 rnan ! they cannot be justified. Tliey have, it is 
 most true, left you no acre for your own, and no 
 law but our law, to the ordaining of whic^h you were 
 DO }>arty. But they do answer the end, they are 
 really friendly to the good, unfriendly to the bad ; 
 tiiey »e(X)nd the industrious aud the kind ; they 
 fost<^r genius. They really have so much flexibility 
 as i') afford your talent and cliaracter, on the whole, 
 tho same chance of demonstration and success 
 which they might have if there was no law and no 
 propei-ty. 
 
 It iB trivial and merely superstitious to say that 
 nothing Ls given you, no outfit, no exhibition : for 
 in this institution of credit, wliich is as universal 
 as honesty and promise in the human ofjuntenauce, 
 always some neighbor stands ready U) be bread and 
 land and tools and stock to the young adventurer. 
 And if in any one respect they have come short, 
 see what ample retribution of good they have made. 
 They liave lost no time and spared no expense 
 to collect libraries, museums, galleries, colleges, 
 palaces, hospitals, observatories, cities. The ages 
 have 1. a idle, nor kings slack, nor the rich nig- 
 
294 THE CONSERVATIVE. 
 
 garclly. Have we not atoned for this small offence 
 (which we could not help) o£ leaving you no right 
 in the soil, by this splendid indemnity of ancestral 
 and national wealth ? Would you have been born 
 like a gipsy in a hedge, and preferred your free- 
 dom on a heath, and the range of a planet which 
 had no shed or boscage to cover you from sun and 
 wind, — to this towered and citied world ? to this 
 world of Rome, and Memphis, and Constantinople, 
 and Vienna, and Paris, and London, and New 
 York ? For thee Naples, Florence, and Venice ; 
 for thee the fair Mediterranean, the sunny Adri- 
 atic ; for thee both Indies smile ; for thee the hos- 
 pitable North opens its heated palaces under the 
 polar circle ; for thee roads have been cut in every 
 direction across the land, and fleets of floating pal- 
 aces with every security for strength and provision 
 for luxury, swim by sail and by steam through all 
 the waters of this world. Every island for thee 
 has a town ; every town a hotel. Though thou 
 wast born landless, yet to thy industry and thrift 
 and small condescension to the established usage, 
 — scores of servants are swarming in every strange 
 place with cap and knee to thy command ; scores, 
 nay hundreds and thousands, for thy wardrobe, thy 
 table, thy chamber, thy library, thy leisure ; and 
 every whim is anticipated and served by the best 
 ability of the whole population of each country. 
 
 I 
 
THE CONSERVATIVE. 295 
 
 The king on the throne governs for thee, and the 
 judge judges ; the barrister pleads, the farmer tills, 
 the joiner hammers, the postman rides. Is it not 
 exaggerating a trifle to insist on a formal acknowl- 
 edgment of youi" claims, when these substantial ad- 
 vantages have been secured to you ? Now can your 
 children be educated, your labor turned to their ad- 
 vantage, and its fruits secured to them after your 
 deiith. It is frivolous to say you have no acre, be- 
 cause you liave not a mathematically measured piece 
 of lani L IVovidence takes care that you shall have 
 a place, that you are waited for, and come accred- 
 ited ; a;nd as soon as you put your gift to use, you 
 shall have acre or acre's worth according to your 
 exhibition of desert, — acre, if you need land ; — 
 acre's worth, if you prefer to draw, or carve, or 
 make shoes or wheels, to the tilling of the soil. 
 
 Besides, it might temper your indignation at the 
 supposed wrong which society has done you, to 
 keep the question before you, how society got into 
 this predicament ? Who put things on this false 
 basis ? No single man, but all men. No man vol- 
 untarily and knowingly ; but it is the residt of that 
 degree of culture there is in the planet. The or- 
 der of things is as good as the character of the pop- 
 ulation permits. Consider it as the work of a 
 great and beneficent and progressive necessity, 
 which, from the fu'st pulsation in the first animal 
 
lifo, up to tho pvosont hii;l» oiiUuio *»l' tho In^st iia- 
 tuMis, hiis {ulv:u\ivU thus tai', TlumU tlii> nulo t'os- 
 to»^u\otl\oi' thouiih she has tnui;ht vou a Ivttor wis- 
 iUmu thau hoi" own, a Jul has sot hojHvs in yi>nv hoai't 
 Nvhioh sliall bo histoi'v in tho no\t ajivs. \ ou aro 
 yovn'solt" tho ivsuU ot" (his niannor ot" livitig-, this 
 foul oouiiMtMuiso, this vitupovatoil SihIouu It uom^ 
 isIuhI YtniNvith oaiv auvl U»yo i»n its bivast, as it hail 
 nouvishoil iuan\ a Knov ot" tho ii>:ht aiul u»anv a 
 IHvt, aiul pixjphot, and toaohov of luon. Is it so ii^ 
 ivnunliaUlv IkuI ? Thou aiitiin, if tho uutiii-iitioixs 
 aiv ovnisiiloitnl, ilo t\v>t all tho niisohiofs virtually 
 v«uis^l\? Tho form is hail, hut soo vvui not how 
 OYovy poi'sonal ohavaotor ivaots on tho form, ami 
 luakos it no\N ' A stwMiij' poi'sou makos tho law 
 tuul oustiMU null Ivfoiv his own will. Thon tho 
 prinoiplo of lovo auvl truth Jvaj^^H^ars in the stviot- 
 o*t ot>m*ts af tWhion ami pi\>}wty. I'mlor tho 
 violu\st i>>lvs, in tho ilarlinji's of tho soUvtost oiivlos 
 af Kui\>ivan or Amovioau avistiH'n»i'y, tlto sti>nijj 
 hi^vvt will lH\vt willi loYo of n\ankiml, with impa- 
 tiojuv of atxuilouttU distinotions, with tho lUvitire to 
 aohioYo its own fato and inako ovory oruamont it 
 Yvoai*5> aiitlunxtio ami i\\U. 
 
 Moiw^Yor, as vvo have ahvaily sliowii that thoro 
 is uo pnrt> rv^formor, so it is to K> cvnsiilonxl that 
 thoiv is ito pniv iwnsorvatiYO, no man Yvho t'lvm 
 tho Wiiiuninsi to tho ond of his lifo inaitit^iis the 
 
TIIF. aOyiHKnVATTVE. '1^)1, 
 
 d(;f(i<;ti v^. inHtitutioriH ; hut ho wlio Hots his fWjo liko 
 ailiiit ugulrmt cv<;ry nov(jlty, when approached hi th<5 
 f;onfi(icii<;(; of coriverHatiou, I/i IIk; |>rc8enc<; of 
 iVicndly and generouH p(;tHonH, Jus also Lin ^ra<;iouH 
 arid j'elciitui;^ mornentH, and OHpouHew for tlio tirri(i 
 tJn5 t;au8e of imin ; and even if thitt }>c a Hlioiilived 
 emotion, yet the renienilnanee of it in private liourH 
 niiti;.;at<jH hiH MelliislinetiH and e<jnjplian(;e with cuk- 
 
 The Friar J{<;nuird lamented in liin cell on 
 
 louut Ceniw the crinHjH of njankind, and rihing 
 
 o.M HI) 'nin;^ y>efore day from JiiH be<J of jhosh and 
 
 dry !«• ' gh, he gnawed hin rootn and Ijerriew, diank 
 
 ; rinj^, and net fortii to j^o to J{ome U> i<> 
 
 'I the corruption u\ niunkin<]. On liJH way lie 
 
 jountered many travelhjrw who j^rrjeted him cour- 
 
 teoiwly, and the calkins of th(i jjeanantK and the 
 
 caKtle« of the lordw Hupplied hin few want«. When 
 
 he came at laHt to Kohk;, his J^iety and good will 
 
 easily introduced hirn to many familieH of the rich, 
 
 and on the first day lu; saw and talked with gentle 
 
 motliers with their }>aheB at their breasts, who told 
 
 him how much love they bore their children, and 
 
 how they were pei^ilexed in their daily walk l<,'Bt 
 
 th<;y should fail in their duty to them. ' VVltat!' 
 
 he said, ' and this on rich embroiriered carpets, on 
 
 marl>le floors, with cunning scuij^ture, and carved 
 
 wood, and rich pictures, and piles of hooloi about 
 
298 rUE CONSERVATIVE. 
 
 you ? ' — ' Tvook at our pii^tnvos ami boi^ks,' tliey 
 saiil, ' aiul >vo will toll yt>u, gootl Fathov, how wo 
 spoilt tho last ovoiiiut;'. Thoso ai"0 storios of goilly 
 chililvon and holy tamilu^s ami voiuantie sacriHoovS 
 mailo in oKl or iti it\'t>nt tiinos by ji'veat aiul not 
 luoan povsons ; ami last evouiu>; our tamily was 
 collootod ami our husbautls ami brothers disooiirsed 
 sadK on what we I'ouhl save ami civo in tho hard 
 times.' Thou oamo iu the men, and they said, 
 ' AVhat ohoer, brother? Does thy eon vent want 
 gifts? ' riuMj tlu> Iriar Inmuml went home swiftly 
 with otht>r thonji'hts than ho bivuiiht, sayinji", ' Th's 
 way of life is wivng", yet these Romans, whom 1 
 praytxl Gotl to desti-oy, ai-o lovers, they are lovers ; 
 what ean 1 do ? ' 
 
 The ivformer ooneedes that these mitiiiations ox- 
 ist, and that if he proposed oomfort, he sliould 
 take sides with the establishment. Your wonls are 
 exeellent, but they do not tell the whole. C^onser- 
 Aatism is afHnont and openhandtnl, but there is a 
 ennninji' juggle in riohes. 1 observe that they take 
 somew hat for everything they give. 1 look biggvr, 
 but am less ; I have inoiv elothes, \*\\i am not so 
 warnv ; mm-e armor, biit less eouitige ; more books, 
 but loss wit. ^^ hat you say of your planted, 
 buildtHl and dooonittHl world is true enough, and I 
 eladlv avail mvsolf of its eonvenieuoe ; vet I have 
 rtnnarked that what holds in purtioulai*, holds in 
 
THE CONSERVATIVE. 299 
 
 general, that the plant Man does not require for 
 his most glorious flowering this pomp of prepara^ 
 tion and convenience, but the thouglits of some 
 beggarly Homer who strolhid, God knows when, in 
 the infancy and ljarl)arism of the old world ; the 
 gravity and sense of some slave Moses who leads 
 away his fellow slaves from their masters ; the con- 
 t(;mplation of some Scythian Anacharsis ; the erect, 
 formidable valor of some Dorian townsmen in the 
 town of Sparta ; the vigor of Clovis the Frank, and 
 Alfred the Saxon, and Alaric the Goth, and Ma- 
 homet, Ali and Omar the Arabians, Saladin the 
 Curd, and Othman the Turk, sufficed to build what 
 you call society on the spot and in the instant when 
 the sound mind in a sound body appeared. Ki(;h 
 and fine is your dress, O conservatism ! your horses 
 are of the best Ijlood ; your roads are well cut and 
 well paved ; your pantry is full of meats and your 
 cellar of wines, and a very good state and condi- 
 tion are you for gentlemen and ladies to live under ; 
 but every one of these goods steals away a drop of 
 my blood. I want the necessity of supplying my 
 own wants. All this costly culture of yours is not 
 necessary. Greatness does not need it. Yonder 
 peasant, who sits neglected there in a corner, car- 
 ries a whole revolution of man and nature in his 
 head, which shall be a sacred history to some future 
 ages. For man is the end of nature ; nothing so 
 
300 THE CONSERVATUT.. 
 
 easily organizes itself in every part of the universe 
 as lie ; no moss, no lichen is so easily born ; and he 
 talves along with him and puts out from himself 
 the whole apparatus of society and condition extem- 
 pore, as an army encamps in a desert, and where 
 all was just now blowing sand, creates a white city 
 in an hour, a government, a market, a place for 
 feasting, for conversation, and for love. 
 
 These considerations, urged by those whose char- 
 acters and whose fortunes are yet to be formed, 
 must needs command the sympathy of all reasona- 
 ble persons. But beside tliat charity which should 
 make all adult persons interested for the youth, 
 and engage them to see that he has a free field and 
 fair play on his entrance into life, we are bound to 
 see that the society of which we compose a part, 
 does not permit the formation or continuance of 
 views and px'actices injurious to the honor and wel- 
 fare of mankind. The objection to conservatism, 
 when embodied in a party, is that in its love of acts 
 it hates principles : it lives in the senses, not in 
 truth ; it sacrifices to despair ; it goes for available- 
 ness in its candidate, not for worth ; and for expe- 
 diency in its measures, and not for the right. Un- 
 der pretence of allo\Ndng for fi'iction, it makes so' 
 many additions and supplements to the machine of 
 society that it will play smoothly and softly, but will 
 no longer grind any grist. 
 
THE CONSERVATIVE. 301 
 
 The conservative party in the universe concedes 
 that the radical would talk suffici(;ntly to the pur- 
 pose, if we were still in the garden of Eden ; he 
 legislates for man as he ought to be ; his theory is 
 right, but he makes no allowance for friction ; and 
 this omission makes his whole doctrine false. The 
 idealist retorts that the conservative falls into a far 
 more noxious enor in the other extreme. The con- 
 servative assumes sickness as a necessity, and his 
 social frame is a hospital, his total legislation is for 
 the present distress, a universe in slippers and flan- 
 nels, with bib and papspoon, swallowing pills and 
 herl)-tea. Sickness gets organized as well as health, 
 the vice as well as the virtue. Now that a vicious 
 system of trade has existed so long, it has stereo- 
 typed itself in the human generation, and misers 
 are bom. And now that sickness has got such a 
 foothold, lc])rosy has grown cunning, has got into 
 the ballot-box ; the lepers outvote the clean ; so- 
 ciety has resolved itscK into a Hospital Committee, 
 and all its laws are quarantine. If any man resist 
 and set up a foolisli hope he has entertained as 
 good against the general despair, Society frowns on 
 him, shuts him out of her opportunities, her gTana- 
 ries, her refectories, her water and bread, and will 
 serve him a sexton's turn. Conservatism takes as 
 low a view of every part of human action and pas- 
 sion. Its religion is just as bad ; a lozenge for the 
 
802 THE COXSERYATIVK. 
 
 sick ; a dolin-ous tune to l>Oii,iulo the distemper ; 
 mitii;atit)ns of pain by pillows and anodynes ; al- 
 ways mitigations, never remedies ; pardons for sin, 
 funeral honors, — never self-lu'lj), renovation, and 
 virtiie. Its social and political action has no better 
 aim ; to keep out wind and weather, to bring- the 
 week and year about, mul make the world last our 
 day ; not to sit i>n the world and steer it ; not to 
 sink tht> memory of the past in the glory of a new 
 i\\\(\ more excellent ci'eation ; a timitl cobbler and 
 pati^her, it degrades whatever it touches. The cause 
 of education is urged in this couutiv with the ut- 
 most earnestness, — on what ground? AVhv on this, 
 that the people have the power, and if they ai'e not 
 instructed to sympathize with the intelligent, read- 
 ing, trading, ami governing class ; inspired with a 
 taste for the same competitions and prizes, they 
 will upset the fair pageant of eTudicature, and per- 
 haps lay a hand on the sacred niiniiments of wealth 
 itself, and new distribute the land. Religion is 
 taught in the same spirit. The contnietors who 
 were building a road out of Baltimoiv, some yeai-s 
 ago, found the Irish laborei's quarrelsome and re- 
 fi-actorv to a degi'ee that embarrassed the agents 
 and seriously interrupted the progress of the work. 
 The corporation weie advised to call oi¥ the police 
 and build a Catholic chapel, which they did ; the 
 priest presently restored order, and the work went 
 
THE CONSERVATIVE. 303 
 
 on prosperously. Such hints, be sure, are too valu- 
 able to 1)6 lost. If you do not value the Sabbath, 
 or other religious institutions, give yourself no con- 
 cern about niaintaining them. They have already 
 acquired a market value as conservators of prop- 
 erty ; and if priest and church-member should fail, 
 the chambers of commerce and the presidents of 
 the banks, the very innholders and landlords of the 
 county, would muster with fury to their support. 
 Of course, religion in such hands loses its es- 
 sence. Instead of that reliance which the soul sug- 
 gests, on the eternity of truth and duty, men are 
 misled into a reliance on institutions, which, the 
 moment they cease to be the instantaneous crea- 
 tions of the devout sentiment, are worthless. Ite- 
 ligion among the low becomes low. As it loses its 
 truth, it loses credit with the sagacious. They de- 
 tect the falsehood of the preaching, but when they 
 say so, all good citizens cry, Hush ; do not weaken 
 the State, do not take off the strait jacket from 
 dangerous persons. Every honest fellow must keep 
 up the hoax the best he can ; must patronize provi- 
 dence and piety, and wherever he sees anything 
 that will keep men amused, schools or churches or 
 poetry or picture-galleries or music, or what not, 
 he must cry " Hist-a^boy," and urge the game on. 
 What a compliment we pay to the good Spikit 
 with oui' superserviceable zeal ! 
 
But iu>t ti> balaiu'o it\Hsinis for ami against the 
 ostaWislimout anv louiivr, ami it" it still bo askod 
 in tliis norossity of partial ors;aiilii;atiou, which 
 party t>n tlio wholo has the hii^host claims on onr 
 svmpathy, — I bviuii' it home to the private heart, 
 wheiv all such questions mnst have their tinal arbi- 
 tivment. I low will every stron*;" ami iivneivus 
 mind choose its pouml, — -with the ilefemlers of 
 the old? or with the swkei*s of the new? AVhich 
 is that state which pivmises to edify a g'lvat, brave, 
 ajul beneticent man : to thnnv him on his ivsources, 
 and tax the stren»ith of his character ? C)n whicli 
 part will each oi ns timl himself in the hour of 
 health and of aspiration? 
 
 1 uudei-stand well the rospe<»t of mankind for 
 war, Invanse that bivaks up the Chinese stagnation 
 of svxaety, and demoiistrates the personal mei-its of 
 all men. A state of war or anaivhy, in w hich law 
 has little fonv, is so far valuable that it puts every 
 man i»u trial. The man oi principle is known as 
 such, ami even iii the fury of faction is ivsjHH'teil. 
 In the civil wai-s of Franw, Montaigne alone, 
 amoniT all the Fi-eneh gentry, kept his castle utites 
 \u\kvri\Hl, and made his j>ei"sonal integrity as gxxnl 
 at least as a ivgiment. The man of coni-agv and 
 ivsouivt\> is sliowii, and the eJft'emiuate and base 
 jvi*son. Thoiitt^ who rise alnne war, and those who 
 fall below it, it easllv discriu\inates, as well as those 
 
THE (JONHEliVATlVE. 805 
 
 who, accepting itH imhIc conditions, keep their own 
 heaxl by their own Hword. 
 
 But in peiuj<; and a eomni(;reial state we depend, 
 not as we ought, on our knowledge and all men's 
 knowledge that we are honest men, Ijut we cow- 
 ai'dly l(!arj on the virtue of otliei-s. For It is al- 
 ways at last the virtue of some men in tlie society, 
 whi(;h keeps the law in any reverence and power. 
 Is there not something sliaraeful tliat I should owe 
 my peac<iful occ-upaney of my house and field, not 
 to the knowledge of my <;<juntrymen tliat I am use- 
 ful, hut to their respect for sundry other repu- 
 table perHons, I know not whom, whose joint virtue 
 still keej)S the law in good odor? 
 
 It will never make any difference to a hero what 
 the laws are. ilis gi'eatness will shine and accom- 
 plish itself unto the end, whether they second him 
 or not. If he have earned his br(;ad Ijy drudgery, 
 and in the narrow and crooked ways which were 
 all an evil law had left him, he will make it at 
 least honora]>le by his expenditure. Of the past 
 he will take no heed ; for its wrongs he will not 
 hold himself responsiljle : he will say. All the mean- 
 ness of my progenitors shall not bereave me of the 
 power tf> make this hour and company fair and for- 
 tunat*;. Whatsoever streams of power and com- 
 modity flow to me, sliall of me a^isquire healing vir- 
 tue, and become fountains of safety. Cannot I too 
 
 VOL. I. 20 
 
806 THE CONSERVATIVE. 
 
 descend a Redeemer into nature ? AVhosover here- 
 after shall name my name, shall not record a male- 
 factor but a benefactor in the earth. If there be 
 power in good intention, in fidelity, and in toil, the 
 north wind shall be purer, the stars in heaven shall 
 glow with a kindlier beam, that I have lived. I 
 am primarily engaged to myself to be a public ser- 
 vant of all the gods, to demonstrate to all men that 
 there is intelligence and good will at the heart of 
 things, and ever higher and yet higher leadings. 
 These are my engagements ; how can your law 
 further or hinder me in what I shall do to men ? 
 On the other hand, these dispositions establish 
 their relations to me. Wherever there is worth, I 
 shall be greeted. Wherever there are men, are 
 the objects of my study and love. Sooner or later 
 all men will be my friends, and will testify in all 
 methods the energy of their regard. I cannot 
 thank your law for my protection. I protect it. 
 It is not in its power to protect me. It is my busi- 
 ness to make myself revered. I depend on my 
 honor, my labor, and my dispositions for my place 
 in the affections of mankind, and not on any con- 
 ventions or parchments of yours. 
 
 But if I allow myself in derelictions and become 
 idle and dissolute, I quickly come to love the pro- 
 tection of a strong law, beca^ise I feel no title in 
 myself to my advantages. To the intemperate and 
 
TEE CONSERVATIVE. 307 
 
 covetous person no love flows ; to him mankind 
 would pay no rent, no dividend, if force were once 
 relaxed ; nay, if they could give their verdict, they 
 would say that his self-indulgence and his oppres- 
 sion deserved punishment from society, and not 
 that rich board and lodging he now enjoys. The 
 law acts then as a screen of his unworthiness, and 
 makes him worse the longer it protects him. 
 
 In conclusion, to return from this alternation of 
 partial views to the high platform of universal and 
 necessary history, it is a happiness for mankind 
 that innovation has got on so far and has so free a 
 field before it. The boldness of the hope men en- 
 tertain transcends all former experience. It calms 
 and cheers them with the picture of a simple and 
 equal life of truth and piety. And this hope flow- 
 ered on what tree ? It was not imported from the 
 stock of some celestial plant, but grew here on the 
 wild crab of conservatism. It is much that this 
 old and vituperated system of things has borne so 
 fair a child. It predicts that amidst a planet peo- 
 pled with conservatives, one Reformer may yet be 
 born. 
 
THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 
 
 A LECTURE READ AT THE MASONIC TEMPLE, BOSTON, JANUARY, 
 
 1842. 
 
THE TKANSCENDENTALIST. 
 
 The first tiling we have to say respecting what 
 are called new views here in New England, at the 
 present time, is, that they are not new, but the very 
 oldest of thoughts cast into the mould of these new 
 times. The light is always identical in its compo- 
 sition, but it falls on a great variety of objects, and 
 by so falling is first revealed to us, not in its own 
 form, for it is formless, but in theirs ; in like man- 
 ner, thought only appears in the ol)jects it classi- 
 fies. What is popularly called Transcendentalism 
 among us, is Idealism ; Idealism as it appears in 
 1842. As thinkers, mankind have ever divided 
 into two sects. Materialists and Idealists ; the first 
 class founding on experience, the second on con- 
 sciousness ; the first class beginning to think from 
 the data of the senses, the second class perceive 
 that the senses are not final, and say. The senses 
 give us representations of things, but what are the 
 things themselves, they cannot tell. The materi- 
 alist insists on facts, on histoiy, on the force of 
 circumstances and the animal wants of man ; the 
 
812 THE TRAXSCENDENTALIST. 
 
 idealist on the power of Thought and of Will, on in- 
 spiration, on miracle, on individual culture. These 
 two modes of thinking are both natural, but the 
 idealist contends that his way of thinking is in 
 higher nature. He concedes all that the other af- 
 firms, admits the impressions of sense, admits their 
 coherency, their use and beauty, and then asks the 
 materialist for his grounds of assurance that things 
 are as his senses represent them. But I, he says, 
 affirm facts not affected by the illusions of sense, 
 facts which are of the same nature as the faculty 
 which reports them, and not liable to doubt ; facts 
 which in their first appearance to us assume a na- 
 tive su})eriority to material facts, degrading these 
 into a language by which the first are to be spoken ; 
 facts which it only needs a retirement from the 
 senses to discern. Every materialist will be an 
 idealist ; but an idealist can never go backward to 
 be a materialist. 
 
 The idealist, in speaking of events, sees them as 
 spirits. He does not deny the sensuous fact : by 
 no means ; but he will not see that alone. lie does 
 not deny the presence of this table, this chair, and 
 the walls of this room, but he looks at these things 
 as the reverse side of the tapestry, as the other end, 
 each being a sequel or completion of a spiritual 
 fact which nearly concerns hun. This manner of 
 looking at things transfers every object in nature 
 
THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 313 
 
 from an independent and anomalous position with- 
 out there, into the consciousness. Even the materi- 
 alist Condillac, perhaps the most logical expounder 
 of materialism, was constrained to say, " Though 
 we should soar into the heavens, though we should 
 sink into the abyss, we never go out of ourselves ; 
 it is always our own thought that we perceive." 
 What more could an idealist say ? 
 
 The materialist, secure in the certainty of sensa- 
 tion, mocks at fine-spun theories, at star-gazers and 
 dreamers, and believes that his life is solid, that he 
 at least takes nothing for gi'anted, but knows where 
 he stands, and what he does. Yet how easy it is 
 to show liim that he also is a phantom walking and 
 working amid phantoms, and that he need only ask 
 a question or two beyond his daily questions to 
 find his solid universe growing dim and impalpable 
 before his sense. The sturdy capitalist, no matter 
 how deep and square on blocks of Quincy granite 
 he lays the foundations of his banking-house or 
 Exchange, must set it, at last, not on a cube cor- 
 responding to the angles of his structure, but on a 
 mass of unknown materials and solidity, red-hot or 
 white-hot perhaps at the core, which rounds off to 
 an almost perfect sphericity, and lies floating in soft 
 air, and goes spinning away, dragging bank and 
 banker with it at a rate of thousands of miles the 
 hour, he knows not whither, — a bit of bullet, now 
 
314 THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 
 
 glimnioring, now darkling throngh a small cuLic 
 space on the edge of an unimaginable pit of empti- 
 ness. And this wild balloon, in which his whole 
 venture is embarked, is a just symbol of his whole 
 state and faculty. One thing at least, he says, is 
 certain, and does not give me the headache, that 
 figures do not lie ; the multiplication table has been 
 hithoito fomid unimpeachable truth ; and, more- 
 over, if I put a gold eagle in my safe, I find it 
 again to-morrow ; — but for these thoughts, I know 
 not whence they are. They change and pass away. 
 But ask him why he believes that an uniform ex- 
 perience will continue uniform, or on what grounds 
 he founds his faith in his figiires, and he will per- 
 ceive that his mental fabric is built up on just as 
 strange and quaking foundations as his proud edi- 
 fice of stone. 
 
 In the order of thought, the materialist takes 
 his departure from the external world, and esteems 
 a man as one product of that. The idealist takes 
 his departure from his consciousness, and reckons 
 the world an appearance. The materialist respects 
 sensible masses. Society, Government, social art and 
 luxury, every establishment, every mass, whether 
 majority of numbers, or extent of space, or amount 
 of objects, every social action. The idealist has 
 another measure, which is metaiihysical, namely the 
 rank which things themselves take in his conscious- 
 
THE transceni)?:ntalist. 315 
 
 ness ; not at all the size or apjDearance. Mind is 
 the only reality, of which men and all other natures 
 are better or worse reflectors. Nature, literature, 
 history, are only subjective phenomena. Although 
 in his action overpowered by the laws of action, 
 and so, warmly cooperating with men, even prefer- 
 ring them to himself, yet when he speaks scientif- 
 ically, or after the order of thought, he is con- 
 strained to degrade persons into representatives of 
 truths. He does not respect labor, or the products 
 of labor, namely property, otherwise than as a 
 manifold symbol, illustrating with wonderfid fidel- 
 ity of details the laws of being ; he does not resjject 
 government, except as far as it reiterates the law 
 of his mind ; nor the church, nor charities, nor arts, 
 for themselves ; but hears, as at a vast distance, 
 what they say, as if his consciousness would speak 
 to him through a pantomimic scene. Ilis thought, 
 ■ — that is the Universe. His experience inclines 
 him to behold the procession of facts you call the 
 world, as flowing perpetually outward from an in- 
 visible, unsounded centre in himself, centre alike of 
 him and of them, and necessitating him to regard 
 all things as having a subjective or relative exis- 
 tence, relative to that aforesaid Unknown Centre 
 of him. 
 
 From this transfer of the world into the con- 
 sciousness, this beholding of all tilings in the mind, 
 
316 THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 
 
 follow easily his whole ethics. It is simpler to be 
 self-dependent. The height, the deity of man is to 
 be self-sustained, to need no gift, no foreign force. 
 Society is good when it does not violate me, but 
 best when it is likest to solitude. Eveiything real 
 is self-existent. Everything divine shares the self- 
 existence of Deity. All that you (;all the woild is 
 the shadow of that substance which you are, the 
 perpetual creation of the powers of thought, of 
 those that ai'e dependent and of those that are in- 
 dependent of your will. Do not cumber yourself 
 with fruitless i)ains to mend and remedy remote ef- 
 fects ; let the soul be erect, and all things will go 
 well. You think me the child of mv circumstances: 
 I make my circumstance. Let any thought or mo- 
 tive of mine be different from that they are, the 
 difference will transform my condition and econ- 
 omy. I — this thought wliieh is called I — is the 
 mould into whicli the world is poured like melted 
 wax. The mould is invisible, but the world be- 
 trays the shape of the mould. You call it the 
 power of circumstance, but it is the power of me. 
 Am I in harmony with myself ? my position will 
 seem to you just and commanding. Am I vicious 
 and insane ? my fortunes will seem to you obscure 
 and descending. As I am, so shall T associate, and 
 so shall I act ; Caesar's history will paint out Cae- 
 sar. Jesus acted so, because he thought so. I do 
 
THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 317 
 
 not wish to overlook or to gainsay any reality ; I 
 say I make my circumstance ; but if you ask me, 
 Whence am I ? I feel like other men my relation 
 to that Fact which cannot be spoken, or defined, 
 nor even thought, but which exists, and will exist. 
 
 The Transcendentalist adopts the whole connec- 
 tion of spiritual doctrine. Pie believes in miracle, 
 in the perpetual openness of the human mind to 
 new influx of light and power ; he believes in inspi- 
 ration, and in ecstasy. He wishes that the spiritual 
 principle should be suffered to demonstrate itself 
 to the end, in all possible applications to the state 
 of man, without the admission of anything uns]>irit- 
 ual ; that is, anything positive, dogmatic, personal. 
 Thus the spiritual measure of ins])iration is the 
 depth of the thought, and never, who stiid it? 
 And so he resists all attempts to palm other rxdes 
 and measures on the spirit than its own. 
 
 In action he easily incurs the charge of antino- 
 mianism l)y his avowal that he, who has the Law- 
 giver, may with safety not only neglect, but even 
 contravene every written commandment. In the 
 play of Othello, the expiring Desdemona absolves 
 her husband of the murder, to her attendant Emilia. 
 Afterwards, when Emilia charges him with the 
 crime, Othello exclaims, 
 
 " Yon heard her say herself it was not I." 
 
 Emilia replies. 
 
318 THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 
 
 " The more angel she, and thou the blacker devil." 
 Of this fine incident, Jacobi, the Transcendental 
 moralist, makes use, with other parallel instances, 
 in his reply to Fichte. elacobi, refusing all meas- 
 ure of right and wrong except the determinations 
 of the private spirit, remarks that there is no crime 
 but has sometimes been a virtue. " I," he says, 
 " am that atheist, that godless person who, in op- 
 position to an imaginary doctrine of calculation, 
 would lie as the dying Desdemona lied ; would lie 
 and deceive, as Pylades when he personated Ores- 
 tes ; would assassinate like Timoleon ; would per- 
 jure myself like Epaminondas and John de Witt ; 
 I would resolve on suicide like Cato ; I would com- 
 mit sacrilege with David ; yea, and pluck ears of 
 corn on the Sabbath, for no other reason than that 
 I was fainting for lack of food. For I have assur- 
 ance in myself that in pardoning these faults ac- 
 cording to the letter, man exerts the sovereign right 
 which the majesty of his being confers on him ; he 
 sets the seal of his divine nature to the grace he ac- 
 cords." 1 
 
 In like manner, if there is anything grand and 
 daring in human thought or virtue, any reliance on 
 the vast, the unknown ; any presentiment, any ex- 
 travagance of faith, the sjjiritualist adopts it as 
 most in nature. The oriental mind has always 
 
 * Coleridge's Translation. 
 
THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 319 
 
 tended to this largeness. Buddhism is an expres- 
 sion of it. The Buddliist, who thanks no man, who 
 says " Do not flatter your benefactors," but who, in 
 his conviction that every good deed can by no pos- 
 sibility escape its reward, will not deceive the ben- 
 efactor by pretending that he has done more than 
 he should, is a Transcendentaligt. 
 
 You will see by this sketch that there is no such 
 thing as a Transcendental party ; that there is no 
 pure Transcendentalist ; that we know of none but 
 prophets and heralds of such a philosophy ; that 
 all who by strong bias of nature have leaned to the 
 spiritual side in doctrine, have stopped short of 
 their goal. We have had many harbingers and 
 forerunners ; but of a purely spiritual life, history 
 has afforded no example. I mean we have yet no 
 man who has leaned entirely on his character, and 
 eaten angels' food ; who, trusting to his sentiments, 
 found life made of miracles ; who, working for uni- 
 versal aims, found himself fed, he knew not how ; 
 clothed, sheltered, and weaponed, he knew not how, 
 and yet it was done by his own hands. Only in 
 the instinct of the lower animals we fuid the sug- 
 gestion of the methods of it, and something higher 
 than our understanding. The squirrel hoards nuts 
 and the bee gathers honey, without knowing what 
 they do, and they are thus provided for without seK- 
 ishiiess or disgrace. 
 
820 THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 
 
 Shall we say then that Transcendentalism is the 
 Saturnalia or excess of Faith ; the presentiment of 
 a faith proper to man in his integrity, excessive 
 only when his imj)erfect obedience hinders the sat- 
 isfaction of his wish ? Nature is transcendental, 
 exists primarily, necessarily, ever works and ad- 
 vances, yet takes no thought for the morrow. Man 
 owns the dignity of the life which throbs around 
 him, in chemistry, and tree, and animal, and in the 
 involuntary functions of his own body ; yet he is 
 balked when he tries to fling himself into this en- 
 chanted circle, where all is done without degrada- 
 tion. Yet genius and virtue predict in man the 
 same absence of private ends and of condescension 
 to circumstances, united with every trait and talent 
 of beauty and power. 
 
 This way of thinking, falling on Roman times, 
 made Stoic philosophers ; falling on despotic times, 
 made patriot Catos and Brutuses ; falling on su- 
 perstitious times, made prophets and apostles ; on 
 popish times, made protestants and ascetic monks, 
 preachers of Faith against the preachers of Works; 
 on prelatical times, made Puritans and Quakers ; 
 and falling on Unitarian and commercial times, 
 makes the peculiar shades of Idealism which we 
 know. 
 
 It is well known to most of my audience that the 
 Idealism of the present day acquired the name of 
 
THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 321 
 
 Tvanseenclental from the use of that term by Im- 
 manuel Kant, of Koiiigsberg, who replied to the 
 skeptical philosophy of Locke, which insisted that 
 there was nothing in the intellect which was not 
 previously in the experience of the senses, by show- 
 ing that there was a very important class of ideas 
 or imperative forms, which did not come by exi3e- 
 rience, but through which experience was acquired ; 
 that these were intuitions of the mind itself ; and 
 he denominated them Transcendental forms. The 
 extraordinary profoundness and precision of that 
 man's thinking have given vogue to his nomencla- 
 ture, in Europe and America, to that extent that 
 whatever belongs to the class of intuitive thought 
 is popularly called at the present day Transcenden- 
 tal. 
 
 Although, as we have said, there is no pure 
 Transcendentalist, yet the tendency to respect the 
 intuitions and to give them, at least in our creed, 
 all authority over our experience, has deeply col- 
 ored the conversation and poetry of the present 
 day ; and the history of genius and of religion in 
 these times, though impure, and as yet not incar- 
 nated in any powerful individual, will be the his- 
 tory of this tendency. 
 
 It is a sign of our times, conspicuous to the 
 coarsest observer, that many intelligent and relig- 
 ious persons withdraw themselves from the common 
 
 VOL. I. 21 
 
822 THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 
 
 labors and competitions of the market and the 
 caucus, and betake themselves to a certain soli- 
 taiy and critical way of living, from which no solid 
 fruit has yet appeared to justify their separation. 
 They hold themselves aloof : they feel the dispro- 
 portion between their faculties and the work of- 
 fered them, and they prefer to ramble in the coun- 
 try and perish of ennui, to the degradation of such 
 charities and such ambitions as the city can pro- 
 pose to them. They are striliing work, and crying 
 out for somewhat worthy to do! What they do 
 is done only because they are overpowered by the 
 humanities that speak on all sides ; and they con- 
 sent to such labor as is open to them, though to 
 their lofty dream the writing of Iliads or Hamlets, 
 or the building of cities or empires seems drudg- 
 ery. 
 
 Now every one must do after his kind, be he asp 
 or angel, and these must. The question which a 
 wise man and a student of modern history will ask, 
 is, what that kind is? And truly, as in ecclesias- 
 tical history we take so much pains to know what 
 the Gnostics, what the Essenes, what the Mani- 
 chees, and what the Reformers believed, it woidd 
 not misbecome us to inquire nearer home, what 
 these companions and contemporaries of ours think 
 and do, at least so far as these thoughts and actions 
 appear to be not accidental and personal, but com- 
 
THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 323 
 
 mon to many, and the inevitable flower of the Tree 
 of Time. Our American literature and spiritual 
 history are, w& confess, in the optative mood ; but 
 whoso knows these seething brains, these admirable 
 radicals, these unsocial worshippers, these talkers 
 who talk the sun and moon away, will believe that 
 this heresy cannot jDass away without leaving its 
 mark. 
 
 They are lonely ; the spirit of their writing and 
 conversation is lonely ; they repel influences ; they 
 shun general society ; they incline to shut them- 
 selves in their cham'oer in the house, to live in the 
 country rather than in the town, and to find their 
 tasks and amusements in solitude. Society, to be 
 sure, does not like this very well ; it saith. Whoso 
 goes to walk alone, accuses the whole world ; he 
 declares all to be unfit to be his companions ; it is 
 very uncivil, nay, insulting; Society will retaliate. 
 Meantime, this retirement does not proceed from 
 any whim on the part of these separators ; but if 
 any one will take pains to tallc with them, he will 
 find that this part is chosen both from temperament 
 and from principle ; with some imwillingness too, 
 and as a choice of the less of two evils ; for these 
 persons are not by nature melancholy, sour, and 
 unsocial, — they are not stockish or brute, — but 
 joyous, susceptible, affectionate ; they have even 
 more than others a great wish to be loved. Like 
 
324 THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 
 
 the yoimg Mozart, they are rather ready to cry ten 
 times a day, " But are you sure you love me ? " 
 Nay, if they tell you their whole thought, they will 
 own that love seems to them the last and highest 
 gift of nature ; that there are persons whom in 
 their hearts they daily thank for existing, ~ per- 
 sons whose faces are perhaps unknown to them, but 
 whose fame and spirit have penetrated their soli- 
 tude, — and for whose sake they wish to exist. To 
 behold the beauty of another character, which in- 
 spires a new interest in our own ; to behold the 
 beauty lodged in a human being, with such vivacity 
 of apprehension that I am instantly forced home 
 to inquire if I am not deformity itself ; to behold 
 in another the expression of a love so high that it 
 assures itself, — assures itself also to me against 
 every possible casualty excejit my unworthiness ; 
 — these are degrees on the scale of human happi- 
 ness to which they have ascended ; and it is a fidel- 
 ity to this sentiment which has made common as- 
 sociation distasteful to them. They wish a just 
 and even fellowship, or none. They cannot gossip 
 with you, and they do not wish, as they are sincere 
 and religious, to gratify any mere ciu-iosity which 
 you may entertain. Like fairies, they do not wish 
 to be spoken of. Love me, they say, but do not 
 ask who is my cousin and my uncle. If you do 
 not need to hear my thought, because you can read 
 
THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 325 
 
 it in my face and behavior, then I will tell it you 
 from sunrise to sunset. If you cannot divine it, 
 you would not understand what I say. I will not 
 molest myself for you. I do not wish to be pro- 
 faned. 
 
 And yet, it seems as if this loneliness, and not 
 this love, would prevail in their circumstances, be- 
 cause of the extravagant demand they make on 
 human nature. That, indeed, constitutes a new 
 feature in their portrait, that they are the most ex- 
 acting and extortionate critics. Their quarrel with 
 every man they meet is not with his kind, but with 
 his degree. There is not enough of him, — that is 
 the only fault. They prolong their privilege of 
 childhood in this wise ; of doing nothing, but mak- 
 ing immense demands on all the gladiators in the 
 lists of action and fame. They make us feel the 
 strange disappointment which overcasts every hu- 
 man youth. So many promising youths, and never 
 a finished man ! The profound nature will have a 
 savage rudeness; the delicate one v/ill be shallow, 
 or the victim of sensibility ; the richly accomplished 
 will have some capital absurdity ; and so every 
 piece has a crack. 'T is strange, but this master- 
 piece is the result of such an extreme delicacy that 
 the most unobserved flaw in the boy will neutralize 
 the most aspiring genius, and spoil the work. Talk 
 with a seaman of the hazards to life in his profession 
 
326 TEE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 
 
 and lie will ask you, ' Where are the old sailors ? 
 Do you not see that all are young men?' And we, 
 on this sea of human thought, in like manner in- 
 quire, Where are the old idealists ? where are they 
 who represented to the last generation that extrav- 
 agant hope which a few happy aspirants suggest to 
 ours ? In looking at the class of counsel, and 
 power, and wealth, and at the matronage of the 
 land, amidst all the prudence and all the triviality, 
 one asks, Where are they who represented genius, 
 virtue, the invisible and heavenly world, to these ? 
 Are they dead, — taken in early ripeness to the 
 gods, — as ancient wisdom foretold their fate ? Or 
 did the high idea die out of them, and leave their 
 unperfumed body as its tomb and tablet, announc- 
 ing to all that the celestial inhabitant, who once 
 gave them beauty, had departed ? Will it be bet- 
 ter with the new generation ? We easily predict a 
 fair future to each new candidate who enters the 
 lists, but we are frivolous and volatile, and by low 
 aims and ill example do what we can to defeat this 
 hope. Then these youths bring us a rough but ef- 
 fectual aid. By their unconcealed dissatisfaction 
 they expose our poverty and the insignificance of 
 man to man. A man is a poor limitary benefactor. 
 He ought to be a shower of benefits — a great influ- 
 ence, which should never let his brother go, but 
 should refresh old merits continually with new ones j 
 
THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 327 
 
 SO that though absent he should never be out of my 
 mind, his name never far from my lips ; but if the 
 earth shovdd open at my side, or my last hour 
 were come, his name should be the prayer I should 
 utter to the Universe. But in our experience, man 
 is cheap and friendship wants its deep sense. We 
 affect to dwell with our friends in their absence, 
 but we do not ; when deed, word, or letter comes 
 not, they let us go. These exacting children adver- 
 tise us of our wants. There is no compliment, no 
 smooth speech with them ; they pay you only this 
 one compliment, of insatiable exjoectation ; they as- 
 pire, they severely exact, and if they only stand fast 
 in this watch-tower, and persist in demanding unto 
 the end, and without end, then are they terrible 
 friends, whereof poet and priest cannot choose but 
 stand in awe ; and what if they eat clouds, and 
 drink wind, they have not been without service to 
 the race of man. 
 
 With this passion for what is great and extraor- 
 dinary, it cannot be wondered at that they are re- 
 pelled by vulgarity and frivolity in people. They 
 say to themselves, It is better to be alone than in 
 bad company. And it is really a wish to be met, 
 — the wish to find society for their hope and re- 
 ligion, — which prompts them to shun what is called 
 society. They feel that they are never so fit for 
 friendship as when they have quitted mankind and 
 
828 THE TRANSCENDENTALTST. 
 
 taken themselves to frientl. A pieturo, a book, a 
 favorite spot in the hills or tlie woods which they 
 can people with the fair and worthy creation of the 
 fancy, can give them often forms so vivid that these 
 for the time shall seem real, and society the illu- 
 sion. 
 
 But their solitary and fastidious manners not 
 only withdraw them from the conversation, hut 
 from the labors of the woild ; they are not good 
 citizens, not good members of society ; unwillingly 
 they bear their part of the public and jirivate bui*- 
 dens ; they do not willingly share in the public 
 charities, in the public religious rites, in the enter- 
 prises of education, of missions foreign and domes- 
 tie, in the abolition of the slave - trade, or in the . 
 temperance society. They do not even like to vote. 
 The philanthropists in{piire whether Transcenden- 
 talism does not mean sloth : they had as lief hear 
 that their friend is dead, as that he is a Tianseen- 
 dentalist ; for then is he paralyzed, and can never 
 do anything for humanity. What right, cries the 
 good world, has the man of genius to retreat from 
 work, and indulge himself ? The popular literary 
 creed seems to be, ' I am a sublmie genius ; I 
 ought not therefore to labor.' But genius is the 
 power to labor better and more availably. Deserve 
 thy genius : exalt it. The good, the illuminated, 
 sit apart from the rest, censuring their diilness and 
 
THE TRANSCENDENTALTST. 329 
 
 vices, as if they thought that by sitting very grand 
 in their chairs, the very brokers, attorneys, and 
 congressmen would see the error of their ways, and 
 flock to them. But the good and wise must learn 
 to act, and carry salvation to the combatants and 
 demagogues in the dusty arena below. 
 
 On the part of these children it is replied that life 
 and their faculty seem to them gifts too rich to be 
 squandered on such trifles as you propose to them. 
 What you call your fundamental institutions, your 
 great and holy causes, seem to them great abuses, 
 and, when nearly seen, paltry matters. Each ' cause ' 
 as it is called, — say Abolition, Temperance, say 
 Calvinism, or Unitarianism, — becomes speedily a 
 little shop, where the article, let it have been at first 
 never so subtle and ethereal, is now made up into 
 portable and convenient cakes, and retailed in small 
 quantities to suit purchasers. You make very free 
 use of these words ' great ' and ' holy,' but few 
 things appear to them such. Few persons have any 
 magnificence of nature to inspire enthusiasm, and 
 the philanthropies and charities have a certain air 
 of quackery. As to the general course of living, 
 and the daily employments of men, they cannot see 
 much virtue in these, since they are parts of this 
 vicious circle ; and as no great ends are answered 
 by the men, there is nothing noble in the arts by 
 which they are maintained. Nay, they have made 
 
380 THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 
 
 the experiment and found that from the liberal pro- 
 fessions to the coarsest manual labor, and from the 
 courtesies of the academy and the college to the 
 conventions of the cotillon-room and the morning 
 call, there is a spirit of cowardly compromise and 
 seeming which intimates a frightful skepticism, a 
 life without love, and an activity without an aim. 
 
 Unless the action is necessary, unless it is ade- 
 quate, I do not wish to perform it. I do not wish to 
 do one thing but once. I do not love routine. Once 
 possessed of the principle, it is equally easy to make 
 four or forty thousand applications of it. A great 
 man will be content to have indicated in any the 
 slightest manner his perception of the reigning Idea 
 of his time, and will leave to those who like it the 
 multiplication of examples. When he has hit the 
 white, the rest may shatter the target. Every thing 
 admonishes us how needlessly long life is. Every 
 moment of a hero so raises and cheers us that a 
 twelvemonth is an age. All that the brave Xan- 
 thus brings home from his wars is the recollection 
 that at the storming of Samos, " in the heat of the 
 battle, Pericles smiled on me, and passed on to an- 
 other detachment." It is the quality of the mo- 
 ment, not the number of days, of events, or of ac- 
 tors, that imports. 
 
 New, we confess, and by no means happy, is our 
 condition : if you want the aid of our labor, we 
 
THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 331 
 
 ourselves stand in greater want of the labor. We 
 are miserable with inaction. We perish of rest and 
 rust : but we do not like your work. 
 
 ' Then,' says the world, ' show me your own.' 
 
 ' We have none.' 
 
 ' What will you do, then ? ' cries the world. 
 
 ' We will wait.' 
 
 ' How long ? ' 
 
 'Until the Universe beckons and calls us to 
 work.' 
 
 ' But whilst you wait, you grow old and useless.' 
 
 ' Be it so : I can sit in a corner and perish (as 
 you call it), but I will not move until I have the 
 highest command. If no call should come for 
 years, for centuries, then I know that the want of 
 the Universe is the attestation of faith by my absti- 
 nence. Your virtuous projects, so called, do not 
 cheer me. I know that which shall come will cheer 
 me. If I cannot work at least I need not He. 
 All that is clearly due to-day is not to lie. In 
 other places other men have encountered sharp 
 trials, and have behaved themselves well. The 
 martyrs were sawn asunder, or hung alive on meat- 
 hooks. Cannot we screw our courage to patience 
 and truth, and without complaint, or even with 
 good-humor, await our turn of action in the Infinite 
 Counsels ? ' 
 
 But to come a little closer to the secret of these 
 
332 THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 
 
 persons, we must say that to them it seems a very 
 easy matter to answer the objections of the man of 
 the world, but not so easy to dispose of the doubts 
 and objections that occur to themselves. They are 
 exercised in their own spirit with queries which ac- 
 quaint them with all adversity, and with the trials 
 of the bravest heroes. When I asked them concern- 
 ing their private experience, they answered some- 
 what in this wise : It is not to be denied that there 
 must be some wide difference between my faith and 
 other faith ; and mine is a certain brief experience, 
 which sui'prised me in the liighway or in the market, 
 in some place, at some time, — whether in the body 
 or out of the body, God knoweth, — and made me 
 aware that 1 had played the fool with fools all this 
 time, but that law existed for me and for all ; that 
 to me belonged trust, a child's trust and obedience, 
 and the worship of ideas, and I should never be 
 fool more. Well, in the space of an hour probably, 
 I was let down from this height ; I was at my old 
 tricks, the selfish member of a selfish society. My 
 life is superficial, takes no root in the deep world ; 
 I ask, When shall I die and be relieved of the re- 
 sj^onsibility of seeing an Universe which I do not 
 use ? I wish to exchange this flash-of -lightning 
 faith for continuous daylight, tliis fever-glow for a 
 benign climate. 
 
 These two states of thought diverge every mc 
 
THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 333 
 
 ment, and stand in wild contrast. To liim who 
 looks at his life from these moments of illumination, 
 it will seem that he skulks and plays a mean, shift- 
 less and subaltern part in the world. That is to be 
 done which he has not skill to do, or to be said 
 which others can say better, and he lies by, or oc- 
 cupies his hands with some plaything, until his hour 
 comes again. Much of our reading, much of our 
 labor, seems mere waiting : it was not that we were 
 born for. Any other could do it as well or better. 
 So little skUl enters into these works, so little do 
 they mix with the divine life, that it really signifies 
 little what we do, whether we turn a grindstone, or 
 ride, or run, or make fortunes, or govern the state. 
 The worst feature of this double consciousness is, 
 that the two lives, of the understanding and of the 
 sold, which we lead, really show very little relation 
 to each other ; never meet and measure each other : 
 one prevails now, all buzz and din ; and the other 
 prevails then, all infinitude and paradise ; and, with 
 the progress of life, the two discover no greater 
 disposition to reconcile themselves. Yet, what is 
 my faith ? What am I ? What but a thought of 
 serenity and independence, an abode in the deep 
 blue sky ? Presently the clouds shut down again ; 
 yet we retain the belief that this petty web we 
 weave will at last be overshot and reticulated with 
 veins of the blue, and that the moments will char- 
 
334 THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 
 
 acterize the days. Patience, then, is for us, is it 
 not ? Patience, and still patience. When we pass, 
 as presently we shall, into some new infinitude, out 
 of this Iceland of negations, it will please us to 
 reflect that though we had few virtues or conso- 
 lations, we bore with our iudigence, nor once strove 
 to repair it with hypocrisy or false heat of any 
 kind. 
 
 But this class are not sufficiently characterized if 
 we omit to add that they are lovers and worship- 
 pers of Beauty. In the eternal trinity of Truth, 
 Goodness, and Beauty, each in its perfection includ- 
 ing the three, they prefer to make Beauty the sign 
 and head. Something of the same taste is observ- 
 able in all the moral movements of the time, in the 
 religious and benevolent enterprises. They have a 
 liberal, even an aesthetic spirit. A reference to 
 Beauty in action sounds to be sure a little hollow 
 and ridicidous in the ears of the old church. In 
 politics, it has often sufficed, when they treated of 
 justice, if they kept the bounds of selfish calculation. 
 If they granted restitution, it was prudence which 
 granted it. But the justice which is now claimed 
 for the black, and the pauper, and the drunkard, is 
 for Beauty, — is for a necessity to the soul of the 
 agent, not of the beneficiary. I say this is the 
 tendency, not yet the realization. Our virtue tot- 
 ters and trips, does not yet wallv firmly. Its repre- 
 
THE TRANSCENDENTAL! ST. 335 
 
 sentatives are austere ; tliey preach and denounce ; 
 their rectitude is not yet a grace. They are still 
 liable to that slight taint of burlesque which in our 
 strange world attaches to the zealot. A saint 
 should be as dear as the ajiple of the eye. Yet we 
 are tempted to smile, and we flee from the working 
 to the speculative reformer, to escape that same 
 slight ridicule. Alas for these days of derision and 
 criticism ! We call the Beautiful the highest, be- 
 cause it appears to us the golden mean, escaping 
 the dowdiness of the good and the heartlessness of 
 the true. They are lovers of nature also, and find 
 an indemnity in the inviolable order of the world 
 for the violated order and grace of man. 
 
 There is, no doubt, a great deal of well-founded 
 objection to be spoken or felt against the sayings 
 and doings of this class, some of whose traits we 
 have selected ; no doubt they will lay themselves 
 open to criticism and to lampoons, and as ridiculous 
 stories will be to be told of them as of any. There 
 will be cant and pretension ; there will be subtilty 
 and moonshine. These persons are of unequal 
 strength, and do not all prosper. They complain 
 that everything around them must be denied ; and 
 if feeble, it takes all their strength to deny, before 
 they can begin to lead their own life. Grave se- 
 niors insist on their respect to this institution and 
 that usage ; to an obsolete history ; to some voca- 
 
336 THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 
 
 tion, or college, or etiquette, or beneficiary, or 
 charity, or morning or evening call, which they re- 
 sist as what does not concern them. But it costs 
 such sleepless nights, alienations and misgivings, 
 — they have so many moods about it ; these old 
 guardians never change their minds ; they have 
 but one mood on the subject, namely, that Antony 
 is very perverse, — that it is quite as much as An- 
 tony can do to assert his rights, abstain from what 
 he thinks foolish, and keep his temper. He can- 
 not help the reaction of this injustice in his own 
 mind. Pie is braced-up and stilted ; all freedom 
 and flowing genius, aU sallies of wit and frolic na- 
 ture are quite out of the question ; it is weU if he 
 can keep from lying, injustice, and suicide. This 
 is no time for gaiety and grace. His strength and 
 spirits are wasted in rejection. But the strong 
 spirits overpower those around them without effort. 
 Their thought and emotion comes in like a flood, 
 quite withdraws them from all notice of these carp- 
 ing critics ; they surrender themselves with glad 
 heart to the heavenly guide, and only by implica- 
 tion reject the clamorous nonsense of the hour. 
 Grave seniors talk to the deaf, — church and old 
 book mumble and ritualize to an luiheeding, preoc- 
 cupied and advancing mind, and thus they by hap- 
 piness of greater momentum lose no time, but take 
 the right road at first. 
 
THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 337 
 
 But all these of whom I speak are not profi- 
 cients ; they are novices ; they only show the road 
 in which man should travel, when the soul has 
 greater health and prowess. Yet let them feel the 
 dignity of their charge, and deserve a larger power. 
 Their heart is the ark in which the fire is concealed 
 which shall burn in a broader and universal flame. 
 Let them obey the Genius then most when his im- 
 pulse is wildest ; then most when he seems to lead 
 to uninhabitable deserts of thought and life ; for 
 the path which the hero travels alone is the high- 
 way of health and benefit to mankind. What is 
 the privilege and nobility of our nature but its per- 
 sistency, through its power to attach itseK to what 
 is permanent ? 
 
 Society also has its duties in reference to this 
 class, and must behold them with what charity it 
 can. Possibly some benefit may yet accrue from 
 them to the state. In our Mechanics' Fair, there 
 must be not only bridges, ploughs, carpenters' 
 planes, and baking troughs, but also some few finer 
 instruments, — rain gauges, thermometers, and tel- 
 escopes ; and in society, besides farmers, sailors, 
 and weavers, there must be a few persons of purer 
 fire kept specially as gauges and meters of charac- 
 ter ; persons of a fine, detecting instinct, who note 
 the smallest accimiulations of wit and feeling in 
 
 the bystander. Perhaps too there might be room 
 VOL. I. 22 
 
338 THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 
 
 for the exciters and monitors ; collectors of the 
 heavenly spark, with powcu* to convey the electric- 
 ity to others. Or, as the stormed-tossed vessel at 
 sea speaks the frigate or ' line packet ' to learn its 
 longitude, so it may not be without its advantage 
 that we should now and then encounter rare and 
 gifted men, to compare the points of our spiritual 
 compass, and verify our bearings from superior 
 chronometers. 
 
 Amidst the downward tendency and proneness 
 of things, when every voice is raised for a new 
 road or another statute or a subscription of stock ; 
 for an improvement in dress, or in dentistry ; for 
 a new house or a larger business ; for a political 
 party, or the division of an estate ; — will you not 
 tolerate one or two solitary voices in the land, 
 speaking for thoughts and principles not market- 
 able or perishable ? Soon these improvements and 
 mechanical inventions will be superseded ; these 
 modes of living lost out of memory ; these cities 
 rotted, ruined by war, by new inventions, by new 
 seats of trade, or the geologic changes : — all gone, 
 lilce the shells wliich sprinlde the sea-beach with 
 a white colony to-day, forever i-enewed to be for- 
 ever destroyed. But the thoughts which these few 
 hermits strove to proclaim by silence as well as by 
 speech, not only by what they did, but by what 
 they forebore to do, shall abide in beauty and 
 
THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 339 
 
 strength, to reorganize themselves in nature, to in- 
 vest themselves anew in other, perhaps higher en- 
 dowed and happier mixed clay than ours, in fuller 
 union with the surrounding system. 
 
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 
 
 A LECTURE READ BEFORE THE MERCANTILE LIBRARY ASSO- 
 CIATION, BOSTON, FEBRUARY 7, 1844. 
 
THE YOUNG AMEEICAN. 
 
 Gentlemen : 
 
 It is remarkable that our people have their intel- 
 lectual culture from one country and their duties 
 from another. This false state of things is newly in 
 a way to be corrected. America is beginning- to as- 
 sert herself to the senses and to the imagination of 
 her children, and Europe is receding in the same 
 degree. This their reaction on education gives a 
 new importance to the internal improvements and 
 to the politics of the country. Who has not been 
 stimulated to reflection by the facilities now in pro- 
 gress of construction for travel and the transporta- 
 tion of goods in the United States ? 
 
 This rage of road building is beneficent for 
 America, where vast distance is so main a consid- 
 eration in our domestic politics and trade, inas- 
 much as the great political promise of the inven- 
 tion is to hold the Union staunch, whose days 
 seemed already numbered by the mere inconven- 
 ience of transporting representatives, judges, and 
 officers across such tedious distances of land and 
 
344 THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 
 
 water. Not only is distance annihilated, bnt when, 
 as now, the locomotive and the steamboat, lilce 
 enormous shuttles, shoot every day across the thou- 
 sand various threads of national descent and em- 
 ployment and bind them fast in one web, an hourly 
 assimilation goes forward, and there is no danger 
 that local peculiarities and hostilities should be pre- 
 served. • 
 
 1. But I hasten to speak of the utility of these 
 improvements in creating an American sentiment. 
 An unlooked for consequence of the railroad is the 
 increased acquaintance it has given the American 
 peoj)le with the boundless resources of their own 
 soil. If this invention has reduced England to a 
 third of its size, by bringing people so much nearer, 
 in this coimtry it has given a new celerity to time., 
 or anticipated by fifty years the planting of tracts 
 of land, the choice of water privileges, the working 
 of mines, and other natural advantages. Kailroad 
 iron is a magician's rod, in its power to evoke the 
 sleeping energies of land and water. 
 
 The railroad is but one arrow in our quiver, 
 though it has great value as a sort of yard-stick 
 and surveyor's line. The bountiful continent is 
 ours, state on state, and territory on territory, to 
 the waves of the Pacific sea ; 
 
 " Oui- garden is the immeasurable earth, 
 The heaven's bhie pillars are Medea's house." 
 
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 345 
 
 The task of surveying-, planting, and building upon 
 this immense tract requires an education and a 
 sentiment commensurate thereto. A consciousness 
 of this fact is beginning to take the place of the 
 purely trading- spirit and education which sprang 
 up whilst all the population lived on the fringe of 
 sea-coast. And even on the coast, prudent men 
 have begun to see that every American should be 
 educated with a view to the values of laud. The 
 arts of engineering and of architecture are studied ; 
 scientific agriculture is an object of growing atten- 
 tion ; the mineral riches are explored ; limestone, 
 coal, slate, and iron ; and the value of timber-lands 
 is enhanced. 
 
 Columbus alleged as a reason for seeking a con- 
 tinent in the West, that the harmony of nature re- 
 quired a great tract of land in the western hemi- 
 sphere, to balance the known extent of land in the 
 eastern ; and it now appears that we must estimate 
 the native values of this broad region to redress the 
 balance of our own judgments, and appreciate the 
 advantages opened to the human race in this coun- 
 try which is our fortunate home. The land is the 
 appointed remedy for whatever is false and fantas- 
 tic in our culture. The continent we inhabit is to 
 be physic and food for our mind, as well as our 
 body. The land, with its tranquilizing, sanative 
 influences, is to repair the errors of a scholastic and 
 
346 THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 
 
 traditional education, and bi'ing us into just rela- 
 tions with men and things. 
 
 The habit of living in the presence of these in- 
 vitations of natural wealth is not inoperative ; and 
 this habit, combined with the moral sentiment 
 which, in the recent years, has interrogated every 
 institution, usage, and law, has naturally given a 
 strong direction to the wishes and aims of active 
 young men, to withdraw from cities and cultivate 
 the soil. This inclination has appeared in the most 
 unlooked for quarters, in men supposed to be ab- 
 sorbed in business, and in those connected with the 
 liberal professions. And since the walks of trade 
 were crowded, whilst that of agriculture cannot 
 easily be, inasmuch as the farmer who is not wanted 
 by others can yet grow his own bread, whilst the 
 manufacturer or the trader, who is not wanted, can- 
 not, — this seemed a happy tendency. For beside 
 all the moral benefit which we may expect from the 
 farmer's profession, when a man enters it consid- 
 erately ; this promised the conquering of the soil, 
 plenty, and beyond this the adorning of the country 
 with every advantage and ornament which labor, 
 ingenuity, and affection for a man's home, could 
 suggest. 
 
 Meantime, with cheap land, and the pacific dis- 
 position of the people, everything invites to the arts 
 of agricidture, of gardening, and domestic arclii- 
 
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 347 
 
 tecture. PuLlIc gardens, on the scale of sueli plan- 
 tations in Europe and Asia, are now unknown to 
 us. There is no feature of the old countries that 
 strikes an American with more agreeable surprise 
 than the beautiful gardens of Europe ; such as the 
 Boboli in Florence, the Villa Borghese in Rome, 
 the Villa d'Este in Tivoli, the gardens at Munich 
 and at Frankfort on the Main : works easily imi- 
 tated here, and which might well make the land 
 dear to the citizen, and inflame patriotism. It is 
 the fine art which is left for us, now that sculjiture, 
 painting, and religious and civil architecture have 
 become effete, and have passed into second child- 
 hood. We have twenty degrees of latitude wherein 
 to choose a seat, and the new modes of travelling 
 enlarge the opportunity of selection, by making it 
 easy to cultivate very distant tracts and yet remain 
 in strict intercourse with the centres of trade and 
 population. And the whole force of all the arts 
 goes to facilitate the decoration of lands and dwell- 
 ings. A garden has this advantage, that it makes 
 it indifferent where you live. A well-laid garden 
 makes the face of the country of no account ; let 
 that be low or high, grand or mean, you have made 
 a beautiful abode worthy of man. If the land- 
 scape is pleasing, the garden shows it, — if tame, 
 it excludes it. A little grove, which any farmer 
 can find or cause to grow near his house, will in a 
 
348 THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 
 
 few years make cataracts and chains of mountains 
 quite unnecessary to his scenery ; and he is so con- 
 tented with his alleys, woodlands, orchards and 
 river, that Niagara, and the Notch of the White 
 Hills, and Nantasket Beach, are superfluities. And 
 yet the selection of a fit houselot has the same 
 advantage over an indifferent one, as the selection 
 to a given employment of a man who has a genius 
 for that woi'k. In the last case the culture of 
 years will never make the most painstaking ap- 
 prentice his equal : no more will gardening give 
 the advantage of a happy site to a house in a hole 
 or on a pinnacle. In America we have hitherto 
 little to boast in this kind. The cities drain the 
 country of the best part of its population : the 
 flower of the youth, of both sexes, goes into the 
 towns, and the coiuitry is cultivated by a so much 
 inferior class. The land, — travel a whole day to- 
 gether, — looks poverty-stricken, and the buildings 
 plain and poor. In Europe, where society has an 
 aristocratic structure, the land is full of men of the 
 best stock and the best culture, whose interest and 
 pride it is to remain half the year on their estates, 
 and to fill them with every convenience and orna- 
 ment. Of course these make model farms, and 
 model architecture, and are a constant education to 
 the eye of the surrounding popidation. Whatever 
 events in progress shall go to disgust men with 
 
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 349 
 
 cities and infuse into them the passion for country- 
 life and country pleasures, wiU render a service to 
 the whole face of this continent, and will further 
 the most poetic of all the occupations of real life, 
 the bringing out by art the native but hidden 
 graces of the landscape. 
 
 I look on such imijrovements also as directly 
 tending to endear the land to the inhabitant. Any 
 relation to the land, the habit of tilling it, or min- 
 ing it, or even hunting on it, generates the feeling 
 of patriotism. He who keeps shoj) on it, or he who 
 merely uses it as a support to his desk and ledger, 
 or to his manufactory, values it less. The vast 
 majority of the people of this country live by the 
 land, and carry its quality in their manners and 
 opinions. We in the Atlantic states, by position, 
 have been commercial, and have, as I said, imbibed 
 easily an European culture. Luckily for us, now 
 that steam has narrowed the Atlantic to a strait, 
 the nervous, rocky West is intruding a new and 
 continental element into the national mind, and we 
 shall yet have an American genius. How much 
 better when the whole land is a garden, and the 
 people have grown up in the bowers of a paradise. 
 Without looking then to those extraordinary social 
 influences which are now acting in precisely this 
 direction, but only at what is inevitably doing 
 around us, I think we must regard the land as a 
 
350 THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 
 
 commanding and increasing power on the citizen, 
 the sanative and Americanizing influence, which 
 promises to disclose new virtues for ages to come. 
 
 2. In the second place, the uprise and culmina- 
 tion of the new and anti feudal power of Com- 
 merce is the political fact of most significance to 
 the American at this hour. 
 
 We cannot look on the freedom of this country, 
 in connexion with its youth, without a presentiment 
 that here shall laws and institutions exist on some 
 scale of proportion to the majesty of nature. To 
 men legislating for the area betwixt the two oceans, 
 betwixt the snows and the tropics, somewhat of the 
 gravity of nature will infuse itself into the code. 
 A heterogeneous population crowding on all ships 
 from all corners of the world to the great gates of 
 North America, namely Boston, New York, and 
 New Orleans, and thence proceeding inward to the 
 prairie and the mountains, and quickly contribut- 
 ing their private thought to the public opinion, 
 their toll to the treasury, and their vote to the elec- 
 tion, it cannot be doubted that the legislation of 
 this country should become more catholic and cos- 
 mopolitan than that of any other. It seems so 
 easy for America to inspire and express the most 
 expansive and humane spirit ; new-born, free, health- 
 ful, strong, the land of the laborer, of the democrat, 
 of the philanthropist, of the believer, of the saint, 
 
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 351 
 
 she should speak for the human race. It is the 
 country of the Future. From Washington, prover- 
 bially ' the city of magnificent distances,' through 
 all its cities, states, and territories, it is a comitry 
 of beginnings, of projects, of designs, of expecta- 
 tions. 
 
 Gentlemen, there is a sublime and friendly Des- 
 tiny by which the human race is guided, — the 
 race never dying, the individual never spared, — 
 to results affecting masses and ages. Men are nar- 
 row and selfish, but the Genius or Destiny is not 
 narrow, but beneficent. It is not discovered in 
 their calculated and voluntary activity, but in what 
 befalls, with or without their design. Only what 
 is inevitable interests us, and it turns out that love 
 and good are inevitable, and in the course of 
 thing's. That Genius has infused itself into nature. 
 It indicates itself by a small excess of good, a small 
 balance in brute facts always favorable to the side 
 of reason. All the facts in any part of nature 
 shall be tabulated and the results shall indicate 
 the same security and benefit ; so slight as to be 
 hardly observable, and yet it is there. The sphere 
 is flattened at the poles and swelled at the equa- 
 tor ; a form flowing necessarily from the fluid state, 
 yet the form, the mathematician assures us, re- 
 quired to prevent the protuberances of the conti- 
 nent, or even of lesser mountains cast up at any 
 
352 THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 
 
 time by earthquakes, from continually deranging 
 the axis of the earth. The census of the popula- 
 tion is found to keep an invariable equality in the 
 sexes, with a trifling predominance in favor of the 
 male, as if to counterbalance the necessarily in- 
 creased exposure of male life in war, navigation, 
 and other accidents. Remark the unceasing effort 
 throughout nature at somewhat better than the ac- 
 tual creatures : amelioration in nature, which alone 
 permits and authorizes amelioration in mankind. 
 The population of the world is a conditional popu- 
 lation ; these are not the best, but the best that 
 could live in the existing state of soils, gases, ani- 
 mals and morals : the best that could yet live ; 
 there shall be a better, please God. This Genius 
 or Destiny is of the sternest administration, though 
 rumors exist of its secret tenderness. It may be 
 styled a cruel kindness, serving the whole even to 
 the ruin of the member ; a terrible communist, re- 
 serving all profits to the community, without divi- 
 dend to individuals. Its law is, you shall have 
 everything as a member, nothing to yourself. For 
 Nature is the noblest engineer, yet uses a grinding 
 economy, working up all that is wasted to-day into 
 to-morrow's creation ; — not a superfluous grain of 
 sand, for all the ostentation she makes of expense 
 and public works. It is because Nature thus saves 
 and uses, laboring for the general, that we poor 
 
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 353 
 
 particulars are so crushed and straitened, and find 
 it so hard to live. She flung us out in her plenty, 
 but we cannot shed a hair or a paring of a nail but 
 instantly she snatches at the shred and appropriates 
 it to the general stock. Our condition is like that 
 of the poor wolves : if one of the flock wound him- 
 self or so much as limp, the rest eat him up mcon- 
 tinently. 
 
 That serene Power interposes the check upon 
 the caprices and ofliciousness of our wills. Its 
 charity is not our charity. One of its agents is 
 our wiU, but that which expresses itself in our will 
 is stronger than our will. We are very forward to 
 help it, but it will not be accelerated. It resists 
 our meddling, eleemosynary contrivances. We de- 
 vise sumptuary and relief laws, but the j)rinciple 
 of population is always reducing wages to the low- 
 est pittance on which hmnan life can be sustained. 
 We legislate against forestalling and monopoly ; 
 we woidd have a common granary for the poor ; 
 but the selfishness which hoards the corn for high 
 prices is the preventive of famine ; and the law of 
 self-preservation is surer policy than any legislation 
 can be. We concoct eleemosynary systems, and 
 it turns out that our charity increases pauperism. 
 We inflate our paper currency, we repair commerce 
 with unlimited credit, and are presently visited 
 with unlimited bankruptcy. 
 
 VOL. I. 23 
 
354 THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 
 
 It is easy to see that the existing generation are 
 conspiring with a beneficence which in its working 
 for coming generations, sacrifices the passing one ; 
 which infatuates the most selfish men to act against 
 their private interest for the public welfare. We 
 build railroads, we know not for what or for whom ; 
 but one thing is certain, that we who build will re- 
 ceive the very smallest share of benefit. Benefit 
 will accrue, they are essential to the country, but 
 that will be felt not until we are no longer country- 
 men. We do the like in all matters : — 
 
 " Man's heart the Almighty to the Future set 
 By secret and inviolable springs." 
 
 We plant trees, we build stone houses, we redeem 
 the waste, we make prospective laws, we found col- 
 leges and hospitals, for remote generations. We 
 should be mortified to learn that the little benefit 
 we chanced in our own persons to receive was the 
 utmost they would yield. 
 
 The history of commerce is the record of this 
 beneficent tendency. The patriarchal form of gov- 
 ernment readily becomes despotic, as each person 
 may see in his own family. Fathers wish to be 
 fathers of the minds of their children, and behold 
 with impatience a new character and way of think- 
 ing presuming to show itseK in their own son or 
 daughter. This feeling, which all their love and 
 pride in the powers of their children cannot sub* 
 
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 355 
 
 due, becomes petulance and tyranny when the head 
 of the clan, the emperor of an empire, deals with 
 the same difference of opinion in his subjects. 
 Difference of opinion is the one crime which kings 
 never forgive. An empire is an immense egotism. 
 " I am the State," said the French Louis. When 
 a French ambassador mentioned to Paul of Russia 
 that a man of consequence in St. Petersburg was 
 interesting himself in some matter, the Czar inter- 
 rupted him, — " There is no man of consequence 
 in this empire but he with whom 1 am actually 
 speaking ; and so long only as I am speaking to 
 him is he of any consequence." And the Emperor 
 Nicholas is reported to have said to his council, 
 " The age is embarrassed with new opinions ; rely 
 on me gentlemen, I shall oppose an iron will to 
 the progress of liberal opinions." 
 
 It is easy to see that this patriarchal or family 
 management gets to be rather troublesome to all 
 but the papa ; the sceptre comes to be a crow-bar. 
 And this unpleasant egotism. Feudalism opposes 
 and finally destroys. The king is compelled to call 
 in the aid of his brothers and cousins and remote 
 relations, to help him keep his overgrown house in 
 order ; and tliis club of noblemen always come at 
 last to have a will of their own ; they combine to 
 brave the sovereign, and call in the aid of the peo- 
 ple. Each chief attaches as many followers as he 
 
856 THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 
 
 can, by kindness, maintenance, and gifts ; and as 
 long as war lasts, the nobles, who must be soldiers, 
 rule very well. But when peace comes, the nobles 
 prove very whimsical and uncomfortable masters ; 
 their frolics tiu-n out to be insulting and degrading 
 to the commoner. Feudalism grew to be a bandit 
 and brigand. 
 
 Meantime Trade had begun to appear : Trade, a 
 plant which gi'ows wherever there is peace, as soon 
 as there is peace, and as long as there is peace. 
 The luxury and necessity of the noble fostered it. 
 And as quickly as men go to foreign parts in ships 
 or caravans, a new order of things springs up ; new 
 command takes place, new servants and new mas- 
 ters. Their information, their wealth, their corre- 
 spondence, have made them quite other men than 
 left their native shore. Tliet/ are nobles now, and 
 by another patent than the king's. Feudalism 
 had been good, had broken the power of the kings, 
 and had some good ti'aits of its own ; but it had 
 grown mischievous, it was time for it to die, and as 
 they say of dying people, all its faults came out. 
 Trade was the strong^ man that broke it down and 
 raised a new and unknown power in its place. It 
 is a new agent in the world, and one of gTcat func- 
 tion ; it is a very intellectual force. This displaces 
 physical strength and instals computation, combin- 
 ation, information, science, in its room. It calls 
 
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 357 
 
 ovit all force of a certain kind tliat slumbered in 
 the former dynasties. It is now in the midst of 
 its career. Feudalism is not ended yet. Our gov- 
 ernments still partake largely of that element. 
 Trade goes to make the governments insignificant, 
 and to bring every kind of faculty of every individ- 
 ual that can in any manner serve any person, on 
 sale. Instead of a huge Army and Navy and Ex- 
 ecutive Departments, it converts Government into 
 an Intelligence-Office, where every man may find 
 what he wishes to buy, and expose what he has to 
 sell ; not only produce and manufactures, but art, 
 skiU, and intellectual and moral values. Th^"s i^ 
 the good and this the evil of trade, that it would 
 put everything into market ; talent, beauty, virtue, 
 and man himself. 
 
 The philosopher and lover of man have much 
 harm to say of trade ; but the historian will see 
 that trade was the principle of Liberty ; that trade 
 planted America and destroyed Feudalism ; that 
 it makes peace and keeps peace, and it will abolish 
 slavery. We complain of its oppression of the 
 poor, and of its building up a new aristocracy on 
 the ruins of the aristocracy it destroyed. But the 
 aristocracy of trade has no permanence, is not en- 
 tailed, was the result of toil and talent, the result 
 of merit of some kind, and is continually falling, 
 like the waves of the sea, before new claims of the 
 
358 THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 
 
 same sort. Trade is an instrument in tlie hands of 
 tliat friendly Power which works for us in our own 
 despite. We design it thus and thus ; it turns out 
 otherwise and far better. This beneficent tenden- 
 cy, omnipotent without violence, exists and works. 
 Every line of history inspires a confidence that wo 
 shall not go far wTong ; that things mend. That is 
 the moral of all we learn, that it warrants Hope, 
 the prolific mother of reforms. Our part is plainly 
 not to throw ourselves across the track, to block 
 improvement and sit till we are stone, but to watch 
 the uprise of successive mornings and to conspire 
 with the new works of new days. Government has 
 been a fossil ; it shoidd be a plant. I conceive that 
 ' the offitje of statute law should be to exj^ress and 
 not to ii..j^^ede the mind of mankind. New thoughts, 
 new things. Trade was one instrument, but Trade 
 is also but for a time, and must give way to some- 
 what broader and better, whose signs are already 
 dawning in the sky. 
 
 3. I pass to speak of the signs of that which is 
 the sequel of trade. 
 
 In consequence of the revolution in the state of 
 society wrought by trade, Government in our times 
 is beginning to wear a clumsy and cumbrous ap- 
 pearance. We have already seen our way to 
 shorter methods. The time is full of eood sijrns. 
 Some of them shall ripen to fruit. All this bene- 
 
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 359 
 
 ficent socialism is a friendly omen, and the swelling 
 cry of voices for the education of the people indi- 
 cates that Government has other ofiices than those 
 of banker and executioner. Witness the new move- 
 ments in the civilized world, the Communism of 
 France, Germany, and Switzerland ; the Trades' 
 Unions ; the English League against the Corn Laws ; 
 and the whole Industrial Statistics, so called. In 
 Paris, the blouse, the badge of the operative, has 
 begun to make its appearance m the saloons. Wit- 
 ness too the spectacle of three Communities which 
 have within a very short time sprung up within 
 this Commonwealth, besides several others under- 
 taken by citizens of Massachusetts within the ter- 
 ritory of other States. These proceeded from a 
 variety of motives, from an impatience of many 
 usages in common life, from a wish for gTeater free- 
 dom than the manners and opinions of society j)er- 
 mitted, but in great part from a feeling that the 
 true offices of the State, the State had let fall to the 
 ground ; that in the scramble of parties for the 
 public purse, the main duties of government were 
 omitted, — the duty to instruct the ignorant, to 
 supply the poor with work and with good guidance. 
 These communists preferred the agricultural life as 
 the most favorable condition for human cidture ; 
 but they thought that the farm, as we manage it, 
 did not satisfy the right ambition of man. The 
 
360 THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 
 
 farmer, after sacrificing- jileasure, taste, freedom, 
 thought, love, to his work, turns out often a bank- 
 rupt, like the merchant. This result might well 
 seem astounding. All this drudgery, from cock-crow- 
 ing to starlight, for all these years, to end in 'mort- 
 gages and the auctioneer's flag, and removing from 
 bad to worse. It is time to have the thing looked 
 into, and with a sifting criticism ascertained who is 
 the fool. It seemed a, great deal worse, because the 
 farmer is living in the same town with men who 
 pretend to know exactly what he wants. On one 
 side is agricultural chemistry, coolly exposing the 
 nonsense of our spendthrift agriculture and ruin- 
 ous expense of manures, and offering, by means of 
 a teaspoonf ul of artificial guano, to turn a sandbank 
 into corn ; and on the other, the farmer, not only 
 eager for the information, but with bad crops and 
 in debt and banki'uptcy, for want of it. Here are 
 Etzlers and mechanical projectors, who, with the 
 Fourierists, undoubtingiy affirm that the smallest 
 miion would make every man rich ; — and, on the 
 other side, a multitude of j50or men and women 
 seeking work, and who cannot find enough to pay 
 their board. The science is confident, and surely 
 the poverty is real. If any means could be found 
 to bring these two together ! 
 
 This was one design of the projectors of the As- 
 sociations which are now making their first feeble 
 
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 361 
 
 expermients. They were founded in love and in 
 labor. They proposed, as you know, that all men 
 should take a part in the manual toil, and proposed 
 to amend the condition of men by substituting- har- 
 monious for hostile industry. It was a noble thought 
 of Fourier, which gives a favorable idea of his sys- 
 tem, to distinguish in liis Phalanx a class as the 
 Sacred Band, by whom whatever duties were dis- 
 agreeable and likely to be omitted, were to be as- 
 sumed. 
 
 At least an economical success seemed certain for 
 the enterprise, and that agricidtural association 
 must, sooner or later, fix the price of bread, and 
 drive single farmers into association in seK-def ence ; 
 as the great commercial and manufacturing com- 
 panies had already done. The Community is 
 only the continuation of the same movement which 
 made the joint-stock companies for manufactures, 
 mining, insurance, banking, and so forth. It has 
 turned out cheaper to make calico by companies ; 
 and it is proposed to plant corn and to bake bread 
 by companies. 
 
 Undoubtedly, abundant mistakes will be made 
 by these first adventurers, which will draw ridicule 
 on their schemes. I think for example that they 
 exaggerate the importance of a favorite jDroject of 
 theirs, that of paying talent and labor at one rate, 
 paying all sorts of service at one rate, say ten cents 
 
862 THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 
 
 the hour. They have paid it so ; but not an in- 
 stant would a dime remain a dime. In one hand 
 it became an eagle as it fell, and in another hand a 
 copper cent. For the whole value of the dime is in 
 knowing what to do with it. One man buys with 
 it a laud-title of an Indian, and makes his posterity 
 princes ; or buys corn enough to feed the world ; 
 or pen, ink, and paper, or a painter's brush, by 
 which he can communicate himself to the human 
 race as if he were fire ; and the other buys barley 
 candy. Money is of no value ; it cannot sjDend it- 
 self. All depends on the skill of the spender. 
 Whether too the objection almost universally felt 
 by such women in the community as were mothers, to 
 an associate life, to a common table, and a common 
 nursery, etc., setting a higher value on the private 
 family, with poverty, than on an association with 
 wealth, will not prove insuperable, remains to be 
 determined. 
 
 But the Communities aimed at a higher success 
 in securing to all their members an equal and 
 thorough education. And on the whole one may 
 say that aims so generous and so forced on them 
 by the times, will not be relinquished, even if these at- 
 tempts fail, but will be prosecuted until they succeed. 
 
 This is the value of the Communities ; not what 
 they have done, but the revolution which they in- 
 dicate as on the way. Yes, Government must edu- 
 
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 363 
 
 cate the poor man. Look across the country from 
 any hill -side around us and the landscape seems 
 to crave Government. The actual differences of 
 men must be acknowledged, and met with love and 
 wisdom. These rising grounds which command 
 the champaign below, seem to ask for lords, true 
 lords, lancIAovA^, who understand the land and its 
 uses and the applicabilities of men, and whose 
 government would be what it should, namely me- 
 diation between want and supply. How gladly 
 would each citizen j^ay a commission for the sup- 
 port and continuation of good guidance. None 
 should be a governor who has not a talent for 
 governing. Now many people have a native skill 
 for carving out business for many hands ; a genius 
 for the disposition of affairs ; and are never hap- 
 pier than when difficult practical questions, which 
 embarrass other men, are to be solved. All lies 
 in light before them ; they are in their element. 
 Could any means be contrived to appoint only 
 these ! There really seems a progress tov/ards 
 such a state of things in wliicli this work shall be 
 done by these natural workmen ; and this, not cer- 
 tainly through any increased discretion shown by 
 the citizens at elections, but by the gradual con- 
 tempt into which official government falls, and the 
 increasing disposition of private adventurers to as- 
 sume its fallen functions. Thus the national Post 
 
364 THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 
 
 Office is likely to go into disuse before the private 
 telegraph and the express companies. The cur- 
 rency threatens to fall entirely into private hands. 
 Justice is continually administered more and more 
 by private reference, and not by litigation. We 
 have feudal governments in a commercial age. It 
 would be but an easy extension of our commercial 
 system, to pay a private emperor a fee for services, 
 as we pay an architect, an engineer, or a lawyer. 
 If any man has a talent for righting wrong, for ad- 
 ministering difficult affairs, for counselling poor 
 farmers how to turn their estates to good husband- 
 ry, for combining a hundred private enterprises 
 to a general benefit, let him in the county-town, or 
 in Court Street, put up his sign-board, Mr. Smith, 
 Governor, Mr. Johnson, Working king. 
 
 How can our young men complain of the pov- 
 erty of things in New England, and not feel that 
 poverty as a demand on their charity to make New 
 England rich ? Where is he who seeing a thou- 
 sand men useless and unhappy, and making the 
 whole region forlorn by their inaction, and con- 
 scious himself of possessing the faculty they want, 
 does not hear his call to go and be their king? 
 
 We must have kings, and we must have nobles. 
 Nature provides such in every society, — only let 
 us have the real instead of the titular. Let us 
 have our leading and our inspiration from the best. 
 
TEE YOUNG AMERICAN. 365 
 
 In every society some men are born to rule and 
 some to advise. Let the powers be well directed, 
 directed by love, and they would everywhere be 
 greeted with joy and honor. The chief is the chief 
 all the world over, only not his cap and his plume. 
 It is only their dislike of the pretender, which 
 makes men sometimes unjust to the accomplished 
 man. If society were transparent, the noble woidd 
 everywhere be gladly received and accredited, and 
 woidd not be asked for his day's work, but woidd 
 be felt as benefit, inasmuch as he was noble. That 
 were his duty and stint, — to keep himself pure 
 and purifying, the leaven of his nation. I think I 
 see place and duties for a nobleman in every soci- 
 ety ; but it is not to drink wine and ride in a fine 
 coach, but to guide and adorn life for the multi- 
 tude by forethought, by elegant studies, by perse- 
 verance, self-devotion, and the remembrance of the 
 humble old friend, by making his life secretly beau- 
 tiful. 
 
 I call upon you, young men, to obey your heart 
 and be the nobility of this land. In every age of 
 the world there has been a leading nation, one of 
 a more generous sentiment, whose eminent citizens 
 were willing to stand for the interests of general 
 justice and humanity, at the risk of being called, 
 by the men of the moment, chimerical and fantas- 
 tic. Which shoidd be that nation but these States? 
 
366 THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 
 
 Wliicli should lead that movement, if not New Eng- 
 land ? Who should lead the leaders, but the Young 
 American ? The people, and the world, are now 
 suffering from the want of religion and honor in 
 its public mind. In America, out-of-doors all 
 seems a market ; in-doors an air-tight stove of con- 
 ventionalism. Every body who comes into our 
 houses savors of these habits ; the men, of the mar- 
 ket ; the women, of the custom. I find no expres- 
 sion in our state papers or legislative debate, in our 
 lyceums or churches, especially in our newspapers, 
 of a high national feeling, no lofty counsels that 
 rightfully stir the blood. I speak of those organs 
 which can be presumed to speak a poj^ular sense. 
 They recommend conventional virtues, whatever 
 will earn and preserve property ; always the capi- 
 talist ; the college, the church, the hospital, the 
 theatre, the hotel, the road, the ship, of the capital- 
 ist, — whatever goes to secure, adorn, enlarge these 
 is good ; what jeopardizes any of these is damna- 
 ble. The ' opposition ' papers, so called, are on the 
 same side. They attack the great capitalist, but 
 with the aim to make a capitalist of the poor man. 
 The opposition is against those who have money, 
 from those who wish to have money. But who an- 
 nounces to us in journal, or in pulpit, or in the 
 street, the secret of heroism ? 
 
 " Man aloue 
 Can perform the impossible." 
 
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 367 
 
 I shall not need to go into an enumeration of 
 our national defects and vices which require this 
 Order of Censors in the State. I might not set 
 down our most proclaimed offences as the worst. 
 It is not often the worst trait that occasions the 
 loudest outcry. Men complain of their suffering, 
 and not of the crime. I fear little from the bad 
 effect of Repudiation; I do not fear that it will 
 spread. Stealing is a suicidal business ; you can- 
 not repudiate but once. But the bold face and 
 tardy repentance permitted to tliis local mischief 
 reveal a public mind so preoccupied with the love 
 of gain that the common sentiment of indignation 
 at fraud does not act with its natural force. The 
 more need of a withdrawal from the crowd, and a 
 resort to the fomitain of right, by the brave. The 
 timidity of our public opinion is our disease, or, 
 shall I say, the publicness of opinion, the absence 
 of private opinion. Good nature is plentiful, but we 
 want justice, with heart of steel, to fight down the 
 proud. The private mind has the access to the to- 
 tality of goodness and truth that it may be a bal- 
 ance to a corrupt society ; and to stand for the pri- 
 vate verdict against popular clamor is the office of 
 the noble. If a humane measure is propounded in 
 behalf of the slave, or of the Irishman, or the 
 Catholic, or for the succor of the poor ; that senti- 
 ment, that project, wiU have the homage of the 
 
868 THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 
 
 hero. That is his nobility, his oath of knighthood, 
 to succor the helpless and oppressed ; always to 
 throw himself on the side of weakness, of youth, of 
 hope ; on the liberal, on the expansive side, never 
 on the defensive, the conserving, the timorous, the 
 lock-and-bolt system. More than our good-will we 
 may not be able to give. We have our own affairs, 
 our own genius, which chains each to his proper 
 work. We cannot give our life to the cause of the 
 debtor, of the slave, or the pauper, as another is 
 doing ; but to one thing we are bound, not to blas- 
 pheme the sentiment and the work of that man, not 
 to throw stumbling-blocks in the way of the aboli- 
 tionist, the philanthropist; as the organs of influence 
 and opinion are swift to do. It is for us to confide 
 in the beneficent Supreme Power, and not to rely 
 on our money, and on the state because it is the 
 guard of money. At this moment, the terror of old 
 people and of vicious people is lest the Union of 
 these states be destroyed : as if the Union had any 
 other real basis than the good pleasure of a major- 
 ity of the citizens to be united. But the wise and 
 just man will always feel that he stands on his own 
 feet ; that he imparts strength to the State, not re- 
 ceives securitj^ from it ; and that if all went down, 
 he and such as he would quite easily combine in a 
 new and better constitution. Every great and 
 memorable community has consisted of formidable 
 
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 369 
 
 individuals, who, like the Roman or the Spartan, 
 lent his own spirit to the State and made it great. 
 Yet only by the supernatural is a man strong : noth- 
 ing is so weak as an egotist. Nothing is mightier 
 than we, when we are vehicles of a truth before 
 which the State and the individual are alike ephem- 
 eral. 
 
 Gentlemen, the development of our American 
 internal resources, the extension to the utmost of 
 the commercial system, and the appearance of new 
 moral causes which are to modify the State, are 
 giving an asjsect of greatness to the Future, which 
 the imagination fears to open. One thing is plain 
 for all men of common sense and common con- 
 science, that here, here in America, is the home of 
 man. After all the deductions which are to be 
 made for our pitiful politics, which stake every 
 gravest national question on the silly die whether 
 James or whether Robert shall sit in the chair and 
 hold the purse ; after all the deduction is made for 
 our frivolities and insanities, there still remains an 
 organic simplicity and liberty, which, when it loses 
 its balance, redresses itself presently, which offers 
 opportunity to the human mind not known in any 
 other region. 
 
 It is true, the public mind wants self-respect. 
 We are full of vanity, of which the most signal 
 proof is our sensitiveness to foreign and especially 
 
 VOL. I. 24 
 
370 THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 
 
 English censure. One cause of this is our immense 
 reading, and that reading chiefly confined to the 
 productions of the English press. It is also, true 
 that to imaginative persons in this country there 
 is somewhat bare and bald in our short history and 
 unsettled wilderness. They ask, who would live 
 in a new country that can live in an old ? and it is 
 not strange that our youths and maidens should 
 burn to see the picturesque extremes of an anti- 
 quated country. But it is one thing to visit the 
 Pyramids, and another to wish to live there. 
 Would they like tithes to the clergy, and sevenths 
 to the government, and Horse-Guards, and licensed 
 press, and grief when a child is born, and threaten- 
 ing, starved weavers, and a pauperism now consti- 
 tuting one thirteenth of the population ? Instead 
 of the open future expanding here before the eye 
 of every boy to vastness, would they like the clos- 
 ing in of the future to a narrow slit of sky, and 
 that fast contracting to be no future ? One thing 
 for instance, the beauties of aristocracy, we com- 
 mend to the study of the travelling American. 
 The English, the most conservative people this side 
 of India, are not sensible of the restraint, but an 
 American would seriously resent it. The aristoc- 
 racy, incorporated by law and education, degrades 
 life for the unprivileged classes. It is a question- 
 able compensation to the embittered feeling of a 
 
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 371 
 
 proud commoner, the reflection that a fop, who, by 
 the magic of title, paralyzes his arm and plucks 
 from him half the graces and rights of a man, is 
 himself also an aspirant excluded with the same 
 ruthlessness from higher circles, since there is no 
 end to the wheels within wheels of this spiral hea- 
 ven. Something may be pardoned to the spirit of 
 loyalty when it becomes fantastic ; and something 
 to the imagination, for the baldest life is symbolic. 
 Philip II. of Spain rated his ambassador for neg- 
 lecting serious affairs in Italy, whilst he debated 
 some point of honor with the French ambassador ; 
 " You have left a business of importance for a cer- 
 emony." The ambassador replied, "Your Maj- 
 esty's self is but a ceremony." In the East, where 
 the religious sentiment comes in to the support of 
 the aristocracy, and in the Romish church also, 
 there is a grain of sweetness in the tyranny ; but 
 in England, the fact seems to me intolerable, what 
 is commonly affirmed, that such is the transcendent 
 honor accorded to wealth and birth, that no man 
 of letters, be his eminence what it may, is received 
 into the best society, except as a lion and a show. 
 The English have many virtues, many advantages, 
 and the proudest history of the world ; but they 
 need all and more than all the resources of the 
 past to indemnify a heroic gentleman in that coun- 
 try for the mortifications prepared for him by the 
 
372 THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 
 
 system of society, and whicli seem to impose the 
 alternative to resist or to avoid it. Tliat there are 
 mitigations and practical alleviations to tliis . rigor, 
 is not an excuse for the rule. Commanding worth 
 and personal power must sit crowned in all compa- 
 nies, nor will extraordinai*y persons be slighted or 
 affronted in any company of civilized men. But 
 the system is an invasion of the sentiment of jus- 
 tice and the native rights of men, which, however 
 decorated, must lessen the value of English citizen- 
 ship. It is for Englishmen to consider, not for us ; 
 we only say. Let us live in America, too thankful 
 for our want of feudal institutions. Our houses 
 and towns are like mosses and lichens, so slight 
 and new ; but youth is a fault of which we shaU 
 daily mend. This land too is as old as the Flood, 
 and wants no ornament or privilege which nature 
 could bestow. Here stars, here woods, here hills, 
 here animals, here men abound, and the vast ten- 
 dencies concur of a new order. If only the men 
 are employed in conspiring with the designs of the 
 Spirit who led us hither and is leading us stiU, we 
 shall quickly enough advance out of aU hearing of 
 others' censures, out of all regrets of our own, into 
 a new and more excellent social state than history 
 has recorded. / 
 
 OS